Into the Fire

^{CHAPTER TEN}

Sergeant Major Morrison woke early and clearheaded in Kris’s guest room and went out to check on Ginger. The day had dawned cloudless and chill; she was glad she had her boots on. Three dogs rushed up to the yard gate. “I’m not here to feed you,” Morrison said. “Be patient.” She turned back toward the house and saw Kris coming onto the porch with two steaming mugs of coffee.

“I’ll feed them,” Kris said. She opened a bin and filled a large scoop with kibble. The fence had a feeder section, with access ports that opened to the outside. She poured in kibble, then called the dogs in one at a time to their respective bowls. “What was it you didn’t say last night?”

Morrison explained the situation, leaving out the three women she’d met at the Vatta house. What she knew from her committee work was bad enough. “And the Rector is in the hospital—”

“You were going to try to reach the Rector?” Kris sounded genuinely shocked.

“It was made clear to me that trying to go up the regular chain of command would get me sent someplace like that myself.”

“You—I can’t believe it. They wouldn’t—not to the sergeant major.”

“Kris, they’re watching me. When I heard on the radio the Rector was hospitalized, I realized I could send up a card with flowers—perfectly appropriate in the circumstances. But I ran into this colonel who started asking questions—trying to probe for more—and—a couple of things happened, and I don’t want to tell you because you should not know, if someone asks. I heard about the Rector on the car radio; I went to a store and picked up dog food and groceries; I stopped by the hospital with a card and flowers; I came here and stayed overnight. That’s all.”

“But you told me the worst—didn’t you?”

“What’s happening to the troops? Yes. And I had to, because I had to involve you and Irene. I may need messages passed; you must not tell anyone else.”

Kris frowned, then nodded. “We can do that. But if they come asking—”

“What I just said. We didn’t talk about Miksland survivors. We talked about dogs and weather and the Rector’s health and you tried to persuade me to let you take cells from Ginger and try to do artificial breeding with them—”

“Which you know I would love to do—she’s very healthy, has great conformation, a good disposition, trainable and intelligent—”

“Yes. And I’m still unwilling to subject her to the surgery—”

“It’s only a few milliliters of blood—”

“No. But I’m willing to consider it when I retire in a year or so, and can enjoy the puppies. You can tell them that. Are you still thinking of antique Chow DNA for a cross?”

“There’s a new strain out from Overholt Beta. It wouldn’t take antique DNA; we could order frozen sperm.”

“Good. The antique DNA worried me. Frozen sperm sounds more reasonable.”

“Cost would be about the same, and not cheap.”

“You said puppy buyers would cover it—still think so?”

“Oh, yes. Every time we board her, I get questions about her. Seriously, if you’d consider it—”

“Maybe. Better than no. But for now I need to get out to the base before noon. Work stacks up while I’m gone.”

“You take care.”

“I will. I do.”

On the way to her duplex on base, where she always kept fresh uniforms ready, Morrison hoped Ky Vatta and her crew would soon have some useful information. And would manage not to get caught at it. She had no further reason to contact the Rector unless summoned, and her brief past acquaintance with MacRobert gave her no reason to contact him.

As she entered the senior NCO housing neighborhood, she saw a white van pull away from the curb in the next block. Her duplex was in the next block. She turned into the driveway on her side of the duplex, stopped beside the kitchen entrance, unlocked the door, and sent Ginger inside while she unloaded the groceries and dog food. When she came inside, Ginger had her nose on the kitchen ventilation grate, wagging her tail busily.

“Oh, Ginger,” Morrison said. “I haven’t been gone that long; there’s not a mouse in there. You’re such a silly dog.” Silly dog being a code for “find another.” Everyone knew base housing was surveilled: it was the military after all. But the eyes and ears had always been minimal at Morrison’s base residence: one eye doubling the normal security camera at each door, one ear in the base-supplied comunit. Anything in the ventilation grate… was new.

Ginger wandered into the living room, pointing out another installation in a grate there. And in the bedroom and the second smaller bedroom Morrison used for an office. “Time to go out,” Morrison said. “I need to shower, change, and get to the office. I’ll be back in time to feed you.”

She rumpled Ginger’s ears on the way to the back door that opened into the run she’d built within the small backyard. Ginger had a shelter, water, and a feeder much like the one at Kris’s. After a shower and a change, she went straight to headquarters admin section and her office. Yes, in only three days her inbox was over half full. Corporal Bannister, her clerk, had them tabbed and ready. Corporal Gorse, on weekend duty, offered to bring her coffee.

“No thanks, Molly. Had a late breakfast with friends.”

“I didn’t know if you’d be in today, Sergeant Major.”

“I’d rather face a clean desk next week,” she said, opening the first folder. Routine; she just needed to read and sign. So was the next, and the next. At this rate she’d be done in an hour. She glanced at the clock, and called out the door to Gorse. “Anything in the black box?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major. It came in late yesterday; Corporal Bannister locked it in.”

“I should have asked about that first,” Morrison said. On an off day, like this, it didn’t matter as much, but she usually dealt with higher-level classifications first.

The black box required thumbprints and voiceprint. Morrison went through the usual routine; the box’s lock snapped open and she took out the single blue envelope. The box kept a record of every opening, the time every document was taken out and put back in. She went back in her office, locked it, turned on the DO NOT ENTER sign, pulled out the security cylinder, and turned it on. Instead of the usual blue light, a red light flashed repeatedly. “What the—” Morrison turned the cylinder off, unlocked the door, and opened it. “Molly, has anyone been in my office today?”

“No, Sergeant Major. Not while I’ve been here. I did go down the hall about 0915. Major Pahora asked if you were here and you weren’t, and he said then he wanted me to take a box down to Dispatch. I was gone maybe ten minutes. I didn’t tarry anywhere.”

Ten minutes. A good tech could easily place an illicit eye or ear in ten minutes. Several in fact. “Call Security,” Morrison said. “Tell them Sergeant Major Morrison has found a security breach in her office. In the meantime, I’ll replace this in the black box; I can’t read it until I know my office is clean.” Her office had been certified as a secured site for reading classified material, and this was the protocol.

“Yes, Sergeant Major,” Molly looked pale. “I didn’t—I swear—”

“I don’t blame you, Molly. I wasn’t here; you didn’t know if I’d even be in, and you were asked to run an errand. No harm, no foul. But someone slipped up. We leave it to the Security people. I’ll make a formal inquiry to General Visoni once I’m back in my office. Until Security clears it, and us, neither of us goes back in there.”

Security arrived, a major Morrison had never met and two techs. “I’m Major Hong. What’s the problem, then?” he asked.

Morrison explained. “So I had my clerk call Security and we’ve both been here, outside, since.”

“Had you opened the envelope?”

“No, sir. As per protocol, I brought it into my office, locked the door, and engaged the local scan. At the alarm, I vacated the office and told Corporal Gorse to call Security.”

“When were you last in your office?”

“Three—no, four days ago, before I left on assignment.”

“And what was that assignment?”

“Sir, that assignment was classified and I cannot discuss it here.”

“I see. Who was commanding?”

“Colonel Asimin Nedari, sir. It was a Joint Services mission.”

“Do you know if he’s on base?”

“No, sir. We got back late yesterday afternoon, and I left right away to pick up my dog from boarding and do some grocery shopping.”

“So you didn’t stop by the office here?”

“No, sir.”

He looked through the open door. “Is that your debugger on the desk?”

“Yes, sir. I turned it off when it signaled a breach.”

“Good. What level of security was the document?”

“Level Two.”

“Umm. Well, we need to find you a secure place to read it. Unless you’re sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

“It’s most likely one of two things, sir. A copy of the committee report to be filed in this office’s safe, or a copy of some courts-martial reports I’ve been expecting from Dorland. Neither would be urgent. Of course I won’t know for sure until I read it.”

“When did it arrive?”

“Corporal Bannister logged it in—Molly, what’s the time on the log?”

“1730, Sergeant Major.”

“And what time did you arrive today?”

He should have seen that on the front desk log. “About 1115; I signed in here at 1117.”

A shrill whine came from her office. One of the techs had gone in and turned on the security cylinder. “Sir, it’s showing a serious breach.”

“How serious?”

“Multiple sources: audio and video.”

“Hold where you are; don’t touch anything else.” He turned to Morrison. “Sergeant Major, I’m going to suggest you leave the area; a serious breach means we have to do a forensic search in your office and in both offices on either side. You’ll be out of your office for hours—any personal gear you’ll need?”

“Sir, I should secure the routine paperwork that’s on my desk. If your tech could bring it out, Corporal Gorse can file it, or we can lock it in the black box.”

“That’s not a good idea. Someone’s seriously interested in your office—and maybe others—and I do not consider this box secure enough for the rest of the weekend. Did you check it with your cylinder?”

“Check the box? No, sir, it never occurred to me.”

“Wouldn’t have occurred to me without cause, either, Sergeant Major.” He turned to the door. “Tim, bring all those papers on the sergeant major’s desk, and her security cylinder, out here.” To Morrison he added, “If your cylinder and mine find that the box is compromised, we’ll have to turn this entire building upside down to find out if others are. And if it’s just you, we’ll have to find out why.” He pulled out his own cylinder and passed it around the classified safe. “Nothing so far. Would you open it please, Sergeant Major?”

“Sir, if you will stand over there.”

“Of course.”

Morrison opened the safe and removed the blue envelope, still with its seal intact, and left the safe open. The major reached his cylinder into the box; it lit up.

“This is very disturbing,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you and your corporal awhile longer, Sergeant Major. We need to get that”—he nodded at the blue envelope in her hand—“to a secure location, but if safes are being tapped—I think it’s time to call my boss.”

“Sir,” Morrison said, “with all due respect, is it not likely that the orders to add surveillance to my office—and perhaps others—came from higher up in Security?”

He looked startled for a moment. “That’s—no. You’re right. Let me think. The safety of that document is paramount. You cannot take it out of the building, but I am certain that the central Administration safe is not bugged, and even if it is, all you’re going to do is put that document inside. I will call for an escort; you and your corporal will take it there, sign it in, and you will take the other paperwork to—do you have a safe at your residence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. You can take those out of the building to work on at home. We are going to tear your office apart this weekend and hope to have it ready by 0900—what time do you usually come in?”

“0730, sir, but I can call ahead.”

“Do that.” He held up his hand, accessing his skullphone, murmured his message to the Administration central office. “Someone will be down shortly. If you and Corporal Gorse will clear this area of anything you need—”

“My jacket, sir,” Morrison said. Her jacket and Gorse’s both hung in the small closet to one side of the office. Gorse also had a sack.

“My galoshes, sir,” Gorse said, when Hong’s brows lifted. “The forecast said it might rain later, and I’m on duty until 1530 today.” She opened the sack and revealed a pair of shiny pink galoshes.

“They’re not regulation, Corporal,” Morrison said before the major could say anything.

“I know, Sergeant Major. But they’re really waterproof and it’s a long way from the junior NCO parking area to my quarters, and my service galoshes leak. I do have a coat in the car that covers my uniform…”

Stifling an urge to laugh, Morrison said, “You need to learn how to find and mend the holes in your service galoshes. There’s some really good sealant—comes in a tube with a blue, red, and yellow label—”

“StickMagic,” one of the techs put in.

“Thank you,” Morrison said. “I’d forgotten the name. You can get it just about anywhere, and it will hold maybe a half year before you have to replace it. It also works on the shoulder seams of your uniform raincoat.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Major… Tech Waldstrom.”

A half hour later, after depositing the blue envelope in the safe upstairs, Morrison and Gorse headed out the front door. No rain, but the bright morning had clouded over. Down the passage on which Morrison’s office was located, techs in white coveralls and bright-yellow gloves were busily doing whatever forensic techs did.

Morrison drove home, let Ginger into the apartment, and talked to her as she might to a person, if she’d been the gabby sort. Her real target was the additional bug Ginger had found. “You would not believe, pup, what happened this morning. It has to be one of the weirdest days in my career, even weirder than the day Corporal Trum got high on whatever that was and came into work carrying a harpoon as a sidearm and wearing nothing but beach shoes and that ridiculous hat. Highlight of my early career for sure.” Corporal P. Trum’s court-martial transcript had gone the rounds of Land Force III Corps to hysterical laughter and was still read aloud to favored juniors by their sergeants. She grinned as she thought of it. Old Colonel Barringer had included every semi-relevant fact.

“Someone’s bugged my office at work. Not the usual, either. Luckily, I’m the steel-rod-up-the-rear sergeant major my reputation suggests—stop, it, Ginger. No dogs surfing the counter! So I always do check my office for bugs, even though there’ve never been any, and this time the thing lit up and whined. Yes, girlie pup, just like you.” She had her late lunch in the skillet by then and bent to ruffle Ginger’s ears, then wiped down the counter and washed her hands. “And so, dog, what have you been doing all this time while your mom worked, other than sleeping and pooping? Granted, I’m home early. Got groceries yesterday… maybe I should go back over to Kris’s and let her stab you for a few cells. Don’t worry, you won’t have to carry a bunch of pups around. That’s what surrogates are for. Or—stay home and do paperwork. Yeah, I’d better do that after lunch.”

And think about whether to tell the major about the extra bugs at her house. She finished the remaining paperwork in less than an hour, with Ginger’s head weighing her left foot down. “All right, pup. That’s done. Want to go for a run?”

Ginger was on her feet in an instant, tail wagging.

“Yeah, you’re ready. Let me just put these things away.”

Outside, the clouds were thicker but no rain yet. Morrison walked two blocks briskly, then started jogging, waving at other NCOs she knew in the neighborhood. She knew the distances in all directions, and set out on a modest 5K route. She was just past the second kilometer when her skullphone pinged.

“Sergeant Major? This is Major Hong—I tried your residence—”

“Sorry, Major. I finished the other paperwork and went out for a run with my dog. Do I need to come in to the office?”

“No—I’d like to come by your residence and see if there’s any… uh… security problem there. I’ve got a full team working on the offices near yours as well as yours and—I’d prefer to tell you personally.”

“Of course, sir. You have the address.”

“Yes. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Sir. I might still be a block away.”

“That’s all right.”

She looked at Ginger. “We’d better take the shortcut, pup. I promise, I’ll give you a longer run later.”

A small park—retention pond, grass verge, benches and an exercise set on one side—connected the street she was running on to her own, making dead ends of the street in the middle. She cut through, ignored by the few people in it, though not by one woman’s small dog. Ginger ignored the dog, switching to a lope as Morrison increased her pace.

When she reached her own street and turned onto it, she had several blocks more to go. The exercise felt good. She had to stop at one corner for a car on the cross street, but jogged in place. Then on—and ahead she could see a white van that was near, if not at, her duplex. Hong, with his team? She ran on. Another white van passed her and pulled up behind the first. That was odd. Why would it take two sets of techs to check out her residence?

As she came to her own block, she slowed to a walk. Arriving out of breath wasn’t a good idea. Now she heard yelling, and a group of men emerged from her driveway, shouting and gesturing. One of them grabbed another’s arm; the second man pulled free, swung at the first. Then it was a melee, four—or five?—men yelling and fighting. She had an answer for that. With the full volume and authority of a sergeant major, she bellowed at them. “Stop that now.”

They paused, looked around, stared in her direction, then two of the men bolted for the first van. Morrison slipped the leash off Ginger and said, “Hush, dog!” Ginger charged, a red-gold streak, and hit one of the men solidly in the side. He staggered and fell. Morrison yelled “How many times?” at Ginger, and the dog swerved after the second man as he dodged around the van. She heard a cry and assumed Ginger had hold of him.

“What is going on here?” she said in a slightly lower tone. Her neighbors had all come outside by now, standing outside their doors.

“That’s what I want to know, Sergeant Major.” Major Hong, his uniform jacket pulled awry and what looked to be a split lip and a rising bruise on his right cheekbone, limped a little as he walked toward her. “The men in that van”—he pointed to the first one—“were inside your house when we arrived. I asked who they were, what they were doing, and they pushed past us to get out of your quarters. My team and I tried to stop them, but we’re cyber security, not a military police riot squad.”

“Get off me, you brute!” came from the other side of the van.

“Hey, you! Quit hitting the sergeant major’s dog!” Master Sergeant Rusty Rustowsky, from across the street, had come as far as the curb. “Need some help over there, Sergeant Major?”

“Please—if you could take that man into custody—” She turned to Major Hong. “Excuse me, sir; I’m going to get my dog back on leash and see that that man does not get away.”

“Go ahead.” He swiped at his lip. “I think my guys have the other one.”

They did, though not in any hold approved by military police. Hong fished out his comunit. “I’m calling the MPs.”

When she came to the far side of the van, Rustowsky had his man braced against the side of the van, feet wide, hands spread high. “Good dog,” she said to Ginger, and slipped the leash back on. “Very good dog.”

“She can hit ’em when she wants to,” Rustowsky said. “Not just a pretty girl.”

“She can indeed,” Morrison said. “Major Hong has called the MPs—”

She could just hear the siren in the distance. Ginger pressed against her leg. “I’d better go put Killer here in her run; I don’t know what they’ve done to the place inside.”

“I’ll keep him here.” Rustowsky, not quite as tall as Morrison, was the senior NCO boxing champ and a combatives instructor. Morrison led Ginger back around the van, where one of Major Hong’s techs had handed him something to wipe the blood off his chin.

“I’m putting my dog up, Major,” Morrison said as she walked past him. He nodded. She found the special snack box for Ginger, put the dog in the run and tossed her two of the treats, then went back down the drive, where the dying howl of the siren indicated the MPs were arriving. By now everyone’s front door was open.

The moment the MPs got out of their van, Major Hong, his techs, the other two techs, and Rusty Rustowsky all started talking. Morrison said nothing, but watched carefully. Another MP van pulled up. Morrison’s neighbor on the other side called over to her. “Sergeant Major, what did you do?”

“Nothing—I took my dog for a run and when I came back this was happening. I knew Major Hong, so when I saw him go down I let Ginger after the others.”

“Your dog is a trained guard dog?” one of the MPs from the second van asked.

“And so listed on her license.”

Morrison’s steady, unemotional tone seemed to be getting through to the MP. “You do know it’s illegal to set your dog on someone—”

“Unless they are committing a crime, or resisting arrest. Major Hong had told them to stop. I told them to stop. Apparently Major Hong had reason to believe they might have been committing a crime. So I told my dog to hold them. That one—” She nodded toward the van now holding the first prisoner. “He was kicking and hitting my dog. Master Sergeant Rustowsky saw that and intervened.”

“Your dog is tagged?”

“Yes. Her registration number is CD-G-2973.”

“I’ll need to get that off her collar, or is she chipped?”

“Both. Come on back.”

Ginger walked up to the fence, now clearly lame, and whined. “Up, pup, this man needs to read your collar.” Ginger started to rear up, then winced and went back down. “Hurt, girl?” Was that blood on the paw that just touched the ground? She turned to the MP. “I’ll lead her out, just a moment.”

“You can’t go in yet,” he said as she started for the side door. “Forensics is coming.”

“There’s no gate,” Morrison said. “Regulations.”

“I’ll read her tag later. Come with me.”

Major Hong had straightened his uniform; the bruise on his face was more obvious now, but his split lip had quit bleeding.

By the time Forensics had come and gone, the MPs had turned the investigation over to another officer, a captain, who immediately called his boss. Smart move, Morrison thought, though she didn’t say so. She could feel Hong’s anger from a meter away, and no captain wanted to “investigate” an angry major with a split lip. Two hours had passed; the light was fading under the clouds, and the temperature had dropped.

“Can we move this inside?” Morrison asked. “It’s getting chilly out here.”

“I’m sure when Colonel Peleu gets here, he’ll do that, Sergeant Major, but he said to stay put.”

“Yes, sir,” Morrison said. She glanced at Hong and let the shift of her weight from one foot to the other convey sympathy. He relaxed a trifle.

Colonel Peleu wasted no time on the way, and soon seven people were crowded into Morrison’s small front room. Peleu turned out to be a quick, efficient analyst. He asked a few pertinent questions the MPs had missed, and then turned to Hong. “Major Hong, what was the purpose of your coming to the sergeant major’s quarters? Was the sergeant major under suspicion?”

“No, sir,” Hong said. “She had discovered earlier today that her office security had been compromised in her absence, while she was on remote duty.” He went on to give the details, including what he’d found was wrong during his team’s examination of her office and those on either side. “So I called the sergeant major, who said she was out on a run with her dog, and told her I wanted to check out her residence as well. I don’t know why someone would be hacking her security.”

“Sergeant Major, do you know why someone would be hacking your security?”

“No, sir, not with any certainty. I was on a classified mission, whose results are Level Two classified. It’s possible someone wanted to find out what that was about.”

“You can’t tell me.”

“No, sir, not without authorization from Colonel Nedari.”

“I think Colonel Nedari needs to be notified of this problem,” Peleu said.

“I sent a message to Colonel Nedari, suggesting he have his own security tested,” Hong said.

“Excellent. Any response?”

“No, sir.”

“I believe the colonel said something about taking his family to Falls Park today,” Morrison said.

“Ah.” Peleu jotted something down. “He may have turned his personal com off, if he took a day’s formal leave. He’ll get his message when he comes back, then.”

“I still need to go over this house,” Hong said. “And Forensics needs to go over that other van—they didn’t while they were here.”

“It will be towed to the main lab,” Peleu said. “If you’d like one of your techs to consult, that’s fine.”

“If those two were part of the hacking team, they might have tried to remove equipment they put in here,” Hong said. “It might be in that van.”

“Thank you,” Peleu said. A little edge to his voice told Morrison that he’d already thought of that. Hong took the hint, she noticed.

Peleu finished up quickly and turned as he was leaving. “Sergeant Major, I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in contact range; were you planning to leave base in the next twenty-four hours?”

“Sir, my dog’s lame; I know that man kicked her and hit her, and I want to take her to the vet when this is over with.”

“Oh—of course. Who’s your vet?”

“Off base. Kris Stevenson at Petsational. Depending on the diagnosis I might be there several hours.”

“Not a problem. In fact, there’s no reason to confine you to base; you didn’t create this mess. Just let me know if you want to go beyond Port Major, or if you’re assigned another trip.”

“Yes, sir. If they want me to work downtown—if the work on my office on base takes too long—I do have a downtown apartment. The address is on file, of course, but I could give it to you now.”

“On file’s fine. I need to get this organized and see if Colonel Nedari has shown up from wherever he went. Good day, Major Hong, Sergeant Major.”

Morrison looked at Major Hong. “Sir, I would like to go out and check my dog.”

“That’s fine. We’ll be about a half hour in here, and if you need to take the dog to the vet, we can lock up for you.”

Ginger flinched from touches in more than one place. Morrison didn’t feel any broken bones, but the right hind paw was swollen and might have been stepped on. “We’ll get you fixed up,” she said. “You’ll probably spend a night or so at the clinic.” And she wouldn’t have to worry about anything happening to the dog while she was at work.

She called Kris on her skullphone and explained a little of what had happened and her assessment of Ginger’s injuries.

“We definitely need to see her,” Kris said. “When will you be here?”

“I’ve got law enforcement in the house,” Morrison said. “They’re estimating another half hour, and then I’ll put her in the car…”

“If she’s that uncomfortable, I’d put her in her crate now—it’s not hot, leave the windows open—and let her rest. How many steps up to your back door?”

“Two.”

“Any chance of broken ribs?”

“Maybe, but though she’s tender I don’t think she’s that tender.”

“See if she’ll accept a sling so you can part-lift her. Call me when you leave. Oh, and nothing to eat or drink. Her, not you.” Kris closed the call.

And Ginger had of course wolfed down the treats before Morrison realized she was hurt. She had to remember to tell Kris that when they arrived. Getting Ginger into the house and then out to the car and into her car-crate took much longer than usual. Ginger was clearly in pain now, putting no weight on that swollen hind paw. Morrison had just finished when Major Hong came out with his techs.

“There was intrusion here as well. We believe we’ve eliminated it. I want to put a warning seal on your doors. It’s barely possible your downtown apartment has also been hacked, but frankly I doubt it. You should stay there, or with friends, tonight. Get what you need out of here, and let us seal it.”

“Yes, sir,” Morrison said. She packed quickly: uniforms, civilian leisure clothes, the papers she’d been working on from the safe, stowed all that in the car, and watched as Major Hong put official NO ENTRY seals on all three doors. Then he and his two techs got back in their van and drove off.

Rusty Rustowsky came across the street. “They’re shutting you out? You need a place to stay for a few days?”

“Thanks, Rusty, but I’ve got that spare downtown, and I may be staying overnight with the vet. I’m taking Ginger there now.”

“Think she’ll be all right? Brave dog—that scum was really whaling on her.”

“I think so. Just as soon nobody knew where I was headed, though. This mess has gotten bigger all day.”

“Gotcha. Best of luck, Sergeant Major.”

Kris and Irene met her in the clinic driveway with a gurney. “We’ll slide the crate right onto it; she won’t have to move and we can slide her onto the table. Could be broken toes, and maybe a rib, from what you’ve said.”

Morrison watched through the surgery window. Ginger lay flat on the table, with Kris and Irene both working on her. Irene came out to explain. “A couple of broken toes, all right. We got them aligned; she’ll be in a splint for at least four weeks, crated most of that time. Best keep her here, since you’ll be on duty.”

Morrison nodded. “Whatever she needs.” She would see to it that the man who broke her dog paid for the vet bills. Good thing he was in custody. She stayed with Ginger in recovery while Kris and Irene dealt with a string of more ordinary appointments. When Kris came back to see how Ginger was doing, Morrison asked, “Did you ever know a Master Sergeant MacRobert?”

Kris nodded. “Sure. Good guy, but really tough. Had the nickname Mustang-hunter, for picking people out of the ranks to go to the Academy.”

Morrison nodded. “Good. I need you to get this to him.” She fished a data cube out of her pocket. “I’m going to tell you some of what’s happened today—”