The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

“Nothing like that, Buck,” Huber said. Edlinger must have checked Huber’s status when Fencing Master came in for repair. “I want to check what three of your locals’ve been working on, and I want to check it when the locals and their friends aren’t around.”

“What d’ye know about maintenance oversight, Huber?” Edlinger said; not exactly hostile, but not as friendly as he’d have been if it hadn’t seemed an outsider was moving in on his territory.

“I know squat,” Huber said, “but I’ve got a tech here, Sergeant Tranter, who you gave curst good fitness reports to back when, when he worked for you. And you can help, Buck—I’d just as soon you did. But this isn’t a joke.”

That was the Lord’s truth. This could be much worse than a company of armored vehicles getting bent in a starship crash.

“You got Tranter?” Edlinger said. “Oh, that’s okay, then. Look, Huber, I can have everybody out of here by twenty hundred hours if that suits you. Okay?”

“That’s great, Buck,” Huber said, nodding in an enthusiasm that Edlinger couldn’t see over a standard regimental voice-only transmission. “We’ll be there at twenty hundred hours.”

“Hey Huber?” Edlinger added as he started to break the connection.

“Right?”

“Can you tell me who you’re worried about, or do I have to guess?”

That was a fair question. “Their names are Galieni, Osorio, and Triulski,” Huber said, reading them off the display in front of him. “Do they ring a bell?”

Edlinger snorted something between disgust and real concern. “Ring a bell?” he said. “You bet they do. They’re the best wrenches I’ve been able to find. I’d recommend them all for permanent status in the Regiment if they wanted to join.”

Huber grimaced. “Yeah, I thought it might be like that,” he said.

“And Huber?” Edlinger added. “One more thing. You wanted to know what they’re working on? That’s easy. They’re putting your old blower, Fencing Master, back together. She’ll go out late tomorrow the way things are getting on.”

When Tranter came in with Bayes, the sergeant laughing as the trooper gestured in the air, Huber cued his helmet intercom and said, “Sarge? Come talk to me in my little garden of silence, will you?”

A console with regimental programming like Hera Graciano’s could eavesdrop on intercom transmissions unless Huber went to more effort on encryption than he wanted to. It was simpler and less obtrusive to use voice and the privacy screen that was already in place around his area of the office.

Tranter patted Bayes on the shoulder and sauntered over to the lieutenant as though the idea was his alone rather than a response to a summons. Huber was becoming more and more impressed with the way Tranter picked up on things without need for them to be said. Sometimes Huber wasn’t sure exactly what he’d say if he did have to explain.

“Do we have a problem, El-Tee?” Tranter asked as he bent over the console, resting his knuckles on the flat surface beside the holographic display.

Huber noticed the “we.” He grinned. “We’re going maybe to solve one before it crops up, Sarge,” he said. “Are you up to poking around in a combat car tonight?”

“I guess,” Tranter said, unexpectedly guarded. “Ah—what would it be we’re looking for, El-Tee? Booze? Drugs?”

Huber burst out laughing when he understood Tranter’s concern. “Via, Sarge!” he said. “You’ve been on field deployments, haven’t you? All that stuff belongs, and so does anything else that helps a trooper get through the nights he’s not going to get through any other way. No, I’m looking for stuff that our people didn’t put there. I don’t know what it’ll be; but I do know that if something’s there, I want to know what it is. Okay?”

Tranter beamed as he straightened up. “Hey, a chance to be a wrench again instead of pushing electrons? You got it, boss!”

“Pick me up at the front of the building at a quarter of eight, then,” Huber said. “We need to be at Central Repair on the hour— I’ve cleared it with the chief. Oh, and Tranter?”

“Sir?” The sergeant looked …not worried exactly, but wary. He wasn’t going to ask what was going on; but something was and though he seemed to trust Huber, a veteran non-com knows just how disastrously wrong officers’ bright ideas are capable of going.

“Don’t talk about it,” Huber said. “And you know that gun you were holding last night? Think you could look one up for me?”

“Roger that, sir!” Tranter said, perfectly cheerful again. “Or if you’d rather have a sub-machine gun?”

Huber shook his head. “I want something with authority,” he explained. “I don’t think there’s a chance in a million we’ll have somebody try to pull something while we’re flying between here and Central Repair tonight …but I do think that if it happens, I’m going to make sure we’re the car still in the air at the end of it.”

Chuckling in bright good humor, the sergeant returned to his console. The other clerks looked at him, but Hera was watching Huber instead.

Huber cued his intercom and said, “What’s the latest on the ground transport situation, Hera? Did your father come through?”