Retreat Hell (43 page)

“Raul,” Gonzalez said slowly, “we have one green junior LT who doesn’t know shit about what rules we can get away with breaking. We have a hundred and ninety-two equally green E-1s who don’t know jack about shit period. You’re going to pull this off
how
?”

Alonzo smiled. Tapped the reader in its case on his belt.

“Hundred and ninety-two E-1s just out of Juarez, sure. We’ve got their files right here – we pick the smartest twenty or so. Go to Division, talk with G-4 there, get the gear we need. That’s how they earn their ten percent. Go in, get the goodies, take `em back to Fourth Battalion and give Captain Diodorus a nice present.”

Diodorus was Fourth Battalion’s S-4, the supply officer.

“And what do we do about the nice LT?” asked Gonzalez.

“You take him on a tour of the town. I pick a crew from this company – smart ones and big ones, we’ll need both – and do the job.”

“And who supervises the others? Keeps `em from running off?”

“I’ll bring someone back from G-4,” said Alonzo. “They look pretty content right now, though. Don’t usually get desertion issues until
after
they’ve been shot at.”

“That could be ten minutes from now,” said Gonzalez.

“As I said, I’ll bring someone back from Division. How stupid d’you think I am, to leave a hundred and ninety-two fish unsupervised
here
?”

“You’re the boss,” said Gonzalez. “Well” – he gestured at Croft, who was sitting on one of the lounge chairs glancing over a newspaper – “
he
is. Which means you are.”

“Yeah. And we’re getting Diodorus a present,” said Alonzo. “You distract the LT, will you? I’ll be back within the hour.”

***

Mullins took another drag on his cigarette, bored. They’d been waiting in the terminal for a few hours, and there was absolutely nothing the hell to do but speculate and play cards.

The Dependency of New Virginia
, he thought. That was its official name. Godfrey’s Landing was the planet’s second-largest city, and – from the skyline he’d seen – it wasn’t much. The tallest building here was, what, six or seven storeys?

“Andrews, Dashratha, Kiesche, Mullins? You boys are Second Platoon, right?”

He looked up. It was the senior sergeant. He held a reader, from which he’d presumably gotten the names.

“Yes, sergeant?” said Andrews.

“Got something for you four to do. In about ten minutes, I want you guys to join me over there. OK? You can leave your weapons and your bags here.”

“Can do, sergeant,” said Mullins. The others made similar noises.

It was probably a work detail of some kind, but Mullins didn’t mind. It’d be a chance to see more of the place.

***

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to leave these men?” Croft asked. Visions of court-martials danced in his mind.

Gonzalez nodded.

“Sergeant Alonzo went to Division HQ and got a couple more men” – he gestured at the three, a corporal and two lance-corporals – “to help out. Sir.”

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable,” Croft said, “if there was another officer.”

“Sir, don’t worry. You can stay if you like, but we know how it’s done here. And it might be a long while before you get the chance to see Godfrey’s Landing again.”

I
really
want to see the town where Father was first stationed
, thought Croft.

And that was the kicker. He wanted to –
too
much. Hadn’t he been warned about crafty NCOs trying to pull a fast one on inexperienced young officers like him? He’d get back here eventually. On leave or something, when he wasn’t responsible for anyone.

“No. I think I’ll stay with the men, sergeant,” he said firmly.

***

“
Shit
,” Alonzo muttered under his breath as the lieutenant shook his head. He’d
counted
on the young punk jumping at the chance to see the town.

Well, time for Plan B.

The chosen enlisted men – about twenty in all – were already gathering for the job. A mix of the smart ones and the big ones; he wished he’d had the time to choose the big ones
with
brains.

Yeah, well, in a perfect world we wouldn’t have to do this shit in the first place. In a perfect world I’d already have my damn green card and wouldn’t have to
be
here in the first place.

He went over to the group and briefly counted them. Twenty-two. Good. Everyone was there.

“Alright, guys,” he said quietly. “We’ve got a job to do, but the lieutenant doesn’t need to know about it. Just trust me on this one, OK?”

He was counting on the E-1s, fresh out of the rigid Juarez boot, appreciating cameraderie from a senior sergeant. Someone who held the same rank as their drill company commanders had.

“Anyone has any misgivings, you don’t have to come along. All I ask is that you keep your mouth shut.”

“What are we doing?” asked one of the men. “Some kind of a prank?”

“Sort of,” said Alonzo. “Not on the LT, don’t worry. He won’t necessarily be pissed if he knows, but it’s better for everyone –
including
him – if he doesn’t, right now.”

“You’re asking us to fuck with an officer,” said one man. “No thanks.”

“All I’m asking
you
,” said Alonzo, “is to keep your trap shut. As a personal favor.”

“I can do that,” the man said. “But I’m not going to screw around behind the back of a senior officer. They might throw us into a Black Gang for this sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” said another man.

“Me too,” said a third guy.

“OK, you three go back. The rest of you, come with.”

The three who’d objected – followed, after a moment, by a fourth – went back to their units. They didn’t seem about to say anything.

The corporal and two lances from Brigade didn’t know what was going on; they were doing a favor for beer money. If they knew, they’d call Division G-4 and edge in on Fourth Battalion’s action. They probably suspected
something
was up – otherwise, why would they be needed? – but they weren’t getting that beer-money to ask questions and, in the passenger terminal, they wouldn’t be in a good position to get answers. By the time they knew what was going on, the stuff would be out of Division’s reach.

 
“Sergeant Alonzo!” called the lieutenant as they were leaving the lounge area for the greater terminal.

Oh, shit.

He turned. Lieutenant Croft was walking towards them.

“Where are you taking these men, Sergeant?”

“Sir, working party,” said Alonzo. He chose his words carefully – lying to an officer was something you wanted to avoid doing. The trick was in what the man expected to hear. “We’re going to help unload a shipment. We’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

The lieutenant was clearly conflicted.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Alonzo said. “It’s good PR for the Legion, helping with this kind of thing. We’ll be back by” – he checked his watch, it was just past one a.m. – “three o’clock, sir.”

“OK, go ahead,” the lieutenant said after a moment.

“Thank you, sir. It’s appreciated.”

“No problem. Just make sure you come back on time.”

“Will do, sir.” Alonzo saluted and turned.

***

What the hell is this all about?
Mullins thought, as Sergeant Alonzo led his group out of the passenger section of the terminal and into the truck-freight handling area. Past loading docks, swinging winches, a forklift. A couple of stevodores stood smoking on one loading dock.

A little bit later, they passed a crew busily moving grey plastic tote boxes from the back of a truck to a conveyor belt.

They weren’t going to help unload some freight shuttle. That was obvious.

This isn’t some shady black-market thing, is it?

It certainly seemed like it.

This seems shady as absolute hell. I don’t want to be sent to a Black Gang within a day of my first deployment!

Alonzo led them into an alley, where four covered five-ton trucks sat. They were grey, with dark-green covers over their cargo beds. ‘US Army’ was stenciled in black letters on each door, above a large five-pointed star. Army markings were on the covers, too.

“Alright, you boys,” Alonzo said. “By now you’ve figured – some of you have, anyhow – that what we’re doing is a little bit sketchy. Don’t worry – nobody’s going to wind up in a Black Gang because of this. If we get caught, the Army is going to whine and send us to Division HQ for discipline. Where a big noise will be made, and we’ll all get publicly chewed out, and then our officers will wink and tell us to look appropriately sad for a while. OK?”

“Sergeant,” said a man from Third Platoon called Johnson, “exactly what are we going to be doing?”

“Well, boys, I may as well give you the details.
Officially
, as far as you all are concerned, it’s a work detail. We’re going to be moving freight, just like I said to the LT.”

“And unofficially, sergeant?”

There were nods and murmurs from the rest of the group, including Mullins.

“Unofficially, we’re going to be moving freight between different branches of the US military. The Army just received a shipment of goodies. Techno-toys that they’re not going to put to use anyway. The
Legion
, as you may have heard, is under-funded and under-supplied. One way that we make up for this problem is by borrowing equipment from the other service branches.”

“So we’re going to be stealing Army stuff for the Legion,” said Andrews.

“‘Stealing’, Private, is such a prejudiced word. Yes.”

A more serious look came onto Alonzo’s face.

“I assure you men that not a penny’s worth of this stuff is going to wind up on the black market. I’m not, and none of you are, going to get
anything
personally out of this job.
Army
quartermasters sell shit to Buddy on the side, and don’t fucking get me started on the local CGs. Ninety percent of this stuff is going to Fourth Battalion’s S-4, and it might save some of your lives. The rest goes to Division G-4 in exchange for the loan of these trucks. Either way, it stays within the US military. It’s just going to the guys who’re going to get the most
use
out of it. Understood?”

There were nods and murmurs.

“Now, boys, in the back of the trucks you’ll find US Army PT uniforms. T-shirts and running pants. Change into them – we’re a loading party come to pick some of this stuff up.”

“Won’t they ask for paperwork or something?” asked a man from Fifth called Vai’id.

Alonzo produced what looked like a snub-nosed yellow pistol. A taser.

“This is our paperwork,” he said. “Any questions?”

“I have one,” said Andrews. “Sergeant, you picked a bunch of total fish for this. Why’d you pick us when there’s a division
and
a brigade HQ in this town?”

“Good one,” said Alonzo. “I took Fourth Battalion, Fourth Brigade men because this is a Fourth Battalion, Fourth Brigade operation. If I went to Division or First Brigade for bodies, they’d take most of the loot and only give One-Four-Four a piece of it. And not necessarily a big piece.”

“So why aren’t they doing it themselves?”

Alonzo smirked.

“This shipment just came in a few hours ago.
They
don’t know about it yet. By tomorrow, they’ll know. By tomorrow, we’ll be in Roanoke.”

“Surely the Army’s going to know we did it,” said another man.

“Sure they will,” said Alonzo. “Proving it’s another story. And getting it back is
right
out of the question. This happens all the damn time, and so far as I’m concerned it’s the Army’s fault for not guarding their shit properly.”

***

Mullins rode on the center seat of the lead truck’s cab. Alonzo, who wore a dress shirt with first lieutenant’s bars, rode shotgun. Andrews was driving.

This could get us into some serious trouble
, he thought.
It’s theft, by any other name.

No; Alonzo had justified it well. It was merely transferring property from one branch of the US military to another. And some of it might save their lives. Save
his
life.

And if we get caught…

He wasn’t sure he believed Alonzo on that. The Army would press hard for punishment and he might well wind up in a Black Gang.

Too damn late now. Besides, Alonzo’s a senior sergeant. He knows what he’s doing.

The trucks made their way around the edge of the shuttleport, bumping a few times as they crossed railroad tracks. Two or three times they heard sonic booms as freight shuttles blasted off, ascending at acceleration-rates that would have killed any passengers.