“It’s a game,” Eric said, shrugging. “Nobody really expects to go home with the waitress. Well, except The Envoy. You just have to come up with standard answers to the come-on. ‘Sorry, but unless you can touch the back of your head with your tongue I’m not interested.’ ”
“Eric Bergstresser!”
“ ‘Well, gosh, sir, I would go home with you. That is, if I didn’t have a husband with the stamina of a lion and hung like an elephant…’ ”
“I could never say that!”
“Why? Waitresses said both of them to me,” Eric pointed out.
“You… oh!” Brooke replied, shaking her head. She looked over at him and frowned. “Are you shiny, honey?”
“Beat,” Eric said. “I got a new duty dumped on me today and it’s kicking my ass.”
“More VD reports?” Brooke asked, dimpling. “I never thought I’d say something like that in my life.”
Given that things like VD reports and MWR reports were anything but classified, Eric had willingly discussed those with her. He opened his mouth to reply then closed it with a clop.
“No,” he said after a moment. “Something… else. One of the things I’m not supposed to talk about. Which is why I didn’t bring it home.”
“Shiny,” Brooke said, restraining her curiosity with difficulty. “Did you hear there’s going to be some sort of broadcast by the President tomorrow night? And that it’s going to run over an hour?”
“No,” Berg said. “What about?”
“Nobody knows,” Brooke said. “The TV said it was on a matter of great importance that has been, up to this point, classified.”
Eric’s eyes flew open and he looked straight forward. Just then, his implant dinged.
“Tomorrow?” Weaver screamed, looking at his secure e-mail. He’d just gotten home and keyed on his computer to find the warning message. “No, no, no, no!”
“Weaver,” Prael said over his implant. “Back to the office, stat. We’ve got a secure link with the secretary of Defense in thirty minutes.”
“I’m on my way, sir,” Bill replied, picking up his uniform blouse. “Chither! Why now?”
“Not by our choice,” the secretary of Defense said. “What the Times has been able to piece together about the Blade is coming out in the morning edition. What they don’t know, though, is that we effectively lost the Blade and got a new one from the Hexosehr. They did, however, piece together the ‘helicopter crash’ with the first mission and speculate on casualties from the second. They don’t know about the Dreen. Bill, you had some conversation with Robin. I pulled the transcript when I got the news. Anything you want to add?”
“I tried to throw him off-scent, slightly, sir,” Weaver said. “Best I could do. I could tell he knew about the Blade, pretty solidly, and that we’d run into something that killed Marines. He didn’t mention the scientific losses or the SF or the Cheerick or the last mission’s results. But my contact report stated that he was going to do a piece on the Blade.”
“They apparently got some video from our Russian friends,” the secretary of Defense said. “I’m sure the Russians will be running that one down. But this changes… Well, it changes everything. Commandant, I want Lieutenant Bergstresser available for Dog and Pony.”
“Yes, sir,” the commandant said. “I’ll inform his CO.”
“Ditto Spectre and you, Bill. Anyone else you’d suggest? Any of you?”
Weaver had a suggestion but given his rocky position with the CO he wasn’t about to bring it up.
“That linguist,” Admiral Townsend said. “Miss Moon. Good looking, obviously articulate. And I’ve seen the way that she looked in the documentary. I especially loved the parts where she was repairing the ship on the last mission. Painted every steam pipe in the ship? That took determination, by God. It puts a human face on the whole thing. Cute lady who talks to strange aliens and still wields a wrench when she has to. What do you think, Captain Weaver?”
“Sounds good, sir,” Bill said, trying not to sound strangled. “She’s going to need a heads up, though. First, she’ll need at least ten minutes to panic, then a day to do her hair. She might have to go home to see her usual stylist.”
“We need to centralize this,” the SecDef said. “Get all the people down here in DC. I know you’re preparing for deployment, but this takes precedence. Get to work on this tonight.” The video of the SecDef cut off leaving only the commandant and the CAO.
“I’ll order up Bergstresser and, hell, one of the enlisted,” the commandant said. “People always like junior enlisted for this sort of thing. I’m sort of shamed to say I don’t know the Marine players all that well. Captain Weaver?”
“Lurch, sir?” Bill replied. As well hung for a sheep and all that. “That is, Sergeant Lyle? The guy who was injured in an accident and worked his way back to line. He’s not all that articulate, but…”
“Good call,” the commandant said, nodding. “Good human interest angle. The first sergeant’s been on both missions, what’s your read on him?”
“First Sergeant Powell is one of those rare NCO’s that really could take over as a commander, sir,” Bill replied. “Smart as a whip intellectually — hell, he’s got a degree from the Sorbonne — good common sense, experienced. But the company’s preparing for deployment. Dragging him away may interfere.”
“If the company commander can’t do without his first sergeant for a few days, I need to find a new CO,” the commandant said. “Sergeant Lyle, Lieutenant Bergstresser and First Sergeant Powell. Got it. Good line-up. I’m done. Out here.”
“Since everyone else is asking,” the CAO said, chuckling.
“Well, you’ve got myself and Miriam, sir,” Bill replied. “Admittedly, Miriam’s from the civilian science side. If you want enlisted personnel…” Bill paused and thought about that, running through the list and then chuckling.
“Something funny, Captain?” the CAO asked.
“Just imagining the COB being interviewed, sir,” Bill replied. “ ‘So you are the chief of boat? What’s your name?’ ‘C-O-B.’ ‘How do you spell that?’ ‘C-O-B. Chief. Of. Boat.’ Sir, in all honesty, no, I can’t think of any others unless the CO wants to go. In that case, I’ll stay back and get the boat ready to go. That’s my job, after all.”
“The Marines are sending enlisted people,” the CAO said. “And Captain Prael hasn’t been on the previous missions.”
“Then I’d suggest Red, sir,” Bill replied, then blinked rapidly, realizing he could not for the life of him recall Red’s real name. “Petty Officer First Class Ian… Morris. Not particularly articulate, either, but with two prosthetics from two missions, he’s not going to have to be.”
“Get that done, Captain,” the CAO said. “Make sure he’s available and everybody gets down to DC tomorrow. Early.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Weaver and Prael both replied, simultaneously. Weaver didn’t look over to see his CO’s reaction.
“Any questions, Captain Prael?” the CAO asked.
“No, sir,” the CO replied.
“Then I’m out,” the CAO said.
The screen blanked and there was an uncomfortable silence.
“You’d better get moving, XO,” Prael said after a moment. “You’ve got a lot of work to do.”