“That’s sweet of you, really, but—”
“But we’ve been written off more times than we can count.”
Eddie blinked a couple of times, his eyes clearing. “Really?” he asked.
The two pilots bobbed their heads like they were on springs. They smiled like they were being forced at gunpoint. Totally, Eddie. Absolutely, Eddie. Nothing at all to worry about, Eddie.
And Eddie folded like an envelope, collapsing forward into his own arms, his head resting on his knees as he hugged himself. And he stayed that way for a good five minutes—maybe weeping, maybe not—while Fenn and Carter had a silent, mimed argument over the back of his neck about what they were supposed to do now.
“Uh, Eddie?” Carter asked. “Now that we’ve got this little problem cleared up…”
He didn’t move.
“Eddie?” Fenn tried.
“Is he asleep?”
“No,” Eddie said. “I’m not.”
“You okay down there then?”
“Yeah.” He straightened up slowly. His eyes were red-rimmed, his nose running. Eddie was most certainly a weeper. “I’m okay. Thanks.” He smiled, and the snot trickled down like the handlebars of a mustache.
And then Carter and Fenn both said, “Good man,” and “All right,” and slapped Eddie on the shoulder like men do, but they weren’t quite finished with Fast Eddie just yet.
Seven chances out of ten.
“So, okay,” Fenn said once Eddie had repaired himself somewhat with his sleeve and a handkerchief he’d produced from somewhere and the two pilots had spent a minute silently slapping at each other, shoving each other into the honor of being the first to reopen the breach. “Now, I know what you’ve heard from the company, and Ted and I know you’ve had to do some pretty awful things recently.”
“Terrible things.”
“Just hard, terrible things and all.”
“Which is, like, rough. We know.”
“Right. And had we known what you were having to do in there, in your tent, we would’ve totally bought you a cocktail or two at the O Club.”
“Absolutely would’ve.”
“But now seriously, Eddie. What do you think the home office is really thinking. You, Eddie Lucas. What do you think?”
Carter butted in, glaring across the top of Eddie’s head at Fenn, who, in his opinion, was tromping all over the delicate approach. “Fenn means what they’re not telling you, Eddie. Knowing what you know now—like that we’ve heard all this before and how they’re really not just going to completely abandon us here. What do you think their first move will be?”
“Well,” Eddie said, straightening up and slipping a little blearily back into good-time-lawyer mode. “I mean, with that in mind. With that good news—and it really is good news. Good, good news. And I can’t tell you just how good and great and…”
Eddie’s wheels were spinning. Fresh tears hung from his pretty eyelashes like ripe fruit. “My daughter, you know? It’s going to be…” He coughed, reached up, and screwed his small fists into his eyes, cursed at himself, and rallied. “Okay… Okay, look. I know they’re not sending any more supplies. These new complications…” He coughed again, and Carter lit him a fresh cigarette out of Eddie’s own pack, which he’d already pocketed while Eddie was resting and crying. “This new information we have—the foreign supplies and lack of success we’ve had thus far—means two things for sure. First, the company is not going to spend more money shipping more worthless equipment to what is beginning to look, to them, like a lost-cause mission. And two, they’re certainly not going to pay to have all this antique junk pulled out of here. Easier to just lose us, you know? Like, on paper. To let NRI and the marines wipe away any trace that we were ever here. Deny that we were operating on behalf of the company.” He shrugged. “Ted’s been screaming at me for everything from a wing of A-40 Scorpions to nerve gas, as you well know, Captain.” He winked at Carter, which was just weird. “And I’ve done all the rationalizing and begging I can do. It’s just not going to happen. This last supply drop, on Christmas? That was scheduled and paid for six months ago. It arrived early, but it will be the last. That much I know for sure. The numbers just don’t add up any other way. Ted and I received final orders from corporate ops that same night—the communications blackout, the news that there was no recovery mission planned. And then there was a confirmation a day later where we were told, like… I don’t know. Sit here and play with ourselves.”