Aramis said, “Yeah, as crappy as those pocket pastries are, I could use one right now.”
“There is no beer,” Bart lamented.
“Yeah, we’ll take the bad with the worse.”
Elke asked, “Casual uniform?” She had her blouse halfway off. She didn’t like being touched, but she was perfectly comfortable disrobing among her teammates. She had not a bad figure at all, too.
“Yes,” Alex agreed.
Twenty minutes later, they trooped to the rec center. He figured that despite the friction with the troops, a change of scenery was good, and perhaps they could plug into a game or two. In the meantime, someone might let slip some intel.
The new push for “equality” meant there were no distinct areas for officers, NCOs and enlisted members. Tradition maintained, though. The enlisted troops gathered near game pads. The NCOs sat in groups to talk and drink dealcoholized beer, though Jason was quite sure some of them had found ways to doctor the beverages. The officers had trivia and logic puzzles, though honestly, most of the problems weren’t that hard, and only a handful of the officers seemed to actually care or be any good. They had definitely doctored their drinks.
The team found an alcove off the main lounge, so they could soak up some noise, ambience and hints of music. It wasn’t Jason’s thing, but it was an escape from their apartment. He might suggest trips to the chapel and theater as well. Anything to break the rut. He took a chair with his left side to the room, back to the wall. Aramis faced into the room. Elke faced Jason. At an angle, the other three took a couch. It gave them good view and some distance.
While others might be violating regs on intoxicants, and they could claim immunity under BuState, though not officially on this side of the base, he agreed with Alex that to do so was to invite trouble. He had a ginger ale. Elke actually took a Coke. Caffeine was as rarely her thing as it was his. They shortly were all gathered around a drink table, slumped in chairs and soaking up atmosphere.
Aramis said, “Thanks. I needed this.” Jason followed his eyes to see a very shapely Malaysian woman in snug workout clothes. Yes, that was nice.
A clean young man walked past and asked, “What’s the uniform?”
It took Jason a moment to realize it was addressed to them, in their basic pants and company shirt. It had the logo on the chest. Theoretically, they’d prefer blank clothes, but uniforms were required over here, for a combination of security and international agreement.
“Hey, what’s the uniform?” the kid repeated. He wore the new camo, and it looked brand new. He hadn’t been around much.
“We’re Minister Highland’s personal security detail.”
“Ah, them,” was the snide response.
Some troops really respected them, or at least had a case of hero worship. Some just treated them as any other contingent that wasn’t their own. Some of the young ones, though, believed too much propaganda.
“Yup. Them,” was all he said.
“I sure wouldn’t mind making ten times what I’m earning to slouch around in chairs.”
“Well, put in an application.”
“Huh?”
“Yup. We’re always hiring.”
The kid wanted an argument. “You make it sound like I won’t make it.”
Jason gave him a neutral, interested look and said, “We prefer Recon veterans, or those with two years executive protection experience. Special skillsets like paramedic, demolition or encryption help. So if you’re not one of those, your odds are reduced, but it never hurts to apply.”
The kid snorted derisively.
Aramis said, “We might be the best.”
That didn’t help, but it was pretty clear this kid was looking for escalation.
Aramis put his drink down and rested his hands on the chair arms. Jason knew it was so he could be on his feet and at a sprint in under a second. Shaman, Alex and Bart stayed back on the couch, not commenting.
It was clear the troop was young enough to have been impressed by his instructors, and to not pick up on social cues from anyone outside his narrow peer group.
“And I’m the guy fighting this war so you have the right to say stupid things like that, civilian.”
It took a moment for Jason to process that. It was ridiculous in so many levels.
His brain decided to ignore the comment, to defuse things. His sense of the bizarre responded faster, and he laughed hysterically.
“Thanks,” he said, and turned back to the conversation. “So,” he said to Aramis, “when you get a chance, you really need to try the new mods on the autocannon.”
Then the kid clamped a hand down on his shoulder.
There were still ways to defuse this, but Jason was getting pissed. He glanced sideways, saw the kid opening his yap to talk, and went for the object lesson.
He reached over with his right hand, gripped the kid’s wrist and twisted, followed it with an elbow bar, and pushed him grunting down to the ground. He placed one foot casually on the kid’s shoulder blade, leaned into the wrist, and bent the elbow back against his left knee.
The kid’s voice was muffled with his mouth against the ground and pink fabric against his chin.
“Let me go, cocksucker.”
“Not until you learn some manners around your betters, son,” he replied, while putting just a little pressure on the wrist, until the troop squirmed and grunted.
However, he was not at all fazed. Through the carpet, the kid said, “I’ll fucking pound your ass when I get up.”
“Well, I guess I shouldn’t let you up then, if I know that’s your strategy. Aramis, will you please find someone to take charge of this?” He pointed down. The only direct pressure he had on the kid at this point was two fingers. The rest was all leverage.
Aramis was still smirking, and said, “Sure, just a moment. Would you like a soda while I’m up?”
“That would be great. Ginger ale with vanilla, please.” A beer would be nice, but while the ban was annoying, it wasn’t nearly as troublesome as some other issues.
The kid seemed to finally deduce he was outclassed, and lay still. Jason wasn’t injuring him, they were at least semi-public, and while a crowd wasn’t forming, several snickering gawkers gathered across the lounge. They didn’t act offended.
A familiar voice spoke a little too loudly.
“What the hell are you doing to my troop?”
“Well, Lieutenant, let’s say I don’t like having a hand on my shoulder unless it’s a proctologist or a close friend. Then he threatened violence. Now, I’m sure there’s a record on one of our monitors.” He tapped his glasses meaningfully, though they weren’t set to record right then. “However, I really don’t have time to argue the point, and would simply like to add some separation. Can we do that?”
The lieutenant looked very irritated, though whether at Jason or his recruit who had instigated the incident was hard to say.
“We can. Come with me, soldier.”
Jason relaxed his grip and pulled his foot free. The kid scrambled up and tried to put on a show.
“That’s once. I give anyone once. Next time, you and me-”
“Private!” the lieutenant snapped, and the kid jerked. He’d probably just realized that regardless of who the officer blamed, he’d be the one downhill from the shit.
Very quickly, the team had the alcove to themselves. He sighed. Sure, that was good tactically, but long term, it sure would be nice to get along with allied forces.
Elke said, “Let’s not do this again.”
Aramis said, “We’re just not the diplomatic type.”
CHAPTER 17
