A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth
| 26. Picking the Wrong Fights. | 28. Half the Story. |
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27. Solidarity
Front Hall. There is a casket here draped in a flag. All the Marines on base except those currently on patrol are present in their dress uniforms. Peaches is standing to the side of the chaplain.
The ceremony is short—it is a memorial service, not a funeral. After Taps, the casket is wheeled to cold-storage until the next transport can take it home. The Marines process out after it, subdued, and from there to the mess hall where the food has been augmented by a punch bowl provided by the company still.
Almost everyone takes one drink. No one takes a second. They are mourning but all too aware of having to be alert for their own patrols.
Office. Peaches is sitting at the desk, leaning forward, brow against her good hand. A cup is set by her elbow. She looks up.
Gunny. "You didn't have any at the wake."
Peaches. "I thought it would look bad."
Gunny. "Probably. Drink it."
She looks at it from under the shadow of her hand, glum. Then does it in one swallow. She pushes the cup away from her; Gunny picks it up.
Then: "Someone died. On my watch."
"He won't be the last."
Peaches looks up, startled. He squeezes her shoulder and leaves. Outside in the corridor, his face shows a trace of regret as he walks away.
Gym. Dusty is slamming her fist into a target dummy while fellow squad leaders Scythe, Roach and platoon leader Big Lion watch.
"****ing crabs! ****ing doctors! **** **** ****! I can't even get properly ****ing wasted because we don't have enough ****ing people to keep the ****ing crabs from ****ing the damned donut when our backs are turned! **** the donut anyway!"
Roach. "Want me to take your shift?"
Dusty, rubbing her wrist. "****. No, Roach. No, you're tired too. **** it." She sits on a bench. "****. Dying on your back in a bed. Saved from the crabs just to ****ing die anyway."
Scythe, tense. "It's a good death."
Roach. "Aw, ****, Scythe. How the hell is that a good death?"
Scythe, fierce and quiet. "The crabs eat us alive if they catch us. So, yeah. Dying in bed surrounded by your brothers is a ****ing good death."
All three of the others stare at him.
Dusty. "W-what?"
Scythe. "You know that reservist they gave me? Seems like the bug on base likes to talk to her. Told her the crabs ****ing eat people alive, hoping to suck their memories out of their brains. Doesn't work, but they keep trying."
Big Lion, low. "**** all."
Roach. "Damn, Scythe. We get new folks and they're regular joes. You get saddled with G.I. Jane and the alien whisperer. Your god have it out for you?"
Scythe. "**** you, Roach."
Dusty. "So... we can put questions to the bug."
Scythe. "You can bring questions to me and I'll have her relay, yeah. If you've got a useful question. **** if I know what a useful question is right now. 'What flavors are you allergic to?' "
Roach. "****. Eating us alive!" He eyes Big Lion. "You didn't know?"
Big Lion. "**** no. They just told me 'never leave anyone behind.' "
Scythe, hard. "Peaches didn't even know. Guess they thought it would make us angry."
Silence. Then Dusty gets up. "I got patrol." Eyes Scythe. "I'll think of something."
Roach. "I'll walk you home."
Dusty. "Bastard. I can ****ing walk myself home, I'm not some paper doll."
Roach, grinning. "I know. That's why I like you." More serious. "Come on."
The two of them leave.
Big Lion. "You running interference for your alien whisperer?"
Scythe. "Of course I am. Dusty's ****ing pissed. I don't need her waking up my people and giving them **** before she's got her head together."
Big Lion, sounding tense. "Good."
Scythe glances up at her.
"I don't think her other two are going to make it either."
Scythe. "****."
| 26. Picking the Wrong Fights. | 28. Half the Story. |
|---|
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