Starfist - Kingdom's Swords Part 18

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

A diminutive, fragile-looking female knelt gracefully at the feet of the Great Master and delicately poured a steaming liquid into a handleless cup that sat on a low, lacquered table by his feet. The pouring done, she bowed low to touch her forehead to the matting that covered the floor. A sprig of pastel flowers, carefully packaged in a fluted vase for its long journey from Home was the only other object on the table. The Great Master picked up the cup with a grace that belied his fierce mien and sipped. His eyes closed and his face glowed with ecstasy. He spoke briefly to the female, his voice the rumbling of water rushing over rocks. The female murmured a few words of reply, her voice the sound of a babbling brook. The female appeared to bow even lower than she already was, then gracefully rose and backed away with her gaze fixed on the floor by her feet. The Great Master sat cross-legged on a thick mat at one end of the large subterranean room. He wore his ceremonial robe with its rectangles of golden metal plate. A ceremonial sword lay across his lap. The sword, sheathed in precious wood that curved slightly with the curve of the blade, was as nonfunctional for combat as his armor.

Two Large Ones sat close to the Great Master's rear, one more to either side. A fifth Large One sat 185 185 with his back to the Great Master's back. The armor the bodyguards wore was fully functional, as were the unsheathed swords they held. Ten more Large Ones sat cross-legged around the sides of the room, unsheathed swords across their laps.

In its center, the room was filled with Over Masters and the more senior of the Senior Masters. They sat in open ranks on thinner mats than that of the Great Master. Their armor, like the armor of the bodyguards, was functional; their swords, like that of the Great Master, were sheathed. No acid guns were in evidence, but hidden behind screens at the tops of the walls, four acid guns were trained on the Masters.

With the Great Master served and approving, several females entered the room. They shuffled from the tightness of the ankle-length robes. Each carried a small, stub-legged table. The tables each held two small cups and a pot, steam rising from the pot spouts. The females gracefully knelt, each between two Masters, and set the tables down where the Master to either side could easily reach it. They poured from the pot into the cups, bowed low, then rose gracefully and exited. The female who served the Great Master returned with her pot freshly filled and knelt between his knee and the table, her head bowed low.

The Great Master took another sip from his tiny cup, replaced it on the table, and the female at his knee refilled it. Finally, he looked out at the a.s.sembled Over Masters and most senior of the Senior Masters. They bowed so their foreheads nearly touched the mats in front of their folded legs, then sipped from their own cups. All beamed and grunted pleasure. The Great Master leaned forward with one elbow resting on a knee. His eyes shone with the glory of a true believer proved right. He spoke, his voice the sound of breakers crashing on a rocky sh.o.r.e.

"Phase one of the Grand Master's plan has gone as I expected it to. The Earthman Marines are scattered among the small outposts of the army of the pond-sc.u.m Earthmen who infest this mudball. The Earthman Marines have suffered severe casualties at the hands of our Fighters. The army of these pond sc.u.m has suffered even more severe casualties, their morale is nearly gone. The Earthmen in their towns and villages are terrified. Many of the survivors are fleeing to the presumed safety of cities and the garrisons of the pond-sc.u.m soldiers. They flee even from towns and villages we haven't struck. The Earthmen are in near total disarray." He grinned the grin of a predator about to pounce on a doomed prey animal. "It is now time to commence phase two. Only it will be my phase two. When I call in the second wave," his voice became the crash and rumble of an earthquake, "they will arrive in time to help us celebrate our great victory over the Earthman Marines!"

The Over Masters and more senior of the Senior Masters roared back their eagerness for phase two.

Brigadier Sturgeon scrolled through the medium scale situation map, studying each part as it was projected in the wall display, looking for a pattern to the Skink raids. He couldn't find one. There were no groupings of raids, no patch where they looked like they might radiate from one location. He missed Colonel Ramadan-his chief of staff was better than he was at picking out certain patterns of enemy action.

"Speak up if you think you see anything," he told his staff. He thought it probably wasn't necessary for him to say that, but he couldn't take the risk that someone might see something and a.s.sume wrongly that 186 186 he already had. None of the a.s.sembled officers said anything immediately. It wasn't until halfway through the next rotation through the map that Captain Shadeh, the personnel officer, spoke up.

"Sir?" Shadeh, the F1 personnel officer, waited for Sturgeon's nod before continuing. "They seem to be widening the range of the raids, as though they intend to spread us thinner and thinner." Sturgeon hit a sequence of b.u.t.tons and the map changed to show the entire area of operation. A series of tiny red lights blinked on, changed to yellow, were replaced by a different scattering of red lights, changed to green as the new red lights became yellow and were replaced by yet more red lights. Greens became gray and stayed that color as additional red lights demoted earlier reds to yellows and yellows to greens.

"It looks like you're right," he said, glancing at Shadeh. "Trust the F1 to come up with a pattern that affects personnel disposition."

Shadeh smiled grimly.

"Anybody see anything that looks like it can indicate a starting point?" He looked at Commander Daana, the intelligence officer.

"Nossir," the F2 said. "The latest computer a.n.a.lysis says a random pattern generator is behind it. So far it hasn't been able to come up with a logarithm to duplicate it."

"Any other ideas anybody?"

Commander Usner, the operations officer, leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Sir, an idea is niggling at the back of my mind. In some ways this is a reversal of the cla.s.sic guerrilla campaign."

"Explain."

"Sir, the cla.s.sic guerrilla campaign begins with small acts of terrorism and small hit-and-run hits on military targets to, let's say, cause 'a death of a thousand cuts' and damage morale. Over time it builds up to conventional force engagements. What happened when we made planetfall? First they gave us a sample of their strength by hitting a remote garrison. When we first encountered them it was in a major engagement. We won that one, but at a dear cost. We don't know how badly we hurt them, but there must have been enough of them left over for them to defeat us if they ma.s.sed. They didn't. Instead they went to terroristic hit-and-run raids. They're hitting villages, hard. When we show up, they run before we can engage them-except when they've got an ambush set. Then they seem to fight us until we have to withdraw or until they're dead. They've convinced the people that neither the government nor the army can protect them." He made a sour face. "People in the outlying areas have no confidence in us. The army is losing its confidence in us. Even the theocracy is beginning to accuse us of incompetence."

"Following your logic, their next step is minor terroristic acts."

"Possible. They haven't conducted any raids for the past three days. That could mean they've given up. But maybe they've been stretching us out, wearing us out, damaging the morale of the army, in order to set us up for something big."

Sturgeon looked back at the map. The ever-increasing lights showed no slacking of frequency. "The way they vaporize when they're hit with a plasma bolt," he shook his head, "we can't tell how many of them we've killed. Either they're losing much of their strength and exhausting their surviving soldiers, or they 187 187 have a very substantial number of them-they certainly give no indication of a desire to conserve their lives. In the first case, they can't continue much longer, they won't have enough troops to carry on, and we go into a mopping up action. In the latter, we may not be enough to deal with them." He looked at his staff. "Do any of you believe they're near the end?" They all shook their heads.

"Suggestions?"

"Draw up a contingency plan in case they are setting us up for a big hit," Usner said.

"Do it."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Anybody else?"

"Sir, I believe our Marines are too thinly spread," Shadeh said. "Every squad reports conflict with the local unit command structure. It wouldn't take a very large Skink force to overrun any of those garrisons. A battalion could probably do it fairly easily. I'd like to see our Marines consolidated." Sturgeon shook his head. "While I sympathize and might even agree with you on that, if we pulled out of the garrisons, it would have an even more traumatic effect on the Army of the Lord than their losses and inability to close with the Skinks has." Shadeh nodded. The brigadier was right on that point. Still, it was liable to cost many more Marines their lives.

"Anyone else? Four, I haven't heard from you."

"Sir, logistics are in fine shape," Captain West said. "As for what to do, I'm thoroughly baffled. The Skinks don't seem to think like we do." He looked embarra.s.sed at that. The Skinks weren't human, were they? It wasn't realistic to expect them to think like humans.

"Dismissed," Sturgeon said, and turned off the map. When he was alone, he settled back in his chair and thought. A FIST commander always had to be prepared for the worst. The worst almost never happened, of course, but a commander who wasn't prepared for it lost the battle if it did happen. The worst here was that the Skinks were so strong they could continue raiding and fighting until 34th FIST was so worn down it was no longer functional-if the Skinks didn't do something to totally destroy the FIST. The only thing he could think of to deal with this worst was more Marines. First he needed to replace his losses. He shook his head. Not even in the war on Diamunde had 34th FIST suffered such heavy casualties. Beyond replacements, this situation could call for an additional FIST. But how could he request another FIST? As far as anybody on Earth knew, the problem on Kingdom was a peasant rebellion. The existence of the Skinks-or any alien sentience-was a closely held state secret. He couldn't request another FIST. Back at the Heptagon they'd think he'd lost it, was no longer fit to command. The most they'd do is send someone to replace him.

There was only one person he could go to who wouldn't think he'd lost his mind or his courage, and that would mean bypa.s.sing the chain of command. He picked up his comm unit and punched in Amba.s.sador 188 188 Spears's code.

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Jay," Sturgeon said as he entered the den in Spears's quarters.

"Absolutely no problem," Spears said as he led Sturgeon to a comfortable chair. "I always have time to see a distinguished Marine. Especially one I've been through the mill with. Refreshment? I'm drinking tea myself. Sencha, grown locally from the descendants of shrubs imported from j.a.pan."

"Thank you. Tea sounds excellent." Spears busied himself for a moment, setting a cup for Sturgeon and ceremoniously pouring the tea, then sat. "Now, Brigadier, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company? Judging by your grave expression, I a.s.sume this isn't a purely social call."

"I'm afraid you're right, Jay. Do you have a back channel for getting private messages to Earth?" Spears laughed. "As many decades as I've spent in the diplomatic realm? Ted, I have more ways of getting messages to anybody than the Minister of State does. How can I help you?"

"I need to get a message to the a.s.sistant Commandant of the Marine Corps." Spears looked at him curiously. "Don't you have your own channels for that?" Sturgeon took a deep breath. He'd spent too many years at the bosom of Mother Corps; what he needed to do now violated basic principles of his beliefs. "Yes, but the message would take too long to get to him via regular channels. And it might not reach him at all."

"It's about the Skinks, isn't it?" Sturgeon nodded.

"And the Heptagon doesn't know they exist, and some functionary will see the message and decide you've gone around the bend, so the a.s.sistant commandant may never get a message from you if you say 'Skinks.'"

"Right again."

"But why the a.s.sistant commandant? Why not the commandant himself?"

"Because General Aguilano is probably the only person in the entire Marine Corps outside 34th FIST who knows about the Skinks. If he knows what's really happening here, he'll see to it that the appropriate action is taken. I cannot count on anyone else in the entire Confederation military taking this situation seriously."

Spears tipped his head back and thought. Abruptly he sat up straight again. "I have a friend at State who has a cousin on the staff at Headquarters, Marine Corps." He grinned. "A civilian employee, so there won't be any problem with the military chain of command. Compose your message. I'll write a chatty letter to my friend at State, and include your message with an urgent request that it be delivered most 189 189 expeditiously. A diplomatic pouch is going out tomorrow. I'll include my letter and your message." Sturgeon looked uncertain. "Are you sure your friend will do it?" Spears laughed. "My friend is a career diplomatic bureaucrat. Thumbing his nose at military protocol is the most natural thing in the world for him." And just as natural, there was another problem Sturgeon had to deal with mere hours after the diplomatic pouch was dispatched via Beams.p.a.ce drone.

"YOU FAILED!" Ayatollah Jebel Shammar thundered. "You bring your infidels and your ideas of Shaitan to our holy land and you fail to exorcize the demons who torment us!"

"Revered One-"

"SILENCE!" Shammar cut Amba.s.sador Spears off. "I speak not to you, but to this alleged military commander! He is the one who has failed. You are but a gnat buzzing about Mohammed's sacred nose, and you will remain silent until commanded to speak." He looked at Sturgeon, daring him to claim anything other than failure.

"Revered One," Sturgeon said in a calm, firm voice, "we have not failed. The Skinks are wily and numerous. There is no discernable pattern to their raids, so we can't antic.i.p.ate them. They run before we reach the villages they attack, so we cannot fight them when we arrive. But when we do make contact, we defeat them. Their casualties have been horrendous."

"Yet they continue to ravage the Faithful!" He slapped the top of the ma.s.sive table hard enough to cause his teacup to splash out a few drops. "We are of the belief that the demons stepped up their depredations against G.o.d's people when you arrived. A motion is before the Convocation of Ec.u.menical Leaders to demand the immediate removal from the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles of all infidels other than those few necessary to maintain needed contact with the Confederation of Human Worlds. It will pa.s.s when the Convocation meets tomorrow. You and your soldiers will be on board your ship and leaving our s.p.a.ce by Haven's nightfall tomorrow."

"With all due respect, Revered One, I am under the orders of the President and Congress of the Confederation of Human Worlds. They ordered 34th FIST to deploy to the Kingdom of Yahweh and His Saints and Their Apostles to conduct military operations to a successful conclusion. The last time you wanted us to leave, it appeared that the mission was concluded. We now know the operations have not been successfully concluded. I am not at liberty to remove my FIST from this world without express orders from my commander in chief or the Confederation's properly designated representative." Sturgeon's reply caught Spears unprepared, but he was diplomatic enough not to let the surprise show on his face. He, Jay Benjamin Spears, was the properly designated representative of the Confederation President and Congress on Kingdom. He, with sufficient cause, had full authority to order 34th FIST to leave Kingdom. A ruling by the Convocation demanding that the Marines leave was sufficient cause. Spears was certain Sturgeon knew that; the Marine was taking a considerable risk if he was attempting to bluff these five men.

"I care not for your Confederation!" Shammar roared, pounding the table and splashing out more of his tea. "You have failed miserably, and the Faithful suffer the consequences. I desire and command that you 190 190 and your infidels quit this world! We shall find a way through our faith to exorcise these demons." Sturgeon couldn't help but catch Shammar's use of the first person singular p.r.o.noun. Was Shammar alone in this thinking, and using the force of his fury to bull the others into reluctant agreement? He calmly looked at the other members of the leadership council. Swami Bastar's expression reflected one of the more vengeful of the ancient Hindu G.o.ds. No help there. Cardinal Leemus O'Lanners could have been Ignatius Loyola's chief Inquisitor; he fiddled with his teacup, drank deeply from it, signed for a refill. The Venerable Muong Bo looked more ready to do violence than a Buddhist prelate should. Only Bishop Ralphy Bruce Preachintent seemed uncomfortable with the proceedings, with a leavening of fear underlying his discomfort. Bishop Ralphy Bruce might be the c.h.i.n.k in their front he needed to reverse the decision.

"And the rest of you?" Sturgeon asked. "Do you agree?" Swami Baster held up a long-nailed finger. "You have failed," he said. The Venerable Muong Bo composed his face into an expression of sublime serenity. "Violence is not the Way," he said softly. "You are creatures of violence." Cardinal O'Lanners drank down his cup again, signaled for an attendant to refill it, quaffed again. The liquid the attendant poured didn't look like the tea in the cups before the other four prelates. "Holy Mother Church holds exorcism to be a very serious matter," he said. "We would be using it only in matters of demonic possession. I cannot believe that anyone-or anyplace-on Kingdom is demonically possessed. Though certainly these 'demons' do exist and destroy our people and property."

"Now-Now wait just-just a minute here," Bishop Ralphy Bruce stammered. "We've been invaded by someone who... someone n.o.body seems to know anything about. We can't beat them off by ourselves. h.e.l.l and d.a.m.nation, that's why we asked for Confederation help in the first place! We can't do it. Ayatollah, these are flesh and blood creatures... Well, they're physical, whether they're flesh and blood like us or not. Exorcism won't work. They need to be fought with physical weapons. We don't have the weapons. The Army of the Lord can't stand against them. Except when the Marines are leading them. The army has never beaten any of them by itself." He glanced apologetically at Lambsblood. "If we send the Confederation Marines away, we're all going to die! We need more Marines, not none!" Before Shammar could react, a saffron-robed cleric with shaven head and clasped hands padded into the room, shuffled to Shammar's shoulder, and bent to whisper in his ear. The Ayatollah's already livid face turned nearly purple as he listened to the whispers. The message given, he imperiously flicked his fingers and the cleric shuffled away.

"The demons dare attack Haven! Can you do naught?" he demanded of Sturgeon.

"By your leave, Revered One." Sturgeon gave a small bow and left the room without waiting to be dismissed. It was time for the FIST's "cooks and bakers" to join battle.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

The suborbital flight from Fargo to Falls Church International Airport in Virginia took two hours. Coming in from the west, the morning sun gleamed brilliantly off the huge inland sea where the District of Columbia and the state of Maryland had once been, before the Second American Civil War. The ancient city of Falls Church, founded in 1690, had become a resort town. The Lenfens lived in a condo on the forty-first floor of the Skyline Drive Complex, only five kilometers from the beach. 191 191 "I appreciate your coming, gentlemen," Jennifer's mother said as she greeted them at the door. "My daughter often mentioned you, Mr. Tuit-and she also mentioned you, Captain Conorado." Conorado exchanged a glance with Tuit. When did Jennifer ever have a chance to mention him to her mother? he wondered. "Please come in and have some refreshment."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lenfen," Tuit said.

"Please, calling me 'Mrs.' makes me sound so old." Jennifer's mother laughed. "Call me Homa-that's what everyone else calls me." Above a hundred, Mrs. Lenfen bore a remarkable resemblance to her daughter, and as he watched her, Conorado felt a powerful wave of sadness come over him. He'd often heard people say that if you wanted to know what a woman would look like in old age, just observe her mother. If poor Jennifer had lived to her mother's age, she'd still have been an attractive woman. A young man in his thirties stood as the pair entered the living room. "This is Charles, gentlemen, Jennifer's youngest brother. The other children are spread out all over the place, with their own careers and families, and as you may know, my husband has been dead for some while now. My other sons and daughters would have liked to meet you and talk to you, but they couldn't make it on such short notice. Charles is a student at George Mason University, not far from here, so," she smiled whimsically, "he lives at home and avoids the distractions and temptations of university life." They shook hands with Charles, an intense young man who did not smile. "How did my sister really die?" he asked even before the visitors were seated.

"Charles!" his mother admonished. "Well, we are interested in how our Jenny died, but," she glared at her son, "not before you have refreshed yourselves." She poured hot tea from an ancient porcelain teapot.

Tuit sipped carefully from his teacup. He set it down just as carefully before he spoke. "Mrs. Lenfen, er, Homa," he began, "your daughter was one of the bravest and brightest young officers ever to serve under me, in the navy or in the merchant marine." He looked first into Mrs. Lenfen's face and then to Charles. The old lady smiled and nodded, but Charles's face showed no expression. Tuit thought, They know something's fishy here. He glanced at Conorado, who nodded and set his own cup down.

"We aren't going to bulls.h.i.t you-" Conorado's face turned red and he grimaced. "Excuse me, Mrs. Lenfen, that just slipped out."

Mrs. Lenfen smiled. "Captain, you are no diplomat. That's one reason my daughter liked you so much." Again Conorado was puzzled by the old woman's remarks. How could she know anything about what was between himself and her daughter?

"I think they're lying, Mother," Charles said softly. Mrs. Lenfen silenced her son with a wave of her hand. "Tell us what you can, gentlemen."

"All we are at liberty to tell you, Homa," Tuit said, "is that Jennifer volunteered for a very dangerous mission, the success of which saved all our lives and most of my ship. It did involve an, uh, 'incident' in the propulsion unit of the Cambria Cambria , which did explode. She was killed in that explosion. The incident was much more complicated than that, but that is all we're at liberty to say. I can only add this: Jennifer's courage saved my life too." , which did explode. She was killed in that explosion. The incident was much more complicated than that, but that is all we're at liberty to say. I can only add this: Jennifer's courage saved my life too."

192 Mrs. Lenfen turned to Conorado. "Have you anything to add to this, Captain?"

"No, ma'am. We are not allowed to tell you more."

"And what were you to my sister?" Charles asked abruptly, his eyes blazing.

"We became friends, Charles."

"Captain Conorado, did you know Jennifer kept a diary? It was among her personal effects." Mrs. Lenfen reached inside her blouse and took out a small leather-bound book, which she offered to Conorado. There were tears in the old woman's eyes. Conorado took the book but could not bring himself to open it. "She was so old-fashioned, you know, a systems engineer who insisted on writing in a paper diary, of all things. She brushed at a tear. "Someone's ripped out the last pages. It ends with her description of your fight with that man..." Conorado cleared his throat. "Palmita." Mrs. Lenfen nodded. "Yes. Read what she wrote."

"N-No." He turned the book, unopened, in his hands. He felt embarra.s.sment and a nasty lump in his throat. "I can't open it. I don't want to read it, Mrs. Lenfen." He handed it back.

"You were her hero," Charles commented cynically. His mother looked at him sharply.

"Mrs. Lenfen, let me put it to you this way. Jennifer to me was somewhere-somewhere between my wife and my daughter. I'm going back to my wife, Mrs. Lenfen. I always was going back to her, and Jenny knew that. I was-"

"You were her G.o.dd.a.m.ned knight, that's the way she put it, an old-fashioned hero on a white horse," Charles screamed. He stood suddenly, clenching his fists in anger, and stomped out of the room.

"Yes, Captain, you were Jenny's 'knight,' that's how she thought of you. Please forgive Charles. He was very close to his sister. We'll never get over that she's gone." Mrs. Lenfen paused. "But you military men know death, what it does when someone you care for dies or is killed. We old women know it too. That's a sad lesson young Charles will have to learn." She stood, indicating the interview was over.

"Again, gentlemen, thank you very much for coming to see me. You didn't have to, I know. Captain Conorado," she turned to him and held out her hand, "you will always be welcome in my home, and if things had turned out differently, I'd have been proud to have had a son-in-law like you."

"Whew!" Tuit let out his breath once they were in the elevator. "I didn't have any idea Jenny kept a diary. It could've been embarra.s.sing if we'd tried to bluff the old girl."

"Hank, she reminded me of Jennifer."

"Oh." Tuit's face reddened. "Sorry, Lew. Just a dumb old scow boat captain shooting his mouth off there."

Conorado smiled and clapped Tuit on the shoulder. Outside, they stepped into the bright sunlight. 193 193 "Where to now, Hank?"

"Oh, I'm back to Fargo. See if Sewall's got another ship for me or if I go into retirement. How 'bout you, Lew?"

"Back to 34th FIST. My place is with them. Let's take the tube to the port and, as the shepherd said, get the flock out of here."

"Hey!" someone called from behind them. It was Charles Lenfen. He came straight up to Conorado.

"You screwed my sister, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d! All this c.r.a.p about 'knights' and 'heroes' and stuff! All you wanted was a warm woman on a long voyage, you-" Conorado reached out and grabbed the young man by his shirtfront. "You are beginning to p.i.s.s me off, Charles. What was between your sister and me was our business and not yours. Now you get out of my face or by G.o.d I'll wipe off the front of this building with you." He let Charles go and stepped back, breathing hard. Charles just stood there, his mouth working but no words coming out. Suddenly, Conorado relented. "G.o.d forgive me, Charles, I did love your sister! It was just like she wrote. But Charles, n.o.body can be a 'knight' without a princess. Jennifer was my princess." Charles Lenfen slowly folded to the ground, weeping. Conorado sighed. "Come on, come on, Charles," he said softly, lifting him up. He laid a hand on the sobbing man's shoulder. "Charles, I don't mean to be harsh, but be a man. Get over what's happened and get on with your life."

"But we don't even have a body to bury, Captain," Charles sobbed. Conorado tapped Charles on the chest above the heart. "You don't need a body, a monument. She'll always be here. I have about two hundred souls in there, Charles. Jenny's number 201. Come over here with me." He led Charles to some benches surrounding a small garden with a fountain in its center. Conorado motioned for Tuit to leave them alone.

"Charles, what I'm about to tell you now is breaking the law, but I'm going to tell you anyway." When he finished, he stood up. "Charles, you or your family, if I can ever help you in any way, you know where to find me. Time to go." He held out his hand.

"Captain, thanks. I appreciate what you've shared with me. I-I apologize for-"

"Don't mention it."

"Won't you and Captain Tuit stay with us for a while? Maybe stay for dinner with Mother and me?"

"Thanks, Charles. But we have ships to catch, and I'm going home."

"And where is that for you, sir?" Conorado hesitated. "Home is where they have to take you in when you get there, and for me that's 34th FIST."

Admiral Joseph K. C. B. Porter, Chairman of the Combined Chiefs of Staff, snarled his displeasure.

"G.o.dd.a.m.ned Marines!" he thundered. "Always charging in somewhere, always blasting their chops about 194 194 how G.o.dd.a.m.ned ready to fight they are, but let them get their tails in a hard place and they scream for the army." He drummed his fingers on his desk. "And besides, we go sending combat units all over the place, the existence of these," he gestured with a hand but did not mention Skinks, "will become common knowledge. You and I both know that is ultrasecret. I cannot authorize this without much, much higher authority."

"Well, it's not exactly the army they're asking for, sir," the Combined Chiefs operations officer, the C3, an army major general, protested. "The officer on the scene, this Brigadier Sturgeon, has only asked the commandant to release another FIST to support him on this-this-" He consulted his reader.

"-Kingdom. Sir, his report is pretty grim."