First Casualty (22 page)

“Thank you for your opinion, Sergeant. I'll take it under consideration. HQ out.”

Mary switched off before Cassie could argue with her. Before the soft voice would remind her of another person she no longer could afford to be. “Rest is for the dead,” Mary muttered, and checked the ammunition expenditure for the last four hours. Battalion wouldn't like it, but she'd forward the list to them. If she had to look like a company, she had to shoot like one. Supplies and how they got here was a Navy problem. It was her job to see that every round counted.

She'd taken care of her job. Those Navy pukes had better take care of theirs.

Mary glanced at the list of the messages that had backed up during the firefight. One said she was a first lieutenant. The rest were end-of-month reports; she'd be all night. She didn't mind all the reports. She didn't even mind all the colonials. She just wished they'd get their acts together and coordinate.

* * * *

Rita told her story as she spooned soup into Ray, her mother and father at her elbow, the handyman and cook standing at the door of his parlor. “They knew we were coming. There were Earthie ships all over the place.” A spoonful of broth.

“I think our admiral goofed when he killed their last one. This one's a fighter.” A spoonful of broth.

“They went straight for us transports. It doesn't take a genius to know that you can dash around in space all you want, but Ray's ground-pounders were the ones who'd give us that damn moon.” A spoonful of broth.

“I took hits, but landed in one piece. I had a hundred troopers, and every one of them was alive when they left the Friendship.” A spoonful of broth.

“We had cargo rigged for a quick drop. I offloaded despite a missile damn near taking the rockets out from under us. The
Brotherhood
wasn't so lucky.” A spoonful of broth.

“When we booted out of there, I thought the worst was over, but the Earthies weren't done with us. They hit us hard. Cadow died. Hesper died. We lost most of our comm gear. The main tanks were hit, streaming, making us a target, so I ducked and ran, headed in-system, away from the fight. There were other, smaller, gas planets. I refueled from one.”

The bowl of broth was in her hand. Her eyes were somewhere else. Ray had been there. He was hungry now, but not hungry enough to call her back. He waited.

“We patched her tank as best we could. Comm was lost: We could barely navigate. Once everyone had left, we tried for the jump. More by luck than anything else, we found it. I even made it to the next jump point. There was a tiny picket boat that took us aboard. We aimed the Friendship at the sun and left her. I tried to call. They said the battle was under strict secrecy. The Earthies kicked ass, and our brass doesn't want anyone to know. Christ, the Earthies damn well know what they did.” She glanced at her father. “The Earthies aren't the ones the brass are keeping secrets from.” Her father, her mother, and Ray nodded. The handyman and cook just stared.

“I landed a half hour ago. They said I needed to debrief. I told them where they could go and grabbed the first car I could get my hands on. I'm afraid, Dad, it may be considered stolen.”

“William and I will return it. William, you may drive my car. I will drive the borrowed one.”

“Yes sir.” The handyman looked relieved.

“Oh, Ray, it must have been horrible for you.” She threw her arms around his neck. The soup bowl, inconveniently placed and forgotten, spilled its contents. Neither mother nor cook fussed. For a long time, Ray just held Rita as she cried. Now the tears came. She was here, safe in his arms. He would never let her leave.

* * * *

Mattim joined the wardroom for breakfast. Guns presided like a proud grandfather over a table of chattering middies. At Sandy's table, personal computers took up as much space as trays. The damage control officer, Gandhi, had a table with one vacancy; he headed for it. The officers at her table were watch-standers, leaders of the divisions that kept environmental support going, the ship working while the flashy kids explored stars. They led the young and scared able spacers who held the ship together. They deserved his attention.

They also fell silent as he sat down. Half his plate was empty, this table a quiet island in the sea of stormy, excited conversation, when one JG put his fork down and looked square at him. “Are we going to make it back, sir?” Forks hesitated just short of mouths. Eyes, directly or furtively, were on him. They had a right for a straight answer from their captain.

“We've gone out, and we've come back.”

“Yes sir, but we didn't. ..” An ensign fell silent as she was nudged by the officers on either side of her.

“Right, Ensign. We went, but not where we wanted to go. Not yet. The team we've put together here on the
Sheffield
has learned more about the jump points in the last couple of days than the best scientists have learned in the last three hundred years. We've still got some trial and error. I'd like to tell you we'll have it all together for the next jump, but it may be the fifth or the tenth. Still, if I was a betting man, I'd give better than even odds we're home in a month. Six weeks at worst. And you can pass that along to your chiefs, and they can tell the crew. We've got sensors like no other ship before us. The best the Navy has and the best my
Maggie
had as a merchant ship going through jumps the Navy would never touch.”

“Right,” Commander Gandhi agreed. “We got the best of both worlds. And those kids may have been a pain in the ass to lead, but no one ever said they weren't smart.”

There were murmurs of agreement around the table. Most plates were empty. A collection of late-rising middies were just exiting the steam tables, plates full. The officers around Mattim excused themselves. He sent them on their way with a smile, hoping he'd made their day better.

Quickly, he found himself surrounded by the kids, talking between themselves. Arguments over the data were settled by dueling computers. Arguments over the significance of the results were settled with rising voices. Following Guns' lead, he let it roll for a while before rapping a glass with a fork. “Let's take it down to a dull roar. Volume does not make truth.”

Shamefaced, the two culprits did. A few minutes later, Mattim dismissed himself. His departure did not interrupt a discussion of something he knew nothing about.

* * * *

The house returned quickly to the bustling, happy place it had been. Rita had Ray on the rails, walking. It took him two days to recover to where he had been; Rita was merciless. She was also loving.

Mr. Nuu watched the news each day. The propagandists were in hyperdrive. The dead were saints; Earthies were devils. Every man, woman, and child along the frontier must avenge the fallen martyrs. More workers were called up, divisions formed. Ray frowned at the reports. Why organize troops you could never use?

Rita discovered she was an unwanted commodity. Less than half the transports had survived, and most needed major time in the body and fender shops. Despite the casualties among the crews that came back, the brass weren't sure they would have a ship for her. She cut the flip-flopping at Personnel by demanding to be seconded to Military Intelligence.

“They knew we were coming. Who's looking for the leak?”

She got her reassignment, but to Threat Assessment, not Internal Security. “At least I can stay close to you,” she told him. That was all that now mattered to Ray.

Rita's father was changing. The near death of his daughter had drained something out of the buff, confident industrialist. There were no more references to his early party membership, and the news reports did not go un-commented upon, though never when the cook or handyman was in the same room.

Still it was a surprise when he asked Ray to visit his plant. “I'll go too,” Rita jumped in. Ray shrugged; he'd had enough of being the invalid. It was clear, even to him, that he would never command troopers again. He might as well get to know the industrial side. He had married the boss's daughter; there had to be something he could do with himself.

The “plant” turned out to be a sprawling complex that they drove through on an electric cart. “This is just the ground side. We've got mines in the asteroids. The dirty work is done there. One of the larger shipyards in orbit is mine, too.”

“Dad began with that little shop we started at,” Rita said, pride shamelessly dripping from her voice. “When I was just a little girl, I'd go there. I've watched it grow.”

“These were good times.” Ernest—
yes, they were now Ernest and Major; Ray had been offered and ignored
— shrugged off his daughter's praise, but with a happy smile. “People were looking for work. I gave them jobs. The more work we did, the more opportunities came our way. We grew together, me and the crew.”

“Have you been able to keep them together, your workers, what with the draft?”

“Some volunteered. I've promised them jobs when they return.” It was kind of him to say “when,” not “if.” “Out in the mines, I just installed some new equipment, reduced my staffing needs by half. I'd intended to spread the miners out and expand. I'll save that for after the war. Unlike other companies, I've managed to keep the raw materials flowing to the plants. My people are busy, and the draft boards have plenty of idle workers elsewhere.” He shrugged. “Some say I'm using my connections with the party. Maybe, but if I did not deliver the ships, war supplies and other gear, they would not remember my low party card number for long.”

Ray had been checking out the equipment; jigs, presses, drills in one shop; chip fabrication in another building. “You have a very sophisticated setup. The names on your heavy equipment read like a who's who of the largest corporations in developed space. How could you afford it?”

“It is close to lunchtime.” Ernest's face had gone flat.

We have a picnic basket, and I always keep green around my plants. Let us eat among the trees.”

* * * *

As usual, Mattim's check with Guns and Sandy showed teams hard at it and swapping members back and forth. Thor's teams, done with the present system, had expanded the scope of their study to the galaxy's core. Nobody had ever been this close. Kids at Christmas could not be happier. Mattim wasn't sure how that would get them home, but he wouldn't rain on their parade.

Since nobody had any miracles to report, Mattim did what he usually did when things were slow aboard the
Maggie D
; he took a walk. Starting at the bow, he worked his way down. Any work party got a few moments' pause to observe. Some seemed a bit flustered by the attention, but there were enough hands from the
Maggie
who knew him. After one old chief asked his officer's permission and invited Mattim over to see how they'd patched some battle damage, the rest got the hang and invited him over for proud sessions of show and tell.

The
Sheffield
wasn't just being patched. Imaginative ratings and recruits were changing her, adding improvements, making her stronger. None of these were solo performances; each involved checking with the chiefs and officers. Each mod went into damage control's data file. Here was a captain's job as Mattim had learned it. Observe and praise. Toss in a suggestion here and there. Running a ship, that he understood. Running the galaxy he'd leave to any god who wanted the job.

He enjoyed the day, including lunch and supper on the mess decks with whatever team he happened to be with when they got the word to knock off for chow. The crew looked a lot happier, and even a bit relieved. How bad could it be? The old man had time for us enlisted swine. Things were looking up.

Mattim found himself relaxing, too. He finished his day with a drop by the teams. Guns' and Sandy's teams looked wilted. He shooed them out of the room and threatened to post a guard on it until 0800 tomorrow. Muttering counterthreats of mutiny, rebellion, and a strike, they went.

Thor's stargazers were in just as grubby a state. Mattim considered giving them the same treatment, flipped a coin, and decided no. If somebody wanted to see into the heart of their god, why interfere? He did turn up the air flow.

* * * *

The industrialist was strangely quiet as he guided the cart among the trees, as if hunting for just the right place for their lunch break. Rita did the final preparations while her father meandered around them, whistling off key and frequently glancing at his watch. “Father, I am working as fast as I can.”

“Oh. Sorry, dear. Not you at all. Something else.”

“Will someone be meeting us?” Ray asked from where he still sat in the cart.”

“I certainly hope not.”

Sandwiches prepared to order, Rita settled on the blanket she had spread. Ray took a bite, swallowed, then casually said, “Ernest, how could you afford the plant machinery? The costs and the duties for half of that would beggar a business man. You do not live in poverty.”

Ernest laughed, glanced once more at his watch, and shook his head. “No, my family does not live in poverty. My plants were built debt-free. Or at least they were before those crushing war taxes were passed.” He pursed his lips, studied his daughter and Ray. “Major, I hope you and my daughter will have a long and happy marriage. I hope to pass all of this along to you”—now his face took on the impish grin Ray saw so often on Rita—”and my grandchildren. I wish you much success growing this business, so let me tell you how my garden grows.”