The orderly sergeant's name tag read Hechinger. His nose wrinkled as Des Grieux approached. The Han diet of the POW camp differed enough from what the Hindi prisoners were used to that it gave most of them the runs. Latrine facilities within the camp were wherever you wanted to squat.
"Well, why didn't you tell them you were a friendly?" Hechinger asked in puzzlement.
Des Grieux's hands trembled with anger. "Have you ever tried to tell a wog anything?" he whispered. "Without a gun stuck down their throat when you say it?"
He got a grip on himself and added, more calmly, "And don't ask me for my ID bracelet. One of the guards lifted that first thing. Thought the computer key was an emerald, I guess."
Hechinger sighed. "Mary, key data," he ordered the artificial intelligence in his console. "Name?"
"Des Grieux, Samuel, Sergeant-Commander," the tanker said. "H Company, 2nd Platoon, Platoon Sergeant Peres commanding. She was commanding, anyhow. She may've bought it last week."
The console hummed and projected data. Des Grieux, standing at the back of the unit, could see the holograms only as refractions in the air.
"One of our trucks was going by and I shouted to the driver," Des Grieux muttered, glaring at the clerks. The three of them hunched over their desks, pretending to be busy. "He didn't know me, but he knew I wasn't a wog. I could've been there forever."
"Well,"said the orderly sergeant,"three days longer and you'd sure've been finding your own transport back to the Regiment. We're pulling out. Got a contract on Plessy. Seems the off-planet workers there're getting uppity and think they oughta have a share in the shipyard profits."
"Anyplace," Des Grieux said. "Just so long as I've got a gun and a target."
"Well, we got a bit of a problem here, trooper," Hechinger said as he frowned at his display. "Des Grieux, Sergeant-Commander, is listed as dead."
"I'm not bloody dead," Des Grieux snarled. "Blood'n Martyrs, ask Sergeant Peres."
"Lieutenant Peres, as she'll be when she comes off medical leave," the orderly sergeant said, "isn't a lotta help right now either. And if you're going to ask about—" he squinted at the characters on his display "—Sergeant-Commander Medrassi, he bought the farm."
Hechinger smirked. "Like you did, y'see? Look, don't worry, we'll—"
"Look, I just want to get back to my unit," Des Grieux said, hearing his voice rise and letting it. "Is Broglie around? He bloody knows me. I just saved his ass—again!"
The orderly sergeant glanced over his shoulder. "Captain Broglie we might be able to round up for you, trooper," he said carefully. He nodded back toward the Adjutant's office.
"Anyhow,"Hechinger continued,"he was captain when he went in there. Don't be real surprised if he comes out with major's pips on his collar, though."
"That bastard . . ." Des Grieux whispered.
"Captain Broglie's very much the fair-haired boy just now, you know, buddy," Hechinger continued in his careful voice. "He stopped near a brigade of Hindi armor with one tank platoon. It was kitty-bar-the-door, all the way back to Xingha, if it hadn't been for him."
The office door opened. Sergeant Hechinger straightened at his console, face forward.
Des Grieux looked up expecting to see either the Adjutant or Broglie—
And met the eyes of Major Joachim Steuben, as cold and hard as beads of chert. Hammer's bodyguard looked as stiffly furious as Des Grieux had ever seen a man who was still under control.
Des Grieux didn't think that Steuben would recognize him. It had been years since the last time they were face to face. There was crinkled skin around the corners of the major's eyes, though his was still a pretty-boy's face if you didn't look closely; and Des Grieux just now looked like a scarecrow . . . .
Joachim was more than just a sociopathic killer, though the Lord knew he was that. He looked at the tanker and said, "Well, well, Des Grieux.Seeking our own level, are we?"
The way Joachim shot his hip could have been an affectation . . . but it also shifted the butt of his pistol a further centimeter clear of the tailored blouse of his uniform. Des Grieux met his eyes. Anyway, there was no place to run.
"Well, I understand your decision, Luke," said Colonel Hammer as he came out of the Adjutant's office with his hand on the arm of the much larger Broglie. The moonfaced Adjutant followed them, nodding to everything Hammer said. "But believe me, I regret it. Remember you've always got a bunk here if you change your mind."
Broglie wore no rank insignia at all.
Hechinger had to say something to avoid becoming part of the interchange between Steuben and Des Grieux. Nobody in his right mind—except maybe the colonel—wanted to be part of Joachim's interchanges, even as a spectator.
"Okay,Des Grieux,"he said in a voice just above a whisper. "I'll cut you some temporary orders so's you can get chow and some kit."
Broglie heard the name. He glanced at Des Grieux. His face blanked and he said, in precisely neutral tones, "Hello, Slick. I didn't think you'd make it back from that one."
"Oh, you ought to show more warmth than that, Mister Broglie," Joachim drawled.He didn't look at Broglie and Hammer behind him."After all,without Sergeant Des Grieux here to create that monumental screw-up, you wouldn't have been such a hero for straightening things out. Would you, now?"
"What d'ye mean screw-up?" Des Grieux said, knowing that Steuben was looking for an excuse to kill something. "I'm the one who blew the guts outa Baffin's Legion!"
"That's the man?" Hammer said, speaking to Broglie.
The colonel's eyes were gray. They had none of the undifferentiated hatred for the world that glared from Major Steuben's, but they were just as hard as the bodyguard's when they flicked over Des Grieux.
"Yes sir," Broglie murmured. "Joachim—Major Steuben? I'm not taking the job the Legion offered me out of any disrespect for the colonel. If you like, I'll promise that the Legion won't take any contracts against the Slammers so long as I'm in charge."
Joachim turned as delicately as a marionette whose feet dangle above the ground. "Oh, my . . ." he said, letting his left hand dangle on a theatrically limp wrist. "And a traitor's promise is so valuable!"
"I'm not—" said Broglie.
"Joachim!" said the colonel, stepping in front of Steuben—and between Steuben and Broglie, though that might have been an accident, if you believed Colonel Alois Hammer did things by accident."Go to the club and have a drink. I'll join you there in half an hour."
Steuben grimaced as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. "Sir," he said. "I'm . . ."
"Go on,"Hammer said gently,putting his hand on the shoulder of the dapper killer. "I'll meet you soonest. No problem, all right?"
"Sir," Steuben said, nodding agreement. He straightened and strode out of the headquarters building. He looked like a perfect band-box soldier, except for his eyes . . . .