Strong Arm Tactics by Jody Lynn Nye

negotiations. Lin had told him everyone already knew who he was; he might as well use other people’s imaginations to get what the company needed. It wasn’t as if he was threatening to have his father’s minions come down and wreck the chief’s storehouse. Not that Benjamin wouldn’t do it if Daivid had been stupid and rash enough to ask. “But within, say, six weeks, sure. I’m expecting at least three major shipments in that interval. By the time you get back I’ll have ’em.”
    “Good,” Wolfe said, letting his hand drop away from the holster. “I’ve still got two hundred-round magazines in my kit. What about the rest of it?”
    “Your group isn’t due for rotation into new dress gear for two more months,” the master chief said, shaking his head. This time Daivid believed him. “Fatigues—I’m only authorized to replace worn items, not ones that were willfully damaged. Otherwise, it comes out of your people’s pay. You know that. Ammo, yeah, Commander Mason sent me a message that you needed supplies. But fifty cases of P-130 shells, admiral! I can’t give you fifty.”
    “We need fifty,” Daivid insisted patiently, though he had inflated the numbers just because he expected to have to negotiate. “That’s what my master chief said, and I want backups. I can’t just walk into a trading post or a department store and ask for heavy artillery rounds.”
    “Thirty-five,” Sargus countered. “And I’ll make sure you get all ten rapid-charges for the dragons.” Daivid nodded slightly, satisfied. Dragons, the space service’s light, one-or two-man hovertank, were the workhorse of small field units. X-Ray had two. Lin had insisted that they couldn’t do without at least five backup power sources per dragon, especially since they were working under blind orders. Like the ammunition, it would be too late to hunt for more once they were at their task site. He wondered what assignment was so important that it had to be kept secret even on the base, but was being handed to a unit that everyone knew was considered expendable.
    Sargus ran through the list. The two of them bantered back and forth over one item after another. Daivid noticed that the chief was purposely ignoring the item on the top.
    “Well, that’s it, admiral,” Sargus said, slapping the infopad down on the counter. “Success to your mission. I’ll have your special order ready when you get back. Forgot to ask—is it official, or will you be, er, making some other arrangement for reimbursement?” He leered, showing the big yellow teeth. “A … favor, maybe?”
    “The Dockery ammunition is personal,” Daivid said, cringing at the use of the word. The man really did understand who he was. “We can talk about what you’d like in exchange when you know what it’s going to cost … but we’re not done yet. You still have not signed off on one of my requests, and it’s the most important of all.”
    “No can do, Lieutenant Wolfe,” Sargus said, clapping his big hand down on the screen. His jovial manner evaporated and he was back to all business. “Sorry. No CBS,Ps.”
    “Sorry? What do you mean, sorry?” Wolfe asked, drawing his brows down over his eyes. He knew he was losing his temper, and fought to control it. What had gone wrong? It had looked like he’d been establishing a good working rapport with Sargus. “You know that those CBS,Ps are the one vital item on that list. We might as well not have shells or power packs if the human beings in my company carrying them can’t function in their armor.”
    “ Your company ,” Sargus said, leaning close and showing the red-veined whites of his eyes, “should have thought of that before. I’m tired of getting all sorts of crap from the reconditioning facility when I send the used units from your company back to them to be refurbished. The unauthorized modifications make it almost impossible to tune them up so they can go to another, decent unit who don’t screw