Blood & Tacos #3 Read online

McCall grabbed her wrist. “First let’s get you to cover. They’re targeting the hooches.”

  They stormed into the battle, dodging strobe-like explosions. Shouts filled the air along with the stench of destruction, of burnt gunpowder, of killing and dying. McCall led her to a nearby pile of debris somewhat in the shadows; empty oil drums and discarded machine parts. A good place to stash a troublesome wife until the fighting was over. A round pinged off an overhanging piece of metal. She was right. He could not leave her unarmed.

  He handed her his M-16. “Here. You qualified with one of these on the range back home. Time for practical application. Keep your head down. You are a non-combatant.” He unleathered the .45 from its shoulder holster and flicked off the safety. “I’ve got to keep moving, to help out.”

  She took hold of the rifle, wholly comfortable with it. Then her eyes were distracted by something.

  “Cord, look.”

  He whirled, half knowing what to expect. Then he saw it too.

  Through the disorganized melee of battle, a soldier, whose features were obscured, darted through the tumultuous firefight with determined haste, staying low to avoid incoming fire, one hand steadying his helmet as he ran, appearing to McCall to be somehow disengaged from the battle, particularly when he gained the hooch the McCalls had just vacated. The soldier entered the guest billet.

  “Wait here,” said McCall, and he bolted.

  “Right,” Tara said to herself.

  She gave McCall a ten-count. Then she slung the M-16 over her shoulder by its strap and followed him.

  McCall hesitated at the entrance to the hooch, the .45 automatic held down at his side, his presence undetected by the man inside because of the ferocious battle raging around them and because the soldier was preoccupied, in the process of reaching for the slim black book on the desk.

  McCall said, “It’s not a journal.”

  Larson whirled. His expression struggled between surprise and panic.

  “Major, I can explain.”

  They had to raise their voices to be heard above the cacophony outside.

  “Captain, I’m arresting you,” said McCall. “You murdered Colonel Emmett. You fragged a fellow officer.”

  Larson drew his broad, farmer’s body up straight, doing his best to reassert command even if he was outranked.

  “Arrest me? On the strength of what? Every man on this base wanted to see that bastard dead.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one who went for the bait.” McCall nodded to the black book. “That’s no journal. It’s a notebook that I always carry. I had it on me when I knelt down to search Williams’ foot locker, and with the dim lighting inside the hooch and a little sleight of hand I had everyone thinking I’d found it there. I wanted to see if I could smoke out someone with a guilty conscience, and it looks like I succeeded. You wanted to see if Williams incriminated you in a journal after you confided in him that you were going to frag the colonel. Maybe I hadn’t gotten to that page yet and you could steal the book before I did. It was a crazy long shot, but it was the only chance you saw, so you went for it. A soldier like Sergeant Williams would tell you to bite your tongue and follow orders.”

  A jolt of raw, bitter emotion erupted from Larson. “That’s exactly what he told me. Let it alone, Williams said. Follow orders. Right, follow orders. Sounds real honorable but look what it got the sarge and those other men of Bravo Company. Emmett was killing my men, goddammit. He had to be stopped, and I stopped him.”

  A shell struck the next hooch over with a thunderous crack! like a lightning strike. Shouts for “Medic! Medic!” could be heard.

  Larson lunged at McCall. “Bastard!”

  McCall had hoped that sight of the .45 would discourage something like this, but Larson wasn’t about to be taken easily. McCall brought up the .45.

  The snap! of a camera flashbulb came from close behind his ear.

  Tara had crept up from outside and eavesdropped. The white flash seared the interior of the hooch, not impairing McCall’s vision because it came from behind him. The flash startled, stunned and stopped Larson. He reflexively threw his arms up to cover his eyes.

  Tara said, “Gotcha!”

  McCall brought his .45 around in a swipe that cracked the side of Larson’s head. Larson’s knees buckled and he collapsed. McCall pinned Larson with a boot to his back. He holstered the .45 and reached for the handcuffs attached to his belt. He spared a quick glance over his shoulder.

  The beauty of his wife’s face was smudged with grime. Her red hair was tangled. She looked stunning.

  He said, “Thanks, hon.”

  Larson’s face, against the earthen floor, was an emotionless mask.

  “You’ve got this all wrong, Major. Yeah, I thought it was Williams’ journal that you found. I came for a look to see if he thought anyone on base killed Emmett, to see if he wrote that down. I didn’t frag anybody.’’

  “Sergeant Hines will fess up,” said McCall. “He gave you your alibi when he said you and he were together prepping for the IG inspection. But Sergeant Hines is lying because he hated Emmett too. You weren’t in the TOC bunker with your First Sergeant when Emmett was killed. I’ll go to work on Top’s conscience and his duty under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and when he breaks, Captain, I’ll have the proof I need.”

  Larson sneered. “What the hell kind of a soldier are you? Whose side are you on, McCall? I’m on the side of our troops. That’s more important than any VC body count so some fat-assed colonel can advance his career. You think I could let that go on? Our body count is my concern. Emmett got what he deserved. You know that, in your heart.”

  “You’re out of luck, Captain. It’s my job to take you in.”

  Someone outside yelled, “Incoming!” and again the air was split by that fast-approaching, ear-piercing whistle.

  McCall sprang at Tara without hesitation, yelling to the man on the floor, “Move, Larson! Save yourself!

  Larson got to his feet but made no effort to move.

  He said in a calm voice, “Up yours, Major.”

  With the incoming whistle growing impossibly loud, McCall plowed into Tara with enough force to knock her off her feet, sending them both airborne, pitching them outside of the hooch and onto ground. They landed together. Cord’s arms were around her. They rolled a few times before coming to a stop with Cord on top.

  Again lightning and thunder struck. The ground trembled beneath them as a direct hit demolished the hooch. McCall pinned his wife, shielding her from a pelting shower of falling debris.

  Then they lifted their heads.

  The battle was winding down. Three Huey gunships had rotored in to commence pulverizing the surrounding jungle, making the night sky a fire show of tracer bullets, rocket fire, and multiple explosions. There was no more incoming fire. The mortars and artillery were quieting down. The primary activity on the base now was tending to the wounded, regrouping, assessing.

  Tara arched her neck for a view of the smoldering remains of the hooch they had just vacated.

  “Captain Larson …”

  “It’s better this way,” said McCall. “He died in combat. That’s better for his family back in the world.”

  “You’re not going to report that he fragged a colonel?”

  McCall said nothing.

  She stared up at him for a long moment. Then she kissed the thin red line of dried blood that crossed his cheek and for one stolen moment there on the battle-scarred ground, they shared a prolonged embrace.

  “Know what?’ whispered Tara.

  “What?”

  “It’s been so long, I wouldn’t even mind being on the bottom.”

  “You,” said McCall, “are impossible.”

  “And that’s only one of the reasons you’re crazy about me, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Crazy is definitely the word. I must be out of my mind.” Two figures were hurrying in their direction. “Here come Sergeant Hines and Lieutenant Grey. I’ve got some explainin
g to do.” He got up off her, extending a courtly hand. Tara accepted, rising to her feet, and he said for her ears alone, “Now stow the personal stuff, okay, hon? I mean it, Tara.”

  He turned to greet the approaching men.

  “Right,” Tara said to herself, and hurried to join them.

  THE END

  Stephen Mertz was one of the architects of the men’s action/adventure series genre. His two landmark series from the 1980s, Stone: M.I.A. Hunter and Cody’s Army (as by Jim Case), have been reissued in e-book format. Under his own name Stephen has written a number of highly praised novels. The most recent of these, Hank & Muddy (2011) and The Castro Directive (2012), are also available as e-books. He lives and writes in Arizona.

  COOKING LIKE A TOUGH GUY

  – the soup edition

  By D. Richard Pearce

  Welcome to Cooking Like a Tough Guy. Find your seats, shut up and pay attention.

  Now you may be wondering why or how exactly cooking can relate to being a tough guy, despite having seen all these shows of sweaty chefs yelling at everyone. I mean great, yelling and all, but how does being able to feed yourself and others fit into your kitbag, and why should it take up valuable space?

  Well, for one thing, you never know when an undercover assignment is going to come up, and there’s ALWAYS room in the kitchen for another tough guy, whether it’s on a cargo ship, working the mining camps, or out on the trail. Why is this? Because bad cooks tend to mysteriously disappear – being able to actually cook will protect your cover and keep you from getting killed by the ostensible good guys.

  Also, for the more debonair among you, cooking well is a way to impress the chicks. When you can whip up a four course dinner from a piece of celery and some condiments, you’re well on your way to seduction, if your particular method of slap-and-tickle is heavier on the tickle.

  So this issue, we’re going to start on some basics – soups. With soups, you get some basic principles, how to use a knife (you think you know already, doncha?) and some other lessons that’ll carry you through on further lessons. Walk before you run, grasshoppa.

  Gear – first things first – you need a knife. Combat knife will NOT do. But you’ll like the chef’s knife – it’s got a BIG blade. Go find one, the bigger and sharper the better. Don’t go spending a lot of money either – a mid-range knife will do you just fine. As a matter of fact, the best kitchen knife is one you’ll find down in Chinatown in the market – looks like a cleaver, only lighter, and will set you back about five bucks.

  How to use a knife: if you want to get through this with all your digits, you need to learn how to hold a knife. Fortunately, if you use a combat or scuba knife, you already know. If you use a switchblade, pay attention. Basically, you hold the knife in a good firm grip, high on the handle, as if you were going for the low disembowel, spleen to sternum. There’s no hilt here, so you’ll be gripping it high on the handle, and by the end of the day, you should have a blister on the first pad of your index finger. Quit whining, in a week, you’ll have a callous. When you’re chopping (vegetables, not people), you’re going to be laying the edge of blade flat on the board, creating a rocking motion and feeding whatever you’re chopping to the blade with your other hand – the tip should never leave the board and if you’re making a bunch of noise, you’re doing it wrong. Think stealth mode there, Cookie.

  The other thing you’ll need is a Burr mixer – Burr is a brand name, and there are a lot of pretenders in stand up mixers, but come on, do you want to work with, a Cuisinart or a BURR? What separates the men from the boys here is the heavy-dutyness and of course the power tool orange handle.

  Ok, here we go.

  A word about recipes – generally speaking, tough guys don’t follow recipes – there’s little room for measuring cups in your gear, and frankly a cup of motor oil is no different than a cup of olive oil (and you all should have an idea about volume in chemicals, right?). You’ll also note some optional ingredients in the lists below. These are by no means exhaustive lists; if there’s something in the fridge you think would make it better, add it. Feel free to use your judgment and for god’s sake, taste that crap as you’re going – if it tastes good, you’re doing fine. We’re not pastry chefs here.

  The Holy Trinity – soups and sauces start with the basic three: carrots, onion, celery. Generally an equal amount of the three, but this can vary by soup. In all of the following lists (not recipes, remember) you’re going to start by dicing or chopping the carrot/onion/celery combo. If your pieces are about ¼ inch or so, you’re doing fine – anything smaller is mincing, and tough guys don’t mince. Ever. We don’t have time for the intricacies of recipes and cutting into powder.

  Start the process by cutting off one of the round sides of whichever vegetable you’ve chosen – you want it to lay flat on the cutting board so it’s not flailing around while you finish the process. Nobody trusts a cook called Stubby.

  Once you’ve got the three diced up, throw the mix into a pot on med-high heat with enough oil, olive or vegetable, your choice, to just cover the bottom of the pot. Stir it so the Trinity is coated and put the lid on – we’re going to let it sweat for a while.

  Once the Trinity is soft and sweaty, you can throw in the bulk of your other ingredients.

  Most of these soups are creamy, so when everything’s nice and soft and bubbling away, you get to use the power tool – stand the mixer in the pot and turn it on – in a couple minutes you should have a nice, smooth creamy soup. If there’s anything you wanted chunky, hopefully you set it aside, and now’s the time to add it. Turn the heat down and let it all simmer until dinner time – remember soups and sauces always taste better the next day, so if you can afford the time, let it all simmer for a couple hours then take it off and throw it in the fridge for tomorrow. That’s it – the basics – each of the soups below are made essentially the same way, and any differences will be described in the breakouts.

  Hey by the way, we’re assuming some basic intelligence on your part – if you’re cooking in the Himalayas, and your soup is getting a bit thick, add some extra water/stock. If it’s too thin, let it simmer longer. You’ll notice I don’t tell you how much salt and pepper – the point here is to add a bit (a bit being about enough to cover the bottom of a shot glass – not the whole shot) and taste it – if it tastes thin, add some more; if it tastes good, don’t. Do I have to tell you everything?

  Black Bean Soup:

  So you’ve been assigned to cook duty in the Texas jailhouse. This one will feed about 5 or your fellow prisoners and you:

  Holy Trinity: 3 carrots, 2 Med or 1 largish white or yellow onion, 3 stalks of celery (whole stalks – not sticks you stole from the bartender)

  A clove or two of garlic, sliced.

  2 cans of black beans or 1lb bag dried (if dried you’re gonna have to soak them overnight)

  Oregano, basil and thyme (aka Italian seasoning)

  Salt & Pepper

  A quart of chicken stock (in the carton) or water and a couple OXO cubes, or if all else fails, water.

  Optional leftovers:

  Refried beans

  Squash

  Bell peppers

  Sweat the Trinity, add the rest. Boil it for 20 minutes or so. If you have any of the optional leftovers, add them, but bump up the liquid count by a pint or so. Burr mix the crap out of it and enjoy.

  Tomato Soup:

  Just like mom used to make – oh no wait, she opened a can. Beat mom at her own game.

  Trinity: 2 Med or 1 largish onion, 3 stalks of celery, 3 carrots

  A couple of the big cans of tomatoes whole in the juice, or a couple pounds of tomatoes getting soft.

  The aforementioned Italian seasoning

  Quart of stock/water & oxo/water if nothing else

  Salt & pepper

  Optional leftovers:

  Green beans

  Sausage

  See above – the only difference being if you have some leftover sausage or ham
, dice it up and add it AFTER the mixing. Who’s gonna complain about chunks of meat in their tomato soup?

  Potato Leek (aka Vichyssoise):

  Feeling fancy pants? Working undercover in a frou frou joint while you wait to ambush the ambassador? This one will make the snootiest French chef boss kiss you on both cheeks. (Don’t forget to punch his lights out afterward.)

  Trinity: 2 Med or 1 largish white or yellow onion, 3 stalks of celery – no carrot for this one. Hey – rules are made for breaking.

  3 good sized spuds, fit to match a steak. Peel em and chop em.

  a couple cloves of garlic (shallots are fine if available, and they oughtta be if you’re making this soup).

  1 leek

  Stock/oxo/water, again a quart or so.

  Coffee cup of white wine

  Salt & pepper

  Ok this one’s a bit fancier – slice the leek across the grain with your big ass knife. Save the green part on the side. Throw the white part in with the Trinity and potatoes, sweat em til they’re soft, then add the wine, and let it sizzle a minute. Now add the stock and Burr it to gruel. Now add your green leeks and let it simmer for a while. If you get this one right, the ambassador will invite you to his table, making it much easier to kill him/seduce her.

  All right, get out there and make some soup, Seagal.

  D. Richard Pearce is the author of the stories "The Once and Future Dentist" (Escape Pod 13) about everyone’s favourite gunman (or at least his) and "El Alebrije" (GUD issue 2). While he has seduced with his cooking, he finds it handy to keep a bottle of Tanqueray in reserve, just in case…

  STUDS WINSLOW and the Bitches of the Fifth Reich

  By Halloran Oates

  (discovered by Todd Robinson)

  TODD ROBINSON has always modeled his life after the deep-sea diving adventure hero Studs Winslow. Which explains his penchant for challenging people to see who can hold their breath the longest and Speedos. He found this copy of Studs Winslow #94 in a mylar bag right between #93 and #95 on his Studs Winslow shelf/shrine at home.