Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg Page A

Claypoole squeaked. He tried to imagine himself as a father, taking care of a tiny, squalling thing that stank when its diaper needed changing, and he shuddered. “But she knows that the Marines don’t allow anyone below staff sergeant to get married. I’m only a corporal, so how can she be thinking of me marrying her?”
    “She’s a woman,” Kerr said.
    Schultz nodded. “Woman,” he agreed.
    “Yeah?” Claypoole turned on Schultz. “What about, about—” He jerked his thumb at the kitchen.
    Schultz shrugged. “She knows” was all he said.
    Kerr was satisfied he’d gotten the entire story out of Claypoole, and looked around for a serving girl. When he caught one’s eye he ordered a large pitcher of ale for the table.
    “Drink your water,” Kerr told Claypoole when the pitcher arrived and the corporal looked at it longingly. “I think you’re over your hangover and well enough nourished, and by Mordred’s Mom, you’ve earned the right to do some serious drinking. But”—he pointed at Claypoole’s tumbler—“you have to drink it out of that, to remind you of what happens when you overdo it.” He stood. “Now it’s time I joined the grown-ups. You two, make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid tonight.”
    Schultz grunted.
    Ymenez gaped at Kerr and said, “Aye aye, Sergeant,” and wondered what he was supposed to do if his fire team leader did decide to do something “too stupid.”
    Kerr headed for another table, where Ratliff and Kelly, third platoon’s other two sergeants, who had come in while Claypoole was telling his tale of woe, were just digging into their own dinners.
    The three of them spent the rest of the evening talking and drinking and even eating more, though Claypoole did most of the talking and drinking. Occasionally a couple of Big Barb’s girls came to the table and flirted with Claypoole and Ymenez. They ignored Schultz because he belonged to Einna Orafem and none of them wanted to get in trouble with the chef. After all, she cooked their meals as well. When the kitchen closed, Schultz stood with a grunt and went into it, to leave with Einna.
    Claypoole got blind drunk again. The next morning he woke in one of the upstairs rooms. A hangover pill and a glass of water were waiting for him on the nightstand. He gratefully drank the pill down and let it work its magic. Only then did he look around the room. From the condition of the bed, he surmised that he hadn’t spent the night alone, but had no idea who might have been with him. He checked the time and saw it was late enough that Big Barb’s was probably open. He gave himself a quick washup, dressed, and headed downstairs to get something to eat.

    That evening, Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher came through the front door of Big Barb’s and looked around. When he saw most of third platoon present, along with a number of other Marines from the FIST and from base personnel, he filled his lungs and called out:
    “Listen up, Marines!” He waited a few seconds until even the civilians had quieted and turned their attention to him, then announced, “The fast frigate HM3 Gordon arrived in orbit a few hours ago. She brought news that will be officially announced at a FIST formation in three days. But Brigadier Sturgeon thought the news was too good to hold back, so the word is being passed now. Unofficially, of course.
    “By presidential order, the quarantine of the Marines on Thorsfinni’s World has been lifted! Now maybe we can all get back to normal careers.
    “That is all.” He turned and exited Big Barb’s before anybody could shout questions at him, questions he probably wouldn’t have been able to answer anyway.
    The lifting of the quarantine that had frozen all changes of duty station, retirements, and ends of active service for the Marines of Thirty-fourth FIST and Camp Major Pete Ellis was the topic of discussion and speculation among the Marines for the rest of the evening. Most of them were well past their normal