When the Devil Dances

“We’ve got barracks?” Stewart asked with a chuckle. “I mean, like, real barracks that are ours and everything? Or are we going to a ‘rest and recreation’ barracks?” he asked with a grimace. The facilities were run by Ground Forces and varied wildly.

“They’re ours,” O’Neal said with a grin. “They’ve been on my books the whole damned time. They’re in the mountains in Pennsylvania. A place called Newry, just south of Altoona. We’ve even got a rear detachment.”

“We do?” Duncan asked, bemusedly. “I would have thought the S-3 would know about that sort of thing.”

“It’s not all that big,” Mike said. “And they’re all seconded from Ground Forces. But there’s a supply officer and a personnel section.”

“And barracks?” Captain Slight said with a light chuckle. “With beds and stuff?”

“The same,” O’Neal said with another grin. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep in one; the last time I tried I was up all night tossing and turning.”

“I think the troops will adjust,” Gunny Pappas said, shaking his head now that he’d doffed his helmet. “They seriously need some down time. And there’s gear that needs work, even the GalTech gear.”

“We’ll do all of that,” Mike said. “My basic plan is this. We should arrive, transportation being available, on Monday or Tuesday. We’ll spend a day cleaning up the barracks and our gear and morguing the suits. Then a day or two on short days around the barracks, getting used to wearing silks again and working on our dress stuff. Friday we’ll have a real honest to God ‘payday activities’ with an inspection of the barracks and dress uniform inspection followed by a battalion formation and dismissal by noon. Everybody to be back in formation no earlier than noon the next Tuesday.”

“You know, I don’t know how that will go over,” Captain Holder said. “Frankly, I think some of the troops will view it as… well…”

“Chickenshit, sir?” Gunny Pappas said. “With all due respect, Captain, I disagree…”

“So do I,” Stewart interjected. “And I disagree as a former troop. All of these troops are volunteers. You don’t get to the point that we’re at without realizing that there’s a reason for all the happy horseshit in garrison. Sure, you ignore most of it in combat, but the best, the most elite troops, have always been the snazziest dressers.”

“Waffen SS,” Duncan noted. “Now there were some guys who knew how to wear a uniform.”

“The 82^nd,” Captain Slight noted. “They were chosen for the role of Honor Guard in post-WWII Europe mainly on the basis of how well they dressed out. And nobody can fault their combat record.”

“Rhodesian SAS and the Selous Scouts,” O’Neal said in agreement. “Two of the baddest groups ever to come out of the Cold War and they were like peacocks in garrison; Dad still has his uniform and it looks like something from a Hungarian opera.”

“Okay, okay,” Captain Holder said, holding up his hands. “But do the troops know that?”

“We’ll give ’em evenings off,” Mike said. “Short passes; they’ll need to be back to barracks by a curfew. There’s a reason for it. Gunny?”

“You don’t just rip soldiers right out of combat and drop them on a town, sir,” Gunny Pappas said with a nod. “You have to… acclimatize them first.”

“We’ll give them a week of ‘chickenshit’ to acclimatize, and a week for the town to get used to the idea and more or less prepared, and then we’ll let them go for a weekend. I don’t see us having more than a couple of weeks, maybe a month, in garrison. We’ll let them unwind for a bit then train back up and then…”

“Back to killing Posleen,” Duncan said with a growl.

“Back to making Posleen sausage,” Mike agreed. “What we do best.”

“We getting any replacements, sir?” Pappas asked. “We’re… getting a little low on bodies in case nobody had noticed.”

“There are twelve suits in the pipeline,” O’Neal said. “They’re all supposed to be waiting for us when we get to Newry.”

“And bodies?” Captain Slight asked. “Even with the troops we picked up from Alpha, we’re under manning.”

“And bodies,” Mike agreed. “Given that we have some mopping up to do, the bodies should be there in time to get the suits fitted and even dialed in. I understand we’re even getting a couple from the Ten Thousand.”

* * *

“Ten shut!” Sunday called as Colonel Cutprice entered the room.

The conference room was in the offices of a factory, long since abandoned, just west of the Genesee River. The blasts from SheVa rounds, which had levelled practically every prominence east of the Genesee, had blown out the windows of the room and Cutprice strode across crackling glass as he entered. But it was better than being outside; the rains had set in again and it looked to be turning to snow soon.

“At ease, rest even,” Cutprice said, striding over to the group of four troopers. He was trailed by Mansfield, carrying a set of boxes, and the sergeant major, similarly weighed down.

“Smoke ’em if you got ’em,” he continued, suiting action to words as he pulled out a pack of Dunhills. They were getting hard to find so he saved them for special occasions.