RAMSTEIN AFB
“Zwei Biere, bitte.”
This statement nearly exhausted Lieutenant
Commander Perry Hankinson’s knowledge of the German language, and, in the
ordinary course of events, he wouldn’t need much else for the duration of their
stay. For this evening, however, he’d sought out the sort of establishment
unlikely to be frequented by English speakers, or base personnel, or any foreign
tourists. It had meant taking a taxi to Kaiserslautern, the next town over, but
the driver seemed to understand more or less intuitively where he wanted to go.
Emily had offered “Bierstübe,” or something
to that effect – as if she spoke any better German than he did – and here they
were, a dimly lit pub with no big-screen TVs, no ‘high-and-tight’ haircuts, and
no uniforms in sight.
“This is a relief.” Emily Kane, Captain USMC,
glanced around a room full of civilians from their table in a far corner. Of
course, she’d be indifferent to the question of whether they were locals, but
she might like the feeling of anonymity. No one here would know them. Perry
listened to the long, slow breath she let out. He used to think she was sighing, or exasperated, when she
did that, but he’d gotten used to her ways over the years. No, the breathing
wasn’t the sign of a mood, bad or good. It was something more… existential.
“After this morning… no kidding. Was it a melée
before you got there, or…”
“Or what?” She turned her dark eyes upon him, and
he began to regret having let his words run. “Do you really think I go looking
for these things?”
“No, of course not. But…”
