''In spades, ma'am. No bloody squid's gonna get by with sloppy work that damn near fries me and mine.'' It was nice when leaders took a personal interest in their people's work.
Kris did a slow look around, found everything under somebody else's control, and followed her corporal.
It took Kris a while to collect the troopers who had provided fire support from the woods; they'd gotten way back when the ship came over. With them, she headed for the Typhoon. At the gangway, a corpsman was waiting to take over the limper. Right beside the medic stood Captain Thorpe himself, grinning like a pirate as he surveyed the results of his landing approach.
''Damn good, if I do say so myself.''
''Yes, sir,'' Kris agreed. ''I need to pick up the LACs. Can I sign for a hovercraft?''
''Your marines too lazy, Ensign, for another walk in that swamp you took them through?''
''No, sir. Just thought you might want everyone back aboard before the sun gets too high,'' she answered. If she had gone straight for the landers, he'd be damning her for wasting time making mud pies. Kris was getting used to being damned if she did and damned when she didn't.
''Take number two hover, and make it quick,'' Thorpe ordered, then added as if as an afterthought, ''Well done, Ensign.''
Kris saluted and led her squad back aboard. No surprise, turning the Typhoon into a landing ship had shuffled a lot around inside. However, Nelly quickly showed Kris where Hovercraft Two was docked. Kris used a second gangway to slip back out; no need going through Thorpe's idea of motivation twice. She found the right patch of skin, gave the order over the ship's net, and watched as a hatch slowly opened, lowering the hovercraft from its travel bay.
In another three minutes, Kris had checked it out and mounted up her team. The corporal drove, Kris seated next to him. In the backseats, the marines let loose with whoops and shouts as they shot away from the Typhoon.
As the corporal dodged trees and bounced over rocks, and the celebration in back got louder, he leaned toward Kris. ''Thanks for getting us down, ma'am. I figured us for fried. I don't know many officers who could have done what you did. Getting us down was about all I was hoping for. Getting us down where we could help that little girl. Well, ma' am, you may not be a marine, but I'll Semper Fi with you anytime.''
''Thanks,'' was all Kris could manage. Father, you are wrong. A won election isn't the greatest feeling in the world. Kris doubted she'd ever feel more pride than she felt at this moment from her subordinate's praise. Better than medals any day.
The LACs were where they'd left, them. While three marines loaded Gunny's in the bay of the hovercraft, Kris and Li gave their own lander a once-over. The commlink was still as dead as horse cavalry. ''Go easy,'' Kris said as the three troopers lifted this one much more gently and deposited it in Hover Two.
''Yeah, be a bleeding shame to knock what's wrong with it back right,'' one private observed. Kris chuckled; just because they were marines didn't mean they were dumb… just, well, marines. The trip back was slower. By the time they reached the Typhoon, a cargo hatch was open in the ship's skin, so they drove right into the loading bay. Tommy was waiting, test kit in hand.
''Ready to tear into this piece of crap?'' Kris asked, as she dismounted.
''Nope,'' he said, relaxing against the bay door, ''thought I'd get some air.'' He waved his tester. ''Which LAC was yours?''
Kris had the marines unload it, then dismissed them. Tommy went straight to work. Kris found her locker and doffed her drop suit. She would have loved a shower but had no idea where one was in the reorganized ship. She settled for putting on yesterday's khakis. As she finished changing, Tommy waved her over to gaze with him into the innards of her cockpit. ''What can you tell me about my bum commlink?'' she asked.
''That my heart quit beating when you went off-line,'' he said.
Kris wasn't sure if that was just Santa Maria's Irish talking, or if Tommy was actually flirting. She dodged the question by ignoring him.
He went on, ''There's a recall out on the commlink. Subcontractor got a hold of a batch of nonspec parts, but they initially passed inspection, both his and the contractor… or so the paperwork says. Let me check this one.'' With the cover off, the inner workings of the cockpit stood bare. Kris didn't need Tommy's magic tester to find the problem; the circuit board he pulled showed scorched plastic.
''Any way to know if that's just dumb luck or if someone tinkered with the board?'' Kris asked, giving full rein to the paranoia she'd learned at her father's knee.
Tommy squinted one eye as he glanced her way. ''Who'd tinker with it? It's depot-level maintenance.''
Kris sighed, stood, and leaned against a closed locker. She eyed the parts laid out before her, trying to make sense of what she saw. Had a random distribution of bum parts almost killed her and her marines? And then saved them!
''What're you thinking?'' Tommy asked, squatting beside her.
''That I ought to debrief my team,'' she said to no one in particular. ''Didn't one of the books at OCS say something about critiquing an action, that talking things through will soften post-traumatic stress if anything stressful happened? Think almost frying on entry qualifies?''
''Grandma Chin and the ancestors would,'' Tommy agreed.
''Thing is, I'm feeling a tad stressed myself. Real soon, my father and I need to have a long talk about the procurement practices of his government,'' she said. Then something hit her. ''If that damn part was on recall, why hadn't it been replaced?''
''We didn't have a spare. Squadron Six's supply officer promised me a replacement in three days. We sortied on day two.''
''Luck? Right. You know, Tommy, I think I need to do something to change my luck. Any suggestions?''
''Have you tried leaving milk out for the little people?''
''I think I'll have a beer myself,'' she muttered. ''They can have any I spill.''
''Good by me,'' the leprechaun beside her grinned.
Before Kris could say anything more, both their commlinks went off, doing their level best to beep their way through the bugle notes of Officer's Call. Captain Thorpe had a very old notion of military decorum and motivation.
Kris and Tommy hit both their commlinks at the same moment, so they were treated to the same message, in stereo.
''Sequim's general manager requests the presence of all ship's officers at a reception being given at his residence at nineteen thirty local time. The Typhoon will lift for Sequim's main space port at seventeen hundred local. Uniform of the day will be dress white.''
Kris took a whiff of herself, decided she didn't like it, and went hunting for her quarters. With a little luck, her dress whites wouldn't look too bad after being trundled all over as the ship remade itself. Somehow, Kris suspected, her luck had been busy elsewhere this morning.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kris was right. Though her locker and wardrobe had managed to move themselves into the stateroom that Kris now shared with Chief Bo, Kris had no idea where the contents of her desk and lockbox were. Hopefully, they'd show up tomorrow when the ship got back into orbit. As expected, Kris's uniforms looked like they'd been put through a wringer. ''The girls have an iron in the main room,'' Chief Bo said as Kris surveyed the wreckage.
Under the ship's normal configuration, Kris and Bo occupied separate staterooms at the opposite end of ''the temple,'' that space where the Navy housed its ''vestigial virgins.'' This was someone's bright idea of how to keep men out of the enlisted women's sleeping quarters. Kris assumed it worked; she'd never bothered to catch any males making the run in or out of the spaces the enlisted women shared two to a room, or, more often, one to a room thanks to the Typhoon being below even the skimpy peacetime crew authorization. Since it was work hours, Kris didn't feel the need for a coughing fit before entering the enlisted women's area. The iron and its board were easy to spot, and despite theatrical levels of shock and dismay among her fellow cadets at OCS that a Longknife would iron her own uniforms, Kris had gotten the hang of it quickly.