"UM." THE COMMUNICATION officer looked very nervous at having to face Fitz. "Sir. I just received a strange radio message in from HQ, sir. Um. They're ordering your immediate arrest. Sir."
Fitz took a deep breath. Well. It had been inevitable.
Then his bangstick . . . fell over.
A laser beam had just cut a vital cable some twenty-seven miles away.
"It's a GO! GO! GO!" Fitz shouted, picking up the bangstick on the run.
The mousy lieutenant was carried along with the storming tide of three thousand men and seven thousand rats. The bats overhead didn't push.
When the initial unresisted charge was deep into Magh' territory, Fitz smiled at the panting lieutenant. "When this is over, you can find me and arrest me."
"If the stupid bastard is still alive," said Ariel.
The lieutenant started to say something, but Fitz had already turned away and was yelling orders.
Henry M'Batha had never hit anyone in his life before. He studied his split knuckles. That hand was damn sore. And the radio operator was squalling for security. It felt like he might have dislocated something.
He shook his head. There was no time for worrying about pain now. That's why he'd pulled that stupid officious by-the-rule-book son-of-a-bitch radio operator out of his chair and flattened his face. He had to raise the paratroop major now. The Magh' force field always reflected light on certain frequencies.
Right now it wasn't.
He could work radio comms as well as that idiot in the corner.
"Major."
"Yah, boykie?
"The force field is down, Major!"
Van Klomp nearly deafened him. "YES!" Then he said, "Try and get hold of Fitz. Tell him we're on our way. And keep me posted on any new developments. We should jump in about half an hour."
"Uh. Major. I think I may be just about to get hauled away by security. The radio op didn't want to let me call you. Things . . . got a bit physical."
Van Klomp gave a volcanic amused snort. "Let me talk to him, boykie."
The radio operator could hardly not have heard. Van Klomp made radio redundant. "The major wants to talk to you," repeated Henry.
"You're for it, M'Batha," snarled the radio-op, holding his nose gingerly. "They'll confiscate your share for this."
But he took the headset. Van Klomp boomed at him. "What's the name, Sonny?"
"Operator Chirik."
"Well, Shirk, you know who I am." It was not a voice you made a mistake about. Everybody in the colony knew the larger-than-life Van Klomp. "Henry is just doing his job. You make trouble for him and I'll come and pay you a visit."
"He hit me!" protested Chirik.
"Yah. The boykie was ordered to call the moment he had the news. You stopped him. If it had been me . . . I'd have killed you, boeta. Over and out." And the booming voice was gone.
The radio-op sat feeling his nose. Finally he said, in a more reasonable tone of voice, "What the hell is going on?"
M'Batha eyed him speculatively. "Sorry about the nose. I think I've dislocated my thumb, if it is any comfort to you. Listen, is that cousin of yours still with the newspaper? How would you like to give her the biggest story of her life?"
The radio-op grunted. "That's not what I'd like to give her, but . . ."
"Well, maybe you'll get lucky after this story," offered Henry.
The radio-op gave a smile. "Tell. But let me pull that thumb of yours first."