“Hey, Marek,” Kacey said as the pilot opened the door to his room.
The Kildar had paid top billing for the training and hadn’t stinted on the travel budget; the pilots didn’t have to share. And the small seaside resort they’d found was more than willing to provide lodging; the hotel was practically empty.
“Kacey,” Marek replied, raising an eyebrow.
“I was going to say that I wanted to go over something in the -1s, but why be coy?” Kacey asked. “Frankly, I’m really hoping you’re straight. I didn’t see a wedding ring and hard flying always makes me horney.”
“No ring, no wife, please come in,” Marek said, stepping back. “I am very much ‘straight.’ ”
“You’re a good cook,” Gregor grunted, spooning up the stew.
“Thank you,” Dr. Arensky said, scraping up the last of his and taking the bowl to the sink.
They had settled into a routine. Arensky cooked and cleaned. Gregor sat in the corner most of the time apparently asleep. But if Arensky went near the door, his eyes flickered open. When Arensky had to have a call of nature Gregor would lead him outside to the nasty, stinking, spider-filled outhouse that provide relief. The house at least had running water and a kitchen sink, but no indoor shitter.
They had been provided with food, cans of potted meat and vegetables as well as some old bread that had seen better days. Coaxing decent meals out of the stuff had been tough.
“Since my wife died, I’ve done most of the cooking for Marina and I,” Arensky continued, slipping the bowl into the sink. He lifted the cloth cover on a bowl by the sink and nodded at the mess within.
“What is that stuff?” Gregor asked. “I looked at it the other day. It’s… crap.”
“It’s not ‘crap,’ ” Arensky replied. “Do you know what makes the alcohol in vodka?”
“No,” Gregor admitted.
“Yeast,” the microbiologist replied. “A microorganism that excretes alcohol as the same sort of biproduct as urea, the stuff that makes the strong ammonia smell, in human urine. So what you’re drinking is, in effect, yeast piss.”
“Ugh,” Gregor said, dropping his own dish in the sink. Arensky also did the washing up. “Thanks so much for pointing that out. I’m never going to look at another bottle of vodka the same again.”
“But yeast is only the best known of many microorganisms used in food preparation,” Arensky continued. “Cheese is produced from a mold, several strains in fact. It is, basically, spoiled milk. Yogurt is the same. These are similar microorganisms. I’m attempting to capture some of them for… piquancy. They can be used as a spice, in other words. The problem, of course, is spotting the right ones without special tools. Fortunately, I am very experienced in doing so. Hopefully, I can get a crop of fistanula going. That will add a dash of tanginess to the next soup.”
“That is really weird,” Gregor said, chuckling.
“I’m bored,” Arensky said. “As your hands are your main purpose in life, my mind is mine. I have nothing to read, no TV to watch, no internet to surf and no experiments to conduct. So I find experiments where I can. This is the sort of thing I did when I was in grammar school. I made my first cheese, from a raw native culture, when I was nine. It’s a way to pass the time.”
“I guess that makes sense,” Gregor said with a shrug. “No harm in a little mold… ”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mike leaned on the butt of his SPR and wondered how many hours he had in helicopters. A lot was all he could come up with. Of course, since Master Chief Adams had stayed in the teams longer, he probably had more by an order of magnitude. If either one of them had been flying, they’d both be master aviators. Which made him wonder if maybe he could get some bootleg time after the mission was over.
He was doing it again. Woolgathering. He could focus like a laser during a mission and during planning. But right now, he just wanted to think about something else. When they got the word they were almost at the LZ, his mind would kick automatically into gear. But right now… anything but the mission.
He wasn’t sure it was a good thing. Probably real commanders thought about what might go wrong, what was supposed to go right, what the actions of each sub-team should be on landing, all the way to the LZ. It seemed like his Team commander back when, that was how he thought. Hell, Nielson was probably that way. It was one of many things that Mike was unsure about. Because, basically, he was an NCO that just got caught up in the game. He’d never set out to be an officer or a commander. All he’d ever wanted to be a was a shooter on the teams and, maybe, buck for Master Chief. Not be a commander. Real commanders probably thought about what Lee should have done at Gettysburg at a time like this or who the weak link on the team was. All Mike could think was how good a beer would taste about now.
The Russian crewman held up a hand with two fingers extended and Mike was instantly in the game, beer, and doubts, forgotten.
“Game face!” he shouted. “Get it on!”
“FATHER OF ALL!” the Keldara shouted back in unison. In nearly the same unison they cocked their weapons and placed them on safe.
Mike jacked a round then undid his safety harness. Last he pulled down his balaklava. The LZ was almost certainly cold. Lasko would have called in otherwise. But you never took an LZ as guaranteed to be cold unless it was your home base. And only then if you got the word ahead of time.
He probably shouldn’t be the first one off the bird, either. But be damned if he was going to let the Keldara lead. But he took the lead in the door as the helicopter flared out and dropped to a soft landing.
As soon as the crewman yanked back the door he was out, running forward about half way to the treeline and then taking a knee, checking his sector. Clear.
He looked back over his shoulder as the last of the Keldara unassed the bird and took a knee. Catching Sawn’s eye he made two gestures with his hand and then turned and took his position in the teams. He wasn’t stupid enough to take point.
The point team moved forward at Sawn’s gesture and the trailer took a knee right at the edge of the woodline as the primary penetrated. After a moment the trailer stood up and moved in followed by the rest of the Keldara and Mike.
Once inside the woodline, the point moved forward to the first high-ground, cautiously, as the Keldara spread out in a cigar shaped perimeter. It took about ten minutes for the point to reach a position where they could observe a fair bit of the route ahead and another five for them to ensure there wasn’t anybody on the route and move out. As soon as they did the teams got up and started moving forward to their previous position. When the lead of the team got there he took up the same spot, maintaining observation, as the team took a knee.
That set the pace. The point team would bound forward, find a good observation point and hunker down to check. When they were certain they weren’t being observed, they’d move out again, slowly as if in a stalk. It was a slow, tedious, form of movement but very stealthy. And the mission depended entirely on stealth. Since it was the Keldara’s normal form of movement, they did it so automatically they’d become damned near perfect.
The woods were deciduous, mostly, and pretty old growth so there wasn’t a whole lot of understory. There was enough, though, that the Keldara had to maneuver through it. But they’d gotten used to that, too, and eeled through the brush as quietly as as many deer. Probably more quietly, deer could be noisy animals. The night was pretty clear so at the second stop Mike flipped up his NVGs and let his eyes adjust. Plenty of light to go by Mark One Eyeball.