Cray sat on the APC looking out the back as the stars spun around slowly in their uncontrolled drift, there was the foldwake of a SLA warship close by as its sleek, black form emerged from a stream of opaque blue bubbles. He silently hoped that the Darknight scum where running out of oxygen too, he only had 36 minutes left in his, he also hoped Rachael Ansted died a horrible death in a Cloak division torture chamber.
"I nearly made it." He whispered to himself as the frigate came into their area looking for the source of the disturbance. No one ever got remembered for coming second in war he remembered and another wave of depression washed over him, his radio was out thanks to the HERF as well so he couldn't even swear at Rachael.
The frigate jerked violently to one side and then did a short fold 3000 metres away from them, it jerked violently again so Cray started paying more attention to it. It began coming in hard on their location at full speed, "this is it," he muttered watching the ship move into position for an attack run. Not that it would take much to knock them out anyway given it was a warship and they where only a tin can shuttle of dubious manufacture. A flight of 12 dark grey, delta winged shapes slipped over the top of the shuttle and the frigate made one of its funny looking twists and then its ventral region began ejecting atmosphere. Something was up, he zoomed into look at the grey shapes, "1911 Hun fighter bombers!" Gary’s voice carried weakly over his damaged radio, "they ours corporal?"
"Yeah, looks like the cavalry’s here boss!"
"Thank god for the fucking navy!"
The sides of the frigate lit up with a fairy fire of yellow sparks as its crippled hull began taking hits from the mass drivers on the fighters as they began their strafing runs, "looks like she’s taken a can in the guts boss."
"A can corporal?"
"Yeah, mass round from a big ship about the size of a garbage can, 1800kg’s of tungsten and depleted uranium. Knocks them out for awhile."
"How do you know this corporal?"
"Cousin is in the Ion Drive navy, he fixes engines mostly but he’s told me a few things."
"Oh," Cray said absently, just before the shuttle lurched about suddenly sending him spiraling headfirst into the forward bulkhead and into blackness.
"It wakes!" The red skinned shaktar put away its horrible, multibladed surgical tool and clicked its incisors excitedly. Cray went wide eyed at the alien as it stepped forward and probed him experimentally with a clawed finder in his soft belly through the green cotton sheet.
"Oww! Fuck that hurt!"
"Good!" The shaktar yelped, "means the lack of oxygen didn't damage your nervous system."
"Yeah, well thats all good and wonderful but its not going to help if you stab me to death in the meantime!" Cray snarled back at the small female shaktar wearing the dark green smock he didn't recognise.
"You make a difficult patient I get the orderly to pacify you!" The medic made a few clipped syllables toward the door and a much larger male shaktar appeared, crossed its arms and glared at Cray.
"Ok, you win. Where the hell am I?"
"Ynn-Jsk’tck, Thresher warship. We picked up you and your team 12 hours ago. They are safe so do not worry."
"There was a small, dark haired woman onboard the shuttle, did she live?"
"Yes, she is fine, all is good. Rest awhile, we are in no hurry."
"Damnit," Cray muttered and lay back in the bed.
For the better part of a week while he recovered the men from ITSS found their way into the ward on a daily basis to question him on the activities. They where better than the MP’s that he was more used to, still cold fish underneath their false smiles, black hats, leather dusters and he had no doubt at all they wouldn't hesitate to kill him in an eyeblink if they thought he was a SLA sympathiser. They where obviously impressed by the performance of the unit on Mort and made mention that he and the rest would be well rewarded for their efforts. Still, to his dismay there was no sign of reprieve or reduction of his assignment to the 7th.
"So, what did you do with the ebon kid, finally flay him to death with your tongue?"
"ITSS took him off our hands, we won’t be seeing him again I suspect. Not like you care or anything."
Gary interrupted the conversation between Cray and Rachael before it got too heated, with as much decorum as he could muster. "Well, ma’am where are we headed do you know?" He was taken aback by the coldness in the bright green eyes that focused on him malignantly, "Bremen, place where I was born apparently."
"You dont remember where you where born ma’am?" Cray couldn't reach Gary to shut him up physically and the corporal ignored his glower to shut up. She was in Thresher space now and held rank over both of them, heck if she was feeling really vindictive she could probably have them both shot he remembered. As it was Rachael just shut up and ignored him completely for several minutes as the shuttle glided smoothly through the atmosphere of the pretty planet below. "We have been granted a months paid holiday after the final debriefing dirt side. However, you two will be confined to base and will require a military police escort to visit relatives. That was about as best I could arrange, with any luck I wont ever have to see either of you ever again, a situation amicable to both of us."
"Beats a kick in the arse I suppose", Gary smiled, ignoring the icy glances being exchanged between the two senior officers. He was just happy to be back on a planet where there was nice green grass, beaches, it didn't piss down rain constantly and the general population at large wasnt completely bat-shit crazy. Though with the arrival of these two the population of raving loonies just went up on an index somewhere, he just hoped too that he wouldn't have to see either of them again.
"What happened to that damn robot we dragged back here ma’am?"
For the first time in ages he actually saw an emotional response from her, "he, he was taken off me and I think they disassembled him."
"Thank god," Gary thought.
It was a familiar sensation waking up with the furry tongue and not really knowing where he was, for a minute Cray feared that he was shanghaied into something he probably didn't want to be involved in. The pounding in his head felt like an Aegir had used it for an anvil could only mean one thing, he’d been out on the booze again and the glaringly bright room had a familiar look to it that reminded him of somewhere familiar. But being in the lockup was much better than being on a shuttle in a bodybag and entering the atmosphere of Mort, that depended of course on what he’d done to get here, not that he remembered anything after entering the officers bar and ordering shots of bourbon. It had been real bourbon too, none of that synthesized, chemical rat piss that he’d tried on Mort.
"Get the fuck up!" A sergeant in an MP’s blue and white power armour bawled at him from across the room from the door.
"Hey, that’s no way to talk to an enlisted officer!"
"Get the fuck up, sir!"
"Alright, alright Im getting up."
"Theres an officer to see you, I’d make it quick... sir."
The bonehead in the armour was probably just itching for an excuse to work him over with the stun baton and Cray didn't feel the need a sound thrashing anymore than he’d already done to himself last night. A private in the same type of armour peeked in the door to see if there was anything to do to assist in making Cray’s life even more shitty than it was. The ITSS goons waited impatiently tapping their batons on the door while he struggled, still somewhat drunkenly to his feet, "bang him up and clear that shit outa his system." For a moment Cray feared he was about to be worked over with the baton but instead the private fished out an airhypo and gave him a blast of something cold and sickly into his arm.
"Damn", Cray muttered, I spent 100 bucks working on this hangover and you just ruined it all."
The Private snickered under his helmet and dragged him out of the cell, they didn't bother handcuffing him so Cray assumed he wasnt in too much trouble or maybe they where just looking for an excuse to unload on him if he looked like doing a runner.
"So, what the hell did I do to end up here?"
The sergeant grunted and poked him along the corridor, "drunk and disorderly. Seems you’ve got a friend in high places otherwise you’d be here longer."
Cray didn't have any friends in high places, which worried him a lot. He had a few friends in low places and the pretty blonde, half orienta girl in the suit wasn’t among them either so he figured something bad was up.
"Sub Altern Robert E Cray, this is Agent Rachael Ansted, make trouble for her and we’ll pound your sorry arse into chopped meat. Got it?"
"Yeah, I got it. You can piss off now sergeant and take your little bitch with you, I got nothing to say." That got more of a reaction than he’d been expecting out of the MP, who slammed him into the unyielding stainless steel desk hard enough to knock the wind out of him.
"You understand now sir?" The whine of the baton reaching full charge close to his ear held further implications of physical abuse but Cray decided enough was enough for now.
"That ain’t Agent Ansted, she’s got black hair and a bit taller, I dont know who the fuck this is!"
He didn't even feel the baton, except all the muscles in his body suddenly tensed like a spring and no longer worked properly, the petite woman knelt down beside him with the her facial expression not changing all the while through the meeting until she spoke.
"You aren't very smart are you Cray? Thats why some arsehole in high command has decided that we work well together and Ive been assigned to your merry band of delinquents to oversee field operations and electronic warfare." He couldn't speak and a slight frown crossed her fine features at the lack of response, "needless to say Im just as annoyed as you are about this and I will be working to be rid of you as soon as possible, through non violent means. Yes, this is what I really look like Cray, for now anyway."
"Why," Cray coughed out through his tortured lungs that had relaxed enough for him to breathe properly.
"Because someone made a paperwork blunder. Get yourself together, we have to requisition another section of bullet stoppers in a week. See you then."
There was the grim satisfaction of watching her walk away with her head held down and maybe, just maybe, there was a god in this crazy universe that did have a sense of humor about sending barely trained, bad tempered, paranoid bitches to join a combat unit. The day was looking up already, Rachael Ansted would probably be dead within a month.