Chapter 13
Like Lambs Among Wolves
9th of Sixthmoon, 6 Charles 9
Saintcharles, Merice Province, Kingdom of Byrandia
Root zipped up his garment bag. An extra full dress uniform, a mess dress, two service dress, and a set of BDs he hadn't worn in ages just in case. His suitcase, which had all the other odds and ends, was already packed. That should take care of it. It was time to go.
"I don't have to ask you if you packed enough underwear, do I?" Trish asked.
"I've got all the drawers I need," Root replied, picking up his suitcase.
"You're not going to let Kran get that?"
"I can carry my own damn baggage."
"You're a lieutenant colonel—no, a full colonel now, a knighted one at that—and a special aide to the King," Trish countered. "You shouldn't be carrying you own damn baggage. Kran is your orderly. That's part of his job."
"He can carry my bags after I get out of the house. Surely you don't want him tramping around here this early in the morning. The girls are still sleeping."
"Are you going to say goodbye to them?"
"Ah, let 'em sleep."
"Go say goodbye to them," Trish insisted.
Root didn't intend to fight her on it.
"Alright, alright, but if they get pissed, it's on you."
"I'll deal with it."
Root set his bags down in the hallway and went into the girls' room. While Sara was curled up normally, Anne had kicked off her covers and was all splayed out at curious angles like some kind of modern art masterpiece. As Sara was less likely to hit him when she woke up, he went to her first.
Root gently shook her shoulder, saying, "Sara, babe."
Besides making a bit of a muffled grunt, she didn't really respond. He tried again.
"Sara, babe," he repeated in a singsong voice.
Still nothing. Time to resort to more drastic measures.
He yanked the covers off her like some showoff waiter doing the tablecloth trick. Only Sara's arm moved, unconsciously(?) reaching for the covers. When that failed, she just curled up into a tighter ball.
Root looked to Trish and asked her, "Is every morning like this?"
"Yes," Trish replied bluntly. "And you've got no place to talk."
Trish put her finger in her mouth and then stuck her finger in Sara's ear. That got her up.
"I hate that, Mommy," Sara complained, covering her ear lest she get it again.
"Then learn to get up on the first try," Trish told her.
"It's too early."
"What are you, a cuckoo clock? But, yes, you're right. Daddy's going on a trip and I wanted you to kiss him goodbye."
Sara took Root's hand, which was closest to her, and kissed it.
"G'bye."
She then took her covers and rolled up in them.
"Hey, Sara—"
Root put his hand on Trish's shoulder to stop her.
"It's fine," he said. "Let her sleep."
He leaned over to kiss the top of Sara's head, which was all that was sticking out of the covers.
"See you later, princess."
He then went over to Anne's bed. He could tell from her ill-suppressed grin that she was only pretending to still be asleep. He pinched her cheeks and stretched them out.
"What's with that big ol' grin?" he asked her. "You ain't asleep."
"Auaugh. Shtahh ih, Dah'ee."
Root stopped pinching her cheeks but still held her by the face and said, "Daddy's gotta go. Gimme a kiss."
She comically puckered up, so Root obliged her, even though she was notorious for being a sloppy kisser.
"Stay outta trouble, monkey," he told her.
"Ooh ooh ooh," she hooted, doing the rib scratching thing you would see in the cartoons.
Root covered her up, even though she was bound to just kick the covers off again. He took a moment to look at the girls before stepping out of the room. As he passed Trish, he stopped to give her a kiss on the cheek.
"Good luck holdin' down the fort," he said.
"What am I, your grammama?" Trish balked. "Kiss me like you mean it."
Root drew her in close to do just that. In marriage you start to get used to the daily routine and it's easy to lose sight of the passion that brought you together in the first place. Sometimes you have to be reminded.
However, when Root broke off the kiss, Trish said, "Five out of ten. You won't even get bronze like that. I expect you to put more into it when you get back."
"Oh, I'll put all sorts of stuff into it," Root replied.
Trish gave him a playful shove and said, "Come on, Colonel. You don't want to be late."
Root got his bags and they went to the door. Because Root's hands were full, Trish got the door for him, but once she took hold of the door handle, she stopped.
"What?" Root asked. "It's not stuck or anything, is it?"
"Root, I want you to be careful out there," Trish said.
"You've got nothing to worry about, babe."
"If there was nothing to worry about, it wouldn't be secret. I'm not asking you to compromise OPSEC or anything, but I know this has something to do with those people... the Imperials. You're up to your neck in it. That's why you've been gone so much lately."
Root couldn't tell her what he was doing or where he was going and she knew that. Of course, she was smart enough to have it mostly figured out, but he couldn't let her know that either. That best he could do was make an ineffectual effort to set her mind at ease.
"It's just a business trip."
"A classified business trip," she said, "one that's been left open-ended. I don't know when you'll be back. You probably don't even know when you'll be back."
Root held up his luggage and said, "I've only got two bags, so how long could it be?"
"That doesn't mean anything and we both know it."
Trish opened the door.
"Go on. Get going. This isn't going to be over any quicker dragging it out like this."
Root gave her another kiss on the cheek, telling her, "It'll be fine. Worry about yourself. You're the one stuck with those two monkeys."
"What else is new?"
"Take care, babe."
Maybe there was something more he could've said, but at this point, he didn't think any words would do him much good. As always, Kranowitz was waiting by the car. He saluted when Root approached.
"Good morning, sir," he said.
As Root's hands were full, he had to just nod in lieu of returning the salute.
"Morning, Kran."
Kranowitz dropped his salute and went to Root, saying. "Let me get those for you, sir."
Root let him take the bags and while Kranowitz was stowing them in the back, he went ahead and got into the car.
When Kranowitz got in the driver's seat, he asked Root, "Got all your goodbyes knocked out, sir?"
"Yeah."
"How'd the missus take it?"
"'Bout as well as any Army wife. You know the story."
"Least your wife was in the service, sir. She understands better than most civvies."
"It doesn't seem to make things any easier," Root replied. "Might even make it a little worse..."
They didn't talk much more on the way to Auburn Airbase. Once they parked the car, Root watched Kranowitz unload the trunk. It didn't set right with him, having Kranowitz lug around both Root's bags and his own duffel.
"Let me get my own bags, Kran," he offered.
"How many times we been through this, sir?" Kranowitz replied. "It just won't do. If anyone knew I let you carry your bags, my ass'd get chewed until there was nothing left. I appreciate the thought, sir, but it's been three years and you're still trying to make things harder than they gotta be."
"Alright, alright. No point in helpin' if all it does is hurt. So where are we goin'? Runway 3, right?"
"Runway 4, sir."
"You sure?"
"Yes, sir."
They went to the base headquarters so a duty driver could be called up to take them to their destination. Although Auburn was mostly used by the Royal Air Force, Naval aircraft also made use of the base. What was waiting for them on the runway was a light air cruiser, Junker-class. Root couldn't see the hull number from where they were, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding.
The King himself was waiting by the loading ramp with his entourage, along with General Adeen and his entourage. Root wasn't expecting the King to personally see them off, but it was the sort of thing he would do. Actually, knowing him, it was a wonder he didn't push to lead this mission himself.
Standing next to the King was Sir Armand de Haviland. He was General Haviland's brother and the chief diplomat assigned to this mission. Apparently he had served a brief stint in the Royal Navy as a matter of family and social obligation but left for the civil service at the first opportunity. Even though the civil service tended to make people go soft and fat, Sir Armand was a lean man whose only trait he shared with his brother was his severe expression. You might think someone with a friendlier facade would be better suited for diplomacy, but his no-nonsense style was appreciated in some corners where a more direct approach was favored. Given the urgency of their business, they needed someone who could get matters sorted out quickly.
Root approached the King and saluted, saying, "Your Majesty." Then to the others, "Sir Armand, Herr General."
King Charles returned the salute and said, "I was beginning to wonder if you'd make it. What happened to ten minutes prior?"
"No excuse, Your Majesty," Root replied.
"Well, as long as you don't miss the boat, right?"
Root looked to the air cruiser and said, "Speaking of which, is this...?"
"The Junker Jorg? Yes, it is. It seemed fitting to send the ship that made first contact on this mission."
"You do remember what happened last time, don't you?"
"We survived, didn't we? This time you've got a full crew of the Royal Navy's finest backing you."
"It wasn't the number of crewmembers that was the problem."
"You'll manage. That's why I'm sending you."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"The rest of the military liaison is already aboard. I'm entrusting you with our Imperial guests. You'll get them settled in, yes?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The King leaned in and said, "I've got a little something special for you, a platoon of Marine Fusiliers, some of the best. They report directly to you. You can't win the war with them, but they might be enough to get you out of a tight spot if it ever comes up."
"I'll keep that in mind," Root said. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The King grinned.
"Don't thank me. Thank your recruiter."
"Oh, the things I could say to that sonuvabitch..."
The King laughed and straightened himself back up.
"Do us proud, Colonel Maartens."
Root saluted and said, "By your leave, Your Majesty."
The King returned his salute.
"Godspeed, Root."
Sir Armand placed his hand over his heart and bowed to the King, saying, "If you will excuse me, Your Majesty."
Led by Captain Tsai, the Imperials exchanged courtesies with General Adeen before falling in behind Root.
"Shall we be going, Colonel?" Captain Tsai asked.
Root looked to the Junker Jorg and that sense of foreboding from before had only gotten stronger. Was this trip going to be as eventful as the last one? He sure as hell hoped not.
With a sigh he kept to himself, he said, "Yeah, let's get going. Follow me, Frau Kapitän."