The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

Doll put her hand on Huber’s shoulder. Raising her faceshield she shouted over the windrush, “That was a little too close on the timing, Arne. Sorry about that.”

“It was perfect, Doll,” he shouted back. The aircar was racketing along at the best speed it could manage with the present overload. That was too fast for comfort in an open vehicle, but torn metal showed where the folding top had been ripped off in a hurry to lower the gross weight. “Perfect execution, too. What brought you?”

They were heading in the direction of the Liaison Office, staying just over the treetops. Kelso had his running lights off. Red strobes high in the sky marked the emergency vehicles easing gingerly toward the summons.

“That’s a funny thing,” Doll said, her pretty face scrunched into a frown. “Every trooper billeted at Base Benjamin got an alert, saying a trooper needed help—and if there was shooting, the best result would be courts martial for everybody involved. It gave coordinates that turned out to be you. We hauled ass till we got here.”

She shrugged. “Sergeant Tranter invited some civilian drivers from Log Section, too. I guess there was a card game going when the call came.”

“But who gave the alert?” Huber said. “Did the—”

He’d started to ask if the restaurant manager had called it in; that was dumb, so he swallowed the final words. There hadn’t been time for a civilian to get an alarm through the regimental net.

“There was no attribution,” Basime said. She lifted her helmet and ran a hand through her short hair; it was gleaming with sweat. “That means it had to come from Base Alpha; and it had to be a secure sector besides, not the regular Signals Office.”

“The White Mice?” Huber said. That was the only possible source, but …“But if it was them, why didn’t they respond themselves?”

“You’re asking me?” Doll said. She grinned, but the released strain had aged her by years. She’d known she was risking her career—and life—to respond to the call.

“I will say, though,” she added quietly, “that whoever put out the alarm seems to be a friend of yours. And that’s better than having him for an enemy.”

“Yeah,” said Huber. Through the windscreen he could see the converted school and the temporary buildings behind it. Kelso throttled back.

Much better to have him for a friend; because the people whom Joachim Steuben considered enemies usually didn’t live long enough to worry about it.

This time Huber had his equipment belt unbuckled and his knife in his hand before he stepped out of the four-place aircar in which Sergeant Tranter had brought him to the Provost Marshal’s office. The sky of Plattner’s World had an omnipresent high overcast; it muted what would otherwise be an unpleasantly brilliant sun and was turning the present dawn above Base Alpha into gorgeous pastels.

Tranter had shut down the car in the street. He sat with his arms crossed, staring into the mirrored faceshields of the White Mice on guard.

The guards didn’t care, but the trivial defiance made Tranter feel better; and Huber felt a little better also. He wasn’t completely alone this time as he reported as ordered to Major Steuben.

“Go on through, Lieutenant,” said the faceless guard who took Huber’s weapons. “He’s waiting for you.”

Huber walked down the hall to the office at the end. The door was open again, but this time Steuben dimmed his holographic display as Huber approached. The major even smiled, though that was one of those things that you didn’t necessarily want to take as a good omen.

“Close the door behind you, Lieutenant,” Steuben said as Huber raised his hand to knock. “I want to discuss what happened last night. How would you—”

He waited till the panel closed behind Huber’s weight; it was a much sturdier door than it looked from the thin plastic sheathing on the outside.

“—describe the event?”

“Sir,” Huber said. He didn’t know what Steuben expected him to say. The truth might get some good people into difficulties, so in a flat voice he lied, “I was eating with my deputy in a restaurant she’d chosen. When we went out to get into her aircar, we were set on by thugs who’d been breaking into cars. Fortunately some off-duty troopers were passing nearby and came to our aid. My deputy went home in her own vehicle—”

He sure hoped she had. He didn’t have a home number to call Hera at, and the summons waiting at Huber’s billets to see the Provost Marshal at 0600 precluded Huber from waiting to meet Hera when she arrived at the office.

“—and I returned to my quarters with the fellows who’d rescued us.”

“Want to comment on the shooting?” Steuben asked with a raised eyebrow. “The use of powerguns in the middle of Benjamin?”

“Sir,” Huber said, looking straight into the hard brown eyes of Colonel Hammer’s hatchetman, “I didn’t notice any shooting. I believe the business was handled with fists alone, though some of the thugs may have had clubs.”