Part 5 (1/2)
”That shouldn't take too long,” Gunnery Sergeant Charlo of the a.s.sault platoon commented.
”Think again. The Top's royally p.i.s.sed about the clerical errors. He's looking for gigs that weren't weren't in the platoon commander's reports, or new gigs. And you better believe he's going to keep looking until he finds some.” in the platoon commander's reports, or new gigs. And you better believe he's going to keep looking until he finds some.”
The platoon sergeants stifled groans at that news.
”We're in for a lo-o-ong wait,” DaCosta groaned.
”That's for sure. Tell you what. Return to your platoons and inspect them. That'll help pa.s.s the time, and maybe give them a chance to correct any deficiencies you find before the the Top lets the Skipper get out here.”
”Right,” Hyakowa said sourly, but no more sourly than the responses of the other platoon sergeants.
It was another hour before Captain Conorado led the platoon commanders and First Sergeant Myer out of the barracks. All of the officers looked displeased. The men in the ranks could almost see the canary feather sticking out of the corner of Top Myer's mouth.
Much to Top Myer's disgust, Captain Conorado and Lieutenant Humphrey, who conducted the inspection of the Marines and their weapons, pa.s.sed all of them. Still, he had a lengthy lengthy gig list from the junk-on-the-bunk portion of the company commander's inspection. There would be no liberty call until after the battalion commander's inspection-not even base liberty! gig list from the junk-on-the-bunk portion of the company commander's inspection. There would be no liberty call until after the battalion commander's inspection-not even base liberty!
CHAPTER SEVEN.
”Nacqui all'affanno, al pianto. Soffri tacendo il core . . .” the mezzo-soprano voice soared, filling the room with its power and the beauty of the music. Preston Summers sat transfixed, a half-full gla.s.s of bourbon in one hand, a cigar smoldering in the other. Slowly, slowly, he raised the cigar and inhaled the tobacco smoke. He held it in his lungs for long moments and then expelled it in a long, lazy puff through mouth and nose, savoring the rich flavors. Such private moments had always been precious to him, the more so as the events of the past weeks rushed his world headlong into a dubious future. the mezzo-soprano voice soared, filling the room with its power and the beauty of the music. Preston Summers sat transfixed, a half-full gla.s.s of bourbon in one hand, a cigar smoldering in the other. Slowly, slowly, he raised the cigar and inhaled the tobacco smoke. He held it in his lungs for long moments and then expelled it in a long, lazy puff through mouth and nose, savoring the rich flavors. Such private moments had always been precious to him, the more so as the events of the past weeks rushed his world headlong into a dubious future.
”Didn't know you were into opera,” a voice boomed suddenly behind Summers, causing him to start upright.
”Goldurnit, didn't know you came into rooms without knocking.” Then, almost defensively, ”I may still have dirt under my fingernails but that don't mean I got dirt between my ears.”
”What're you listening to?”
Angrily Summers shut the music off, the mood destroyed, and got out of his chair. ”A snort of Snort?” he asked, offering General Davis Lyons a drink of Old Snort.
”No, I never drink when I'm on duty. But I will have one of those cigars, if you please.”
”I do please. Yer always on duty, Gen'rel,” Summers laughed. ”These are Davidoff Anniversario Number Ones, the best they is.” Deftly he cut the cigar and handed it to the general. During the last weeks the two had formed an uneasy alliance, a grudging respect for one another. ”How's Varina?”
”Tolerable, tolerable,” Lyons answered, lighting his cigar. Funny, he thought, how he was beginning to adopt some of Summers's manners of speech. A month before he would have hesitated even to shake the man's hand, now he was visiting him in his home and smoking his cigars.
”It's an opera by a guy named Rossini, La Cenerentola, La Cenerentola, ever hear of it?” Talking like this about one of the secret loves of his life, opera, embarra.s.sed the gritty old politician, like talking about the secrets of his s.e.x life or his religious beliefs, which he believed a man should hold in the utmost privacy. ever hear of it?” Talking like this about one of the secret loves of his life, opera, embarra.s.sed the gritty old politician, like talking about the secrets of his s.e.x life or his religious beliefs, which he believed a man should hold in the utmost privacy.
”No, Preston. What language is that?”
”Italian. 'Cenerentola' is Italian for Cinderella. Everyone knows the story, Gen'rel. h.e.l.l, we know it better'n most 'cause that's all we are, a world full of little G.o.dd.a.m.ned Cinderellas. What she's sayin' is, 'I was born to hards.h.i.+p and sorrow, my heart suffered in silence.' Well, we ain't sufferin' in silence no more, are we, Gen'rel Lyons?”
Lyons shook his head, more in wonder than agreement. ”There's more to you than meets the eye, isn't there, Preston?”
”Aw, I dunno know 'bout that. I'm a pretty simple type of guy,” the red blotches on his face grew darker. ”Are we ready, Gen'rel?”
”Yessir, we are ready.”
”How will it all end?”
”Badly. I don't need to tell you that.”
Summers nodded. ”You don't give a d.a.m.n anymore, do you? Yer gonna ride this dark horse just like me, aren't you?” Summers puffed on his cigar and sipped some bourbon. ”I feel we ain't really in charge anymore, Gen'rel, we're being carried forward on a big wave, like. The wave of history, huh?” he laughed. ”Ke-rist, am I gonna miss all this,” he gestured about the music room that was the heart of his home. ”I oughta be in retirement, livin' out the last of my years instead of-” he shrugged. ”Anyway, if we lose and we don't get ourselves kilt, they'll come for us, you know that. Gawdam, though, we'll go down swingin'! The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds'll know they had a fight.”
”We can always call it off.”
”Nah, too late for that,” Summers finished his drink in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. ”Well,” he held out his right and they shook. ”I'll see you at your headquarters in the morning. How come you military fellas can't ever start a war at a civilized hour?” He paused and then muttered, ”G.o.d help those poor boys at Fort Seymour.”
”G.o.d help us, Preston.”
”As luck would have it, G.o.d's on our side, Gen'rel, didn't you know that?” Summers laughed. ”Now, sir, would you leave me alone here until the morning?”
After General Lyons had left Summers let the glorious music fill the room again, but the mood was irretrievably lost and after a short while he shut the music off and turned his attention to finis.h.i.+ng the bottle of bourbon.
Charlette Odinloc stretched luxuriously under the sheets. She ran a hand through her short, brown hair, cut to regulation length. ”Hand me a cigarillo, would you, Donnie?” she purred. Donnie Caloon shook a cigarillo out of the pack, lighted it, and pa.s.sed it over to Charlette, propping one hairy arm on her chest as he did. Donnie was stocky, muscular, with a pleasant, boyish face. The thinning hair in the front of his head made him look older than his thirty years. But he was a simple man consumed by a youthful enthusiasm for everything physical. Charlette had actually come to like him in the time they'd been together, something that surprised her somewhat. Professionals weren't supposed to do that.
”I ain't never had a gal as-” he began, but she placed a finger on his lips.
”Don't say it, Donnie,” Charlette murmured. ”Thanks,” she sucked in the smoke and held it in her lungs. The cigarillo was a blend of tobacco and thule and its combined mild narcotic effect was immediate. ”Get yer arm off my chest, Donnie, I can't breathe.”
”Sorry.” Donnie lay back on the pillows. ”Y'know what we need right now, Charlette?”
”No, Donnie, what do we need right now?” Since all Donnie thought of when he was with her was s.e.x, she thought that's what he meant. Donnie was impervious to sarcasm, but he was good in bed. And he was good for some other things too. As a courier for a major import-export firm he got around the capital city of Ravenette, saw things, liked to talk about what he saw, and trusted anyone who as much as smiled at him.
”Honeybabe, we need brekfus 'n plenty of it!”
”Yeah, after all those calories we just burned up. But Donnie, we can't go out. It's not wise for me to be out in the daytime since I'm technically AWOL. I've told you that. I can make it back at night okay but I don't want to take a chance on being picked up in broad daylight. I'm puttin' my young a.s.s on the line for you, stud boy!”
Donnie grinned. He liked being called ”stud boy.” As did most simple men, he fancied himself a great lover. And like men in general he loved having a good-looking woman confirm that for him. ”I know, Hon', I know. I'll rustle us up somethin' right here! I got the fixin's! You lay there and smoke a bit and I'll get started!” Completely naked, he got out of bed and without bothering to dress, began banging pots around in the small kitchen.
For weeks Fort Seymour had existed under a state of virtual siege. Only the most essential business authorized military personnel to make trips off post and only under heavy armed escort. Charlette claimed she could get out when she was not needed in her job at the post quartermaster laundry by using an unguarded gate at the back of the post. As he did everything, Donnie took the statement at face value, only briefly wondering if it was very smart of the military, leaving a gate unguarded after there'd been so much trouble at Fort Seymour. Then he shrugged off the thought; that was somebody else's business and if it enabled Charlette to be with him, more power to the unguarded gate.
”How'd things go last night?” Charlette asked from the bed.
”Oh, same old s.h.i.+t. More heavy stuff comin' in, comin' in. Bunch of cars last night, from Mylex, 'n last week we had bulldozers from Sagunto. Well, maybe not bulldozers, cranes, I'd guess. You know, with the long arms stickin' out the cabs? Lotsa 'em, all lined up under canvas out at the port. 'N night before last, whole bunches of people from Cabala come in. Soldiers on vacation.”
Charlette suppressed a laugh. n.o.body, not even anybody from Cabala would ever take a vacation on Ravenette. All she needed now was to see for herself. ”Think they'll be stayin' long, Donnie? Did they bring much baggage with 'em?”
”Baggage? Oh, yeah. Maybe they's here for manures or whatever they call those games. I dunno, but they was scads of 'em out there. You know, I thought maybe about joinin' up? Folks keep sayin' there's gonna be a war? I went to see a recruiter, you know? He tole me to come back later, my job was too important for me to go for a soldier,” he said proudly as he cracked eggs into a skillet. Donnie often rattled on like this. That was another thing Charlette liked about the man, all she had to do was punch the right b.u.t.ton and he'd launch into a very useful monologue.
”I wouldn't want you to go into the army, Donnie. Who'd cook me up eggs in the morning?” Donnie laughed happily. Charlette rolled onto her side. ”Hey, Donnie, suppose I go with you tonight? I'd like to get out and about instead of being cooped up around here.”