Deseau set them down and almost immediately climbed out the driver’s hatch. He wasn’t under any illusions about his driving, though he didn’t complain about the duty. Learoyd ought to take the next session, but . . .
Huber looked at Padova. “You up for another shift?” he asked. “It’s not your turn, I know.”
“You bet I am,” she said, nodding briskly. “You bet your ass!”
“Highball, we’re coming in,” an unfamiliar female voice said. “Three aircars at vector one-one-nine degrees to your position. Action Four-two out.”
“Roger, Action,” Huber said. “Highball elements, hold your fire. Six out.”
He knew he was frowning. He’d expected the resupply to be carried out by Log Section, maybe even UC civilians under contract to the Regiment. “Action” was a callsign of the White Mice.
The recovery vehicle had ground the brush in the center of the laager to matchsticks, then shoved the debris into a crude berm. The aircars came low over the treetops, circled a moment to pick locations, and landed. All showed bullet scars. They each carried two troopers, but the guard on one lay across the ammo boxes amidships, either dead or drugged comatose.
“Fox elements,” ordered Sergeant Tranter, acting as first sergeant for the task force, “each car send two men to pick up your requirements. India elements, two men per squad. Also we’ll transfer the dead and wounded to the aircars. Three-five out.”
“Frenchie,” Huber said, “hold the fort. I’m going to learn what’s going on back at Base Alpha.”
He swung his legs over the coaming, paused on the bulge of the plenum chamber, and slid to the ground. He almost crumpled under the weight of his clamshell when he landed. Via! he was woozy.
The troopers in the aircars were loosing the cargo nets over their loads; they looked as tired as Huber and his personnel. The woman with sergeant’s pips on her collar was working one-handed because the other arm was in a sling.
“Tough run?” Huber asked, sliding out a case of 2-cm ammo for Learoyd, who took it left-handed. There were spare barrels too, thank the Lord and the foresight of somebody back at Central.
“Tough enough,” she said, not quite curt enough to be called hostile.
“How are things at Base Alpha?” Huber asked, passing the next case to Padova. He didn’t know who was defending the base with so many of the combat-fit Slammers running north. He was sure it wasn’t a situation anybody was happy about.
“We’ll worry about fucking Base Alpha,” the sergeant snarled. She met his eyes; she looked like an animal in a trap, desperate and furious. “You worry about your job, all right?”
“Roger that,” Huber said evenly, taking a case of twelve 2-cm gunbarrels to empty the belly of the car. “Good luck, Sergeant.”
“Yeah,” the woman said. “Yeah, same to you, Lieutenant.”
The three dead infantrymen and the incapacitated—three more infantry and Flame Farter’s left wing gunner—had been placed in the aircars. Flame Farter’s driver and commander were ash in the remains of their vehicle.
The sergeant settled back behind the controls and muttered something on her unit push, the words muffled by circuitry in her commo helmet. Nodding, she and the other drivers brought their fans up to flying speed again.
“Action Four-two outbound,” crackled her voice through Huber’s commo helmet. The White Mice took off again, their vector fifteen degrees east of the way they’d arrived. Their approach might’ve been tracked, so they weren’t taking a chance on overflying an ambush prepared in the interim.
“Bitch,” said Padova, who’d been close enough to hear the exchange.
Huber stepped to Fencing Master and paused before swinging the spare barrels to Deseau waiting on the plenum chamber. The case of fat iridium cylinders was heavy enough in all truth; in Huber’s present shape, it felt as if he were trying to lift a whole combat car.
“Got it, El-Tee,” Learoyd said, taking the barrels one-handed before Huber had a chance to protest. He shoved them up to his partner in a movement that was closer to shot-putting than weight lifting.
Huber stretched, then quirked a grin to Padova. “I guess even the White Mice are human,” he said, grinning more broadly. “We all do the best we can. Some days—”