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

bopping along to WizzinWacks’ “All Day Short,” looked in his eyes and said, “Thank you, I’d love to dance.” But when he reached for her hand to lead her to the impromptu dance floor, she said, “No touching.”
    Ellis and his partner were still dancing when Belinski and his reached the front of the MusiKola. There was room enough for two couples, but when a third, Sergeant Williams and a woman who looked like she might also have three stripes on the sleeves of her dress reds, tried to join in, the space was entirely too crowded. But Marines are resourceful, and in moments enough tables and chairs were pushed out of the way to make a reasonable dance floor. It wasn’t much longer before the available space was filled with dancing couples. In another half hour, the only table that held only men or only women was the one with the two sheepdogs, who did everything but stand up and howl to make sure the wolves knew they were there to protect their flock, and woe be to the wolf who dared trespass. That was the scene into which Gunnery Sergeant Alf Lytle and Staff Sergeant Kazan Fryman, respectively the platoon sergeant and first section leader of second platoon, Fourth Force Recon Company, walked. The two Force Recon leaders almost instantly assessed the situation and, without needing to exchange any words, acted. They headed directly for the sheepdogs, sat at their table, introduced themselves, and engaged the women in conversation. The sheepdogs may have been intent on protecting their flock, but Lytle and Fryman were just as intent on running interference for their wolves.
    And who knows, maybe the sheepdogs actually wanted some wolvish company.

CHAPTER
    FIVE
    Fourth Force Recon Barracks, Camp Howard, Marine Corps Base Camp Basilone, Halfway
    “There’s never a corpsman around when you need one,”
    Sergeant Wil Bingh moaned late the next morning.
    “Arrgh,” Sergeant Brigo Kare said in agreement. They occupied overstuffed chairs in the squad leaders’ lounge of the Force Recon barracks. Bingh sprawled, Kare curled fetuslike. It was the morning after the Snoop ’n Poop had been invaded by the reinforced platoon of off-duty female Marines. The two were in the company’s squad leaders’ lounge because when they got to the barracks the night before, second platoon’s first section squad leaders’ room was locked and the door barricaded from the inside. When they banged on the door and demanded entry, Sergeant Kindy, from inside, told them firmly to go away. When they persisted, Kindy unbarricaded the door, slipped out, grabbed them by their scruffs to march them to the lounge, where he deposited them on the overstuffed chairs and told them he’d let them know when they could return to their room.
    Kindy wasn’t bigger than Bingh and Kare, but he wasn’t shit-faced drunk like they were, which was why he’d been able to handle them so easily. Bingh and Kare were among the last to leave the Snoop ’n Poop in the wee hours of the morning. By then, more than half of the Force Recon Marines who had been in the place had left, as had all of the women Marines; unlike the men, who were still on leave, the women had to report for duty in the morning. Some of the stragglers, as had some of the earlier Marines to leave, went in search of rooms in Havelock to spend the night. The rest, as had some of the earlier departers, caught a liberty bus back to Camp Howard and the barracks. But not all those who left earlier left alone. Alone in this case meaning with only other men.
    So there they were, Sergeants Wil Bingh and Brigo Kare, muscles and joints kinked and cramped from sleeping in the chairs, heads aching and mouths dry, suffering from monumental hangovers.
    “Corpsman up,” Kare moaned.
    “Water,” Bingh groaned. He pulled his sprawled limbs inward as the first step in rising, thought better of it, and went limp.
    “You try,” he rasped.
    “Try what?” Kare opened a bloodshot eye and rolled it toward