“I won’t even need it,” said Dixon.
“Good thing to have.”
“Oh yeah. I agree.”
The grenade launcher and M-16 combo was a standard configuration but Dixon had never seen one up close, much less used one. A breechloader that worked, as Dixon had said, much like a A-Bomb, the launcher was not particularly difficult to use. Still, he wasn’t entirely convinced that his first salvo wouldn’t land at his feet.
It did make the M-16 look kind of ugly, though. That was comforting. Hog pilots liked things that looked ugly.
“Take care,” he told them, “see you in a couple of hours.”
“Sir.” Leteri stood back and snapped off a drill sergeant salute.
Dixon gave it back. Then he tried to smile, but either he was too tired or reality was starting to sink in. He couldn’t manage more than an awkward, off-kilter grin.
CHAPTER 36
Colonel Knowlington had thought, had hoped really, that his flight north to rescue Mongoose would represent some sort of turning point, that getting back in the cockpit under fire would vanquish some of the demons that had followed him for so many years. But they were still there.
Demons? No, Colonel Thomas “Skull” Knowlington wasn’t oppressed by demons, but by something much closer to him, much more dangerous, much simpler.
He wanted a drink.
It was nothing new. He’d wanted a drink every day of his life. He’d resisted before. Twenty-one days now in a row.
Or was it twenty-two? He felt something close to panic as he couldn’t remember. Not knowing the count was like losing control.
And he couldn’t do that. He sat straight up in his cot, casting his eyes around his empty room. There was nothing here except his old trunk and the cot and the plain walls. He liked it that way, stoic. It gave him control.
He needed to drink.
He had to do something. Maybe wander over to Oz. No matter what the hour was, there would be at least a few people working in the maintenance areas: coffee too— Oz always had some going.
Knowlington didn’t like to make his men too nervous by hanging around, but on the other hand they liked to know that he took an interest. Something good always came from the few minutes he took to chat.
He was tired. He should sleep. He didn’t need to get up. He needed to sleep. He closed his eyes.
He hadn’t made a decision on Mongoose’s request to stay with the unit yet. Damn Mongoose. Was he out of his mind? Who wouldn’t want time off? See the kid, for cryin’ out loud. And make love to his wife. Hell, stay in bed for a whole year.
If it were him, he might not want to go home either. But that was different — he didn’t have a home, or a kid, or a wife to go to.
He did have a home, in the Air Force. He was a lifer, and way beyond that. His damn skin was blue.
Mongoose was, too. In a different way.
Maybe he ought to let him stay. It would help the squadron, certainly. And if it helped the squadron, it would help the Air Force, and that made sense.
Knowlington felt his eyes closing. He started to drift off…
Mongoose’s wife yelled at him.
She screamed that he had killed her husband.
The colonel bolted upright in his bed.
It had been a dream, or the start of one, and so vivid that he was trembling from it.
He needed a drink.
Knowlington got up, rubbing his arms against the cold, barely pausing to throw on boots before hiking over to Oz.
CHAPTER 37
Doberman had about as much chance of falling asleep as a butterfly hitching a ride on a Hog. He gave it a decent try— flipping over and over in the cot, pushing his arms into different positions, pulling more blankets on and throwing them off. But it didn’t work.
Klee pissed him off and Dixon worried the shit out of him. The kid was on the team that found the NBC storage site. Which figured. Volunteering to go north with the commandos was pretty stupid, no matter how you looked at it, but it was typical Dixon. The kid reminded Doberman of his brother, reckless in a good-natured, gung-ho, ‘scuse-me-ma’am way. Doberman actually felt a little proud of him— but he didn’t want to see him hurt.
Which made it difficult to sleep. After a few million rolls, he decided to do something about it. He pulled on his clothes and headed toward the Hog pit area.
Rosen and the rest of the crew had been assigned a large tent directly behind the area they were using to maintain the Hogs. Doberman hovered at the entrance a moment, trying to see if anyone was awake. He couldn’t hear anything, but decided to at least step inside and see if someone was stirring.
He got half his right foot across the threshold when something hard, cold and metallic was shoved into his stomach.
“You’re gonna identify your fuckin’ self or there’ll be a nine millimeter hole through your colon.”
“Rosen?”
“Captain Glenon? Sir?”
Doberman started to explain but Rosen reached her hand to his face to shush him.
“Outside,” she said. The pistol was still in his stomach.
Glenon backed out as quickly and as quietly as he could, with Rosen and her gun following. She was wearing a military T-shirt and boxer shorts. Maybe it was the light, maybe it was the Beretta, but Rosen looked damn good.
Better than that. Absolutely beautiful, despite the scowl on her face.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he told her.
“You didn’t startle me. What’s up?”
“I wanted to know how soon we can get the Hogs in the air.”
Her voice softened just a bit. “Now?”
“There’s some sort of trouble north with Dixon’s party. I want to be there.”
Rosen lowered the gun.
“Look, I don’t want you making a big fuss,” Doberman said. He explained what he had heard about the NBC site and the need to evac Dixon’s team. Technically, the Hogs weren’t signed up for the operation— but since he was in charge of the planes, and he was just sitting around…
“Sir, we’ll have those planes ready to fly faster than you can take a leak. You round up your gear and A-Bomb; I’ll get some ordies and take care of everything. Hell, I’ll top you off myself if I have to.”
“Thanks, Sergeant, I appreciate it.”
“No sweat, sir. Uh, you can call me Becky if you want. Most of the guys do.”
God, thought Doberman — she’s hot for me.
“Thanks,” he told her.
“Kick butt,” she said, disappearing back into the tent.
Doberman admired one butt in particular, then got his own in gear.
CHAPTER 38
Some things you could bluff, some things you couldn’t.
A full house, aces over jacks, you couldn’t.
But when you were sitting pretty with five aces — three natural, one permanently wild and one declared in the special version of Hide and Seek Draw Out that A-Bomb had taught the Special Ops officers— there wasn’t much need to bluff.
And while the guys were, in general, good losers, the fact that A-Bomb had completely cleaned out the lot of them made for some less than harmonious comments.
Which didn’t necessarily seem like bluffs either.