his gear back in his bag, when Slater left the corner of the gym and said, “So, is this your idea of downtime?”
The sergeant didn’t have to look up. “Hey, Frank—I’ve been expecting you.”
“That was a nice fight.”
Groves snorted and vigorously rubbed a towel over the top of his sweaty, shaved head.
Slater sat down on the bench. “When are you supposed to deploy?”
“Next Friday, with the Eighth Battalion.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?” Groves said. “It’ll be 110 in the shade, with all the sand you can eat.”
Slater nodded as a couple of other guys clambered into the ring. “I don’t see how I can compete with that,” he joked. “Sounds like a regular resort.”
Groves zipped up his bag, then turned toward Slater, who saw now that his lip was split.
“I got your messages,” Groves said, “but I still don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re going out on another job—and in Alaska, of all places—when you’ve just been busted from the corps.”
“I’m going strictly as an epidemiologist. No Army this time, just civilian AFIP.”
“And do they know that you still get the shakes from the malaria? Since you’re the one who brought up the idea of taking time off, don’t you think you need to take a nice long furlough yourself?”
“I never know what to do with it,” Slater said, in what even he considered the understatement of the year. “And at least it won’t be the Middle East this time. Nobody’s shooting at anybody. It’s strictly medical research.”
“Then why do you need me?” the sergeant asked.
“Because I need someone I can trust to help me run the operation. In one week, we’re going to be off-loading roughly three tons of equipment on an island that I’m told is nearly inaccessible. There’s no place for a plane to land, no safe harbor for a ship of any size. We’re going to have to bring in the supplies by chopper, a lot like we did in Afghanistan, and we’ve got to hit the ground running.”
Groves blew out a breath and looked up as two new fighters feinted and jabbed.
“Why now? Why this time of year?”
“Why not?” Slater said, “It’s the holiday season—where would you rather be than the Arctic?”
“It’s dark there. Almost all the time. Anybody think of that?”
“Yes, of course we have,” Slater replied. Indeed, artificial illumination was one of the first things he had entered into the budget proposal—klieg lamps, ramp lights, and backup generators to make sure they never went down. When dealing with viral material, inert or not, a lighting malfunction could be as dangerous as a refrigeration failure. “But the job can’t wait.”
One of the fighters in the ring landed a low blow, and the other one complained loudly.
“Walk it off!” Groves shouted.
The match resumed, and Slater waited. In spite of all the sergeant’s objections, Slater knew his man. The call to duty in Afghanistan would be strong, but the plea from his old major would be stronger. Groves’s sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow him to let Slater go off on his own, much less after such a personal appeal.
“I’ve already got my orders,” Groves finally said without taking his eyes from the ring. The two fighters were in a clinch, heads butting like rams. “Who’s gonna get my deployment changed?”
“Don’t sweat it. Everything will be taken care of.” Slater put out his hand and said, “Don’t forget to pack warm.”
“Yeah,” the sergeant replied, taking his hand resignedly, “I’ll do that.”
All in all, Slater thought, it had been a successful day. What he needed now was a good, solid night’s rest. Looking down the suburban street, he saw a door open, a dog come out and lift its leg on a tree, then scamper back inside. Still feeling drowsy from the drugs, he heated up the car, then closed his eyes, for what he planned would be a ten-minute nap before driving the rest of the way home. But when he awoke, stiff and
The sergeant didn’t have to look up. “Hey, Frank—I’ve been expecting you.”
“That was a nice fight.”
Groves snorted and vigorously rubbed a towel over the top of his sweaty, shaved head.
Slater sat down on the bench. “When are you supposed to deploy?”
“Next Friday, with the Eighth Battalion.”
“Where?”
“Does it matter?” Groves said. “It’ll be 110 in the shade, with all the sand you can eat.”
Slater nodded as a couple of other guys clambered into the ring. “I don’t see how I can compete with that,” he joked. “Sounds like a regular resort.”
Groves zipped up his bag, then turned toward Slater, who saw now that his lip was split.
“I got your messages,” Groves said, “but I still don’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re going out on another job—and in Alaska, of all places—when you’ve just been busted from the corps.”
“I’m going strictly as an epidemiologist. No Army this time, just civilian AFIP.”
“And do they know that you still get the shakes from the malaria? Since you’re the one who brought up the idea of taking time off, don’t you think you need to take a nice long furlough yourself?”
“I never know what to do with it,” Slater said, in what even he considered the understatement of the year. “And at least it won’t be the Middle East this time. Nobody’s shooting at anybody. It’s strictly medical research.”
“Then why do you need me?” the sergeant asked.
“Because I need someone I can trust to help me run the operation. In one week, we’re going to be off-loading roughly three tons of equipment on an island that I’m told is nearly inaccessible. There’s no place for a plane to land, no safe harbor for a ship of any size. We’re going to have to bring in the supplies by chopper, a lot like we did in Afghanistan, and we’ve got to hit the ground running.”
Groves blew out a breath and looked up as two new fighters feinted and jabbed.
“Why now? Why this time of year?”
“Why not?” Slater said, “It’s the holiday season—where would you rather be than the Arctic?”
“It’s dark there. Almost all the time. Anybody think of that?”
“Yes, of course we have,” Slater replied. Indeed, artificial illumination was one of the first things he had entered into the budget proposal—klieg lamps, ramp lights, and backup generators to make sure they never went down. When dealing with viral material, inert or not, a lighting malfunction could be as dangerous as a refrigeration failure. “But the job can’t wait.”
One of the fighters in the ring landed a low blow, and the other one complained loudly.
“Walk it off!” Groves shouted.
The match resumed, and Slater waited. In spite of all the sergeant’s objections, Slater knew his man. The call to duty in Afghanistan would be strong, but the plea from his old major would be stronger. Groves’s sense of loyalty wouldn’t allow him to let Slater go off on his own, much less after such a personal appeal.
“I’ve already got my orders,” Groves finally said without taking his eyes from the ring. The two fighters were in a clinch, heads butting like rams. “Who’s gonna get my deployment changed?”
“Don’t sweat it. Everything will be taken care of.” Slater put out his hand and said, “Don’t forget to pack warm.”
“Yeah,” the sergeant replied, taking his hand resignedly, “I’ll do that.”
All in all, Slater thought, it had been a successful day. What he needed now was a good, solid night’s rest. Looking down the suburban street, he saw a door open, a dog come out and lift its leg on a tree, then scamper back inside. Still feeling drowsy from the drugs, he heated up the car, then closed his eyes, for what he planned would be a ten-minute nap before driving the rest of the way home. But when he awoke, stiff and
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