Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

Mac nodded. “Yes, sir. We can’t do anything about that… Not now. But we can go after the people who were taken prisoner.”

“Yes,” Crowley agreed. “And we will. But first things first. Alpha Company lost six soldiers in Arminto. They need a couple of days to regroup. And your company just returned from a long patrol. But I promise to give the matter some thought.”

Mac was disappointed. Time was critical. How long would it take for Howard to sell the women? It might be a matter of days. But there was nothing she could do. All she could say was, “Thank you, sir.”

Subsequent to the meeting with Crowley, Mac spent two hours on the sort of administrative matters that all executive officers have to cope with before returning to the company area where her XO had been equally busy. They were sitting in the shed that constituted Bravo Company’s HQ, sipping sludge-like coffee. “So, Lieutenant,” Mac said, once Perkins had delivered his report. “You raised some extremely important issues.”

Perkins looked surprised. “I did?”

“Yes, you did. And I think we should convene a command conference to address them. It will include the other platoon leaders, as well as their platoon sergeants who, as all of us know, actually run the company.

“However,” Mac added, “a conference of such importance should be held in the right environment. An establishment that has good food and the kind of liquid refreshment that’s likely to enhance the brainstorming process. Would you know of such an establishment?”

Perkins’s expression brightened. “Yes, I would… Dolly’s Place would fit the bill.”

“Excellent. Please pass the word. We will assemble here at 1800 hours.”

Mac spent the rest of the day in meetings with the battalion’s medical officer, the engineer in charge of the fort’s septic system, and Company Sergeant Hank Boulineau. There was only one army insofar as Boulineau was concerned. And that was the one he’d joined fifteen years earlier. Just as there was only one way to do things, and that was by the book.

That’s why Boulineau was upset with the lack of military discipline exhibited by certain members of the company and wanted to clamp down. “We may be at war, ma’am,” Boulineau said. “But that ain’t no excuse for slackness.”

Mac had to tread carefully. Boulineau was the company’s senior noncom and a critical link between her and the enlisted people. And he was correct in many respects. Just that morning, she’d run into a private wearing a buckskin vest and ordered him to remove it. And whose fault was that? Crowley’s, because he set the example. And Boulineau resented that.

“I read you, Top,” Mac said. “And I agree… Things are beginning to slip. So pass the word. Except for Stetsons, which were specifically authorized by the CO, I expect everyone to wear army-standard uniforms at all times. As for the haircuts, and the matter of military courtesy, let’s bring our platoon leaders in on that discussion. We’re going to hold a command conference in town this evening, and you’re invited… I’ll make sure those items get covered. Meet us in front of the command shack at 1800.”

Boulineau stood. “Thank you, ma’am… I’ll be there.”

The salute was textbook perfect. Mac gave one in return and watched him leave. And that, she thought to herself, is a man who will make a good sergeant major.

The group gathered on time. In addition to Lieutenants Perkins, Gilstrap, and Huff, Platoon Sergeants Gray, Tinley, and Nunez were there. And when Boulineau arrived, that made a party of eight. Civvies weren’t authorized, so all of them were in uniform. They weren’t armed. Not visibly, anyway. But Mac was carrying a baby Glock under her right arm and suspected that the others were “strapped” as well.

Once outside the main gate, Mac led them over to the taxi line, where she hired two vehicles. Dolly’s was what Mac expected it to be. Concrete barriers had been put in place to prevent car bombings, and a squad of heavily armed “cowboys” were on guard out front.

The interior was large, noisy, and decorated country style. And that included a huge Confederate flag since most of Wyoming’s population were Confederate sympathizers, never mind the fact that the Union Army was protecting them from the warlords.

The barstools were made out of old tractor seats, glassy-eyed animal trophies stared down on the dance floor from high above, and the log-style tables were shiny with varnish. The girl who led them to a booth was dressed in a white-and-red-checkered shirt, tight shorts, and cowboy boots. Mac waited for the predictable commentary, but there wasn’t any. The men were on their best behavior. “Okay,” she said, once they were seated. “Have whatever you want. Dinner’s on me.”

“And we’ll buy the drinks,” Perkins said as he gestured to the other platoon leaders.

“Thank you, Lord,” Tinley said. “My prayers were answered!”

That produced some laughs, and once their drinks arrived, the meeting got under way. Mac took the opportunity to bring up a variety of issues, including those Boulineau had voiced earlier in the day. And she was pleased to see that her platoon leaders were taking the discussion seriously. The nature of the conversation changed when the food came—and the soldiers began to tell stories. Gray was especially good at it and soon had everyone in stitches.

Mac excused herself after finishing her steak and went looking for the ladies’ room. It was on the second level, just off the gallery that surrounded three sides of the open room below.

The lighting was dim, and two-person tables lined the outside railing. A familiar figure was seated at one of them. Crowley was dressed in full Crowley regalia—and seated across from a pretty blonde. His wife? Probably. Crowley said something, and the woman giggled. Neither of them took notice of Mac as she passed by.

As Mac returned to the table, Tinley was finishing a story about the time he and his girlfriend went skinny-dipping in a hotel’s hot tub, locked themselves out of their room, and had been forced to visit the front desk to get another key card. That generated sympathetic laughter and more stories in the same vein.

It wasn’t until they were about to leave that Mac mentioned Crowley. “This place is hopping,” she said. “The CO’s here, too… He’s upstairs, with his wife.”

The announcement was met with an awkward silence. None of the other soldiers were willing to meet her gaze. “What’s wrong?” Mac demanded. “Did I step in something?”

“Was the woman a blonde?” Perkins inquired.

“Yes,” Mac replied. “She was.”

“That’s Captain Lightfoot’s wife,” Huff told her. “Everyone knows except for the captain.”

“Who happens to be out on patrol,” Gray added. “The poor bastard.”

“It’s a regular thing,” Boulineau said. “And it ain’t good for morale.”

Mac tried to keep it light. “Okay… I’ll file that under things I wish I didn’t know. As for morale, that takes us back to what we were discussing earlier. We can’t control the CO, but we can keep everything else tight, and we will.”

“Roger that,” Boulineau said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Perkins added.

“Got it,” Gilstrap agreed.

That was the best Mac could do for the moment. But she was pissed. Rather than go after Howard and try to rescue the female prisoners, Crowley was spending the night with another man’s wife. And not just any man… But one of his subordinates. Should she take it up the chain of command? Probably. But what would happen then? An investigation would begin, Crowley would be relieved of duty pending the outcome, and the brass would download a colonel to take his place. In the meantime, Robert Howard would sell his prisoners. The cold night air was like a slap in the face, and the darkness took her in.