with three or four civilians there to celebrate.
Barmaids in bodices laced up the front, peasant blouses bearing abundant cleavage, and short fluffy skirts with knee-high white stockings, sturdy shoes, they moved around carrying as many as four 2 liter ale mugs in each hand. Bus boys and girls dressed in subdued black and grey suits and hip aprons made their way around, clearing tables a bit at a time as each plate or mug became empty. Galen made his way along the space between the booths and tables, smiling, responding to greetings, waving back, shaking the occasional proffered hand, politely declining offers to join the groups.
Around to the far wall was the reserved table, a long table with seating for twelve. Tad and Spike were there, seated to the immediate left and right of the head of the table, each with a girlfriend for the evening. Seated along with them were Galen’s paternal uncle and his wife, and his maternal aunt and her husband. They directed Galen to sit at the head of the table. His mother sat at the foot, dressed in a white blouse and black skirt that hung below her knees. For work she’d wear a barmaid uniform, but she took tonight off and dressed conservatively.
Barmaids brought mugs and Galen stood to make his toast. “I want to thank you all for coming here tonight and for all t he help. I have to thank my mother, my family, my friends. I couldn’t have made it without each and every one of you. Left to my own devices, I’d probably be working in a spaceport gift shop right now.”
Galen took a long pull on his mug and sat down. The others also drank. A barmaid leaned in close over Galen’s right shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t get drunk.”
Galen looked. Raven hair pulled back in a high pony tail, round face with high, soft cheeks, a big smile as wide as her face.
Galen said, “Olivia!”
She leaned in again, her bosom against his shoulder. “I want to spend the night with you. Please don’t get drunk.”
Galen nodded and smiled. Olivia took his half-full ale mug and returned it a moment later, full. Galen took a sip and realized it had been watered but it still tasted good.
Bar maids came and placed steak and baked potatoes in front of them all. They bowed their heads and then looked up and started eating. Halfway through the steak Galen’s uncle asked, “They still run up Tank Hill?”
Galen swallowed. “Roger. Every damn time we did PT.”
“And the phase one FTX?”
Tad said, “It was cold. Too cold.”
Spike said, “We hiked thirty klicks up into the mountains for basic marksmanship.”
“In the middle of winter,” said Tad.
Galen’s uncle chuckled. “Good training.”
Galen said, “I learned a lot. Ballistic weapons, laser weapons, grenades. Shooting up hill, down hill, all different kinds of weapons. We even threw rocks.”
“What about at the end?”
Spike said, “The end was great. Heavy 20mm ballistic rifles, picking off targets at five klicks.”
Tad said, “The training was great, but it was cold. I was happy to get back to the academy after freezing my butt off for a month.”
Mom said, “But you’re okay now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tad took a drink of his ale.
Galen sipped his drink and watched Olivia as she walked past with a tray. Her hips swayed and then she looked over her left shoulder. Galen glimpsed her left eye a moment before she smiled and turned her head forward, walking off to the kitchen.
An alert bus girl snatched up Galen’s empty plate. Olivia returned and placed half a pumpkin pie in front of Galen and added colored water to his ale. He knew it was water but Olivia used the same sort of pitcher Ale came in so the other guests wouldn’t know.
Uncle asked, “I heard you shot a thousand.”
“On the tank range,” said Galen. “It was my proudest moment at the Academy.”
“That is no small feat. Do they still make you operate everything yourself, in the tank alone, using commander’s override