Read Online Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Sherman & Dan Cragg
Tags: Military science fiction
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best damn— woman Big Barb ever hired! The fourth time his gaze swung by her, his eyes juddered to a stop, and he recognized her. Grinning broadly, he signaled for a refill.
Gina gave him a dubious look, then glanced at Rhon, who shrugged and began mixing another drink for Claypoole. When Gina went to the bar to get it, Rhon drew her into brief, whispered consultation. She nodded, then picked up the fresh drink and marched it to the wildly grinning Claypoole.
“You’re cut off after this one, Marine,” she said firmly.
He grinned innocently at her. “Tol’ you, call me Rock.”
“It doesn’t matter what I call you. You’re cut off after this one.”
“Wha’ eber you say, love.” He reached for her, but she’d already stepped out of reach, and he had to grab the table with both hands to avoid falling onto the floor. More or less stable, he lifted the glass with both hands and drained half of it without spilling too much down his chin. He barely got the glass back on the table before he began swaying too much to keep a firm grip on it.
With much cautious twisting, turning, and shifting about on the chair, Claypoole propped his elbows on the tabletop and laid the top of his chest against the table’s edge. Squinting to focus, he gripped the glass with both hands and lowered his head until his grinning mouth was in contact with the rim of the glass. Gingerly, as though lifting something of immense value and incredible fragility, he raised himself, holding the glass in a three-point grip—both hands and his mouth—tipping his head and the glass back. Before he realized it, he was tipped back far enough that the liquor was flowing into his mouth. He kept tipping backward until he overbalanced and toppled to the floor.
Gina wasn’t looking, and jumped at the crash of Claypoole and chair hitting the floor, but she knew instantly what had happened and ran to kneel at his side. Her hands gently probed his head, looking for soft spots and blood. She didn’t find any.
That just happened to be when Big Barb came out of her office, located behind the bar. “Vot’s goink on here?” she bellowed. Her eyes immediately picked out the source of the noise and she bustled over to see whether she had to worry about liability.
“Glaypoole?” she said when she saw the passed-out Marine. She shot a look at Rhon the bartender. “Dit you gib him von off your con coctionsh ?”
Rhon shrugged. “He said he wanted something strong.”
“That’s right, Big Barb,” Gina put in. “He said he’d had an awful morning and wanted something to help him forget it.”
“Zo you giff him a con coction ? Dat vasn’t enuf to knock him out.”
“Two of them,” Gina said.
“Doubles,” Rhon added.
Big Barb shuddered at the thought of someone drinking two of Rhon’s “concoctions.” Doubles, no less.
“Gid ober ’ere,” she ordered Rhon. “Stan’ ’im up. No, no,” she said when Rhon grabbed Claypoole under his shoulders. “Put the chair ub, den sid ’im on it. Tha’s right, lay his head on his harms. Led ’im sleeb it off. We ain’ gonna be so busy for a while we’ll need the table.” She waddled away, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
Gina watched until Big Barb was far enough away, then adjusted Claypoole’s head, arms, and shoulders into a position that would leave him less stiff than the way Rhon had dumped him.
And that’s how Sergeant Kerr and Lance Corporal Ymenez found him when they entered Big Barb’s a few hours later.
“Mmrph.”
“That’s not good enough, Marine,” Sergeant Kerr said, and shook Claypoole’s shoulder again.
“Mmlmpf.”
“Is this really the image you want your junior man to have of his fire team leader?” Kerr clamped a hand on top of Claypoole’s head, lifted, and let go. Claypoole’s head clunked back onto his folded arms.
“Emmeone.” Claypoole feebly shifted his head’s position on his arms.
Big Barb bustled over. “Dam drunk
Gina gave him a dubious look, then glanced at Rhon, who shrugged and began mixing another drink for Claypoole. When Gina went to the bar to get it, Rhon drew her into brief, whispered consultation. She nodded, then picked up the fresh drink and marched it to the wildly grinning Claypoole.
“You’re cut off after this one, Marine,” she said firmly.
He grinned innocently at her. “Tol’ you, call me Rock.”
“It doesn’t matter what I call you. You’re cut off after this one.”
“Wha’ eber you say, love.” He reached for her, but she’d already stepped out of reach, and he had to grab the table with both hands to avoid falling onto the floor. More or less stable, he lifted the glass with both hands and drained half of it without spilling too much down his chin. He barely got the glass back on the table before he began swaying too much to keep a firm grip on it.
With much cautious twisting, turning, and shifting about on the chair, Claypoole propped his elbows on the tabletop and laid the top of his chest against the table’s edge. Squinting to focus, he gripped the glass with both hands and lowered his head until his grinning mouth was in contact with the rim of the glass. Gingerly, as though lifting something of immense value and incredible fragility, he raised himself, holding the glass in a three-point grip—both hands and his mouth—tipping his head and the glass back. Before he realized it, he was tipped back far enough that the liquor was flowing into his mouth. He kept tipping backward until he overbalanced and toppled to the floor.
Gina wasn’t looking, and jumped at the crash of Claypoole and chair hitting the floor, but she knew instantly what had happened and ran to kneel at his side. Her hands gently probed his head, looking for soft spots and blood. She didn’t find any.
That just happened to be when Big Barb came out of her office, located behind the bar. “Vot’s goink on here?” she bellowed. Her eyes immediately picked out the source of the noise and she bustled over to see whether she had to worry about liability.
“Glaypoole?” she said when she saw the passed-out Marine. She shot a look at Rhon the bartender. “Dit you gib him von off your con coctionsh ?”
Rhon shrugged. “He said he wanted something strong.”
“That’s right, Big Barb,” Gina put in. “He said he’d had an awful morning and wanted something to help him forget it.”
“Zo you giff him a con coction ? Dat vasn’t enuf to knock him out.”
“Two of them,” Gina said.
“Doubles,” Rhon added.
Big Barb shuddered at the thought of someone drinking two of Rhon’s “concoctions.” Doubles, no less.
“Gid ober ’ere,” she ordered Rhon. “Stan’ ’im up. No, no,” she said when Rhon grabbed Claypoole under his shoulders. “Put the chair ub, den sid ’im on it. Tha’s right, lay his head on his harms. Led ’im sleeb it off. We ain’ gonna be so busy for a while we’ll need the table.” She waddled away, shaking her head and muttering under her breath.
Gina watched until Big Barb was far enough away, then adjusted Claypoole’s head, arms, and shoulders into a position that would leave him less stiff than the way Rhon had dumped him.
And that’s how Sergeant Kerr and Lance Corporal Ymenez found him when they entered Big Barb’s a few hours later.
“Mmrph.”
“That’s not good enough, Marine,” Sergeant Kerr said, and shook Claypoole’s shoulder again.
“Mmlmpf.”
“Is this really the image you want your junior man to have of his fire team leader?” Kerr clamped a hand on top of Claypoole’s head, lifted, and let go. Claypoole’s head clunked back onto his folded arms.
“Emmeone.” Claypoole feebly shifted his head’s position on his arms.
Big Barb bustled over. “Dam drunk
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