Vanderspool scowled as he came to his feet and turned to the lieutenant. “Would you excuse us? Thank you.”
Once the lieutenant was gone Vanderspool spoke again as he walked around his desk to stand beside Speer. “Have you lost your mind? This is Max Speer… . He’s a reporter for UNN—and he’s been cleared to accompany you. Max is going to show the citizens of the Confederacy what a fantastic job our soldiers are doing—isn’t that right, Max?” he said, giving the reporter a friendly pat on the back.
Speer smiled broadly, and said, “At your service, Colonel.”
Tychus looked at Speer and back again before releasing the cam bot. It pulled back in order to get a wide shot.
“No way, sir… . There isn’t enough time to teach him how to jump. Besides, we’re going to have enough to do without tracking any civilians.”
Vanderspool raised a hand. “Don’t worry, Sergeant. Speer will arrive with the second wave on one of the dropships. Now, if you would be so good as to return to your duties, I have work to do.”
Speer had fully recovered from being thrown onto the desk—he had more important things to worry about. “Hold that position for a sec,” Speer said as the cam bot took up a position directly in front of Vanderspool. The officer flashed a bright smile. Neither one of them turned to look as Tychus left the office.
After their first full week of training, Raynor offered to take Tychus into the HTD for a beer, knowing full well that the other man wasn’t likely to decline a free drink. The truth was, the two had forged a solid friendship, and Raynor had become Tychus’s unofficial second in command, even if a couple of sergeants outranked him. That didn’t mean Tychus would agree to the proposal Raynor had in mind, however—especially since the idea ran counter to one of his most cherished sayings: “Never volunteer for anything.”
When the time came to meet Tychus, Raynor saw that Doc was clinging to one of the big man’s arms. Raynor shouldn’t have been surprised, because the two of them had been groping one another for weeks by then, even though certain members of the platoon disapproved. Tychus and Doc were in the same chain of command after all, which raised the possibility of favoritism if nothing else, but no one had the balls to complain about it.
So the three of them ventured into the comfortable sleaziness of the HTD, where everyone seemed to know Doc, and, minutes later, they were shown to their favorite table at Three Fingered Jack’s.
Knowing Tychus the way he did, Raynor waited until his friend had consumed several glasses of Scotty Bolger’s before making his case. “I’ve got an idea,” Raynor said, having checked to make sure that no one was close enough to hear. “Something that will help our mission succeed.”
“Yeah?” Tychus responded. “What’s that? You plan to shoot Max Speer in the head?”
Raynor laughed. Speer had proven to be as annoying as they’d all expected—and forever underfoot. “That would be incredibly gratifying, but no,” Raynor replied. He straightened. “My concern is this… . You saw Captain Hobarth. How many of the POWs are just like her—injured, weak, slow?”
Doc, who was busy giving Tychus a shoulder massage, appeared to be oblivious to the conversation. From the dreamy look in her eyes, Raynor could tell she was high. But so were most of the other people in the bar—difference being that they preferred alcohol to crab. And, so long as Doc was sober while on duty, Raynor figured what she did the rest of the time was up to her.
“So, here’s the problem,” he continued. “The flaw in Vanderspool’s plan is that once we blow the shock wall, the POWs won’t come pouring out. Partly because they won’t be expecting us—and partly because at least some of them will be in bad shape. And loading them will take a long time. Maybe too long. The Hellhounds will be on us by then. How long can the Avengers hold them off?”
“This all makes sense,” Tychus allowed, “but I’ll be damned if I know what we can do about it. Of course you do, or think you do, which is why you’re buying the booze.”
“As it happens I do have something in mind,” Raynor agreed lightly. “And it goes like this: I want to drop into the area one day early. I’ll enter the POW camp, mingle with the prisoners, and help them get organized. Then, when the platoon falls out of the sky, they’ll be ready to go.”
There was a moment of silence as Tychus emptied his glass, followed by a solid thunk as he put it down. Then, having wiped off his lips with the back of one hand, he belched. “That,” Tychus proclaimed, “is one of the worst ideas I have ever heard! Have you been shooting some of Doc’s crab?”
Raynor glanced at Doc, whose attention was still somewhere far, far away. “What’s wrong with it?” he demanded defensively.
“I’m glad you asked,” Tychus replied. “First, if anything goes wrong with your jump, the entire mission could be compromised. Second, how the hell would you enter the camp, supposing you’re lucky enough to survive the landing? And third, what if you succeed, and Colonel Vanderscum scrubs the mission?”
“Yeah,” Doc put in vacantly. “That would suck.”
“It certainly would,” Raynor conceded. “But given the fact that Speer is still on the job, I’m pretty sure our little outing is good to go.
“And as far as how I’m going to land and get inside the camp, I got that idea when our scouts captured a KM Hellhound pilot yesterday. He was shot down over the disputed zone—they’re holding him on the base.
“All you have to do is get the colonel to put a lid on the news that we have him. Then with help from the intel people, I’ll put on a Kel-Morian flight suit, stroll up to one of the gates at KIC-36 and show them some very official-looking ID. Once they let me in, I’ll ask them for a ride back to my base. But, since it’s more than two hundred miles away, it’ll take them at least a day to arrange for transportation. Meanwhile, I’ll find a way to make contact with the POWs and warn them.”
Tychus looked Raynor in the eye. “Tell me something, Jim,” he asked skeptically, “because this all sounds completely crazy. What’s in it for you?”
Raynor was silent for a moment. “You might think this is bullshit… . But this mission is something I actually believe in. Something pure and clean, no underlying motives, no greed—these are our people, and they need our help. I want to bring them out. Maybe it sounds stupid, but this is what I had in mind when I joined up.”
Tychus eyed him cynically. “Vanderspool wants to make general. What’s so pure and clean about that?”
Raynor shrugged. “It doesn’t matter so long as the prisoners escape.”
“Okay,” Tychus said reluctantly. “I’ll tackle it first thing in the morning. In the meantime, go grab some more drinks. All this talking is making me thirsty.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“As the Kel-Morian engagement marches toward its fourth year, we have received several reports of heightened criminal activity in the civilian sector. Although some analysts blame this new wave of lawlessness on the dynamics of a wartime economy, the consensus among Confederate pundits is that this criminality represents the exposure of certain portions of the citizenry. One analyst, who asked to remain anonymous, said, ‘It is our belief that patriotism shows its true colors in times of hardship.’”
FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II
The sun was still rising, the air was crisp, and Tychus was in a good mood. Much to Tychus’s amazement, Colonel Vanderspool liked Raynor’s proposal. That made sense in a way, because the battalion commander wanted the mission to succeed, but Tychus was so cynical about officers in general—and Vanderspool in particular—that the green light was a surprise.