Minutes to Burn

Szabla turned to Justin, still in a fighter's stance, and feigned two jabs at his face. A black woman with well-defined, even features, Szabla was striking, though hard in appearance. Her arm muscles were better defined than those of most of the male soldiers; Justin maintained that he could rest a beer on the shelf of her triceps. As always, she wore a sleeveless top to show off her build; today it was an army-green tank. Since she wore her brawn over her intelligence, it was easy to forget that Szabla was ROTC, MIT, Phi Beta Kappa. She'd been a structural engineer as an undergraduate, and after she graduated, she had been one of the first women through BUD/s. Though she remained in the Special Forces reserves, she was an architect full-time at a downtown Sacramento firm.

"Droppin' off the little lady?" she asked.

"Nope," Justin said. "I'm your corpsman."

Szabla drew her head back, her forehead lining with wrinkles. "Hubby and wife? This ain't no Amway convention."

Cameron shrugged. "I don't know what's going on. Mako told us both to report." She walked over to Savage and extended her hand. "Cameron Kates."

Savage glanced down at her hand, then looked away. She lowered her arm, electing not to comment since she couldn't determine his rank from his ripped cammies. As she stepped back, she noticed that he wore only one boot.

Savage followed her eyes down to his sock. "Tough night," he said.

Cameron turned to Szabla, who raised her eyebrows. "Far as I can see," Szabla said, "he ain't gonna join in any reindeer games."

Cameron smacked Tucker in the chest. "We got something of a reunion going on here, huh?"

Tucker shifted on his feet and smiled his nervous smile, his eyes darting to the pavement. "Yeah. Guess so. I been…I sorta fell off for a while there, you know." He laughed a short stuttering laugh, and Cameron noticed his eyes were ringed with faint black circles, like fading bruises. "You know how it goes."

"Who's our OIC?" Szabla asked.

Justin turned to her, eyebrows raised. "You haven't heard? Derek."

"Mitchell?" Szabla whistled, one dying note.

"He'll be fine," Cameron said defensively. Justin rested a hand on her back, but she stepped away ever so slightly, not wanting to have any personal displays before the other soldiers.

Szabla snorted. "Listen, girl. After going through something like he went-"

Derek rounded the corner, pulling off his jacket. "Sorry I'm late." At six foot four, Derek was surprisingly unintimidating, especially for someone built like a linebacker and trained extensively to kill other people. Barrel-chested, arms stretching his shirtsleeves at his biceps, he tapered in, almost impossibly, to a slim waist before expanding again through his powerful quads. His full cheeks would have made him look young were they not generally covered with stubble.

He nodded at Justin and hooked Cameron's neck with a hand, yanking her forward on her toes. "It's good to see you, Cam." His eyes drifted, then focused. "Really good to see you." He turned to Justin with a smile. "So how do you feel about me stealing my old swim buddy here back for the mission?"

Justin shrugged. "Take my wife, please."

Derek turned to Cameron and winked. "You should get yourself a real man."

Justin laughed. "That's what I keep telling her."

Derek nodded at Tucker, then smacked Tank on the shoulder. Tank didn't move.

"Hey, LT." Szabla leaned over, offering her hand to Derek. He slapped it, and they locked hands for a moment.

Derek strode over to Savage and glanced him up and down. Savage didn't bother to meet his eyes. "Why don't you introduce yourself to the platoon?"

Savage ignored him. Derek leaned in close until his face was inches from Savage's. Savage met his eyes evenly. Leaning back against the wall, he made no effort to rise to a more protective posture. Finally, his eyes flickered to the others. "We got seven men." He looked at Cameron, then at Szabla. "Make that five. That ain't a platoon. That's three shy of a half."

"For all practical purposes, it's a squad, and I'll run it as such." Derek paused, straightened up. "I gave you an order."

Savage ran his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, his blue eyes hard like bits of sea-washed glass. "Savage," he said. "William Savage."

"Are you shitting me?" Justin said. "Savage? Yeah, okay buddy." He turned to Derek. "If he's Savage, then I get to be Harddick."

"And I wanna be Dickwrench," Szabla added. "Or something."

"You already are," Justin smirked. Szabla flipped him off.

"If you're having trouble with the name," Savage said, running a hand over the stubble beneath his beard, "I can carve it on your forehead for you."

"Yeah, try not to knock over your walker as you head over here," Justin said. He laughed, shaking his head. "Savage. That's great. That's fucking brilliant."

A mother walking with her two kids saw the group of soldiers up ahead and ushered her kids across the street to avoid them. They turned into Roosevelt Park and the children sprinted ahead onto the soccer fields, laughing.