The Slammers officer quirked a grin to Desoix and nodded to Anne and the major as he stepped toward the door.
"Tyl,wait . . ."Desoix said as a word rang echoes."Can you . . . Major,how many men do you have downstairs still?"
Borodin shrugged out of the brown study into which he had fallen as he watched the fires burning around him."Men?" he repeated. "Senter and Lachere is all. We're still short—"
"Tyl, can you, ah—" Desoix went on. He paused, because he didn't want to use the wrong word, since what he was about to ask was no part of the Slammers' business.
"I need to get down to the warehouses on the corniche,"Desoix said,rephrasing the question to make the request personal rather than military."All I've got here are the battery clerks and they're not, ah, trained for this. Could you detail a few men, five or six, to go along with me in case there was a problem?"
"Lieutenant," Borodin said gruffly. "What do—"
"Sir,"Desoix explained as the plan drew itself in glowing lines in his mind,the alternative sites and intersecting fields of fire. "When we get Gun Five set up, we can move Three a kilometer east on the corniche and still be in compliance. Five on the outskirts of town near Pestini's Chapel, Three on Guizer Head—and we've got everything Delcorio can demand under the contract."
"Without stationing any of our men down . . . ." Borodin said as the light dawned. He might have intended to point toward the plaza, but as his gaze turned out over the city, his voice trailed off instead. Both UDB officers stared at Tyl Koopman.
Koopman shrugged. "I'll go talk to the guys," he said.
And they had to be satisfied with that, because he said nothing more as he walked back into the building.
Chapter Seventeen
Tyl's functional company had taken over the end of a second-floor hallway abandoned by the entourage of six noble guests of the President. The hundred troopers had a great deal more room than there'd been in the City Office billet—or any normal billet.
And, though they'd lost their personal gear when the office building burned, the nobles' hasty departure meant that the soldiers could console themselves for the objects they'd lost across the river. Jewelry and rich fabrics peeked out the edges of khaki uniforms as Tyl strode past the corridor guard and into the billeting area.
Too bad about Aunt Sandra's jelly, though. He could turn over a lot of rich folks' closets and not find anything to replace that.
Troopers with makeshift bedrolls in the hallway were jumping to attention because somebody else had. The heads that popped from doorways were emptying the adjoining guest suites as effectively as if Tyl had shouted, "Fall in!"
Which was about the last thing he wanted.
"Settle down," he said with an angry wave of his arm, as if to brush away the commotion. They were all tight. The troops didn't know much, and that made them rightly nervous.
Tyl Koopman knew a good deal more,and what he'd seen from the porch wasn't the sort of knowledge to make anybody feel better about the situation.
"Captain?" said Jack Scratchard as he muscled his way into the hall.
Tyl motioned the sergeant major over. He keyed his commo helmet with the other hand and said loudly—most of the men didn't have their helmets on, and only the senior noncoms were fitted with implants—"At present, I'm expecting us to get the rest of the night's sleep here, but maybe not be around much after dawn. When I know more, you'll hear."
Scratchard joined him. The two men stepped out of the company area for the privacy they couldn't find within it. Tyl paused and called over his shoulder,"Use a little common sense in what you try to pack, all right?"
He glared at a corporal with at least a dozen vibrantly colored dresses in her arms.
The remaining six suites off the hallway were as empty as those Scratchard had appropriated. He must have decided to keep the troops bunched up a little under the present circumstances, and Tyl wasn't about to argue with him.
The doors of all the suites had been forced. As they stepped into the nearest to talk, Tyl noticed that the richly appointed room had been turned over with great care, although none of his soldiers were at present inside continuing their looting.
Loot and mud were the two constants of line service. If you couldn't get used to either one, you'd better find a rear-echelon slot somewhere.
"Talk to the Old Man?"Scratchard muttered when he was sure they were alone in the tumbled wreckage.
Tyl shrugged. "Not yet," he said. "Sent an all clear through open channels, is all. It's mostly where we left it earlier, and I don't want Central—" he wasn't comfortable saying "Hammer" or even "the Old Man" "—thinking they got to wet-nurse me."
He paused, and only then got to the real business."Desoix—the UDB Number Two," he said. "He wants a few guys to cover his back while he gets a calliope outa storage down to the seafront. Got everybody but a couple clerks out with the other tubes."
The sergeant major knuckled his scalp,the ridge where his helmet rode."What's that do for us, the other calliope?" he asked.
"Bloody zip," Tyl answered with a shrug. He was in charge, but this was the sort of thing that the sergeant major had to be brought into.
Besides,nothing he'd heard about Ripper Jack Scratchard suggested that there'd be an argument on how to proceed.
"What it does," Tyl amplified, "is let them withdraw the gun they got down by the plaza. Desoix doesn't like having a crew down there, the way things're going."
Scratchard frowned. "Why can't he—" he began.
"Don't ask," Tyl said with a grimace.
The question made him think of things he'd rather forget. He thumbed in what might have been the direction of the Consistory Room and said, "It got real strange up there. Real strange."
He shook his head to rid it of the memories and added, "You know, he's the one I finally raised to get us into here before it really dropped in the pot. None of the locals were going to do squat for us."
"Doing favors is a good way t' get your ass blown away," Scratchard replied, sourly but without real emphasis. "But sure, I'll look up five guys that'd like t' see the outside again."
He grinned around the clothing strewn about them from forced clothes presses. "Don't guess it'll be too hard to look like civilians, neither."
"Ah," said Tyl. He was facing a blank wall. "Thought I might go along, lead 'em, you know."
"Like hell,"said the sergeant major with a grin that seemed to double the width of his grizzled face. "I might, except for my knees. You're going to stay bloody here, in charge like you're supposed t' be."
His lips pursed. "Kekkonan'll take 'em. He won't buy into anything he can't buy out of."
Tyl clapped the noncom on the shoulder."Round 'em up,"he said as he stepped into the hall. "I'll tell Desoix. This is the sort of thing that should've been done, you know, last week."
As he walked down the hall, the Slammers officer keyed his helmet to learn where Desoix was at the moment. Putting this sort of information on open channels didn't seem like a great idea, unless you had a lot more confidence in the Bamberg army than Tyl Koopman did.