David Drake - The Forlorn Hope

The Sergeant grinned back at his prisoner. "Guess we got a deal, then," he said. Ondru was thinking about how he would tie the sanctimonious bastard as soon as he opened up the booze. On his belly, with one cord looped from his throat to his ankles, that was for sure. That way if Waldstejn relaxed a muscle, the weight of his own feet would start to choke him. That for sure.

The Supply Officer had the magnetic key to the front door in his pocket. He swung the panel inward. One of his escorts felt a twinge of concern and brought his rifle up. Waldstejn was very careful to move slowly and to avoid any suggestion that he hoped to leap inside and lock the others out.

The lobby was even dimmer than the outdoors had been. The holes in the roof were brighter than the solid metal around them, but they served to illuminate the interior only for the escort with their night goggles. Lieutenant Waldstejn was thoroughly familiar with the lay-out, however. He walked without hesitation to the counter, knowing that there was nothing between it and the door to trip over. He swung open the gate. "Here," he said, "I'll just get the keys from back here and-oh, would one of you like to turn the lights on? The panel's by the front door."

Sergeant Ondru had stuck close to his prisoner's left elbow. "No!" he snapped. "Janko, get your goggles off." The night goggles issued to Federal troops had no built-in overload protection. The face-shields of Fasolini's mercenaries would hold a desired brightness setting, regardless of changes in ambient light. The Cecach-produced goggles, however, multiplied light by a set factor. They could dazzle their users with excess enhancement.

"Sure, no problem," said Lieutenant Waldstejn. He was trying to keep the fear out of his voice. The officer pretended to fumble beneath the counter for a key. The liquor cabinet had had a thumblock, keyed only to his fingerprint, ever since Waldstejn had taken over as Supply Officer.

Waldstejn's equipment belt was still looped over the back of the chair where he had slung it while talking to Captain Ortschugin. "There we go," Waldstejn said, jingling the keys from his pocket. His left hand, hidden by the chair, unholstered the little pistol.

"All right, you can turn on the lights, Janko," Sergeant Ondru said as he raised his own goggles.

Waldstejn stepped next to him, thrusting the pistol into the Sergeant's ribs as the lights flashed on.

The view of Doubek, behind the counter, was blocked by his own goggles and his sergeant's body. Janko, three meters to the side at the light switches, caught the motion. He gasped and threw up his rifle.

"Mother of God!"Ondru squealed to his subordinate in a high-pitched voice. "Don't shoot-you'llhit me!"

"Drop the guns, drop them!" Waldstejn cried on a rising inflection. He caught a handful of Ondru's tunic to hold the man close while he shifted the pistol in Janko's general direction. Janko dropped his rifle with a clatter.

The other private backed a step away from Ondru and the officer. He held his rifle waist high, advanced but not precisely pointing at the tight-locked pair.

"Drop it!" Waldstejn repeated, peering past the equally-tall man whom he held. He waggled the pistol at the uncertain private; and when it went off, Waldstejn himself was more surprised than any of the others in the room.

The muzzle flash of the little gun burned Ondru through his tunic. The Sergeant yelped but managed not to clap a hand to the spot. He stood as rigid as if he were a carcase on a meat hook. Doubek, by contrast, flung his rifle down as if it had burned him. He jumped backwards twice and banged into the wall. "I didn't mean anything, sir!" he bawled, holding out his empty hands. "I didn't mean anything!"

Blood was beginning to stain the left leg of his trousers, but he did not appear to notice it.

"Janko, come over here," the Lieutenant said. He gripped the sling of Ondru's rifle and jerked the weapon away. The Sergeant had not been able to drop the rifle as ordered because the sling was held by his shoulder strap until Waldstejn tore it.

Waldstejn stepped away from the non-com. "I'm going to lock you all in the liquor cabinet," he said with no awareness that the statement might sound like a joke. He had not been sure his pistol was loaded; he had no recollection of taking off the safety; and hecertainly had not intended to shoot Doubek, thank God it did not appear to be serious. Albrecht Waldstejn was more afraid of himself than he was of any other facet of the situation. He had made his plans, though, and he would carry them out now even without real awareness of what was going on in his head.

The door to the stores area banged open. "What the hell's happening?" demanded PrivateQuade. His eyes glanced angrily around the room until they lighted on the Supply Officer. "My God!" the Private gasped. He lowered the section of pipe he held in his right hand.

"Go on, quick!" Waldstejn ordered. To the others, his voice held a snap of command."Into the back." He pumped the assault rifle vertically. He was afraid to gesture with the pistol lest it fire again.

Ondru and his two subordinates shuffled tensely into the stores area. Quade remained in the doorway. He frowned as the others moved past him. The Lieutenant tried to wink at the black-haired man when none of the others was looking. 'You too, Quade," he said harshly."Into the back." The Private obeyed slowly, still frowning.

The lights in the stores area threw crisp shadows down the aisles of racked supplies. The liquor cabinet was actually a cubical shipping container three meters on an edge. The sides were sheet steel. Access was through a pair of fully-overlapping hinged leaves in the front. The outer leaf was closed by a hasp and lock. The cabinet was in no sense a safe, but it was completely proof against undetected pilfering.

It would also serve as a prison until someone opened it from the outside.

Waldstejn set down his rifle, then thumbed the padlock. He kept his pistol advanced toward the men of his escort, but he pointed the muzzle high- just in case. All three of them seemed to be in shock. Doubek was clutching at his wound with both hands and whimpering.

"In there, the three of you," the Lieutenant said as he wrenched open the inner leaf. More than half the container's volume was filled by cartons of spirits, but there was adequate room for the prisoners.

All three of them shuffled forward. Doubek was sniffling. "We won't be able to breathe," he said. "We'll die." His eyes were screwed shut.

Waldstejn stooped quickly to retrieve the rifle. "It isn't airtight," he said. "Besides, you'll only be inside for as long as it takes Private Quade here to cut the lock off."

When the three prisoners were inside the liquor cabinet, Waldstejn waved the rifle in Quade's direction. For the Private's sake in the aftermath, Waldstejn had to make it clear that his subordinate had nothing to do with what was happening. "Private Quade," the young lieutenant said loudly. "I'm deserting." He paused while he closed up the cabinet. The hinges squealed like the damned in torment. Winking again-he had to be sure Quade did not think that the threat was serious-the officer continued, "You can get bolt cutters and free them as soon as I'm gone, but if you move a muscle while I'm here I'll shoot you down like a dog."

Waldstejn's belt still hung on the chair out front, so he thrust the pistol into his side pocket. He stepped quickly to the arms locker-another shipping container-and opened it.

Private Hodicky slipped out from behind the ration boxes which had hidden him until the prisoners were locked in. "What can we do, Lieutenant?" he whispered.

"Go back to bed and pretend you were asleep," Waldstejn whispered back. He had to tug harder to open the arms' locker than he had the more frequently used liquor store. "On second thought," he said, glancing at the dark-haired Quade, "make sure he knows what's going on and doesn't get himself into trouble. I only need a couple minutes."