“Yes,” Kuyper said, “and there’ll be hell to pay when they—”
Kuyper’s eyes were drawn to the viewslit because it was the brightest thing in the room. “Oh, Christ!” he said, staring toward the gate. “It never rains but it pours. There’s Bettina Crais, in with the convoy and coming toward the TOC. Three guesses what she’s going to want!”
“And how she’s going to react,” Evertsen agreed grimly. He’d rather have had a few weeks to figure a way out of the impasse; but if he’d been a lucky man, he wouldn’t be commanding a line-of-communication base. “Well, we may as well get it over with.”
“Lieutenant, give me a hand with the paychest if you will,” Kuyper said. “Even in its present anemic state, that much gold is a load for me. Besides, it won’t hurt to have a fit young officer like you in the room when Crais gets the news.”
The two men started out. Evertsen said, “Kuyper, perhaps Lieutenant Dierks shouldn’t be . . . ?”
Janni stiffened in the doorway. “Sir,” he said, “I’m cleared at Most Secret level. I’ll obey any order from a superior officer, of course; but I remind you that to treat me as a child because of our relationship would dishonor the uniform I wear.”
He thinks I’m trying to protect him from violence by an angry Rallier, Evertsen thought. And he’s young enough to worry about honor!
“Yes, of course,” Evertsen said with a curt nod. “You’ll find the experience instructive, I’m sure.”
The colonel stared at his hands while he waited. Once he’d dreamed of commanding a unit like the Four Eye himself. He’d had a lot of dreams. Once.
Janni and Kuyper returned from the latter’s office with a metal chest which they set on the corner of Evertsen’s desk. The administrator waited beside it; Janni stood at parade rest on the other side of the desk, facing the door.
The maintenance log was still out. Evertsen sighed and slipped it into a bookcase behind him as voices murmured in the outer office.
Bettina Crais entered.
She was a petite woman; that was obvious even though a felt camouflage cape, worn dark-side out in this season, covered her from neck to ankles. She’d slung her long-barreled Moisin-Nagant rifle muzzle-down over her right shoulder; a swatch of rabbitskin, bound fur-side in, protected the bolt and receiver against the elements. Mounted on a stud in her left ear was half a gold coin the size of a thumbnail, so worn that the fractured portrait of George III was barely a shadow on the surface.
“Colonel,” Crais said, nodding. “Mister Administrator. I’ve come for my pay.”
Dierks blinked in amazement. Despite Crais’ fine features and short blond hair, he’d assumed she was Slavic until she spoke—with a Vaal-District accent you could cut with a knife.
“Mistress Crais,” Evertsen said, “allow me to present my nephew, Lieutenant Jan Dierks.”
She turned her head. Janni drew himself to attention reflexively. Crais grinned and said, “A pretty boy you’ve got here, Colonel. Want to send him out with me to blood him?”
“Lieutenant Dierks is on his way to take up a combat appointment,” Evertsen said, trying hard to keep the disgust out of his voice. He didn’t want to anger Crais, particularly not now.
“And d’ye think what I do isn’t combat, Colonel?” she sneered. “Without me and the Ralliers, the truck drivers and invalids you’ve got staffing this place would find out what combat really is.”
“Well, Crais,” said Kuyper with false warmth, “you’ll probably want to relax for a few days before you head back. I’ll arrange a room for you in the transient officers’ billets so you won’t have to doss down in the civilian lines. You can run a tab at the O Club as well until we get the finances straightened out.”
Crais turned her ice-blue eyes on the civilian. “I don’t owe anybody, Mister Administrator,” she said in a voice that came straight down from the Arctic Circle. “And I’ll find my own bed. It’s for the one night only, because I’m heading back at dawn with the inbound convoy. I’ve got my husband Lute up with the three kids, and I want to get back to them.”