Steel Walls and Dirt Drops (34 page)

Misha nodded her thanks as she watched the
intel crew stream past the APES and into the intelligence office. Clancy patted her on the shoulder on her way past to speak to Jimmy, who was frantically waving at her to come to him.

Forrester strolled into the room as if nothing out of the ordinary w
as going on. "Hey all, are you having a reunion without me?"

Brown shook her head in resignation, "I knew things were bad out there, but if you got saddled with that old geezer, then I am sorry for you, Third."

"Well, we all have our bears to cross," Misha said. "I need one more thing if you can?"

Krandiewsky said, "What would that be, Third?"

"Can you get a covert signal to Colonel Britaine in the flight office?"

"Not a problem, Third. At my desk, use the headset and punch the yellow button. It is
a hardwired direct line to the FO."

Britaine answered the call almost immediately. Misha could hear a buzz of irritation in his voice.

"Dammit, Third McPherson, where the hell have you been? I've been locked down here too long. That prick Paradise has got his mutinous buddies banging on the hatch every few minutes trying to get in. I thought you went for help."

"Sorry, Colonel Britaine
," she replied. "But, we ran into a bit of a problem with my people as well. It seems that neither one of us is very popular right now."

Britaine shouted
, "I don't give a muskrat's pooter about popularity. I want my spacecraft back. I can keep Paradise out of navigation and craft controls, but we can't go anywhere without engineering. Get up here and help me lock down the flight office. Then you and I will go to engineering and light a fire under those lazy bastards."

"Colonel, I think you should stay put. You
’ve got to keep Paradise out of navigation and control. I’m not entirely alone. Neither are you. You've got some good crew here backing you up."

"Who
? Get them up here to help me."

"I am in the
intelligence office with Major Krandiewsky and Chief Brown."

"Oh, Cripes!
You have office weenies? Damn, bring them up here anyway. I need help with these systems and I need somebody on guard at the hatch. And you, McPherson, get into one of your little tin-can suits and blow your way back into engineering. Get me some propulsion."

"Colonel
, I will do that if you order, but I think that might be a mistake. I've got some effective teams available and working. I don't think it would be wise to turn loose anyone in a combat suit inside this delicate spacecraft. One tiny mistake and we could rip holes in the hull big enough to drive a small moon through. To fit them through some hatchways, we would have to rip holes in the bulkheads. Those suites are just too big for most of these corridors. Plus, those suits have already been prepped for dirt drop and planetary combat. They are full of ammo, and by that I mean high explosives. I think I can re-take engineering with little or no loss of life or most importantly, no damage to the engines."

There was silence for a moment. "Yes.
Above all, I don't want damage to those engines."

Through the headset, Misha heard a pounding in the background.

Britaine muttered, "What the hell are they trying to do now? It sounds like they plan on knocking the hatch down."

Misha said, "Colonel? I sent some of my people up there
; APES that I trust. They should be there by now. They can guard you and give you a hand until Major Krandiewsky can get some of his people up there. Colonel, are you all right?"

"Yes, I
’m fine," he snapped. "How the hell do I tell if it is your APES out there and not more of Paradise's stooges?"

Misha rolled her eyes
upward, glad the signal only carried audio. "Try the hatch intercom, Colonel."

"Do you think I
’m stupid, McPherson? I shut it down earlier, and um…I shut it off rather forcefully. I got tired of listening to the lies and false promises of Paradise and his followers. Now, all I get is a buzzing noise when I open the comms."

"Well, Colonel. Go to the
hatch comm. Ready? Press the buzzer to get a long dash. Good now do a short dot and a long dash. Okay. Then a dash-dot-dash. Last one is a dot-dot-dot. That spells TAKS. It's a special code for Second-Level Commander Takki-Homi. He's the one I sent up to help you."

"Okay, Third. I did that. Now what?" His voice sounded as if he thought the whole episode was a foolish waste of time.

"Colonel, did you get an answer?"

"Yes,
I got an answer," he replied with a sneer to his voice.

"Well?" Misha asked.
She was struggling to keep the irritation out of her voice. The man had developed such a pattern of keeping information to himself it was a habit. It was obvious he still did not recognize that his inability to share relevant data had brought about the present situation.

"Well what?" Britaine
asked.

"Well, what was the reply?"

"Oh," he said. "I heard a dot-dash-dot, then a dot-dash-dot, and then a dot-dash-dot."

"Are you sure the middle
set wasn't dash-dash-dot?" Misha was sure that the reply had been RGR, but Britaine was reporting it as RRR. Still, it was close enough.

"Yes, I
’m sure, dammit. I wrote it down so I would be sure. So, what the hell do I do?"

Misha smiled, "Colonel. I would open the
hatch and say hello to Second Takki-Homi."

Misha looked around at the people gathered in the intelligence office. Officially Major Krandiewsky was in command, but he was just standing there looking back and forth between her and Chief Brown. As an APE, Misha didn't have any authority other than her force of personality over any spacer staff regardless of rank. She was sure the Major would do whatever she ordered, but she was equally sure that she could not run roughshod over Chief Brown. No enlisted person ever reached that rarefied rank without an understanding of what the organizational chart said, plus a true knowledge of who was really in charge.

Misha nodded to
both, "Major, I suggest you split your forces. Chief Brown doesn't need all, or even have room for all three of your shifts to run the intel shop, so you could take a few of your people up to the flight office to give Colonel Britaine a hand. What do you think, Chief?"

Chief
Brown replied, "Sounds right to me, sir. You know Colonel Britaine would be much happier with you up there than a mere enlisted person. I doubt if who you take with you much matters. Just leave me Clancy, Cuffs and Jimmy. As long as we are dead in space, there isn't that much outside intel to gather."

Forrester lowered his voice so that only Misha, Chief Brown and the Major could hear. “Just between us; I don’t get this whole mutiny thing. This spacecraft is jam-packed full of highly trained, well-disciplined military people. How can they just ignore all that and
commit mutiny against the rightful commander?”

Misha smiled, “Spoken like a real civilian and an investigator at that.”

Forrester frowned, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Most civilians get the wrong idea about the military. They think that we
’re all just killing machines who always toe the mark and blindly obey every command. And as an investigator, you’re used to thinking a situation through to its logical conclusion. The military is made up of people who are neither robots nor exceptionally logical.”

Brown nodded, “Amen to that! I think about thirty percent of any
group, the military included, thinks with their crotch. Mostly, that would be the thirty percent that are men. Thirty percent of any group only thinks with their emotions. Again, mostly that would be the women part of the group. And thirty percent only follow the crowd, caving to peer pressure.”

Misha smiled, “Sounds about right. That would leave about
ten percent of any group of people thinking logically. But, even logical thought doesn’t mean their course of reasoning will lead them to the right series of actions, because everyone’s train of thought is colored from the beginning by their own agenda and desires.”

Major Krandiewsky said,
"Chief, I know we already discussed this, but are you sure we shouldn't stay out of this command mess? I mean, what if Paradise is right? Wouldn’t logic dictate that we keep to our own jobs?"

Brown snorted. "Okay, Buzz. Look at it this way; it doesn't matter if Paradise is wrong, right or completely indifferent. He doesn't have the authority to relieve Britaine under any circumstances. Only the chief medical officer on a vessel can certify the commander is unfit for duty either physically or mentally. Doctor
Dimms has made no such announcement nor has Paradise even claimed he has. I doubt that Paradise has asked him to make a certification. Puke would be risking more than his military and medical career to pronounce a commander mentally unfit. Do you know how many times a flight surgeon has made a psychologically unqualified certification in all the eight hundred years of the Alliance?"

The other three
shook their heads.

"Well, I do
," Brown continued. "I looked it up. It has happened just once, about 750 years ago. A court-martial pronounced him guilty of mutiny and he was hung along with everybody else who did not give active support to the legal commander."

"Hung?" Misha was startled. "You mean with a rope."

Brown smiled, "Yep. That is a pretty picture, huh? And that is still the standing punishment for AMSF mutineers."

Krandiewsky shook his head, "But, what if a commander is unfit?
Surely the medical staff has some discretion."

Brown said, "I
’m sure they do. There are a lot of cases where a commander is relieved of duty because of physical damage. Plus there are a butt load of cases where a commander is relieved of duty because of mental defect. But, and this is a bigger butt than Spacer Third Class Masterson down in environmental has got, every case of mental defect has documented and I mean a bushel basket full of documented physical and chemical imbalances that a doctor can see, measure, photograph and chart. Even then, except for that one time, it was only done when the spacecraft was at a base, using multiple base doctors and base facilities."

Misha said, "
That’s really a moot point. Major Paradise hasn't said Colonel Britaine was crazy, just a coward. I don't like siding with anyone running from a fight, but I like the sound of being hung with a rope even less."

Brown reached out a hand and squeezed Misha's bicep. "Don't worry, Third McPherson. I
’m sure they couldn't find a rope to hold you. They’d probably have to use a docking cable."

Misha gave Chief Brown a sweet smile.

Brown continued, "I don't like supporting a coward either, but unless the command stalemate gets broken, we’re all truly screwed because this spacecraft isn't going anywhere fast. And speaking of going: Misha, can you provide Buzz with a couple of your grunts to help him get past any of Paradise's people?"

Krandiewsky waved his hand
dismissively, "No. I’m sure that wherever Third McPherson is going, she’ll need all the hands she has available.”

Brown said in a voice everyone in the room could hear, "Oh, better leave Rickie and Sticks here, too. Those two idiots don't know when to keep their mouths
shut and they’re liable to get us all in hot water if they are around Colonel Britaine for too long. I can put them on some internal monitoring."

Rickie looked at everyone in the room with mock horror. Sticks blew an
old-fashioned razzberry.

Brown smiled and said. "By the way, Misha
, how do I contact you if I run across internal information you need to know? You seem to be using some special APE code."

"Well, Chief. You need to talk to my
intelligence staff, Troopers Lamsa and Everridge. You can rig up a secure comms line between the three of you. Let me go find them and you can get something secure set up."

Forrester spoke up
before she could exit the hatch to look for Everridge and Lamsa. "Hold up, Misha. You’ve got better things to do than be a liaison between APES and AMSF intelligence staff. This sounds like a task specifically designed for an old Marshal Service data pusher."

Misha said, "Thank you, Gan.
Tell them I said to do it double time. We’ve got places to go, things to see, and people to do."

Chapter
Fifty-Three

Race Jackson shouted down the corridor in frustration. "Dammit, Taks. You're on the wrong side of this. We should be fighting the Binders and not each other. Come on and answer me, you stubby little bastard."

Sigget
Donnellson looked at his Second. "I don't guess he’s going to give up without more of a fight."

Foxtrot
Squad clustered at the corridor intersection. Jackson had backed up until he had two blind angles between him and Taks’ squad defending the FO. He lay on his stomach, peering around the first angle. This gave him a clear angle of fire for anyone coming around the other angle ahead. The double corner also gave him cover against any ricochet fire from Taks.

Race spit onto the deck plates, causing a nearby trooper to slide a little
closer to the bulkhead. "Dammit, Sigget. We have both Foxtrot and Kilo Squads against just a couple of guys from Taks’ Charlie Squad. We know Kranitchovich's Hotel Squad has got half of Charlie locked down in the training bay. Even if he hooked up with McPherson, we've got a lot better than three to one superiority."

"Yeah
and we have at least twice as many needlers. We know they don't have more than two weapons."

Race snorted, "How do you figure that?"

Donnellson replied, "One to fire at us this way and one to fire on Kilo from the other direction. I’m not stupid, you know. I only heard two needlers going when first bumped heads and they shot at us and took down a couple of your rookies." He glanced behind him as their med-tech Dashell worked feverishly over a prostrate form.

Race said, "Yeah, but you know how Taks works. He was scrounging for weapons all the way here. Just because he didn't commit them in our first brush doesn't mean he doesn't have them.
But, it doesn't matter, Second Moraft said to get Britaine out of the flight office and give control of the Kiirkegaard to Paradise. We've got to figure a way in there."

"I am not going down this corridor into the spray from even one needler
," Donnellson said. "That’s suicide without armor."

"Yeah, but we don't have armor, do we? Hey wait! We don't need combat suits. All we
’re getting from Taks in needler fire. We can stop that with any metal shielding. Go grab a couple of tabletops from somewhere. Rip them out of the walls for all I care. Take a couple of troopers with you."

Race thumbed his
comm unit on. Static blasted his ears. Someone was jamming communications. He ordered the glass-pack to squelch any interference and search for an open channel to anyone in Kilo Squad. He would have to send a runner around the long way to let Kilo Squad know what he was planning if he couldn't get through to Second Cauton by comms. Both squads needed to use shielding and attack at the same time to get at the FO. Takki-Homi was defending and could hold against a superior force. The edge always went to a well dug-in defender. Surprise was no longer in the equation. Race had lost one trooper already and he had one wounded. He did not mind losing rookies to Taks needler fire; he just did not want to join those rookies any more than Siggit did.

Race looked behind him at Dashell and mentally updated his count to two dead in their first encounter with
Takki-Homi. It surprised Race that Takki-Homi had gotten his defenders in place before Race could get Foxtrot and Kilo to the flight office. "Dammit," He said to no one in particular. "Theda was right. We spent too much time looking for that bitch, McPherson. Now Taks has got the high ground on us."

The
trooper next to Race said, "High ground? What gives, Deuce? This is on the same deck. It's level."

Race shook his head, "It's a figure of speech,
numb-nuts. It means he has the upper hand in terrain. Don't look so frightened, rookie. No fight is perfect. He may have the high ground, but we have numbers superiority in personnel and weapons, plus we have mobility. With a coordinated attack between Kilo and us we can hit him at the same time from two directions."

Jackson’s comm unit beeped as it signaled a channel through to someone in Kilo. He tapped his unit open. “Second Jackson of Foxtrot calling anyone from Kilo.
Who have I go?”

"This is Trooper
Eleven Smith," a young woman’s voice answered.

"Good.
Smith, you tell Deuce Cauton that we've got Takki-Homi flanked. Grab a couple of metal shields from somewhere to use against the needlers. Tabletops should work if he can get them free. We do a coordinated attack on the flight office in exactly thirty tics. Exactly, on my time hack! Got it?

"
I got it, Mr. Jackson. I will relay the message right away."