Warlord by David Drake, S.M. Stirling Page B

somewhere over in the 2nd's area. There was a strong smell of sweat, dog, canvass, leather and oil, blending oddly but pleasantly with the healthy female sweat and jasmine perfume from Suzette's body.
    "Spirit," Raj said, laying his head face-down in the thin bedroll. "Don't you start."
    She laughed softly, starting to rub his back from the waist up. "Something's got you tense; were the 5th that bad?"
    "No," he sighed. "Crash and Meltdown, that's good  . . .  No, they're fighting men, or were, or they're boys who think war is glorious, which with training is even more useful, sometimes. It's that bastard Stanson."
    Her hands paused for an instant, then continued. "Watch him; he's dangerous." The lazy affection had gone from her voice, without affecting the mellow tone. "And you got on reasonably well, back at Court."
    "That was before I had to see him try to command a battalion in the field," Raj said. "He's not stupid, better at Court affairs than I am . . . but at this he doesn't know how and won't learn."
    "Don't let him make you fight him," she said sharply. "I've seen him kill; he loves it. And he loses his temper, completely loses it, doesn't think about consequences until it's too late."
    "I won't," Raj said bitterly. "I can't fight him; it would . . . ruin everything."
    "You're tensing up again . . . that's right, relax . . . He's very well connected, too."
    "A relation of the Welman County Stansons, isn't he?"
    "Yes. And the Minister of Finance . . . who's a nonentity personally, but not somebody who can be ignored."
    "Some sort of connection of the Chancellor's, too."
    "Married to his wife's aunt's third cousin," Suzette said absently; she was better than the Book of the Starborn for noble genealogies. A pause, and her hands continued.
    "Why did Barholm put him in joint command?" Raj asked, after a while.
    "Well, at a guess, he wants to see how you both shape," Suzette continued, in the same abstracted tone. "This is the turning point in both your careers . . . and it was a bone to throw to the Minister of Finance. The man's so stupid he doesn't know he's a puppet, but he's got an uncanny memory for favors and slights." More briskly. "You'll just have to manage Stanson. He's not stupid, there's a nasty streak there, but he's mentally lazy and a man like that can be manipulated."
    Raj groaned. "As if I didn't have enough to do!"
    "Now you've tensed up again. Don't worry, something will work out . . . turn over."
    He did; their faces were almost touching, as she slid down along his body. "I love you," she said; her face was shadowed, backlit and haloed by the dim light of the coal-oil lantern slung from the tent pole. Her voice was softly fierce, and the kiss that followed was bruising. Breathless, she laughed throatily. "And now, I will make you relax."
    "Sweet, we have to sleep."
    "Ah." The grin was urchin. "What was it you told me once about . . . field expedients? I know what you need."
    Later, drifting off, he half-heard a whisper: "And I'll see that you get it, too."
     

Chapter Six
    "Rust! Rust! Rust!"
    The five troopers jogging by with rock-filled packs held their rifles at arm's length as they chanted in unison; the sergeant behind them was keeping his mount to a slow lope, whistling merrily and occasionally giving a crack of his dogwhip. The punishment detail looked in bitter envy at those whose shortcomings had been in their personal gear or harness rather than their weapons; those lucky bastards were only forced to carry the big tin bowls of soyamash from the cookfires out to the dog lines. Servant's work, generally, but a much milder penalty than running until your lungs burned and your legs turned to rubber and your feet blistered in the riding boots and your arms felt like they were going to drop off . . . and then you did a normal day's work.
    After cleaning your gear, of course. Now that the 5th Descott Guards had been two weeks on the move, the number of men