These Dead Lands: Immolation (33 page)

Her friend Nicole had been so ignorant that she couldn’t drive nails in the snow, but she was cute, with big tits and a nice body—everything guys liked in strippers. When Diana first met her, Nicole was working her ass off and not making much money, so she supplemented her nightly income by blowing guys. There was a quiet desperation in the girl’s eyes that Diana understood. In a rare display of compassion, Diana schooled Nicole on how to read people and to chat up guys to get them to buy lap dances.

Nicole eventually figured it out and started making better money. But one hot summer night, Diana had walked into the back room and found Nicole blowing some young guy. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Nicole raised her head, gave Diana a casual wave, then went back to sucking the guy off. Later, Diana asked Nicole if she was short on cash. When Nicole had said no and that she was making great money, Diana was a bit confused.

“So if you’re making enough money, why are you giving BJs in the back?”

Nicole sat down at the dressing room table and started brushing her long blond hair. She looked at Diana’s reflection in the mirror and shrugged. “Oh, you know. He was cute, and I like giving blowjobs, but I like getting paid for doing something I like even more. Besides, I only blow the cute ones and only when I feel like it.”

Several women who worked in the club sucked either cock or the glass pipe because they had to in order to make ends meet. But Nicole, stage name Destiny, with her toned, taut body and generously proportioned natural bosom, could just walk on the stage and make good money without any contact whatsoever. But there she was, on her knees, sucking strange dudes’ cocks because she thought it was
fun
. Diana couldn’t figure out what was fun about it. Sure, there were times when anonymous sex could be great. And there was a lot of money to be had by pulling escort duty—Diana had managed to secure a very select clientele who valued discretion and who took care of themselves.

Diana broke out of her reverie and saw that whatever Carl was saying to Kay was working. Kay’s body language had changed drastically, and she had apparently forgiven Carl for whatever he had done. Diana could also tell Carl was horny, and Kay was definitely reciprocating the feeling. She was sure they would be having sex later.

When was the last time I got laid?
One good thing about being a stripper at a popular club was that there was never a shortage of guys, or women, for that matter. Diana had been amazed at the amount of working girls who would sleep with each other, treating the sex as though they had just asked for help with zipping up their dresses. Diana had been to some of their after-work breakfasts and pool parties. There was a lot of nudity, drugs, alcohol, and no shortage of girl-on-girl sex right in plain sight, yet every one of them would claim they weren’t lesbians and that they preferred men. Diana sighed. Those days were long gone, and she was sure all those girls were dead.

Thinking about sex reminded Diana she had an itch that she needed to have scratched
. But which one to ask?
She was on an Army base, and she knew GIs were always ready to get down and dirty, but she only had access to the guys in the group. All she would have to do is ask, and any of them would jump through however many hoops she set out. She’d seen the way they looked at her and her boobs. The only problem was she just wanted sex—nothing else—and that narrowed the field a little bit.

Ballantine was married, so he was out. Stilley was an idiot, and he had a bit of a body odor problem. Reader didn’t fire her rockets. He wasn’t ugly; he just didn’t do it for her. Tharinger was a bit too goofy, more kid than man. Hartman was a sweetheart, but that was the problem—Diana could tell he would become a lovesick puppy. So she was left with Guerra and Hastings.

Guerra was certainly on the dark and handsome side. He could be infuriating, but she liked the fact that he wasn’t afraid to hash it out with her. She imagined that sex with Guerra would be hard and physically charged. He had that rough-house, I-don’t-give-a-fuck, Latin air.

Hastings, on the other hand, had a cold smoldering heat about him. He was the buttoned-down type, kind of like the bankers and brokers who would visit the club in New York, but much more self-contained. He was also hurting, still mourning the loss of his family, and he would be for quite some time. But even through his pain, he was still a guy, and she had seen the way he looked at her sometimes.

What I wouldn’t give to have my vibrator right now
. She smiled.
I wonder if Guerra’s head would explode if I asked him to get me one? Or would he just actually go out and find one?

She shook her head. Going after any of the men might be a bad idea, especially if someone got jealous. Not to mention, there were kids around. She turned to the bunk next to hers. Kenny was curled up under the blankets, breathing gently. She wondered how she had wound up becoming his touchstone. Likely it was because she had been traveling with his family, and after they had been killed, she was all he recognized from his previous life. She felt sorry for him. Not only had he lost his family, he’d been raped by those troglodytes. At least Hastings and the men had made them pay for it, which suited her just fine. But she was stuck with an autistic kid who needed someone with a lot more mojo than a stripper, someone who knew how to take care of kids.

Diana had never been particularly interested in having a family of her own, especially after watching her parents’ marriage disintegrate because of serial cheating on her father’s part and money mismanagement on her mother’s. But her father had wound up with a couple of pretty daughters, and her mother had gotten all the Hermes and LV purses she could handle. Great for them, but Diana had seen the acrimony and ritual humiliation up close, and that had pretty much extinguished any desire to continue the family line.

She glanced at Kenny again. If what the troops said was true, all those MREs would ensure the kid wouldn’t be shitting himself anytime soon. At least she had that going for her.

*

Hastings brought over
the operational orders for the mission and told Ballantine to give them a second set of eyes. Ballantine had to give the light infantry captain credit. Unlike a lot of officers, Hastings had no problem seeking out the opinions of his senior NCO, even if he was just a sergeant first class as opposed to the customary first sergeant. Ballantine sat at the table at the front of the barracks to work while Kay put the boys to bed.

Hastings was going over the pilots’ brief to make sure he had covered all the bases. “Almost done with the air assault piece, and then all I have left is the ISR. Shouldn’t take me long to knock that out.”

“No problem, sir,” Ballantine said. “I’ve adjusted our reverse planning schedule, and we’re still doing fine on time. I’ve got the guys working on the sand table already. They should have it done in time for you to take a look at it before you issue the order.” The sand table was a diorama of the post and surrounding area set up on a table in the back corner of the tactical operations center. Though not particularly detailed or to scale, it served its purpose as a miniature proving ground for the upcoming operation.

“Good deal. I want to go to the S2 right after this to see if there are any updates or changes, just in case the Shadow has picked up any movements along the route or at the objective.”

“Roger that. I’ll make sure everyone going with us has done their PCIs and everything is still tracking.”

“How are our guys looking?”

“We’re good to go, sir. Guerra was going to go over PCIs with the guys as soon as they finish with the sand table and then get some chow.”

One of the runners from the TOC stepped into the barracks. “Captain Hastings?”

Hastings looked up. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir, but you’re needed in the TOC immediately. Colonel Victor is expecting you in the conference room.”

“Any idea what’s up?”

“No, sir. He just said I needed to move with a purpose and get you back ASAP.”

“Okay. Go ahead and tell him I am on my way right now.”

“Roger that, sir.” The runner spun and hurried back outside.

“Wonder what’s up now,” Ballantine said.

Hastings shrugged. “Who knows? But I’m betting it’s not good news. Listen, is everyone packed up and ready to roll? Talking about the civilians now, not our guys.”

Ballantine nodded. “You know it. The scare at the OP put the fear of God in everyone.”

“Good. Hold down the fort. I’ll be back as soon as I’m done.” Hastings gathered his planning materials, grabbed his weapon, and headed for the door.

*

Hastings knew something
had to have changed. They weren’t under attack at the moment, and meeting in the conference room meant that they had something they wanted to discuss with him.
Please don’t let it be that thousands of reekers are right up the road. What are the chances it could actually be good news?
But he already knew the answer to his question: slim to none.

When he stepped inside the TOC, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He strode to the conference room and gave a quick rap on the door as he entered. Colonel Victor and Colonel Jarmusch were there, as well as the senator and a few support personnel who looked to be setting up some commo equipment in the room.

“Come on in and grab a seat, Captain,” Victor said.

Hastings slid into a chair at the table. “What’s up, sirs?”

“As you know, we’ve been trying to establish communications with others within the government or any other military units,” Victor said. “Obviously, we haven’t heard much of anything to speak of, but about twenty minutes ago, the commo guys picked up a transmission. We have an individual on the other end who claims to be US Army. He’s about thirty to forty miles away, maybe fifteen from the rail yard at the Naval Support Activity installation on the other side of the Susquehanna River in Mechanicsburg.”

“I’m not familiar with that facility, sir,” Hastings said. “What do we know about this location and this individual?”

“Well, that’s where it gets interesting.” Victor gestured at Jarmusch. “Alex, do you mind explaining?”

“Not at all, Dave. The facility is a warehouse depot for program and supply support for the weapons systems that keep our Naval forces mission ready. As you can imagine, they store a lot of mission-essential equipment and parts for the Navy, but they also store less common items not found in the US equipment inventory. This is typically foreign weapons and equipment the US has acquired from around the world, most of which are categorized as non-attributable items.”

“And they just store this kind of stuff right in town there?” Hastings asked.

“Yes. It’s not widely known, though, even by most of the people who work there. It’s kind of the old hide-in-plain-sight trick, if you will. And at the end of the day, the place is just a warehouse facility for storing things, and these types of things need storing, too.”

“So we have a Navy depot facility with spare equipment and guns.” Hastings wondered why no one had mentioned that to him earlier. “Who is this individual on the other end?”

“He’s identified himself as Master Sergeant Slater. Says he’s Special Forces.”

It took Hastings a moment to put a face to the name. “You have got to be kidding me! Are you serious?”

Jarmusch and Victor exchanged confused glances.

“Yes, I’m serious, Captain,” Jarmusch said. “That’s what he’s told us so far.”

“Captain, do you
know
this person?” Cornell asked.

“Well, sir, I wouldn’t say that I know him, but I know who he is. We ran into a Master Sergeant Slater from the Seventh Special Forces Group in a small town prior to our arrival here. Said he was part of Task Force Boston. We spoke briefly with him, and he gave us a case of water then left in a Toyota Prius, of all things. Said he was headed to Fort Bragg, and that was the last we saw of him.”

“Well, we have him on the line now,” Victor said. “He has an interesting proposition for us. Perhaps you can talk to him and verify if it’s the same person you spoke to earlier?”

“Yes, sir, not a problem. What do you want me to ask him?”