Read Online Into the Storm by Larry Correia - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Larry Correia
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smiled. “Well, Pangborn, I’m happy to say you’re no longer unassigned.”
It had begun to pour on the way back from the docks. It was miserable. Cleasby’s heavy storm armor made walking exhausting, but at least it held his body heat in and kept him warm. The old mechanik, Neel MacKay, was waiting for them at the entrance to their barracks, standing under an awning smoking a cigar. “Evening, Madigan.”
The lieutenant didn’t waste time on hellos. “You get me a ’jack yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work faster.” Madigan introduced him. “Lads, this is Corporal MacKay, the ’jack marshal for the warjack we don’t have yet. He’s going to bring us a nice Stormclad.”
“Lieutenant Madigan certainly reaches for the stars,” MacKay said in a dry tone. “At this point I might be able to get us a one-legged Lancer and some crutches. Turns out Captain Schafer doesn’t hold a particularly high opinion of your platoon.” He took a big puff from his cigar, then held his hands up when Madigan scowled. “Fine, fine, don’t put those scary eyes on me. I’ll get you your lightning ’jack.”
The door to the barracks had fallen on the floor again, so Madigan simply stood on top of it as he held up a lantern and gestured expansively at their lodgings. Water was drizzling in through the many holes in the roof. “Gentlemen, welcome to your new quarters.”
“This ain’t so bad.” Pangborn dragged his bags inside and dropped them on a rotting bunk. The wood collapsed in a cloud of dust. He coughed. “At least the smell of the slaughterhouse next door reminds me of my village.”
Thornbury entered last, stepped over a mummified rat, and then covered his mouth with a handkerchief. “Say the word, Lieutenant, and I can get us rooms at this really nice inn from now until the invasion starts. The proprietor owes me a favor.”
Cleasby looked to Madigan hopefully. Even though it would go against regulations, a warm, dry inn sounded preferable to this place.
Madigan hung the lantern from a peg on the wall. “Tempting as that may be, we’ve got another fifty names on Cleasby’s clipboard to gather up, and this is our base. You men are the foundation of this new unit. I’m counting on each of you to make this work.”
“Well, how about we foundational leader types sleep in the nice inn while the grunts sleep here?” Thornbury asked. “No?” He sighed. “Well, I’ve always wanted to contract a case of flea plague.”
Wilkins spoke from the corner he was inspecting. “Permission to set up a unit shrine, Lieutenant? It will be small, I promise, just to honor Ascendant Markus, read from the Prayers for Battle, and ask for his blessings on this platoon.”
“Permission temporarily denied. When you go one week without annoying me, ask again. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another busy day. Speaking of which . . .” He turned to Pangborn. “You said you grew up on a farm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know how to patch a roof?”
“Sure thing.” He sounded funny with the bandages shoved up his broken nose. “I’m gonna need some supplies, though.”
Madigan reached into his coat and pulled out a big coin purse. He tossed it to Thornbury. “Take Pangborn shopping tomorrow. And get us new bedding. The rest of you, I want it scrubbed clean while they’re gone. I want this place livable.”
Cleasby recognized the coin purse. It was the payment from the ogrun bounty hunter, Hutchuck. “That’s—”
Madigan cut him off. “That’s our entire operational budget from Laddermore,” he lied. “So make it last, Thorny. I don’t trust our good captain to keep us supplied, and we’re probably going to need to supplement our rations with that too.”
“I won’t spend it all in one place.” Thornbury hid the money in his cloak.
“Good. I want the men warm and well fed, and I don’t want any of them falling ill.”
For once, Cleasby didn’t know what to say. This whole time he’d
It had begun to pour on the way back from the docks. It was miserable. Cleasby’s heavy storm armor made walking exhausting, but at least it held his body heat in and kept him warm. The old mechanik, Neel MacKay, was waiting for them at the entrance to their barracks, standing under an awning smoking a cigar. “Evening, Madigan.”
The lieutenant didn’t waste time on hellos. “You get me a ’jack yet?”
“I’m working on it.”
“Work faster.” Madigan introduced him. “Lads, this is Corporal MacKay, the ’jack marshal for the warjack we don’t have yet. He’s going to bring us a nice Stormclad.”
“Lieutenant Madigan certainly reaches for the stars,” MacKay said in a dry tone. “At this point I might be able to get us a one-legged Lancer and some crutches. Turns out Captain Schafer doesn’t hold a particularly high opinion of your platoon.” He took a big puff from his cigar, then held his hands up when Madigan scowled. “Fine, fine, don’t put those scary eyes on me. I’ll get you your lightning ’jack.”
The door to the barracks had fallen on the floor again, so Madigan simply stood on top of it as he held up a lantern and gestured expansively at their lodgings. Water was drizzling in through the many holes in the roof. “Gentlemen, welcome to your new quarters.”
“This ain’t so bad.” Pangborn dragged his bags inside and dropped them on a rotting bunk. The wood collapsed in a cloud of dust. He coughed. “At least the smell of the slaughterhouse next door reminds me of my village.”
Thornbury entered last, stepped over a mummified rat, and then covered his mouth with a handkerchief. “Say the word, Lieutenant, and I can get us rooms at this really nice inn from now until the invasion starts. The proprietor owes me a favor.”
Cleasby looked to Madigan hopefully. Even though it would go against regulations, a warm, dry inn sounded preferable to this place.
Madigan hung the lantern from a peg on the wall. “Tempting as that may be, we’ve got another fifty names on Cleasby’s clipboard to gather up, and this is our base. You men are the foundation of this new unit. I’m counting on each of you to make this work.”
“Well, how about we foundational leader types sleep in the nice inn while the grunts sleep here?” Thornbury asked. “No?” He sighed. “Well, I’ve always wanted to contract a case of flea plague.”
Wilkins spoke from the corner he was inspecting. “Permission to set up a unit shrine, Lieutenant? It will be small, I promise, just to honor Ascendant Markus, read from the Prayers for Battle, and ask for his blessings on this platoon.”
“Permission temporarily denied. When you go one week without annoying me, ask again. Get some rest. Tomorrow’s another busy day. Speaking of which . . .” He turned to Pangborn. “You said you grew up on a farm?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know how to patch a roof?”
“Sure thing.” He sounded funny with the bandages shoved up his broken nose. “I’m gonna need some supplies, though.”
Madigan reached into his coat and pulled out a big coin purse. He tossed it to Thornbury. “Take Pangborn shopping tomorrow. And get us new bedding. The rest of you, I want it scrubbed clean while they’re gone. I want this place livable.”
Cleasby recognized the coin purse. It was the payment from the ogrun bounty hunter, Hutchuck. “That’s—”
Madigan cut him off. “That’s our entire operational budget from Laddermore,” he lied. “So make it last, Thorny. I don’t trust our good captain to keep us supplied, and we’re probably going to need to supplement our rations with that too.”
“I won’t spend it all in one place.” Thornbury hid the money in his cloak.
“Good. I want the men warm and well fed, and I don’t want any of them falling ill.”
For once, Cleasby didn’t know what to say. This whole time he’d
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