Kruger hated Alaska.

He was used to working in scorching heat: the arid wastes of southern L.A., Mexico, and the Transvaal, the humid jungles around Colombia and Southeast Asia. Why the fok Delacourt had sent him to THIS place was a mystery. He was supposed to be chasing down an arms smuggler, but he was more inclined to believe he was being punished for his creativity, or maybe Delacourt's whiny, sanctimonious new girlfriend had begged for his services.

Ugly teef. I wouldn't fuck her with someone else's piel.

He glowered at the boeties and crossed his arms as they worked to set up the tent. It wasn't snowing yet; but it felt like it might any minute now. The sky was grey and threatening, not unlike Kruger himself. Drake and Crowe were trying not to look at each other as they set pegs and secured tarp. Tonight they were going to have to do what was possibly the hardest part of their job: sleeping with the boss.

Kruger was not, to put it mildly, a restful sleeper. He kicked and swore and snarled, ground his teeth and even yelled loudly. Crowe had a bite scar on one arm from the time they'd had to bivouac in the Mojave and he'd rolled a little too close. The boss was always fighting his enemies, asleep or awake.

"Hurry it up, okes" Kruger growled. "I'd like to get some fokkin' shut-eye tonight."

"Remember I won, boet" Crowe whispered to Drake.

"Shut up!" Drake muttered, cutting a sideways glance at his CO. They usually tossed a coin to determine who would have to sleep next to Kruger, but Drake had been stupid enough to challenge Crowe to a baffing contest the last time they were at a bar. Crowe had eaten two plates of beans with his braai, so he had won easily and claimed the outside edge for a whole month as his prize.

"Since it's so fokkin' cold, I get the middle!" Kruger announced. "Your fat, hairy arses can be useful for once."

Drake grinned at this unexpected bit of good fortune. Much as he wasn't looking forward to the coming evening, at least he wouldn't suffer alone. He discreetly flipped Crowe off as he ducked into the tent to see to the bedrolls.

"And both of you better behave tonight!" Kruger growled. "If anyone calls me 'Mrs. Slocombe' again and tries nibbling on my ear, that person is gonna be missing a tongue, got it?"

The gunner snorted with laughter as Crowe turned red. Crowe enjoyed pretty young meisies as much as anyone, but what REALLY got him going was older women, the more matronly the better. He loved old Earth comedies for that very reason. He'd once tried to explain: "It's her hair man, the way it changes color all the time! I always wonder if she changes the carpet to match the drapes, eh?"

"Jy is'n frats, boet." Drake had laughed so hard he nearly pissed himself. "Who else do you wank off to, Hyacinth Bucket? Maggie Thatcher?"

"Got it, boss" Crowe said now. He disappeared into the tent.

Kruger entered the tent after the pilot and plopped himself in the middle of the bedrolls. If they weren't in the middle of the goddamn tundra, they could have simply parked the ship here and slept in their bunks the way they always did, but their "mission" was supposed to be covert. Kruger ground his teeth at the thought of the Alaskan governor's idiotic simper and little wire-rimmed glasses. What Delacourt saw in her, he couldn't imagine. If he ever got the opportunity, he planned to shove her Bible into her poes and tell her to read from it.

Drake knelt behind him and started unbolting his exo-suit. Kruger wondered if he should break out the emergency supply of dop. He hated sleeping with the boets. Between Crowe's gas and Drake's snoring it was a wonder he got any rest at all. "I'll take first watch. Drakey, go get that case we picked up in Anchorage."

The gunner did as he was told. Maybe tonight wouldn't be too bad. If the boss got sufficiently gesuip, all he would do would be to pass out, snore, and be in his usual foul temper the next day, and that was no problem because Kruger enjoyed being pissed off.

"Crowe, what the fok is that!?" Kruger gazed in disgust at the sweat shirt the pilot had pulled on over his camos. It was bright blue and patterned with a huge yellow cartoon bird.

"My cousin gave it to me for Christmas, boss."

"Yer cousin should be strung up by 'is kloots."

"It's an 'er. And she's only six."

"Never too young to learn not to wear kak like that" Kruger, as always, managed to have the last word.

Crowe shook his head. The devil had better look out. If Kruger ever died, he wouldn't be in Hell two minutes before he'd be bitching about what was wrong with the place and the people running it.

Drake entered the tent carrying the case of emergency beer and blessing Kruger's foresight. It wasn't Castle, but it was a decent American brand. He pulled three cans out and tossed two to Kruger and Crowe. They cracked them open at once and got down to the serious business of settling in for the night.