Huber stepped briskly toward the jeep, stopping two paces away. He threw what was as close to an Academy salute as he could come after five years in the field.
“Sir!” he said. Steuben stood above him by the height of the jeep’s plenum chamber. “The men with me had no idea what was going on. I ordered them to accompany me on a test drive of the repaired vehicle.”
“Fuck that,” Deseau said, swaggering to Huber’s side. “We were going to put paid to the bastards that set us up and got our buddies killed. Somebody in the Regiment’s got to show some balls, after all.”
He spit into the dust beside him. Deseau had the bravado of a lot of little men; his pride was worth more to him than his life just now.
Joachim Steuben, no taller than Deseau flat-footed, giggled at him.
Learoyd walked up on Deseau’s other side. He’d taken his helmet off and was rubbing his scalp. Sergeant Tranter, his eyes wide open and unblinking, joined Learoyd at the end of the rank.
“What did you think was going to happen when a Slammers combat car killed a senior UC official and destroyed his house, Lieutenant?” Steuben asked. The anger in his tone was all the more terrible because his eyes were utterly dispassionate. “Didn’t it occur to you that other officials, even those who opposed the victim, would decide that Hammer’s Regiment was more dangerous to its employers than it was to the enemy?”
“I’m not a politician, sir,” Huber said. He was trembling, not with fear—he was beyond fear—but with hope. “I don’t know what would happen afterwards.”
“Not a politician?” Steuben’s voice sneered while his eyes laughed with anticipation. “You were about to carry out a political act, weren’t you? You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes sir, I do understand,” Huber said. The four trucks that surrounded Fencing Master had turned off their lights, though their diesel engines rattled at idle. The jeep’s headlights fell on Huber and his men, then reflected from the combat car’s iridium armor; they stood in almost shadowless illumination.
“Is there anything you want to say before I decide what I’m going to do with you, Lieutenant?” Steuben said with a lilt like the curve of a cat’s tongue.
“Sir,” Huber said. His muscles were trembling and his mind hung outside his body, watching what was going on with detached interest. “I’d like to accompany you and your troops on the operation you’ve planned. It may not be necessary to discipline me afterward.”
“You mean it won’t be possible to discipline you if you get your head blown off,” the major said. He laughed again with a terrible humor that had nothing human in it. “Yes, that’s a point.”
“El-Tee?” said Learoyd. “Where are you going? Can I come?”
Huber looked toward the trooper. “They’re carrying non-issue weapons, Learoyd,” he said. He didn’t know if he was explaining to Deseau and Tranter at the same time. “Probably the hardware we captured at Rhodesville. They’re going to take out Graciano just like we planned, but they’re going to do it in a way that doesn’t point straight back at the Regiment.”
“I shot off my mouth when I shouldn’t’ve, Major,” Deseau said. “I do that a lot. I’m sorry.”
Huber blinked. He couldn’t have been more surprised if his sergeant had started chanting nursery rhymes.
Deseau cleared his throat and added, “Ah, Major? We carried an EM slugthrower in the car for a while till we ran out of ammo for it. The penetration was handy sometimes. Anyway, we’re checked out on hardware like what I see there in the back of your jeep.”
“So,” Steuben said very softly. “You understand the situation, gentlemen, but do you also understand the rules of an operation like this? There will be no prisoners, and there will be no survivors in the target location.”
“I understand,” Huber said; because he did.
“Works for me,” said Deseau. Learoyd knuckled his skull again; he probably didn’t realize he’d been asked a question.
“We’re going to kill everybody in the senator’s house, Learoyd,” Huber said, leaning forward to catch the trooper’s eyes.
“Right,” said Learoyd. He put his helmet back on.