The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

“Calliopes cost money,” Mitzi Trogon said. “More money than I’d expect from a bunch of hicks in the sticks.”

Pritchard nodded again. “Whatever you think of the documents the Point security police found,” he said with a grin, “we have evidence that the government of Solace is indeed supporting the Freedom Party.”

Solace would be insane not to, Huber thought. Arming the internal enemies of a hostile government was about the cheapest way to reduce its threat.

In the street and sky, the citizens of Midway danced and sang. They were the rulers, the people who split among themselves the wealth and the status and the political power of the Point. They were right to fear Melinda Grayle, a demagogue who’d united the Moss rangers against the urban elite who lorded it over them.

Captain Sangrela rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re going cross-country, I suppose?” he said. “There isn’t much but cross-country on this bloody planet.”

“Not exactly,” Pritchard said as the image of a terrain map replaced that of his body. “The direct route’d take you through ancient forest. The trees are too thick and grow too densely for your vehicles to push through or maneuver through either one. We’ve plotted you a course down the valley of the River Fiorno. It won’t be fast, but the vegetation there’s thin enough that even the cars can break trail.”

The red line of the planned course dotted its way along the solid blue of a watercourse. Not far from the coast, the red diverged straight northward for some fifty kilometers to reach Bulstrode Bay.

“The last part of the route, we’ll clear for you with incendiary rounds. We estimate it’ll take you nearly two days to reach the point you’ll leave the Fiorno. The fire should’ve burned itself out by then, so you can make the last part of your run relatively quickly.”

Pritchard smiled again. “The fire should also limit the risk of ambush,” he said; then he sobered and added, “But that’ll be a very real possibility while you’re following the river. We’ll do what we can from Base Alpha, but you’ll have to proceed with scouts and a full sensor watch the same as you did on the way here.”

Pritchard’s image looked around the gathering. “Any questions?” he asked.

“I don’t like to complain, Major …” said Sergeant Jellicoe, lacing her fingers in front of her. “But do you suppose after this, somebody else in the bloody regiment can get a little action too?”

Everybody laughed; but everybody, Pritchard included, knew that the comment hadn’t entirely been a joke. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

On the fiddler’s platform below, the woman dancing had stripped off her panties as well. Huber glanced down at her …and turned his head away.

He was going to need his rest. The next part of the operation sounded like it was going to be even rougher than what it’d taken to get Task Force Sangrela this far.

Huber called up a remote from Flame Farter, on the move with White Section for the past ten minutes. The Fiorno River was only thirty meters wide and almost shallow enough to wade where it curved around the north and east of Midway. The scouts’ skimmers danced in rainbows of spray out in the channel to avoid the reeds along the margins; the combat car was chuffing down the bank, spewing mud and fragments of soft vegetation from beneath her skirts.

“Red Section, move out!” Captain Sangrela ordered. The main body with Jellicoe’s Floosie in the lead was already lined up on the Axis north of the Assembly Building. Dust puffed beneath their skirts as they lifted from the gravel. One at a time, carefully because objects so powerful must move carefully if they’re not to destroy themselves and everything around them, the seven vehicles of the main body started down the avenue. The doughnuts of dust spread into wakes on either side.

Sergeant Nagano glanced over from Foghorn’s fighting compartment; Huber was keeping his section on the Mound till the main body had cleared the road beneath. Huber gave Nagano a thumbs-up. Nagano hadn’t commanded a car before the operations against Northern Star, and he was doing a good job.

“How’d you make out last night, El-Tee?” Sergeant Deseau asked, stretching like a cat behind the forward gun.

“I slept like a baby,” Huber said. “I never sleep that well on leave when I’m in a bed.”

The Assembly had offered the Slammers any kind of billets they wanted, but Captain Sangrela had decided to keep his troopers beside their vehicles for the night. Nobody’d argued with him. The weather wasn’t unpleasant, and chances were some Freedom Party supporters had stayed in Midway. The risks of going off by yourself were a lot greater than any benefit a bed in an unfamiliar room was going to bring.

“Not me,” said Deseau, grinning even broader. “The people here are real grateful, let me tell you.”

Learoyd looked around from his gun. Shyly he said, “The girls didn’t charge nothing, El-Tee. I never been a place before that the girls didn’t charge.”