I almost got out an angry retort about whether I needed my orders ratified by the team, but Sabatini beat me by a split second.
“I wasn’t leading the team, sir. I expressed my disagreement, and Corporal Collins restated his order. With respect, sir, he did an OK job on point,” she finished with her trademark smile.
I think it melted the lieutenant’s resolve a bit. I know it did things to me, and I wasn’t even in the direct line of fire.
He returned his attention to me, but more quietly. “Collins, your job is to lead the team. If you get killed on point, you can’t do that. There’s enough risk in your job, don’t take anybody else’s. Christ, what I have to deal with.”
“You know, sir,” Sgt Pilsudski observed quietly, “you didn’t get wounded hanging in the back and co-ordinating the assault.”
Lt Mitchell glared at him for a moment, but Ski’s expression didn’t change. The tall, lean Pole had looked death in the face too often to flinch at the lieutenant’s displeasure. I think he had icewater in his veins. Lt Mitchell always scared the shit out of me.
“Moving on.” Lt Evers defused the situation by resuming the playback.
We watched the assault. I wasn’t really in the mood to relive it. I watched with approval as my team moved in. Even the old fossil of a corporal got to cover pretty quick. The whole team moved well, keeping spread out so as not to give the enemy a big target, and varying their interval to prevent a marksman from anticipating one Marine’s rush from the one before. Their firing was accurate and deadly.
Johnson impressed me the most. The kid was a born athlete. He sprinted to cover weighed down with that machine gun and got his weapon in action, laying down covering fire in damn good time. He was performing like a veteran.
A grim silence settled over the chow hall as we saw the squad start to take casualties. The last thing I wanted to see again was Chan’s head wound. There was no criticism of the squad’s actions, Chan and McCray were hit doing what they were supposed to do. Casualties are a part of combat. It’s one of the things you accept when you join the Corps.
“Williams should’ve stayed down,” Sgt Hernandez muttered.
“Looks like he learned,” Ski pointed out.
“Johnson’s doing good,” said the gunny. “He’s getting the TAR in action real quick. He could’ve covered for Williams or the corpsman if he’d had a chance.”
“I should’ve been quicker to call for covering fire,” I said.
“No,” Lt Evers disagreed, “you did a good job with the squad. They should wait for the call, not jump the gun. If he didn’t think you were going to call for fire, he should have said something before he made his rush. Williams displayed poor co-ordination with the rest of the squad. He’ll recover and know better next time.” Lt Evers was one cold-blooded bastard. He was also probably the best officer I’d ever met. As tough as Mitchell, but cooler-headed. I wouldn’t be surprised if he made Commandant some day.
The other Marines had no criticism for the rest of the firefight. The homogenous nature of the enemy weapons was commented on, as was the strange cargo.
The intelligence we gathered was not really a tactical concern, but it was out on the table, and we all had enough brains to see that it meant something. If supply ships were being hit, how many more of these fights would we get into? What were the pirates after? It made more sense to find out what their goal was and stop them rather than waiting to see where they hit and then chasing them. I wanted to know if the riots and the sabotage at the mining outposts were related.
We kicked the facts around for a bit, then left off after Lt Evers told us he would update us after he questioned our prisoners and the women we had liberated from the pirates. The meeting broke up shortly.
“Collins,” Lt Mitchell called, “wait here a minute.”
“Aye, sir.” I wondered what I was in for now.
When the rest of the Marines had filed out, the platoon leader took a deep breath and fixed me with a long stare before beginning. “Good job taking over the squad. And with the sniper. You’ve gotten your fire team working together beautifully. You have your Marines’ respect and loyalty. Sabatini checked with you before she answered me.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Don’t be. That kind of loyalty is like gold. Treasure it. I think you have a lot to do with creating that atmosphere in your team. You’re a good NCO.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You could be a great NCO. You take too much on yourself. Your Marines are tough, they can handle their jobs. It’s not easy to watch them go into danger. I know. Believe me, I frigging know. But you can’t do it all alone. It’s harder with a squad, and even worse with a platoon. Work on it. Get your shit together and I’ll write you up for sergeant after this cruise.”
“Aye, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Now get out of here. Gunny Taylor will take charge of McCray’s squad until we get some replacements or Sergeant McCray gets back on his feet.”
“Aye aye, sir!” I did an about-face and marched out the hatchway.
Sabatini was waiting in the passage. “How’d it go?”
“Not bad.” I shrugged. “He chewed my ass a little.”
“He left the good part,” she commented after a quick look.
“He just told me I could be a decent team leader if I wasn’t such a soft-hearted screw-up.”
“Shit, Mick, I could’ve told you that.”
“Yeah, but he feels he’s gotta justify his bars. What’re you hanging around for? Besides eavesdropping.”
“Gunny Taylor told me to get you to show me the personnel files for my new team. And how to fill out reports and do all that Corporal shit you make look so easy.”
“Where’s the rest of the squad?”
“Gunny’s got ’em working on hand-to-hand exercises.”
“Terry’ll love that.”
“Be good for him, getting his ass kicked at something other than cards.”
When we reached our squadbay, there was a package on her bunk. It was a small flask of CPO Kelly’s whiskey, with a note signed by the whole squad. Some clever individual had even forged my name; Terry has a number of useful skills which polite society would frown on.
“Join me?” she asked.
There was no way I could turn that down. “Delighted.”
She dug out two canteen cups and sloshed about three fingers worth of spirit into each of them, then handed me one.
“You’re new to this stuff, aren’t you?” I asked.
“What makes you think that?”
“It’s a wee bit potent to be drinking in that volume.”
“The Old Man was right, you are a softie.”
“Oh I am, am I?” I asked. “Alright. Congratulations on your well deserved promotion, and may you be the best damn Corporal the Corps has ever seen.” I raised my cup.
“Second best. I had a good teacher.” She clanked hers against mine. It wasn’t the ring of fine crystal, but the noise of dented aluminum mess gear seemed more appropriate for two infantry Marines. I emptied my cup in one long swallow. She got half of hers down before she had to stop, coughing.
“Told you,” I said, enjoying the fire running down my throat. I can’t take credit. It’s genetic.
“Touché,” she gasped, her eyes watering. “So teach me more, oh wise one. And help me finish this poison.” She poured half of the remaining liquor from her cup into mine.
We went to Sgt McCray’s office where the personnel files for the squad were stored. I showed her the data disk and inserted it into the computer on the sergeant’s desk. We pulled up Bauer and Li’s records. I watched as she studied them. She lowered her eyebrows and chewed her lip in concentration. A point Marine doesn’t get exposed to a lot of performance evaluations. She slowly absorbed the information and reasoning behind each of their proficiency and conduct marks, trying to fit this into what she already knew of the two Marines to get a picture of how they would shape up as a team.
>
“When you have something to add,” I said, “open a new entry here. Key in what you want to say, then close it with your initials and the last two digits of your service number. AS27 in your case.”
“How do you know my number?”
“I’ve been filling out your file for two years.”
“Can I see it?” she asked in a mischievous whisper, like a child searching for hidden Christmas presents.
“Sure. It’s not that exciting. Just my opinion of your performance. It’s mostly complimentary.”
“Nothing I shouldn’t see?”
“Just official Marine Corps business. I write all my kinky fantasies about you in my confidential file.”
She laughed then looked at me for a long moment. I’d like to blame the whiskey for the way my stomach dropped at that moment, but I’m not that convincing.
“Why did you take the point at that hatch, Mick?”
“I told you, I had a bad feeling about it.”
“Would you have taken the lead if somebody else were point?”
I squirmed. The correct answer to give was ‘yes’ but the truth was ‘no’. I wavered for a moment, but those dark eyes fixed on mine and the whiskey coursing through my veins made it impossible to lie.
“No. I’m sorry. I guess Lt Mitchell was right. I feel protective of you. I care about you a lot. It’s not real professional of me.”
“It’s OK.” She leaned closer. “I’m flattered.”
I looked into her eyes for a long time. A tiny portion of my brain was screaming about regulations, but every other cell in my body was overriding it.
“You know,” she said, “we’re not in the same fire team any more. You’re not in my chain of command. We’re equals in the eyes of the military.”
Like I needed convincing. I wanted her badly. It wasn’t just physical lust, not more than half, anyway. I really enjoyed her company, and we had shared the experience of combat. She understood me as no other woman could. We had fought back to back, side by side. It’s hard for a combat veteran to get close to someone who hasn’t been there. I’d seen it in my dad. After my first tour in Africa, I understood him. I would never feel as close to a civilian as I did to Angelina Sabatini. I’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip by.
“You realize we could be in deep trouble for this,” I said, offering her a last chance to escape, gentleman that I am.
“What are they gonna do? Cut our hair, stick us in a tin can and send us into space to be shot at?”
“Good point,” I growled, grabbing her hand. We raced back to the squadbay. Inside, I checked the hatch to be sure it was locked.
When I turned back, she had pulled her rack down from the bulkhead. She pulled off her boots and knelt on the bed and began to unbutton her utility shirt. I felt a shivering thrill of anticipation that I hadn’t known since I was sixteen, fumbling with Mary Kate O’Brien’s bra clasp in the back seat of her father’s Chevy.
I rushed back to the rack and kissed her, holding her strong body against mine. I ran my hands through her hair, down her back and over the curves of her hips. She wrapped her arms around me and held me close to her.
I let my kisses travel to her throat, then moved around behind her, kissing her neck and reaching around to finish undoing her buttons. She reached back and ran her nails through my hair. She caught one of my hands and guided it to her breasts. I let my nerves drink in the feel of her against me.
Neither of us wanted to let go, so it was a long and wondrous time before we managed to strip by stages. I didn’t want to rush any moment of it. I wanted to savor each touch, each sensation, from the sight of her to the scent of her hair to the feel and taste of her body.
She lay back as I kissed my way from her face to her neck and over her breasts. I had to brush aside her dog tags and a religious medal. There was probably some symbolism there, but I shoved the thought aside for later. My lips traveled over the soft skin of her belly, across her hips, down her magnificent legs and back up again.
Like a good combat NCO, I carefully judged the moment for my final assault, entering as her passion was at its height. I had never wanted a woman this much, or wanted to please one more.
As we approached climax, our bodies locked together, I could hardly believe my good fortune. The most wonderful woman in the world was pressing her splendid naked body against mine and clawing my back.
The good Marine buried deep beneath my cynicism tried to warn me just how much trouble I was courting, but since I’d just survived being shot at, with far less payoff, it didn’t make much impression.
Chapter 21
9 DEC 2075
USS TRIPOLI
We had time to shower, dress and compose ourselves before the squad returned, cursing Gunny Taylor. Sabatini and I were innocently reviewing personnel files when they clattered into the squadbay.
“Have fun?” she called over her shoulder.
“Oh yeah. Fucking tons,” O’Rourke complained, kneading his shoulder.
“The gunny’s quick for an old man,” Johnson offered, easing himself down onto his rack.
“What the fuck did we do to deserve a gunnery sergeant for a squad leader?” asked Bauer.
“You broke your old one,” I explained. “You’re supposed to protect your leaders because the replacement may be worse.”
O’Rourke nodded. “It’s taken me twelve years to get you broke in right. New corporals just don’t understand how alcoholism and insubordination are actually military virtues.”
I chuckled. “I need to stick up for you, because I only look disciplined next to you. If they shitcan your ass, I won’t have a prayer.”
“What have you two lazy bastards been up to?”
“No good,” she replied with a smile.
I was impressed. I might have choked if I’d had to answer.
“Any word on Sarge?”
I grimaced. “Nothing definite. His shoulder is chewed up pretty good. The docs need to see how much nerve damage he took.”
“That sucks,” Terry said. “He’s a good Marine. He doesn’t belong behind a desk.”
“That’d be like a racehorse pullin’ a fuckin’ plow,” said Johnson.
“Nice analogy,” I said. “We’ll turn you into a warrior poet yet. I like the ‘fucking’. It keeps the eloquence from diluting the Marine-ness of the quote.”
Johnson smiled at the compliment.
Terry shook his head. “Fuckin’ intellectual.”
“It might be his ticket out,” offered Bauer. “He’s alive, and he didn’t lose the arm. If he loses twenty percent function and gets an honorable discharge with a pension, how bad is that?”
Well, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it would be the end of Sgt McCray’s world. The little Marine universe we’d lived in for so long would be gone. Even if the Old Man kept him on—and I’d seen one-legged mess sergeants before—he’d feel like it was charity.
“It can’t be easy going back to the real world after that long in the Corps,” Sabatini pointed out. “Who’s he going to call an undisciplined fuck if he’s not O’Rourke’s squad leader?”
“Yeah,” Terry agreed. “I can’t see him working at a civilian desk job yelling, ‘Get me the fuckin’ quarterly reports, you worthless piece of shit! Christ, my grandma moves faster and she’s fuckin’ dead!’ It just don’t seem right.”
I doubled over with laughter at Terry’s impression of our fearless leader. The idea of Vice President McCray, in charge of Marketing, terrorizing accountants and interns, was hilarious. It probably wasn’t going to happen, but it was hilarious.
“Think about what you’ll do when you get out, Mick?” Johnson asked.
“Not really.”
Gunny Taylor chose that moment to enter. “An Irish kid from South Boston? Don’t you have nine brothers on the police force and a job waiting with your name on it? They’re probably already collecting your bribes for you.”
“How do you know so much about
Southie, Gunny? Actually I only have one uncle on the fire department, I’ll have you know.”
“So your nine brothers were too dishonest for the Boston Police Department?”
“Three brothers,” I corrected. “Pat’s older than me. He did his four years in the Corps, then got out and became a teacher. Then me. Jimmy shocked dad by not joining the Marines. He went right into construction. Sean’s the baby. He’s in theater.”
“He the one that brought his boyfriend home for Christmas?” Sabatini asked with a smile.
“How’d you guess? There’s one in every big Irish Catholic family.”
“Wait a minute,” Terry objected. “I don’t have a gay brother.”
“I thought you were that brother.”
He replied with a one-finger salute.
“Now you mention it, Mick,” said Johnson, “I have caught him starin’ at my beautiful black ass in the shower.”
“Oh, that’s it. Just pick on me! Screw you, you rookie bastard. See if I keep an eye out for your welfare any more.”
“Long as you got that beautiful black ass he will,” Sabatini reassured Johnson.
“I’m being harassed.” Terry looked around for support. “Look at this, boss. Two NCOs are encouraging another Marine to torment me and damage my fragile self-esteem. Gunny, what do you have to say about this?”
“I’m just thanking God that the Corps was spared two Collins brothers,” the tall Gunnery Sergeant smirked. “Rest period is over. Get suited up in full combat gear. We’re gonna practice squad maneuvers.”
This announcement was greeted with groans.
“Look, you sorry excuses for Marines, we’re gonna have new replacements soon, and I want to fool them into thinking you know what the hell you’re doing. Saddle up and get your asses in gear.”
We made our way to the large training area in the cargo bay. Gunny Taylor had us practice moving in a hostile environment. It wasn’t new, but we were getting used to different combinations of teams. I switched Terry to point, because Johnson was the new guy and I wanted him to perfect his skills as a TAR man before I moved him around. Sabatini’s team was a little rougher around the edges, as it was missing two of its original Marines. Li was learning point. Bauer had been TAR man all along, so he knew what he was doing.
In Every Clime and Place Page 15