Page 56 of Battle Mountain

“It used to be different. Wilder. A lot of the guys didn’t bring their wives then, and I was a lot younger and curvier. Some of those boys got a little handsy, and a few of them thought my job included cabin visits after the saloon closed down.”

She spoke with a half smile that belied what she was saying.

“And it used to be that, on the weekends, the ranch organized a ladies’ spa day in Warm Springs. They’d load up a bus and take the women to town. No sooner had the wives left, then a couple of vans from Steamboat and Rock Springs would show up filled with young women. I can’t call them ‘ladies,’ unless I call ’em ‘ladies of the night.’ They’d clear them out before the wives got back in the evening.”

The new waitress raised her eyebrows.

“That got shut down thirty years ago,” Peaches said. “Now it’s a lot more civilized.”

“Interesting.”

“You do know who these people are, don’t you?” Peaches asked.

“The Centurions?”

“The people in this room,” Peaches said. “Over there’s the secretary of defense, surrounded by his lackeys. He won’t go near the head of the Joint Chiefs over there in the corner, because I guess they really don’t like each other. I can’t keep a lot of their titles straight, to be honest. ‘Undersecretary of this or that,’ ‘special assistant to the blah-blah-blah.’ It’ll drive you crazy. Plus, their titles change from year to year. One year, they’ll be a senator, and thenext year they’ll be the CEO of a lobbying outfit on behalf of a defense contractor. Or the other way around. It’s musical chairs out in D.C., and you’d need a scorecard to keep track of their official titles from year to year. What I’ve learned is that presidents and administrations change, but most of this group stays the same…Luckily for me. Otherwise, I’d never remember their names.”

“Point out the secretary of defense to me again,” the new waitress asked. Peaches chinned toward a large man with steel-gray hair and a hangdog expression. She did it without being obvious.

“And the head of the Joint Chiefs?”

Peaches pretended to be surveying the room for new arrivals. Her eyes lingered on a stout, fireplug-like man with coiffed hair and a booming voice. The new waitress followed Peaches’s gaze and she recognized him.

“I’ve seen him standing next to the president on television,” she said. “In fact, the last couple of presidents.”

“Now that he’s announced his retirement, I hear that he’s headed to Boeing or Raytheon,” Peaches said. “I heard a couple of the guys talking about that tonight.”

“It reallyismusical chairs,” the new waitress said.

“And we’re bound to hear all kinds of national security secrets,” Peaches said. “If you care about those kinds of things, which I don’t. A lot of people would like to be a fly on the wall here during this week, but they can’t get in.

“But, oh, how these guys love to come out here,” she enthused. “Once a year, they can drop all their titles and take off their ties and hang out with their buddies. Not all of the wives get along,though. Some of those women are more competitive than their husbands.”

—

The drinks arrivedand both the new waitress and Peaches delivered them and took new orders. They reconvened at the bar a few minutes later. The new waitress blew a strand of hair from her face and tried to catch her breath.

“Wait until orientation night,” Peaches said. “Then you’ll really witness something you’ve never seen before, I can guarantee you that.”

“Orientation night?”

“Every year, the Centurions vote in new folks to replace the members who died in the past year. These guys don’t really retire, but if they’re too feeble to fly out here, they’re given some kind of special award and eased out. There are always exactly two hundred and fifty Centurions, and the list is pretty long to get in, I guess.”

“So what happens on orientation night?” the new waitress asked.

“It’s crazy,” Peaches said, grinning and shaking her head with awe. “It all takes place out on the ranch grounds. We set up luminary candles all over the grass and turn all the electric lights off. All the Centurions and their significant others sit on lawn chairs or blankets in the dark. Then there’s a big ceremony where the new Centurions march down the mountain holding torches until they arrive on a stage. The new members have to dress in Roman armor and such, and they have to kneel on the stage so the Imperial Legate and the Legion Legate can touch them on each shoulder with swords and swear them in as official Centurions for life.”

“Thewhat?”

Peaches arched her eyebrows and closed her eyes for a moment to recall the details of what she was about to say. “TheLegatus Augusti pro praetoreand theLegatus Legionisare the big cheeses of the Centurions. I learned those words quite a few years ago when I asked. All of the members come up through the ranks. There are broad-band tribunes, and camp prefects, and narrow-band tribunes, and other ranks I can’t remember. They’re structured like a real Roman army, I guess. It’s all pretty wild.”

“It sure is,” the new waitress said. “I can’t wait to see it. I can’t believe this thing is a secret from the public and that nobody has ever heard of it.”

“You signed an NDA, right?” Peaches asked.

“Yes.”

“Then they’ll let you on the grounds. Otherwise, they wouldn’t let you even get close. But someone has to serve drinks, right?We’repretty important, too,” Peaches said with a wink.

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