"Gunner, HEAT, Tank!" Green called out, dropping back to his seat and grabbing a round which he stuffed up the breech. "Three o'clock."
Lana counted off the seconds as the gunner spun the turret to the right. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five, and assume you're dead, gunner, because at this range they can't miss. She thought it, but said nothing. Reilly wants me to act like I've got confidence; I'll act like it.
The subcal sounded again. Lana didn't need to see the target; she knew it had been a miss from the way the gunner slammed his head against the sight in frustration.
Green, however, having stuck his head up again, did see the miss. Once again he dropped down to his seat, screaming, "Gunner, HEAT . . . "
Lana shook her head. Inside, she felt rising despair. Shit; it doesn't even matter. Their heavy antiaircraft machine gun can penetrate at this range.
"Lana," Reilly said, after she confronted him with her fears and doubts, "don't sweat it so much. The tank commanders are not going to spend much time under fire with their heads above the hatch. That's why I have infantry. There will not be a manned machine gun capable of engaging except for the coax guns, and those won't penetrate. And while a slow traverse is fatal at close range, it doesn't matter as much at long range.
"You just get my boys trained to engage and hit the targets. Leave the tactics of the thing to me." Now if only I could come up with something I had some confidence in, myself.
"Is that confidence," she asked, "or just overweening pride?"
Reilly laughed. "Maybe a little of both. Well . . . " he hesitated, then sighed. He looked her in the eye and said, "Look, Lana, this is the truth. As near as I can tell, it is, anyway. I'm not a good man. I'm sure not a nice man. I've got the morals of an alley cat . . . except that that's an insult to self-respecting alley cats everywhere.
"But there are two things I can do better than anyone I know . . . anyone I ever heard of that's living. I can train troops better and I can lead them in combat better.
"So if you won't have confidence in your Elands, or my crews, have confidence in me. They're going to be about two to three times more effective than you think is even possible . . . because of the way I'll train them and the way I'll use them in action. Do you think these guys came here and are still trying because they lack confidence in me? And, remember, the core of them know me from way back."
Mendes chewed at her lower lip while searching his face for the truth in his words. He believes it, she thought. He really does. Maybe . . . just maybe. And I do like him. Or worse. So . . .
"Fine. You're that sure?" She glanced at his face again. Yes, he was that sure. "Then I want to come along. You need a maintenance chief anyway, to ride herd on the Boer and the Bantu. And I, at least, won't look askance at Viljoen and Dumi for doing things that I do myself."
Reilly scratched at the side of his head for a half a minute before answering. "Let me ask Stauer if we can afford another . . . man . . . on the rolls." And did she just send me a hint? Did I suggest it to her with that "morals of an alley cat" line? Shit. "And if you can't believe we have a chance, Lana, can't you at least fake it, for the men?"
She smiled then and, lifting her chin, answered, "I am a woman. Of course I can fake things for men."
God, what a wonderful girl.
***
"I see misery in your future," Viljoen said to Lana, later, over dinner.
Dumisani, sitting next to Lana and opposite his lover began softly to laugh.
Lana sniffed, "Why is that and why would it be any of your business?"
Viljoen rolled his eyes as if the questions were too preposterous to answer. Dumi, instead, answered for him. "Because, countrywoman, you've got it so bad for our ‘fearless leader' that we can practically smell you getting wet every time he gets close. Trust me, Dani and I are both pretty good at discerning such things. It's part and parcel of the whole gay thing."
Lana bridled. Her face grew red. She sputtered, "That's . . . that's . . . that's . . . "-her moral outrage collapsed, suddenly. "Oh, shit, what am I going to do? He hardly knows I exist." Then she remembered a perceived mental note of, To lay, soonest. "Well, maybe he does."
"Oh, he knows," Viljoen countered. "We're pretty good at reading body language that way, too. As to what you're going to do, I'd suggest rape if you're impatient, seduction otherwise."
"I'd thought that being treated as an equal, and an equally valuable soldier, meant more than being treated like a woman," Lana said, sadly and wistfully. "It's not a crime to be wrong, is it?"
"No crime, no, Lana," Dumi replied. "And don't listen to my partner. Seduction you can do. Rape would be right out."
To Lana, the tone and tenor of the Zulu's voice, so much like that of the woman who had cared for her as a child, was inherently authoritative.
"I don't understand why he's never come on to me," she said. "I mean, I'm pretty sure he has me on his list. But never a hint, or at least never one he intended to give."
"He's a pro," Viljoen said. "I mean, I'm pretty sure Dumi and I make his skin crawl, but he suppresses that in the interests of the mission and the organization. Equally, you make certain parts of him vibrate like a tuning fork-no, we can't hear it; that's just a guess-but he pushes that back, too, and for the same reason."
"Seduction, huh?"
"Seduction."
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
No man is free who is a slave to the flesh.
-Seneca, Epistolae ad Lucilium, XCII
D-91, Suakin, Sudan
Things had been worse. For one thing, he'd developed an infection, a few weeks back, from the open sores where he'd once been manacled. They'd stopped shackling Adam's legs together, long enough for the sores to heal, and never quite gotten around to putting the shackles back on. He could walk almost like a free man, now.
Almost as if they were free, Adam and Makeda walked hand in hand in the pre-morning darkness. His guards walked, politely enough, a few steps behind. They were not so far back, however, that they couldn't hear what was said. And Adam had learned already that if he whispered they simply closed the distance.
Across the water, one largish building shone electric lights. Besides that emanating from the portholes of a dhow which had shown up the previous night, those were the only lights to be seen, close in. Adam turned his head over one shoulder and asked the guards what it was.
Before they could answer, Labaan spoke out from the darkness. "It's a prison, boy, and, yes, we considered putting you in it. Be happy we decided differently. The place is a near double for what I imagine Hell is like.
"And here, at least, you have the girl."
Adam nodded, then squeezed Makeda's hand. Yes, at least here I have the girl.
"You must think I'm a whore," Makeda whispered, after a bout of particularly fierce and frantic lovemaking. She was definitely growing fond of the boy, and even beginning to trust him a bit.