“Those knives looked pretty hard to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Mallary said, standing. “I’ll get on it.”

“Eddie, start looking into concentrating the battalion.”

“Sir,” St. George said, “if I may point out, that would make us an even easier target and make it even harder to track what’s going on outside our line of sight.”

“Good points all, Art, but there’s more firepower at Falkirk than I have here. If they start moving, how much of the battalion will they overrun before we know it?”

“We’ve got the satellite feed, sir.”

“They know about it. They only show it what they want it to see. If they move their ’Mech MODs from one barn to the next south, will we know they’re here before they start shooting up Dublin Town? Damn the shoestring budget,” L. J. snapped. They’d deployed without a single air spy vehicle. It was as if the guy funding this mess had no idea what a good team needed. Well, it wasn’t as if Santorini knew a lot about what he was getting into.

Or did he?

If Santorini got in trouble, would a lot of Stormhammer or House Steiner stuff come running? It wouldn’t be the first time in history that a small troop of soldiers were set up to fail so the bigger guns could gallop to the rescue.

“XO, Adjutant, you have your orders. It looks to be a busy morning. Let’s turn to.”

At his desk was a chatty note from Betty, the maid. She rambled on about how the place had changed since he left. “Some of the new guys seem to think a maid is there to help them get the sheets dirty as well as change them,” answered one of his questions. “Cook says she can’t buy good fresh fruit, vegetables and meat. The farmers’ market just doesn’t have anything like it used to.” This told L. J. to look out for trouble around the food supply. Betty was also hunting for a new place to eat. Her old standby had changed hands and was now owned by an off-worlder. The cook had mouthed off to the new owner and been fired. “The new cook can’t boil water.” So Grace was right that junior scum were taking their own chunks and making a bad situation worse.

L. J. had not liked the looks of the Black and Reds the moment he’d seen them. The ’Mechs marched like trainees. The guys in the gun trucks looked like the thugs a real police force would put away for a very long time. What prison bottom had Santorini dragged to get a collection of gutter scrapings like these?

Betty finished her note saying she’d gotten a raise that doubled her pay, putting her ahead of the rising prices, and she probably wasn’t looking to change jobs. L. J. printed the note for Mallary and her intelligence crew just as she appeared at his door.

“We’ve had our first attack, sir, outside Banya.”

“Any casualties?”

“None, sir. Some bunch of locals planted a mine for a hovertank patrol. They guessed low on the amount of pressure one of those things puts out, and the mine blew before the tank got there. Real goobers, sir.”

“Even goobers can learn, Captain.”

“Think it was by that group up north? The Falkirk group?”

“Not likely. They have a hovertank, and the ’Mechs working with them would never make a beginner’s mistake like that.”

“How’d they get a hovertank, if I may ask?”

L. J. started to say, “Ask Sergeant Godfrey,” but that moron was among the missing. “I’ve got this letter from someone I trust in Allabad,” he said, handing Betty’s note to Mallary. “Synopsize this so no one can recognize where it came from and get it out to our occupation platoons. Tell the lieutenants this supports the rise in alert status.”

“I’ll do that, sir,” Mallary said.

“Then let’s—” he started, but his com was buzzing and blinking a red light. His client. L. J. positioned himself behind his desk and tapped the com. “Yes, Mr. Santorini.”

“I understand someone tried to bomb one of my tanks today,” he said with what some might mistake for a smile of glee.

“An amateurish effort,” L. J. said dismissively.

“You are launching a punitive action.”

“I am taking appropriate action.”

“And what do you consider appropriate for the attempted murder of my troops in their sleep last night?”

“We are investigating to determine what action to take.”

His client frowned. “I would already have people hanging from lampposts. I see your Colonel sent me someone who has trouble making a decision.”

L. J. nodded noncommittally and said nothing.

“I am having trouble and require a military operation,” he said, as if uttering the magic words that would instantaneously turn a valley red with fire, blood and smoke.

“What trouble, sir?” L. J. said, trying to sound concerned.

“Farmers are withholding produce from market. I require you to conduct a sweep of land around Allabad and bring the farmers and their produce trucks in at gunpoint. If they resist, kill the first few. The rest will follow.”

L. J. gave Betsy another mark for quality intel. “That’d be quite an operation, sir.” About equal to killing the goose that laid the golden egg, but L. J. didn’t say that. “Unfortunately, it is not covered by our contract.”

“Not covered!”

“Our contract is to seize and hold this planet. We seized it rather faster than expected and held it for the month while you were in transit. You relieved us from holding the area around Allabad and other cities. You will have to use your own police to do that, sir.”

L. J. considered suggesting he lower the tax rate on food sold at the market since it was pretty clear food was making it through back channels to other food providers. If the man couldn’t figure out why meat was not on his own table, L. J. certainly wouldn’t be the one to paint him a picture. Messengers for guys like Santorini tended to get killed for carrying what otherwise looked like useful bits of information.

It didn’t matter. His com went dead immediately. “I don’t think our Leader is happy,” he told Mallary.

“Then he’ll be even less happy when he finds out what I just did while you were on the phone.”

“Which was?”

“A patrol inside Lothran was attacked by boys throwing rocks. I told the patrol to withdraw.”

“Good order for today. Eddie, get in here, we’re redeploying the battalion,” he shouted. “One company here in Dublin Town and the others here, here and here,” he said, tapping small towns in an arc between Dublin and the mouth of the Gleann Mor Valley.

“That our threat axis?” Mallary asked.

“It’s the only real threat we face.” Eddie ducked his head in L. J.’s office and listened to the new deployment. “Again, I want to remove everything with the regiment’s stamp, seal or brand on it. Leave nothing behind.”

“And you want it all done yesterday. I understand, sir.”

“No.” L. J. smiled. “I don’t think you do, Captain. You see, while a unit is redeploying, it loses some of its ability to react to new orders. Its commander might even have to tell his client he was temporarily unable to perform a requested mission, if you take my meaning, Captain.”

“Moving could be considered a reason to temporarily not do some things that you might not want to do,” Eddie said.

“No, no, no,” L. J. said as if to a particularly slow child. “The regiment is always ready to execute its orders. That is our tradition. It’s just that in a redeployment, it might have to complete one order before doing another. And since we must be very meticulous about this move…”

“Yes, sir. Understood, sir. The battalion will always be ready for orders, sir, and I am about to set a new record for redeployment—just not one I’ll mention on my next résumé.”

“I think we misunderstand each other perfectly,” L. J. said.

“Major,” Mallary said once Eddie was gone, “in your next command, if you need an ops officer, I sure hope you’ll skip my name.”

“Mallary, my friend, unless we’re careful, all of our names will be entered on the rolls of the regiment with a little note to ‘pick this one last.’”