General Wycherly's command post had taken a direct hit from a heavy shell.A high-sided truck with multiple antennas parked beside the smoldering wreckage. Federal troops in clean uniforms stepped briskly in and out of the vehicle.
The real authorities on 541N wore Slammers khaki. Major Joachim Steuben was short, slim, and so fine-featured that he looked like a girl in a perfectly-tailored uniform among Sergeant Broglie and several Alpha Company officers. They looked up as Des Grieux approached.
Steuben's command group stood under a tarpaulin slung between a combat car and Lieutenant Lindgren's tank. The roof of Lindgren's bunker was broken-backed from the fighting, but his tank looked all right at first glance.
At a second look—
There were telltale soot stains all around the tank's deck, and the turret rested slightly askew on its ring.
The female escort sniffed."Its luck ran out.Took as hell down the open hatch. All they gotta do now is jack up what's left and slide a new tank underneath."
"Dunno how anybody can ride those fat bastards," the other escort muttered. "They maneuver like blind whales."
"Glad you could rejoin us, Sergeant," Major Steuben said. He gave the data terminal in his left hand to a lieutenant beside him. His voice was lilting and as pretty as Steuben's appearance, but it cut through any thought Des Grieux had of snarling a response to the combat-car crewman beside him.
"Sir," Des Grieux muttered. The Slammers didn't salute. Salutes in a war zone targeted officers for possible snipers.
"Would you like to explain your actions during the battle last night, Sergeant?" the major asked.
Steuben stood arms akimbo. His pose accentuated the crisp tuck of his waist. The fall of the slim right hand almost concealed the pistol riding in a cut-out holster high on Steuben's right hip.
The pistol was engraved and inlaid with metal lozenges in a variety of colors. In all respects but its heavy 1cm bore, it looked as surely a girl's weapon as its owner looked like a girl.
Joachim Steuben's eyes focused on Des Grieux. There was not a trace of compassion in the eyes or the soul beneath them. Any weapon in Steuben's hands was Death.
"I was winning a battle,"Des Grieux said as his eyes mirrored Steuben's blank, brown glare."Sir. Since the relieving force was still sitting on its hands after three weeks."
