First Casualty (26 page)

“It is armed now. Open it, and there will be a very big hole in the ground, and very little of us for forensics to find.”

“Let's see its effect.”

“We only have three.”

“A soldier practices with his weapon. Until you have fired the weapon, you are just reading a book.”

“Not an unexpected attitude, Major.” The spy master ducked into his car, returning with a strange gizmo. Briefcase under his arm, and whistling a happy aria, he plodded away. At three hundred paces, he stopped, did something, and hastened back to them. He offered Ray a small box. “Would you do the honors?”

The box was a cliché: one red button. Ray pushed it. Across the distance, he could hear the click as the briefcase fasteners were pushed open, a snap as the lid popped up. The explosion was not much louder than the noise the lid made. A small puff of smoke rose from the case.

“I've seen more dangerous firecrackers on Landing Day,” Rita snapped.

The spy stared at the quickly dissipating cloud for a moment, then nervously licked his lips. “I would appreciate it if you two left. I have some bomb disposal work to do. I will get in touch with you in a day or two.”

They left.

Rita turned on the radio; all stations were blaring marches or patriotic songs. She called up music of her own choosing from the car's memory and headed away from town. “There's a lake I used to love when I was a little girl” was all she said.

Ray leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath of the spring air, and concentrated on Rita beside him. Tomorrow could wait. Rita talked about yesterdays, sharing what it had been like growing up the treasured only child of a father rapidly building an empire and a mother both beautiful and vain. Ray imagined somewhere in there were the roots of the woman he loved. A woman who would insist on piloting her own starship and now very much wanted a child of her own. His child would probably grow up like Rita. Assuming he or she did grow up. Assuming the bomb killed the President and brought down the government. If Ray failed, everyone who ever knew him would be denounced, tortured, and murdered.
I will not fail.

They left the main road, meandered through trees and dales until Rita took off down a dirt road. A lovely lake came in view, but the trees hid it more often than not. Its waters reflected back the blue of the sky. Its surface was ruffled by the wind, but Ray saw no boats. Then Rita turned down a path that was more a hint than a road. For a few minutes the car fended off tree limbs and brush; then they came to a halt in a grassy area that gently rolled down to the water.

“Mom and Dad used to camp here, long ago, before they bought the summer home where everyone had a summer home. I asked Dad not to sell this patch. He gave it to me.” She helped him from the car, settled him on a blanket that just happened to be in the trunk, then began to undress. Slowly, methodically, completely, the clothes came off. “Now, we talk. No more bullshit. No more hiding behind nice words. We talk.”

It was uncomfortable, sitting there in uniform, facing his naked wife. But Ray was not willing to so much as loosen his tie. It was not the bare skin that he feared, but the bare soul Rita demanded. That, he most certainly was not prepared for. 'Talk about what?” he dodged.

“Oh, God, Ray.” She turned away in exasperation. “Somebody jiggered the bomb. Face it, our security is hash. Two to one you're walking into a trap. Even if you get past the guards and searches, how much you want to bet the damn bomb doesn't work?”

That was one question Ray could answer. “The bomb will work. I don't leave here until I'm absolutely sure it will blow the President and everyone in the room to whatever they expect after this life.”

She turned back to him, settled to her knees across from him, swallowed hard. “And you too.”

“This bomb will kill the President. Other considerations are secondary.” There, he'd said it.

Rita shot to her feet, paced around him like a cat stalking a mouse caught in a trap. “God damn you, Ray. No, God bless you. You always were a good soldier.” She did not look at him. “And there's no bloody way I can change your mind.”

“Is the President killing millions?” he asked her.

She shivered as she had when she saw the hanging bodies. “Yes.”

'Does he have to be stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know of anyone with a better chance of killing him?”

“Damn it, Ray, how should I? That spy says you're his best bet, but there're a hundred colonial worlds. How many of them have guys like our spy, all trying to kill our Unity shot'.'“

“I don't know. I just know I can do it. Rita, I've seen green soldiers freeze, and die for that lost moment. I've been a soldier all my life, and a killer for most of it. There's a lot things I can't do. This is one I can.”

“And you owe it to all those brave soldiers of the Second Guard that followed your orders and died. I watched you break down at the hospital when you faced your men. Do they mean more to you than me?” Tears streamed down Rita's face. Ray wanted to kiss them away. She kept pacing, far beyond his reach.

“Rita, I owe it to the men and women who died at my command. I owe it to your father, and the people working in his factories. Because I can do it, I owe it to every man, woman, and child on a hundred colony worlds and, yes, even Earth.” He paused, then played his last card. “And the child of ours that you want so much. You spoke of a million worlds opening to us. What will be left to us if we let this damn war burn humanity down to a husk? Someone has to stop the madness. I can. Would you really expect me not to try? Try with all I am?”

Rita was sobbing now, and tears were coming to his eyes. He let them flow. Rita ceased her pacing and settled beside him, her arms around his neck. It took his left arm to keep him balanced upright. His right arm went around her. For a long time, they cried together, holding each other as best they could.

Then Rita began to undress him. “I know I married a wonderful man. Some women look at a husband and see a man to remake. I looked at you and fell in love with what I saw. Even if I'd known then the price I'd pay for loving you, I couldn't have walked away. I loved the commander of the Second Guard. I knew when I flew you into battle that I might not bring you back. So what is so different about this mission from the others?”

Ray knew the difference. In one he took a soldier's risk.

Canes left behind, she helped him into the water. Free of his own weight, he floated. Rita let the water wash away their tears, the sun warm them. Then she brought out joy and happiness from her vast storehouse and made him laugh.

She started a water fight. In chest-deep water, he found he could stand well enough to splash back. The fight ended with them standing like lovers with four good legs, arms entwined. They explored each other. When Rita drew him into the shallows and made love to him, he had forgotten about tomorrow. She loved him. He loved her back.

Washed clean by the sun and water of both hope and fear, they lost themselves in love. For today, that was enough.

Eleven

“Lieutenant Rodrigo. How long since you've had a break?”

“I take one every day, sir.” Every few days battalion would ask that question. Each time she ended up talking to a higher-ranking officer. Mary was up to the battalion CO. Lieutenant Colonel Henderson was on the horn this time.

“Lieutenant, I don't mean the last time you caught a nap. I mean the last time you really kicked back and relaxed for a couple of days. Before they drafted you, right?”

Senior managers were usually idiots. Why did this one have to be different? “Pretty much, sir.”

“Lieutenant, you get your ass in here. If you don't report to my HQ before oh-eight hundred tomorrow, I will relieve you and put the greenest LT I can find in command of A company. You hear me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Mary, I'm not just being a stickler. Troopers who survive their first week on the line get sharp, damn sharp. But stay on the line too long and you get hollow. Start making mistakes. I don't want to lose troops to dumb. If I could, I'd give you a couple of weeks off, but I can't trust the colonials for that long. Couple of days will have to do. Come on, woman, get in here. Get drank. Get anything else you want. You'll be in a lot better shape when you go back.”

Mary gave up. “I'll be there, sir.”

“Good. See you soon. Battalion out.”

“Damn busybody,” Mary growled at the phone. “Don't you got nothing else to do?”

Mary looked up as several throats were cleared. Cassie, Lek, and Dumont filled her doorway. Cassie held a packed kit bag; they were smiling like the canary that ate the Cheshire cat.

“What are you all grinning at?” she tried to snap, but their smiles were contagious.

“At how well you obey orders. Sir.” Cassie shot back. “Your kit's all packed for three days.”

“Your coach awaits.” Dumont bowed and swept a hand outward.

“And since ain't nobody around here gots a glass slipper, we figured you might as well be on your way,” Lek finished.

“Somebody's been listening in on my mail,” Mary charged.

“A time-honored practice by worker bees who survive the confused misdirection they get from management,” Lek retorted.

Which knocked the wind out of Mary. Did they really see her as management?

“Come on, Mary.” Dumont came around the desk and, taking her hand, pulled her up. “As the colonel said, we can't have you stupid. And we sure as hell don't want to break in another officer. Two in one war ought to be a limit.” Arm gently on her elbow, he urged her toward the door. “Go on, Mary, have fun.”

The vote seemed unanimous! Mary collected her helmet, accepted her kit, and two minutes later was in her command rig, the driver going hell for breakfast for the center of the crater. Mary wondered if he had a three-day pass in his pocket, too.

Then she remembered. Except for a few mending in hospital, no one else in A company had R&R just now. For better or worse, she could let her hair down and not worry about someone telling tales to the troops. She wouldn't have to save anyone's bacon. Neither would she have anyone to pull her out of any brawl she started. She could never remember a time when she'd been this free of strings. More surprising, she liked the idea. Nobody to take care of; with a sigh, she spread herself out on the back seat.
What do we want, girl?

A bath. A bath and a decent meal. After that...

She was asleep before she got to whatever might come after.

“We're here, Lieutenant. You can take off your helmet.”

Her driver helped her out, made sure she had her gear, then headed back just as fast as he'd come. She really was on her own. Looking ridiculous with her helmet on, she un-dogged it and gently put it in her kit bag. A corporal gave her directions to battalion HQ. She reported to a sergeant only to find the colonel had left for C company two hours ago.

“He's taking out replacements and trying to come up with some new twists on Hambone's defense,” the sergeant told her.

“Well, if the colonel asks, tell him I got my butt in here. Know any place a woman can get a nice long bath and a good meal?”

The sergeant tapped her board, then scowled. “BOQ's full, as usual. You don't want to go near the Sommersby joints. Naomi's Place is good for a bath and a bed. Make sure she knows you're renting by the day ... and want clean sheets.”

Mary wondered how noisy the traffic would be in the hall. She'd slept through worse lately. “And a drink?”

“Officers usually drink at Joe's.”

“And honest people?”

This time the sergeant laughed. “Try the Dog Palace. Honest drinks and no more than one fight a night.”

“Thanks. Where's a safe place to stow my battle gear?”

“Armory's down the hall. Tell Sergeant Datril you've been on the line for a while and will be back for it in a couple of days. He'll see that it gets recharged and updated.”

“Thanks.” Mary hefted her kit and started down the hall.

“Tell Naomi that Beth sent you.”

Mary waved without looking back.

An hour later, clad in a. sweat-stained suit-liner that was enough for any off-duty miner, Mary went hunting for Naomi's Place. It wasn't hard to find the general direction. A dozen blazing neon storefronts along one underground avenue promised everything a man could dream of—booze, boobs, and all the rest.

It took sharp eyes to find Naomi's small sign. “Baths, Beds, Honest Rates.” Mary whistled at the rates. When had highway robbery become honest? Since she hadn't spent a dime of her pay in months, she figured she could survive three days. Mary sauntered into a room that wasted no money on lighting. “Beth told me to ask for Naomi,” she told the small oriental woman behind the counter. The woman backed, bowing, through a door, leaving Mary wondering if she'd helped herself... or just announced she was a pigeon ready for the plucking.

Moments later, a tall, olive-skinned woman appeared behind the counter. “What may I do for you?” she smiled.

“A bath and a bed for three days. Beth at battalion says to remind you I want clean sheets.”

“Of course, Sergeant... ?” The woman eyed Mary, as if measuring her for a ball gown or a coffin.

“Does it matter whether I'm NCO, officer or civilian?”

“Not if you do not want it to” came the fluid answer.

“My money's good. Just treat me like a human being.”

There was only a brief pause before the woman nodded. “They make the best guests. You may call me Naomi.”

“Mary, just Mary.” She presented her credit chit. If the woman wanted to know more about Mary, the chit would give it away. Naomi fed the card into a machine and did not glance at the screen while it was processed. When the machine beeped contentedly, she handed it across to Mary, still unread. Mary signed for three deluxe baths and three nights lodging, removed her card, wiped the screen and handed it back.

“Please follow me while I draw your bath. Do you have clothes to wash or mend?”

Mary did a quick mental inventory of her kit bag. She had no intention of wearing the uniforms. And not because they still had sergeant stripes. Everything else in the bag was underwear or toiletries. “Only the clothes on my back.”

“May I loan you something? We can't have our guests being mistaken for dirt miners or space riggers.”

Or whores
, Mary suspected. No, more than likely a lot of her customers were. Then again, the woman was offering to share clothes with Mary that weren't military issue. “I'd be grateful for anything you might lend me that would keep lonely troopers from sniffing around me.” When the bath was full, Naomi squirted several bottles into the tub, leaving it smelling like a garden Mary had once visited. Stripping quickly, Mary let herself down into the tub slowly, luxuriating in every delicious moment.

Naomi took her suit-liner and closed the door behind her.

For the next forever, Mary lost herself in the sheer joy of the fragrant liquid. Its warmth soaked through her, taking tensions and unkinking muscles she couldn't remember not hurting. Its buoyance lifted her, and her spirits rode right along. Now she knew what she wanted to be if she survived this war ... a professional bath taker. To Mary's surprise, when the water cooled, there was more hot water waiting. Deluxe!

A soft knock at the door. Naomi entered before Mary could manage a response. “How is the bath?”

“I know what hell's like. Now I've been to heaven.”

“If you should ever choose to leave heaven, I believe this dress will be most comfortable.” Mary had heard of the simple black dress; this one fit the bill. It said she was a woman. If she said no, the dress wouldn't confuse men. She had no intention of saying yes.

“Thank you. I am truly grateful.”

“You are not the first woman I have met who wanted free of her present for a few days. I am glad to loan you my dress. I have included nylons and a bra. They are disposable. Wear them if you wish something more feminine than the corps gave you.”

“Is marine tattooed on my ass?” Mary laughed.

“It was when you came in. I think it has washed off by now.” The other woman smiled.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she'd worn fancy underwear. “I'll take it. Add it to my bill.” She grinned.

“If you do not wish to look wrinkled as a newborn, you might want to consider ending your bath.”

“I never want to get out,” Mary groaned.

“I can arrange a full body massage,” Naomi offered.

“I've never had one,” Mary answered, suddenly unsure what was being offered.

“It can reacquaint you with your skin and make every muscle in your body happy to share that skin with you. If you've never had one, you really should try one.” So Mary found herself wrapped in a towel, padding barefoot down the hall to a warm room with a raised bed. Moments after she had settled under the clean sheets, a knock at the door and “Are you ready” came.

What followed proved to Mary that there were two levels of heaven: one for baths, the other for massages. On the line, her battle suit touched her constantly. Now, the delicious caress of fingers worked up and down her arms, legs, and back. Every inch of her skin got a personal moment of attention. Muscles Mary thought had relaxed now turned to water as the masseuse worked them, or just rested her warm hands on them. If Mary had gone limp in the tub, she became a puddle on the table.

A few strokes went long, touching on soft, intimate areas, offering to ignite them. God knows, Mary was hungry. But the emptiness inside her was too vast, too threatening to risk a quick tumble. Mary feared if she ever dared try to fill that void, she'd implode. She edged her legs closer together. The strokes were shorter, but no less relaxing, no less pleasurable.

Her hour done, the masseuse left Mary alone to dress. Getting up enough strength to roll off the table took a small eternity. Mary loved the feel of the bra and panty hose as she drew them across her reawakened skin. Shoes were waiting just outside the door—medium heels she could just manage to balance on. A tiny purse, like a lady might carry, was also there. Mary quickly transferred her ID and credit card, discovered her room was not yet ready, placed her gear in a locker, and left Naomi's Place to look for food and a drink.

The woman leaving was a far cry from the one who went in.

* * * *

Mattim stared into his beer, wondering if somewhere in the chaotic bubbles he might find his answer. After two long days of talks with Anderson, Umboto, Miller, and company he was no closer than he had been when they started.

The admiral wanted some way the Navy and the marines could work together. It sounded like a good question in her office, but out here, the answer was a bitch. Brigade lasers lacked the range. Kinetic weapons like rockets, rocks, or anything with energy and mass came with a problem. Newton was wrong; what goes up doesn't necessarily come down. That change in the law had damn near killed Mattim. Suspicion was that his capsule had been dinged by a grain of sand left over from the first desperate defense of this rock. No one offered to send a team to retrieve the capsule. Mattim had seen what the marines went through to save his life; damned if he'd order them back out there.

Mattim glanced around the Dog Palace as his brain spun; no familiar faces. Good. The brigade's officers were desperate for news from the outside or just a new joke, and Professor Miller took every chance to squeeze him about their jump data. Tonight, Mattim had ditched the others, switched to casual sweats, and was letting his mind wander. The place slowly filled as more people knocked off for the day. Most came in twos and threes, with group joining group and tables growing full. Except for a woman across the room from him, he was the only one drinking alone.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling lights. Rock mines sounded great, if you could keep them from becoming equal opportunity enemies. Miller had tracked the orbits used by colonials and the Navy in the six battles so far; no piece of space was not shared. Lofting aimed rockets at the hostiles wasn't likely to get past the four-inch secondary battery. Show them a large enough target and they'd dust it. Even a dust cloud like Anderson had used in the first battle could be partially swept by the four-inchers if they knew what to look for. Dust hadn't worked since that battle.