Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“And to be with the two of you,” Bo replied gallantly. “Which reminds me,” Bo said, as he turned to look at Victoria. “Kathy and I have some news to share… We’re going to get married.”

Victoria felt a surge of jealousy and hurried to suppress it. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “I’m so happy for you! Have you chosen a date?”

“Not yet,” Kathy replied. “Your father’s calendar is pretty full at the moment, but you’ll be the first to know when we nail it down.”

“I don’t think Robin will be able to attend,” Victoria said. It was meant to be a joke but didn’t come across that way.

Bo scowled. “I guess you haven’t heard… Your sister was charged with disobeying a direct order, found guilty, and sentenced to four years in Leavenworth.”

Victoria felt a sense of triumph. The contest was over! “I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said sweetly. “But not surprised. Would you like another beer?”

PEAVEY FIELD, KANSAS

Dark gray clouds had massed in the north and were preparing to roll south. The temperature was starting to drop, causing Mac to shove her hands into her pockets. Fifteen days had passed since President Sloan had signed her pardon, and Mac was standing in the airport’s two-man control tower, looking out across the airstrip. The battalion’s troops were lined up for PT, and Sergeant Major Price was putting them through their paces. The noncom wasn’t using a bullhorn—but Mac could hear him anyway.

Price had been serving six months for “borrowing” a Bradley while intoxicated and doing doughnuts in a city park prior to joining the Marauders. He’d been chosen by Quick, who had served with Price in the past and swore by him. Was Price’s crusty persona for real? Or part of an elaborate act? It didn’t matter. The noncom’s hard-ass manner was perfect for a battalion comprised of ex-criminals.

Later, once PT was over, Price would form the troops into companies and march them up and down the runway like ROTC kids on parade. Not to train them… All of the battalion’s soldiers had been through basic. No, the purpose of the exercise was to forge them into a team. A process Quick likened to “herding cats.”

But while Price worked to turn prisoners back into soldiers, Mac had to find the means to house, feed, and arm them. The latter was especially difficult since supplies of every sort were in high demand. Fortunately, Mac had a secret weapon in the person of Captain Amy Wu, who had already proven herself to have the combined skills of a street hustler, a beady-eyed accountant, and a thief. Not the outright thievery that had landed her in prison, but the sort of borderline shenanigans that were often a bit sketchy.

The recent delivery of three wrecked Strykers served as a case in point. The vics were sitting in the division’s junkyard, where they were slated for shipment to a reconditioning center in Michigan, when Wu came across them. It wasn’t clear how the transaction had gone down. But somehow the vehicles were reclassified as “available for reassignment” and trucked to Mac’s Marauders. Within a matter of days, Wu’s mechanics had been able to create two fighting machines by using parts from the third. And that was nothing short of a miracle.

But not everything had gone so smoothly. Because the battalion’s soldiers weren’t allowed to mix with the 31st, they couldn’t use the brigade’s chow hall. That meant they were living on a steady diet of MREs. It was a problem that was starting to take a toll on the unit’s morale.

Such were Mac’s thoughts when she heard movement and turned to see Quick poke his head up through the hatch. “Good news, boss… They found Private Arley! He was at his mother’s house, eating cookies.”

Arley had gone AWOL three hours after being released from prison. Mac said, “Good… At least he didn’t rob a gas station or something. Put him in front of the troops, remind them why desertion constitutes a serious crime, and send his ass back to the slammer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m supposed to attend a meeting at brigade HQ. Keep an eye on Wu, and everyone else for that matter.”

Quick grinned. “Will do.” Then he was gone.

Rather than keep a private from spending time with Sergeant Major Price, Mac chose to drive herself. An MP saluted as she left the base. The presence of so many soldiers was a boon to the civilians who did business out of the colorfully painted trucks that were parked along the fence. There were barbers, tailors, and food vendors.

Mac passed them and took a left. There was a line to get into the base. After a short wait, she entered the checkpoint. A sharp-looking MP threw a salute, checked her ID, and waved her through. Mac was early for the meeting, and there was a reason for that.

The 31st was camped on the campus of what had been a technical school. After asking a pedestrian for directions, Mac found the two-story building with the HEADQUARTERS COMPANY sign out front and went inside. A corporal looked up from her computer. “Yes, ma’am? What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to speak with Major Kroll.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Which command are you part of?”

“I’m the commanding officer of the 2nd battalion, AKA Mac’s Marauders.”

Mac saw the corporal’s eyes widen. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, what the Marauders were. Which was to say a battalion of fire-breathing ax murderers. The soldier behind the desk was no exception. “I’ll let Major Kroll know that you’re here. Please have a seat.”

Mac didn’t want to sit, so she continued to stand, and was staring out of a window when she heard a polite cough. Mac turned to find that Kroll was waiting for her. She had a steely-eyed demeanor and the blocky body of an amateur weight lifter. “I’m Major Kroll… You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Mac replied. “Thank you.”

“Let’s take this to my office,” Kroll said. “We’ll be more comfortable there.”

Mac followed Kroll into a box furnished with three chairs, a messy worktable, and twin computer screens. “So,” Kroll said, once they were seated. “What can I do for you?”

“My battalion is quartered at Peavey Field,” Mac began. “And, according to verbal orders from Colonel Lassiter, my soldiers aren’t allowed to enter this area. That means they can’t use the chow hall. Yet, according to army regs, soldiers who are unable to access a chow hall are entitled to a subsistence allowance of roughly $300 a month. So I’m here to request that they receive the money they’re entitled to.”

Kroll’s eyebrows met as she frowned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Major, but there aren’t any food vendors at Peavey Field. That means there’s nothing to spend money on.”

“That’s true,” Mac agreed. “But I have a solution for that. I assume you’re familiar with the civilian food trucks lined up the road adjacent to the main gate. As soon as my soldiers begin to receive their subsistence allowances, some of those vendors will migrate to Peavey Field. Or the 31st could establish a field kitchen at our location. That would be acceptable as well.”

Kroll allowed her annoyance to show. “It would, would it? How nice! Well, I can think of a third possibility… I could reclassify your battalion as deployed, thereby making your personnel ineligible for a subsistence allowance, and ship you another pallet of MREs.”

“You could do that,” Mac said tightly. “But if you did, I would leak a story to the press about the way that my battalion is being treated. What would the general think of that ? Or the president, for that matter?”

There was anger in Kroll’s eyes. “I don’t like threats.”