Part 17 (2/2)

EBC37 and she still hadn't been able to get back across that Rubicon. Not for lack of trying, though. Jamie started trying even before her firewater hangover had worn off.

”Please, Marty,” she'd said. ”Tell them to talk to me like always.

Jamie, Gwynnie, Gwynmorgan, whatever.”

”Okay, Lieutenant Whatever. It's a deal.”

And Rhys had mostly made it happen. Except Jamie had to let newbies start out with ”LT,” which remained a semi-scandalous breach of Corps etiquette, but not as dastardly as ”Gwynnie.” Plus, of course, she had to suffer her crew's ma'am c.r.a.p whenever other officers came around.

EBC37 and as Jamie approached her, at least Rhys was willing to use the greeting that had become their private joke, delivered with her usual arched, that's-all-you-get eyebrow. ”Hey, Lieutenant Whatever.” But her smile evaporated when she saw Jamie's face.

”Hear about those folks Ram brought in?” Jamie asked.

”Please don't tell me they're refugees.”

”Wish I didn't have to.”

”Ah s.h.i.+t. Zhong? Confirmed?”

”Yep. Chinese regular army soldiers in the frigging flesh.” v * 147 *

When Jamie spotted her boss, he'd almost reached the last place in the FOB she ever wanted to go, but she couldn't allow that to stop her. Not this time.

By chance and maybe because of those chills needling up her spine, her ignorance hadn't killed anybody-yet. At EBC65, though, Jamie sensed the looming limits of dumb luck and instinct. She needed to find out what all the other officers knew. Those sc.r.a.ps of gossip and banter she heard at briefings had to be hiding something. The time had come to chase down her commander, the battalion's intelligence officer.

But please, please, not in there.

She'd missed him at the FOBCOC; even so, if she moved fast enough, she could intercept him, might persuade him into a u-turn.

”Captain Pinsof!”

”Hey, Gwynmorgan.” A smile creased Pinsof's broad, pleasant face-a genuine enough smile that it reached his eyes and helped Jamie resist a knee-jerk urge to bolt. She stepped in front of him, hoping he'd have to stop.

”Want some coffee?” he asked, his thick, sandy-colored eyebrows elevating slightly while he waved an oversized mug. Jamie realized his question was rhetorical, and he wasn't even slowing down.

”Uh...” She stepped sideways. Any excuse to decline and retreat would do, but before Jamie found one, Pinsof planted a ma.s.sive hand on her shoulder and nudged her toward the entry to the officers' mess.

”I owe you an apology,” he said. ”We should be getting together regularly so we can pick each other's brains. But it's been crazy as h.e.l.l ever since Thumb Peak. Price of progress, I guess.”

”Yes, sir.” Jeez, that sounds okay. Now if we could just turn around and go back to the fobc.o.c.k...

”Come on.” Pinsof's smile made her suspect he'd read her thoughts. ”It's being automatically deducted from your pay. Might as well get a meal out of it once in a while.” None of the half dozen officers in the mess outranked her, but every one of them looked her over as though Pinsof had walked in with an especially mangy dog.

”Have breakfast with me.” Pinsof said. ”I gotta eat something, and I hate eating alone.”

Keeping an eye on the other officers, Jamie nodded. Pinsof led her through the well-stocked food line, ordered scrambled eggs, double * 148 *

bacon, and home fries from the cook, then got her to do the same. He introduced her to the mess clerk-”Make sure you always take real good care of Lieutenant Gwynmorgan, Peter”-and ambled to a solitary table while casually letting her know the hours when the officers' mess was mostly empty.

”Peter can fix you up with a decent meal that you can pick up at the kitchen entrance and take back to your hooch. I do it all the time. By the way, have you heard?”

As Jamie shook her head, she saw that smile again. Okay, you know perfectly well I haven't heard. She suspected n.o.body'd heard.

Maybe that was his plan: He'd talk while she chowed down. Jamie started with the eggs, wondering if Pinsof had guessed this was her first hot meal in six weeks.

”Just got word from Brigade HQ.” Pinsof spoke a little too loudly.

”They're saying the Three-Eight's got the only snipe platoon without any KIAs. Not a single one since you took over as platoon NCO. No go-home wounds for a month, either. Same month in which everyone else has put in for replacements, by the way.”

”Dumb luck, sir,” Jamie mumbled around a mouthful of home fries. ”We're getting the easy a.s.signments, that's all.”

”Nah, I don't think so, Lieutenant. I know everybody's a.s.signments, and I'd say yours've been as tough as any-tougher.” Jamie shrugged without missing a bite. ”Got a good team.”

”Yeah, you do. And I notice you pretty much built it yourself.”

”Had lots of help, sir,” she replied between swallows. ”Rhys is a much better platoon NCO than I ever was. Probably be a much better officer too, if she ever gets the chance. And our squad leaders-Ramirez, Elliott, and Avery-are primo.”

She scanned the mess again. At a table four meters away, three second lieutenants clearly unimpressed by Pinsof's remarks were attempting to scowl her out of their presence. She s.h.i.+fted in her chair slightly to keep them beyond her peripheral vision.

”Amazing how ill-behaved some people get,” Pinsof said resoundingly after following her glance, ”when they can't control their envy.” Then he glared at the two-lites until they abandoned their table.

Jamie stopped eating and examined Pinsof. ”Thanks for that.” Maybe with this guy I can shortcut around the usual bulls.h.i.+t. ”Sir, I need to get my people prepared for what's coming next-” She halted * 149 *

at the sight of Pinsof's forming frown. Oops. She'd just hijacked the conversation from her commanding officer. ”Sorry, sir.” But his expression seemed to relax into curiosity. ”Please go on, Lieutenant.”

”Well...” Jamie stalled. What was it about talking to Pinsof that wound her up like this? It reminded her too much of those last hours before a mission, after the planning and packing, when you contemplated-or not. Whatever it took to keep The Fear from ruling you. Rhys, who traveled around before joining the Corps but hated airplanes, once compared it to flying: You figure there's nasty odds you'll crash and burn, but you say okay, I can deal with it if it comes to that, I'm ready-and then you get on the d.a.m.n plane and try like h.e.l.l to keep your fists unclenched.

This was even worse. This time, Jamie found herself in the pilot's seat, and the flight had forty-one other souls aboard, and the corporal in the pilot's seat had been faking everything for sixty-five interminable days. Jamie flexed her hands. ”I want to talk about the rules of engagement, sir.”

”Okay. What about them?”

”Well, they're about to change, aren't they? I want to know when.

And how. I need to know what everyone else knows.”

”I'm not following you, Lieutenant.”

Oh christ, I thought he'd be straight up. I can't let him keep me out, too. ”You guys all talk, right? You got a line all the way up to Embry, to the Pentagon even. So you know what's coming. But-” s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, just say it! ”But n.o.body's talking to me, Captain, so my people are hanging out there, unprepared.”

”I'm afraid that's my fault. But I gotta tell you, Gwynmorgan, n.o.body around here is anywhere near as connected or as omniscient as all that.” Pinsof's smile had developed a gallows look to it. ”Nice thought, though.”

”But you talk, right?”

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