“Well,” Rogers said, “if you had taken it, you might have learned about the Roman Battle of the Caudine Forks, where—”

“You mean the battle where the Gauls used a bunch of shepherds to trick the Romans into a dead end and then laughed at them?” McSchmidt said. “Are you going to use the VMU to herd Thelicosan sheep?”

Rogers blinked. He’d spent an hour searching the net for obscure battles just for this conversation, and he felt a little disappointed.

“I’m sorry,” Rogers said, “I meant the sack of Krak des Chevaliers in 1271, when—”

“When Baybars tricked them all into surrendering by sending them a fake letter from their own commander telling them to lay down their arms?” McSchmidt looked him over. “I don’t see you carrying any letters.”

“Damn it!” Rogers said with startling volume. He cleared his throat. “I mean damn it, I got it confused again. So many battles, you know?”

McSchmidt looked like he knew.

“What I meant to say was the . . . ah . . .” Rogers racked his brain. “The infamous Battle of . . . Battle of . . . Grumblebumble.”

McSchmidt raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, the Battle of Grumblebumble,” Rogers said. Lopez, who had been standing nearby, turned a loud guffaw into a cough and, at a sharp look from Rogers, scampered away, her face red.

“The Grumblebumble was a, ah, local term for a swamp. In east . . . Prussia. Ancient Prussiaburg.”

“Ancient Prussiaburg.”

“Ancient Prussiaburg, yes,” Rogers continued. “In order to cross the Grumblebumble, Scipio Africanus had to tell one of his lower-ranking officers to give him a special swamp boat powered by elephants that had wandered over the Alps looking for food. Very complicated, very new.”

“I see.”

“Right. But they wouldn’t turn over the boat. And do you know what happened?”

McSchmidt rolled his eyes and looked at his datapad. Behind him, troops were wheeling boominite containers in a circular pattern to make sure they all had their labels facing in the same direction.

“No,” the ensign said. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Scipio Africanus used his superior rank to make sure that lower-ranking officer failed every single one of his MWH inspections for the rest of his short, short career.”

“Ancient Prussiaburg didn’t have—”

“Aha!” Rogers said, striking a finger in the air, “so you admit you know of Ancient Prussiaburg.”

“I don’t have time for this,” McSchmidt said. “If you don’t—”

“I’ve hidden four more raccoons in the engines of some of your fighters,” Rogers said. “I’ll tell you where they are if you loan me a VMU.”

“Lopez!” McSchmidt yelled as he sprinted away. “Get the lieutenant a fresh VMU! And get those raccoon traps back from the zoo deck!”

“You want me to do what with your ship?” Hart asked.

“I want you to fly it outside and use the boarding magnets to attach it to the side of the Flagship. I don’t have the authorizations to move ships between bays, and your old engineer credentials are still good, right?”