"Sir," Cornpone asked, "we only have aircraft, right, and the enemy has dropships that can go into space. Do we really stand a chance in combat up there?" He pointed to the sky.
"Oh, yeah. I get your point. Yes, we do, we actually have an advantage in air combat over dropships. Dropships are big and heavy, they handle like a pig when they're deep in an atmosphere. With stealth and countermeasures, if your first volley of missiles doesn't hit, you close the distance to the target real fast, and then you're in air combat maneuvering, using your guns. The key to air combat is kinetic energy; if you bleed off too much speed in a turn, you're dead. Energy means you can engage and disengage a dogfight as you need. Dropships are ultimately much faster than our aircraft, they can reach escape velocity, but they don't accelerate as fast. We can get up to speed much quicker." He went on for a while about tactics of air combat, the three of us were enthralled, at that moment, I thought he was the coolest guy who ever lived. I left my seat and got another hot dog for him, so he'd keep talking. The game ended, though, the British team won by two points, and a group of pilots came by, so he left.
"Damn," Ski said wistfully, "wish I was a pilot. I thought about it, too, one of my uncles is in a flying club back home, the club has a single engine, uh, Piper, something like that. My uncle flew me and my father to Minneapolis once for a Bears game, that was great. Never had the money for flying lessons, though."
"That would be so cool." I agreed.
"Yeah, cool enough. He still died in the game." Cornpone pointed out.
"Uh huh, yeah." Ski said. "So did we, and we didn't do shit before we died. I'd rather die up in the sky doing something, than get vaporized in a railgun strike I didn't see coming."
Inspired by watching the basketball game, Ski, Cornpone and I went to another court and found a pickup game we could join. Ski had a really good outside shot, I concentrated on feeding the ball to him and crashing the boards on defense. It felt good to play hard, to sweat out frustration. All of us were pissed that we'd died and accomplished nothing during Valiant Shield. Sure, us getting blown up from orbit was a realistic scenario, our question was what we were supposed to learn from it? And how were the Kristang supposed to evaluate our combat capabilities if all we did was get an unlucky roll of the dice by some Kristang computer in orbit? If those imaginary dice had rolled another way, some other unlucky bastards would have 'died' instead of us.
My zPhone on my belt vibrated during the game, I didn't check it until we took a break for water. It was a message from Shauna, she wanted to know if I was busy, and if not, did I want to get together?
Did I?
Did the sun rise in the east? On Earth, I mean.
Hell yes!
Here's a simple test to tell whether a guy wants to get together with a girl:
Step One- does he have a pulse?
Step Two- is he conscious?
There is no need for a step three.
Like the idiot that I am, I typed in
Fortunately, my survival instinct caused me to erase that message before hitting send. Instead, I typed, as casually as I could
And then caught hell from Cornpone and Ski because my head was clearly no longer in the game, I kept feeling phantom incoming text vibrations from my zPhone. We won the game anyway, not that anyone was serious about keeping score.
Damn. The game was over and no reply from Shauna. Had I been too eager? Too casual about it? Crap. My grandmother told stories about how she had sat by the phone at her house, this is before cellphones, sat by the phone, waiting for a guy to call. It sounded pathetic to me, back then. Sitting by the phone, instead of being out having fun, in case some loser guy decided to call?
Yet, when Ski and Cornpone suggested we go see what movie was playing in the big rec center tent, instead of going with them, I said I was tired and wanted to crash. They gave me a funny look, but left me alone. There I was, not with my buddies, not back at our tent in case they came back there, there I was, sitting alone in the basketball arena tent, waiting for a girl to contact me.
For all women who've waited for a guy to call or text them back, I know how you feel. It sucks.
And then my zPhone pinged with a text.
What I expected was for Shauna to suggest we meet somewhere, talk, maybe meet her friends, that sort of thing. She totally surprised me by meeting me at a gate to the logistics group motor pool, a fenced area for the Kristang trucks we'd been using. She had the code to the gate, and we slipped in, I followed her quietly as she put a finger to her lips. We weaved our way between the closely parked trucks, I didn't know where she was leading me, until we stopped behind a truck and she swung the back gate down. The truck had a canvas type roof over it, she pulled the flap aside and pointed a flashlight inside. For a second, I was afraid there were other people in the truck and Shauna expected me to get into some sort of sketchy activity that I was not interested in; my Army personnel file already had enough remarks about me getting into trouble.
There wasn't anyone in the truck. There was a thick pile of blankets.
My eyes must have shown my total surprise, because Shauna grabbed my shirt and kissed me passionately. "You Ok with this?" Her eyes were glittering in the dim security lights. "You're cute. Kinda dumb, maybe, but cute."
I nodded like a four year old being asked if he wanted a bowl of candy. "Yeah, Ok. Yes!"
For those of you who've had sex, I won't bore you with sweaty details of me and Shauna. You know what it's like, and I'm sure we didn't do anything you haven't done before. Or wanted to do.
For those of you who haven't, I won't spoil the surprise for you.
Hint: a-w-e-s-o-m-e.
Wow.
We took a break, some small talk, she was laying on her back, me next to her. After a while, I lightly traced my fingertips down from her neck, between her breasts and stomach, and down.
"What are you doing?" She giggled.
"Running my fingers through your hair." I said innocently.
"That's not what that means!" She laughed and slapped me playfully.
"This isn't romantic?"
"Yeah, like your friend here," she tapped my friend, "is all about romance, Joe."
"Hey," I said, with my friend waking up from her touching him, "he's very romantic."
"Mmm hmm, uh huh, I'll bet. He's into romance, if it leads to sex."
"Ok, I have to admit, he is a horn dog, I can't control him sometimes." Like right then, with Shauna continuing to encourage him.
"Oh, you have no control over him? Like you're not involved?"
"You have no idea," I shook my head ruefully. "Sometimes, I wake up at 4AM because he's forgotten a key to the front door, and I'm like, 'where have you been', and he's like 'nowhere, just out for a walk', and he smells like vodka and perfume, and I just know he's been roaming around getting into trouble."
"A key? Where would he put it? He goes out by himself?" She laughed.
"Well, he brings the boys along, the three of them are a posse. But, clearly, it's not my fault, the trouble they get into. My heart is pure."
"Your heart is pure bullshit, Joe, but you're funny." She laughed again. "I'm going to, uh, talk to your friend, see what he says about this. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, no, please, go ahead, you can, talk, to him all you want."
A couple hours later, Shauna said we needed to leave, because there was a security patrol coming through. The security people usually only turned on the big lights for a minute, to make sure nothing major was wrong. I could see their point, who would steal on truck on this planet? What would you do with it?
"I'll, uh, call you? Tomorrow?" Damn. Should have said that before I pulled my shirt and pants back on. In my defense, it was getting chilly in the truck, now that I was out of the bed.
"Call me? You'll call me?"
"Or, text you?" I said slowly, wary that I'd done something wrong.
"True, it's a curse. You know, I don't want you to think I'm, uh, you know?"
"What? That you're using me for sex? Joe, I'm not some silly high school girl. I'm using you for sex."
"Oh."
"Is that a problem?"
"No! No, not a problem at all," I lied. It was, maybe, a tiny bit of a problem, for my ego. Yeah, I know, this would be a dream situation for most guys, unless they were completely honest with themselves about it. A guys likes to know that he meant something to a girl, even if she was a one night stand.
Yeah, it's a male ego thing. Sue me.
"Listen, Joe, we're on an alien planet," she said, her voice muffled by the blanket over her head, as she wriggled into her pants while still nice and warm under the blanket. I wish I'd thought of that. "We don't know where we'll be going next, you and I could be posted to different planets next friggin' week. I'm busting my ass to qualify for combat duty, I want to make a difference in this war, that's what I'm focusing on now. I don't have time for a boyfriend. You don't have time for a girlfriend. I like you, you like me, girls get horny and you're pretty good in the sack. No commitments. Can we keep it uncomplicated?"
"Oh, uh," that brightened up my day again, now that I understood, "sure. Yes. Yes!"
"Great." She swung her legs out from the blanket, stuffed her feet into her boots, hopped to her feet, and kissed me on the cheek. "I'll call you."
That kind of freaked me out.
Then, she did call two nights later, and we wore out the truck's springs.
It was awesome.
Any thoughts I had, that my amorous nocturnal adventures had gone unnoticed, went out the window at breakfast the next morning. Sergeant Koch had run us ragged over an obstacle course in the dark, I hadn’t gotten enough sleep and the three of us were ravenously hungry.
"What is that?" Cornpone mumbled over a mouthful of food, pointing at Ski's bowl with a piece of toast.
I looked at it too. "Damn, Ski," I said, "what are you doing?" Instead of eggs, French toast, hash browns or anything good, he had one lonely, barely buttered piece of wheat toast, and a bowl of what appeared to be plain oatmeal. Plain, as in oats soaked in water. No raisins, no brown sugar, no walnuts, not even any cream. The kind of thing you serve to horses. Yum. "That looks like a bowl of, like, soggy.... sadness."
"A bowl of sadness." Cornpone choked he laughed so hard, spitting eggs onto his plate. "That's funny. Is Soggy Sadness a Kellogg's brand?"
"Seriously," I added, as Ski sat there stone-faced, "eating that must be like being a Cubs fan. Sure, once in a while, the Cubs will luck their way into a win, and it's like you find a marshmallow in the bowl, but, come on, you know by the end of the season you'll be choking down a bowl of sadness."
"Shut up." Ski growled, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
Cornpone slapped the table. "Bish, damn, you're killing me here."
I offered a slice of French toast to Ski, but he waved it away with a frown. "No, man, that meatloaf last night had an argument with my stomach, I need something bland after that obstacle course."
"Oh, yeah, the meatloaf. What was that gravy?" Cornpone shook his head. "10W-40 motor oil, tasted like."
"No, I think it was hydraulic fluid hamsters use on those Buzzards. Yummy," I licked my lips, "mystery meat floating in an oily pool of hydraulic fluid."
"Uh huh," Cornpone agreed while spooning hash browns into his mouth. "And when the oily gravy starts getting cold, it gets that rubbery skin on top, and it-"
"Oh." Ski's face was turning green. He pushed the oatmeal away. "Guys, shut up, please, I'm gonna lose it."
Busting each other's balls was a key part of being in a fireteam, we also knew when to quit. Last thing Cornpone and I wanted was for Ski to ralph all over the breakfast table, that would make us real popular in the platoon. Not. "Here," I took two slices of wheat toast from Cornpone and put them on Ski's plate, "this will fill you up. We got a busy morning." The schedule called for an hour on the rifle range, then the platoon was hiking twelve miles, finding our way to five navigation points before a lunch break. This was part of our preparation for a major combined arms war game in a week, where we were hoping to show the Kristang what badass soldiers we humans were in simulated combat. Part of the war game scenario, which was still being developed, included simulated orbital bombardment, and humans flying captured Ruhar aircraft against Kristang dropships. UNEF would be the Blue team defending the planet, and the Kristang would be the Red team invaders, with the Kristang force playing the part of the Ruhar; using Ruhar tactics.
A couple slices of bland toast in Ski's stomach made him feel better, enough for him to steal a piece of French toast off my plate. He was feeling better enough to ask "Hey, Bish, that girl Shauna, you hittin' that?"
"Yeah," Cornpone elbowed me in the ribs, "what's the deal?"
They almost made choke on a mouthful of hash browns. "The deal? The deal is, first, she's a woman, not a girl-"
"You know what I mean." Cornpone wasn't going to get distracted from the subject.
"-and she's none of your business. We bumped into each other at dinner, and we talked. It's no big deal."
"You talked with a real, live, actual girl. You may have touched a real girl. That is a big deal." Ski objected.
Cornpone "Bish, you know what? I heard that across UNEF, only sixteen percent of the force are women. Sixteen percent! That means for every guy, there's like, uh, for every girl, there's like, uh, four guys!"
"I think you need to check your math, there, Jesse," Ski cut in. "The point, Bish, is that with those odds, we're kinda desperate, and if any guy on this planet is getting laid, we at least want details."
"I am not giving you details."
"Aha!" Cornpone slapped the table, drawing looks from others around us. "There are details."
Shit. I'd screwed that up. "Guys, hypothetically, some guy on this planet is, let's say, enjoying the company of a lady. Do you think it will improve the odds of other guys getting lucky if he talks about it? Or if he keeps his mouth shut? Huh? You think the women on this planet would be happy about some guy bragging about the details?"
"Damn it," Ski groused, "he's right."
"You can brag about getting laid, or you can actually get laid. It's real simple." I concluded.
"Fuck. Hell, in that case," Cornpone said grumpily and reached out with his fork, "I'm taking the rest of your French toast."
My zPhone beeped one morning while I was on the rifle range, it was a message from my platoon, ordering me to report to a Captain Andrews on the other side of the base. Andrews commanded a company in another battalion of our brigade. The message didn't say 'on the double', that was implied. When I found the tent Andrews was using as company HQ, I stepped inside and saluted. "Specialist Bishop reporting as ordered, sir."
"Bishop," he barely looked up from his laptop, "sat ease. I'm sure you know we left Earth without a full complement; if people couldn't get to Ecuador by the departure date, they got left behind."
I nodded. Transportation to Ecuador had, ironically, been more difficult than transport up to orbit and across the stars. Because of manpower shortages, we had sergeants in charge of squads, staff sergeants filling in for first sergeants, lieutenants acting a captains, etc. The other fireteam in my own squad had only three soldiers, and the battalion had scraped together new squads from understrength units. Overall, the 10th Division had fourteen percent less manpower than authorized, and that didn't even count the field artillery battalions that had been deliberately left behind. Or most of the sustainment brigade that had also been left behind, so we didn't have our combat engineers with us. It was a big problem that Division was still sorting out.
"I've got your personnel file here," Andrews continued, and my face fell.
I’d seen my personnel file, the original one on paper, still in official Army triplica
te. Coming out of Nigeria, it said ‘bad attitude’ on it, all capital letters, and it’s underlined twice. There isn’t even a smiley face as the dot over the 'i' in 'attitude', so you know it’s serious. I hoped Captain Andrews wasn't going to underline it again, and circle it with a big angry face. Running frantically through my memory, I couldn't think of anything I'd fucked up more than usual since we left Earth. Balanced against my alleged bad attitude was a Purple Heart that explained the scars on my left arm, and paperwork started to award a Bronze Star. That paperwork had stopped at the brigade level, which I could understand considering the circumstances. I appreciated the gesture anyway.
"You know Staff Sergeant Agnelli?" He asked, and I nodded again, then he said something unexpected. "There's an opening for a sergeant in his squad, and you've been recommended." He didn't say who had recommended me. "It's yours if you want it. We don't have time, or resources, for a regular training program, so you'll learn on the job. If you're interested, report to Agnelli, and I'll handle the paperwork."
Columbus Day (Expeditionary Force Book 1) Page 9