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«I don't remember a bit of it. I mean, some of the guys got to really groove with the experience. Some of the platoon couldn't find bolt holes in time and they were on the roofs when it went. Now that would be a rush.»
«A rush?» gasped one of the colonels in the periphery.
Mike rounded on the officer, with a look of disbelief on his face. «Sure, sir, can't you just see it? That wall of flame coming right at you and all you can do is duck and cover? I mean, like, what a rush!» He smiled ferally as the generals laughed. Most of the American aides, none less than a major in rank, were remarkably short on medals indicating combat time. They obviously were not sure to what extent the aggressive captain was joking.
Crenaus's aide, wearing the same medal, snorted and shook his head. Having met the junior officer at his best, and worst, he had no doubt of the little firecracker's sincerity. Deuxieme Armore called him «The Little Shrew» and spoke it in hushed tones. Not for any spitefulness, but because, weight for ferocity, shrews were the most deadly thing on earth. And quite utterly fearless.
«Oui, in a suit perhaps,» interjected Géneral Crenaus, genially. «But most of us were not in suits. It was quite unpleasant from my point of view.»
«Sure, sir,» slurred Mike. «That's why I gave you thirty—hic—seconds warning.»
«Twenty. You said thirty and detonated at twenty. Merci beaucoup, by the way, and what a surprise that was!»
«C'est la guerre. Vingt, trente, who's counting.»
«We were, certainment. With our, how do you say it? 'pedal to the metal' we were. 'Dix-neuf . . . ' Wham! Zee Camera of God!» the general continued, mock angrily.
«Bitch, bitch, bitch,» Mike snorted and took another slug.
Géneral Crenaus laughed again, hard, as at another thought. «Your Private Buckley did not think it was, as you say, a 'roosh.' «
«Heh, yeah, I heard that one afterwards. Hah! And I thought I was havin' a bad day.»
«Would you care to let the rest of us in on the joke?» asked General Taylor, settling rather heavily on the head table.
«Oui, it is a good one,» said Géneral Crenaus, gesturing at Mike.
«Well, come on in when you want. Where to begin?» mused Mike, taking a sip of bourbon.
«At the begi
«Yeah. Well, Buckley was one of the guys caught under Qualtren. Now, we had to extract ourselves from the rubble, which we did by blowing through with our grenades and stuff, not a technique I suggest to the unarmored.»
«Oui, they are after all . . .»
« . . . antimatter!» Mike finished. «Right. So, everybody was able to figure out how to do this successfully except the unfortunate Private Buckley, or Lefty as we came to call him. Private 'Lefty' Buckley, on his first try, slipped out his grenade, extended it as far away as he could, since it was, after all . . .»
« . . . antimatter!» chorused Géneral Crenaus and his aide.
«Right. So he sticks his arm out as far as it will go, pushing through the rubble, and thumbs the activator.»
«Oui, oui! Only to find that he can't retract his arm!» crowed the French general, belly laughing.
«Yeah! The rubble shifted and it's caught. So, like, this is go
«It's a ten-second count?» asked General Horner, looking grim, which for him was the same as smiling.
«Right, right. So like . . .»
«Dix, neuf, huit, sept . . .» interjected Crenaus, with tears of laughter in his eyes.
«Right, ten, nine . . .» Mike translated, «and then . . .»
«Wham!» interjected General Taylor, laughing.
«Right. Like, 'Whoa, is this a Monday or what?' Anyway, it didn't, doesn't really hurt, or it wouldn't be so fu
«So, what does that have to do with the command ship detonation?» asked one of the surrounding aides.
«Well,» continued Mike, with another sip of bourbon. «Lefty has made it to the perimeter, and performed a really decent private's job, as well as he can left-handed. And when the command ship lifts he's one of the guys that goes with Sergeant Green.» Mike paused and solemnly lifted his glass. «Absent companions . . .»
«Absent companions,» the officers chorused.
« . . . he went with Staff Sergeant Alonisus Green to distract the command ship away from the Main Line of Resistance and focus its attention so that I could attempt to plant a friggin' antimatter mine on its side,» he ended, quite solemnly.
«There was supposed to be a humorous punch line,» said General Horner as the pause became elongated.
«Right, sir,» said Captain O'Neal after a sip of his sour mash. « . . . so anyway the whole cockamamie thing works, I get through the defenses, plant the mine and do my now famous imitation of a piece of radioactive fallout . . .»
«Ten seconds early, might I add!» interjected Géneral Crenaus.
«Man, some people wouldn't be happy if you hanged them with a gold rope! I go 'to infinity and beyond' and all the friggin' Frenchie can do is complain about premature detonations. Where was I, sirs?»
«Detonation,» answered a very junior aide, a mere stripling of a major.
«Right,» said the captain. «Well, the mine works like a charm, except for some minor little secondary effects . . .»
«Another three meters and I would have been steak tartare!» the general shouted, holding his arms in the air.
«With all due respect: Quit interrupting, General, sir. Anyway it packs about the wallop of a Class Three Space Mine and it causes some nasty secondaries, most of which are, fortunately, directed away from the MLR and certain u
«Did I say I was ungrateful? General Taylor, General Horner, I call you to witness, I never have said I was ungrateful. Nervous? A touch. Frightened? Merde, yes! But not ungrateful, you dwarf poltroon!»
«Hah, stork! Anyway, it tears the living shit out of the command ship, but about a third of the ship hangs together. It apparently was really spectacularly visible from some of the positions on the MLR. This big piece of space cruiser describes a beautiful ballistic arc almost straight up, looking like it's moving in slow motion,» expounded Captain O'Neal, gesturing with both hands. «You have to remember, this is to the background of a relatively small but quite noticeable nuclear blast . . .»
«About four kilotons,» interjected Géneral Crenaus, taking a hard pull on his cognac, «and less than a kilometer away!»
«More like three kilometers. Anyway, it rides up on the mushroom cloud, describes this tremendous vertical arc and comes gracefully back down . . .»
«Right on Buckley,» hooted Géneral Crenaus and cracked up.
« . . . right smack dab on Private Second Class Buckley. He was one of the guys who was on the roofs, in the blast radius . . .»
«Sacré Bleu! I was in the blast radius!»
«You guys should have hardly felt it in the blast shadow from the buildings!»
«Blast shadow he calls it! Oui! They were around our ears!» shouted the general, hands waving on either side of his head. «I know, I know . . .» he continued, holding up a hand.
«Bitch, bitch . . . anyway, here's Buckley, grav-boots clamped to some nice powerful structure, miraculously alive, survives looking right into the shockwave, survives looking right into the neutron pulse, survives looking right into the thermal pulse . . .» Mike paused dramatically.