"Everything okay, sir?" Pappas rumbled.
"The only thing wrong seems to be that there's nothing wrong, Top," O'Neal said with a shake of his head.
"We've had plenty of time to prepare, sir," Captain Gray pointed out.
"And you have done so," O'Neal agreed. "Which is all too rare."
"There are also some combat replacements, sir," Captain Gray said. "They're in barracks and have been issued their basic equipment. They've been fitted and the lieutenant that is in charge has been having them work their suits in."
"What did we get, sir?" Gunny Pappas asked, taking off his helmet.
Gray's eyes fixed on the line of what looked like semi-intelligent water, or maybe a silver slug, that gathered on the side of the NCO's head and then humped itself down the armor and into the helmet. "Ahhh . . . we received four NCOs and an officer from the Ten Thousand and a group of privates from other Ground Force units. All of them have had some combat experience."
"Sounds good," Mike said. "Sergeant Major, these gentlemen have the billeting mapped out. Why don't you get with them and get the troops moved through in . . ." He paused and looked around. "Where are the Morgues?" he asked.
"In the basement of the barracks, sir," Captain Gray said, pointing at overlarge side entrances.
"Cool," O'Neal responded. "Company commanders and staff to battalion headquarters as soon as they're in silks. Troops fall into the barracks and get their issue squared away." He glanced at the sun and shook his head as he sneezed. "Damn. Shelly, what time is it?"
"Just past fourteen hundred, sir," the AID replied out of the helmet.
"Seventeen hundred formation for all companies," Mike continued. "I want everybody in silks and standing tall by then. The companies can release the troops to the cantonment area at that time, if they so choose, but they cannot release them off post."
"Clear," Pappas said. "You know that if we wait too long it'll just build up the pressure."
"I know," Mike said with a slight smile. "I used to be a grunt back when, smaj. Friday night. Payday procedures. By then I'll have had a chance to meet with the locals and get them marginally prepared. Then they can tear down the gates."
* * *
"Man," Mueller said, leaning back from the table. "If the troops in the corps knew you ate like this they'd be tearing down the gates."
"They could try," Cally said with a laugh. "I think we could probably turn 'em around with the first line of claymores though."
Papa O'Neal looked at Shari's half finished steak and frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," Shari said with a wan smile. "It's just that this is as much meat as I can remember eating in a month."
"Well, you ought to come around more often," O'Neal said with a smile, poking her in the arm. "You're as thin as a board. We need to get you fed up."
"I know," Wendy said, scraping up the last of her baked potato. "In the Urb we both eat about the same amount and I have a problem keeping my weight down. Shari never gains weight."
"Oh, I used to have to diet," Shari said, wiping her mouth and setting the napkin down alongside the half full plate. "But the food in the Urb isn't . . ."
"Much good at putting on weight," Elgars finished, wiping up steak juices. "It's also lousy for putting on muscle; the protein portions aren't large enough. I have a hell of a time with it; I always feel like I'm being starved to death."
"It's one of the reasons I stopped exercising," Shari said, pulling a sated Kelly onto her lap. The two youngest were already in bed and most of the rest were outside in the dark, having borrowed warm clothes from the O'Neals. The kids were revelling in the freedom to just run and play; that was all too rare in the Urb. "I'd just get exhausted. Between the lousy food and taking care of the kids. And there was nowhere to send them where they were safe like here; so they were always rightthere." She hugged Kelly and rubbed her cheek on the sleepy girl's head. "Not that I minded, sweetie. But it's nice to have a break."
"Well, you're not getting any lousy food here," Papa O'Neal said definitely. "And you can definitely take a break. I want you to stay over tomorrow night. And we'll really have a feed then."
"Oh, I don't know," Shari said rocking back in the chair. "There's so much to do . . ."
"There's nothing critical," Wendy said. "We are the creche. We don't really ever have to go back."
"Not true," Shari said. "The children are in our care, but we don't have custody. That would be kidnapping."
"Okay," Wendy said, admitting the point. "But we don't have to go back in the morning. We can stay over."
"And what about the sergeant major?" Shari asked. "He has to get back, right?"
"Nope," Mosovich said. "If anybody wants us, they can page us; I can get to corps headquarters as fast from here as from my barracks. We're on duty anyway; the orders that I got cut say so. And both the food and the scenery are better here," he finished, winking at Wendy.
"So there," Wendy said, sticking out her tongue. "And I think that Annie's doing better here than in the Urb."
"I do too," Elgars said. "I don't know if it's the air or the food or what. But this is the first time I've really felt . . . alive. Whole."
"Well, if we're not an imposition," Shari said one last time.
"If you were an imposition, I wouldn't have insisted," Papa O'Neal said with a grin. "I'm looking forward to feeding you up," he continued, poking at her ribs. "You're too skinny. Skinny, skinny, skinny."
"That, frankly, sounds heavenly," Shari said with an almost giggle, slapping at his hand until he desisted. She ended up holding his fingers and released them. But not too quickly.
"It is nice," Wendy said with a smile as she leaned back and stretched. "But it has been tiring. I think we should all go to bed . . ."
Mueller suddenly coughed hard. "Oh, sorry," he gasped, quickly looking away.
Wendy stopped in mid stretch and regarded him out of lowered eyelids. " . . . And I was going to say, 'and get some rest for tomorrow.' Master Sergeant Mueller, have I ever shown you a picture of my boyfriend?"
* * *
"Oh, my," Captain Slight muttered. "I think he must have been the biggest one in his class."
First Sergeant Bogdanovich suppressed a snort. Bogdanovich, Boggle to a very select few veterans of the battalion, was a short, muscular blonde whose fine skin was as translucent as paper from years in suits. She had been in the battalion since before its first blooding and she thought she had seen it all. But Boggle had to admit that the first lieutenant reporting to the company commander was rather oversized. He actually seemed to have trouble making it through the door straight. She hoped there was a suit that was fittable to him. On the other hand, he looked like he could survive an HVM round to the chest without one.
"Sar . . . Lieutenant Thomas Sunday, Junior, reporting to the commanding officer," Sunday said, rendering a hand salute.
Sunday wondered at the timing of this meeting; the majority of the company had been released and he could hear the racket of their settling in throughout the barracks. But the officers and NCOs were apparently still going strong. He'd noted that was usually the case in the Ten Thousand, unlike his first Ground Forces unit, and he wasn't sure what it meant.