THAT WAS DEFINITELY a feminine squeal. And rather a lot of panting coming from the other side of the door.
There'd been no answer to the major's demanding knock on the outer door. Being who he was, Conrad had tried the door before starting to kick it down. It wasn't locked. The keys lay hastily tossed onto the ormolu hall table.
Ariel had said: "They're upstairs."
The major hesitated for an instant at the upstairs door. Then, gritting his teeth, he knocked.
No answer.
"They're busy, from the sound of it," chuckled Ariel. "Won't pay no attention at all to a measly knock."
Fitzhugh shrugged, and opened the door.
His timing was exquisite.
The general's gum-chewing secretary Daisy was occupied in an equestrienne pursuit. Or that was what she was dressed for. Well, half-dressed for. There were parts of her distinctly undressed. She shrieked.
Her steed definitely needed more exercise. He was rather paunchy . . . and very undressed.
For a moment Fitz nearly retreated and slammed the door behind him. Then his sardonic humor asserted itself. "I seem to have come at an inopportune moment. Unfortunately, General, my business is pressing and won't wait."
Ariel stuck her head out of his pocket. "Methinks, your general won't be coming at this opportune moment." She giggled nastily. "And I don't think his business is pressing any longer."
Daisy shrieked again. "A rat! A rat! In his pocket!"
Ariel showed her teeth. "Shall I get out of this pocket and give you a reason to jump on the table and do some more shrieking? I could nibble your toes instead of your bare tits."
The general found his wind at last. "What is the meaning of this outrage?"
His rider suddenly realized that her excessively generous frontage was exposed. Maybe Ariel's nibble comment had gotten through. Fitz had always suspected it took ideas a long time to penetrate all that hair. She tried first to pull her inadequate jacket to cover herself, before remembering that it had been designed not to cover the cleavage. She snatched the frilly continental cushion from behind the head of her gray steed. His head thumped onto the wall.
This was all too much for Fitz's gravity. There were men dying out there, sure, and a war to be won or lost. But walking in on the pompous ass being boffed by his bimbo-secretary, playing mount-the-(snort)-stallion, was truly priceless.
"Sir. I'll withdraw for thirty seconds, to allow you time to assume a more dignified—ah, position. I've no desire to disturb your private life, but I need to talk to you about urgent military business." He almost managed not to smile.
The red-faced general almost managed not to look at the telephone.
Fitz unplugged it, and walked out with it. "Don't infuriate him," he hissed at Ariel.
The rat just winked. Fitz sighed. She'd do it her way. She always did. He put the telephone unit down on the parquet floor and they went back into the room.
Daisy had fled to the bathroom. The general had obviously given up his frantic search for his trousers. He was wrapped in the sheet, looking like a very irate Roman senator.
"This had better be good, Major," he hissed.
In a voice of perfect urbanity, Fitz replied. "Sir! I would not have dreamed of disturbing you for anything less than something of major importance. And—of course—your private life is of no relevance."
"What is it? And why didn't you just call or call my second-in-command, General Fertzengu? In fact, why did you override the chain of command?" The general was fast working himself up into the fury of a man caught in a compromising position, with nowhere else but temper to turn to.
Fitz looked down his long nose at the man. Then he realized he was doing just what he had asked Ariel not to do. He attempted to answer without any sign of irritation. "Firstly, sir, my orders are to report directly to you on matters of intelligence and not to attempt to influence junior officers. Those are your exact words, sir. Secondly, your 2 I.C. is out of town on a shooting trip and is not available, according to his household staff. Thirdly, I tried to call you. You have not drawn your pager, sir. I called your office. I called your home." A look of discomfort crossed the general's face. "I then called on Captain Hargreaves, sir. He provided me with this number, but the phone was not accepting calls. I had little alternative but to come here in person."
The general ground his teeth audibly. "You had no call to burst in here. You should have waited . . ."
Fitz lost it. "While you play your stupid philandering games, men are dying!"
"And rats too," put in Ariel.
It was perhaps not what he'd asked her to do, but it gave Conrad a second to cool.
It hadn't done that for the general. "Don't you dare shout at me! I'll have you stripped of your rank and back in the trenches before you can say `knife.' And now get yourself and that animal out of my quarters. You're dismissed, Major. Dismissed! I will see you in my office at nine tomorrow, morning. Sharp."
Inside Fitz something finally snapped. He had tried to work within the framework . . . He knew that there was now only one real course of action open to him. But he would have a last attempt. His voice was very cold, as it always was when he was really angry. "You'll listen to me now. I'll see you in your office, later. And then you can do your worst."
A sensible man hearing that tone would have shut up. It even took a little bit of the bombast out of Carrot-up. "I've given you your orders, Major."
"And I'll obey them. After I've finished, so you might as well let me make that quick. Now, I have interrupted your . . . rest, to tell you we have satellite information coming in that indicates that some of our men—"
"And maybe rats, and probably bats," interrupted Ariel, dropping out of his pocket to the floor.
"Yes, and possibly other troops, are behind enemy lines. They've attacked a scorpiary. The result is that on sector Delta 355 all the Magh' forces have been pulled back inside the force shield to deal with the insurgents. They're wreaking havoc in there, General. Three major explosion traces so far. They have some kind of vehicle and they're going through the scorpiary like a dose of salts. If they succeed in knocking out the power source for the force shield we must be ready to move in with speed, sir. The Magh' side of the line is undefended, sir. We should have whatever troops we can muster waiting in their earthworks. Even if the insurgents fail, which, of course, there is a good chance that they will . . ."
The general stood up, nearly losing his toga. "You dared to disturb me with this rubbish? It's a complete and utter farradiddle! And even if it wasn't, I don't care if there are a handful of other-ranks blundering around behind the enemy lines. It won't change the war, Major. These `glamour' actions never do . . ."
The pager in Fitz's pocket beebled insistently. The major calmly interrupted. "I must answer that, sir. It is either my office, or the satellite center." From the dressing table came the clatter of a bottle being knocked over. As he pulled the pager from his pocket, Fitz saw the general's tunic top being dowsed in expensive single malt.
It was the satellite center. M'Batha didn't even wait for him to speak. He actually had to hold the pager away from his ear.
"They've done it again! We measured a tongue of flame in excess of a hundred feet less than four minutes after we'd tracked them leaving the spot. They've gone back in, sir! Our boys are pounding the SHIT out of them!"
Fitz smiled. There was more than one voice in the background. It sounded like M'Batha had half the tech-services on the slowship in there with him. Well. It wouldn't do any harm at this stage. "Thanks, Henry." He held his hand over the pager mike. "Satellite tracking, sir. Reporting another explosion." There was no way the general couldn't have heard anyway. Daisy, with her ear to the bathroom keyhole, could probably have heard. "Would you like to speak to them, sir? Confirm it for yourself?"
General Cartup-Kreutzler wasn't buying it. "Pah. Do you think I don't recognize a put-up job. You think you can fool me! Satellite tracking is there to monitor the damned weather. Crops and things. They do not do this sort of thing. I do not know what you hoped to achieve by this . . . ridiculous performance, but you've failed. Failed, d'you hear? NOW GET OUT!"
Fitz clicked the pager off. "Is that your last word, sir?"
"Yes. Now GET OUT!"
Fitz shrugged. He couldn't bring himself to salute. "Enjoy the rest of your . . . entertainment, sir. Come on, Ariel. Let's go."
"We'll meet again, Carrot-up," said the rat cheerfully. She clambered up Fitz's leg, clutching a chocolate she'd just looted from a heart-shaped box on the dresser.
As they walked out, Fitz carefully put his heel down on the phone and crushed it. Ariel scrambled out of his pocket again, pausing to wipe her chocolaty paws on the flap. "Methinks, I'll deal with the wires just outside the house. There might be another phone. You check the other doors. And see that you pick up his trousers on the way. They're at the foot of the stairs. You humans are as good as blind. Typical of that stupid bimbo to like—bleah—strawberry creams."
Fitz smiled to himself. Rats, and Ariel in particular, were terrible rank-and-file soldiers. Nature's own samurai had far too much initiative. "I'll deal with the lights, too," Ariel added. "See you at the car."
"Fuse box is just outside the portico," reported Ariel with satisfaction. "So that tradesmen don't have to come inside, and lower the tone of the place."
"I know. I used to live like this," said Fitz grimly. "Convenient enough, of course. But it makes for easy sabotage."
Ariel scrambled up into the fatigue pocket. Her pocket. Not two seconds later, her head popped out, beady eyes filled with baleful outrage. "What's this?" she demanded, holding up the offending object.
Fitz smiled. "Called a distributor cap. Relax. We'll pitch it once we get off the grounds."
"Oh." She studied the gadget. "Okay. As long as it makes Carrot-up's life miserable, I'll tolerate the encroachment."
The guards at the gate saluted.
"Quite a party your general's having back there," said Fitz, dryly. "I wouldn't disturb him if I were you. Or let anyone else in to disturb him. Or pay too much attention to the . . . shouting."
"Can't really hear anything from here anyway, sir," said the corporal.
One of the privates sniggered and then realized that the major wasn't laughing. "No, sir," he said, absolutely rigid. "Anyway, we won't see anyone until the household staff get in, sir. They always come on just after the general leaves."
"Ah. And what time is that? I want to take up the length of your stint with your Major . . . diem Thien," said Fitz.
"We only do four-hour stretches, sir. Whoever's on the last stint just covers until the general leaves. Just before eight. We only have to do about two a week, sir. It's not a bad billet," added the soldier hastily. He knew perfectly well that when officers catch flak they pass it down.
"Compared to the front, it's heaven," agreed Fitz. "Just see your relief doesn't let anyone in—not anyone at all, understand? Tell them it is my specific orders, relayed from the general."
"Yessir." They saluted, and Fitz drove off.
"Oh dear," said Ariel. "You forgot to give them the keys."
Fitz smiled in the darkness. "It's got his office key on it. I thought I'd have to ask you to climb in through the ducts, but I won't need to now."
"You take away all my fun," she said. "Got any more food?"
He pulled a ration bar from a pocket. He knew just how fast that metabolism was. "Here."
"Yuck." She took it anyway. "You forgot to give him his trousers too."
"I'm planning on wearing those," said Fitz.
Ariel chuckled. Then she asked: "Why are we doing this? Not that I mind. But why?"
"We?" said Fitz.
"Methinks I should bite you on what's left of your balls," she said quietly.
Fitz sighed. "Because if we never win . . . we never can. Maybe if I prove they can advance . . . They'll learn."
"I doubt it," said Ariel.
"I know," said Fitz quietly. "But I've reached point-non-plus. I'm sorry, Ariel, to have dragged you into this."
She nuzzled him. "I love you." A moment later, remembering, she pitched the distributor cap out the window. "Even if you do let squatters move in on me."