“Lieutenant,” the general chuckled, “you are a sight for god-damned sore eyes.”
“Sir,” another figure said, coming out of the gloom. “I’m Ensign Destrang, General Talbot’s aide.”
“Yes, Ensign?” the general said, raising an eye at a dress uniform covered in greenery.
“I need a quiet word with you, sir,” the ensign replied, softly. “Soon. I have a dispatch from General Talbot and supplementary orders.”
“Let me get this clusterfisk under control,” D’Erle said, frowning and looking over his shoulder at the collapsed archers. “Then we’ll talk.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“I can put this on myself, you know,” Herzer said, extending his arms backwards.
“Us to do,” Bast replied. “Hold open, Megan.”
The ancient Romans had put an enormous amount of thought and practical research into making field armor that a soldier could wear day in and day out and Edmund Talbot had seen few reasons to ignore them. The loricated legionnaire armor was made of overlapping steel plates, lorica, that were effectively thin steel bands held together by small fittings on the inside. They were bent to go around a human body and open on the front. There they were tied with leather bindings. They had to be bent back to be put on, but other than that the armor could be donned like a coat and was, for armor, remarkably comfortable and cool.
Herzer had already donned the cosilk undershirt, with wide half sleeves to prevent chafing from the edge of the lorica, the steel-faced leather kilt and the thick cosilk scarf that wrapped around his neck and folded across his chest. The latter was to prevent the armor from digging into the neck and also acted as a slight protective collar against rebounds.
Herzer tied the front of the armor as Bast and Megan put on his shin, knee and thigh guards. Then he held his arms out, smiling faintly, so they could attach the bracers. On his right, his only, hand he slipped on a leather glove backed with steel inserts on the outside. Last, Megan placed his helmet on his head. The original Blood Lord helmet had been a barbute, a solid helmet of steel with a thin “T” on the front for breathing and sight. Recently, the legions had gone to the original Roman design. It was far more comfortable and gave much greater vision in battle. Of course, the face was essentially unprotected, but nothing was perfect.
He looked at the two of them standing side by side, the childlike beauty of the ancient elf with her long, curly, blue-black hair and cat-pupiled green eyes standing next to the much more subtle beauty of the councilwoman and shook his head.
“Do I get to keep both of you?” he asked, holding out his arms.
“Friends are,” Bast said, accepting and joining in the group hug. “Friends will stay. All and always.”
“I won’t kick her out of bed, mind you,” Megan said, trying to smile.
“Will help with armor?” Bast asked Megan.
“What armor?” Herzer said, frowning.
“Going with,” Bast replied, slipping out of her bikini top and bottom. “Hard fight have. Back will cover. Ride Joanna. Won’t mind.”
“It is going to be a hard fight,” Herzer said, frowning harder. “A bloody shambles fight. You’re as good as anyone in the world, better than me, but you’re going to need armor and I don’t know any in this ship…” He stopped as the elf produced a square of fabric the size of a handkerchief from her apparently bottomless pouch. She started unfolding it. And unfolding it. When it was fully unfolded the deck of the compartment could be seen through a long, grayish bodysuit.
“Hard to put on,” Bast said, sitting down on the deck and shoving one leg in. “Megan to help?”
“What is that?” Herzer asked. He always tended to get a bit… horny before a fight. Just one of his many demons. And the sight of the elf writhing on the floor putting on that… cat-suit combat-nightie, was a bit more than he was prepared to handle.
“Carbon nanotube,” Bast grunted, shoving an arm into a sleeve that ended in an integral glove. “Not very stretchy. Think have gained weight.”
“Carbon… what?” Herzer asked as Bast got up and stretched, hard, finally getting all her digits into place.
“Carbon nanotube,” Bast said, posing with her arms in the air. She looked from one blank face to the other and then pouted. “Diamond? Girl’s best friend?”
“You mean that’s a suit of carbon nanotube?” Megan said, aghast.
“Yeah,” Bast said, simply, pirouetting in place so the zipper at the back was presented to Megan. “Zip me?”
“That’s the stuff that they used to put in tourney armor to make sure nothing could get through it, right?” Herzer said.
“And in wyvern wings.” Megan nodded, zipping up the back. “That’s why they’re impenetrable.”
Bast folded up her hair in a quick bun and slipped a cover over her head. Like the rest of the suit it was nearly invisible.
“What do you think?” she asked, posing again and then turning in place.
The suit was essentially transparent except in carefully selected… mildly opaque spots.
“Put your eyes back in your head, Herzer,” Megan said, dryly. “Besides, you’ve seen it.”
“But this is… different,” Herzer said, wonderingly. The suit glittered faintly in the lamplight and he remembered what Bast had said about diamonds. That was, essentially, what the suit was, a flexible covering of solid diamond.
“Third floor,” Megan said, chuckling, “combat lingerie…”
The elf ignored the byplay and picked up her bow and saber.
“Ready?” she asked Herzer.
“Sure,” Herzer replied, bemusedly. “Why don’t you always wear that?”
“Doesn’t breathe very well,” Bast said, frowning. “Gets hot. Hard to take off in case want fun.” Her eyes grew distant and she frowned, then looked at Megan and reached out to stroke her face. “Say no goodbyes, yet.”
“Why?” Megan asked, tilting her face to the side.
“Is not time,” Bast replied, frowning. “Gaslan is… -shifting…”
“Message from station one-three-seven, Mr. J,” the messenger said, handing over a sealed envelope.
“Thank you,” Joel said as the messenger left. He slit the -envelope open and frowned at the contents. One cheek twitched for a moment and then he stepped quickly into his secretary’s anteroom and opened up a speaking tube.
“Communications,” a voice said when he whistled into it.
“Operational Immediate to all stations…” he said.
Brice Cruz had been a Blood Lord when most of the pussies going through the chow line hadn’t heard the name.
Sure, he’d had his problems. Been up the ranks, been down the ranks. But kicking him out of the corps over a few miserable bandits had really pissed him off. At first. Herzer had been the one to bring him the news. He’d known Herzer since right after the Fall, when they were both apprentices in Raven’s Mill. And he knew that Herzer would go to bat for him.
So when Herzer had told him that Herzer’s recommendation had been a full court-martial, well, he had to think.