John Ringo - Against the Tide

“Do me a favor, will you?” Edmund said, stripping off his uniform tunic. “Go get some clothes for Herzer and me while we go wash up.” He took the short sword and tossed it overhand across the room, so hard that it stuck in the wall. “We had a spot of bother on the way over from headquarters.”

“You could have been killed!” Daneh said, angrily.

“I very nearly was,” Edmund replied, taking another sip of his drink. “Would have been if it wasn’t for Herzer.”

Daneh and Rachel had hurried over as soon as Van Krief had explained why she needed new clothes for Edmund and the major. The foursome, with Van Krief, Destrang and Tao at a nearby table, now had a corner of the bar all to themselves. Except for a hovering waiter who was watching them like a mouse watches a hovering falcon.

“Nah, you were doing fine on your own.” Herzer chuckled, taking a deep pull off of his beer. “It was hairy for a second or two, though. You spotted them before I did, I’ll give you that.”

“Years of hard living, son,” Edmund replied, shaking his head. “Years of hard living. Some habits die hard.”

“You’re going to need bodyguards,” Rachel said.

“Yep,” Talbot replied, grimly. “But the good news is, somebody doesn’t like me.”

“That’s good news?” Daneh asked. “Since when?”

“It means someone considers him a threat,” Herzer pointed out. “And whereas I’m sure there’s more than one Navy officer who would love to shove a foot of steel in his back, I doubt that they were the source of the assassins.”

“Which means Sheida’s old friend Chansa,” Edmund said. “Or, possibly, Paul. So that’s the good news. The bad news is that it’s not just me who will need guards, but you, Rachel and the squirt as well. Which is why there’s already a team of marines over at the VIP quarters and more on the way.”

“Yes, they would try to strike at you through us, wouldn’t they?” Daneh asked, quietly.

“Yes, they would,” Edmund replied. “Rachel, I hate to talk business but are you up to another long coach ride?”

“If I must,” she said.

“Daneh, I’m going to put you to work,” Edmund continued. “Special assistant for medical facilities or something. When the fleet comes back I want better medical care than the last time. I haven’t been able to put enough emphasis on that as I’d like. You can. We’re setting up another Fleet base in Balmoran, Rachel. I want you to go up there and get in on the ground floor on the medical facilities. You’ll report to your mother; she’ll report to me. The fleet can actually make for Balmoran better than they can for here, if we fight in the north again. The main thing that we’d be bringing in is casualties. I’d like the hospital up there to be top-notch. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel said. “Can do. As long as I’ve got the personnel and funding.”

“You’ll have the funding if I have to go to the damned capitol and squeeze ; personnel you’re probably going to have to make yourself,” Edmund replied. “And you won’t be in charge , you’ll be my eyes and ears. If you have suggestions and can get them implemented there, do so. If you have real problems, report it to Daneh. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Okay, now let’s all get shit faced,” Edmund said, draining his drink and waving it at the waiter.

“What if there are more assassins?” Daneh asked.

“Honey, when we walk back to the quarters we’re going to be surrounded by a platoon of marines,” Edmund replied. “Chansa may be able to get my drunk ass under those conditions, but he’s by God going to have to work for it.”

Herzer wasn’t sure whether he was supporting Van Krief or she was supporting him when they got to his room. But he did know that it was a bad thing that both of them were there.

It had been an evening for learning. He’d learned that Destrang and Tao were light-weights. He’d learned that Daneh hiccupped when she got drunk. He’d learned that Rachel just went to sleep. He’d learned that Van Krief had a hollow leg and a great singing voice. At least, it sounded great when he was drunk. And she knew some really good songs, not all of them fit for polite company.

To no one’s surprise, Edmund knew more. But Herzer had been surprised that he also sang better. He’d never pictured Edmund as a singer, before. Bellower, yes, singer, no. Herzer had learned so much.

But he still had the problem of the door. And nothing that he learned was helping.

“Am I holding you up, or are you holding me up?” Herzer enunciated carefully.

“I think…” Van Krief said, crinkling her brow. “I think we’re holding each other up.”

“Me too,” Herzer said. If they were holding each other up, then they could only make it to one bedroom. That was bad.

“This is bad,” he muttered.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Van Krief giggled.

“This is a really bad idea,” Herzer said, opening the door. “Really bad. I’ll just… sleep on the floor or something.”

“I don’t think so,” Van Krief repeated, giggling again. She stumbled away from him, kicked the door closed, stumbled again, and pulled her tunic off. “What do you think of that ?”

“What?” Herzer asked, looking at the floor. It looked… really uncomfortable.

“These!” Van Krief said, pulling at a couple of buttons on her shirt and then giving up and ripping it open. “These!” she said again, pointing at her breasts.

“Pink nipples,” he muttered, getting on his knees and kneeing over to her until he could lay his cheek on her midriff. “How much worse could it get?” He had just kissed her on the stomach when there was a knock on the door.

“Okay, this is worse,” he said, pulling himself up with a hand on the bedstead.

Van Krief had fumbled her tunic on but the torn shirt was impossible to conceal. Herzer looked at her and shrugged as he opened the door.

“Herzer?” Rachel said, supporting herself on the doorframe. “Do you have a private bathroom?”

“Yes,” Herzer said.

“Good, I’m going to be sick in it,” Rachel replied, sliding off the doorframe and skidding to a halt when she saw Van Krief.

“Oh,” Rachel said, her eyes blinking furiously.

“We were just dis-ss-cussing…” Van Krief slurred.

“We were just discussing not having sex,” Herzer continued, clapping his hand over the ensign’s mouth. “Now the young ensign, who is also my subordinate, is going to support herself on the wall until she gets to her room, and her chaste bed, and I’m going to collapse into a drunken stupor. And you’re going to go throw up.”

At least that’s what he’d meant to say. What came out was:

“Wubaa, ubba, nooob…”

At which point the many, many shots of rum finally kicked in and gravity took over.

When Herzer opened his eyes the first thing he knew, with awful clarity, was that he was not in bed alone.

He remembered, too clearly, the night before. Right up to the point that both Rachel and Van Krief were in his room. Especially the point when Rachel and Van Krief had been in his room.

And now there was someone in his bed.

Rachel… now Rachel wouldn’t be bad. Rachel he could live with. He’d be surprised, but not unpleased. But since he would be surprised, given that her interest in him as male seemed to be zero, it was much more likely to be Van Krief. And that would be… bad. He tried not to groan as he thought of the night before. He couldn’t run away and join the Legion, he was already in it. Maybe start up a farm, find a rock to crawl under. This was a court-martial offense, damnit! He’d just tossed PO Lenice to the metaphorical wolves for less.