Chip took Ginny in his arms. “Quite a girl, that rat,” he said reverently.
She sniffed and held tightly to his tunic. “She’s the first girlfriend I’ve ever had. And she was the best I could wish to have. She said not to waste this time . . .”
“Funny, that’s what Nym, Pistol and Doc said. Fal said I should get drunk too, but not too drunk.”
Ginny gave a choke of laughter. “Do you know that was almost exactly what Doll said?”
Chip grinned at her. “I can well believe it. That’s one wild, bad rat-girl, that!”
She looked at him with big serious eyes and said quietly, “I’m not a wild, bad girl, Chip.” She looked down and then looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never even been kissed before. I don’t want die before I’ve even been kissed properly.”
“But all you Sharehol—” Fortunately, this time he caught himself. “This is how you do that.”
After some considerable time had passed, he managed to speak. “Seeing as we are going to die anyway, why don’t we go ahead and take the rest of that rat advice?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Oh, yes. Oh, yes!”
He looked up. “Well. Let’s move away from here a little. I wouldn’t put it past Eamon to come back. He really wasn’t happy about leaving. And he has a habit of doing his own thing.”
Chapter 39: The waiting.
This was always the worst part. The waiting. Fitz hated it with a passion. The sky was definitely pale now. He looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. At first it had been . . . like going back to boarding school. What had really got to him was the smell. Somehow, perhaps because all vertebrates were once scent oriented, that stirred deeper and more evocative memories than anything else. In the dark, the smell had been especially noticeable. Mud, feet, urine, humanity, and the sharper animal scents of rats and bats, along with the smell of fear. Yes. Fear smelled.
But he’d come over the top. Out of the trenches, walking, with no enemy to fear. As long as he stayed between the flag-and-cord marked lines he was safe from those AP mines too.
Colonel Nygen had demanded an explanation during the drive. “It’s simple, Colonel,” said Fitz. “Part of the Magh’ front line has been deserted. They’ve pulled all their troops back inside the shield to deal with a problem. Some of our MIAs have gone on the rampage in there.”
The colonel was silent for a bit. “Are you sure?”
Fitz nodded. “Absolutely certain. Your precious Charlesworth had a request for support from sector Delta 355 when Colonel Abramovitz moved his men in about midnight. I checked with Lieutenant Guerra, your comm officer. He got his ass chewed for waking up the brigadier.”
“Stupid bastard,” Nygen said grimly. “No bloody wonder HQ sent you down.” He turned his head. “Driver. You never heard me say that.”
“Sah!” said the big Vat.
Nygen continued. “Good—but what I actually meant was about the MIAs. I mean, to pull the Magh off a whole sector . . . ”
Fitz interrupted. “Colonel, we’ve been able to follow them with satellite tracking. They got hold of a vehicle and, heaven knows how, a hell of a lot of explosives. You won’t believe how hard they’ve knocked that scorpiary.”
The driver nearly had the ten-ton truck off the road. “Shit! You mean some of ours are alive on the wrong side of the line? Oh! Sorry, sir. Spoke out of turn, sir. Lost some friends, sir.”
“If you don’t mention speaking out of turn, I won’t,” said Fitz, dryly. “And don’t get your hopes up for your friends. I don’t know what the boys back there got into their heads, but they’ve tried a suicide mission. We think they’re trying to blow the shield-generator.”
“But you should have seen the explosions they pulled so far on the satellite pics,” said Ariel enthusiastically.
Colonel Nygen’s tone was sharp. “What does HQ think they’re playing at? We’re been dragged out in the small hours for this? Those MIAs are never going to succeed. That must surely be the most guarded installation . . .”