In Every Clime and Place

by Patrick LeClerc

  The shuttle ride was less than an hour, but seemed like days. We were all looking at landfall like a wolf looks at a lame and very nervous sheep. Finally, the ship shuddered to a halt and the green light came on. The hatches opened to shore leave instead of a battle. This was a nice switch.

  Dressed to kill, figuratively instead of literally for a change, we made our way down the gangway. Under the dusty dome, the lights of Mars Central Station glared their garish greeting.

  The place always amazed me. Less than a hundred years had passed since the first unmanned probe landed on the planet. Barely forty years ago the first mines were opened. With the snowball effect of technology, less than ten years later the mining operation was expanding to the asteroid belt. It was the new Gold Rush. Mars became a boom town on a grand scale. As more and more companies sent mining crews out, others realized the money to be made serving the great open market. Liquor, gambling and prostitution were probably the biggest moneymakers, but any Earth-style comfort fetched a high price from the captive audience of laboring exiles.

  Territorial disputes and the threat of piracy led the Navy to build a port and the Army to station a division on the planet. Some soul who dearly loved irony sent the First Infantry Division, the Big Red One. I guess the Big Red Planet was a good place for them. The added military and government personnel fueled the local economy.

  Then the nanotech revolution happened. Factories on Earth discovered that they could get results just as impressive without all the cost of mining and shipping ore millions of miles through the solar system. Mining companies’ stocks plummeted. Cutbacks were made, unions rolled up their sleeves to take on management over conditions. What nobody wanted to admit was that the market was gone. It was like fighting for control of the wheel of a sinking ship.

  Government reaction was sadly typical. They poured money into failing industries to help cushion the blow. Most of the independent governments of Earth had some stake in the asteroid mines, so they didn’t let the fact that the economic equation was a losing one bother them. The end result was that the mining companies slowly sank into debt, but were shackled to deals that forced them to keep open, throwing good money after bad. The labor situation got worse. Unemployment, crime and finally riots grew on the new outposts.

  The upshot was, we got a lot of work.

  Mars central was still a busy place. It was the hub for all travel from Earth. The bars and hotels still did a huge business, only now most of their customers were government officials, military, or labor organizers. So long as the money was genuine, the attractions made no distinction. The sprawling spaceport was a little like a cross between Ellis Island and Las Vegas, with a Calcutta slum thrown in for stark contrast.

  When we exited the shuttle at the docking port on Mars, all decked out in our dress blues, gleaming brass and shined shoes, the many temptations of shore leave greeted us immediately. I insisted that we go grab some chow and a few beers as a squad before my flock scattered to the winds.

  “But Corp,” Bauer complained, “I got plans.”

  “Yeah, Mick,” Johnson agreed, “can’t keep the ladies waitin’. They been without me for so long, it’s cruel to prolong that.”

  “Look, you got two days to collect diseases. One meal, on me. I want to make sure you dumb jarheads know the routine for shore leave so you don’t get robbed blind, beat up and thrown in the brig. I spent a lot of time and effort training you and I don’t want to have to start fresh with a new squad.”

  I wanted them to ease into leave. Dinner would allow me to set up a buddy system for them and arrange a meeting time and place so none of them got lost or left behind. We stood as much chance of losing Marines here as we did in battle.

  I picked a little place I knew where the drinks weren’t watered, the food was decent and the waitresses were just waitresses. It was a little pricey, but that was a reasonable concession for the safety it afforded. It was a branch of a big hotel chain on Earth and didn’t want its reputation to suffer, so the managers made sure they didn’t screw customers too badly.

  After a few beers and some chow that hadn’t been worked over by the Navy, I outlined the situation. I didn’t want my charges falling prey to the streets of the city.

  “OK, everyone gets a buddy. O’Rourke and Johnson, you two keep an eye on each other. Li and Bauer, you do the same. Stick together, know where your buddy is. If your buddy gets drunk and passes out, you get him someplace safe. Lose your buddy and I’ll feed you to Gunny Taylor. Have fun, that’s why you’re here, but don’t cause too much trouble. You all got condoms issued to you. Use ’em. You have no idea what ship was docked here last week. I know the girls of Mars love you and you alone, but don’t bet your pecker on it. Lance Corporal O’Rourke knows the safe places to drink. Don’t go to some dive where you don’t know what’s getting slipped into your glass. Bottled or canned beer is your safest bet. You want to buy mixed drinks, do it here.”

  “Aye aye, Mom,” Terry said.

  “Just watch out for each other. Don’t start fights with the Army, but by God don’t take any shit from ’em. Any Army equipment not nailed down is to be appropriated for use by a real service. The US government paid good money for that equipment, no point in letting it rust away on base. Now go out there and have a good R&R.”

  The squad shoved back chairs and leapt to their feet. Before he took off, Terry turned to me. “You not coming, Mick?”

  “I’m gonna sink a few more here,” I replied nonchalantly. “The heavy weight of responsibility and all that. I’ll be out on the town shortly.”

  He gave me a strange look. His eyes flicked briefly to Sabatini then back. “Hey,” he said in a softer voice than usual. “You two have a good time too.”

  He was gone before I could reply.

  I dismissed Terry O’Rourke from my thoughts fairly quickly. Angelina Sabatini was looking at me from under a raised eyebrow. The sly smile on her face sent my blood racing southward.

  “Looks like the kids are out for the night,” she purred.

  I sank the remains of my beer with a practiced flick of the wrist. I started to call for the check when a snatch of conversation drifted across from a nearby table.

  “...You think Sunflower One was tough, kid? You shoulda been on the Von Braun salvage.”

  At this mention of Sunflower One, the mining asteroid we’d so recently visited, we both turned to look at the table. Four men in Rescue Service grey uniforms were seated over the shattered remnants of a meal and a pitcher.

  “You think maybe...?” Sabatini wondered.

  “I think maybe,” I replied. “Gentlemen! Excuse me, but were you the crew that sealed the docking hull breach at the mining colony a couple months ago?”

  “We were,” answered a brawny man with a spattering of grey in his hair and beard.

  “Well, put your wallet away,” Sabatini said. “You saved our asses. That meal’s on us.”

  I raised an eyebrow. She nodded. We had plenty of time. These guys had earned a round on us. “Join us. It’s on the Marine Corps.”

  “Much obliged,” smiled a portly crewman, extending a chubby hand to shake. “Gerry. This is Fred, Bill, and the Chief, Paul.”

  “Pleased to meet you. I’m Mick Collins, this is Angelina Sabatini.” I didn’t bother with rank. If they couldn’t count chevrons, Corporal wouldn’t mean shit to them anyway. “You guys gave us time to get off that miserable rock.”

  “Glad we could help,” said the chief, smiling. “And more than happy to take your money.” He looked over the expanse of empty plates and bottles on our table. “The Corps must pay pretty well.”

  “It looks like a lot when it’s six months back pay. Besides, this card shark will just take it back from the squids or the doggies tomorrow.”

  “Doggies?” asked the youngest guy. He must be the one they called ‘kid.’ Christ, he made Johnson look like an old man.

  “Army,” Sabatini clarified. “From ‘dogface.’”

 
“So you guys were on that asteroid when the hatch blew?” asked Gerry. “Refill and a shot, sweetheart,” he added to the waitress who appeared at the table, holding up his glass.

  “Fuckin’A right we were,” said Angelina, the picture of demure femininity. I smiled with affection.

  “We got sent there to evacuate the embassy personnel,” I continued. “Usual screw-up last-minute mission. The whole damn place is rioting, everybody sees it coming down Main Street, but they wait until it’s going full steam then call the Marines. Hell of a way to make a living.”

  “I can imagine,” said Fred with a thin smile. I noticed his eyes were on Angelina’s chest. Being male, I felt a brief impulse to knock him out until I realized it was her medals and not her breasts he was studying. He obviously knew what they meant. Most women in the military were administrative types, or pilots. Sabatini’s medals showed that she was combat infantry. Fred seemed intrigued by this.

  His scrutiny had not gone unnoticed. “Yes, I have got tits under there,” she said sweetly.

  He went red. “Sorry, Corporal.”

  He must have been in some service. He didn’t look or talk like a Marine, but he could’ve been Army or Navy. Even Intelligence. Those guys don’t fit a pattern, regardless of branch of service.

  “You’ll have to forgive old Fred here,” Gerry said quickly. “Been in space a little too long.”

  “No harm done. I’m used to being the only woman in a platoon of grunt Marines. I just wanted to see him squirm.”

  “Any idea why the Navy didn’t want us going in?” asked the kid.

  My smile vanished. I felt a bucket of icewater dumped down my back. “What?” I demanded.

  He recoiled; I may have glared a bit much. The Rescue crew exchanged glances. The kid looked like he’d said too much and clammed up.

  Finally the chief spoke. “Some Navy Commander told us to steer clear of the station. Said it was a Navy matter.”

  “Jesus.” I shook my head. I’d seen the kind of career-building officer who would rather see casualties than have somebody butt in on his mission. They were worse than the enemy. At least when the enemy tried to kill you, you could see their point. “So you went in anyway?” I asked.

  “Screw the brass. I know my job and my jurisdiction. I’ll decide when I have to back off.”

  God bless this guy. I swear he could hang with Lt Mitchell and Gunny Taylor. I filed this info for Lt Evers. I raised my glass in salute. “I guess we owe you another round,” I said more softly.

  Before long, we headed up to a rented room in one of the better hotels near the docking bay. My head was reeling with desire and alcohol. I was just pleasantly tipsy. I keyed in the code to lock the hatch and turned toward her.

  “Looks like we finally—”

  Angelina cut me off as she crushed me against the bulkhead in a fierce embrace. She kissed me deeply, and I lost all interest in speech. She had kicked off her shoes and I felt her stocking as she lifted her leg to brush against mine up to my hip, rubbing the back of my calf with her instep. I ran my hands through her hair, letting it fall loose around her face, then shifted my caress over the curves of her body to her hips. Who needs talk?

  With a primal growl, I cupped my hands beneath her buttocks and carried her to the bed. Her lips never left mine, she just wrapped her arms and legs around me.

  Suffice it to say that dress blues are a handsome uniform, but hardly one that facilitates easy undressing. She had, with the secret wiles of a woman, somehow obtained some very lacy, very sexy, very black undergarments which I discovered to my surprise and delight.

  We made urgent, intense love. The weeks of stress and enforced abstinence demanded payback. When we finished, we lay tangled together in the rosy, euphoric afterglow of spent passion.

  “Wow,” she breathed.

  “Yeah,” I agreed.

  “I guess that old joke about Irish foreplay is just a joke,” she said, smiling lazily.

  “Which one is that?” I asked, kissing the top of her head.

  “What’s Irish foreplay?”

  I shrugged.

  She adopted the phony Irish accent used by cartoon leprechauns and policemen in old black and white movies. “Brace yerself, Bridget!”

  I chuckled.

  “We learned one about Italians when I was in school.”

  “I’ll have you know Italians are great lovers.”

  “So I gather.” I gave her a squeeze. “You better keep reminding me though. The joke goes ‘what’s Italian foreplay?’”

  “What?”

  “Hey Maria! Why don’t-a you send-a the kids out to p-l-a-y so we can-a fuck?”

  Her body shook with laughter, which was worth the price of admission in and of itself.

  “So.” She snuggled against me. “You going to take me to meet your family when we get back to the world?”

  “Sure. Don’t expect too much, though. I’m the best-looking one.”

  “That’s terrible. Did the rest of them have to join the circus?”

  “Ha ha.”

  “What do you think they’ll say about you bringing home a nice Italian girl?”

  “You think I’ll meet one? Ouch!”

  She had decided the appropriate response was to bite me. “You don’t wanna make me jealous, Mick. My last boyfriend made me jealous once. Once.”

  “Seriously, you may be a wop who can’t drink whiskey properly, but you are a Marine, so you’ll be OK by dad.”

  “And your mom?”

  “After my brother Sean brought his boyfriend home for Christmas five years ago, mom will be thrilled with you.”

  She giggled. I tried to think of something else to say so she’d do that again. “What about your family? Your dad gonna make me sleep with the fishes for what I did to his daughter?”

  “My father is very traditional. As far as he’s concerned, I’ll be a blushing virgin on my wedding night. If he thought different for one second, he’d have you killed.”

  I lay back and smiled. I wasn’t real worried about her dad. Yet. Before we tackled those hurdles, we had our mutual family to deal with. I doubted Lt Mitchell would be any happier with me than Mr Sabatini would be.

  Chapter 23

  8 JUN 2078

  ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7

  I walked over to the pot and refilled my coffee, then raised the pot and an eyebrow to Jensen.

  “Please,” he said.

  I poured the reporter a cup. “I know Lt Evers did some digging. Not sure what he came up with, but somebody must have passed the suspicion on up the chain for the brass to take notice.”

  “I do know that a Marine officer met with a European agent on Mars,” said Jensen. “That must have been when your platoon was there on liberty.”

  “Shore leave,” I corrected. “That makes sense, though.”

  “This is what I put together from an interview with my contacts in the EU.”

  SNN News File 7, courtesy Brian Jensen

  20 Dec 2075

  Mars Station

  Vojislav Kovacz, of Bosnian Intelligence, pushed away his plate and sipped his coffee. This was the best restaurant on Mars Station. He looked across the table at the American Marine lieutenant, waiting for him to speak. After a time, he decided to prod, gently.

  “Robert, my old friend, while it is certainly pleasant to see you, I can’t help but feel you had some secret motive for asking for this meeting?”

  The American smiled guiltily and answered in a polite drawl, “That obvious?”

  “Please! You were always too easy to read to be a good intelligence man. Stick to Infantry.” The Slav smiled.

  “Remember the bad old days?” the Marine asked, handing over a photograph. “My platoon took these. Recently.”

  Vojislav took one of the photographs. That it was of a dead man did not shock him. That it was of a recently dead man did. “Vajde. I thought that dog died in Srebrenica.”

  “So did I.”

  “
And this one. This woman was a sniper. Tanya Kajosevic. During the battle for Srebrenica they called her the Angel of Death. She would hide, lie in wait until you were sure an area was clear, then people would start dying. Officers, mostly. She was very, very good. Moved often. Used the terrain. Never took foolish risks. She could pin down a whole platoon for a day with a few rounds. Just shoot the right people, make them afraid to move. To shoot back. To do anything but hug the ground.”

  “We noticed.”

  “I’m impressed that you got her. Where were these photos taken?”

  “Now, we both know I can’t tell you that. I just need to know who they might have associated with. Who might have helped them get away from Srebrenica and get financed for a major operation.”

  Vojislav rubbed his chin for a moment before answering. “I can check. I could get a list to you. There was talk of the American CIA being involved with some of the factions in the civil war. Maybe there is a connection there. No offence meant.”

  “None taken. It wouldn’t be the first time the intelligence community has tried to turn an old enemy into an asset. Not the first time it went to hell, either. I just want to know who this bastard’s buddies are so we can do to them what we did to him.”

  “I will get a list of those who may have escaped. Should I send it through Naval Intelligence?”

  “No. Not if some US intelligence people may be involved. I have my own pipeline to the top. Just send it to my personal account. The old code.”

  “Caesar’s Campaigns in Gaul?” Kovacz smiled.

  “How many spies read the classics?” Lt Evers returned the grin. “Once we find them, we can nail them.”

  “I assure you I would like nothing better. Vajde’s old commander is a criminal. Colonel Radicz was one of those who wanted to drag us back to the bad old days. We can’t have that.”

  “I’d like to see him go down for what’s happening now. But you’re right, we have to forget these old hatreds.” The Marine raised his own cup to his lips.