Thus, attached to the spare tire on the back was a five-gallon can of gas and a shovel. In the morass of material in the back were three cases of beer and two other cases of mixed liquor. There were more cases of smoked and tinned meats, gathered and prepared on the farm, along with sealed containers of flour, cornmeal and a variety of dried fruits. If they did end up on a desert island they could live comfortably for nearly a month on the stored provisions they had packed along.
In addition to food and liquor, Papa O'Neal had strongly recommended taking along «trade goods.» The very thought of taking such ubiquitous items as hooks, heavy monofilament and rubber tubing for sling spears to the Keys was ludicrous. Looking around at the surroundings Mike had had more than one occasion to bless his father's foresight. The Old Man had spent years in Third World hellholes and now it looked like the Keys just about fit that bill. Even if no one was willing to take Galactic credits for room and board, Mike was willing to bet dollars to donuts a case of six gross Number Two hooks would open doors.
«Well, let's go find out, shall we?» said Mike, putting the Tahoe into gear. He deliberately steered to crush the tumbling palm frond, metaphorically spurning the depression caused by the desolation around them. As they turned down the side street towards No-Name-Key, the wind caught the shattered palm frond and tumbled the pieces onto U.S. 1. The hard wind whistled through the abandoned buildings and erased the marks the vehicle had made on the drifting sand in the parking lot.
CHAPTER 22
Ft. Indiantown Gap, PA, United States of America, Sol III
1400 EDT October 2nd, 2004 ad
«Teri, you have got to stop getting into pissing contests with enlisted men.»
Teri Nightingale sighed deeply as Ernie Pappas's strong, oil-covered fingers dug out the tensed muscles on her back. The first sergeant's thumbs rolled up along both sides of her spine, smoothing away the accumulated stresses of the day. At the accusation she could feel the muscles try to tense, but forced calm into her system. It was no good getting angry; he was right.
«I know,» she said with another resigned sigh. «I know. But I was so goddamn mad at Stewart I couldn't stop myself.»
«And now you've ended up looking like an ass,» said Pappas with toneless brutality. «And such a nice ass it is,» he added, giving it a little pat as he rolled off her back and propped himself up on one fist.
The tiny motel on the outskirts of Hummelstown was as far as they could reasonably get from the post. But Pappas was fairly sure a few of the company suspected something. Which must have really confused them when he quietly corrected his lover after her latest outburst.
The Old Man had left a list of missions to work on in his absence, missions that he specifically felt the unit was weak on. Earlier that day, practicing an envelopment maneuver, the entire exercise fell apart. The Posleen had attacked with more ferocity than normal and exploited a gap between First and Third platoons to roll up the company.
Stewart, in the after-action review, had injudiciously pointed out that proper employment of the reserve would have plugged the gap and saved the maneuver. They still would have taken more casualties than their «norm,» but less than the total wipeout they had experienced.
It was the casual remark of a young man who was rapidly turning into a brilliant tactician. The formal training of the military had taken an untutored but febrile mind and rocketed it into areas of genius. He proceeded to outline four other simple steps that, either before or during the engagement, would have saved the company's ass. It was a given that he had thought of them in the thick of the action and not as a «Monday Morning Quarterback» reaction after the drill. He was only trying to be helpful, but the XO had taken it as a direct attack and responded at length.
When the harried XO, in front of most of the leaders of the company, had finished describing her opinion of the comments she went on to discuss Stewart's parentage, unfortunately probably with more truth than she realized, education and probable future. Before she realized what she was doing, she had thoroughly poisoned the well.
When she finished, the young NCO had stood up, stone-faced, and left the room without a word. And also without asking permission, which was a legally objectionable action. No one had suggested that he stay. Or be charged for that matter.
Pappas's comment had been pithy, succinct and to the point: «Lieutenant Nightingale, with all due respect, that was a stupid thing to do.»
Their discussion of how to rectify her mistake had drifted to bed, as many of their discussions did. The relationship had taken both of them by surprise, but when Nightingale put her hand on his neck the first time and hesitantly drew him towards her, Pappas's sixty-year-old brain had been run over by his freshly rejuvenated twenty-year-old hormones. Although he had been faithful to his wife during his entire previous enlistment, the current situation was just too tough. For Nightingale, the combination of nearly a half century of sexual experience and a twenty-year-old's body had been an intensely pleasant surprise. Pappas not only knew some of the oddest tricks, he was back in condition to be able to use them.
He now ran a finger down her perfect back, hooked a thumb into her armpit and turned her to look at him. He pulled her to him, tucking her leg over his and slid his hand down her back. «You had better get a handle on this, soon, or the Old Man will turn you to paste.» He gently caressed her inner thigh then slid his hand upward.
She made a hissed inhalation and arched her back. «I know,» she said with a little gasp. She paused for a moment then went on, panting slightly. «I just cannot get a handle on . . .» She paused again, making little inhalations through her nose. The nostrils fluttered in and out prettily.
«On?» asked Pappas, waiting for her to try to answer.
«On . . . uhm . . .» she said as he moved his hand slightly to the side. She stopped trying to talk.
«Are you listening?» he asked, backing away slightly then sliding forward. Docking was abrupt and perfect.
«Umm-hmm,» she murmured. «Definitely.» She slid her leg up to hook over his hip.
«Stop fighting with Stewart and listen to him. He's better at this than anyone else in the company besides the Old Man.»
«Okay,» she squeaked, starting to rock back and forth.
«I'm serious,» said Pappas, giving a little gasp of his own as well-trained muscles clamped. He was on the losing side of the battle now.
«I'll make up to the shrimp,» she said pushing his shoulder to roll him over on his back. She grabbed his short thick black hair in both hands. «Now hang on.»
* * *
Duncan popped the top off the unlabeled beer bottle with a K-bar combat knife and wordlessly handed it to Stewart. The younger NCO was staring unseeingly at the wall of his tiny room. He took a swig without looking at the product, then stopped and stared at the bottle.
«Damn,» he said, looking up at the recently arrived staff sergeant. «I thought I had balls. Raiding the Old Man's home brew is a capital offense.» Beer was getting harder and harder to find. Materials such as barley and hops were strictly controlled under emergency rationing and storage plans. The easy accessibility of the materials to the company commander was a closely held secret of the company.
«He'd understand,» said Duncan, slipping a pack of Marlboro Reds out and lighting one. «He's good people.» He took a deep drag on the butt and blew smoke at the ceiling.