Minutes to Burn

Savage knew the type well-loved having their hands in the plastics, being able to assemble what they could from wires and det cord and boosters. It was like assembling death. Like opening up Pandora's box and tinkering around inside. They got off on it all-the rigging, the det-onating, the blasts so bright you'd think you saw the eyes of God.

"You always been a breacher?" Savage asked.

Tucker nodded slightly, his eyes on the small flame. "Started when I was twelve, you could say. Firecrackers in mailboxes, bottle rockets in pipes, cherry bombs down toilets. Useful skills growing up in and out of boys' homes." He whisked a finger through the flame and back, then licked the black residue. "First night in my third home, an 'older brother' beat me unconscious with a sockful of quarters. Next day, I rigged his shoe, blew off half his big toe." His smile sprang up quick and goofy. "No one fucked with me after."

Derek slid his fingers down the pane to the sill, streaking the glass. Still spaced out.

"You all a remnant of a platoon?" Savage asked.

Szabla nodded. "Mostly. Me, Cam, Derek, and Tucker were platoon buddies in THREE off and on for four, five years. Justin and I have bud-died before, but he and Tank came up mostly on Team EIGHT. Dick for action, but pretty Danish girls." She jerked her head in Justin's direction. "Ain't that right, sunshine?"

"Beats desert and diaperheads."

"What does? Shit detail teaching Norwegians how to rig C4?" She snorted. "At least we got world ops, not endless scrimmaging."

The match burned down to Tucker's fingers, and Tucker threw it on the floor. He stuck a finger in his mouth, then pressed it on the glowing match head. It sizzled out, sticking to his finger when he raised it.

Savage pulled out a pack of cigarettes from one of his front pockets.

"You mind?" Tucker asked, gesturing to the pack with his eyes.

"No," Savage replied. "Not at all." He lit the cigarette and enjoyed a long drag, shooting the smoke out the side of his mouth. "Why don't you go back to watching that minibar, son? You're outta matches."

"Fuckin' prick," Tucker muttered, bending over to tighten the laces on his boots.

Savage leaned up a bit from his recline on the bed. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'Fucking prick,'" Tucker answered, enunciating clearly. "Park your attitude somewhere else. Things have changed just a touch since Vietnam."

Savage laughed, then his eyes went cold. "What the fuck do you know about Vietnam?"

"Not much," Szabla said. "Heard it was some fucked-up shit."

"You heard right," Savage said. He grinned, the glint in his eyes matching the cherry of the cigarette. He glanced at Szabla. "How old are you, princess?"

"Twenty-six."

Savage shook his head, making a humming noise. "We were out of there before you were even born."

"You're old," Tucker said.

"I'm experienced."

Justin glanced over at Derek, as if unsure of what to make of him. He looked back at the others. "Look, why don't we-"

"Experienced at what?" Tucker snarled. "Slaughtering villagers? Raping women?"

"What are you, boy? A fuckin' dove?"

"No, I was just trained with a military code of ethics. Some of the shit you guys pulled…"Tucker's voice trailed off with disgust.

Savage nodded calmly. "I seen some things," he said, as if agreeing. He raised his cigarette, lodged in the fork of his fingers, and pointed it at the track marks on Tucker's arms. "Bet you have, too."

Tucker sprang to his feet, but Savage leaned forward quickly on the bed, yanking his knife from his ankle sheath and setting his feet on the ground. He flipped the knife once, caught it by the handle, and smiled. Tucker stared at him a while then looked down, almost shyly, and walked out of the room. Over at the window, Derek still didn't move.

"You lay the fuck off," Justin said to Savage.

"You know what they say." Savage leaned back on the ripped pillow. "If you play with fire…"

Justin stood and began to change into civies. "We need to get the fuck out of here."

"Where the hell are we gonna eat?" Szabla said. "Anyone speak Spanish?"

"I only know three words," Savage said. "Casa de putas."

"What's that mean?"

Savage smiled. "Look it up."

Justin crossed to Derek and laid a hand on his shoulder. "We're gonna grab Tucker and find somewhere to eat," he said.

Derek turned slowly from the window, his eyes blank. "I'll take weapons watch." He stood and stepped out onto the small balcony, pulling the chair with him.

"Any time you want us back?" Justin asked. "LT?"

Szabla leaned forward, lowering her voice as she spoke to Savage. "Is it true?" she asked. "Did you really rape women there?" Her face was calm, but her eyes were excited.