Free Dusk (Dusk 1) by J.S. Wayne Page B

impossible.
    For a Marine, nothing was impossible.
    He realized he hadn’t thought to ask Neville about Kozlowski. For some reason, the large warrant officer still troubled him. Kozlowski’s determination that Pete call him for whatever he needed suggested he was being politely and unofficially encouraged to stay in his quarters and not mingle, not ask questions, not do anything that might lead to him learning something.
    The feeling this realization aroused in him was one he disliked intensely. It reminded him a little too clearly of the briefings he’d received just before arrival on Regina IV. Those briefings had been a complete and utter joke, and he’d lost too many good people because of them.
    Not this time .
    Since he was awake anyway, he dialed the code that linked him to Kozlowski. To his surprise, the warrant officer looked just as fresh and crisp as he had the day before.
    “Can I help you, Colonel?” Kozlowski asked without even glancing at the screen.
    The hair on the back of Pete’s neck stood up. He hadn’t left his quarters since he finally got here, afraid of getting lost all over again and subjecting himself to further embarrassment. As a result, there was no reason for Kozlowski to know that he’d just been promoted unless his orders told him so. If that was the case, the warrant officer had just become less of a valet and more of a warden.
    “Breakfast,” Pete said. “And I want to know exactly what you know.”
    “I can help you with breakfast, but not the other, Colonel,” Kozlowski replied, this time looking directly out from the holoscreen.
    “And why is that, exactly?”
    Kozlowski glanced up and to the right nervously. “Because my orders say you don’t have a need to know them, Colonel. You may lodge a complaint with General Neville if you wish, but I doubt it will do you much good. My orders bear his thumbprint and specifically contain the line, and I quote, ‘If Colonel Silva presses you about why you’re assigned to him, you are to tell him it’s none of his damned business.’ So, it’s none of your damned business. Sir.”
    “I don’t like being stonewalled, Warrant.”
    “That’s not my call, Colonel. You’re more than welcome to take it up with General Neville, but I can’t do or tell you anything more than I already have. All you need to know is I’m here to make your life go more smoothly.”
    He nodded sullenly. “Am I confined to quarters?”
    Kozlowski’s face rearranged itself into an expression of genuine-looking surprise. “No, sir! Why would the colonel think that?”
    Pete scowled. “Because the colonel thinks he’s getting mushroomed by the people he’s counting on to watch his back.”
    “Mushroomed, sir?”
    “Kept in the dark and fed bullshit.”
    “If you want bullshit for breakfast, sir, I’ll see what the cook can do. My understanding is the galley’s serving up omelets today.”
    Pete suppressed the urge to bite the warrant officer’s head off. If the general was determined to keep him out of the loop, there wasn’t much he could do about it except accept that he’d come as close to being a senior field-grade officer as he ever would. If he were lucky, he’d just wind up busting out as a private. If the mission went south and he was unlucky, he could be looking at ten to twenty years on Luna converting big rocks into gravel for export to Terra. Plum assignments like this had a nasty way of blowing up in Marines’ faces, thoroughly destroying their careers. Taking off the warrant’s head wouldn’t help, and might actually sabotage any chance he had of seeing this mission through to a successful conclusion.
    Damned if he could see how that was going to happen, though.
    “Never mind, Warrant. Fifteen minutes.”
    “Sir.”
    The screen went blank again.
    Pete flicked some cold water on his face and then hurried to the closet. Quickly he donned a duty blouse, cargo pants, and boots. Then he slathered on beard-repressing gel and