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Read Online Warriors [Anthology] by George R. R. & Dozois Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: George R. R. & Dozois Martin
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you’re goin’.”
“You, too?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know why. BFA in Creative Viewing.”
“So what’s your favorite show?”
“Hate ‘em all. Unlike most folks, I know why I hate ‘em. Now tell me you’d die if you didn’t get your Kill Squad fix every week.”
“Don’t have a cube, or time to watch it. When I was a kid, my parents let me watch only ten hours a week.”
“Wow...would you marry me? Or you got somethin’ goin’ already.”
“I’m gay, except for sheep.”
“Ewe.” We both laughed a little too hard at that.
* * * *
Shoe training was about half PT and half learning how to use weapons we’d never see again, as mechanics. Even the shoes would probably never use a bayonet or knife or bare hands—how often would you not have a gun, and face an enemy who didn’t have one either?
(I knew the rationale was more subtle, training us to be aggressive. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea for mechanics, though—your soldierboy might wipe out a village because you lost your temper.)
Carolyn’s last name was Collins, and we were next to each other in the alphabet. We spent a lot of time talking, sometimes sotto voce when we were standing in formation, which got us into trouble a couple of times. (“One of you lovebirds runs around the track while the other finishes painting this wall.”)
I was really smitten with her—I mean the kind of brain-chemistry-level addiction that you ought to be able to control by the time you’re eighteen. I thought of her all the time, and lived to see her face when we mustered in the mornings. Her expressions and gestures made me think she felt the same way about me, though we carefully wouldn’t use the word love.
After two weeks of constant training, they unexpectedly gave us half a Sunday off. A bus took us into St. Robert, a small town that existed to separate soldiers from their money. We had to be back by 6:00 sharp, or we’d be AWOL.
On the way to the bus station in St. Robert, we passed several hotels and motels that advertised hourly rates / clean sheets . When we got off the bus, I faltered, trying to frame a proposition, and she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me through the closest place’s door.
We’d never even kissed before. So we did some of that while trying to get each other’s fatigues off without popping any buttons.
Speaking of popping, I was not exactly the long-lasting partner-oriented lover I would’ve liked to have been. But I had a certain amount of hydrostatic as well as psychological pressure built up; the barracks offered no privacy for masturbation.
She laughed that off, though, and we just played around for a while, until I was ready for a more patient and slow coupling. It was better than my dreams.
We had an hour before we had to be on the bus. There was a bar next door, but Carolyn didn’t feel like being stared at by our fellow draftees. So we sat on the damp and rumpled sheets and shared a glass of metallic-tasting water.
“Did you try to get out of it?” she asked.
“Well, yeah. My adviser pointed out that if I joined the infantry, at my age and with my education, I’d just have a desk job for a couple of years.”
“Yeah, right. You believe that now?”
I laughed. “They’d put me in a bayonets-only platoon. Get out there and stab for your country.”
“God and country. Don’t forget God.”
“If it weren’t for God, we wouldn’t get half of Sunday off.”
“Praise the Lord.” She took my penis between two fingers and wiggled it. “Don’t suppose there’s any juice left in this little guy.”
“Not for a while. We could do it on the bus.”
“Okay. Hold you to it.” She yawned and stretched so hard, a couple of joints popped. “Maybe we should go get a beer. Show those lonely cunts who got her man.”
“Let’s.” Though I doubted there was much
“You, too?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know why. BFA in Creative Viewing.”
“So what’s your favorite show?”
“Hate ‘em all. Unlike most folks, I know why I hate ‘em. Now tell me you’d die if you didn’t get your Kill Squad fix every week.”
“Don’t have a cube, or time to watch it. When I was a kid, my parents let me watch only ten hours a week.”
“Wow...would you marry me? Or you got somethin’ goin’ already.”
“I’m gay, except for sheep.”
“Ewe.” We both laughed a little too hard at that.
* * * *
Shoe training was about half PT and half learning how to use weapons we’d never see again, as mechanics. Even the shoes would probably never use a bayonet or knife or bare hands—how often would you not have a gun, and face an enemy who didn’t have one either?
(I knew the rationale was more subtle, training us to be aggressive. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea for mechanics, though—your soldierboy might wipe out a village because you lost your temper.)
Carolyn’s last name was Collins, and we were next to each other in the alphabet. We spent a lot of time talking, sometimes sotto voce when we were standing in formation, which got us into trouble a couple of times. (“One of you lovebirds runs around the track while the other finishes painting this wall.”)
I was really smitten with her—I mean the kind of brain-chemistry-level addiction that you ought to be able to control by the time you’re eighteen. I thought of her all the time, and lived to see her face when we mustered in the mornings. Her expressions and gestures made me think she felt the same way about me, though we carefully wouldn’t use the word love.
After two weeks of constant training, they unexpectedly gave us half a Sunday off. A bus took us into St. Robert, a small town that existed to separate soldiers from their money. We had to be back by 6:00 sharp, or we’d be AWOL.
On the way to the bus station in St. Robert, we passed several hotels and motels that advertised hourly rates / clean sheets . When we got off the bus, I faltered, trying to frame a proposition, and she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me through the closest place’s door.
We’d never even kissed before. So we did some of that while trying to get each other’s fatigues off without popping any buttons.
Speaking of popping, I was not exactly the long-lasting partner-oriented lover I would’ve liked to have been. But I had a certain amount of hydrostatic as well as psychological pressure built up; the barracks offered no privacy for masturbation.
She laughed that off, though, and we just played around for a while, until I was ready for a more patient and slow coupling. It was better than my dreams.
We had an hour before we had to be on the bus. There was a bar next door, but Carolyn didn’t feel like being stared at by our fellow draftees. So we sat on the damp and rumpled sheets and shared a glass of metallic-tasting water.
“Did you try to get out of it?” she asked.
“Well, yeah. My adviser pointed out that if I joined the infantry, at my age and with my education, I’d just have a desk job for a couple of years.”
“Yeah, right. You believe that now?”
I laughed. “They’d put me in a bayonets-only platoon. Get out there and stab for your country.”
“God and country. Don’t forget God.”
“If it weren’t for God, we wouldn’t get half of Sunday off.”
“Praise the Lord.” She took my penis between two fingers and wiggled it. “Don’t suppose there’s any juice left in this little guy.”
“Not for a while. We could do it on the bus.”
“Okay. Hold you to it.” She yawned and stretched so hard, a couple of joints popped. “Maybe we should go get a beer. Show those lonely cunts who got her man.”
“Let’s.” Though I doubted there was much
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