Beer and Loathing in North Africa
Another Geryon story. Within is a tale of North Africa, German-Jewish doctors, provision runs, and a bag of Nazi eyeballs.
The crew stood outside the ship and politely watched as its inner workings expelled a large plume of smoke, a fizzing sound, and a swearing mechanic.
"Sweet Jesus on the cross!" snarled Charles, running greasy hands down his shirt. "That starboard fan converter's shot. We're going nowhere."
Reynard frowned, paced about a bit, and tried to look authoritative. "Right, but we've still got a job here, so you can stick around and fix this little booboo cleanly and cheaply. I rather fancy we can make shift without a mechanic on this one."
The medic looked hopeful. "Can I come along and fix booboos cleanly and cheaply?"
Reynard struggled for a moment to find a way to let her down tactfully. "There's nothing you can do for them, Klara."
"Which means what exactly?" the sniper cut in. "They're beyond her help, or her help wouldn't be helpful?"
"There's no-one actually trapped in the mine. The entrance collapsed and Isabelle is going to blow it open for us. So it's the provisioning run for you, Doc. Get going, and try to get back on time. In the unlikely event that we're going to need you, we'll really need you."
The captain gestured pointedly at an odd contraption that looked like a cross between a motorcycle and a market cart. It was loaded with empty boxes and other implements of provision running.
Amy was already seated in the driver's seat, looking forlornly back into the ship where her books resided.
"Why do I need to go on this provisioning run?"
"Because," said Reynard patiently, "I will not have slacking, and the library is of no immediate application. You may read when you get back." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Moreover, consider the other representatives: our very good doctor and our very good sniper. They are not very good at very much else. Keeping out of trouble is one of the things they are very not-good at. Do your very best to keep them in line."
Amy looked momentarily starstruck. "I'm in charge?"
"Yes, you're in charge, but don't try to tell them that. You will find yourself regretting it if you do."
Jules hauled herself into the back of the buggy as Doctor Solomon scrambled into the passenger seat. Amy hit the accelerator with unexpected force, causing the sniper to let out a yelp of alarm. Doctor Solomon knotted her sunhat firmly under her chin and settled down for the ride.
"Bring back beer," yelled Charles as the buggy lurched forward crazily.
Jules clung desperately to her Akubra and muttered, "Where does the silly bugger think we're going to get beer in North Africa?"
"Don't break his heart," murmured Amy, and drove a little faster.
--
A mile out of the village, Jules made a signal-comprised mainly of frantic waving gestures-to indicate that the buggy need must come to a stop.
"We need to check this place out," she said, hopping out. "Could be pommies."
"Or it could be the French," Amy agreed thoughtfully. Dr. Solomon looked unconvinced.
"Or it could be a good way to waste our time," she said. "We need to do this and get back quickly. I'm not missing a chance to amputate Isabelle's foot because you wish to dally over a little bit of paranoia."
"What?"
"What?" the doctor asked, blinking rather affectedly.
"No," said Jules. "We're checking it out. Or more accurately, I, having the full use of two eyes unaided by glasses, along with a scope, am going to that mound over there and checking it out. You two are staying put."
(Later, she couldn't explain why she'd thought that would work.)
Jules slithered up to the top of her mound, rifle poised to blow holes in whatever should appear on the other side of it. Two things caught her attention immediately as being good choices: the form of the doctor, marching inexorably towards town with reckless disregard for a paranoid's intuition. The form attached at her wrist, limping along rather reluctantly, was that of Amy.
Jules swore many a bright and colorful swear under her breath, and began composing an epigram.
She turned the rifle, lest temptation become too much, and pointed it at the town. There were only eight men that she saw, but given the size of the place, there couldn't have been many more. All seemed relatively normal, despite the unusual abundance of Western clothing, all worn by light-skinned men. 'Brits,' she thought, with grim vindication.
Then she spotted the officer's hat, and would, in retrospect, realize that the doctor must've seen it at the same time.
Dr. Solomon suddenly jerked stock-still. Amy bumped into her, wobbling unsteadily as she bounced off the immovable object. For a woman with only one eye, Dr. Solomon caught sight of the eagle on the lapels of the men's shirts and on the hat of the commanding officer with remarkable speed. The men didn't pay them much mind, at least to begin with, although a guard at the entrance from the road did demand their names.
Jules took a very short moment to reload one-handedly.
Dr. Solomon dropped Amy's hand and reached into her belt, pulling out her sidearm and shooting the guard in the neck. He looked slightly surprised as he went down.
All the other Germans looked damned surprised, too.
Dr. Solomon, who'd worn her shirt with the big red medic's cross, threw herself into the village, firing off the few rounds at the enemy and simply engaging hand-to-hand combat with the rest. The sunhat made for an incongruous picture, Jules thought, as she took a shot at the shouting commanding officer and got him in the gut.
One of the soldiers made a grab at the flummoxed Amy, who lurched into action, seizing the dead guard's gun and blowing a round into the advancing enemy. While she was at it, she dropped a few non-lethal shots into the other men in the village.
Jules counted off three headshots.
It was over in a matter of moments-three women lived, and an unlikely number of Nazis were littering the desert floor. Dr. Solomon went around to every one that was still alive, broke their arms, and stood on their necks until they suffocated.
Then she went back to the buggy, humming a chipper little tune, and came back with a device that looked like nothing so much as a melon baller, and specimen jars.
Amy and Jules left her to it.
--
The buggy careened dizzily into the Geryon's cargo bay, Amy still at the wheel, Dr Solomon grinning and all over blood beside her, and Jules atop their supplies, hanging on for dear life. Amy squealed on the brakes, sending the unfortunate sniper plummeting off the stack of supplies.
The captain loomed at them from the catwalk above. "Where have you been, and what in God's name did you do to the medic? I needed a medic. I've got a splinter."
"I wouldn't concern yourself with the medic, sir," said Jules, disentangling herself from her rifle and unsquishing her hat. "Look, she's grinning."
"Then why is she all bloody?"
"Because she's a bloody fool, sir."
"Consequence of negotiations," said Dr Solomon in a sing-song voice, looking madly delighted.
Amy sat silently in the driver's seat under the mistaken impression that those who do not move are not noticed.
"Amy," said the captain. "I thought I told you to keep them out of trouble. What happened?"
Amy opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as the sniper leveled a finger at her. "Hold it right there, mate. Don't you go trying to pin anything on me. I was the one who said we should look before we leapt. You idiots did the leaping."
"What happened?" asked the captain insistently.
"Nazis, sir."
"Nazis?"
"Dead ones, mostly," clarified Amy.
"Were they like that when you found them?" asked the captain.
The doctor, bloody, grinning, sang, "No!" Perhaps it had been an obvious question.
"So, you killed Nazis?" asked the captain patiently.
"I killed lots of Nazis," said Dr Solomon with an expression of supreme contentment.
Jules felt a sudden, inexplicable need to demand credit. "I killed some too. Headshots, mostly."
"Ruins the eyeballs. I hate it when you ruin the eyeballs," the doctor shot back.
The contents of the red, wet bag in Dr Solomon's lap suddenly needed no explanation. Amy gave the captain a pleading look, fearing that she would be blamed for failing to keep her unruly charges in line.
Reynard ran a hand through his hair, feeling rather guilty. Amy was a nice woman, and this was all a bit much to spring on her. Perhaps she should work with keeping Isabelle in line, before working her way up to the big dogs. He nodded at her, taking a moment to consider the last few minutes, deciding that morality of any kind apparently had no use in this conversation. "Well. Good. Or something. Provisions, to return to the point?"
"Well, if by provisions you mean army rations and ammo," said the sniper.
"That isn't exactly what I had had in mind," shouted a voice from the galley.
"Oh, and two machine guns. And a case of beer."
A grease-encrusted face popped out of a mechanical hatch nearby. "Beer? You guys found beer? In North Africa?" Charles's opinion of them had abruptly jumped up a few notches.
"I do have a little bit of meat in here," the doctor said, looking into her bag. "Liver, I think."
Isabelle stuck her head and an accusatory finger out of the entrance to the galley. "We are having a Talk about this, doctor."
Reynard was rubbing his face with both hands and wishing himself very much elsewhere. He vaulted the railing to the floor of the cargo bay and looked, a bit despairingly, at the contents of the buggy.
"Okay, kids, this is how it's going to work. Before you do anything else, take the doctor outside and hose her off until the crazy goes away. When you've done with that, bring her back and have her take the splinter out of my finger. Charles hasn't fixed the conversion fan or whatever the infernal thing is, so we're here another day. Tomorrow, Isabelle and Jules are going to go find real food. After that I'm going to bed and if anybody disturbs me I'm dressing them in an SS uniform and sending them to see the doctor."
Charles and Jules seized Dr. Solomon by the arms and proceeded to frog-march her outside. She hastily tied the end of her bag into a knot, throwing it at Amy. "Keep it safe! It's for research!" she cried.
Jules cocked an eye at the engine slime encrusting the mechanic. "I think we'd better hose you down too, mate."
Amy stood there, miserably holding the dripping bag. Outside, Charles held tight to the squirming medic as Jules blasted them both with the hose. Amy held the bag at arms length as she ascended the companionway. When she reached the infirmary, she chucked it in the fridge without looking at it and went away to read something soothing.
The crew stood outside the ship and politely watched as its inner workings expelled a large plume of smoke, a fizzing sound, and a swearing mechanic.
"Sweet Jesus on the cross!" snarled Charles, running greasy hands down his shirt. "That starboard fan converter's shot. We're going nowhere."
Reynard frowned, paced about a bit, and tried to look authoritative. "Right, but we've still got a job here, so you can stick around and fix this little booboo cleanly and cheaply. I rather fancy we can make shift without a mechanic on this one."
The medic looked hopeful. "Can I come along and fix booboos cleanly and cheaply?"
Reynard struggled for a moment to find a way to let her down tactfully. "There's nothing you can do for them, Klara."
"Which means what exactly?" the sniper cut in. "They're beyond her help, or her help wouldn't be helpful?"
"There's no-one actually trapped in the mine. The entrance collapsed and Isabelle is going to blow it open for us. So it's the provisioning run for you, Doc. Get going, and try to get back on time. In the unlikely event that we're going to need you, we'll really need you."
The captain gestured pointedly at an odd contraption that looked like a cross between a motorcycle and a market cart. It was loaded with empty boxes and other implements of provision running.
Amy was already seated in the driver's seat, looking forlornly back into the ship where her books resided.
"Why do I need to go on this provisioning run?"
"Because," said Reynard patiently, "I will not have slacking, and the library is of no immediate application. You may read when you get back." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Moreover, consider the other representatives: our very good doctor and our very good sniper. They are not very good at very much else. Keeping out of trouble is one of the things they are very not-good at. Do your very best to keep them in line."
Amy looked momentarily starstruck. "I'm in charge?"
"Yes, you're in charge, but don't try to tell them that. You will find yourself regretting it if you do."
Jules hauled herself into the back of the buggy as Doctor Solomon scrambled into the passenger seat. Amy hit the accelerator with unexpected force, causing the sniper to let out a yelp of alarm. Doctor Solomon knotted her sunhat firmly under her chin and settled down for the ride.
"Bring back beer," yelled Charles as the buggy lurched forward crazily.
Jules clung desperately to her Akubra and muttered, "Where does the silly bugger think we're going to get beer in North Africa?"
"Don't break his heart," murmured Amy, and drove a little faster.
--
A mile out of the village, Jules made a signal-comprised mainly of frantic waving gestures-to indicate that the buggy need must come to a stop.
"We need to check this place out," she said, hopping out. "Could be pommies."
"Or it could be the French," Amy agreed thoughtfully. Dr. Solomon looked unconvinced.
"Or it could be a good way to waste our time," she said. "We need to do this and get back quickly. I'm not missing a chance to amputate Isabelle's foot because you wish to dally over a little bit of paranoia."
"What?"
"What?" the doctor asked, blinking rather affectedly.
"No," said Jules. "We're checking it out. Or more accurately, I, having the full use of two eyes unaided by glasses, along with a scope, am going to that mound over there and checking it out. You two are staying put."
(Later, she couldn't explain why she'd thought that would work.)
Jules slithered up to the top of her mound, rifle poised to blow holes in whatever should appear on the other side of it. Two things caught her attention immediately as being good choices: the form of the doctor, marching inexorably towards town with reckless disregard for a paranoid's intuition. The form attached at her wrist, limping along rather reluctantly, was that of Amy.
Jules swore many a bright and colorful swear under her breath, and began composing an epigram.
She turned the rifle, lest temptation become too much, and pointed it at the town. There were only eight men that she saw, but given the size of the place, there couldn't have been many more. All seemed relatively normal, despite the unusual abundance of Western clothing, all worn by light-skinned men. 'Brits,' she thought, with grim vindication.
Then she spotted the officer's hat, and would, in retrospect, realize that the doctor must've seen it at the same time.
Dr. Solomon suddenly jerked stock-still. Amy bumped into her, wobbling unsteadily as she bounced off the immovable object. For a woman with only one eye, Dr. Solomon caught sight of the eagle on the lapels of the men's shirts and on the hat of the commanding officer with remarkable speed. The men didn't pay them much mind, at least to begin with, although a guard at the entrance from the road did demand their names.
Jules took a very short moment to reload one-handedly.
Dr. Solomon dropped Amy's hand and reached into her belt, pulling out her sidearm and shooting the guard in the neck. He looked slightly surprised as he went down.
All the other Germans looked damned surprised, too.
Dr. Solomon, who'd worn her shirt with the big red medic's cross, threw herself into the village, firing off the few rounds at the enemy and simply engaging hand-to-hand combat with the rest. The sunhat made for an incongruous picture, Jules thought, as she took a shot at the shouting commanding officer and got him in the gut.
One of the soldiers made a grab at the flummoxed Amy, who lurched into action, seizing the dead guard's gun and blowing a round into the advancing enemy. While she was at it, she dropped a few non-lethal shots into the other men in the village.
Jules counted off three headshots.
It was over in a matter of moments-three women lived, and an unlikely number of Nazis were littering the desert floor. Dr. Solomon went around to every one that was still alive, broke their arms, and stood on their necks until they suffocated.
Then she went back to the buggy, humming a chipper little tune, and came back with a device that looked like nothing so much as a melon baller, and specimen jars.
Amy and Jules left her to it.
--
The buggy careened dizzily into the Geryon's cargo bay, Amy still at the wheel, Dr Solomon grinning and all over blood beside her, and Jules atop their supplies, hanging on for dear life. Amy squealed on the brakes, sending the unfortunate sniper plummeting off the stack of supplies.
The captain loomed at them from the catwalk above. "Where have you been, and what in God's name did you do to the medic? I needed a medic. I've got a splinter."
"I wouldn't concern yourself with the medic, sir," said Jules, disentangling herself from her rifle and unsquishing her hat. "Look, she's grinning."
"Then why is she all bloody?"
"Because she's a bloody fool, sir."
"Consequence of negotiations," said Dr Solomon in a sing-song voice, looking madly delighted.
Amy sat silently in the driver's seat under the mistaken impression that those who do not move are not noticed.
"Amy," said the captain. "I thought I told you to keep them out of trouble. What happened?"
Amy opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as the sniper leveled a finger at her. "Hold it right there, mate. Don't you go trying to pin anything on me. I was the one who said we should look before we leapt. You idiots did the leaping."
"What happened?" asked the captain insistently.
"Nazis, sir."
"Nazis?"
"Dead ones, mostly," clarified Amy.
"Were they like that when you found them?" asked the captain.
The doctor, bloody, grinning, sang, "No!" Perhaps it had been an obvious question.
"So, you killed Nazis?" asked the captain patiently.
"I killed lots of Nazis," said Dr Solomon with an expression of supreme contentment.
Jules felt a sudden, inexplicable need to demand credit. "I killed some too. Headshots, mostly."
"Ruins the eyeballs. I hate it when you ruin the eyeballs," the doctor shot back.
The contents of the red, wet bag in Dr Solomon's lap suddenly needed no explanation. Amy gave the captain a pleading look, fearing that she would be blamed for failing to keep her unruly charges in line.
Reynard ran a hand through his hair, feeling rather guilty. Amy was a nice woman, and this was all a bit much to spring on her. Perhaps she should work with keeping Isabelle in line, before working her way up to the big dogs. He nodded at her, taking a moment to consider the last few minutes, deciding that morality of any kind apparently had no use in this conversation. "Well. Good. Or something. Provisions, to return to the point?"
"Well, if by provisions you mean army rations and ammo," said the sniper.
"That isn't exactly what I had had in mind," shouted a voice from the galley.
"Oh, and two machine guns. And a case of beer."
A grease-encrusted face popped out of a mechanical hatch nearby. "Beer? You guys found beer? In North Africa?" Charles's opinion of them had abruptly jumped up a few notches.
"I do have a little bit of meat in here," the doctor said, looking into her bag. "Liver, I think."
Isabelle stuck her head and an accusatory finger out of the entrance to the galley. "We are having a Talk about this, doctor."
Reynard was rubbing his face with both hands and wishing himself very much elsewhere. He vaulted the railing to the floor of the cargo bay and looked, a bit despairingly, at the contents of the buggy.
"Okay, kids, this is how it's going to work. Before you do anything else, take the doctor outside and hose her off until the crazy goes away. When you've done with that, bring her back and have her take the splinter out of my finger. Charles hasn't fixed the conversion fan or whatever the infernal thing is, so we're here another day. Tomorrow, Isabelle and Jules are going to go find real food. After that I'm going to bed and if anybody disturbs me I'm dressing them in an SS uniform and sending them to see the doctor."
Charles and Jules seized Dr. Solomon by the arms and proceeded to frog-march her outside. She hastily tied the end of her bag into a knot, throwing it at Amy. "Keep it safe! It's for research!" she cried.
Jules cocked an eye at the engine slime encrusting the mechanic. "I think we'd better hose you down too, mate."
Amy stood there, miserably holding the dripping bag. Outside, Charles held tight to the squirming medic as Jules blasted them both with the hose. Amy held the bag at arms length as she ascended the companionway. When she reached the infirmary, she chucked it in the fridge without looking at it and went away to read something soothing.