Read Bolo Brigade for Free Online

with another pair of jacks!"
    Willard groaned and relinquished the pile. The sergeant cackled wickedly as he began scooping up his winnings.
    "I do hope I'm not disturbing anything important," Donal said casually, walking closer to the edge of the light.
    "Who the hell are—" Willard started to say, but then his eyes fastened on the rank insignia on Donal's collar and widened. "Comp'ny!" he snapped. "Atten- hut !"
    The group scrambled to attention, some remaining on the floor just long enough to scoop up fistfuls of Confederation cash before making it to their feet. A sudden hush descended over the vehicle bay, heightened by the soft rasp of breathing men. Donal stepped into the light; the men, though standing at attention, were facing in several directions, rigid, eyes fixed ahead, as though terrified of betraying the slightest movement.
    "I am Lieutenant Donal Ragnor," he said quietly, looking from face to face, reading the emotions he saw there—fear, surprise . . . and a lot of resentment.
    The group numbered sixteen—eleven men, five women—some in greasy dungarees, some in military-issue shorts and T-shirts, three of them in civilian clothing. As he noted facial expressions, he noted, too, details of hair too long, of jewelry, of personal adornment. Willard, he saw, wore a neck chain with a large ankh hanging from it outside his partly unbuttoned dungaree shirt. One of the women wore a faded olive-drab T-shirt with a collar so torn and stretched out it exposed rather more of her substantial upper chest than was strictly permitted by military regs. One of the men wore dangling earrings in the fashion currently popular with the Kinkaid party-hard set.
    "I have been assigned as Tactical Officer to this pair of Mark XXIVs," he continued after a moment. "I gather this is my maintenance company."
    "Fifteenth Gladius Bolo Maintenance and Transport Company, Muir Detachment, Tech Master Sergeant Blandings reporting," the sergeant said. " Sir! "
    "Is this everyone?"
    "We have four on the sick list," Blandings rasped out, "seven more back in the barracks or somewhere, and, uh, three who, uh, well, I guess they're AWOL. Sir."
    "You guess you have three men absent without leave?"
    "Three men have not reported for duty since last week," he said stiffly. "Sir."
    "Mmm. How about the rest of you. Is anyone doing any work around here?"
    "Sir, this is our down period. Recreational, you know?"
    Donal nodded, as though considering this. With one toe, he nudged one of the piles of cards scattered on the floor, sliding a queen off of the three of hearts. "I wouldn't want to think," he said quietly, "that any of you men were actually gambling . As I understand it, that's strictly contra-regs. Am I right?"
    There was no immediate reply, though several sets of eyes exchanged worried glances. Donal stepped in front of Sergeant Blandings, staring for a moment into a seamed and experienced face. He looked down at Blandings' hands, both of which were clenched into white-knuckled fists clutching bundles of money. Slowly, he removed his service hat and held it out. "In here."
    "Sir—"
    "In here!"
    Reluctantly, Blandings dropped both fistfuls of bills into the hat. Turning, in place, Donal extended the hat to each of the other men holding the games' stakes. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "if I don't see you with any money in your hands, I can't bring charges against you for gambling. Right?"
    One by one, the men dropped handfuls of bills into the hat, until it was nearly overflowing. "This," Donal said when the last man had made his contribution, "will make for a nice enlisted men's fund, don't you think?"
    "It was just a friendly little game, sir," Blandings said, resentment in his voice.
    "Uh-huh." Donal glanced up at the huge, trackless road wheels rising at his side. "What's the word on this Unit? Why is it down by two tracks?"
    "Suspension train maintenance, sir. Routine."
    "But why two tracks? The drill is to pull 'em one at a