A Few Good Men by Cat Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

Morales and Gonzo standing there. “Sir?”
    He looked up at his driver. “Yes, Morales.”
    “Permission to blatantly break the rules, sir?”
    Hmm. What could this be about? John raised a brow then laughed bitterly. How bad could it be? “Sure, what the hell. Go ahead.”
    “I’ve been saving this for a platoon toast the day we leave this hell hole. But I think now might be more appropriate.” The large Texan pulled a small hipflask-sized glass bottle out of his back pocket. “Bourbon, sir?”
    John laughed. Ask and ye shall receive. “I would love some.”
    There was no drinking at any time at camp, not that any of his men would be stupid enough to want a drop of alcohol in their bloodstreams before going out into the hell they faced daily. But today was different. First, they weren’t at the camp, they were at the military hospital. Second, today was a maintenance day and they had already finished all their assignments, even with one man short, so they could visit Jazzy. John’s section was not due to be called out again tonight. And because of Jazzy’s injuries and the fact they were down a man, even in an emergency they would be the last ones called. It was a hell of a fucked-up way to get the day off from missions, but you took them how you could get them.
    John shook his head at himself. Sometimes you just had to break the rules. Celebrating Jazzy not being dead, even though right now he wanted to kill him, was one of those times. “Get some cups.”
    Gonzo jumped to do just that as Morales looked relieved he wasn’t about to be written up or worse for this breach of conduct. John decided he didn’t want to know where the booze had come from. It was enough the bottle was full and sealed. He chose to assume it really was for their going-home party and not for Morales to nip on nightly. He could live very happily with that belief.
    Gonzo returned quickly with three tiny, hospital-sized water cups and closed the door tightly.
    “Only three? Hey. What about me?” Jazzy whined with a shocked expression on his bandaged face.
    “You have enough happy juice running through you right about now,” Morales told him as he poured three large shots and the trio of men stood motionless, disposable cups in their hands. It had been a very long time since any one of them had partaken of anything stronger than coffee. John stared down into the amber liquid, whose pungent aroma had already assaulted his nose.
    “Would you like to make the toast, sir?” Morales asked, holding his little bourbon-filled cup awkwardly in his huge hands.
    John nodded, raised his own blessed liquor and recited the tankers’ toast they all knew so well. “Here’s to cheating, stealing, smoking, fighting and drinking.”
    John watched Jazzy raise his ice water with a pout and wait for him to finish the toast.
    He went on. “If you cheat, may it be death. If you steal, may it be a woman’s heart. If you smoke, may it be a fine cigar. If you fight, may it be alongside your brothers in arms. If you drink, may it be with me. And may you get to Heaven before the Devil knows you’re dead.” The last sentiment they would probably all need when that time came. He concluded with, “To Jazzy, who has the hardest head I know.”
    “Aww. Thanks, sir. You do care.” Jazzy smirked as John shook his head and laughed.
    “To Jazzy,” the two other men echoed, and then all three swallowed the liquor faster than was wise.

Chapter Five
    John walked into the MWR, pulled his helmet off and looked around. “Shit,” he whispered to himself. Five machines shared between one hundred soldiers and wouldn’t you know it, for the first time in his time here, the place was a ghost town. No line of men waiting to get on. Two machines available and not one excuse left for John to use to avoid writing this email.
    He spied the coffee pot. The good coffee had already run out—even a case didn’t last too long once a hundred caffeine-addicted soldiers heard