Two buses rolled up to the shuttle, but their doors stayed closed while Kris's troops collected in the rain. Only when the trickle from the shuttle cut off, did the bus doors open.
A couple of dozen troops made a dash for the shuttle through the rain. There was no order in their leaving, no structure in their mad stampede for the freedom ride. Few had any attention for their replacements other than an occasional obscene shout or gesture. Tommy watched them, then gave Kris a shrug.
With the buses empty, the other two ensigns grabbed the front seats on the nearest one. ''Are they avoiding me or ignoring me?'' Kris muttered, standing in the rain as she oversaw the boarding of her ninety-six enlisted personnel.
''Maybe they've noticed that things can get lethal around you,'' Tommy said, a lopsided grin taking only part of the sting out of his words.
''And you?'' Kris shot back.
''I have the luck of the little people,'' he assured her.
''Then you and your little people take charge of that last bus. I'll handle the one with our prima donnas. Didn't anyone ever tell them that seniors enter a vehicle last?''
Tommy glanced up, blinking into the pouring rain. ''Whoever made that rule didn't spend much time on Olympia.'' Tommy headed for his bus, and Kris took the other and found herself stuck standing, the fifty-first person aboard a bus intended for forty-eight. A young spacer with a badly broken-out face offered her his seat. Mother or Father would have taken it without a second thought; Kris couldn't picture Grampa Trouble doing the same. She stood for the fifteen-minute ride.
The drive was as dismal as the port. The roads were more potholes than road; all the buildings showed the effect of water's constant assault. Somewhere a sewer main had broken, adding its slink to the misery. People plodded along, heads down, shoulders hunched against the latest downpour. Several windows gaped broken; a store had been burned out. Kris's crew grew quiet as the sights of desolation and despair accumulated.
They pulled into a compound, rusting barbed wire setting it off from the buildings around it. To the right was what might have once been an office building. Society's green and blue flag had been painted on the plywood that filled a broken window. Across a drowned and muddy park, two hotels rose, one to four stories, the other to ten.
The driver demanded Kris hurry her charges off his bus; he had other places to go, other fares to earn. Kris doubted that, but the buses were civilian, and the Navy always kept its people moving. Unfortunately, that just meant her troops hurried off the bus to stand in the rain. The truck that had followed them with their gear pulled up behind them. Its two civilians started tossing duffels into the deepest puddles around.
''Okay troops, let's form a line, single file,'' Kris ordered, ''to draw your baggage. You, you, and you''—she pointed at the biggest men in the ranks—''go help those civilians unload the truck. See that the kits land on dry land.'' That helped; the duffels started landing on their bottoms, standing where Kris could read the names on them. She rethought having the troops file by. Calling out names might work better.
''Is anybody in charge here?'' Tom whispered to her.
Kris's curt answer died in her throat as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The Admin building's door opened. A marine officer in battle dress strode out, back ramrod straight, a battle board slapping purposefully against his hip. There was no question who was in charge. From the scowl on his face as he took in this new addition to his command, there was also no doubt about his opinion of them.
''Atten-hut,'' Kris ordered.
''Who's in charge here?'' came from the officer, more a challenge than a question.
''I am, sir,'' Kris fired back, not hesitating a moment to take on her responsibility.
''And who might you be?''
''Ensign Longknife, sir.''
''Right.'' He eyed her for a moment, didn't seem to care much for what he saw, then turned his back. ''Form your personnel into two divisions, Ensign.''
An easy command, but one there was no way Kris could obey properly. By all that was good, holy, and Navy, Kris should turn to a chief and order him or her to form divisions. Anything else was unofficer. But all Kris had was a pair of second-class petty officers who'd shown no initiative on board or since arriving. No, what delusions of leadership as was here consisted of her and maybe Tommy.
What had Grampa Trouble said the morning he picked her up for her first skiff ride…without clearing it with either of her parents? ''If you're going to be damned if you do and damned if you don't, then do it—with panache.'' She turned to Tommy. ''Ensign Lien, form a division of your bus team.''
He saluted. ''Yes, ma'am,'' did a snappy about-face, and stepped into a deep pothole. Still, he kept his balance as he marched away.
Kris turned to face the milling group of sodden spacers and marines. ''My busload, form on me. Petty officers will form files to my left.'' As a suggestion, she pointed to where she wanted the few crows among them to stand. They took the hint and did so. Kris had one second-class and two third-class; that gave her enough for her first file. ''Dress right, dress'' got the petty officers' arms out. It began to dawn on the rawest recruit that they should have somebody's fingers touching their right shoulder. It caught on.
Twenty meters to Kris's right, Tom's busload went through the same drill. In a surprisingly short time, the mob transformed itself into two divisions of three ranks. They were still getting soaked and growing more miserable, but they looked Navy.
The other two ensigns watched all this from a dry overhang as if this was for their entertainment. Kris followed Hancock's lead and ignored them as she did her own about-face, saluted, and reported. ''Divisions are formed, sir. All new arrivals are present.'' The lieutenant colonel turned, a scowl still occupying most of his face. ''You have a manifest, Ensign?'' Kris dug it out of her pocket. She could just as easily have beamed it from her computer to his battle board, but he was doing this the old-fashioned way, and he had the rank.
The officer took the paperwork. Without a glance, he pocketed it. ''Welcome to Port Athens Marine Base. I am Lieutenant Colonel Hancock, and that is all the welcome and thanks you can expect to get here.
''Those of you who joined up to do good, look around. This is as good as it gets. Enlisted will be issued web gear and rifles. Carry them with you at all times on duty or on base. You will not take them off base while off duty. Officers.'' His glower got worse, if that was possible. ''You will also draw web gear and side arms. If you are smart, you will draw a rifle, too. If you don't know how to use one, learn.
''I've shipped three of you ladies home,'' he growled at the massed troops. ''One may actually get to keep that arm. I've shipped three people home and the only return fire so far has been from a young woman who managed to shoot a local with his own gun. She says it was self-defense. He has witnesses to the contrary. She's being tried by a jury of his peers, since she did it off base and on her own time. My advice to you boys and girls is to stay on base and consider all your time my time. Do it, and you just might make it home to your mommies.''
He turned to her. ''Ensign Longknife, is it? You one of those Longknifes?''
Kris turned her head just enough to look him in the eye. ''Yes, sir.'' She didn't add, General Trouble sends his compliments, despite the temptation. Trouble would not send any kind of compliment to Colonel Hancock. Not that Hancock.
''Figures.'' He scowled. ''Well, Ensign, have your booties report to Admin, then draw their web gear and check into their billet. If they hurry, they just might get some chow before the mess hall closes for the night. Admin will see they get issued ration chits and work assignments. I advise you to turn in any cash you're carrying as well as your personal credit cards. It's worth your life to carry them around here.'' He redirected his scowl from the troop formation to the two ensigns, then Tom, then Kris. ''You officers see me when you're done.''