The Thin Blue Line (The Empire's Corps Book 9) (v5.1) (26 page)

They’re all out on the streets
, she thought, with grim amusement. The thought of paper-pushers trying to keep the peace wasn't funny, but she couldn't help a twisted smile.
Or trying to come up with some very good reasons why they shouldn't be on the streets. I wonder if any of them will put forward practicality as a reason
.

“You served on several different worlds, but not Terra Nova,” the receptionist said. “I’ll need to forward your file to the Colonel.”

“No worries,” Belinda assured him. She gave him another smile. “I can wait.”

She paced over to the closest chair and sat down, crossing her legs as she took a deep breath. The room smelt of fear and too many humans in close proximity, a stench that reminded her of her first days in barracks. It was funny how quickly she’d grown used to sleeping next to sweaty men and women, but then she’d been too tired to do anything but go to bed. There certainly hadn't been time for hanky-panky. But for prisoners brought to the reception, she decided, the smell was merely one part of their nightmare.

The receptionist cleared his throat. “The Colonel is on his way,” he said. “He wishes to see you personally.”

Belinda nodded, wondering if her service record was really
that
impressive. Senior officers never came to see junior officers, at least in her experience, unless they’d won the Medal of Honour, which entitled the bearer to a salute from anyone who hadn't won it for themselves. But then, the security officers wouldn't want strangers running around inside the station without escort. The Colonel, whoever he was, might prefer to keep an eye on her himself rather than detail a subordinate to serve as her escort.

The airlock opened, revealing a dark-skinned man in a wheelchair. Belinda rose to her feet as she took in his uniform, then saluted. The man returned the salute, his dark eyes looking her up and down carefully, then beckoned for her to follow him. She couldn't help noticing that despite missing a leg, his upper body was strong and healthy.

A very impressive man
, Doug said.
You should watch him
.

“I’m Colonel Christopher Fraser,” the Colonel said, as they rode the elevator up to the seventh floor. “Your service record is very impressive.”

“Thank you, sir,” Belinda said. She wondered, absently, what he would have made of her
real
service record. “It was my pleasure to serve.”

“Not enough, or you would never have left,” Fraser told her, darkly. He patted the wheelchair, as if it were a dog or a cat. “And to think I stayed in the service after having one of my legs cut off by a terrorist shithead.”

Belinda had wondered why he was still in the military. The Imperial Army was not allowed to discriminate, even when it was blindingly obvious that a man in a wheelchair was incapable of serving in the infantry. Some of them became clerks and did good work, she had to admit, but others were nothing more than oxygen thieves. And even they weren't as bad as the ones who claimed that being fat was a kind of disability. Maybe it was, she considered, but it was one that could be overcome. It wasn't like losing a leg.

She gave him a sidelong look. “Why didn't you have the leg regrown?”

“Doctors say my body will reject a force-grown leg,” Fraser said. He didn't show any irritation at the question, surprisingly. “And I don’t seem to work well with prosthetics.”

“I’m sorry,” Belinda said, as they entered his office. It was rare for someone to remain crippled, in a universe where bodily parts could be replaced with ease, but it did happen. “I didn't mean to pry.”

“Everyone does,” Fraser grunted. He waved her to a seat, then motored his way around the desk. “You have an impressive service record, for a redcap.”

“Thank you, sir,” Belinda said.

“You’re welcome,” Fraser said, dryly. “Thank me after you’ve completed your first assignments.”

He paused. “Have you kept up with your skills?”

“Yes, sir,” Belinda said. “I’ve been working out daily and shooting weekly, in a makeshift shooting range.”

“Not since you landed, of course,” Fraser muttered. “Bloody morons keep insisting that I should cut down on shooting practice, just to prevent accidents. It isn't enough to use low-power ammunition, not now. They want shooting practice cancelled altogether.”

Belinda winced. Low-power ammunition was only ‘safe’ in the deluded minds of politicians who knew nothing about guns or ammunition. Bullets could still kill if fired from a low-power gun, while normal ammunition felt quite different when fired in combat. Using low-power ammunition on a shooting range was actually hampering soldiers when they went into action, she knew, recalling some of the other problems the Imperial Army had had. But the politicians were more concerned with pandering to their base than practicalities.

Fraser cleared his throat. “You’ve worked as a team leader,” he added, “so I’m assigning you to a snatch squad. We’re sorting out names and faces of suspects now, which you will be in charge of arresting once we have them all listed. You may have to impose yourself on the team.”

Wonderful
, McQueen said.
This guy is setting you up to take the fall
.

Belinda nodded, inwardly. It made no sense to assign
her
to command a team, not when there had to be hundreds of officers more familiar with Terra Nova and, for that matter, on active service. Her fake record clearly stated that she hadn't seen active service for over ten years. But if someone was concerned about losing his job, or about the effects on the efficiency of his department, it made sense to assign the task to a newcomer. Belinda had no powerful patrons who might intervene on her behalf.

“It’s been quite some time since I commanded anyone in action,” she said. It was true enough, unless one counted Roland. “Will your team accept me?”

“Probably,” Fraser grunted. “Most of them are newcomers anyway. We don’t have enough experienced officers to go around.”

Belinda didn’t try to argue any further. Being team leader would offer her more opportunity to look around without being noticed. She didn't want to argue so hard Fraser actually gave her what he thought she wanted. Instead, she rose to her feet, stood at parade rest and waited for orders.

“Your team is being assembled now,” he told her. “I was looking for a commanding officer when you arrived.”

He wheeled his chair around the desk and headed towards the door. “Come with me,” he added, as the door hissed open. “You can meet your new subordinates.”

Belinda coughed. “That quickly?”

“This is a state of emergency,” Fraser reminded her. He powered his way down the corridor, narrowly missing a young officer in a skirt so short Belinda could see the underside of her ass when she walked. “There isn't time to go through the entire process of recruiting and vetting you again, Lieutenant Lawson. We’ll catch up later.”

And probably cheat you of some of your pay
, Pug put in.
Wanker
.

Shut up
, Belinda thought.

Another door hissed open, revealing a large room holding five men and one woman. Belinda looked from face to face, noting that two of the men looked like thugs and the woman looked alternatively scared or furious. The remaining men eyed Belinda with obvious interest, but said nothing out loud. It was clear, from their sloppy appearance, that it had been years since they’d been in the service. And none of them were Marines.

“This is Lieutenant Lawson,” Fraser said, by way of introduction. “She’s your new CO. You can spend the next hour or so getting acquainted, then you can go out on your first mission. I expect nothing, but the best from all of you.”

He turned and wheeled his way out of the room, leaving Belinda facing the team alone. One of the thugs rose to his feet and stamped over to Belinda, trying to look intimidating. It would have worked, she freely admitted, if she hadn’t had years of training as a Marine and then a Pathfinder. He was so strongly muscled that she rather thought he had muscles on his muscles, quite literally. But years of experience told her that all he really had going for him was brute force.

“I don’t take orders from bitches,” he hissed, as he forced himself into Belinda’s personal space. “And I only have women under me ...”

Belinda hit him in the chest, hard. He doubled over as she darted back, clutching his chest as he coughed, loudly. She wondered what he would have thought if he’d known she’d pulled her punch. One blow with augmented strength and she would have put her fist right through his chest, leaving him dying on the floor.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Belinda said, as the thug recovered from her blow. “I am in charge and you will do what I say, or I will beat the living shit out of you.”

She studied the thug closely, wondering just what sort of person he was. Would he be so offended at being beaten by a mere female that he’d undermine her constantly or would he accept that she was strong enough to serve as leader and do as he was told? She’d seen precedent for both in the Marine Corps, although it was muted. Anyone who reached a rank above Rifleman had definitely been tested and not found wanting. There was no need for anything more than a little tomfoolery when a new CO arrived.

But it was different in the Imperial Army. And worse in the Civil Guard.

“Bitch,” the brute muttered.

“That’s
Lieutenant
Bitch to you,” Belinda said. “Name and rank,
please
.”

“Günter Hammerfest,” he muttered. “Former Private in the Civil Guard.”

Belinda nodded, resolving to read Hammerfest’s file as soon as possible. Someone like him would have been ideal for the Civil Guard, which meant there had to be a very good reason why he hadn't been allowed to remain on active service. It was quite possible that he'd been given the boot for excessive violence – which would have taken some doing in the Civil Guard – or that he’d beaten up the wrong person at the wrong time. She’d just have to keep an eye on him and hope for the best.

She collected names from the rest of her team and filed them all away for later consideration, when she had a moment to herself. The men, at least, were fighters; the woman – Bella Jackson - had been a paper-pusher before she’d retired, two years ago. Belinda honestly had no idea what Fraser had thought when he'd assigned her to the snatch squad. She didn't have any combat record at all, not even minor policing. Indeed, it was quite possible she didn't know how to use a gun. Unlike the Marines, the Imperial Army didn't train its bureaucrats in using weapons. It was a weakness that had been exploited before and no doubt would be exploited again.

“Right,” she said, firmly. “We all know each other now. Grab your kit and we will go down to the shooting range. I want to make damn sure you can all shoot.”

Hammerfest grinned. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Belinda said. In a state of emergency, she wouldn't have to worry about the paperwork for firing off a crate or two of practice ammunition. Normally, there was so much paperwork that the army’s sergeants rarely bothered, even before a known deployment to a trouble spot. The effect it had on readiness for action was depressingly predictable. “And then we will be practicing with everything from stunners to capture nets.”

She led the way down to the shooting range, then ordered up weapons – they hadn't been issued, which made her roll her eyes in disgust – and put her team to work. None of them were even remotely up to Marine standards, she decided, after watching them clown around for five minutes. If she’d had to lead them into an actual fight, they would have been more dangerous to their allies than the enemy. But the raw material was there, if she had time to turn them into soldiers.

Don’t forget that you have other work to do
, Doug warned.
You can't become their leader in truth
.

Belinda sighed, then nodded.

“A word with you, Bella,” she said. Bella was unquestionably the worst of the bunch, at least when it came to shooting. The gun she’d picked up the first time had nearly knocked her over with the recoil, even though they’d been using training ammunition. “Come over here.”

She led Bella into a corner, directing the men to continue shooting practice while she talked to their comrade. Up close, it was clear that Bella was utterly terrified. Belinda honestly had no idea why she’d joined the military at all, let alone returned when the state of emergency was declared. It was alarmingly clear that Bella had no loyalty to the military, let alone anything else. And there was no time to nursemaid her.

“You don’t know how to fire a gun,” Belinda said, shortly. “And you’re sloppy, very sloppy, in your uniform. What are you doing here?”

“I was called up with everyone else,” Bella said. “I expected to go back into staff work and ...”

“Yeah,” Belinda said. “I’m sure you did.”

She shook her head. “You really shouldn't be here,” she said, tartly. Given a few hours without supervision, Hammerfest would probably have attempted to force himself on Bella. Belinda had met far too many people like him in her life. He wouldn't have considered it rape, not if Bella was too scared to say no. “I want you to stay behind and do the team’s paperwork, when it arrives. In fact, I want you to start requisitioning training supplies for us, the more the better.”

Bella didn't even
try
to argue. That, more than anything else, proved that Belinda was right and she really didn't belong with the team.

“I will,” she said. “But what about the numbers? Snatch squads are meant to have at least seven members ...”

“Let me worry about that,” Belinda said. Five men behind her, at least one of whom had to be watched at all times ... she didn't need more problems. “I can make do with five men if necessary. You concentrate on filling out all the paperwork when it finally arrives.”

Bella nodded. “And do you want me for anything else?”

It took Belinda a moment to realise what Bella meant. When she did, she had to fight the urge to bang her head off the concrete wall. She'd known that senior officers in the Imperial Army chose their assistants for other reasons than competence – and staff officers weren't expected to have to fight, in any case – but it was still a shock. Was Bella seriously expecting Belinda to take her to bed?