Also, growing the battalion was succeeding beyond expectations. Each platoon leader wanted to be a company commander. Every platoon now had several recruit platoons attached to it. Most platoons had found an excuse to confiscate an IndiMech, some several. That gave L. J. a chance to reward some hardworking trooper with MechWarrior status. With the Constabulary walking a supervised and unarmed beat in town, their jeeps were now regimental property, being up-gunned and –armored to afford the armor boys promotions. Competition always got the best out of a command.

But it wasn’t just raw recruits joining up. His Maintenance and Supply platoons were now battalions. Signals had only doubled, but recruiting there was picking up. People of this quality wouldn’t take a year to shape up, either. He’d have a major task force to show for this trip, and in only six months! Life was good.

Of course, he also needed to show he could fight. There, things were not going well. Other than a fewMERCS GO HOME signs smeared on walls, there was no opposition. Unless something came up soon, the Colonel would tag this mission a Sunday-school picnic. That wouldn’t help anyone’s career.

“Sir.” Mallary stood at the door of his office.

“Yes,” he answered his ops officer.

“A tank patrol’s in a bit of a situation in Little London.”

“They were attacked?”

“Not exactly, sir.”

“Then what exactly?”

“They were set upon by little old ladies upset about how their tracks are tearing up the road and interrupting their grandkids’ naps, sir.”

“And why did a tank stop for this argument?”

“The sergeant says a little old lady with a cane was in the crosswalk, taking about a month to cross, so they stopped.”

“This sergeant have a name?”

“Godfrey, sir.”

L. J. wanted to laugh. If he had an armor problem, Godfrey would be attached to it. At the same time, he had to wonder why the lead-footed tanker had stopped. A Godfrey problem would likely involve him running the old lady down.

“Tell Godfrey to negotiate his way out of this. I don’t want our tanks damaged or old ladies hurt. Tell him to get out of this mess or he’ll be back with the infantry again.”

Mallary smiled at that. “Yes, sir,” she said, and turned to go.

“Mallary, any change in our client’s arrival date?”

“No, sir. His ship just did a 1G midcourse flip. He’s two weeks out.”

“Any answer to our hails?”

“None, sir. ‘Curiouser and curiouser.’”

“Lets us know how they felt down here while we ignored their signals on our approach.”

“Yes, sir,” Mallary agreed. “And makes me wonder why a client would want to do that to us, if I may say so, sir.”

“You may say so to me, but let’s keep this little problem under our hats, shall we?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and was gone.

Who was this client? He killed people who got in his way. Either didn’t like talking to his contractors, or he loved a grand entrance more. Whatever he was, the regiment was under contract, and that was that. L. J. checked his situation board. A patrol was hung up, debating nap problems with grannies. Not exactly your normal attack—but then again, other than maybe being thrown up on by a baby, his men were at no risk.

Grace parked her rig behind the Beef and Brewery in Little London. The necessary work of keeping services going was done at the Town Hall, but nothing more. Important business was done in the back rooms of out-of-the-way places. As Grace got out, a man approached. “Nice of you to make my party,” he said.

“Driving is so easy with the mercenaries directing traffic,” she said as countersign.

“I’m Glen Harriman,” the man said, offering a hand. “I’m kind of the acting mayor now that Garry’s run off.”

“What’s the matter, the Governor’s job no fun?”

“Let’s say present conditions weren’t quite what he expected when he maneuvered himself into the job. He’s running scared.”

Glen led Grace into the back of the restaurant, then took a hard left into a private room. Grace spotted a few mayors from close by, but most were young men and women, or gray-haired ladies. An unusual mix. Glen got Grace a mug of beer from kegs on a side table, seated her, then rapped his glass for attention. The room quieted. “How’s security?” he asked.

A girl of maybe twelve ducked her head out the door, then waved a thumbs-up sign as she stood back up.

“Is she your security?” Grace asked.

Glen smiled. “She and a dozen kids her age. If any patrol comes near, we’ll know. But none will. We know their schedule for tonight. Nothing like having half the patrol on your side to make sure you know where it is.” He turned to the room. “So how’s the Granny Gotcha Program going?

Several gray heads exchanged remarks, most along the lines of “You tell ’em,” before they settled on one. She had her hair in a regulation bun, and the maroon dress with large yellow flowers reminded Grace of a dress her grandmother wore.

“We’re doing quite well,” the older woman said proudly. “We’re catching at least one patrol a day in most towns. We concentrate on the off-worlders. You can call it womanly intuition, but I think some of those fellows are starting to get the proper attitude. I had two over for a good home-cooked dinner.” Other women agreed, and applauded one who’d had four mercs for supper the night before.

“Anyway, we’re putting a face on Alkalurops for these guys. Who’s handling the gals?” she said, sitting down.

“We are.” A young man stood. He had those disgustingly good looks the vids love. Grace steered clear of them; many lacked a work ethic, and she didn’t want people thinking she hired men for their tight butts.

“We’ve got dates with most of the merc fems. They’re hot, man.” This last remark got him a swat from the lovely blonde beside him wearing a halter top and miniskirt. “Anyway, once we get one going out with us, it’s easy to get her to bring along a few of her friends that want to party,” he said, distancing himself from his girl as she really wound up to slug him. “You realize that our sacrifice to help the women mercs get to know us could leave us poor guys damaged for life.”

“I’ll show you damaged for life,” the girl said.

“Mary Anne, leave something of him for Friday night. We have a major party at the Bubbles to You, and Alkalurops needs him.”

“See, I told you, I’m just doing my patriotic duty.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to enjoy it.”

“So,” Glen cut in, “as you can see, Grace, we’re doing what we can to make the mercs see us as people, not targets.”

“And we’d like to know,” the gray-haired woman said, “how you are doing raising an army.”

Grace shook her head. “As I’ve told everyone, that is a misunderstanding. Yes, I hired several former mercenaries who were out of work. They have taken out homesteads and are now enjoying farming,” Grace said, giving the official line.

“So we hear,” Glen said, “and for now, that’s fine by me. But in a week these mercs’ client lands. After that, I don’t know what’ll happen. Granny here might need some armed backup. This civil not-quite-disobedience is kind of fun. But if things start to head south—well, you know what I mean.”

Grace shook her head. “No, I don’t know what you mean, and I’m not sure I want to know what you mean. Let me be perfectly clear. There is no army being raised, and there won’t be anything of the sort…” Grace let the pause hang as the room fell into total silence. “Until and unless we need it. You get my drift?”

“Deep as any snow I ever floundered through,” the gray-haired woman said with a chuckle. “I didn’t hear nothing, and I know exactly what to tell my lady friends.”

“I think a lot of us will be glad to hear that we aren’t all that Alkalurops has going for her,” the young boy said.

“You’re serious about this? This isn’t just another excuse for guys like Romie to play around?” the girl next to him asked.