by John Bowers
Nick grinned. “How did you guess?”
“Haven’t seen you before.”
“You know everybody in the Star Marines?”
“Just about. Lemme see some IDs.”
Everyone dug out their military ID cards and handed them over. The two SPs studied them for a moment.
“I bet this guy wants to be a real cop when he grows up,” Nick told DuBose.
DuBose grinned. The SP didn’t.
“Nice try, Private, but you can’t rattle me. You wouldn’t believe all the shit I hear from guys like you.”
“That’s Private First Class, if you don’t mind.”
The SP handed the IDs back and glanced at Nick’s sleeves.
“No shit? How come I don’t see any stripes on your arm?”
Nick winced as if in pain, and brushed a hand over his sleeve.
“Dammit! Did that thing fall off again?”
“You never did get the stripe,” DuBose reminded him. “Remember? It was just after you wiped out that Freak regiment with your bare hands—Cap’m promoted you on the spot, but we didn’t have any stripes for you.”
“Oh, yeah…I remember now.”
The Star Police sergeant waited for them to finish, then heaved a patient sigh.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one too. I’m just a rear-echelon motherfucker and you guys do all the real fighting. Message received.
“Now, do you have any weapons?”
“Weapons? Hell, yeah! You wouldn’t believe all the shit we’re carrying!”
“We left that stuff at the firebase,” DuBose said.
“Oh—did we? Jesus, I’m naked!”
DuBose turned to the SP.
“No, we don’t have weapons. This is our first liberty in over four months and all we want is a couple of drinks, and then some dinner and maybe a holovid.”
“Is anything good playing?” Nick asked.
“Yeah, if you like westerns. The new Yancy West vid is playing around the corner.”
Nick grinned at him, and DuBose winked.
“Thanks, Sergeant. Just fucking with you.”
The SP nodded.
“I know that. But you might want to try some new material. The stuff you’re spouting is recycled.
“The rules are simple—no fighting, no breaking furniture, and no fucking the local women. If you want to get laid, there are Pink Ladies inside, so stick to them.”
“Aw, man!” Avila giggled. “I was so looking forward to some Centaurian pussy!”
“Knock yourself out,” the SP replied, “but if you do, you’ll end up in the stockade—and you will get a starcourt.
“Go on in, guys, but behave yourselves. My partner and I wouldn’t want to have to break your heads for causing a disturbance, especially since you personally saved the planet.”
At the ripe old age of twenty, Nick had been drinking in bars for over a year; the legal drinking age in North America was twenty-one, unless one had a military ID, which permitted drinking at eighteen. The River Club was quieter than he expected. It was dark, crowded, and glamorous, but the decibel level was only about half that of the SoCal clubs he had visited.
Which suited him just fine.
They found a table in a dark corner away from the dance floor. A scantily-clad waitress took their orders. Nick and DuBose ordered beers, Kopshevar asked for a cocktail, and Avila ordered a scotch. Rudy asked for iced tea.
“Are you shittin’ me?” Avila demanded. “The first time we get a chance for a real drink, and you order tea?”
“I have a small bladder. Beer makes me pee.”
“And tea doesn’t? Jesus!”
When the drinks came, Nick dropped a wad of cash on the serving tray.
“First round’s on me,” he announced.
“Hey, thanks, Walker.” Avila toasted him, then downed his shot. “Special occasion, or what?”
“Naw, nothing like that. I just got paid.”
Everyone laughed. They had all drawn four months’ back pay the day they arrived at Firebase Sierra, and were swimming in cash.
“Okay, I got the next one,” said Rudy.
Nick swilled his beer halfway down, enjoying the cold, burning sensation, then resorted to sipping until his glass was empty. The music was fast and upbeat, and he found himself drumming his fingers on the tabletop. But as much as he enjoyed the music and the club’s atmosphere, he just wasn’t into it. Too much had happened the past few months, too many men had died. Too many faces flashed across the holo-screen of his mind.
After a few minutes, he ordered another beer.
The others talked and joked. About fifteen minutes after they arrived, two more Star Marines stopped at their table. Their shoulder patches indicated they were from the 31st regiment. One was big and beefy, the other on the slender side. They both wore the naked expression of recent combat vets.
“You guys from the Thirty-third?” the big one asked.
DuBose answered for the group. “Yeah. You?”
“Thirty-first. Mind if we join you?”
“Sure, pull up a chair…or two.”
They did exactly that, stealing chairs from another table. Everyone shifted closer together to make them fit. The newcomers were already carrying beer mugs.
“We don’t want to interrupt your party,” the same big guy said, “but we saw your patches and wanted to get acquainted. I’m Murphy and he’s Craig.”
Everyone nodded and DuBose introduced his men. Murphy bumped knuckles with each of them and then signaled the waitress for another round.
“If my information is right,” he said, “you guys were fighting down south. Is that right?”
Again, DuBose nodded.
“We started at Camarrel and worked our way across the plain to Three Rivers. We just got relieved on Sunday, and now we’re up here.”
“Any idea where you’re going next?”
“No idea at all, but since they sent us here, I’m guessing we’ll be working this end of the continent.”
“Was it pretty hairy down there?”
“Hairy enough. It seemed like the longer it went, the tougher the Freaks got. Three Rivers damn near finished us.” DuBose indicated the four men with him. “We left one man in camp, but aside from him, you’re looking at what’s left of my entire squad.”
Murphy nodded in sympathy. Craig spoke for the first time.
“What you’re looking at is what’s left of our platoon.”
Jaws dropped and eyes sprang wide.
“You two?” Nick blurted. “You two are your entire platoon?”
“‘Fraid so. We were First Platoon, Lima Company of the Thirty-first.”
“Jeezus!”
“We didn’t know it was that bad up here,” Kopshevar said. “We didn’t get much news, but it sounded like this end of the operation was going pretty smoothly.”
“It was at first,” said Murphy. “We pushed the Freaks back from Lucaston toward Monroe Falls, which is about four hundred miles from here. At first it was villages and small towns, and they weren’t ready for us, but by the time we got to Monroe Falls, they had tightened it up and were fighting a lot harder.”
“But that wasn’t the worst of it,” Craig added.
“No, fuck no! Not even close.” Murphy’s expression reflected stress just thinking about it.
“What happened?” Nick asked.
“After we captured Monroe Falls, they sent the Infantry to hold it while they moved us north to take on Trimmer Springs.”
“Trimmer Springs.” Nick frowned. “I think I heard something about that.” He looked at DuBose. “Wasn’t it on our map?”
DuBose nodded.
Murphy continued.
“It’s a shitty little mountain town, maybe five thousand people. It sits on a shelf overlooking the northern end of the plain. It’s definitely not worth dying for, but the brass said it was the key to the Freak homeland.”
“The Freaks can’t afford to lose it,” Craig added. “They
occupied it and set up defenses about fifty miles this side of town. They mined the roads, blew the monorail, and zeroed artillery on the mountain approaches. We spent three weeks trying to crack it, and we actually made a little progress, but—”
“We couldn’t break through.” Murphy wiped a beefy hand over his face. “Finally the brass decided the cost was too high, and they pulled us out.”
“But they didn’t give up,” Craig said.
Murphy shook his head. “They sent sleds into those passes—”
“And lost most of ‘em.”
“—then they pounded them with 205s for about a week, and we went back in. We still couldn’t crack it. There’s no room to maneuver up there, and we had no air support, so…”
He bit his lip and looked away.
“Man, I’m sorry,” said Nick. His friends nodded agreement, including Avila, who for once acted almost human.
“Yeah. Well, thanks, but I got a feeling you might be finding out for yourselves. Sooner or later the brass is gonna have another go, and they’ll need fresh meat for the grinder.”
Craig laid a hand on Murphy’s shoulder.
“Hey, come on, Murph, these guys just came off the line. No need to scare the shit out of ‘em their first night out.”
“That wasn’t my intention,” Murphy said. “I just meant that you better enjoy the fuck out of your time off, because this war ain’t over. Not by a far sight.”
*
After trading a few more war stories, Murphy and Craig rose to leave. They shook hands around the table, then walked out of the club. Nick’s party sat in silence for some minutes, their enthusiasm dampened by what the two men had told them.
Nick ordered another beer.
Near the bar on the other side of the room, Nick had seen four or five Pink Ladies in their sexy uniforms drinking something that looked like vodka. They flirted with other servicemen, both Star Marines and Fed Infantry, but didn’t seem to be attached to anyone. A few minutes after Craig and Murphy left, two of them pushed off from the bar and wiggled their way toward his table. Nick had never had much respect for the women of the Domestic Service until he met the one in Camarrel. Now he eyed the two beauties standing over his table and wondered what their backstories were.
“Hi, there, Star Marines,” one of them said. She was wearing a corporal’s stripes. “You boys look like maybe you just came off the line. Want some company?”
Avila’s eyes lit up and he pulled out the chair Murphy had been sitting in.
“Yeah, sure! Have a seat! What’s your name?”
“I’m Patti. What’s yours?”
“Billy.”
The other girl, a petite blonde who looked about eighteen, cast her glance over the others.
“What about me?” she said in a plaintive, clearly-affected voice. “Does anybody want to dance?”
She looked directly at Nick.
“How about you?”
He shook his head, then patted Rudy Aquino on the shoulder.
“You need to dance with my friend here. His name is Rudy, and he killed three Freaks with nothing but a bayonet. He’s a real war hero.”
“Really!” The cute blonde turned sparkling blue eyes on Rudy. “My name is Mitzi. Would you like to dance?”
Rudy gulped. He glanced at Nick with something close to panic in his eyes.
“Go on!” Nick told him. “She likes you.”
“But she asked you first.”
“Because she wanted me to introduce her to you. That’s how it works. Anyway, I’m a brunette man. Blondes don’t turn me on.”
Mitzi giggled again and wiggled her fingers.
“Come on, Rudy. I’m real lonely right now, and I’ve never met a real war hero.”
God! These girls are good!
Rudy hesitated only a moment, then, face flaming, scooted his chair back. Nick watched as he stumbled around the table and let Mitzi take his hand. They disappeared in the direction of the dance floor.
DuBose leaned over to Nick.
“Has that kid ever been laid?”
“I don’t think so. I hope Mitzi takes him upstairs, or wherever they go. I think it will do him a galaxy of good.”
“Are you really a brunette man? Kopycat told me you were in love with a blonde.”
“Kopycat needs to zip his yapper. He talks too much.”
DuBose raised his eyebrows and sipped some more beer. Kopshevar, hearing his name used in vain, pushed his own chair back.
“You guys will have to excuse me. I’ll never be able to show my face again if Rudy gets laid and I don’t.” He winked at them. “Don’t wait up for me.”
He stood up, adjusted his garrison cap, and strode toward the bar where three Pink Ladies still waited.
That pretty much left Nick alone with DuBose. Avila was already lost with his “date”—they were kissing feverishly—and Nick was afraid they might actually do it on the table.
“Hey, Avila—why don’t you take it upstairs? The sergeant is getting a woody.”
Without breaking the kiss, Avila extended his middle finger, then wrapped his arms around the girl again. Nick and DuBose sat in silence a few more minutes. When all was said and done, they didn’t have a lot to talk about—or feel like talking about it. Finally, DuBose drained his beer mug.
“Well, if the kids are gonna do it, I should probably follow their lead. Might not get another chance.”
With a wink at Nick, he got up and left the table, heading toward the girls at the bar. Nick nursed his beer and sat back in his chair, enjoying the music. Avila finally got up and left with Patti, leaving him alone. As soon as he did, the last Pink Lady from the group at the bar pushed off and headed in Nick’s direction.
She looked about eighteen, but might have been older. Of the five girls, she was the darkest, her skin a gorgeous golden brown; her eyes were black as midnight and matched her thick black hair, which cascaded in waves almost to her waist. Her pink uniform blouse was stretched tight over a magnificent pair of breasts and her slender legs, below a pair of tight regulation shorts, gleamed under sheer nylon pantyhose. She was wearing pink boots that matched her belt.
She stopped at his table and gazed down at him with a little grin and a sparkle in her gorgeous eyes.
“You are sitting all alone!” she told him. “How did thees happen?”
He shrugged. “Nobody loves me.”
Her smile broke out, perfect white teeth flashing in contrast to her dark face.
“Maybe we can feex that. You wan’ buy me a drink?” Her accent was thick, beautiful, classic Spanic.
“Yeah. Okay.” He raised an arm to signal a waitress.
The girl sat down beside him and crossed her sexy dark legs. The waitress arrived and smiled at them. Nick looked at the Pink Lady.
“What will you have?”
She looked at the waitress and winked. “She already know what I like.”
The waitress turned back to Nick.
“What about you, Private?”
“One more beer. Thanks.”
The waitress left and the girl beside him relaxed in her chair, gazing at him. Before she could deliver her next line, Nick delivered his.
“Tu eres muy bonita.”
Her eyes flew wide and her smile widened.
“Thank you! ¡Yo no sabía que tu eras latino!”
“Medio Mexicano,” he told her. “My mother was born in Mexico.”
“I am so happy to meet you! I am born in Mejico, too!”
“No kidding.”
The drinks came and Nick paid. The waitress walked away.
“¿Como te llamas?” the girl asked him.
“I’m Nick. What about you?”
She took a sip of her vodka gimlet, then beamed at him again.
“Yo soy Victoria.” She pronounced it “Veektoria”.
Nick almost recoiled. He felt as if a bayonet had been driven into his gut. His breath escaped in a long sigh, like the kid he had killed at Cutler Cross
ing. The skin on his face flashed hot and cold.
“Victoria?”
She nodded, excitement in her eyes.
“Victoria Briseño. ¿Cual es tu apellido?”
“Walker. Nick Walker.”
“Well, mucho gusto, Neek Walker. I am very please’ to meet you.”
She meant it, he could tell. Until the moment he spoke to her in Spanic, she had been playing a role, but now her reactions looked genuine. She laid a slender hand on his shoulder.
“¿Quieres bailar?”
“No. I’m not much of a dancer, and especially not in combat boots.”
She laughed. “We talk, then. Is thees okay?”
He nodded, forcing himself to relax. She was young and hot and she smelled good. Her name was merely a coincidence, had nothing to do with Victoria Cross, the girl who’d broken his heart. He needed to grow up and get over it.
“Yeah. Sure. I would like that.”
“You have seen a lot of action?”
She leaned toward him, one hand on his shoulder, her face only inches from his. In spite of his naturally conservative nature, he was charmed. He loved her accent, loved the way Mexican girls talked, especially the way their voice rose in pitch at the end of a question.
He felt a biological stirring in his groin.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “Quite a bit, but I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Okay. Tell me what you wan’ talk about.”
“I want to talk about you.”
“Me?” She giggled. “What you wan’ to know?”
“How did you end up here? You’re much too young and pretty to be in the Domestic Service.”
Her smile faded just a fraction.
“That ees very long story, Neek. Demasiado largo.”
“I have all night.”
“Jess, but I don’ wan’ talk about eet. I am here to show you good time.”
Nick relented. Pink Ladies were probably discouraged from talking about themselves.
He smiled.
“That sounds good to me. How do we do that?”
Her eyes sparkled as her smile widened again.
“I have room upstairs. We can go there. I make you forget all about la guerra.”
She leaned in and kissed him. Her lips were soft, tender, and her breath smelled like peppermint. Her thick hair brushed his face as she pressed the kiss with what felt like real passion. The flesh contact was like electricity flowing through him.