John Ringo - A Deeper Blue

The pilots again showed how good they were by putting the Lynx down on the deck of the moored yacht in what could be called a gale as if it was perfect calm.

“Out,” the man said, opening the door.

She was only carrying two bags and as she unassed the bird a man came over and took the larger one.

“It will be in your room,” the man said. He was wearing a pair of white pants, a black belt and a tight shirt with a tiger embroidered on the upper left chest. Good looking, too. Damned good looking. So was the guy who’d picked her up for that matter.

“Thank you,” Britney said, holding on to her purse and backpack.

“This way,” her escort said, waving to a door, hatch, whatever, in the side of the yacht.

The yacht was big enough that it had a hangar for the helo. But men weren’t rolling it in; they were tying it down instead. Given the conditions she was surprised. Maybe it was going somewhere soon. Maybe there was already something in the hangar. Data item.

The interior corridor was paneled in light wood with tasteful paintings gracing it and the floor covered in plush carpeting. Given that the yacht looked to be about a hundred and fifty feet long, it had to run… whooo. High. She wasn’t sure what she’d stepped into but it was gonna be strange.

The man led her down a rather confusing maze to a door and then knocked lightly.

A voice inside said something in what sounded like Russian. Not Russian, but the word was similar, a simple: “Come.”

The room was huge, two levels and with a massive glass window that looked out over Nassau harbor. The view was mostly of whitecaps but it was still pretty.

A man was seated at a desk, his feet up, reading glasses perched on his nose, reading a document with a TS cover sheet. If he cared that he was doing that in front of a plate glass window it wasn’t apparent but it made Britney’s skin crawl.

The guy was medium height, pretty muscular build. He worked out. Brown hair. The face… was vaguely familiar. She could swear she’d met him somewhere.

Mike gestured with his chin for Vil to leave and looked at the girl, taking off his much-hated reading glasses.

“Lieutenant Harder?” he asked. “Good to meet you. You can call me…”

“Ghost…” the girl said, her face frozen. “Oh my God… GHOST? ”

“Jesus Christ ,” Mike snapped, his feet hitting the ground. “Lock it up, Lieutenant! Where in the fuck did you…” Mike froze himself, his eyes flying wide. “ Bambi? ”

“Oh. My. God,” Bambi said, walking over to him. She came around the desk and touched his face. “Ghost. You’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Mike said, grinning ruefully. “I’m alive.”

“I see you spent the reward money well,” Britney said, perching on the edge of the desk.

“Oh, that wouldn’t cover this baby for more than a few weeks,” Mike said. “I’ve… Well, that mission was sort of start-up capital. My God. Miss Liberal of the Month joined the Army ?”

“What’s that line about a conservative is a liberal who’s been raped?” Britney said, shrugging. “Yeah. I joined the Army. I wanted in Delta. I heard they had a few women. I was told it was invitation only and if I wanted in I needed to just work my butt off. People would hear. If I was good enough…”

“Fuckers should have taken you in a walk,” Mike said. “You’ve got balls the size of the Statue of Liberty. I never properly expressed that. Sorry. It was only you and Babe and Thumper that volunteered. Even Amy was drafted.”

“She’s in the Corps,” Britney said. “Amy that is. And you expressed it well enough. Towards the end.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “I sort of… caught up with a few of the girls. You know, after. But…”

“They didn’t talk,” Britney said, nodding. “Good. OPSEC is important. I changed schools. Too many memories,” she added, her eyes dark.

“Memories,” Mike said, frowning and looking at the wall where there was a painting covered with a cloth. “Yeah. I got those.”

“I bet,” Britney said, touching his face again. “Ghost. Damn. I never…”

“Keep the name down,” Mike said. “My current name is Michael Jenkins. You can call me Kildar.”

“That’s a hell of a story.”

Britney was sipping a glass of white wine after turning down the offer of a beer. Mike was working on a glass of tea.

“And most of it pretty highly classified,” Britney added.

“Oh, hell, you know the big part,” Mike said. “And I left a few details out.”

“Including what I’m doing here,” Britney said. “What you’re doing here.”

“You’re here because my field second and my intel chief got shot up in an ambush aimed at me,” Mike replied. “So I needed somebody familiar with the intel flow we’re getting.”

“Why weren’t you there?” Britney asked, frowning. “I’d have expected you to go right in charging.”

“I might have,” Mike admitted. “But I had decided to… sit this one out.”

“Again, not what I’d expect,” Britney said. “Not from Mr. ‘ No, you can’t be Flower .’ ”

“I’d forgotten that,” Mike said, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Good times.”

“Says you,” Britney said, shuddering. “I still have nightmares about being put on that table. Why?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“And who taught me that?”

“Long story.”

“You just told me a long story,” the intel specialist said. “And clearly some of the details you left out were important.”

“Not anymore,” Mike stated, flatly. “I’ll introduce you to my intel chief, well, assistant chief. She’s female, speaks excellent English. I’ll get you briefed in on the mission, then you can get to work trying to find some nuggets.”

“And if I do?” Britney asked.

“Then I get to do my job.”

Britney’s new guide was a pretty, no beautiful , brunette, tall and leggy but with a nice bust. Also slightly pregnant. That was obvious because she was wearing tight blue shorts and a tight, sleeveless T-shirt with a tiger logo on the back and “Mountain Tigers” on the front. Above the logo, just under the collar, was the name “Stella.” In one of the corridors the two were confronted by a massive blond guy dressed pretty much the same way. Handsome as hell. Hell, everyone she’d seen was physical perfection. This guy wasn’t quite perfect in that he was missing one leg from above the knee down. He was wearing shorts so it was pretty obvious. He’d apparently been walking the corridor for exercise and stood to the side as the two came down the passageway.

Britney could feel his eyes on her as they passed. The guy was a fucking mountain. It was nervous making. She wasn’t sure if he was checking her out but she felt more like he was judging her. On what she wasn’t sure.

“Who was that?” she whispered when they’d turned the corner.

“Oleg,” the girl replied in accented English. “Team commander.”

“Still?” Britney asked. “With the leg?”

“It is a very good prosthetic,” the girl said. “German. It has some sort of spring in the knee. He says that it makes him run better than before. He intends to be in full form by the time we have a mission.”

“How’d he lose it?”

“Last mission. It was very bad. A mortar landed near his position. His leg was… What is right English word? Mangled? Yes, I think mangled is right. Had to cut it off so he could keep fighting.”

“Keep fighting ?” Britney asked, incredulous.

“He was team commander,” the girl said, pausing and looking at Britney quizzically. “He had to lead, yes? Could not lead with the pain of the leg. So Dmitri cut it off for him. They were in fighting positions, he didn’t have to walk, run. Only fight and lead, yes? So… cut it off. Now he has new leg.”