Whatever Gods May Be Part 16

Miz? Mister? What the f.u.c.k? I thought that went out with c-rations.

Jamie fended off a wave of dizziness. Oh. I get it. They're being polite 'til they disarm me. After which I'll get dragged away in chains. She laid down the Chinese rifle, then pulled her pistol from its holster and put it on the ground.

"Yes, ma'am," Jamie said. Turning to face Embry, she caught Zachary's smile. A small, satisfied smile. What the f.u.c.k?

"...And our momentum," Embry was saying into his comlink, "depends on having reliable leadership now in those key units." Embry listened, then shook his head. "In my judgment, sir, we have no other option...Mmm, let's just say several...Yes, sir, I'll make d.a.m.n sure they stay below the media radar."

Having induced the air to leave her lungs, Jamie found inhaling difficult. She managed only a strained, wheezy, "Sir!" when the major general terminated the link. Oh G.o.d, here it comes.

"Mr. Koenig has been relieved," Embry said as soon as he steered her out of the corpsman's earshot. "I'd like you to take his command.

And his rank. Right now, so this platoon remains mission-ready." Jamie gaped at him. "What?"

"It's a combat appointment-what civilians call a battlefield commission," Zachary said, her tone congenial despite Jamie's lapse in military decorum. "Will you accept it?"

Zachary held out Koenig's rank insignia in the palm of her hand.

Jamie stared at them, blinked, and gaped once more at the major general.

"You want to make me a first lieutenant?" she asked, heretofore unaware that such a thing was even possible. "You can do that? After I-? Sir, you saw what I-"

"Yeah, I saw. In my judgment, you made the best possible move.

And yes, I d.a.m.n well can kick your a.s.s into a commission. Only one person can stop me now: You."

* 136 *

"But-"

"Look, Jamie." Embry's hand claimed her shoulder. "I know you'll see some flak. The Pentagon likes to pretend there hasn't been any need for combat appointments since the Viet Nam Conflict back in the nineteen sixties and seventies. But even the Joint Chiefs admit to a leadership problem that business-as-usual promotion rules have made worse. So they've developed some legal workarounds to keep this brigade at required force levels. Fact is, you're not the first we've boosted this way, and you sure as h.e.l.l won't be the last. We need to leverage the experience of people like you who know their way around here, know what works and what doesn't. Because for this one we've always got to occupy the moral high ground. We absolutely must keep the population of Palawan on our side. And that takes skill."

"Iron fist in a velvet glove."

"Exactly." Embry's eyes flashed with a man-do-I-know-how-to-pick-them delight that Jamie could see but couldn't quite believe.

"We'll win faster and our win will stick if we can avoid significant uptick for as long as possible. Maybe even avoid it altogether. So we need leaders in the right positions who grasp that, who work hard, work smart, and can keep marines alive and effective without beating the c.r.a.p out of this place. I had you figured for this after what you did in Puerto Princesa."

For a second, just a second, the light in Embry's eyes changed.

Jamie could have sworn his eyes twinkled. No! This is insane!

"I just didn't figure it'd happen this soon. But I learned a long time ago to take opportunity where I find it." Embry's hand, still on her shoulder, firmed its grip and kept rhythm with his words. "You made a difference today. Proved you can do a one-lite's job. And the Three-Eight needs a one-lite-not a two-lite, not an NCO-running its snipe platoon."

"Sir, I don't think I'm suited for-"

The index finger of Embry's other hand pressed lightly against her lips and she stopped breathing. "I saw you there," he almost whispered, "that night at the airport, thumping and pounding away. I saw you give your people exactly what they needed exactly when they needed it.

Real leadership."

Are you crazy? I wasn't leading anyone. I was fighting with my girlfriend. I stubbed my d.a.m.n toe...

* 137 *

"And I need that leadership, Jamie. The Three-Eight needs that leadership. Don't stop now. Not now."

His eyes drilled into hers while his finger slowly retreated from her lips. Released, she gulped for air. Oh G.o.d. Marty. Jamie ripped her gaze away from Embry and let it float upward. The sky had deepened into a rich, soothing blue. Oh G.o.d. She ached to escape into the calm, the freedom of so much blue.

On her shoulder, Embry's hand twitched. Reluctantly, Jamie brought her eyes back to him and exhaled. "Okay. I'll accept the appointment, sir."

"Good girl," Embry said and proffered his right hand. His grip was strong but had no need to dominate; he didn't release Jamie's hand until he finished speaking.

"Your appointment is permanent. Already approved upchain.

Takes effect today. Right now. Means your enlistment has ended and you're no longer a scout/sniper, since commissioned officers are not permitted that honor. But you will have the honor of commanding scout/snipers."

"Yes, sir." Jamie couldn't pull her eyes away from the man. She had plunged and now she was falling and falling and everything was upside down. She had no idea what to do next.

Perhaps it showed, because Embry returned his hand to her shoulder in a way that struck her as fatherly. "When you get off this mountain, go straight over to Eighth Regiment HQ to sign on those dotted lines and pick up your certificate of commission. It'll be ready by the time you get there. Zach's informing your battalion commander of your appointment as we speak. He'll approve whomever you recommend to replace you, and he'll be instructed to run interference with the desk jockeys to get it done ay-sap. Especially if you promote from within your platoon, which I encourage you to do."

"Yes, sir, I certainly will."

"After that, I want you to just keep on doing what you've been doing. Your S-Two-Pinsof, right?-will help you with the admin bulls.h.i.t. And good luck , First Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

A smile, a final pat on her shoulder, and the major general walked off, already talking into his comlink again. Wait! she wanted to call to him. I'm not ready yet.

* 138 *

Chapter Fourteen.

Ma'aM Christ all-f.u.c.king mighty. Propped on a stool, elbows splayed on the rough wooden bar, Jamie put her hands to her face and rubbed. I can't f.u.c.king believe I f.u.c.king said yes. She kept her eyes closed. Otherwise she'd look at Rhys again. That had been hard enough the first time, after she'd returned from the regimental FOB. Because of course, Rhys already knew. Rhys even knew where to find her and when.

"So is there anything you don't know?" Jamie had joked when she came upon Rhys standing just outside the Three-Eight's FOBCOC.

"Oh yeah." Rhys didn't smile. "Plenty. Ma'am." Ma'am. Jamie's stomach had turned at the sound. She wanted to halt on the spot and plead with Rhys to have some pity, try to understand; she wanted to yell at Rhys to never, ever call her that. But she said only, "Wait for me, okay?"

When she came out of the FOBCOC, she carried the papers that made Rhys's promotion official. This time Rhys didn't look at her at all. The ground had become much more interesting. So Jamie had slapped the papers against Rhys's chest, against those b.r.e.a.s.t.s she tried so d.a.m.n hard not to think about, and walked on without a word. She'd wanted to go back to their hooch, that tiny movable s.p.a.ce they'd shared for six months which was almost like a home-but she figured Rhys wouldn't follow, so there she'd be, all alone, engulfed in the misery of her lieutenantness.

Better to head for neutral territory: The makeshift, rank-blind joint just inside the Three-Eight FOB's outer perimeter where everyone went for "light refreshment" whenever they'd been told there'd be no mission * 139 *

the next day. By the time the bartender plunked down the seltzer water Jamie ordered, Staff Sergeant Rhys, the new Three-Eight scout/sniper platoon senior NCO, had taken the seat next to her.

Jamie picked up the seltzer water and drank half of it in one throat-stinging gulp before she glanced over to see how Rhys was doing.

Rhys stared, no longer bothering to camouflage her surprise and anger.

"Buy you a drink?" Jamie said, hoping to find a crack in Rhys's slitty-eyed facade.

"Thanks." Rhys blinked. "A beer."

Jamie ordered it, paid for it, and the two of them sat hunched over the bar in silence. Too soon, the place filled with marines whose conversations remained uncharacteristically low-key.

"...nah, takes six months of The Basic School just to make second louie..."

"...I'm telling ya, there is such a thing as a battlefield commission..."

"...doesn't even have any business being an E-six, and she came back a frigging one-lite..."

"...right over there at the end of the bar-" Jamie shoved back the bar stool. "I gotta go," she said to Rhys and slipped out the back door.

v "Christ, you're hard to track down."

Jamie startled at the sound of Rhys's voice behind her. She'd picked this spot among the sandbags to lie low and feel sorry for herself.

Count on Rhys to come along and make her feel like even worse s.h.i.t.

"n.o.body's supposed to find me here."

"Yes, ma'am." Rhys turned on her heel.

"No, Marty, wait. I'm sorry."

Rhys halted. "Ma'am?"

"Oh G.o.d, please don't do that. Please, please don't ever f.u.c.king call me that."

For one of those infinities in an instant, Rhys remained statue-still.

And then her shoulders relaxed. "d.a.m.n," she said, shaking her head as she turned back around, and Jamie saw a smile tease her mouth. Like * 140 *

she couldn't quite help herself, Jamie thought as Rhys sat pretty close, close enough for Jamie to be grateful.

Rhys placed two bottles in the s.p.a.ce between them. A peace offering perhaps. Or an offering of condolence. Okay. Maybe this'll be okay. Jamie eyed the bottles. "What're those?" Rhys tapped one, then the other. "Scotch. Bourbon. What's your poison...ma'am?" She shoved her shoulder into Jamie's while she drawled the form of address reserved for officers, DIs, and female royalty.

"Oh christ," Jamie groaned. "You're gonna really make me pay for this."

Rhys nodded an impish challenge. "Big time...ma'am."

"f.u.c.k. I'm doomed."

"That's true, you are. So, what'll it be, Lieutenant ma'am? Scotch or bourbon? Or both?"

"Uh, well, I don't really know." Jamie squinted warily at the bottles.

"You...don't...know," repeated Rhys, a crease forming above her nose. Suddenly her eyebrows lifted into her forehead. "s.h.i.t, Gwynmorgan! You've never had either scotch or bourbon? Not even on Culion?"

Jamie shook her head, provoking a giggle from Rhys.

"Ever had a drink of anything? Beer? Wine? Anything?" Jamie shook her head again. "I like a good lemonade..."

"This is gonna be exceedingly interesting." Rhys twisted the tops off both bottles and handed one to Jamie with an order. "Small sip." Without hesitation, Jamie violated Living-with-Alby Rule Number One-never inebriate-and obeyed. And promptly gagged. "Omi G.o.d, that stuff's f.u.c.king awful!"

Rhys handed her the other bottle. "Of course, Lieutenant, by rights you should clear your palate before you-"

"Yeah. Sure." Jamie took a swig- "Aaaghh!" -and sprayed it all over the ground in front of her.

Chuckling, arms folded over her chest, Rhys settled into the sandbags while Jamie tried to stop coughing. "Hmm, maybe I can find you some lemonade."

Jamie raised her head from between her knees and looked over at Rhys through watery eyes. "Give me that," she said, grabbing the first * 141 *

bottle and taking a hearty gulp from it. She recoiled into a turbulent flinch and tears streaked her cheeks, but she kept down what she swallowed. Finally she gasped for air, opened her eyes. "Whoa. Really does taste like c.r.a.p, huh? But the way it goes down your throat and makes your belly all warm-sure can see why they call it firewater." Another savage cough sent her to her knees, then onto her backside so she ended up facing Rhys, legs askew. "f.u.c.k," she moaned and emitted a loud belch.

"Scare- ee." Rhys giggled before she bleated like a sheep. "Ma-a-a'a-a-am."

Jamie stuck out her tongue. "Fung-goo you, stiff sergeant." Then she reached for one of the bottles. "Lemme try that again." It went down easier this time and she merely snorted. "Want some?" She offered the bottle to Rhys.

"Nah, I'll work on this one."

"Marty?"

"Mmm?"

"Doesn't mean s.h.i.t, y'know."

"Sure it does."

"No." Jamie took a large swallow from her bottle, then coughed and wheezed. "Just a piece of paper. 'S all bulls.h.i.t."

"The whole f.u.c.king regiment's buzzing about you."

"So what? Now I'm sullied or something?"

"You crossed the Rubicon, Jamie."

"Marty, please."

"Well, it wasn't my idea. Lieutenant."

"You think I wanted this? You think I like it?"