The Gulf by David Poyer Page A

Claude?’ my mom use to say.” His lips were smiling against the concrete, but unshed tears were dissolving his heart. He saw the russet and cream muzzle nuzzling the earth, heard his dad’s shovel grating … his mom was gone then.… He’d really loved that fucking Shit, goddamn him, why did the fucking dogs have to get him? It seemed like everything you loved passed like that, and he would eat dirt too someday.…
    The black nugget went away again. Chunky listened to him tossing his grits for a long time. At last, heavy breathing rasped above him, and then a loose-lipped mumble. “What?” he muttered.
    â€œQuit playin’ speedbump, Chunky. We got to get back to the ship.”
    â€œJus’ cool it, Buckwheat.”
    â€œWhat’d you say?”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œWhat’d you call me, Schweinberg?”
    â€œBucky. Thass your name, ain’t it?”
    â€œI thought I heard somethin’ else.” Hayes stared at him, then reached down. “Come on. ”
    Dragging the senior lieutenant down the empty median, Buck Hayes felt mingled fear and hilarity. It hadn’t seemed funny while he was spraying cookies, but now it was so horrible he wanted to laugh. Then he thought, If somebody comes out of these alleys, it ain’t going to be funny at all. He couldn’t fight, and he couldn’t abandon Schweinberg, either.
    â€œHey, there’s a car.”
    â€œIt’s not a taxi, though.”
    â€œI don’t care what it is, flag it.”
    â€œMaybe it’s cops.”
    â€œDo they got cops here? I ain’t seen any yet. I hope it is a cop.”
    â€œDon’t say that.” Hayes shivered, remembering the old man’s stump. He didn’t even want to know the penalty for public drunkenness in Bahrain.
    The lights drew closer. The pilots separated, each taking a lane. When the car stopped, Schweinberg, fumbling at his wallet, weaved around to the driver’s side.
    There were two tiny people in the Honda, a middle-aged couple. There were suitcases in the back seat. They looked pleased at being stopped in the middle of the night. They smiled up as Schweinberg breathed his predicament into their faces. When he was done, the woman said something to her husband. Then they all four just smiled at one another. “Jeez, she’s pretty,” said Chunky. “What are they, Japanese? Andrea, forgive me, I’m in love.”
    Hayes said doubtfully, “Do you think they have the faintest idea who we are?”
    â€œDo you understand me?” said Schweinberg to her, raising his voice. “American military, need to get back to ship?”
    The woman bobbed her head, and after a moment the man did, too.
    â€œSee? They understand.”
    â€œWill you give us a ride?”
    â€œThere, she’s nodding.”
    â€œWhat a smile.”
    â€œWhat nice teeth.”
    â€œBut how we going to tell them where to go?”
    â€œWe can’t,” said Schweinberg. He opened the door and motioned her out. Laughing in low, nervous voices, the Japanese looked around the empty street. Then they bowed. Schweinberg bowed back, steadying himself on the hood. This seemed to reassure them, and they got in back with the suitcases.
    â€œYou better let me drive.”
    â€œNo, I got it.” Schweinberg seized the wheel with an expression of great concentration. He mashed the gas experimentally and the engine tried to chew its way out of the hood. There were whispers in back. Hayes beamed them his best shit-eater. “Don’t worry, we’re U.S. Navy,” he said. “We really appresh, appre, well, this is sure great of you. Won’t take us long, just down to Salman.”
    â€œHey, Bucky.”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œHow do we get back to the ship?”
    â€œChrist! Claude, don’t you know?”
    â€œCourse I do. Lemme think. Lessee … lessee…” He craned upward through