Corpsman by Jonathan P. Brazee Page B

his word, am I right?”
    Doc understood Tamara’s hesitance to believe that.  Wythe was well-known for his credit-pinching—and mooching—ways.  Besides, that particular pitcher was one of the Wolfhead Reds she’d bought.
    Wythe poured her a stein, and Tamara took a slow, deep swallow, making a show of smacking her lips, and then said, “The skipper wanted to see me.  Couldn’t get out of that.”
    While the rest of them laughed, Wythe made a fist, put his nose in the hole made by his thumb and forefinger, and rotated it back and forth.  Tamara rolled her eyes and gave Wythe a wicked punch to the arm.
    “That’s ’cause you’re a bleeding hero,” Fanny said, drawing out the “e” in hero.
    “Eat me,” Tamara said as the others laughed.
    In the favelas, the smack talk that Marines seemed to love was there, but not to the same extent.  It would be too easy to step over the line and instigate a fuedo . [9]   Here in the Marines, though, it seemed to be simply part of the landscape.
    “Eh, you’ll get one, maybe a BC1,” Vic said, reaching his stein over the table to clink with hers.
    Tamara half stood, then leaned over to accept his clink.
    “Hey, watch it.  I don’t need your boobs in my face when I’m drinking!” Wythe shouted out, spilling some of his beer.
    Laughter and shouts of “Oh, you love it,” and “That’s as close as you’re going to get to any,” greeted his statement.
    Tamara turned a bright shade of red.
    She’s embarrassed! Liege realized.  Maybe the smack talk’s a little much for her.
    “This one’s on me!” Tamara shouted, too loudly and obviously trying to change the subject.  She grabbed the pitcher and asked, “What are we drinking?  San Miguel?”
    “You can’t tell?  What a lightweight!” Liege said.  “That’s Wolfshead Red, Tammy.”
    “That’s Tamara, Doc.  I’m not a freaking Tammy.  But Wolfshead Red it is. What about Corporal Medicine Crow?  Did she show up yet?  I owe her more than I owe you guys.”
    “The Ice Bitch is coming?” Wythe asked.
    Oh, someone else didn’t know that the sniper was coming , Liege thought, relieved that she wasn’t the only one left in the dark.
    “The Ice Bitch?” Tamara repeated, confused.
    “Yeah.  Crow.  Hot as snot on the outside, but cold as Hades on the inside.”
    He clinked his stein with Vic’s in a toast.
    “Well, she sure ‘iced’ that SevRev,” Veal said, looking smug.
    “Touché, Tammy,” Liege said.  “We girls have to stick up for each other.  Wythe’s just mad because he’s like all the rest of the guys in the battalion, lusting after Corporal Crow when she won’t give any of them the time of day.”
    “Tamara, Doc, Tamara.  But if it’s raging hormones talking, then I need to get the beer to cool these guys off.”
    The “Tammy” had slipped out naturally, but it took Liege slightly aback to get corrected like that.  No one else seemed to have noticed as Veal made her way back to the bar.
    “So what happened on Left Out?” Liege asked.
    “You had to be there,” Wythe said.  “But you can ask ‘Little Vickee’ there and see if he’ll man up.”
    Wythe drew out the “Vickee” in some sort of weird accent.
    Liege shook her head, knowing she’d never get the story.  The conversation drifted to Corporal Medicine Crow, and bets were made on whether she was a lesbian or not.  Wythe and Goodpaster were firmly in the “likes girls” camp, while Wheng, Acosta, and Dolsch insisted that was just sour grapes because the sniper didn’t date anyone in the battalion.
    I don’t date anyone here, either , Liege thought. 
    But she knew that was different.  She didn’t hide her socializing with men outside of the battalion.  And looking over at the adjacent table, a rather good-looking Marine had caught her eye a few times and smiled an invitation.  Maybe when this broke down, she’d go give him a look-see.
    Veal came back with a pitcher, which was immediately