The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

The image of Grayle appeared again, but this time the point of view drew back even farther than before. The crowd itself shrank to the center of the field. On all sides were the two- and three-story buildings typical of Plattner’s World, set within a forest which had been thinned but not cleared. This was a city. It was larger by far than Benjamin, the administrative capital of the UC.

“Two weeks ago,” Orichos said, “Grayle ordered her followers to join her in Midway—and come armed. Her Freedom Party has its headquarters directly across the Axis, Midway’s central boulevard, from the Assembly Building. They’ve been holding rallies every day in the street. This was the first, but they’ve gotten bigger.”

“And you can’t stop them?” Captain Sangrela asked. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but Huber could hear the tone of disapproval.

Orichos had probably heard it also, because she replied with noticeable sharpness, “Apart from the ordinary members of the Freedom Party, Captain, there are some ten thousand so-called Volunteers who train in military tactics and who’re considerably better armed than the Gendarmery—as well as outnumbering us two to one. I am doing something about them: I’m calling in your Regiment to aid the Point with a show of force.”

“Captain Sangrela was merely curious, Mauricia,” Pritchard said mildly, though his smile wasn’t so much mild as dismissive of anything as trivial as status and honor. “Task Force Sangrela’s arrival in Midway will prove Mistress Grayle was wrong about the Slammers being unable to reach the Point in a hurry …and if a more robust show turns out to be necessary, that’s possible as well.”

The imagery vanished. Pritchard looked across the arc of officers, his eyes meeting those of each in turn. In that moment he reminded Huber of a bird of prey.

“Troopers,” he said, “route and intelligence assessments have been downloaded to all members of your force. The resupply convoy brought a full maintenance platoon; they’ll be working on your equipment overnight so you can get some sleep. I recommend you brief your personnel and turn in immediately. You’ve got quite a run ahead of you starting tomorrow.”

“Blood and Martyrs!” Lieutenant Myers repeated. “That’s not half the truth!”

Huber waited for Sangrela and Myers to clear the doorway, then started out. Offering politely to let Mitzi precede him would’ve at best been a joke—at worst she’d have kicked him in the balls—and he didn’t feel much like joking.

“Lieutenant Huber?” Pritchard called. He turned his head. “Walk with me for a moment, will you?”

“Sir,” Huber said in muted agreement. He stepped down the ramp and put his clamshell on as he waited for the major to follow Mitzi out of the command car. For a moment his eyes started to adapt to darkness; then the first of several banks of lights lit the Night Defensive Position. The scarred iridium hulls reflected ghostly shadows in all directions.

Huber didn’t know why the S-3 wanted to talk to him out of Captain Orichos’ hearing; the thought made him uncomfortable. Things a soldier doesn’t know are very likely to kill him.

Pritchard gestured them into the passage between his command car and Mitzi’s tank, Dinkybob. He didn’t speak till they were past the bows of the outward-facing blowers. A crew was already at work on Fencing Master; across the laager, a recovery vehicle had winched Foghorn’s bow up at a thirty-degree angle so that a squad of mechanics could start switching out the several damaged nacelles for new ones. Power wrenches and occasionally a diamond saw tore the night like sonic lightning.

“Two things, Lieutenant,” Pritchard said when they were beyond the bright pool from the floodlights. He faced the night, his back to the NDP. “First, I was surprised to see you were back with F-3. I had the impression that you’d applied for a transfer?”

Ah. “No sir,” Huber said, looking toward the horizon instead of turning toward the major. “Major Steuben offered me a position in A Company. I considered it, but I decided to turn him down.”

“I see,” said Pritchard. “May I ask why? Because I’ll tell you frankly, I don’t know of a single case in which Joachim offered an officer’s slot to someone who didn’t prove capable of doing the job.”

“I’m not surprised, sir,” Huber said, smiling faintly. “It was because I was pretty sure I could handle the work that I passed. I decided that I didn’t want to live with the person I’d be then.”

Pritchard laughed. “I can’t say I’m sorry to hear that, Huber,” he said. “What are your ambitions then? Because I’ve looked at your record—”

He faced Huber, drawing the younger man’s eyes toward him. They couldn’t see one another’s expressions in the darkness, but the gesture was significant.

“—and I don’t believe you’re not ambitious.”