“The planning.”
“First thing,” I said, “someone take asshole’s laptop away. No more PowerPoints. I can’t fucking take anymore. Not without a lot of alcohol.”
There were a lot of reasons that each of us decided to leave the military, and for all of us at least one of those reasons traced back to PowerPoint. In any branch of service, to become a ‘good’ officer, you needed a PhD in PowerPoint. Flir wasn’t an officer, he was just an obsessive dickhead.
“Wha…” Flir started, but before he could finish a word Code leapt out of his chair like he had feet on his ass and dove across the table, snatching the laptop and landing in a movie-perfect tuck-and-roll. He came to his feet holding the machine like a prize. His grin was full of pride.
Ruck got up and was gone only a couple minutes before he rolled in a whiteboard with some markers. “Here, a little old school, but less horrible than PowerPoint and we can’t trust him not to make slides.” He scowled at Flir.
“Agreed,” I said.
OD grabbed a marker and sketched out the path of the river, including the bridges and landmarks. “Okay, it’s not as simple as just sit your ass in a tube and float.”
“Um, it’s exactly that easy. That’s the whole point, sit in a tube, drink beer, float,” Merc pointed out.
“Scotch is better for the river,” Hype argued.
Kilo got up and stood next to OD. “See, you already fucked up. You’re so lucky you have us. You’re going to drink beer, infront of a firema- firelady, who can’t drink beer? Or Scotch,” he amended when Hype raised a brow.
“I see your point,” I told him, while Merc and Hype just shrugged.
Kilo wrote ‘supplies’ in the top left corner. Under that in capital letters he wrote NON-ALCOHOLIC drinks. Then underlined it three times. “Next you’ll want snacks. In fact, you’ll just always want snacks from here on out. And barf bags.” He held up a hand. “I know, sounds contradictory but just trust me. Sometimes they puke because they need to eat and sometimes it’sbecausethey ate. Never know what you’re going to get, so it’s best to be prepared at all times. At least on the river you don’t need barf bags.”
“Ah, that brings us to the next issue, Chum Points,” OD continued.
“Chum Points?” I raised a brow and folded my arms.
“Pregnant lady with morning sickness. Look…” Kilo made several marks on the map as OD oversaw the drawing. “This is where the current picks up and spins you about. Those are the areas she’s likely to get nauseous and chum the water.”
“So what do I do?”
Kilo answered, “Just before those areas have her pay attention to you, a stable point of reference. And if you can, have her eat something beforehand.”
“Won’t that make her more likely to hurl?” I asked.
“Possibly, but better she hurl food than heave on an empty stomach. Plus, Camila can make you snacks. Pregnancy friendly snacks, too. She knows all the ‘good for a pregnant lady’s stomach’ foods and flavors.”
I thought of all the many, many, times I dry heaved. It was never pleasant. I made a mental note to add snacks to my go bag I always carried with me. It was a fucking miracle that Kilo was actually being helpful for once. I wanted to capitalize on that.He’d clearly already made a lot of mistakes with Camila, but at least I was benefitting from it.
“Fair enough,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. I’d be taking a picture of the board later. Just in case I forgot something, though I wasn’t likely to. Who woulda thought this clown show could be this useful?
Now Code jumped up and took a marker. “Okay, you also have some choke points you need to be concerned with, here and here.” He circled two areas of the river, one of them was a bridge.
“Choke points? What the fuck are you talking about? Nobody’s going to ambush us on the fucking river.”
“Oh no?” He smiled at me. “This is where Kappa Sig loads onto the river, and stops for lunch. Hottest bunch of sorority sisters at Arizona State University.” He tapped the side of his temple.
Codewouldknow that. He was still young enough to date college girls. That was way too fucking young for me. I wasn’t old—dammit—but I was too old for them. That was for fucking sure.
“Think for a minute, old man. Half a dozen to maybe several dozen nineteen and twenty-year-old girls—women—in bikinis, young firm tits bouncing around in the open.”
“I’m not going to be looking at all the college kids,” I argued with a frown.
“And his lady will still be only nine or ten weeks pregnant,” Drifter said, his tone dry. “She’s still going to look fucking phenomenal in a bikini. Dumbass.”
“How do you know what she looks like in a bikini?” Code shot back, then paused and looked at me with guilt written all over his face. “I mean…I’m sure she looks great and all.”
Arching a brow at him, I asked, “You thinking about my old lady in a bikini, Kid?”
