Tiger the Lurp Dog: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

to begin. “I know it must rag your asses to hear the way those chumps on Two-One were carrying on about their mission—all that bragging about how ‘J. D.’s Rangers’ gonna do this, ‘J. D.’s Rangers’ gonna find that, and so on. But that’s just tough shit. As soon as your man Gonzales gets back, soon as we have a full team, we’ll get our chance to show that crazy nigger J. D. and his band of red-neck cut-throats the proper way to run a Long-Range Recon Patrol. I know I promised you more field time and an end to this radio relay bullshit. But this is the Army, not some pie-in-the-sky Sunday school, and you’re gonna have to get used to the fact that promises don’t count—not even when someone as upright and honest as your new team leader makes them.”
    Wolverine smiled, and stretched, and farted contentedly. He and Two-One’s team leader, J. D., went way back. When Wolverine had first come across J. D., they were both young privates fresh out of Jump School, newly assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division and determined to make names for themselves. J. D. had always had more flair than foresight, and back then he’d always been the first to volunteer for anything exciting, difficult, or dangerous. He was the first of their group of new paratroopers to jump number two man, behind the stick leader, where he could see out the door beforehand—which had then seemed a daring and prestigious thing to do. J. D. was the first to make PFC and Spec Four, the first to smart off to their terrifying bear of a platoon sergeant—and the first to be busted back down to Private E- I . J. D. was always the first to wade into any beer-hall brawl, the first to drain his mug in chugalug contests—and, of course, he was always the first to tell the world of his exploits.
    Wolverine and J. D. had started off together in the same platoon, and then they’d gone their separate ways—J. D. off to Ranger School, first as a student and then an instructor, and Wolverine off to Special Forces. Now, at last, they were in the same unit again, and Wolverine was looking forward to this stint of radio relay as a chance to find out whether J. D. was half as good as he said he was.
    “There’s a lot of interesting missions coming up,” Wolverine promised. “And you can count on us getting our share of the fun. Old Stagg might have stretched things a bit to con me into this platoon, but I know he didn’t flat-ass lie. Still, my Mama—bless her holy little heart—she didn’t raise no fool. I don’t take no dicksteppers on my team. If you want to stay with me and come out of this tour alive, you gotta be smart and you gotta be hard. Do you got that?”
    “Got it, Sarge.”
    “Fine. By first light tomorrow—before Two-One goes in—I’m gonna quiz you both on the codebook. If you don’t have it memorized, you’re gonna be in a heap of trouble. Is that clear?”
    “Clear, Sarge,” Mopar mumbled unhappily.
    “All right, now. If you got that down, we’ll get along fine.” Wolverine dug a pack of cigarettes out of his rucksack and lit up with his survival-pack lighter. He looked up at the sandbagged bunker ceiling and blew a lazy series of smoke rings. He was taking his time, but he wasn’t through talking just yet.
    “Enough of all that,” he said. “We’ll get our missions. But in the meantime, we got us a job of radio relay to perform, and we’re gonna do the best damn kick-ass job of it that this platoon has ever seen. I expect you to practice strict commo discipline, you hear me? No talking over the horn—I want to hear nothing but whispers. You got that?”
    Mopar and Marvel nodded glumly, unhappy at being told how to do their job.
    “Now, the commo log will be perfect. No breezy bullshit—but I want every damn crackle of static recorded. The maps will be kept up to the minute and the overlays kept dry. You two got that?”
    It was Marvel’s turn to respond. “Got it, Sarge!”
    “Fine.” Wolverine nodded.