Fitz backed off, and Bennett fell to his knees again. “Get him up against the wall bars.” Fitz pointed. “Bennett. I’ll fight you anytime you like. But not now. Later.”
The big man looked at him through dulled eyes, as three of his friends hauled him upright and over to the wall bars. “Later.”
“Hold on to the bars. And don’t look at them. Your face is a bloody mess.”
“Ten-shun!” yelled someone from the door.
Fitz stood rigidly facing the wall bars, blood trickling down his face.
“As you were. Carry on.” The captain walked slowly around the room. Fitz did some slow pull-ups on the bars. He saw, from the corner of his eye, that Bennett was doing push-ups. Well, that was one thing all of them could probably do by now, even if punch-drunk. And it kept his face down.
It was a long exercise session, until someone at the door said, “All clear.”
Bennett stood up. His mouth was bloody. It would be badly swollen by nightfall. His rebroken nose did not make him look any less like a gorilla. “What’s a Shareholder doing here anyway?” he asked, awkwardly feeling his nose.
Fitz watched him, warily. The man didn’t look as if he was about to attack again, but he’d been fooled once. “I volunteered.”
The Vats in the gymnasium gawped at him.
“Why?” said one finally.
Fitz shrugged. Answering honestly might save him continuing this fight or having too many others. “I am supposed to have killed a man. He was in a coma last I heard.”
“Who?”
“Talbot Cartup.”
* * *
Fitz hadn’t been prepared to find himself a hero. He hadn’t realized just how notorious Cartup’s “Specials” were among the Vats. In fact, as a Shareholder, he’d barely known the Special Branch existed.
* * *
“Atten-shun!”
The commandant surveyed them. Walked along the line. Paused in front of the rigid Fitz. “Where did you get that black eye from, Fitzhugh?”
“Slipped in the shower, sir.”
The commandant looked at Bennett. “And I suppose you slipped in the shower, too?”
The hulking man nodded. “Eth, thah,” he slurred.
The commandant shook his head. “You damned Vats have no self-control. Well, you can try fighting the Magh’ for a change, instead of each other. You’re being posted out. You’ll get a twenty-four-hour pass to wrap up your last affairs in the civilian world. Posting lists are up on the central notice board. Dismissed. Fall out.”
NCO training course. Camp Dendro.
Fenton, Brett 24031232334000
Fither, Miguel 24003107455000
Fitzhugh, Conrad 24950101803371
* * *
His name had been inserted by hand. And it was initialed by Major Ogata and the camp commandant.
Fitz gaped. That was one list he hadn’t bothered to look at. This man’s army had not posted a single list in alphabetical order, with the posting listed afterward. That would have been far too simple and logical. No, instead there had been a number of lists, depending on the unit. Your name could be on any one of them, so you had to search each one.
This had been the one he’d least expected. It had certainly not been one he’d put his name down for.
SmallMac’s name wasn’t in the Equestrian unit either. It was on the same list as Fitz’s.
Inserted and initialed in the same way. So were the other two who’d been there that night.
* * *
That first pass had an almost surreal feel to it. Walking out of the camp gates . . . The air was just too crisp, the sunlight too beautiful, the grass too green. And nobody was yelling at them. Strolling down the road in a casual, deliberately out-of-step snaggle of other dazed but happy-looking squaddies from tent 17, Fitz wasn’t even fazed that he’d have to walk a couple of miles to get to a bus stop, instead of having the Aston Martin. It was just great to be out. There was also an “eye-to-the-storm” feel about it. The life expectancy of frontline troops was short, and everyone knew it.
“I am going to drink myself into a stupor, wake up, stay in bed and get drunk again,” announced Ewen with great satisfaction. “I don’t see myself getting to spend much of my pay where I’m going.”