arrived!” came a shout as we entered the barracks.
“Bloody hell!” someone chimed in.
“Hide your girlfriends, lads. That’s the first thing we’ll take!” I announced. Wankers.
Three of the boys were in this afternoon, playing darts and having a laugh on the recreational side of the building. They came to the front to say hello.
Fish, a member of the squadron for years came up and gave me a hug with his long, scrawny arms. “How’ya goin’, mate!” he said. He’d been training some of the young men the past few weeks up north, and I hadn’t seen him recently.
Tautoro, a big Maori bloke, nodded his hello, as did Hamish. I’d just seen them the day before, when they’d done some walk-throughs in the shoothouse with me.
“Boys, this is Chief Joe Sterba,” I said by way of introduction.
Fish reached out to shake his hand, but was showing a cheeky smile. “Told you he’d bring you here, mate,” he said to Sterba.
Son of a bitch.
“You’ve been here?” I asked.
He gave me a sheepish look. “You called it, man. I did need to know if you were ready.”
“Bastard. So, you satisfied?”
“The guys here said you’re ready to roll.”
The boys nodded. I tried to decide if I should be furious at Sterba or not.
Fish chimed in to change the subject. “He helped us update the case.”
He pointed to the dusty old trophy case. It looked like something you’d find in a secondary school, though even worse for wear. The glass was dusty, and the varnish on the oak shelves was peeling.
But it held the memories of the squadron. Trophies, both silly and serious, from rugby matches, triathlons, shooting competitions, and the like. More importantly, it held plaques and photos dedicated to the men that had served with and before us. Men that had stood tall for the squadron, who had defended both their country and their brothers in arms.
I knew as well that it held the other half of my insignia pair. It was on a cheap, faux-marble plaque with my name etched on a brass plate beneath.
Only today, there was a piece of tape below my name. It had a hastily made edit, and read simply, “Hillary”.
Bastards.
W e headed outside , where I resisted the urge to bash Sterba’s head in. Nicknames, or call signs as they’re properly called, are fairly common in the military. The downside is you don’t get to choose your own. It just happens, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.
I had lucked out for years going by just “Chaser”. These things get a life of their own, though, and I had a feeling I was heretofore doomed.
Wonderful.
“Joe, we better get going,” I said. “Couple more things on your list to do.”
“What’re you getting up to, then?” Fish asked.
“Joe’s asked to meet some gals and enjoy a Kiwi dinner, Kaye said she’d have us round for the night.”
Fish and I had known each other long enough that he’d spent some evenings with Kaye.
He chuckled and said, “Ah, good on ya. They’ll lay on the full Kiwi treatment for you, that’s for sure. Room for a few more?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
He turned to Joe. “You’ll love Kaye. And the rest of the ladies. They’re going to eat you up, mate.”
Sterba smiled, not really knowing the truth of the matter.
21
K aye’s driveway was full , of course. So I hopped the curb and shut it down on the edge of the lawn.
“Something you should know, Joe,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Kaye’s going to kiss you on the lips.”
“I like the hospitality in this country!” Sterba said.
“Ok, just so long as you’re ready for it.”
And at that, we walked in.
W e could hear the din in the front hall. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Joe fixed me with a smile.
“You got me,” he said.
Before us was a kitchen absolutely packed with family. A beautiful mix of brown and white, large and small, tall and short, loud and quiet.
Well, mostly brown, loud, and large. I know it’s not politically correct to say so.
“Bloody hell!” someone chimed in.
“Hide your girlfriends, lads. That’s the first thing we’ll take!” I announced. Wankers.
Three of the boys were in this afternoon, playing darts and having a laugh on the recreational side of the building. They came to the front to say hello.
Fish, a member of the squadron for years came up and gave me a hug with his long, scrawny arms. “How’ya goin’, mate!” he said. He’d been training some of the young men the past few weeks up north, and I hadn’t seen him recently.
Tautoro, a big Maori bloke, nodded his hello, as did Hamish. I’d just seen them the day before, when they’d done some walk-throughs in the shoothouse with me.
“Boys, this is Chief Joe Sterba,” I said by way of introduction.
Fish reached out to shake his hand, but was showing a cheeky smile. “Told you he’d bring you here, mate,” he said to Sterba.
Son of a bitch.
“You’ve been here?” I asked.
He gave me a sheepish look. “You called it, man. I did need to know if you were ready.”
“Bastard. So, you satisfied?”
“The guys here said you’re ready to roll.”
The boys nodded. I tried to decide if I should be furious at Sterba or not.
Fish chimed in to change the subject. “He helped us update the case.”
He pointed to the dusty old trophy case. It looked like something you’d find in a secondary school, though even worse for wear. The glass was dusty, and the varnish on the oak shelves was peeling.
But it held the memories of the squadron. Trophies, both silly and serious, from rugby matches, triathlons, shooting competitions, and the like. More importantly, it held plaques and photos dedicated to the men that had served with and before us. Men that had stood tall for the squadron, who had defended both their country and their brothers in arms.
I knew as well that it held the other half of my insignia pair. It was on a cheap, faux-marble plaque with my name etched on a brass plate beneath.
Only today, there was a piece of tape below my name. It had a hastily made edit, and read simply, “Hillary”.
Bastards.
W e headed outside , where I resisted the urge to bash Sterba’s head in. Nicknames, or call signs as they’re properly called, are fairly common in the military. The downside is you don’t get to choose your own. It just happens, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.
I had lucked out for years going by just “Chaser”. These things get a life of their own, though, and I had a feeling I was heretofore doomed.
Wonderful.
“Joe, we better get going,” I said. “Couple more things on your list to do.”
“What’re you getting up to, then?” Fish asked.
“Joe’s asked to meet some gals and enjoy a Kiwi dinner, Kaye said she’d have us round for the night.”
Fish and I had known each other long enough that he’d spent some evenings with Kaye.
He chuckled and said, “Ah, good on ya. They’ll lay on the full Kiwi treatment for you, that’s for sure. Room for a few more?”
“Absolutely,” I replied.
He turned to Joe. “You’ll love Kaye. And the rest of the ladies. They’re going to eat you up, mate.”
Sterba smiled, not really knowing the truth of the matter.
21
K aye’s driveway was full , of course. So I hopped the curb and shut it down on the edge of the lawn.
“Something you should know, Joe,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Kaye’s going to kiss you on the lips.”
“I like the hospitality in this country!” Sterba said.
“Ok, just so long as you’re ready for it.”
And at that, we walked in.
W e could hear the din in the front hall. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, Joe fixed me with a smile.
“You got me,” he said.
Before us was a kitchen absolutely packed with family. A beautiful mix of brown and white, large and small, tall and short, loud and quiet.
Well, mostly brown, loud, and large. I know it’s not politically correct to say so.
Similar Books
