“Roger, Colonel—I mean Royal.”
“How many rounds in the one-niner-seven?”
“Seven-fifty, sir—a full load. We firing the gun?”
“Roger.” Leonard liked Jungle’s attitude. Some pilots felt safer using the Cobra’s rockets or missiles but Jungle eagerly faced the enemy from behind the barrel of the airborne machine gun.
Leonard sighted the first missile team. His mind went into high-speed mode. Jink hard left then fast right toward the large rock formation jutting from the mountain at two o’clock. Shift direction. Pop over the edge. Jungle will have two seconds to—
“Royal! Incoming missile! Eight o’clock! Fired from three clicks—two point five—two!”
“Sledge! We missed a team,” Leonard shouted. “Double back from behind. Take him out before he gets off a second shot.” Leonard and Jungle had stumbled into an angry hornets’ nest of enemy missiles and the only way they could defeat them was to pull Sledge back into the area. “Sledge! Do you read? Sledge?” Silence.
“One point five—one—first team in sight.”
“Fire when ready!”
“Ready to fire—fire!”
Leonard watched as his forward-seated copilot began the rapid-fire assault against the enemy on the ground. But it was too late. Because they’d failed to see a missile team, Leonard and Jungle were seconds away from death and there was nothing they could do about it.
“You Marines never miss a chance to show off your naked bodies, do you?” Eddie asked.
Karl Steiger tossed his shirt onto Eddie’s head. “Americans have a constitutional right to see who’s protecting them.” The twenty-three-year-old Marine flexed his pecs and kissed his bulging biceps. “Their tax dollars at work, right here, baby!” He winked at Eddie. “They catch you Navy boys without your shirts, they’ll demand a refund.”
“Hell, I actually work for a living, else I could spend three hours a day in the gym.” Eddie fished in his glove compartment for his Ray-Ban sunglasses and put them on.
“Don’t you squids burn off any calories walking to and from the vending machine all day?”
“Ladies, please don’t make me referee,” said Don.
“Here, Don, take this before he leaves it behind.” Eddie tossed Karl’s shirt and opened his car door to put the leash on his dog. “Give me any more lip and I’ll sic Rocky on you!” They laughed at the idea of a twelve-pound dachshund attacking a Marine.
Karl turned to a volleyball game in progress. “Go ahead, Karl. We’ll rotate in later.”
Rocky yanked on his leash as Karl took off across the small field in San Diego’s Balboa Park. “No, Rocky, over here, boy!” Eddie said. Karl joined the team in formation facing their opponents. The eleven men—allies and foes alike—gawked at Karl’s physique. When Karl wore baggy shorts and nothing else, everyone—gay, straight or bi—stared at his chiseled body.
“Where’d he get that tan?” Eddie asked. “Today’s January twenty-third, not July fourth.”
Don grabbed two beers from the cooler. “That tan cost the boy a big chunk of his paycheck, so just admire like everyone else.” He passed one to Eddie.
“Marines in tanning beds,” Eddie grunted. “We’re in the Clinton era for sure.”
“About the fuck-up at the hospital yesterday—a buddy at Miramar can help us.” Don popped the top off his Miller Genuine Draft. “Shoulda gone to him first. He’s straight, but more reliable than that shitbird Giles. Says he can meet us at Balboa Tuesday morning.”
Rocky found a piece of real estate to his liking and did his business. “This HIV test is a lot of trouble.” Eddie pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and cleaned up after his pet. “You gotta be away from your battalion. Your friend’s gotta come all the way to Balboa.”
“Let me worry about that. Besides, we didn’t make these fucked-up rules. You’re healthy. You’ve got every right to keep doing your job until you reach your twenty and retire.”
“If I make it to retirement,” Eddie said as they turned to walk back toward their cars.
“Prepare to get creamed! Zero serving zero.” Karl put the ball cleanly over the net.
“They’ll find a cure soon,” Don said. “You’re gonna make it way beyond retirement.”
“Yeah right. Some politician’s tryin’ to pass a law discharging everyone with HIV.”
“Not gonna happen. Clinton’s the president, not that asshole Coughlin. Besides, no one’s gonna know you have HIV, so it won’t matter,” Don said. “That’s so fucked up—there’s a lot of jobs positive people can do where it won’t make a bit of difference, even in wartime.”
Eddie tied Rocky’s leash around a picnic table and the two men sat across from each other. “Next time there’s a real war—not just a Kuwaiti skirmish—they’ll take anyone they can get. I don’t care who’s got AIDS, leprosy, a criminal record—nymphomania—whatever, they’ll take ’em. They discriminate in peacetime ’cause they ain’t got nothing better to do.” He drank his beer and Rocky jumped into his lap to get a taste. “You don’t need that.” Eddie laughed. “Got enough alcoholic friends and Sailors to tend to. Don’t need no drunken dog.” Turning serious, he asked, “What if they find out? We got the same blood type, not the same blood.”
“How long we been doing this? Six years? Ever since they started requiring these goddamned HIV tests. All the lab does is check the blood for antibodies. That’s it. When they see it’s negative, they look at the name on the vial and enter it into the computer as negative.”
“I was thinking about what Giles said. You could get in a lot of trouble.”
“Damn it, Eddie, we have this conversation every year!” Don lowered his voice. “Not another word about it. This is what we’re doing.”
Eddie scratched Rocky between his ears. “I’m glad I picked out an old dog ’cause I sure as hell don’t got the energy to chase a young one all over the park.”
“Like you told Giles yesterday, Clinton’s changing things for the better. This might be the last year we have to do this.”
Eddie smirked. “Don Don Don. I love that you’re still the same naïve teenager from Missouri I met on ship in the Arabian Sea. But man, get real! I said all that bullshit about Clinton just to get Giles to go along with us. You read the paper this morning? Bill Clinton ain’t gonna change a thing. If he tries, he’ll only make it worse.”
“In fifteen years, you ever known me to read a paper?”
“I know, stupid question. The new Defense Secretary met with the Joint Chiefs Thursday. All they did for two hours was bitch about Clinton’s promise to lift the gay ban.”
Don faked surprise. “Well, yippie ki yea, mothafucka! I guess that means we fixed all the other problems, you know the ones in Somalia, Bosnia and Iraq.”
“That’s what I’m sayin’. We can all pack up and go home.”
“What about the general running the Pentagon?” Don asked. “He’s black. Don’t he understand the ban is just another way to discriminate?”
Eddie almost laughed. “You mean ‘Uncle Colin’? Hell, he’s the main man against Clinton. If he had a set a balls, he’d stand up to the rest of the generals and support the president.” Eddie shook his head and drank more of his beer. “All he’s doing is gearing up to run against Clinton in four years.