Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(26)
Will gulped and glanced at his swarthy comrade, a seasoned warrior named Andy. “We’ll git nae guff,” Andy assured. “Ye’re tha one, Will. Sance ye farst met that’un.” He nodded at Chack. “Nay’n tha cap’ns’ll buck ye.”
With a deep breath, Will took a step back and crisply saluted Matt as he’d been taught. “I unnerstand, sar, an’ ye hae me sacred oath.”
“Thank you, Will,” Matt said, returning the salute.
Chack nudged Jindal, finally peeling Petey loose and holding the clearly resentful but suddenly limp reptile by the scruff of the neck. “In that case, Cap-i-taan, if there is nothing else, I will begin preparing the First Raider Brigade to embark.”
“And Second Corps has much to prepare, even if its departure will be considerably more delayed.” Safir grinned and blinked at Chack. “It is somewhat larger than Chack’s Brigade, after all.”
Matt managed a smile. “Then by all means, consider yourselves dismissed. And, Chack,” he added. “You have capable subordinates. Majors Jindal and Galay, as well as your sister, Risa. Let them do most of the work. You still need rest from your latest adventure. Take some time with General Queen Safir Maraan. I’m sure you have a lot to . . . talk about.”
With a wide grin, Chack tossed Petey at Silva. The tree glider squalled and latched onto Silva’s arm before scrambling back to his customary perch.
“Asshole,” Dennis muttered amiably at his friend.
Finally, the only ones remaining on the dock, within a wide bubble reserved for them by the yard workers, were Matt, Courtney, Silva, and Lawrence. Silva was watching Matt very closely, suspecting he’d planned it that way. “Well, I guess me an’ Larry’ll be sankoin’ along. We ain’t Chack’s Raiders, but we’ll be taggin’ along. Ol’ Larry won’t wanna forget his favorite toothbrush. Gotta keep them nasty choppers o’ his nice an’ bright!”
“Just a moment more if you please, Mr. Silva,” Courtney said in what, for him, was a no-nonsense tone. “Several other . . . unresolved subjects remain.”
“About Larry?” Dennis asked innocently. He glared at his Sa’aaran friend. “Did you take a dump in the chow line again?” he demanded, shaking his head with exaggerated scorn. “I swear. Can’t nothin’ stop you?” He looked at Courtney apologetically. “It’s them Shee-Ree that’s been such a bad influence on ol’ Larry, Mr. Bradford, pissin’ all over everything they take a fancy to. Mighty covetous critters. Thank God the rest of our ’Cats don’t do that!”
Lawrence hissed at him. “I not e’er do that!”
“Then where did you take a dump? Or did you get caught sniffin’ around that female lizard Geerki’s pet Griks’ve been hidin’?” It had been discovered that the civilian Grik in the city had been protecting a single breeding-age female in their midst. She’d been comfortably confined in the Cowflop, not only as further leverage to ensure their cooperation, but so Courtney could study her. He hadn’t learned much beyond the fact that she was somewhat duller even than the average Uul. A broodmare, he’d called her. “You oughta be ashamed!” Dennis continued, warming to his diatribe. “Why, you’re not even the same race as her. I can just imagine what our Grik workers’d have to say about your schemes to mis-eggenate with their only broad!”
“Mis-eggenate!” Petey hooted scornfully.
Lawrence hissed again, a growl in his throat. “I not sniphing! And you’re to talk? You and Risa . . .”
“That’s quite enough,” Courtney declared, rolling his eyes. “My dear friends,” he told Dennis and Lawrence, “you’ve both contributed far more than you know to our cause, and might’ve even saved it more than once. But just for once, will you please stop playing silly buggers and pull your heads in?”
“What did you say to Fiedler?” Matt challenged. Silva’s imaginative smoke screens usually amused the Skipper, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood. “The last time I spoke to him, he was still working to fix the plane. Said he owed us that much, but was sticking to his ‘I’m just a pilot’ line.” Gravois had “generously” allowed the German to attempt repairs to the Ju-52 they’d arrived in, but he’d been confined to the airfield.
Silva looked genuinely surprised. Whatever he’d expected to be raked over the coals for, this wasn’t it. “Not much,” he replied, concentrating. “I went an’ talked to him, sure. I was at the airfield to see if they’d fixed my zep.” He’d captured a Grik airship with the help of some Shee-Ree and somehow flown it all the way to Grik City, barely arriving before practically crashing it. It had been mended to a degree, but the Grik hydrogen-manufacturing facilities had been damaged in the battle to take the city and hadn’t been a priority for repair until now. “Kraut bastard seemed kinda lonesome, though, an’ I guess he’d been by himself a lot at one of the airfields on Zanzibar too.” He shrugged. “I know he’s a Leaguer an’ a Kraut to boot,” he said, then added, “But I felt kinda’ sorry for him, y’know? Still, we didn’t go on about our favorite childhood toys, er nothin’.” He brightened. “I did tell him he oughta stick with us, an’ told him we got lotsa dames. He kinda hinted they had plenty in the Med. Didn’t ask where they got ’em—figgered that was the sort o’ thing you’d ask.” He scratched his bearded chin. “He did seem to appreciate me suggestin’ he stay on, though. Got all quiet-like, and I almost thought he’d go for it. Who knows? Maybe he’s got a girl.” He glanced at Courtney, then back at Matt, and swatted at a bug. “But if I’d’a known you were gonna squeeze him, I’d’a done it.”