Ariel shook her ratty head. “That stuff always goes wrong.”
“It looked like it worked to me,” said Fitz, slowly.
“So what do you think they’re trying to do?” the technician persisted.
Fitz shook his head. “That’s anyone’s guess. What they are doing is pulling tens of thousands of Maggots off the front. We’d already noticed that. What I wish they would do is destroy a force field generator. We could take the offensive then.”
* * *
The technician, Henry M’Batha, turned out to be a decent sort of fellow. Ariel was even beginning to regret having chewed on his neck.
Like most skilled technicians, Henry was the holder of a solitary share. Boredom and frustration had made him a touch officious and petty. But this made him feel as if his work had real purpose at last. That can change attitudes dramatically, so he persisted some more. “So what do you think they’re trying to do?”
Fitz looked at the screen. “At a coarse guess, die young. You’re looking at the evidence of some very brave soldiers.”
“Can’t we do anything to help them?”
The major ground his teeth audibly. Then he shrugged. “We’d have to move fast. But unless the force field goes down . . . nothing. Except salute them.” He did.
The technician noticed that the rat and the corporal did the same. He found himself imitating them. “You wanted max-res infrared tracking,” he said.
“Yes. We might pick up something,” said Simms quietly.
“I’m supposed to get signed authorization from the satellite monitoring manager.” M’Batha waved a piece of paper at them. “But if you wake her up now . . .” He drew a finger across his throat. “The hell with her. Those guys in there are risking their lives. I’ll risk a reprimand from a sarcastic old bitch who can’t replace me anyway.” Decisively: “I’ll set it up for you.”
Simms smiled slightly. “Good for you. But I’ll give you a signed order if you’ve got a blank form.” On the blotter, the corporal neatly produced the head of satellite monitoring’s signature. “Would that do?”
The major and the technician stared at the corporal. Simms held up his hands defensively. “My boss had to countersign the demolition orders. But he was always drunk by ten. Um. So I learned to do it for him.”
Fitz eyed him speculatively. “Let’s see you do my signature, Johnny.”
The corporal blushed, but signed a sprawling scrawl. “I only used it when you were too busy, sir.”
“He used it to requisition me chocolates,” said Ariel reprovingly. “Which proves you could have done it yourself.” Sniffle. “If you still loved me.”
The major put his face in his hands. “Argh. I’ll be locked away for chocolate black marketeering. Give him your form, tech. And thank you.”
He gazed reprovingly at the rat. “Sorry about that little nick she gave you. On a sugar high, she’s practically a homicidal maniac. That’s why I ration her chocolate.”
Ariel sniffed. Henry smiled. “It’s nothing, sir. Given myself worse cuts shaving. If there is anything else, you just have to ask. Shall I call you, or send the printouts to Military Headquarters?”
“You can get me on my beeper.” Fitz scrawled the number hastily on the blotter. “Or Johnny back at HQ. I’m going to go and wake up a general.”
“Do you think they might have a chance, sir?”
Fitz was silent for a moment before he spoke. Then, his voice a little husky, he said: “None.”
He gathered himself. “But still, they’ve hurt the Magh’. They’re doing a thoroughly professional job of it. We owe it to them to follow up as professionally as we can too. And I’m going to see it happens.”
There was iron determination in that voice. The major left the satellite tracking station like a shark leaves a lagoon. Heading for deep waters, where bigger prey could be found.
Chapter 27: Blow-by-blow.
Metal screamed. A glass reflector shattered. And, worst of all, they stalled. The silence was sudden to ears accustomed to the over-revving-in-too-low-a-gear of a learner driver.
“That we should be cursed with a bedamned amateur driver!” said O’Niel. That bat was becoming very fond of mechanical transport. It beat flying, he said.