lay . . .
But she was obviously something more to Reilly, that thing she'd been mostly denied when she'd been with the Israeli Army. He thinks of me first and foremost as a soldier! How great is that?
She chewed at her lower lip a moment before answering, 'Depends, sir. It's a low velocity gun any way you look at it, firing a high cross-section, fin-stabilized shell. High crossing winds . . . moving target . . . anything like that and it's a matter of luck and training more than the gun or the fire control.'
'Training's going to be a problem,' Reilly said. 'I don't have and won't get permission to fire major rounds before we move out. And I doubt the TP ammunition we're getting is really exactly the same.'
'It isn't,' Lana agreed, 'but that's not a problem. Our reputation depends on how our products do in combat, when it counts. A lot of armies that have these things they can't afford to fire much. So each car comes with three sub-caliber devices, basically modified expended shell casings filled with concrete, and with a redundant, bore- sighted spotting rifle from the old 105mm recoilless inside. I made sure all twenty-seven of the ones that come with the rebuilds were loaded to come here, to your base camp. Along with about thirty thousand rounds of .50 spotting. We can train to shoot.'
I think I'm in love, Reilly thought. Okay, not really. 'You mean 106, don't you?'
'No,' she replied, very definitely. 'You called it that, to distinguish it from its failed predecessor, but it was 105mm all the same.'
'Really?' Lust, anyway.
Alone in her tent, lying on the unmattressed folding cot, wearing sweaty battle dress, Phillie was miserable, And it's not just because I'm horny. But I never even see Wes, except at a distance. Or in the occasional meeting. Or . . .
Her moping was interrupted by a knock on the tent pole. It didn't resound, exactly, but she'd gotten used to the rather different sounds of a lonely jungle camp as compared to the big bright city and houses with doors that reverberated like drums.
'Nurse Potter?' Sergeant Coffee asked. 'Are you decent?'
I'm actually pretty damned good, she thought, not that anyone's tried me lately. 'Here, Sergeant Coffee. I'm dressed.'
Coffee stuck his large, squared-off head inside the tent flap. 'Message from the commander, Nurse Potter. He needs a medical person at the docks and Dr. Joseph is busy with setting a bone from B Company. Somebody from one of the LCM crews must be hurt.'
'Do you know who got hurt?' she asked. 'How bad is it?'
'No, Ma'am, I don't know'-Coffee had gotten much more polite since dumping Phillie in the mud- 'but if myself or one of my apes would have done the trick, I'm sure Colonel Stauer wouldn't have asked for you.'
Phillie arose from her cot and, bending, grabbed the medical kit bag underneath.
Coffee grimaced. Ooo, that's nice.
'Sergeant Coffee,' she said, straightening up, 'if you would be so kind would you ask Sergeant Island to hold some lunch for me?'
'Be happy to, ma'am,' Coffee replied as he ducked his head out of the tent. 'By the way, the colonel's ATV is outside. You can take that.'
'Wouldn't know how to drive it, Sergeant Coffee. And the dock's not far.'
***
There was no one dockside or on the sole landing craft tied up to it. Phillie supposed the other two were downstream, either at Manaus or bringing another load of supplies in. She swung a long leg over the sheer hull and climbed down, calling out, 'Is anyone aboard.' More softly she muttered, 'If this is some kind of joke . . . '
A strained sounding Wes' voice called back, 'Over here, Phillie.' She looked around to the stern, from whence came his voice, and began to walk across the ribbed deck. Where the cargo deck ended there was a steel wall, mostly blank except for one ladder inset into it. She elbowed her bag behind her and climbed up. As her head arose over the wall, she saw another deck, mostly flat, with a upright steel housing and an open hatch in front of that. 'Down here,' Wes called again. His voice sounded urgent, as if the emergency was dire indeed.
She began to scramble down, first swinging her leg until it connected with another ladder. Halfway down, with her head and torso still above deck level, she felt strong hands on her hips lifting her away from the ladder. Thereafter, she sank into the engine housing so quickly she could barely register a surprised 'O.'
Her feet touched the metal deck below and Phillie felt herself spun around bodily. One large hand slithered up her back, unhooking her bra with practiced ease, even while another frantically undid the buttons on front of her battle dress jacket. She was about to scream 'rape' when a quick sniff told her nose, 'Stauer.'
The latter hand pushed her T-shirt and bra up and out of the way, even while the other one did something overhead that caused a clang that was shocking inside the close confines of the oil-smelling engine room.
Both hands then struggled with the buttons of her trousers before hooking thumbs in them and her panties and pushing downward. Phillie kicked to try to get the trousers off completely but, as they were bloused into her boots, she failed and remained with her ankles bound together by trousers.
She felt herself picked up again, this time by her bare buttocks. She pulled her legs up and rested them on the forearms that held her. When she was released again, it was to rest her bare skin on the cold, cold block of a very large diesel engine. She squealed at the shock.
'Shhhh,' whispered Stauer into her ear as he gently stroked her smooth flanks. 'Shhhh. Doctor's orders.'
Doc Joseph and Sergeant Coffee watched the boat from the jungle nearest the river. They really couldn't tell if the boat's gentle rocking was from the current, from Phillie boarding, or from her being boarded. It didn't really matter anyway.
Coffee pulled a pack of cigarettes out of one corner and held them out, offering one to the doctor. Joseph declined at first then said, 'Ah, what the fuck. Gimme.'
He took the cigarette and then puffed it alight in the flame from Coffee's proffered lighter. He coughed a couple of times, then his lungs settled into the smoke.
'You really wrote him a prescription?' Coffee asked, just before lighting his own cancer stick.
'Nope,' Joseph said. 'I wrote her one, and told him to deliver it.'
Coffee snickered. 'You don't think it will be a problem with the boys, the colonel having his honey to . . . ummm . . . to hand?'
Joseph shook his head. 'No, not if they're reasonably discreet. The troops won't care as long as Stauer doesn't play favorites and doesn't flaunt that he's dipping his wick when the boys can't.'
Coffee rocked his smoke-wreathed head from side to side before agreeing, 'Yeah . . . probably.'
A hundred meters away the landing craft continued its gentle rocking, waves forming from the current as it passed around the stern.
