Strange Company by Nick Cole (best way to read ebooks TXT) 📗

and gloomy down there and of course there were rumors of ghosts. The old crews. But that was standard on every old starship. Comes with the afterburners. But Boom Boom’s workspace was armored enough and compartmentalized to stand up to any kind of internal explosions in case things went that way with his hobby.

Quiet and good-natured, Boom Boom was a listener. And a laugher. He never got into any heated discussions or arguments, the way Stinkeye did with everyone about everything from the direction of the wind to the very cards you were holding in your hand. But if you were telling a story, especially if it was about something ridiculous Stinkeye had gotten up to, then Boom Boom was usually there listening and ready to laugh. What can I say, he got along with everyone. Even Stinkeye, in that Stinkeye had never cursed him with the Voodoo operator’s constant promise of bad luck. Maybe there’re some people you curse, in Stinkeye’s mind, and some you don’t. Snipers and squad designated marksmen are probably on the do-not-curse list. They have a tendency to save your bacon and who wants to fool around with the much-needed magic they make in a perfect shot at just the right moment.

Maybe? I don’t know anymore.

Greatest shot I ever saw him make? Not important even though I was trying to think about it like it was the best I could do in lieu of a funeral or some final words. He’d made enough of them to prevent each one of us getting killed when things were close and pray-and-spray was just about the best we could manage.

I swore suddenly because my sniper was dead. Or at least that’s what I told myself. But I knew it wasn’t that. I knew Boom Boom’s story. It wasn’t exceptional. Like I said, I’ve heard worse. Jaw-droppingly so. Stinkeye only gives me teasers of his horror show and I have to check and see if my hair has gone gray after these nightmare tidbits. Other guys’ are pretty horrific. I always challenge myself not to judge by what happened in their past. To treat them as they are now. Brothers in Strange Company. Strangers to the universe. Boom Boom said he learned to shoot in the Capellas as a kid. Worked for a big-game hunting service on that primeval world of monsters and leviathans straight out of Earth’s prehistoric past. The company passed through one time and he joined up. Said he’d shot enough Saurians and he’d lost the taste for it.

That was the short answer he gave whenever anyone asked. But it wasn’t the whole answer.

Still, he loved to shoot. As they say, he was a shooter. Art and science. That was his intersection. For about a week I learned reloading rounds from him because I wanted some really high-powered and very specialized ammunition for my Bastard. He helped me cook up something similar to the Raufoss rounds a lot of the snipers in Ghost used. Anti-matériel, high-explosive, armor-piercing, and incendiary to boot. I’d found sometimes I needed a little more punch to take out targets that were covering behind solid structures. I’d been using a Spring and ColtX .308 battle rifle I’d acquired. It was heavy but it could punch through a lot of local construction and still kill somebody thinking that out-of-sight meant out-of-mind and that I couldn’t hit you. We’d been fighting pop-up pygmy dog soldiers on the Moons of Karano. They weren’t much for a stand-up fight, but they loved to take pop-up shots and move around behind cover. Hence why we called them Pop-up Pups. I started figuring out their MO with the heavy .308 and just shooting their cover once they hid. But the Spring and ColtX was a real heavy hump. So, some improved rounds for the Bastard that we couldn’t find in any of the weapons bazaars selling old Sindo surplus was what brought me and Boom Boom together for a week of reloading.

Down in his shop as the Spider crawled in-system toward our next contract, we got the rounds together and I had enough for what I thought would be most of the gig. Turns out several firefights inside walled mud-and-brick villages in the first few weeks of that show ran through my supply, and our ship, and Boom Boom’s shop, were out of reach in orbit for the rest of the gig.

But that week reloading was cool. Each day I’d take the long walk back through the Spider’s freight and stores, and the “haunted” weapons lockers and some of our stowed mechs and tanks we couldn’t get planetside because we can’t land and doing an orbital drop means we won’t be able to recover when it’s time to pull out. We spent the week loading and it was nice to get away from the platoon and company duties. We just worked, listened to oldies, and drank some beers on the last day. Then we were planetside later the next week.

But on that last day he asked me the same thing, in a different way, they all ask me. But they do all ask me. That’s the important part. That they ask.

“So, you keep everyone’s story?” Boom asked as we cleaned up. We were drinking beers and I’d grabbed some really salty fried pigskins from bags we’d had a couple of pallets of from a gig two worlds back. They were good with hot sauce.

I nodded and drank. Knew it was coming. His story. It always does.

“I don’t really have one,” said Boom Boom. Then he laughed. “Plus, I don’t think I’m gonna get killed anytime soon. Being the squad designated marksman, I try not to get close enough to actually catch incoming. Reach out and put the touch on someone is the only way to do it. Know what I mean, Orion?”

“Plus you’re the best, brother,” I told him so things didn’t get too heavy and death-laden. This was the important part. Once they told me their story