"WE UPPED THE detection levels in the infrared. One of the guys from over on technical . . . uh, I hope you don't mind, but half the nightshift is watching . . ."
"I had gathered," said Fitz dryly. "Go on, Henry."
"Sorry, Major. This is just the first time anything exciting has ever happened. I mean, we all thought nobody ever actually looked at satellite data. Everybody is so pleased to be, well, involved in something useful. And it is so great seeing our guys really hit back for a change. You don't know what it has meant to the people here!"
"Believe me, I do," said Fitz. "I just hope this doesn't land you all in trouble. Anyway, tell me—you've obviously tracked them a bit further?"
"Yep. They haven't come out of the mound again, but they're still alive and heading inwards. With slow time-exposure infrared we've picked up what must have been a massive fire. Ambient temperature of outgoing air from vents went up by about fifteen degrees in spots. It looked like little flowers on the screen. It must have been one hell of a fire." Henry's delight was plain.
Fitz understood the psychology. "Every time I think that must be all, these guys pull another rabbit out of the hat."
"YESSS!"
The cheering was so loud Fitz held the phone away from his ear. "We've got another explosion, sir. Smaller this time."
"Keep me posted, Henry. And tell the tech who used his initiative, well done. If more people used their brains, we'd get somewhere."
"I'll tell him, sir. He just thought he was losing money! The guys are betting heavily on your commandos, sir."
Fitz rolled his eyes. "They're not commandos, Henry."
"Well, Special Services or whatever, sir. They're great guys, sir."
"They're not Special Services . . ."
"If you say so, sir." Henry's voice indicated he was very happy to go along with whatever story the major wanted to spin for him, but it would be a frosty Friday in hell before he believed a word of it. "We'll keep you posted on how your . . . non-commandos are doing."
Fitz put the phone down. "That's how bloody myths are born," he said, savagely. "Well, let's see if the real thing can do anything to help them." He dialed.
"Airborne." The voice on the other side sounded irritated. Well. It was going on 1:00 AM.
"Evening, Bobby," said Fitz cheerfully.
"It's bloody morning, you mad bastard." The irritation had been replaced with obvious pleasure.
"Okay. Morning, then. And as it is morning, are your lads up and ready to go?"
"What?" Van Klomp nearly deafened him. "Don't fuck me around, Fitzy! Have you got a us a real mission at last?"
There was too much hope in that voice for Major Conrad Fitzhugh to tell his old parachute instructor anything but the absolute truth. All of it . . .
"So," he concluded, "if the force field comes down, I want you lads ready to get in there. That's the only hope those boys on the loose in there have got. Besides anything else, they'll know more about the inside of a scorpiary than any man alive. I'll cut you some orders. They'll be fakes, but . . ."
"Screw the orders, man," said Van Klomp. "If the field doesn't come down we go on sitting on our tuchis, doing displays at parades. If it does . . . we probably won't be answering any questions. We'll try to get to them, but I've only got sixty men." There was a momentary hesitation; then: "Fitzy, you're in for the high jump, unless this goes right and your dear general decides he's going to claim the credit."
"So I'm for the high jump. This could just be the big chance, Bobby. Now, if you do go in, you just hold on. I'm not hanging around for the court-martial. Ariel and I are on our way to the front. We'll push the troops along."
"You still got that mad rat? You want a chopper ride to the front?"
Ariel jumped at the phone. "And fuck you too, Van Klomp!"
Fitz grinned. "The chopper would solve a lot of problems. And I warn you, I'm jealous. Ariel obviously wants your body."
"I'll have a chopper with you in fifteen minutes. You'd better get your satellite boykie to report to me." The man on the other end of the line paused. "Good luck, Fitzy."
"Yeah," said Fitz quietly. "And sorry to drag you into this shit, Bobby."
There was another longish pause. Then Major Robert Van Klomp replied, also in a quiet voice, quite unlike his normal bellow. "This is supposed to be the Army's elite unit, Fitz. I just hope to God I've finally got a chance to prove it. Now, I'm going to stir asses out of sacks. Go to it, my boy."
The lump in his throat stopped Fitz saying goodbye. It was possible he'd just sentenced an old friend to death.