They dined that night in a cavernous mess hall, alive with voices and smoke. Lewis felt a new feeling in his gut and his nerve endings; it took some thinking to place it. He realized it was home sickness and he wished Gloria was here to share the evening like they had done in Stuttgart, before Mary was born, when she would join Team Romeo in the mess hall. ‘God,’ he berated himself, ‘she thinks I’m dead. For all practical purposes, I guess we all are, after all, isn’t that the major complaint that one’s survivors have; I’ll never see them again.’
“Sir?” Gomez inquired, her face quizzical and worried. “Are you feeling alright?”
“Sorry,” He replied in English. “This place reminded me of something,”
“Seoul?” She asked, frowning,
“Stuttgart.”
“You need beer” she said, also in English.
“Yeah, warm.”
Major Hardwin had stopped in the middle of a story and looked curiously at them when the whole team, except Derrik, had cheered quietly.
“Sir,” Roquette addressed Hardwin. “Is there a place around here where we can get a drink?”
“Let’s see, there’s an officer’s club. I could get you in there as my guest and then there is a lounge at the hotel and a couple of pubs. There is also a bar at the edge of the Maze which is listed as not recommended.”
They talked for a little while and decided on a pub. Major Hardwin assigned a soldier to be their liaison and to show them around town.
“This is Sergeant Stander,” the major said. “Stander, this is Lieutenant Lewis and his team, they call themselves Romeo. You are to help the lieutenant in whatever way you can, and take them wherever they want to go. Keep in mind that I consider them VIPs and it’s your job to keep them out of serious trouble,” he turned back to Lewis. “Stander here is a local boy, so he knows the town better than most of the men here. Have fun, son, but do try to be safe.” Major Hardwin left, with Stander still standing stiffly at attention.
Gomez smiled her most charming smile at the newcomer.
“Won’t you come sit with us Sergeant?” she said in a low voice, patting the bench next to her. He didn’t even flinch, just shifted his eyes to where Lewis sat.
“At ease,” Lewis said, looking up and nodding toward Gomez. “Have a seat. We’ll leave in a few minutes, as soon as we finish eating.” Stander looked uncomfortable as he went to sit by Gomez.
When they walked out of the mess hall it was getting dark and a loud horn sounded a note that echoed off the buildings. They immediately looked at Stander, who pulled the cover off his head, held it in both hands and turned slightly to his left. Everyone up and down the street did the same, including the members of Team Romeo.
Two blocks from the front gate they found their objective, a pub called ‘the Forge and the Shield’. A band played loudly, the strange tempos and melodies adding to Lewis’ sense of being disconnected. They searched the dim interior until they found a table large enough for all of them. Lewis went to find the head with Stander following. He understood that the pressure was on the young Sergeant to keep him safe, but he didn’t think a trip to the bathroom was much of a threat.
Back at the table a round of drinks arrived at the same time as Lewis and Stander. The band picked up the pace and a few patrons got up to dance. Gomez and Blair sat on either side of Sergeant Stander and attempted to drag his whole life story out of him. Stander, for his part looked quite nervous in this environment. They had a few more drinks and presently a lone performer took the stage. A poet dressed in rough leather and a wide-brimmed hat, who said that he lived in the hills not too far from Dontil. His repertoire included everything from family love to political cynicism, with a little humor sprinkled throughout his poems.
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After a while the returned and played a few more sets. When Lewis looked down the table, Telini and Roquette were sitting together and making notes on a piece of paper. They stopped now and then to listen to the music and then write more, talking in hushed tones.
Lewis and Derrick talked about Derrick’s past; apparently, he had been a pirate, a castaway, a defender and a caravan guard before he worked for Fingers. Now he was eighteen and felt like he had done it all. Lewis smiled, remembering when he felt that way a few years before.
By midnight Lewis was having a hard time seeing the stage and figured he better go to the head while he could still find it. In the bathroom, he leaned against the sink for a moment before heading for a stall. He heard the restroom door open behind him and was turning to look when the stall door slammed open with a crash and hit him full in the face. At the same time he was yanked off his feet by the back of his coat. Something hit the overhead light and it flared and burned out. In the flash he saw the bottom of a boot coming down toward his face and tried to twist away. Darkness and the impact came at the same time, and then a flash of pain and stars. He had rolled over onto his hands and knees when a weight landed on his back, knocking him over again. He reached over his head and grabbed a wrist in both hands, he rolled back the other way and twisted as hard and fast as he could, causing a grunt of pain from his unseen opponent who was flailing with his free arm. Several lights swept the room, revealing his antagonist’s face close to his own. He aimed a head butt at the others face, and connected hard, then grabbed the man by the ears and did it again. Hands dragged him up and he dislodged them with a twist, stumbling backwards into the wall, fists coming up in a defensive posture.
“Lieutenant!” Telini’s voice cut through the jumble of noise. “It’s over!”
Lewis flipped his hands up, palms forward, trying to catch his breath and clear his head. Six defenders were bustling about the men’s room, picking up Stander and Derrick and tying up the two strangers. Telini pushed his way through the crowded room and steadied Lewis. Lewis shook him off.
“I didn’t come here just to get my butt kicked,” Lewis growled at him. “Let me do my business.” Telini opened the stall door and held it for Lewis while he entered, then closed it. When he came out Telini and Blair were searching the bathroom with flashlights. “Gheesh, boss,” Blair said, shinning the light in his face. “You look like crap.”
“Shut up, Shawn,” Lewis mumbled. “Or I might take my frustrations out on you.”
“Yes, Sir,” Blair said, backing out of the door.
“Where’s Derrick?” Lewis asked Telini.
“Off to see the doc, do you need a medic?”
“I’m fine, let’s go.”
Two Defenders covered the door as they came out, falling in step until they got to their seats. A medic was wrapping Stander’s wrist. Lewis went up to the medic.
“What’s up with Derrik?” Lewis wanted to know.
“We’ve sent him to the base hospital to treat a stab wound,” the medic told him.
“How about you?” He asked Stander.
“I’ve had worse.” Stander said.
“Want a drink?” Lewis asked the medic.
“No thank you, Sir” the medic replied.
They had one more round while the man finished wrapping Stander’s arm and gave him follow up instructions. The band finished up their set and the poet came back on stage as they paid their tab and left. Lewis was vaguely aware of the tension in the team. Stander led the way, rifle in hand. Telini and Blair walked on either side of him, lending a steadying hand from time to time. He worried about Derrik, and that started him thinking of team members he had lost in the past. One had been killed in action, two had been sent away by his commanding officer. They had been replaced by Mack Rollins, and now he wanted a desk job. Not that he was sore at Rollins, but the young soldiers probably would have adapted easier to this situation. He was in a foul mood by the time they arrived at their assigned base houses.