Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [97]
“What is it?” the soldier asked suspiciously.
“We heard Lower might have some action back here,” the LT said conspiratorially.
“I see,” the soldier replied, looking up with a sly grin. “You fellows want in?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jackson said. “We want in.”
Five minutes later the five gamblers, plus their door guard, had been immobilized. One would have a bruise on his head when he woke up, and two others probably had dislocated elbows, but none was badly injured. After the SEALS had overcome them in a quick burst of unarmed combat, Teal had injected each with a sedative guaranteed to keep them all down for twelve hours.
“And even when they come around,” Jackson speculated, “I don’t think they’ll be in any hurry to tell their supervisors what happened.” He reached down and plucked the ID badges off all six tunics, giving one to each of his men, pinning one to his own shirt, and dropping the two extras into his pocket.
On the way out they picked up two large empty toolboxes from the warehouse and, again without drawing any untoward attention, left the maintenance shop and took the transport shaft “up” to the hangar deck at the hub of the station. By the time they arrived there, of course, they were virtually weightless. They pulled themselves to the storage lockers and removed the duffel bags containing their weapons and two pressure suits, which they stored in the two large toolboxes.
Finally, Jackson felt they were ready to make their move. They took the transport shaft down to the midlevel. With Teal and Baxter purposefully carrying the toolboxes and each SEALS sporting a stolen ID badge on his tunic, they marched up to the Eluoi guards outside the secured compartment.
“I have orders to replace the heating elements on this level,” Jackson declared sternly. The guard at the front entrance looked at his partner for advice, but the other Eluoi trooper simply shrugged.
“No one told me about that,” the first sentry said, his tone a mixture of defiance and apology.
“Well, the order came down this morning. There’s some icing up going on in there, and we were told in no uncertain terms to fix it.”
“Sorry, but I’m supposed to get authorization.” The sentry touched his computer screen, scrolling up and down. “I got nothing about that here.”
Jackson grimaced. “Look, if I have to miss a cycle of maintenance because of your stubbornness, you can be sure that Commandant Spiker will hear about it!” he snapped, sounding more like a SEALS lieutenant than a maintenance supervisor. Still, the bark of authority seemed to have the desired effect as the man clearly wrestled with an aversion to responsibility.
The guard looked again at the vidscreen, then checked a backup computer on his wrist. “I don’t see any maintenance scheduled,” he said, his tone definitely apologetic. “I’m really not supposed to let you in.”
“Well, Mac,” Jackson said, turning to Ruiz. “What’s next? Are we scheduled to reprogram the commandant’s transporters?”
“Righto, Joe,” Ruiz replied, playing the bored technician to the hilt. “But he’s not expecting us until after we get these elements replaced. Should we go see him now? I guess we could explain that they lost our authorization down here.”
“Shit,” Jackson said, shaking his head, noticing the pale expression on the guard’s face. “Look, pal,” he said. “I know this isn’t your fault. But there’s a frost problem, and some VIPs are freezing their asses off while I’m wasting time talking to you. Now, I don’t want to tell Commandant Spiker that some pissant down in requisitions misplaced a work order, but I will if I have to. I am not catching hell for this!”
“Please don’t tell the commandant!” the guard pled, digesting the distressing piece of news. “Do your work here. I will let you in and wait for authorization when it comes.”
Jackson