Free Warlord by David Drake, S.M. Stirling
Authors: David Drake, S.M. Stirling
Tags: Science-Fiction
on her knees. "Alsatians," she said. "They're mounted on Alsatians."
Raj quirked a smile. "How did I ever manage to pick someone with your combination of qualities?" he said.
"Oh, you didn't," Suzette said calmly. "I picked you, and mean to keep you . . . but about the 2nd?" There was genuine interest behind the question; she had started reading his military texts as soon as they returned from the honeymoon and he took up his duties.
"Palace poodles," he continued. "The 2nd aren't just Residence Area troops, they practically never leave East Residence."
"Father used to take me out to the Gendarmerie Picnics, when I was a little girl," Suzette said reflectively. "When they were on maneuvers up in the Bay Hills."
He looked around for a second, saw brief reflective melancholy on her face. Odd ,he thought. How seldom Suzie's talked about her childhood .Suzette, Lady Whitehall, nee Wenqui, was twenty-six, a year older than her husband, and looked younger, but it was usually difficult to imagine her as a child .
Aloud: "That's a hunting park. And most of the 2nd are either city toughs, or scions doing some military service where it won't take them too far from the races, the theater, or their favorite cathouses. They've got beautiful gear because the scions compete with each other to rig their units out pretty for parades. About the only real soldiers in it are some long-service NCO's, and most of them are past it; the scions sponsor them in to polish the drill, and it's a retirement post for good men."
"They're useless?" Suzette asked.
"No, not useless. Reliable enough putting down strikes and riots."
For a moment the room vanished, and he was walking down a flight of outdoor stairs in the naval harbor, a vision of memory more vivid than Center's. The rank of Gendarmerie troopers was walking ahead of him, in their white "field" uniforms. Reload !over the screams of the mob—the people—below. Metallic clicks, tinging as the spent brass and paper cartridges bounced on marble and the fresh rounds clacked home. By platoons, volley fire—fire !And the CRASH of two hundred rifles, the rippling and thrashing along the line of the crowd where the heavy 11mm bullets struck. The bodies on the steps were dead, mostly; the blood flowed in little rivulets that made the bottoms of his boots stick to the stone with little tak-tak sounds.
"—and they'll die bravely enough. I'm going to take a Descott Hills unit with Field Force experience; the—"
observe.
* * *
Faces this time, a comparison left-right between the Company officers of the 12th Residence Battalion, the unit he had meant to take, and another. Faces thin and square, fox-mean and bovine, with a murmured commentary from Center on each.
* * *
"Darling! Are you all right?"
Raj staggered slightly, took his hand down from his forehead. "Why, certainly, sweetheart. Why?"
"You looked so . . . so strange for a moment," his wife said, raw anxiety in her voice.
" Aya, dummerlin ,"he said, shocked back into dialect for a moment. "It's all right, I was just . . . ah, lost in thought. I'd decided to take the 12th, but I've changed my mind. It'll be the 5th Descott Guards, instead."
Suzette stepped back, the immediate concern fading from her face. "But . . . darling, they're understrength."
Raj nodded. "But they've got a better set of Company commanders, and that will be crucial. It's a raiding mission, they'll have to split up into smaller groups and perform on their own, without always having me there to hold their hands."
Suzette's fingers tapped her chin. "You do know, Raj, that they're understrength because those officers are pocketing the pay and rations of the men who aren't there?"
Rajnodded. "Well, of course," he said, grinning. "I have been in East Residence for four years, my sweet. That proves they're sharper than the 12th, doesn't it?"
"But they're still short two hundred men," Suzette said thoughtfully. "Perhaps an order to draft
Raj quirked a smile. "How did I ever manage to pick someone with your combination of qualities?" he said.
"Oh, you didn't," Suzette said calmly. "I picked you, and mean to keep you . . . but about the 2nd?" There was genuine interest behind the question; she had started reading his military texts as soon as they returned from the honeymoon and he took up his duties.
"Palace poodles," he continued. "The 2nd aren't just Residence Area troops, they practically never leave East Residence."
"Father used to take me out to the Gendarmerie Picnics, when I was a little girl," Suzette said reflectively. "When they were on maneuvers up in the Bay Hills."
He looked around for a second, saw brief reflective melancholy on her face. Odd ,he thought. How seldom Suzie's talked about her childhood .Suzette, Lady Whitehall, nee Wenqui, was twenty-six, a year older than her husband, and looked younger, but it was usually difficult to imagine her as a child .
Aloud: "That's a hunting park. And most of the 2nd are either city toughs, or scions doing some military service where it won't take them too far from the races, the theater, or their favorite cathouses. They've got beautiful gear because the scions compete with each other to rig their units out pretty for parades. About the only real soldiers in it are some long-service NCO's, and most of them are past it; the scions sponsor them in to polish the drill, and it's a retirement post for good men."
"They're useless?" Suzette asked.
"No, not useless. Reliable enough putting down strikes and riots."
For a moment the room vanished, and he was walking down a flight of outdoor stairs in the naval harbor, a vision of memory more vivid than Center's. The rank of Gendarmerie troopers was walking ahead of him, in their white "field" uniforms. Reload !over the screams of the mob—the people—below. Metallic clicks, tinging as the spent brass and paper cartridges bounced on marble and the fresh rounds clacked home. By platoons, volley fire—fire !And the CRASH of two hundred rifles, the rippling and thrashing along the line of the crowd where the heavy 11mm bullets struck. The bodies on the steps were dead, mostly; the blood flowed in little rivulets that made the bottoms of his boots stick to the stone with little tak-tak sounds.
"—and they'll die bravely enough. I'm going to take a Descott Hills unit with Field Force experience; the—"
observe.
* * *
Faces this time, a comparison left-right between the Company officers of the 12th Residence Battalion, the unit he had meant to take, and another. Faces thin and square, fox-mean and bovine, with a murmured commentary from Center on each.
* * *
"Darling! Are you all right?"
Raj staggered slightly, took his hand down from his forehead. "Why, certainly, sweetheart. Why?"
"You looked so . . . so strange for a moment," his wife said, raw anxiety in her voice.
" Aya, dummerlin ,"he said, shocked back into dialect for a moment. "It's all right, I was just . . . ah, lost in thought. I'd decided to take the 12th, but I've changed my mind. It'll be the 5th Descott Guards, instead."
Suzette stepped back, the immediate concern fading from her face. "But . . . darling, they're understrength."
Raj nodded. "But they've got a better set of Company commanders, and that will be crucial. It's a raiding mission, they'll have to split up into smaller groups and perform on their own, without always having me there to hold their hands."
Suzette's fingers tapped her chin. "You do know, Raj, that they're understrength because those officers are pocketing the pay and rations of the men who aren't there?"
Rajnodded. "Well, of course," he said, grinning. "I have been in East Residence for four years, my sweet. That proves they're sharper than the 12th, doesn't it?"
"But they're still short two hundred men," Suzette said thoughtfully. "Perhaps an order to draft