“I’m afraid so,” said Sharon in reply. “The Fleet is building. I don’t know if it could go faster; maybe it could, maybe it couldn’t. Once we have a real fleet we’ll be safe. But until then we have to fight them on the ground.”
“We’ve tried mobile warfare,” said Mike, taking a sip of his beer. “The French tried it a couple of times on Barwhon. It was not successful.” He grimaced.
“Well, that was the French,” said Harry.
Mike snorted. “Don’t let General Crenaus hear you say that. They also ate our lunch on Diess, but that was when they had already ‘broken the square.’ So it’s not a fair comparison. But an M-1 is a tin can to their weapons. So I don’t see being able to fight them in open field.”
“Well,” snorted John, drunkenly, “they don’t do islands.”
“No, they don’t,” Mike agreed.
“So we blow the Seven Mile Bridge and we’re golden,” continued John, taking a big hit on the joint.
“And that will be that,” said Karen quietly. “We’ll be cut off.”
“It’s already bad enough,” said Harry. “Since the clinic in Marathon shut down we’ve lost two people who should have lived. Tom Robins died from appendicitis and Janey Weaver died of scarlet fever. God help us if there’s something like a measles epidemic.”
“If there’s an epidemic the government will help,” said Karen.
Mike took a pull of his beer to make sure his face was covered but John was not so diplomatic. “The government?” he laughed. “What government? The one that saddled you guys with the Cuban Mafia in the first place? Or the one that made Florida Power fix their lines? How about the one that is setting the prices so low nobody can make a dime to set aside then, if you do, taxes the shit out of it?”
Harry held up his hands to forestall further argument. “No, no more!” he intoned. “For tonight, we have power, no one is sick, the leeches have been taken off our backs and there is plenty to eat. Let’s worry about which bridges to burn tomorrow.”
John nodded his head. “Yeah, man. You’re right.” He looked at Karen and smiled lopsidedly. “Sorry, gal. Don’ mind me. I’m drunk.”
“And stoned.” She laughed, picking up the smoldering joint and taking a hit herself. “Damn,” she said, coughing, “no wonder you’re stoned.”
John laughed in return and hoisted the glass of rum. “Only the best! Cuba doesn’t only make fine cigars!”
“Speaking of which,” said Mike, happy to change the subject, “what do you want for a couple of cases of cigars and rum?”
John thought about it for a minute and shook his head. “I know better than to dicker when I’ve got a load on,” he laughed. “But what the hell. How much of that white lightning you got?”
“Two cases of liquor, white lightning and muscadine brandy in liter bottles. I’ve got a couple of cases of beer as well. Then there’s some smoked and tinned wild boar and venison. I’ve got a five-gallon can of gas. I can give you the gas but I want the can back or an empty.”
Honest John nodded. “Well, I think I can give up a box of panatelas for that,” he said.
Mike’s normal frown turned up in a smile. “Now I know why they call you ‘Honest John.’ ”
“Mike,” said Sharon, smiling sweetly, “let me do the dickering.”
“Uh, oh,” said John, setting down the joint. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Did I mention I spent six months as a procurement officer?” she asked, cracking her knuckles and leaning forward. “Now, I’ve got to wonder if the local authorities are fully aware of your cargoes…”
CHAPTER 28
No-Name-Key, FL, United States of America, Sol III
0832 EDT October 5th, 2004 ad
Mike carefully set the last case of hand-rolled Imperials on the stack. The cigars were in twine-wrapped bundles of fifty, a gross of bundles to the case. The stack of cigar cases and rum barrels made an awkward fit in the back of the SUV.
Honest John rubbed his face and grimaced. “Christ, I knew I shouldn’t dicker when I was drunk.”
“And never play poker with her, either,” Mike opined. “She’ll clean your clock.”
“She already did,” the trader bemoaned.
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Karen said. “You know how that wine-jerked venison will go over in Havana. Not to mention that muscadine brandy. You’re going to make a killing.”
The trader just snorted but then smiled. “It’s been a good visit, guys,” he said to Mike and Sharon. “You guys keep safe. Don’t bunch up.”
Mike turned from where he was securing the empty gas can and frowned at the trader. “What rank did you say you were?” he asked.
“A third class petty officer,” John answered. He smiled faintly and patted the pockets of his floral shirt until he found a panatela and a match. He flicked the match with his thumb and lit the panatela. “Why?”
“ ‘Don’t bunch up’ is not a Navy saying,” Mike answered.
“Musta heard it somewheres,” was the trader’s answer.
“Uh-huh,” Mike answered. “And didn’t you say they just sent you a recall notice?”
“ ’Bout two weeks ago,” John agreed, warily. “Why?”
“Oh,” said Mike, smiling. “Just wondering. Most of the notices went out last year. I can only think of one group that got recalled in the last few months.”
“What are you two talking about?” asked Sharon, frowning.
“Nothing,” said Mike, closing the back of the Tahoe.
“Guys,” said Harry, giving Sharon a hug. “You take care, ya hear?”
“We will,” said Sharon.
“Keep in touch,” said Karen, smiling. “Herman will want to hear about all your big adventures.”
“Okay,” said Cally, giving the woman a hug. “I’ll make sure to write him.”
“Well,” said John. “I’m not into soppy good-byes and I’ve got a tide to catch.” He hugged Sharon and Cally and waved at Mike. “Tell that big ugly bastard Kidd that Poison said ‘Hey.’ ”
“I will,” said Mike with a smile.
“And tell Taylor he can kiss my fat, white ass.”
“Okay,” said Mike with a snort.
“Keep your feet and knees together, snake,” he finished and walked towards the dock. He started to yell for his two missing crewmen but after the first wince thought better of it and just hopped in the dinghy, untied and started rowing towards the harbor opening.
As he was clearing the opening the two half-clad worthies, trailed by two swearing females, charged out of one of the abandoned bungalows and down the shore towards the retreating rowboat.
“What were those women saying, mom?” asked Cally, ingenuously.
“I think it was ‘See you later honey,’ ” Sharon answered, pushing her towards the back seat.
“Oh,” said Cally. “ ’Cause, you know, it sounded a lot like, ‘What about our money?’ ”
Mike laughed and shook Harry’s hand. “Thanks for having us.”
“Anytime,” Harry answered. “On the house.”
Mike nodded and smiled, then got in the Tahoe. He turned to Sharon and shrugged. “Ready for a long damn drive?”
“Sure. And this time let’s bypass my parents.”
“Works for me. Actually, if we go by way of Mayport, you can probably catch a shuttle from there. Then Cally and I will drive back to Dad’s. I can catch a shuttle out of Atlanta or Greenville.”
“Okay,” she answered with a sad smile. “And one last night?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “One last night. Until the next time.”
Sharon nodded. Of course there would be a next time. It had taken the highest possible command authority to pry them both loose for this time. And they were both going to be in the thick of combat. But, of course there would be a next time. Mike put the Tahoe in gear and they drove out of the parking lot, down the shell-paved path, wrapped each in mirror thoughts.