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“Happy to help a Marine.”
“You’re American.”
“Not all of us are snot-nosed brats. My name’s Juan. This is Max.”
“You recognized my tat?” Parsons held out his right arm, which was emblazoned with the Marine Corps logo: an eagle atop a globe laid over an anchor.
Juan did notice the tattoo, but he had also read up on Parsons before venturing out to the Lazy Goanna. Although Parsons had been born in Australia, his American mother had taken him to California when he was ten years old after his father died. He had been a Marine for five years, serving two tours in Afghanistan, before transferring to the Navy and becoming a LCAC pilot. The Landing Craft Air Cushion vehicles were giant hovercraft used to ferry tanks and personnel to shore during amphibious assaults.
“We’re both veterans,” Juan said, which was close to the truth. “Navy.”
“Well, I appreciate the backup,” Parsons said, sitting back on his stool. “Let me buy you two swabbies a drink.”
* * *
—
After swapping sea stories over three rounds, Juan and Max were laughing with Parsons like they were old pals. Juan even showed him his prosthetic leg and made up a story about how he’d lost it in Iraq.
“How long have you been in this town?” Juan asked, finally getting around to his job now that they’d gotten friendly with him.
“Nhulunbuy?” Parsons said. “Oh, about a year now. Alloy Bauxite needed a hovercraft pilot, and I was the only one in these parts who could fly an SR.N4. Not too much different from an LCAC.” He pronounced it “L-Cack.”
“Where did they find a Mountbatten-class transport like that?”
“Ah, you know your hovercraft. They bought a scrapper that used to cross the English Channel and refurbished it. Even upgraded the controls so I could fly it without a navigator or flight engineer.”
“She’s a beauty,” Juan said. “Too bad you have to be working so close to Christmas.”
“I can’t complain,” Parsons said. “You wouldn’t believe what they pay me to drive through that swamp. Besides, tomorrow’s my last run and then I’m off for the holidays
.”
“Seems like an odd place to build a factory,” Max said. “What do they make in there?”
“I don’t know. I just move the trucks in and out.” Parsons tossed back the remainder of his beer and let out a huge belch. “And even if I did know, I couldn’t tell you no matter how drunk I got.”
“Why not?” Juan asked.
“Because they made me sign one of those non-disclosure agreements. Top secret and all that. If I so much as make a peep about what they do in there, they’d sue me so hard, my grandchildren would be bankrupt. And I don’t even have kids.”
“We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
“Anyway, I think they’re closing up soon.”
“Why do you say that?” Max asked.
“Because the Shepparton left Nhulunbuy with a huge shipment, and my contract is up in a few days.”
Juan and Max looked at each other knowingly. A huge shipment. They needed to find out what kind of cargo was already out to sea.
Parsons got off his stool and said, “It’s been fun, gentlemen, but I need to sleep before my last flight of the year. Juan, Max, good to know ya.”
“Nice to meet you, Master Chief,” Juan said.
“Anchors aweigh and semper fi,” Max said.
“Oorah,” Parsons answered with a crisp salute and staggered out the door.
