Starfist FR - 03 - Recoil by Dan Cragg Read Free Book Online

refill.”
    The three Marines looked at one another with surprised amusement, then burst out laughing. Mom Kass was back well before they’d emptied their mugs, bearing a tray with a Boradu-style nacho platter and three plates. As soon as she finished placing the platter and plates on the table, Rudd hoisted the empty pitcher and said, “Mother, may I?”
    Mom Kass gave him that look, pointed at the platter, and said, “Eat.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Rudd said, and used a handful of the grain chips to scoop cheese, ground meat and sauce blend, peppers, and greens onto the plate she’d put in front of him. Throughout, he kept the pitcher aloft for her to take. Mom Kass gave the other two that look until they also filled their plates from the platter and started eating. Only then did she take the pitcher from Rudd’s hand and go off to refill it at the bar.
    Raucous laughter sounded from the next table, and a voice crowed, “Mom Kass sure has you three under control!”
    Belinski looked over and glowered. “That’s enough out of you, Musica,” he snarled. Corporal Gin Musica barked out another laugh. Corporal Dana Pricer and Lance Corporal Stanis Wehrli joined in. They cut off and switched their attention to their own food and drink when Mom Kass came back and bestowed that look on them. Before Belinski could laugh, or say anything to Musica, a hush fell over the Snoop ’n Poop, and all movement ceased—
    even the waitresses stopped in their tracks—and all heads swiveled toward the entrance. Where a most strange sight presented itself. A group of women was coming through the door. None of them wore anything that could be identified as part of a uniform, but the cut of their hair and their bearing declared them to be Marines. A whole platoon’s worth of female Marines—a reinforced platoon. Entering the Snoop ’n Poop. An establishment that catered to male Marines, where the most commonly seen women were waitresses in mock femaleMarine-uniform costumes. For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the light treads of the women Marines’ feet as they moved about finding tables for themselves, the scraping of chairs on the floor as they took seats, and the light titters of their voices as they talked back and forth. Sergeant Kindy was the first to speak. He was afraid of how the platoon of female Marines would react to the waitresses’
    uniforms, and his murmured “Oh shit” carried quite clearly through the room. Kindy had been coming to the Snoop ’n Poop frequently during his three and a half years with Fourth Force Recon, and this was the first time he’d ever seen a female Marine in the place—unless the rumors that some of the waitresses were off-duty Marines were true. His murmur spoke for everyone.
    Kindy’s two syllables were enough to break the few men in the place who weren’t Force Recon out of their paralysis. They began frantically signaling the waitresses for their checks. They were the only ones who showed intent to leave, though. Even when the door opened again to admit two more women. The two newcomers, even bereft of uniform and insignia, were instantly identifiable as Marine gunnery sergeants, most probably acting as sheepdogs, there to protect their flock from the wolves who inhabited the Snoop ’n Poop.
    The non–Force Recon Marines couldn’t exit fast enough, but the Force Recon Marines weren’t budging from their place, nossir! It was their place after all, and nobody was chasing them out of it. And if the women didn’t like it, well, they could just pick their cute little derrieres up and prance right out!
    The women didn’t seem to object to the waitress uniforms—
    except maybe for the two gunnery sergeants. Then again, those two looked like they disapproved of everything in the Snoop ’n Poop, quite possibly even the very existence of the establishment. Not only didn’t the women Marines seem to object, but one said to the nearest waitress, “Nice outfit! Who’s