that’s a sissy drink!” he began, but the others began chanting at him.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!”
At last, he awkwardly dropped to his knees, bent over the remaining glass, and took it in his mouth. He didn’t tip his head fast enough, though, and a lot of it ended up dribbling down his chin, together with a small avalanche of whipped cream. He started choking and gagging, and Lucky and Corporal Duane Niemeyer began pounding him on the back.
“Gah!” he said, rising from the floor. “That’s still a sissy drink! I only drink…I only drink…uh…a man’s drink!”
“And what would that be?” BA asked him.
“Hell, just about anything that pours. One at a time or all together, I can take it! I just don’t do sissy drinks.”
“Is that so?” She studied him. “You ever tried a cement mixer?”
“Nah. What is that, another sissy—”
“A man’s drink,” she told him. “With a name like ‘cement mixer,’ what would you expect?”
“Now that sounds more like it! What’s in it?”
“Here, I think I have the ingredients. Yup. You do this in two stages.” Deftly, she poured out two shot glasses, one with lime grenadine, the other with Bailey’s Irish Creme. She handed him the Bailey’s. “Here. Take this…but don’t swallow. Hold it in your mouth.”
He tossed the shot back.
“Now,” she told him, “take this in your mouth and swish it around with the other.”
Lucky had seen this gag pulled before. The lime juice curdled the Bailey’s, turning it to the consistency of cottage cheese. It didn’t taste bad—sort of like sweet tarts, in fact—but the sensation of having that stuff congeal in your mouth out of nowhere generated the most wonderful expressions of disbelief, shock, and dawning I’ve-been-had horror imaginable.
Nodell was just starting to work at it when the far door opened and Major Warhurst walked in.
“Attention on deck!” Dave cried. There was a swift rattling and shuffling as shot glasses and bottles somehow vanished into BJ’s porta-bar, which closed and locked and made it to the floor as the rest of them stood up.
Warhurst didn’t seem to notice—likely a deliberate oversight on his part—but he seemed fascinated by the expression on Nodell’s face. “Carry—” he started to say, and then stopped. “Nodell? Are you okay?”
“Um…mmm-mmm…mmm!” He was working his jaws furiously, trying to swallow the mess in his mouth without parting his lips.
“That’s ‘Mmm-mmm, sir,’ Nodell. What have you got in your mouth?”
Lucky stood at attention, wondering what was going to go down. V-berg wasn’t dry, but the only drinking allowed was at the various designated watering holes, the enlisted bars and NCO clubs and such. They could all be in a world of shit if Major Warhurst decided to be a prick.
With several more vigorous workings of his jaw, Nodell managed to get the congealed mess chewed and swallowed. “Uh, sorry, sir. You caught me with my mouth full.”
“Of what?”
“Uh…my girlfriend sent me some cookies.”
Warhurst glanced at the suspiciously empty table—no wrappings, no crumbs. “I see.” He sniffed. “Lime cookies? Smells good! I don’t suppose you have any for your CO.”
“Uh, sorry, sir. That was the last one!”
“Very well. Carry on, then!”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Almost taps, people. You’d better break this up. We start weapons training early tomorrow. M-580, stripping, cleaning, and troubleshooting. You’ll need clear heads.” He gave Nodell a hard look. “All of you!”
He turned and walked out, as the Marines at the table slowly, ever so slowly, relaxed again.
“Jeez! We coulda all been busted!” Lucky said.
“I don’t think so,” BJ said. “He knew!”
“Nah,” Dave said. “No way.”
“So…what kind of skipper is he?” Corporal Mayhew asked. He was the company’s current newbie, newly arrived from Space Training School at Quantico.
“Damned tough,” BJ told him. “So tough I’d follow him to hell.”
And the others agreed. Lucky wasn’t quite that trusting…but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was willing enough to consider following the guy to hell.
But…to Europa?
23 SEPTEMBER 2067
Tiantan Shandian
Solar Orbit
1412 hours Zulu
They’d been extending the tether for the past thirty hours, allowing the fifteen-kilometer cables to play themselves slowly out into the night. At the far end of the four superconducting cables, a twenty-ton doughnut of steel, ceramics, and titanium used electrostatic forces and tiny rocket motors to maintain tension against the cables as they unspooled from the Heavenly Lightning’s blunt prow. Lasers ensured perfect alignment, while powerful optical and infrared telescopes assured proper tracking and aim.
On the Lightning’s bridge, drifting beside the communications suite, Captain Lin Hu Xiang grasped a handhold and pulled himself alongside the communications officer, head down. “Do we have our final word?”
“Yes, Captain!” The comm officer’s young face betrayed the flush of excitement. “It is confirmed both by Mission Control and the Star Mountain. Jia you!”
Go.
“I can’t help but feel certain…misgivings,” Lin said. “We advance blindly into an unwise war…”
“Sir! The Space Military Directorate would never—”
“It’s not the Directorate I’m worried about. It’s our inspired leaders in the Great Hall of the People. The men who put us here, who decided we should begin a war launched against the entire world.”
The comm officer looked shocked. Evidently, he’d never expected to hear a commanding officer criticize the government. “I…I am sure they have their reasons.”
“No doubt. And urgent ones, I imagine. Still…how is your military history, Lieutenant?”
“I am a graduate of the Beijing Academy, sir. First honors!”
“Which guarantees nothing. Do you know the name Zhu-gang?”
“No, Captain.” He looked puzzled. “Is that a place in the homeland?”
“No.
