(eng) Mike Shepherd - Kris Longknife 01 by Mutineer

Author:Mutineer [Mutineer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

13

The truck drove slowly into the compound like the hearse it was. Kris dismounted and moved to help those in back remove the body of her one casualty. Colonel Hancock, however, was in her way. “How’d it go?” he said.

“Not bad, I guess,” Kris answered, leaning around the Colonel to watch as three spacers from the base helped with the poncho-wrapped burden.

“Let them take care of that,” the Colonel told her.

“Him,” Kris corrected. Since the Colonel showed no intent of getting out of her way, she turned toward the headquarters. “I’d better look in on my wounded.”

“They’re being taken care of. I want to talk to you in my office.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Like last time?” the Colonel asked with an arched eyebrow.

Kris turned right and headed for sick bay. The Colonel’s office was left; he followed her. As she expected, Tom was applying his asteroid miner first aid training, helping one corpsman while the doc and other corpsman struggled to keep Courtney’s bleeder alive. Kris paused at each of the wounded, told them they’d done good. One picked that moment to go into shock. As Tom rushed in to start treatment; the Colonel edged Kris out of sick bay with an iron grip on her elbow.

A moment later she was seated in his office, a large tumbler in her hand. The Colonel produced a bottle of fine, single malt whiskey and popped the cork. The aroma filled the room even before he began pouring Kris’s tumbler to the lip. He then did the same for himself, raised the amber-filled glass in a toast, and said, “You did a very good job out there.”

Kris eyed the glass for a moment. How many times had she almost gotten killed today? Did it matter if she finished it stone cold sober or not? She took a long sip. It was fine whiskey, flowing smoothly down to warm her stomach, massage out the knots. She sighed and relaxed into her chair. “I guess so.”

“No, Ensign, you did good.”

Kris took another sip. If she’d done so good, why did she feel so . . .? That was the problem; she didn’t know how she felt. Maybe Grampa Trouble would, but she didn’t. All of it was too new, too strange, too scary. She did know what Grampa Trouble would say though. “A lot of people did good today. How do I write them up for medals, sir? Everyone on those trucks deserves something.”

The Colonel took a long pull on his drink. “And they’ll all get the Humanitarian Aid Medal.”

Kris almost threw her glass. “Hell, sir, they give that medal for sitting on your backside counting the aid boxes on Wardhaven. My people were out in the mud, getting shot at, outnumbered eight to one, in the finest tradition of this bloody service . . . sir.” She finished her bit of tirade with a bigger gulp than she’d intended. White fire seared her belly. At least the pain felt good. After today, she ought to hurt somewhere.

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