too,” Wilton said. “At least I think it was beer.”
“The Monster is from Röszke, just over the border fromSerbia.” Monster looked around and grinned at them. “In Serbia there is no, how do you say, you are old enough for drinking?”
“Legal drinking age,” Chisnall said.
“Aha, legal drinking age. So kids walk to bars in Horgoš and roll all the way back home.” That laugh sounded so loud that Chisnall began to worry how far it would carry in the desert.
“You ever do that, Monster?” Price asked. “Get drunk in Horgoš?”
“Pukes invaded Hungary in ’26. He’d have been, like, twelve,” Brogan said.
Monster nodded. “The Monster was eleven when my family became refugees. America won’t allow the Monster to drink beer till he’s twenty-one.”
“Good thing too,” Price said. “You’re crazy enough when you’re sober.”
“How about you, LT?” Wilton asked. “What would you be doing right now, if not for the war?”
“Sleeping,” Chisnall said.
“Other than that,” Wilton said.
“I don’t know,” Chisnall said. “I never got the chance to figure that out.”
“That isn’t what you told me,” Brogan said.
“Now you gotta tell us,” Price said.
“I’m the LT,” Chisnall said. “I don’t gotta do nothing.”
“So you tell us, Sarge,” Wilton said.
“Sergeant Brogan, I am sure you wouldn’t breach theconfidentiality of a discussion between an officer and an NCO,” Chisnall said.
“Of course not, LT,” Brogan said. “These lowlifes are just going to have to wait until you’re a famous TV chef before they find out.”
“TV chef!” Wilton burst out laughing.
“Oops,” Brogan said.
“I never said TV,” Chisnall said.
“I heard it,” Brogan said.
“So why you serve us green crap for meals?” Monster asked. “Can’t a chef do better than that?”
“Especially a famous TV chef,” Price said.
Chisnall sighed. “Look … when I was a kid, before we got recruited—”
“Serves you right for being so good at paintball,” Brogan said.
“If I’d known that it meant getting recruited, I’d have missed every shot,” Wilton said.
“Carry on, LT,” Price said. “I gotta hear this.”
“Well … you know. I was into cooking,” Chisnall said.
“We’d be good friends.” Monster laughed. “The Monster is into eating.”
“I just loved the way you could take a few raw ingredients and add a bit of heat and end up with something completely different,” Chisnall said. “It’s a kind of magic. I always thought I’d like to go to cooking school and learn how to do it properly.”
“Sounds really gay to me,” Wilton said, and got a shove in his back from Brogan for his trouble.
“No, really, I’m just saying,” he said.
“Yeah, and what were you planning to do with your life, Wilton?” Price asked. “Professional snow-bunny? Maybe a snowboard instructor, getting hit on by the arctic cougars in the après-ski?”
“Shut up,” Wilton said.
“I wonder what Hunter’s dreams were,” Price said, and the chill of the night air grew suddenly colder, an icy blanket drawing around them.
“He never even got to fire a shot,” Wilton said.
There was a moment’s silence.
“The Pukes are going to pay for Hunter,” Monster said. “Booyah,” Price said.
“Here we come, you alien mother-shippers,” Wilton said. “You want some of this, Pukes? Come get some. I got enough kick-ass for all you vomit bags.”
“Booyah,” Price said again.
“Wilton,” Chisnall said. “We’re a recon team. We’re not shock troops. If we go in screaming and shooting, that’s pretty much going to screw up our mission, don’t you think?”
Wilton seemed not to have heard him. “My dad took out two Puke LAVs with one rocket during the defense of Okinawa. He just about won the battle by himself.”
“I don’t know if you got the memo, Wilton,” Brogan said, “but we lost Okinawa.”
“Two LAVs! One rocket. Right down the
“The Monster is from Röszke, just over the border fromSerbia.” Monster looked around and grinned at them. “In Serbia there is no, how do you say, you are old enough for drinking?”
“Legal drinking age,” Chisnall said.
“Aha, legal drinking age. So kids walk to bars in Horgoš and roll all the way back home.” That laugh sounded so loud that Chisnall began to worry how far it would carry in the desert.
“You ever do that, Monster?” Price asked. “Get drunk in Horgoš?”
“Pukes invaded Hungary in ’26. He’d have been, like, twelve,” Brogan said.
Monster nodded. “The Monster was eleven when my family became refugees. America won’t allow the Monster to drink beer till he’s twenty-one.”
“Good thing too,” Price said. “You’re crazy enough when you’re sober.”
“How about you, LT?” Wilton asked. “What would you be doing right now, if not for the war?”
“Sleeping,” Chisnall said.
“Other than that,” Wilton said.
“I don’t know,” Chisnall said. “I never got the chance to figure that out.”
“That isn’t what you told me,” Brogan said.
“Now you gotta tell us,” Price said.
“I’m the LT,” Chisnall said. “I don’t gotta do nothing.”
“So you tell us, Sarge,” Wilton said.
“Sergeant Brogan, I am sure you wouldn’t breach theconfidentiality of a discussion between an officer and an NCO,” Chisnall said.
“Of course not, LT,” Brogan said. “These lowlifes are just going to have to wait until you’re a famous TV chef before they find out.”
“TV chef!” Wilton burst out laughing.
“Oops,” Brogan said.
“I never said TV,” Chisnall said.
“I heard it,” Brogan said.
“So why you serve us green crap for meals?” Monster asked. “Can’t a chef do better than that?”
“Especially a famous TV chef,” Price said.
Chisnall sighed. “Look … when I was a kid, before we got recruited—”
“Serves you right for being so good at paintball,” Brogan said.
“If I’d known that it meant getting recruited, I’d have missed every shot,” Wilton said.
“Carry on, LT,” Price said. “I gotta hear this.”
“Well … you know. I was into cooking,” Chisnall said.
“We’d be good friends.” Monster laughed. “The Monster is into eating.”
“I just loved the way you could take a few raw ingredients and add a bit of heat and end up with something completely different,” Chisnall said. “It’s a kind of magic. I always thought I’d like to go to cooking school and learn how to do it properly.”
“Sounds really gay to me,” Wilton said, and got a shove in his back from Brogan for his trouble.
“No, really, I’m just saying,” he said.
“Yeah, and what were you planning to do with your life, Wilton?” Price asked. “Professional snow-bunny? Maybe a snowboard instructor, getting hit on by the arctic cougars in the après-ski?”
“Shut up,” Wilton said.
“I wonder what Hunter’s dreams were,” Price said, and the chill of the night air grew suddenly colder, an icy blanket drawing around them.
“He never even got to fire a shot,” Wilton said.
There was a moment’s silence.
“The Pukes are going to pay for Hunter,” Monster said. “Booyah,” Price said.
“Here we come, you alien mother-shippers,” Wilton said. “You want some of this, Pukes? Come get some. I got enough kick-ass for all you vomit bags.”
“Booyah,” Price said again.
“Wilton,” Chisnall said. “We’re a recon team. We’re not shock troops. If we go in screaming and shooting, that’s pretty much going to screw up our mission, don’t you think?”
Wilton seemed not to have heard him. “My dad took out two Puke LAVs with one rocket during the defense of Okinawa. He just about won the battle by himself.”
“I don’t know if you got the memo, Wilton,” Brogan said, “but we lost Okinawa.”
“Two LAVs! One rocket. Right down the
Similar Books
