“So, Lieutenant?” he said. “Are you going to do what I tell you, or are you going to keep telling me what you’ll do?”
“Sir!” said Huber, sitting up. He didn’t feel the waves of nausea and weakness that’d crumpled him moments before, but neither did he push his luck by swinging his feet over the side of the bed. “You’re the Colonel. I’ll do the best job I can wherever you put me.”
Hammer nodded, a lift of his chin as tiny as the smile that touched his thin lips. Huber wondered vaguely what would’ve happened if he’d been too bullheaded to face reality. Hard to tell, but the chances were he’d be looking for a civilian job when he got out of the infirmary instead of arguing about where he belonged in the Regimental Table of Organization.
Danny Pritchard looked at the technician and said, “When’ll he be able to move? Sit in front of a console in the Operations shop I mean, not humping through the boonies.”
The technician shrugged. “I can have him over there by jeep in maybe three hours. It’s not how brave you are or how many pushups you can do, it’s just the neural pathways reconnecting. D’ye want me to requisition a uniform or did his own gear come in with him?”
All three men looked reflexively at Huber. Huber gulped out a laugh and felt better by an order of magnitude to have broken his own tension that way.
“Hey, when I came here the only thing I had on my mind was my hair,” he said. “Draw me a medium/regular and I’ll worry about my field kit later.”
“Roger that,” said Hammer, ending the discussion. His glance toward Huber was shrouded by layers of concerns that had nothing to do with the man on the bed. “You’ll report to Operations as soon as you can, Lieutenant, and Major Pritchard’ll bring you up to speed.”
Hammer started out of the room. Pritchard put a hand on the Colonel’s shoulder and said, “Sir? You might tell him about Ander.”
Hammer looked from his Operations Officer to Huber. “Yeah,” he said, “I might do that. Lieutenant, the UC government ordered General Ander’s arrest after his failure to execute their lawful orders. While he was in a cell pending his hearing before the Bonding Authority representative, he committed suicide.”
Huber frowned, trying to take in the information. “The UC arrested him?” he said. “Sir, how in hell did they do that? Ander’s Legion may not be the best outfit on the planet, but the UC doesn’t have anything more than a few forest guards with carbines.”
“I suggested they deputize a platoon of the White Mice for the job,” Hammer said. “I believe Major Steuben chose to lead the team himself.”
“Ah,” said Huber. He didn’t say, “Why would Ander kill himself?” because obviously Ander hadn’t killed himself. Huber’d turned down a chance to serve in the White Mice, the Regiment’s field police and enforcers; but he understood why they existed, and this was one of the times he was glad they existed.
“Right,” he said. “Ah . . . thank you, sir, though I hadn’t been going to ask. I know we’re in a complicated situation here on Plattner’s World.”
“You just think you know,” said Pritchard over his shoulder as he followed the Colonel out of the room. “After a day in Operations, Lieutenant, you’ll know bloody well.”
* * *
Like every other line soldier throughout history, Arne Huber had cursed because his superiors expected him to follow orders without having a clue as to what was really going on. Transferred now to the operations staff, he found himself in a situation he liked even less: he knew the Big Picture, and the reality was much worse than he’d believed when he had only a platoon to worry about.
Even more frustrating, there was nothing he could do to change the situation. It was like trying to push spaghetti uphill.
Huber cut the present connection, watching the image of a dark-skinned officer in a rainbow turban shrink down to a bead and vanish. Colonel Sipaji swore that his troops were already in position outside Jonesburg, save for the few support units which were still en route from the spaceport at Rhodesville. Jonesburg’s own spaceport had been closed because of the danger from Solace energy weapons. Like all the ports in the United Cities, it was only a dirigible landing field which small starships could use with care.