That's why Zazlu was my instrument of discipline. That, and he was five-foot six, two hundred pounds of Iranian muscle that men would follow into the gates of hell. I turned the music down to elevator levels.
"HEY! I SAID-"
"It's me Zaz," I said, cutting him off with a quiet tone. "Jonah."
"Is it...? Grimmy said that-" he ran up to me, read the name burned into my wrist and looked into my eyes. Then he held my arm up for the squad. "Our Second Lieutenant has returned from the dead!"
Cheers. Even cocaine private stopped scratching his back long enough to clap.
"Look at you!" Zazlu beamed. "Taller, stronger than before! We must celebrate this!"
"No, Zaz, I'm okay, I just want to rest-"
"I will bring out my finest heroin!"
I tried to head towards my bunk. "Really, don't go to any trouble-"
"Cocaine then! White powder for the white man's return!"
"Look, Zaz, I just got into this body! I'm not going to destroy it the first night!"
He stopped me with a grip on my arms, his eyes deadly serious. "Well, we've got to do SOMETHING."
Ten minutes later I took my third hit of the joint and passed it left to a grinning Zazlu. He took a deep drag himself and passed it left around the table to Ann-Marie. She barely made effort to reach for it, leaning back in a chair with her lean runner's legs propped up on the table, her eyes half-closed in a relaxed high. But as much as she looked like a stoned sorority girl in her tight t-shirt and short running shorts, I knew that Ann-Marie could still draw the Glock semi-auto strapped to her bare thigh and wield it like a scalpel at a moment's notice.
Our squad gunner, Private Juan Rodriego, was another story. He would be useless for hours off of what he had already inhaled. His spiky black hair was mussed, his wife-beater and sweatpants askew and rumpled. The movements of his tall, lanky limbs were clumsy, imprecise. That's why we always gave him the big weapons. And I knew he'd be extra eager to use them the next few days, after the blond radio operator had left him high and dry tonight.
Ridley had broken the mold putting this squad together; four lieutenants, no sergeants, and only five privates and a medic to make up the rest. The other squads had two fewer officers to do the thinking, two more NCO's to do the whipping, and five more privates to do the smashing. But Ridley always preached 'lighter, smarter, faster', Zazlu was almost a drill instructor by himself, and I'd rather have ten people around me I could fully trust than fifteen I could trust halfway.
The music was low and the rest of the privates were sleeping off what ever they had drunk, snorted, inhaled or licked before I had gotten there. I would have to check each one for presentability before letting them out for breakfast in the morning. This is the stuff a Second Lieutenant has to keep in his mind, if he wants to keep First Lieutenant's squad running smoothly. Speaking of which...
"Don't worry about that radio chick, Juan," I said. "She didn't look like she was much fun anyway."
Zazlu nodded sagely. "She had very chubby ankles."
"I wouldn't fuck her with YOUR dick," Ann-Marie added, then passed the joint.
"It's okay guys," Juan said. He waved the lit joint in the air, in a sweep covering all of us at the table. "If she doesn't like what the Squad does to celebrate the Second Lieu's homecoming, she's not good enough for us!"
"That's the spirit," I chuckled. "She and Trent should write a book. Speaking of which..." I turned to my left. "Zazlu, we're on a highly guarded military base. In an active combat zone. On another planet, 50 million fucking miles from home. And you still get better weed than I did in the middle of Detroit!"
The Iranian smiled, his bald head wrinkling. "Supply and demand, my friend, supply and demand."
"Supply of what? Demand from where?"
Zazlu held his smoke sagely in his mouth for a few seconds, making us wait, then puffed it out and said, "What do we have more of on this planet
"HEY! I SAID-"
"It's me Zaz," I said, cutting him off with a quiet tone. "Jonah."
"Is it...? Grimmy said that-" he ran up to me, read the name burned into my wrist and looked into my eyes. Then he held my arm up for the squad. "Our Second Lieutenant has returned from the dead!"
Cheers. Even cocaine private stopped scratching his back long enough to clap.
"Look at you!" Zazlu beamed. "Taller, stronger than before! We must celebrate this!"
"No, Zaz, I'm okay, I just want to rest-"
"I will bring out my finest heroin!"
I tried to head towards my bunk. "Really, don't go to any trouble-"
"Cocaine then! White powder for the white man's return!"
"Look, Zaz, I just got into this body! I'm not going to destroy it the first night!"
He stopped me with a grip on my arms, his eyes deadly serious. "Well, we've got to do SOMETHING."
Ten minutes later I took my third hit of the joint and passed it left to a grinning Zazlu. He took a deep drag himself and passed it left around the table to Ann-Marie. She barely made effort to reach for it, leaning back in a chair with her lean runner's legs propped up on the table, her eyes half-closed in a relaxed high. But as much as she looked like a stoned sorority girl in her tight t-shirt and short running shorts, I knew that Ann-Marie could still draw the Glock semi-auto strapped to her bare thigh and wield it like a scalpel at a moment's notice.
Our squad gunner, Private Juan Rodriego, was another story. He would be useless for hours off of what he had already inhaled. His spiky black hair was mussed, his wife-beater and sweatpants askew and rumpled. The movements of his tall, lanky limbs were clumsy, imprecise. That's why we always gave him the big weapons. And I knew he'd be extra eager to use them the next few days, after the blond radio operator had left him high and dry tonight.
Ridley had broken the mold putting this squad together; four lieutenants, no sergeants, and only five privates and a medic to make up the rest. The other squads had two fewer officers to do the thinking, two more NCO's to do the whipping, and five more privates to do the smashing. But Ridley always preached 'lighter, smarter, faster', Zazlu was almost a drill instructor by himself, and I'd rather have ten people around me I could fully trust than fifteen I could trust halfway.
The music was low and the rest of the privates were sleeping off what ever they had drunk, snorted, inhaled or licked before I had gotten there. I would have to check each one for presentability before letting them out for breakfast in the morning. This is the stuff a Second Lieutenant has to keep in his mind, if he wants to keep First Lieutenant's squad running smoothly. Speaking of which...
"Don't worry about that radio chick, Juan," I said. "She didn't look like she was much fun anyway."
Zazlu nodded sagely. "She had very chubby ankles."
"I wouldn't fuck her with YOUR dick," Ann-Marie added, then passed the joint.
"It's okay guys," Juan said. He waved the lit joint in the air, in a sweep covering all of us at the table. "If she doesn't like what the Squad does to celebrate the Second Lieu's homecoming, she's not good enough for us!"
"That's the spirit," I chuckled. "She and Trent should write a book. Speaking of which..." I turned to my left. "Zazlu, we're on a highly guarded military base. In an active combat zone. On another planet, 50 million fucking miles from home. And you still get better weed than I did in the middle of Detroit!"
The Iranian smiled, his bald head wrinkling. "Supply and demand, my friend, supply and demand."
"Supply of what? Demand from where?"
Zazlu held his smoke sagely in his mouth for a few seconds, making us wait, then puffed it out and said, "What do we have more of on this planet
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