As his men slipped out to alert the rest of the company, Nick Kowacs started to type the operational order that would be downloaded into the helmets of all his troops. Green letters hung in the hologram field, but instead of them he saw images of what would be happening later in the night.
He was smiling, too.
* * *
A jeep, its skirts painted with the red and white stripes of the Shore Police, drove past the District Government Building. Neither of the patrolmen spared more than a glance at the trucks hovering at idle along the four sides of the otherwise empty square.
Kowacs let out the breath he had been holding.
“Hawker Six,” Bradley’s voice whispered through the helmet phones. “They don’t want to come.”
“Get them out!” Kowacs snarled without bothering about proper radio discipline.
There were more vehicles moving along the main northsouth boulevard of Base Thomas Forberry. Every moment the Headhunters waited was another chance for somebody to wonder why a truck was parked in front of Security Headquarters at this hour.
Eventually, somebody was going to come up with the obvious right answer.
“On the way, Hawker Six,” Bradley replied.
They’d raised the sidings on each vehicle, so that you couldn’t tell at a glance that the trucks held the entire 121st Marine Reaction Company, combat-equipped.
You also couldn’t tell if Kowacs’ own truck carried thirteen internees—who would revert to being Bethesdan civilians as soon as the trucks drove through the Base Forberry perimeter on their way to the naval dockyard three kilometers away.
If everything worked out.
“Alpha Six to Hawker Six,” reported Daniello, whose platoon waited tensely in its vehicle on the south side of the square. “A staff car approaching with a utility van.”
“Roger, Alpha Six,” Kowacs replied.
Officers headed back to quarters after partying at their club. Maybe cheerful—and maybe mean—drunks looking for an excuse to ream somebody out. Like whoever was responsible for trucks parking in the parade square.
“Hawker Five—” Kowacs muttered, about to tell Bradley to hold off on the prisoners for a moment.
He was too late. The first of the Bethesdans was coming out between the arms of two Marines, just like he’d been carried in. Andy, a boy trying to look ready to die; and with his injuries and fatigue, looking instead as if he already had.
“What—,” Andy demanded.
Sienkiewicz stepped close, ready to club the boy before his shouts could give the alarm. Kowacs shook his head abruptly and laid a finger across his own lips.
The car and van whooshed by, their headlights cutting bright swathes through the ambience of Bethesda’s two pale moons. The van’s axis and direction of movement were slightly askew, suggesting that the driver as well as the passengers had been partying.
“Listen, kid,” Kowacs said, bending so that his face was within centimeters of Andy’s. “We’re going to get you out of the perimeter. What you do then’s your own look-out. I don’t think Sitterson’s going to stir things up by coming looking for you, but Hesik and your own people—that’s your business. Understood?”
“Whah?” Andy said. The rest of the prisoners were being hustled or carried out. Andy stepped aside so that they could be handed into the back of the truck. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’m fucking stupid!” Kowacs snapped.
There was an orange flash to the south. Kowacs’ boots felt the shock a moment before the air transmitted the explosion to his ears, it must have been a hell of a bang to people who weren’t a couple kilometers away like Kowacs was.
“Motor pool,” Sienkiewicz said, making an intelligent guess. “Late night and somebody got sloppy, drove into a fuel tank.” Shrugging, she added, “Maybe it’ll draw everybody’s attention there.”
“I’d sooner all the guards were asleep, like usual,” Kowacs replied with a grimace.
“Hawker Six,” Bradley called. “Some of these aren’t in the best of shape. It’ll hurt ’em to be moved.”
“They’ll hurt a lot worse if we leave ’em for Sitterson, Hawker Five,” Kowacs replied. “Get ’em out.”
“Alpha Six to Hawker Six,” said Daniello. “Two vans headed north. They’re highballing.”
“Roger, Alpha Six,” Kowacs said. “No problem.”