Chapter 66 - A Traitor’s Lament
Anthony Stack went into the officer’s bar on the base and found himself a corner stool. He waved over the bartender and ordered one of the local brews, something that was foul and highly alcoholic. It was made by one of LaPorte’s cronies and was the only thing he’d allow to be sold on base.
"Be careful on that, Mate," the bartender said, "That is powerfully noxious stuff."
"Just what I’m looking for," Stack nodded, "How does it look around here?"
"Miserable," the bartender said, "People are either dying or deserting. It’s bad for business here."
"You a local or are you working through your time?" Stack asked him.
"I’m from Northport," the bartender said, "I’m hoping to live long enough to get back."
"Why’s that?" Stack wondered, though he could guess.
"Life is cheap in these parts, sir," the bartender told him, "That’s why I learned to tend bar. Safer than going out on duty these days."
"I hear that," Stack agreed, taking a big gulp of the noxious liquid, "That is terrible! Why the hell don’t you serve something better?"
"I serve what they give me, sir," the bartender shrugged, "I hear the Colonel gets a cut of this crap. I think they should serve it to him for a few days to see if he thinks it is worth it."
"I don’t think he’d care," Stack mumbled and drank it down, quickly ordering some more, "A few more of these and I don’t think I will either."
"I’d be careful talking about that," the bartender said, "The walls have ears around here."
"Eh?" Stack asked him, beginning to slur a little, "How so?"
"More than one person has criticized the command leadership and found themselves at the losing end of a fight with the Mavelans," the bartender warned, "If you value your life you’ll drink and keep your mouth shut."
"A laudable idea," Stack agreed, finishing another of the horrid brews, "Give me another one of those horrid brews."
"Certainly," the bartender said, "Anything else?"
"Keep them coming," Stack said, "When I pass out just put me in a corner and walk around me for a few days."
"Yes sir," the bartender chuckled, "Anything you say sir."
The bartender wasn’t laughing when, nearly two hours later, he had to drag Tony Stack over to a corner and cover him with a used tablecloth. It was a position from which he would not move for nearly three days.