In Every Clime and Place (18 page)

The squad shoved back chairs and leapt to their feet. Before he took off, Terry turned to me. “You not coming, Mick?”

“I’m gonna sink a few more here,” I replied nonchalantly. “The heavy weight of responsibility and all that. I’ll be out on the town shortly.”

He gave me a strange look. His eyes flicked briefly to Sabatini then back. “Hey,” he said in a softer voice than usual. “You two have a good time too.”

He was gone before I could reply.

I dismissed Terry O’Rourke from my thoughts fairly quickly. Angelina Sabatini was looking at me from under a raised eyebrow. The sly smile on her face sent my blood racing southward.

“Looks like the kids are out for the night,” she purred.

I sank the remains of my beer with a practiced flick of the wrist. I started to call for the check when a snatch of conversation drifted across from a nearby table.

“...You think Sunflower One was tough, kid? You shoulda been on the Von Braun salvage.”

At this mention of Sunflower One, the mining asteroid we’d so recently visited, we both turned to look at the table. Four men in Rescue Service grey uniforms were seated over the shattered remnants of a meal and a pitcher.

“You think maybe...?” Sabatini wondered.

“I think maybe,” I replied. “Gentlemen! Excuse me, but were you the crew that sealed the docking hull breach at the mining colony a couple months ago?”

“We were,” answered a brawny man with a spattering of grey in his hair and beard.

“Well, put your wallet away,” Sabatini said. “You saved our asses. That meal’s on us.”

I raised an eyebrow. She nodded. We had plenty of time. These guys had earned a round on us. “Join us. It’s on the Marine Corps.”

“Much obliged,” smiled a portly crewman, extending a chubby hand to shake. “Gerry. This is Fred, Bill, and the Chief, Paul.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Mick Collins, this is Angelina Sabatini.” I didn’t bother with rank. If they couldn’t count chevrons, Corporal wouldn’t mean shit to them anyway. “You guys gave us time to get off that miserable rock.”

“Glad we could help,” said the chief, smiling. “And more than happy to take your money.” He looked over the expanse of empty plates and bottles on our table. “The Corps must pay pretty well.”

“It looks like a lot when it’s six months back pay. Besides, this card shark will just take it back from the squids or the doggies tomorrow.”

“Doggies?” asked the youngest guy. He must be the one they called ‘kid.’ Christ, he made Johnson look like an old man.

“Army,” Sabatini clarified. “From ‘dogface.’”

“So you guys were on that asteroid when the hatch blew?” asked Gerry. “Refill and a shot, sweetheart,” he added to the waitress who appeared at the table, holding up his glass.

“Fuckin’A right we were,” said Angelina, the picture of demure femininity. I smiled with affection.

“We got sent there to evacuate the embassy personnel,” I continued. “Usual screw-up last-minute mission. The whole damn place is rioting, everybody sees it coming down Main Street, but they wait until it’s going full steam then call the Marines. Hell of a way to make a living.”

“I can imagine,” said Fred with a thin smile. I noticed his eyes were on Angelina’s chest. Being male, I felt a brief impulse to knock him out until I realized it was her medals and not her breasts he was studying. He obviously knew what they meant. Most women in the military were administrative types, or pilots. Sabatini’s medals showed that she was combat infantry. Fred seemed intrigued by this.

His scrutiny had not gone unnoticed. “Yes, I have got tits under there,” she said sweetly.

He went red. “Sorry, Corporal.”

He must have been in some service. He didn’t look or talk like a Marine, but he could’ve been Army or Navy. Even Intelligence. Those guys don’t fit a pattern, regardless of branch of service.

“You’ll have to forgive old Fred here,” Gerry said quickly. “Been in space a little too long.”

“No harm done. I’m used to being the only woman in a platoon of grunt Marines. I just wanted to see him squirm.”

“Any idea why the Navy didn’t want us going in?” asked the kid.

My smile vanished. I felt a bucket of icewater dumped down my back. “What?” I demanded.

He recoiled; I may have glared a bit much. The Rescue crew exchanged glances. The kid looked like he’d said too much and clammed up.

Finally the chief spoke. “Some Navy Commander told us to steer clear of the station. Said it was a Navy matter.”

“Jesus.” I shook my head. I’d seen the kind of career-building officer who would rather see casualties than have somebody butt in on his mission. They were worse than the enemy. At least when the enemy tried to kill you, you could see their point. “So you went in anyway?” I asked.

“Screw the brass. I know my job and my jurisdiction. I’ll decide when I have to back off.”

God bless this guy. I swear he could hang with Lt Mitchell and Gunny Taylor. I filed this info for Lt Evers. I raised my glass in salute. “I guess we owe you another round,” I said more softly.

Before long, we headed up to a rented room in one of the better hotels near the docking bay. My head was reeling with desire and alcohol. I was just pleasantly tipsy. I keyed in the code to lock the hatch and turned toward her.

“Looks like we finally—”

Angelina cut me off as she crushed me against the bulkhead in a fierce embrace. She kissed me deeply, and I lost all interest in speech. She had kicked off her shoes and I felt her stocking as she lifted her leg to brush against mine up to my hip, rubbing the back of my calf with her instep. I ran my hands through her hair, letting it fall loose around her face, then shifted my caress over the curves of her body to her hips. Who needs talk?

With a primal growl, I cupped my hands beneath her buttocks and carried her to the bed. Her lips never left mine, she just wrapped her arms and legs around me.

Suffice it to say that dress blues are a handsome uniform, but hardly one that facilitates easy undressing. She had, with the secret wiles of a woman, somehow obtained some very lacy, very sexy, very black undergarments which I discovered to my surprise and delight.

We made urgent, intense love. The weeks of stress and enforced abstinence demanded payback. When we finished, we lay tangled together in the rosy, euphoric afterglow of spent passion.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“I guess that old joke about Irish foreplay is just a joke,” she said, smiling lazily.

“Which one is that?” I asked, kissing the top of her head.

“What’s Irish foreplay?”

I shrugged.

She adopted the phony Irish accent used by cartoon leprechauns and policemen in old black and white movies. “Brace yerself, Bridget!”

I chuckled.

“We learned one about Italians when I was in school.”

“I’ll have you know Italians are great lovers.”

“So I gather.” I gave her a squeeze. “You better keep reminding me though. The joke goes ‘what’s Italian foreplay?’”

“What?”

“Hey Maria! Why don’t-a you send-a the kids out to p-l-a-y so we can-a fuck?”

Her body shook with laughter, which was worth the price of admission in and of itself.

“So.” She snuggled against me. “You going to take me to meet your family when we get back to the world?”

“Sure. Don’t expect too much, though. I’m the best-looking one.”

“That’s terrible. Did the rest of them have to join the circus?”

“Ha ha.”

“What do you think they’ll say about you bringing home a nice Italian girl?”

“You think I’ll meet one? Ouch!”

She had decided the appropriate response was to bite me. “You don’t wanna make me jealous, Mick. My last boyfriend made me jealous once. Once.”

“Seriously, you may be a wop who can’t drink whiskey properly, but you are a Marine, so you’ll be OK by dad.”

“And your mom?”

“After my brother Sean brought his boyfriend home for Christmas five years ago, mom will be thrilled with you.”

She giggled. I tried to think of something else to say so she’d do that again. “What about your family? Your dad gonna make me sleep with the fishes for what I did to his daughter?”

“My father is very traditional. As far as he’s concerned, I’ll be a blushing virgin on my wedding night. If he thought different for one second, he’d have you killed.”

I lay back and smiled. I wasn’t real worried about her dad. Yet. Before we tackled those hurdles, we had our mutual family to deal with. I doubted Lt Mitchell would be any happier with me than Mr Sabatini would be.

ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7

I walked over to the pot and refilled my coffee, then raised the pot and an eyebrow to Jensen.

“Please,” he said.

I poured the reporter a cup. “I know Lt Evers did some digging. Not sure what he came up with, but somebody must have passed the suspicion on up the chain for the brass to take notice.”

“I do know that a Marine officer met with a European agent on Mars,” said Jensen. “That must have been when your platoon was there on liberty.”

“Shore leave,” I corrected. “That makes sense, though.”

“This is what I put together from an interview with my contacts in the EU.”

SNN News File 7, courtesy Brian Jensen

20 Dec 2075

Mars Station

Vojislav Kovacz, of Bosnian Intelligence, pushed away his plate and sipped his coffee. This was the best restaurant on Mars Station. He looked across the table at the American Marine lieutenant, waiting for him to speak. After a time, he decided to prod, gently.

“Robert, my old friend, while it is certainly pleasant to see you, I can’t help but feel you had some secret motive for asking for this meeting?”

The American smiled guiltily and answered in a polite drawl, “That obvious?”

“Please! You were always too easy to read to be a good intelligence man. Stick to Infantry.” The Slav smiled.

“Remember the bad old days?” the Marine asked, handing over a photograph. “My platoon took these. Recently.”

Vojislav took one of the photographs. That it was of a dead man did not shock him. That it was of a recently dead man did. “Vajde. I thought that dog died in Srebrenica.”

“So did I.”

“And this one. This woman was a sniper. Tanya Kajosevic. During the battle for Srebrenica they called her the Angel of Death. She would hide, lie in wait until you were sure an area was clear, then people would start dying. Officers, mostly. She was very, very good. Moved often. Used the terrain. Never took foolish risks. She could pin down a whole platoon for a day with a few rounds. Just shoot the right people, make them afraid to move. To shoot back. To do anything but hug the ground.”

“We noticed.”

“I’m impressed that you got her. Where were these photos taken?”

“Now, we both know I can’t tell you that. I just need to know who they might have associated with. Who might have helped them get away from Srebrenica and get financed for a major operation.”

Vojislav rubbed his chin for a moment before answering. “I can check. I could get a list to you. There was talk of the American CIA being involved with some of the factions in the civil war. Maybe there is a connection there. No offence meant.”

“None taken. It wouldn’t be the first time the intelligence community has tried to turn an old enemy into an asset. Not the first time it went to hell, either. I just want to know who this bastard’s buddies are so we can do to them what we did to him.”

“I will get a list of those who may have escaped. Should I send it through Naval Intelligence?”

“No. Not if some US intelligence people may be involved. I have my own pipeline to the top. Just send it to my personal account. The old code.”

“Caesar’s Campaigns in Gaul?” Kovacz smiled.

“How many spies read the classics?” Lt Evers returned the grin. “Once we find them, we can nail them.”

“I assure you I would like nothing better. Vajde’s old commander is a criminal. Colonel Radicz was one of those who wanted to drag us back to the bad old days. We can’t have that.”

“I’d like to see him go down for what’s happening now. But you’re right, we have to forget these old hatreds.” The Marine raised his own cup to his lips.

The Slav’s eyes grew a shade cooler. “My friend, the people of the Balkans will never forget their history. We cannot forget the Turks seven hundred years ago, or the Fascists a hundred and thirty years ago or even the bombs of your own countrymen eighty-five years ago. Our history is what made us who we are. I and many like me supported your troops when you broke the back of the hard liners because we wanted to save our nation and build a future for it, not so we could forget our heritage.”

“I’m sorry,” Lt Evers said sincerely. “I had no intention of offending you.”

“I know.” Vojislav smiled wryly. “You Americans never do.”

SHORE LEAVE, MARS STATION

We woke up late the next morning, and got out of bed even later. She woke me up. All I’ll say is that her way beat the hell out of Reveille.

We lay there afterward for a long time, just enjoying the feeling of closeness. I drank in the bliss of clean sheets and the soft, warm weight of her body against me, her head resting on my chest. I thought again how lucky I was.

“Thank you,” I said.

“It’s not like I don’t enjoy it, you know,” she replied.

“I don’t mean that. I mean thanks for standing up to Gunny Taylor and not dropping me like a live grenade. It means a lot.”

“Gunny Taylor was nothing. You wouldn’t believe the disapproval I have to put up with from my family.”

“Really?”

She sat up, looking at me intensely. “You have no idea what it’s like. Your parents are probably proud of you.”

“Yours aren’t? You’re a damn good Marine.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m a girl. My family is traditional. Girls grow up to be nuns or mothers. They can’t believe I’d want to waste my life as a Marine. My brother Anthony is an Army Ranger. They have pictures of him in uniform hanging in the house. They’re all proud of his medals. But all I hear when I go home on leave is, ‘Angelina, when are you going to marry a nice Italian boy and give us some grandchildren?’ Like my only reason for existence is to be fucking breeding stock.”

She was serious. Her glare would have made strong men run for cover.

“I’ll have frigging babies when I damn well feel like it. If I have ’em at all,” she declared. “I like being a Marine. I never played house when I was a kid. I played war, and cops and robbers. I enjoy the Corps. I like that I’m one of the few and the proud. Even fewer and prouder because I’m a woman. And I’m good at it, damn it.”

“Yes you are. You’re one of the best Marines I’ve served with. Man or woman. Of course, I’ve been stuck with Terry for years, so the bar is pretty low.”

She smiled. “That’s one thing I like about you, Mick. You judge everybody by what they can do, not what people say they should do. I don’t like people who think my life is worth less because I haven’t dropped a frigging litter.”

“Hey, the world has plenty of babies. How many good fire team leaders do we have who can make lingerie work?” I sat up and slid an arm around her waist.

We ordered room service again and spent most of the morning in bed. Eventually, we got dressed and headed out on the town.

My previous impression of Mars Station was that it was a shithole. I wasn’t ready to believe that it had changed very much, so I was forced to conclude that my enjoyment of it this time was a result of the company. Most of my previous shore leaves had consisted of hanging with Terry, drinking far too much, and getting into fistfights.

This time I was with a beautiful, funny woman, saw some sights, ate and drank just enough, had a lot of sex and didn’t have to hit anybody. And she looked good when I woke up next to her.

I wondered why this had never occurred to me before.

We were due back at 1200 the following day. We spent the afternoon shopping for the usual junk souvenirs to send home, talking, laughing and just generally enjoying life. This was bliss. No head to scrub, no inspections, no rifles to clean, no watch to stand, no frigging drills, just kick back and enjoy life.

The day passed quickly, and that night we did manage to find a few Army guys who wanted to play poker. We were kind. We left them cab fare.

****

The next morning we had arranged to meet the team at 0900, to give us ample time to get back to the lander for noon. We were sipping coffee at a table on the sidewalk in front of the hotel when we noticed a general purpose transport vehicle pull up. It was painted in the brown Army color scheme. A sergeant was driving and a young lieutenant was in the passenger seat. I was about to comment, when the sergeant waved me over.

“Mick, get your ass over here!”

“Holy Shit! Terry?”

“Move it, corporal!” ordered Second Lieutenant Johnson.

We trotted over to the car. Johnson and O’Rourke were dressed in Army uniforms. A good stack of contraband was stashed in the cargo area.

“Get in.”

“We gotta meet Bauer and Li.”

“One step ahead of you, Mick,” Terry said. “Met up with ’em last night. They’ll meet us at the shuttle.”

“Jesus,” Sabatini exclaimed as we piled into the back seat. “When’d you pick this up?”

“Got drunk with an Army quartermaster last night. When he wakes up with the mother of all hangovers, he’s gonna find out his uniform and his ride are missing.”

“We got you two some threads too,” said Johnson. “Had to guess at the sizes.”

There were two sets of Army fatigues, complete with the Big Red One unit patch on the shoulder.

“Where to now, Lieutenant?” I asked.

“Our friendly quartermaster sergeant told us they’re getting a shipment of new thermal gear to go under the combat space suits,” said O’Rourke. “I figured the Marines need that a lot more than the Army. We’re a working party headed to the loading zone right now. Get changed.”

We hastily changed uniforms.

“Is that USMC issue, Corporal?” asked Johnson, sneaking a glance in the rear-view mirror as Sabatini unbuttoned her dress blue blouse to reveal something black and lacy. She replied with a middle finger.

“Eyes front, Marine,” I growled. We had gotten used to changing in the same squad bay, but usually it was just good old olive drab underwear that was about as un-sexy as it was possible for underwear to be.

We were shortly transformed into two Army PFCs. Terry had clearly planned it so he and Johnson could order us around. Johnson, as a second lieutenant, would not be expected to know anything, so any rookie mistakes he made were covered. Terry O’Rourke, wearing three stripes for the first and probably only time in his life, would be calling the shots.

Terry had had the good sense not to include Sabatini’s team. She didn’t need the added command problems that would arise if she were seen taking orders from O’Rourke. As I’ve always said, he’s an insubordinate bastard, but looks out for his fellow Marines when it matters.

We pulled up to the gate. A bored-looking PFC saluted Johnson. I felt a moment of panic, but the young Marine didn’t blow his cue. He popped a perfect salute in return.

The guard asked our business.

“Working party from Echo Company, 2ndBattalion,” Terry lied. “Here to pick up some thermals.”

“I need to see your paperwork, Sergeant.”

I sensed Angelina stiffen beside me, but I knew Terry better than that. He handed over the forms that I knew he would have lifted from the quartermaster before planning a heist this big.

The guard compared the forms to his own list and waved us through.

“You had me worried for a minute, O’Rourke,” said Sabatini.

“I been robbing the Army since you were in high school, Corporal. Now just remember, I’m ‘Sarge’ and the kid is ‘sir’. And don’t say ‘aye aye.’”

“Yes, Sergeant!”

“Aren’t I a little old for a PFC?” I asked.

“We’re the same age and I was a PFC a month ago.”

“And will be again if we get caught,” cautioned Sabatini.

“Never happen. Luck of the Irish.” Terry O’Rourke smiled his biggest leprechaun grin.

We got to the warehouse and started in. Angelina and I worked away, bitching and moaning like good soldiers on a working party. I had to slow her down so we wouldn’t look too eager. We did turn the tables on O’Rourke a bit by making all the standard wiseass remarks to his orders. It was nice to play the problem child of the battalion, assigned to work as punishment duty, while my old comrade, whose usual insubordination would make Judas look like a yes-man, had to keep his detail in line. Johnson was perfect, standing straight, perfect parade-ground posture, his expression both eager and confused. He marched around with his hands behind his back, got in the way, and shouted “Outstanding!” at appropriate intervals.

He looked exactly like a new lieutenant fresh out of Basic School.

This left Terry, playing his part of harassed sergeant, to do all the actual organizing.

Within an hour, we had a truck full of cold-weather gear.

When the entire shipment for Echo Company, 2ndBattalion had been loaded, we climbed into the truck and headed back toward the gate. I felt my stomach drop. We were almost in the clear, which was when I started to worry. A good plundering mission was a lot like a hot landing. Before starting, the anticipation of pulling it off kept me focused. When we were actually working, I was too busy to worry. Now, with nothing to do but sit in the back of the truck and cross my fingers, the heebie-jeebies set in with a vengeance.

They were not entirely uncalled for. As we approached the gate, I got my first clue that things might not be going perfectly.

“Fuck,” muttered O’Rourke.

“What?” asked Sabatini nervously. “What about fuck?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Corporal. It just looks like our friend at the guard post is hearing about us.”

I leaned forward to look out the windshield between Johnson and O’Rourke. The sentry looked in our direction, said something into his radio and nodded, listening to the response.

“I didn’t think that QM sergeant would be conscious this early.”

“Oh, shit,” exclaimed Johnson.

I agreed. The sentry stepped from his shack into the roadway.

“He’ll move,” Terry assured us, maintaining our current speed.

“I don’t know...” said Sabatini.

“What if he pulls his weapon?” asked Johnson.

“Oh for Christ’s sake! We’re on a safe planet. The damn thing won’t be loaded. Didn’t you have to guard the officer’s head at Parris Island? It’ll take him a good five seconds to put in a magazine and chamber a round. He’ll move.”

I’m glad Terry was sure. That made one of us. Although he was probably right about the unloaded weapon. Unless there was an imminent threat of attack, sentries almost never had the magazine in place. I used to think that was a stupid rule. At that moment, I was all for it.

As predicted, the young soldier jumped back into the guard shack as we sped through. We missed him by a good meter. Maybe a meter and a half.

Once out of the compound, Terry turned down the first side street we came to. He made a number of quick rights and lefts before choosing a direction.

“Where to now, Mr Dillinger?” I asked.

“I got it all planned out,” he assured me.

“I hope so. I don’t want to be scrubbing the head for the next six months.”

It wasn’t long before we pulled up to the loading door of an abandoned warehouse. There were a lot of these, as business on the mines was in a slow downward spiral. Terry whistled a few bars of
Anchors Aweigh.

The cargo door rose with a rattle of rusty gears. We drove inside and CPO Kelly met us. A pair of sailors in coveralls stood behind him.

“Welcome aboard!” he grinned as he inspected the vehicle. “Not a bad haul for a bunch of jarheads.”

“Thank’ee, Chief,” O’Rourke replied. “Just have your boys give this beast a paint job in good old Navy grey, and we’ll be on our way.”

They shook hands and we changed back into our Blues.

As we left the warehouse, I asked, “What’d the chief give you for the GPV?”

“We got first pick of the thermals, a case of liquid paradise, and Chief Kelly’s undying gratitude. Hate to give up the truck, but the Army will be looking for it. They ain’t real bright, but they might expect us to give it a facelift. They’ll be stopping any GPV in Marine green and checking the serial numbers.”

“Sometimes you amaze me,” I said.

“Not a bad con, for an Irishman,” Sabatini agreed with a smirk.

“Hey, my people were great horse thieves in the old country. And how about Johnson, huh?” He clapped the young Marine on the shoulder. “Shoulda got the damn Oscar for that. You played a second lieutenant better than most second lieutenants do.”

“Too bad they don’t give a medal for looting and pillaging,” I mused. “You’d have one with five stars, a combat V and oak leaf cluster.”

“Lt Evers is not gonna be pleased,” Sabatini pointed out. “The doggie sergeant you robbed, plus the guard at the depot will be able to get a decent description of us. Mitchell will have a good laugh, and Evers won’t turn us in, because the thermals are a good thing for the platoon, but he’ll be pissed. Or do you have a plan to avoid cleaning the head for six months?”

“I may just.” Terry held up a bottle of dark amber fluid. I read the label.

It was authentic, real, honest-to-God, distilled-in-the-good-old-land-o’-Dixie bourbon.

“You should transfer to supply,” I told him. “Or some other organized crime family.”