Passage at Arms Read Online Free
ladies mustering along the way. These boys' mothers would be shocked by their sons' behavior. The mothers of the girls would disown their daughters.
I'm amazed by how young they all look. Especially the women. They shouldn't know what men are for, yet... Christ! Are they that young or am I getting that old?
I ask one of my questions. "Why doesn't the other firm bring in a Main Battle Fleet? It shouldn't be that hard to scrub Canaan and a couple of moons."
Yanevich ignores me. The Commander is studying faces and showing his own. Bradley is scooting around like a kid during his first day on a new playground. Westhause has the volunteer mouth again.
"They're stretched too thin trying to blitz the Inner Worlds. The guys bothering us are trainees.
They hang out here a couple of months, getting blooded, before they take on the big time. When we get out there it'll be a different story. The reps on those routes are pros. There's one Squadron Leader they call the Executioner. He's the worst news since the Black Death."
I'm getting tired of Westhause's voice. It takes on a pedantic note when he knows you're listening.
"Suppose they committed that MBF? It would have to come from inside. That would stall their offensive. If we carved it up, they'd lose the initiative. And we might cut them good.
Climbers get mean when they're cornered." A hint of pride has crept in here.
"Meaning they can't afford to take time out to knock us off, but they can't afford to leave us alone, either?"
The Commander scowls my way. I'm not using approved phraseology.
"Yeah. Containment. That's the name of their game."
"The holonets say we're hurting them."
"Damned right we are. We're the only reason the Inner Worlds are holding out. They're going to do something..."
Westhause reddens under the Commander's stony gaze. He has become too direct, too frank, and too enthusiastic. The Commander doesn't approve of enthusiasm in the broader sense, only in enthusiasm for one's job. And there it should be a subtle, low-key competence, not a rodeo holler.
"The statistics. They're learning. Making it harder and harder. The easy days are over. The glory days. But we're still building Climbers faster than they're retiring them. New squadron gets commissioned next month."
He leaves me to go exchange greetings with a small, very dark Lieutenant. There are few non- Causcasians in our crew. That would be because so many are native Canaanites. "Ito Piniaz,"
Westhause says after the man departs. "Weapons Officer and Second Watch Officer. Good man. Doesn't get along well, but very competent." Just what the Old Man had to say. "Where was I?"
I hear Yanevich murmur, "Flushing the tunnel with hot air." Westhause doesn't catch his remark.
"Oh. Yeah. Time. That's what it's all about. We're all racing the hourglass of attrition."
"Jesus," the Commander mutters. "You write speeches for Fearless Fred?" I glance at him. He's pretending an intense interest in the women down the way. "Enough is enough."
"Our firm is starting to pull ahead," Westhause declares. The Commander looks dubious. We've all heard it before. High Command started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel the second week of the war. The glimmer hasn't shone my way yet.
"You guys coming? Or should we pick you up on our way home?" Only Yanevich, who is speaking, and the Commander remain. The rest of our lot have disappeared.
"Yes sir." Westhause glides into a naked shaft. It seems to plunge toward the planetoids' heart.
He floats upon nothing and grabs a descending cable. He controls his duffel with his other hand.
He vanishes with the down-pop of a fast prairie dog. Yanevich follows him.
"Your turn."
I take one look and say, "Not even without gravity."
The Commander grins. It's the nastiest damned grin I've ever seen. He sticks me with a straightarm.
"Grab the cable."
I stop flailing and grab. The cable jerks me down the narrow, polished tube. There isn't enough light to see much but an oily
I'm amazed by how young they all look. Especially the women. They shouldn't know what men are for, yet... Christ! Are they that young or am I getting that old?
I ask one of my questions. "Why doesn't the other firm bring in a Main Battle Fleet? It shouldn't be that hard to scrub Canaan and a couple of moons."
Yanevich ignores me. The Commander is studying faces and showing his own. Bradley is scooting around like a kid during his first day on a new playground. Westhause has the volunteer mouth again.
"They're stretched too thin trying to blitz the Inner Worlds. The guys bothering us are trainees.
They hang out here a couple of months, getting blooded, before they take on the big time. When we get out there it'll be a different story. The reps on those routes are pros. There's one Squadron Leader they call the Executioner. He's the worst news since the Black Death."
I'm getting tired of Westhause's voice. It takes on a pedantic note when he knows you're listening.
"Suppose they committed that MBF? It would have to come from inside. That would stall their offensive. If we carved it up, they'd lose the initiative. And we might cut them good.
Climbers get mean when they're cornered." A hint of pride has crept in here.
"Meaning they can't afford to take time out to knock us off, but they can't afford to leave us alone, either?"
The Commander scowls my way. I'm not using approved phraseology.
"Yeah. Containment. That's the name of their game."
"The holonets say we're hurting them."
"Damned right we are. We're the only reason the Inner Worlds are holding out. They're going to do something..."
Westhause reddens under the Commander's stony gaze. He has become too direct, too frank, and too enthusiastic. The Commander doesn't approve of enthusiasm in the broader sense, only in enthusiasm for one's job. And there it should be a subtle, low-key competence, not a rodeo holler.
"The statistics. They're learning. Making it harder and harder. The easy days are over. The glory days. But we're still building Climbers faster than they're retiring them. New squadron gets commissioned next month."
He leaves me to go exchange greetings with a small, very dark Lieutenant. There are few non- Causcasians in our crew. That would be because so many are native Canaanites. "Ito Piniaz,"
Westhause says after the man departs. "Weapons Officer and Second Watch Officer. Good man. Doesn't get along well, but very competent." Just what the Old Man had to say. "Where was I?"
I hear Yanevich murmur, "Flushing the tunnel with hot air." Westhause doesn't catch his remark.
"Oh. Yeah. Time. That's what it's all about. We're all racing the hourglass of attrition."
"Jesus," the Commander mutters. "You write speeches for Fearless Fred?" I glance at him. He's pretending an intense interest in the women down the way. "Enough is enough."
"Our firm is starting to pull ahead," Westhause declares. The Commander looks dubious. We've all heard it before. High Command started seeing the light at the end of the tunnel the second week of the war. The glimmer hasn't shone my way yet.
"You guys coming? Or should we pick you up on our way home?" Only Yanevich, who is speaking, and the Commander remain. The rest of our lot have disappeared.
"Yes sir." Westhause glides into a naked shaft. It seems to plunge toward the planetoids' heart.
He floats upon nothing and grabs a descending cable. He controls his duffel with his other hand.
He vanishes with the down-pop of a fast prairie dog. Yanevich follows him.
"Your turn."
I take one look and say, "Not even without gravity."
The Commander grins. It's the nastiest damned grin I've ever seen. He sticks me with a straightarm.
"Grab the cable."
I stop flailing and grab. The cable jerks me down the narrow, polished tube. There isn't enough light to see much but an oily
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