be a figurehead on your boat?” Hedley suggested, and Njangu gave him a look of pure hatred.
• • •
The dockyard heavy lifter had been beefed up with extra fuel cells, its antigrav units carefully inspected. Predawn, with a two-person crew from the Legion, it slid out of Leggett’s commercial dockyards into the bay, then headed east, toward the end of the peninsula. Around midday, it rounded the point, and just before dusk landed at a beach beyond Issus.
Waiting was a careened twenty-meter fishing craft, the
Urumchi Darling,
less lifter than a boat, intended for long sea trips, where constant use of the antigravs would be cost-prohibitive. It pretty much matched the lines of the Leeat Islanders’ boats. It’d been rented from one of the Issus fishermen. With it went Ton Milot’s brother, Alei, as promised. He was only slightly more expensive to rent than the boat.
Alei had been warned it could get dangerous, but he shrugged and said no more so than a good typhoon, and wouldn’t last as long, either.
Ton had asked if perhaps Yoshitaro would like to ask Deira along, for more authenticity — a lot of fishing types took out families with them. Njangu declined, considering the wide range of dirty jobs he’d find for Milot when all this was over.
After beaching, the
Urumchi
was modified to look even more like one of the Leeat Island fishers, with a small steadying sail on its stern, twin trawl booms on its mainmast, and the harpooner’s pulpit removed. Then it had been given a characteristic paint job — a red stripe along the waterline matching the double exhaust pipes, and blue railings — and refloated on the rising tide. The work had been done by the two I&R teams chosen for the operation, with
Dec
Deb Irthing as senior noncom. Garvin hadn’t mentioned that before they got to play they’d have to do a little scut work with hammer and brush, but nobody objected, since that was a lot better than normal garrison duties around their barracks.
They’d arrived from Camp Mahan in three Griersons, Ben Dill commanding. The Aerial Combat Vehicles were hidden back under the trees, and the troops pitched hasty-domes around them. All wore plain civilian coveralls, like most fishermen did.
At dawn the next morning, while the team was waiting for high tide to refloat the
Urumchi
, a Grierson electronic warfare specialist gave the alarm as the troops were eating their rations after calisthenics. Her radar had picked up a large spacecraft, in-atmosphere from space, due east. She lost the ship behind the dumbbell-shaped island off Issus, then picked it up again as it lifted over the uninhabited island and sped toward them, just above the water.
Five minutes later, they had it on visual, and IDd the ship as one of the Musth armed transports they called mother ships.
The ship slowed, approached the beach, and hovered at the shoreline, spray created by the ship’s drive clouding the air.
A lock opened, and a gangway pushed out. Down came Wlencing and two other Musth, wearing combat harness and carrying, clipped to their harness, tubular duffles. One also carried a small contoured box high on his back that looked like a com.
Garvin and Njangu met the three, Garvin saluting. The two teams were behind him, at attention. Wlencing raised a forearm, bowed his head, stood motionless in return.
“You are welcome.”
“I doubt that,” Wlencing said.
“Oh?” Garvin said neutrally.
“I would not like it if I were about to fight, and othersss who look ssso very different insssisssted on joining me,” he said.
“You’re right. I don’t, particularly,” Garvin said. “But I have my orders, and I’ll obey them.”
“We ssshall attempt to remain out of the way, although if killing developsss, we would be delighted to help.”
Njangu heard somebody mutter “no shit,” from behind him, recognized the voice, promised retribution.
“That’s as may be,” Jaansma said. “If … or rather when we fight, any
• • •
The dockyard heavy lifter had been beefed up with extra fuel cells, its antigrav units carefully inspected. Predawn, with a two-person crew from the Legion, it slid out of Leggett’s commercial dockyards into the bay, then headed east, toward the end of the peninsula. Around midday, it rounded the point, and just before dusk landed at a beach beyond Issus.
Waiting was a careened twenty-meter fishing craft, the
Urumchi Darling,
less lifter than a boat, intended for long sea trips, where constant use of the antigravs would be cost-prohibitive. It pretty much matched the lines of the Leeat Islanders’ boats. It’d been rented from one of the Issus fishermen. With it went Ton Milot’s brother, Alei, as promised. He was only slightly more expensive to rent than the boat.
Alei had been warned it could get dangerous, but he shrugged and said no more so than a good typhoon, and wouldn’t last as long, either.
Ton had asked if perhaps Yoshitaro would like to ask Deira along, for more authenticity — a lot of fishing types took out families with them. Njangu declined, considering the wide range of dirty jobs he’d find for Milot when all this was over.
After beaching, the
Urumchi
was modified to look even more like one of the Leeat Island fishers, with a small steadying sail on its stern, twin trawl booms on its mainmast, and the harpooner’s pulpit removed. Then it had been given a characteristic paint job — a red stripe along the waterline matching the double exhaust pipes, and blue railings — and refloated on the rising tide. The work had been done by the two I&R teams chosen for the operation, with
Dec
Deb Irthing as senior noncom. Garvin hadn’t mentioned that before they got to play they’d have to do a little scut work with hammer and brush, but nobody objected, since that was a lot better than normal garrison duties around their barracks.
They’d arrived from Camp Mahan in three Griersons, Ben Dill commanding. The Aerial Combat Vehicles were hidden back under the trees, and the troops pitched hasty-domes around them. All wore plain civilian coveralls, like most fishermen did.
At dawn the next morning, while the team was waiting for high tide to refloat the
Urumchi
, a Grierson electronic warfare specialist gave the alarm as the troops were eating their rations after calisthenics. Her radar had picked up a large spacecraft, in-atmosphere from space, due east. She lost the ship behind the dumbbell-shaped island off Issus, then picked it up again as it lifted over the uninhabited island and sped toward them, just above the water.
Five minutes later, they had it on visual, and IDd the ship as one of the Musth armed transports they called mother ships.
The ship slowed, approached the beach, and hovered at the shoreline, spray created by the ship’s drive clouding the air.
A lock opened, and a gangway pushed out. Down came Wlencing and two other Musth, wearing combat harness and carrying, clipped to their harness, tubular duffles. One also carried a small contoured box high on his back that looked like a com.
Garvin and Njangu met the three, Garvin saluting. The two teams were behind him, at attention. Wlencing raised a forearm, bowed his head, stood motionless in return.
“You are welcome.”
“I doubt that,” Wlencing said.
“Oh?” Garvin said neutrally.
“I would not like it if I were about to fight, and othersss who look ssso very different insssisssted on joining me,” he said.
“You’re right. I don’t, particularly,” Garvin said. “But I have my orders, and I’ll obey them.”
“We ssshall attempt to remain out of the way, although if killing developsss, we would be delighted to help.”
Njangu heard somebody mutter “no shit,” from behind him, recognized the voice, promised retribution.
“That’s as may be,” Jaansma said. “If … or rather when we fight, any
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