Read Online Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg - Free Book Online Page B

Marine,” she sputtered, as though she were seeing the passed-out Claypoole for the first time. “Timmy, vhy you led your corporals gid drunk like dat, and zo early inna day?”
    As broad as Big Barb was, she didn’t look big enough to bowl Kerr over; he was the tallest Marine in third platoon, several centimeters over two meters. He looked down at her from his imposing height.
    “Big Barb, I wasn’t here when Claypoole got drunk. You were. Why did you let him get so drunk?”
    Big Barb didn’t care that she barely came up to Kerr’s chest; she wasn’t intimidated by his height. “Dat don’ madder,” she snorted. “He’s your man, nod mine! You da responzible von!”
    Kerr locked glares with Big Barb, and shook Claypoole’s shoulder again. The two were so intent on staring each other down that neither noticed when the kitchen doors swung open and Lance Corporal Schultz walked into the common room. For those present who did see Schultz, the big, bronze-skinned Marine didn’t appear to look around, or to be in a hurry to get anywhere in particular, but within seconds of entering the room he was at the table where Claypoole was still mumbling demands to be left alone. Schultz kicked the chair out from under his fire team leader, dumping Claypoole quite unceremoniously on the floor.
    Kerr and Big Barb broke their stare-down and switched their attention to Claypoole. But before either of them could move, Claypoole bounded to his feet, and came up swinging. He didn’t know who had knocked him down, and didn’t care, only that somebody was going to pay for it. He swung blindly at the first human form in his sight.
    Which happened to be Hammer Schultz.
    Schultz was expecting a violent reaction from Claypoole and was ready. His left hand flew up and caught Claypoole’s flying right fist like an infielder’s glove snagging a line drive. Then his right hand caught Claypoole’s left. Schultz held on to both. Claypoole tried, and kept trying, to pull his fists back and throw more punches, but all he accomplished was to give his shoulders a workout. He didn’t see who was holding his hands.
    Kerr and Schultz looked at each other over Claypoole’s bobbing head. They knew that he had planned to spend the entire five-day liberty with his girlfriend and that he had gone straight to her farm when he left Camp Ellis the day before. But they’d found him sleeping off a drunk at Big Barb’s. Kerr nodded at Schultz, then stepped close to Claypoole and put his mouth near the corporal’s head.
    “Attention on deck!” he roared into Claypoole’s ear, and jerked back fast enough to avoid being hit when Claypoole snapped to attention.
    Claypoole blinked a few times as he gained awareness of his surroundings: Schultz standing in front of him; that new guy who’d replaced MacIlargie when the Wolfman went into the hospital, standing wide-eyed on the other side of the table; Marines and locals at other tables staring at him; some of Big Barb’s serving girls frozen in place, staring at him. He turned his head and saw Sergeant Kerr giving him the gimlet eye. He noticed that nobody else had come to attention at the command.
    “What the fuck?” he murmured.
    “Are you over your fight?” Kerr asked.
    Claypoole looked from Kerr to Schultz, realized whom he’d been trying to fight with, and swallowed. “I’m over it.”
    “Good. Pick up your chair and sit down. When was the last time you ate?”
    Claypoole had to think about it. “B-breakfast.” His voice broke when he remembered what happened shortly after breakfast.
    “That’s long enough.” Kerr looked at Big Barb. “I think he needs some stew.”
    Big Barb eyed Claypoole. “I tink you right,” she agreed, and signaled for one of the servers. “She take care off it,” she said, and waddled away.
    “Water for him, no beer,” Kerr told the girl when she took the order for stew for Claypoole, reindeer steaks and ale for the others.
    Before the food and drink came,