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"Stewart!" Pappas growled. "Where the hell have you been!"
Stewart knew better than to give the flippant reply he had rehearsed on the way from the parade ground to the barracks. If nothing else the bootprint made him very circumspect.
He assumed a position of parade rest. "Sorry, First Sergeant. If we thought you were having problems we would have been here sooner. I admit I pushed the `by sun-up' thing. No excuse."
Pappas shook his head. "Forget it. I knew you'd push it, but I didn't feel like I could send a ru
Stewart didn't even bother to protest. "Wilson," he said in a raised voice, "get Mi
"Yeah, boss?" asked Mi
"Put it back," rumbled Pappas, without even looking to see if it disappeared. "It's evidence."
Stewart nodded his head and the figurine made its way back onto the shelf.
"And put back the lighter," said Pappas, flipping through files in an unlocked cabinet.
Mi
Stewart shook his head. "Mi
The private nodded his head and got to work.
Stewart spun the wheel of the safe several times forward then back. After a few moments he nodded his head and began spi
"Don't open it," snapped Pappas. "We need the old man here." He headed for the door then stopped. "And don't."
"We won't," said Stewart.
"Okay," he said and headed out the door.
"Don't what?" asked Mi
"Don't take nothin'," said Stewart, "don't move nothin', don't touch nothin' you don't have to."
"Oh." The private punched a button and shook his head. "People think they're so fuckin' smart," he murmured. He inserted a floppy disk into the computer and started it up. When the password screen came up he punched the button on the black-box. The computer looked over the entry, decided that it liked it and let him in. "That's what happens when you change the password for the CMOS.
"What are we looking for?" he asked a moment later.
"Take a look around," said Pappas, coming in the door followed by Lieutenant Arnold and the MP private who was holstering his sidearm. "Take it from me, this is not normal décor for a first sergeant's office."
Stewart, overcome by curiosity, swung open the safe door and whistled. "Whewww," he exclaimed. "Let me see. Stacks of bills, a case of vials of something called Tolemiratine and some green crystals." He picked one up and examined it. "They're not emeralds," he continued, expertly. "What are they?"
"Well, I got a file that's called `Company Expenditures,' " said Mi
"Make it decrypted," said Lieutenant Arnold, coldly.
The private glanced up, got one good look at the acting company commander's face and began frantically tapping keys.
* * *
"Sergeant First Class Tomas Morales?" said the MP lieutenant. His nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol and pheromones wafting from the A
"You are under arrest," said the lieutenant as the NCO with him stepped forward and secured the former acting first sergeant. "The charge is peculation and black marketeering of restricted Galactic Technology. You have the right to remain silent . . ."
36
Andata Province, Diess IV
0947 GMT May 19th, 2002 AD
Organized resistance or a counterattack stubbornly refused to appear and Mike and Sergeant Green were left to ponder that in the darkness of the megascraper's bowels.
The two were in a small alcove off a main corridor. The bitter fighting around the perimeter of the entrapped divisions had caused massive damage to this portion of the megascraper. The lighting in the area was dim, the Eterna lights popping and sputtering from damage. The blue-green light was more countered than reinforced by the flickering light of fires. The area was given over to the light industry that permeated the Indowy megascrapers; this region seemed to be devoted to chemical processes. The ubiquitous Indowy paintings were dim and colorless under suit enhancement, defaced by the scars of railgun needles, the copper nicks of rifle ricochets and fire. The fractional distillers that filled many of the surrounding rooms had burnt like torches under the hammer of the guns.
In the past thirty minutes, Mike had begun to realize that the waiting really was the hardest part of a battle. Unable to properly fidget because of the suit, he kicked a bit of detritus on the floor at his feet then recognized it as the barrel and barrel shroud of an M-16A2. He looked around the alcove but could see no sign of the weapon's owner. A murmur to Michelle fixed the location for later possible retrieval, assuming they could find it after they dropped the building. Then he went back to waiting.
"We've had a hundred and twenty-three encounters among our forty-five perso
"Their rear area seems fairly soft, sir," said Sergeant Green. The NCO appeared to have the patience of a saint.
"Yeah, concur Sergeant. The only problem is getting through the rind. And, I'm sure, if the frontline troops had any idea we were here they'd be descending like locusts."
"How are the troops in the encirclement doing?"
Mike checked the schematic and studied the notations. "It looks like they're holding temporarily. The line hasn't reduced noticeably."
"Think the shuttles distracted the threat, sir?"
"Not for this long. And I don't think that the loss of ten or so God Kings could disrupt them that badly. I think the survivors of the armored divisions are just some bad mother fuckers." Mike snorted at the thought. It was always that way, the first battle often decided who would live or die for the rest of the war. It was one reason that veteran units were so dangerous in battle; they had a core of bitterly capable survivors.
"I guess the Posleen aren't too happy about how things are going, huh, LT?" asked the sergeant. Perhaps the waiting was getting to him as well.
"No, I suspect not," he said. There was a brief pause. "And," he continued, a note of animation in his voice, "they're about to have a worse surprise. The last team is complete!"
"Time to rock and roll!"
"Fuckin' A. Platoon," O'Neal called, the AID automatically switching him to broadcast mode. "All perso