by James Rouch
Lippincott belted himself in, while Revell stood at the open door. “Great, ain’t it.” The colonel tapped the back of the empty pilot’s seat. “OK, so this machine’s not exactly new, maybe hardly airworthy, and sure as shit I’m not a three-star general in the making, but together we’re a slice of the NATO war effort, and what happens? We come to a grinding halt because this crud has to scuttle off for a piss.”
Revell, too, suddenly had strong feelings about the pilot’s weak bladder, but not for the same reason as the colonel. There came a blast of rock music as a convoy of assorted civilian vehicles entered the grounds. Leading them was an ex-Warpac generator truck. Mounted on top of its box like bodywork were two enormous speakers. Following closely was a Rolls Royce convertible, a pair of Starstreak missile launchers sprouting from the place where the passenger seat had been. It and the rest of the column were heavily festooned with bright balloons and masses of bunting.
Corporal Carrington, seated on the back of the Corniche, created a temporary panic among the surrounding refugee settlements by firing off a whole belt composed entirely of multicoloured tracer, then he waved to the officers.
Groaning inwardly, Revell experienced a familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He saw the colonel, open-mouthed, watch the weird variety of impressed transport crunch over the gravel toward the hotel.
“They’re just letting off steam. Celebrating the truce.” Hell, even as he said it, Revell knew it sounded weak.
Observing a Toyota pick-up grind past in low gear, laden with a tower of cases of wine and beer, Lippincott curled his lip in disbelief. “The hell they are. This looks like it’s building to be one of your parties.”
From the open hatchback of a much dented Opel a dirty face appeared, bearing a leering expression.
“The girls are on the way, Major. Is your friend stopping? He’ll have to get in line. There aren’t enough to go round.”
“Who the hell is that, one of the replacements?” Lippincott’s glare had no effect on the dishevelled PFC, who raised a can in mock salute before washing his face with its contents.
“That’s Ackerman. He came highly recommended, by himself. Does have some useful contacts though. Some surprising ones.”
“I can imagine, but I want to know what’s going on.”
Shrugging, Revell tried to make light of the situation. “Like I said, Colonel, a little celebration.”
“In a fucking pig’s eye. And what girls was that maniac going on about? Who could you get to come all the way out here, apart from a few of the whores from one of the cleaner camps, unless…” Lippincott looked at his subordinate with suspicion, and then as comprehension dawned, with something approaching awe.
“You’ve roped in Frau Lilly and that mobile brothel of hers, haven’t you.”
“I said Ackerman had some useful contacts. She’s said she’ll stop by…”
“Frau Lilly…” Lippincott lost himself in thought, “Why she and I go way back… but never mind. If you ever decide to get rid of this Ackerman, pass him on to me. I thought Lilly never obliged anything less than a Divisional HQ a man like that could be useful.”
“You’re welcome to stay and join in the fun, Colonel.”
“I’m sorely tempted, sorely, but not this time. I recall your last party. Dooley invited me to play football with him, I didn’t know he meant with me as the ball. I was combing glass out of my hair for a week. And besides,” Lippincott winced as ‘Bat out of Hell’ belted out across the park, “I can’t stand heavy metal.”
The pilot returned, slowly, as he was continually casting wistful glances over the preparations. Reluctantly he climbed in, and began his checks.
“There’s something else.” Lippincott leaned out and made sure he had Revell’s full attention. “It’s the general’s orders. I’ve got to see they’re carried out.”
He’d been half anticipating there would be a sting in the tail to the colonel’s visit. Revell saw his superior hesitating, but there was no way he was going to make it any easier for him.
“You won’t like this, but with the truce on, the general reckons you won’t be needing your armour. And before you ask, that means all the captured vehicles as well, and the HAPC. He figures if you’re only riding herd on a bunch of unarmed Reds the personal weapons should be more than sufficient.”
Above the cabin the rotors began to beat the air, drafting rippling patterns through the grass.
“One last thing.” Leaning out, Lippincott bellowed into the major’s ear to make himself heard as the engine ran up to full power. “Those aerial shots of your strike on the convoy—according to the photographic interpretation boys it looked like one of your guys was riding outside the HAPC. The general wasn’t happy about that. Said it was crazy. Tell the madman not to do it again.”
Over the colonel’s shoulder, Revell could see the filled body bag in the back of the cabin. “He won’t, Colonel.”
SEVEN
“Am I going nuts, or can I hear praying?” Dooley stopped towelling his closed-cropped hair, and cocked his head on one side to listen.
“I don’t know about going crazy, but yes, you can hear praying.” Carrington lounged in the open doorway and watched Dooley hopping about as he struggled to pull on socks over still wet feet. “It’s Old William.”
“That ancient Dutchman with Vokes’s pioneers? When did he get back? After the crack he took, I’d have thought they’d have invalided him out for certain.”
“He hitched a ride with me, up from the dumps. Apparently he’d been hitching his way back, been on the road for the best part of a week. Certainly seems fit enough, for a bloke his age. Got what looks like a depressed fracture on his right temple you could put a golf ball in, but he seems all there. Not that he says a lot, mind you.”
Dooley succeeded with the sock, and then swore when he saw that the heel was on top of his foot. He sat on the edge of the bed for his second attempt. “Come off it, how can he be all right in the head? Here we are, about to indulge ourselves in the wildest debauchery and greatest drunk of all time, and he’s praying. And you say he hasn’t got a screw loose? Anybody who at this moment isn’t shining themselves for the party has to be a few bricks short of a full load.”
“To each their own. As long as he doesn’t hide the booze or try to convert my lady friends, I’m easy.” Carrington looked around the room. It was littered with pieces of equipment, weapons, and wet towels. “For a guy who wants to impress the ladies, you haven’t paid much attention to housekeeping, have you?”
“Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong.” Clad only in his socks, Dooley opened a connecting door with a flourish. “This is where I’ll do my entertaining.” He was pleased to see that the corporal appeared suitably impressed.
“Very nice. Thick pile carpet, four poster bed, silk covers, yes, very nice. Hope you don’t mind me saying though, if that’s all the outfit you’re going to wear, you don’t think it might make you appear a little overeager to get down to screwing, do you?”
“Fuck off. I’m getting dressed, of course I am. I found some really cool threads in the staff quarters on the top floor, the attics. Had a bit of trouble finding anything my size though.”
“See what you mean.” Carrington watched him haul up and squeeze into a tiny pair of shorts. The printed pattern of entwined hearts bulged and creased to a series of distorted red blobs.
“You reckon the room looks OK? Haven’t overdone it, have I? These girls are used to mixing with top brass, used to a bit of class.”
“No, it’s in perfect taste. The case of beer beside the bed is a nice touch. Just the sort of thing they’d be expecting.”
“Smart ass. That’s for me. There’s a case of champagne on the other side:” From the window Dooley caught a glimpse of a strange vehicle entering the grounds. He thought his eyes were playing him tricks, and looked harder. No, he hadn’t been mistaken. Three Warpac, eight-wheeled armoured command vehicles were approaching the buildin
g. Each of them was painted a bright pink.
“They’re here. The girls are here!” Immediately he grabbed up a pair of undersize Levis and struggled to get into them. “Wait for me, you shit.” He shouted after Carrington. “Wait for me. Where are my bloody boots, wait for me!”
“It’s no good you doing that.” Dooley watched, head propped up on a pile of satin pillows, as the woman swung her heavy breasts from side to side across his body. “You’ve drained me.”
She sat back on her heels and pushed empty beer cans off the bed. “Too much drink. It is not good.”
“Not good? I’ve come three times already. I bet that’s a couple more than those chairbound warriors you usually service.”
“Maybe without the beer you could have been four times better, or perhaps five. Do you want to do something else? We can join some of the others if you like. That can be fun. Even if you only watch.”
“I’m not into that group stuff. Tell you what I would fancy though, now that we’ve slowed down. How about an ordinary cuddle, no rude stuff.”
He watched her. She was a tall, big-boned girl. Possibly in her mid to late twenties. Rising to a kneeling position straddling his legs, she ran her hands down her sides over the front of her thighs and then up between her legs.
“Open another bottle, and pour it into my hands.” The cork and its harness of twisted wire rebounded from a far wall. Hesitatingly Dooley poured the fizzing wine into the cupped palms she held out to him.
“Ah, it is so cold.” She dashed the champagne over her belly and down into her pubic hair. “Again.”
“I’ve seen booze used for just about everything, but not for washing down there.”
“It is good. The bubbles, they tingle.”
“What you going to do with the bottle afterwards?” To his surprise Dooley sensed his penis begin to stir, sluggishly.
The laugh she gave was deep, almost masculine, and she opened her mouth fully to make it. “Not for masturbating myself. The foil around the neck, it chafes too much. For that I would need Liebfraumilch bottle. Do you want me to find one? I thought you wanted to hold me. I have found that men do not always like it when I am sticky underneath.”
“Stay here. You go out on those stairs, I might not see you again.” He pulled her down and folded his broad arms about her. The talc they had been playing with earlier made the upper half of her body a strangely smooth contrast to the wetness lower down.
“Oh, and this is the big man whose first words to me were that I would do for the first of many tonight.” She walked her fingers down his chest to rest her open hand on his stomach.
“Yeah, well we all shoot our mouths off when the others are nearby—force of habit.”
“Hmmm,” she nuzzled into his neck, fluttering her long eyelashes to tickle his ear. “You are much nicer when you are being yourself, like this. Will you be staying here for long?”
“Why do you ask? Are you a spy?” He was only half joking. The major had got them all together for a lecture before the start of the party.
“In a way, sometimes. Are you shocked, or surprised?”
“No reason why I should be. In the Zone we all do what we have to, if we want to survive.” He found himself able to believe her, was somehow sure she was telling the actual truth. “Does it pay well?”
“The Russians are not good payers, or at least there agents are not. Hard currency is difficult for the Reds to get hold of, and many take a cut before I have my share. For a laugh some of the girls will make up information and then each tells her controller. Of course with so many different sources they believe whatever we have told them so the payment for that is bigger. Then we are paid again by the CIA or MI6 for passing on disinformation. It is fun, and there are few risks.”
They had been together four hours, and this was the first time Dooley had really talked to her. Until this moment he’d hardly given a thought to what life she had beyond this bed and this room.
She was a lot younger than the women he normally battened on to when he was on leave. Not that he could always find someone who’d have anything to do with a soldier from the battlefields of the Zone. Fear of chemical or nuclear contamination or bacterial contagion kept many out of his reach.
He’d almost forgotten how smooth and silky a female’s skin could be. How it could be full of curves that didn’t sag, or bag and wrinkle at every movement in bed. Her hands were pretty as well, neatly manicured, with none of the veins standing out.
He brushed her hair aside and his hand brushed against the sharp petals of earrings. “Shit, those things are lethal.”
She laughed, a subdued throaty chuckle that he felt vibrate against him. “I do not like my ears to be touched, or bitten. I had those made from razor wire, and then gold plated.”
The light from the arcs in the garden and on the terrace flooded into the bedroom as a breeze stirred the curtains. It brought the faint tang of wood smoke.
Falling on her face, the light made her eyes glisten and sparkle. For the first time, after all those hours of intimacy, Dooley kissed her.
EIGHT
The terrace was littered with bottles, half empty glasses and discarded scraps of clothing. Hyde picked his way through the party debris and turned off the generator. The lights faded with the throb of the engine.
Behind him, in one of the upper rooms a portable was blasting out the latest number one on both sides of the Atlantic. As though in sympathy with the sudden silence below, it cut off abruptly. A moment afterward it was replaced with an old Abba tape, and the volume appropriately reduced.
From deeper within the hotel came a scream that turned into a shriek of laughter and then a scream again.
Having kept out of the festivities by choice, Hyde had never felt more lonely. He went down the steps to the lower terrace, to lean on his hands against the back of a stone bench. It felt gritty, and slightly damp.
It was dark down here. He didn’t have to make an effort to conceal himself, the night did that for him. When he heard footsteps behind him he stayed still, didn’t turn around.
The steps, woman’s steps, came closer, and he heard the light rustling of a dress and caught a faint aroma of a musky perfume.
He ached. Out the corner of his eye he could barely make out a dim outline, although she was only a few steps off. Though he’d seen most of the girls as they’d arrived, he wasn’t able to recognize her. It was he who wanted to, but it was she who spoke first.
“You have not enjoyed the party?”
“No, I’m not much of a one for parties. How about you?”
“It was a long drive here. I am not a good traveller, so I have been resting.”
“So you haven’t…” At that point he had to stop. He was saying the wrong thing. How could he say “so you haven’t fucked then?”
“Not yet, no.”
What else could he say. Could he ask a hooker if she was enjoying her night off? He sensed she had added the word “yet” quite deliberately, but her tone had given nothing away.
“I know what you are thinking.”
As she spoke she played with a light scarf, short impatient gestures with it, drawing it fast through her fingers so that the material slapped against them.
Hyde pressed himself against the back of the bench, feeling the unyielding sandstone biting into his erection. “What am I thinking then?”
“You are thinking all of the questions that men so often ask. Like how many have I had, do I ever enjoy it or do I only pretend to. Those sorts of questions.”
“Well, do you enjoy it?” He could feel his penis beginning to leak. There was a creeping dampness inside his clothes.
“Yes, sometimes it is good. Being with Frau Lilly means that everything is always well-organized. That means we can feel safe. Not on edge all the time. It is better if you are relaxed.”
There were more near hysterical screams from the hotel. “That will be Jackie. A new French girl. Always she makes a lot of noise.”
/> “Do you have, sort of a regular boyfriend, as well as…” He was saying the wrong things again.
“Frau Lilly discourages that, but some of the girls have. Mostly the men are posers, free-loaders. Always they expect presents.”
“You don’t have one then.” Not that Hyde cared one way or the other. He asked her just to keep her there. For a while longer to have her to himself.
“There will be time enough, when I have put sufficient money away. Perhaps though I will not want anyone. Or like two of the older girls I might prefer to live with a woman. I have never done it with a woman, but I can imagine it, I think. It would have to be a pretty girl, not one of those smelly tweed-wrapped sacks of potatoes who try to be men.”
It felt like he was going to burst. He backed off the stone or he would have come, simply from hearing her talk of such things. The thought was in his mind of how he could grab her and take her right here. Even if she protested, fought him, it would be over so quickly that he could get away without her having seen enough to identify him. But that wasn’t how he wanted it. A thousand times before this night he’d wished a similar fate on the unknown Russian gunner who’d destroyed his face. He was wishing it again now, with every fibre of his being.
In the darkness, perhaps there was a chance, they were all but invisible to each other. No, anything might happen, a beam of light from the hotel, the arcs being switched on again. Worse than not starting, to have her yell with fright when she saw him while they were doing it.
“How are you feeling now?” His mouth was dry, he had difficulty forming the words and they came out as a hoarse whisper.
“You mean you want me.”
“Yes.” He had been nodding like an imbecile for a minute before he could produce the word.
“Do you want to do it here?” She took his silence as “yes.”
“The ground is hard, and this is a good dress. Do you like to do it standing up.”