by Dennis Young
They raised a final glass and drank it down, then sat in silence for a moment, each with reflections of their own.
“Good mission,” said Rory at last. “Clean. Safe. Just the way I like ‘em.” He glanced to Talice. “New HCS suits comin’ in soon. More tech, more protection.”
“Protection is good,” said Mac. “Tech, I’m not so sure. More stuff to go wrong.”
“What’s going to happen to Serpens?” asked Talice, after a moment of quiet.
Mac and Rory traded looks before Mac spoke. “Reassigned, probably. Put him behind a desk somewhere out of the way. Admin, Research, whatever.” Mac glanced to Rory. “Like you said, ‘safe’.”
Rory nodded, set his empty glass aside, and rose. “I’m out. See you back at the grind.” He caught Talice’s eye. “Good job, by the way. Keep hittin’ the books. You’ll do well.”
She gave him a weak smile and a nod.
They watched him move his bulk through the club and out the door.
“That man can move quieter than anyone his size I’ve ever seen,” said Mac, shaking her head.
“Just your ears getting older,” replied Talice, grinning.
“Speaking of which, two more years and I’m out.”
Talice raised her face. “I thought you were a lifer.”
“Two more years will be twenty in the Corps, Princess.”
Damn. I didn’t stop to think she’s that old. Talice chuckled. “Stay for another ten, get a full ride after your discharge.” She drained the last drops from her glass. “What will you do, Mac? You’re… you’re the best DI I’ve ever known. You make Master, and you can live well the rest of your life.”
Mac nodded gently but said nothing.
“I’d hate to see you go, but I’d still visit you in the old-folks’ home.”
Mac gave Talice a look. “You’re a fuckhead, you know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but I’m a young fuckhead.” Talice raised her glass, and after a moment, they laughed together.
* * *
They returned to “the grind”, as Rory put it. Training. Classes. New HCS orientation. More training, in the new suits. More classes. A trip to the coast, and not for holiday, but amphibious landing training. Then to the mountains on the east coast of Northland, and bitter weather for ten days. Then back to Base.
A seven-day-pass, and Talice went home for the first time in two years. Mom. Dad. Lots of tears and hugs and laughter.
Mom was great, now in her third year of AdEd, working toward a Computer Science degree, and free-lancing for net security systems. Dad was better, more like his old self, and they talked late into the night more than once, not about the past, but the future. For Talice. For the Corps. For him and Mom. Talice wanted to stay there forever, just like when she was a little girl.
“Something’s coming up, I can feel it.” She sat with Dad in the porch swing, like they did so many years ago, looking out over the mountains at sunset. An untouched drink was in her hand, and Dad had his ever-present coffee mug filled with Olde Earth Sumatra, dark and fragrant.
“You’re up for Lieutenant soon, aren’t you?” he asked.
Talice nodded. “About thirty days. My studies got stalled with the recent training binge. I’ll get there, don’t worry.”
“Damn betcha you will.” They laughed, then Dad’s tone became more serious. “What will you do when they assign you to a new team?”
Talice looked at him. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it. Mac is talking retirement, Rory will probably make Staff Sergeant soon, Jance and Konee are both sharp and will move up. Couple of others, maybe…” She took a sip of her Scotch. “Maybe they’ll let me keep the old group together.”
“Talk to Fawkes.”
Talice almost cringed. She didn’t know if Dad knew of her situation with the last mission, or her near-breakdown in front of the major.
“Your platoon doesn’t have an officer at the moment, right?”
What? How did he know that? With Serpens reassigned and Mac still enlisted… Holy crap, Dad’s talked to Fawkes!
“Talice, there are bean-counters and bar-counters who will scour the roster looking for the ‘perfect fit’ for you. You’ve been together, what, two years? That’s a long time, and unless you give the paper-pushers a reason, they’ll take the best of you and spread them out. The rationale is to make use of the experience in training that really isn’t training. On-the-job, as they used to say. Give them a reason not to do that. Especially if something big is coming up.”
“Scuttlebutt says hostage-takers are getting bold again.”
Dad nodded. “Had one in the building next door a month ago. Locals couldn’t do anything, so they called in the Army. Got them out, but two died. Sloppy job. Never should have happened.”
Talice looked at him. “You seem to know a lot for a Reservist. I guess working for security firms has that advantage, right?”
“That, and still having contacts at the base.” He drank, then turned to her. “Get your commission as soon as you can. Keep that platoon whole. You’re going to need every bit of experience you can gather.”
The sternness of his voice wasn’t lost on Talice. “That bad, huh? Hua, Colonel, I’ll take that challenge. I hope I’m up to it.”
Dad put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “You are. You’re my Princess, and always have been. Not only can you do this, you can do it well.”
She hugged him tightly, breathing in the closeness of the only man she had ever truly loved. “I will, Dad. I’ll make you proud.”
He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. “You already have, Princess. You already have.”
* * *
Classes resumed, then were completed. Graduation came, and the one hundred and ninety-four new Second Lieutenants of the First Marine Brigade threw their caps into the air.
Much hugging commenced. A few kisses. Bets were placed for the over/under on how many children would be conceived that night.
Talice, like most Marines, male and female, was on a contraceptive infusion cycle, more for the individual’s own protection and regulation of hormone levels than anything else. Better always safe than sorry. As it turned out, it was a good idea. She had no trouble finding company, and truthfully, needed the release. It was the best sex she’d had in two years. Hell, it was the only sex she’d had in two years. So, she made it count.
Her orders were cut, her rank confirmed, and she was posted as OIC of Platoon Six, Red Raiders, only two days after graduation. She was assigned an office—with her name on the desk and everything— given her choice of Officers’ Housing or living off-base, and taken to dinner six nights in a row by her platoon members.
Rory had made Staff Sergeant, Konee Lance Corporal, and Jance full Corporal. Mac was still dithering about retirement, but seeing Talice in her Butterbar uniform brought tears to her eyes.
“Damn fine lookin’ woman,” said Mac. Talice beamed.
Mac backed away a pace and gave Talice the snappiest salute she’d ever seen her give. Talice almost forgot to acknowledge it, and only remembered when Mac furrowed her brow.
It was the first salute she received as an officer. It wasn’t the last.
* * *
It all began to change.
Talice had known from the very beginning of her Marine career, the difference between officers and enlisted.
Between the plethora of lieutenants and sergeants who were the backbone of the Corps leadership, and everyone else.
Between the lower enlisted and the lower officers, and those above them.
That officers did not mix with the enlisted socially, except on a very limited basis.
That officers were expected to attend social functions; that is, have a drink, talk shop, or otherwise engage in “fluff and circumstance” activities, only with other officers.
That newly commissioned officers were… new. As in new recruits. As in fresh blood for those in the commissioned ranks who thought their place s
ome sort of right. As in snot-nosed kids right out of Academy with no combat experience who, by their graduation date, just happened to be Talice’s superior officers.
Many smarmy “I’ve got an academy education and you don’t” lieutenants, and a captain or two, would never know just how close, in those first few days, they came to death at the hands of a lieutenant who happened to be a former enlisted Trooper with a dozen hands-on combat missions under her belt. And knew where to hide the body. As it was, Talice spent many off-duty hours at self-imposed PT. Many.
She was also smart enough to cultivate a few, if not friendships, then acquaintances-in-depth, and gravitated toward those lieutenants with some experience. She could spot them the proverbial kilometer away. Or across a crowded Officers’ Club after hours.
One such was Lieutenant Nikolay Polivanov, whom she found so different, it was a delight to be in his company.
He was taller than Talice. A rarity, as she was native to Theia and stood nearly 1.9 meters tall, or as her dad liked to say, “six-foot, two”, slim and trim. Talice had no use for excessive muscles; they just got in the way, was her thought.
He was in charge of a cybersystems unit, but loved to talk about the real world.
He was of Olde Earth Russian ancestry, knew his stuff about the Czars and ancient politics, and the wars that devastated that world throughout its history. His accent was real, and apparently much-practiced.
He hated Scotch, drank his vodka like a true Russian, and spoke at length of the Mother Country’s history and peoples.
He loved the Corps, hated phony self-promotion, and swore he would make massive changes in the Corps understanding of computers and AI. When he became Commanding General.
They slowly became more comfortable with each other. Nikolay was a bit awed by women, especially officers. He worshipped his mother, had been raised by her when his father died in an accident. Therefore, in his mind, he understood more than most males of the species how women thought and why. And therefore, shook in his boots when in their presence.
She adored the time they spent together. And though Talice would deny it had anyone asked, the pain of her breakup with Saul, nearly three years past, still lingered in her heart. And other places.
They spent many after-duty hours in the Club, discussing, theorizing, debating, and even arguing about… everything. Nothing. Then everything again.
Talice was fascinated. And happy, for the first time as an officer. She’d found a kindred spirit. Maybe more.
Then duty called.
* * *
Mission 284AJJE - Code name: PB&J…
Talice’s thought that “something big” was brewing had been correct. Briefings were held daily about “The Big One” on Crius, the planet outward from Theia. Crius had been colonized a hundred years before. It was a wild, inhospitable place, a home for malcontents, brigands, and the less-desirable of humankind. In the last few years, it had become a base for pirates, of the kind that prey on other spacecraft, particularly those of private or corporate ownership, unarmed, ill-crewed, and filled with “gold, and ambergris, and all the gems of Arabi”, as the old saying went.
The pirates had become more than a bother; they were a true threat, costing not just creditmarks and goods, but lives. Hostages were taken, more and more frequently. Ransoms not paid resulted in dead bodies and warnings of more to come. What local authorities were present had been overwhelmed, corrupted, or simply killed.
Intel said the three largest pirate groups were in talks to join forces against private security and mercenaries being hired to fight them. Some of the mercenary bands simply took the money from their corporate employers, then joined the pirates. Information was sketchy on exactly what the pirate forces had in manpower, number of ships, weapons, AI, in fact anything of real substance. Whoever was in charge apparently had some military training, and was waging a war for the long term. Likely for control of Crius.
Two Marine Companies were mobilized for departure. Six Trooper teams readied for space, including the Red Raiders. A squadron of Valkyrie fighters would escort the carriers, and Talice knew then it was no routine mission. None were ever routine, but in her nearly eight years in the Corps, she’d never been on a mission requiring escorts.
Mission coordination would be controlled from orbit. Captain Wesley Adams was Trooper-Ops Lead, Captain Jerome Corbett headed the Marine Company. Major Harlan Fawkes was overall Operations Command. The same Major Fawkes who had wrung the truth from Talice regarding the Serpens near-disaster. She wasn’t sure what to think. She knew he wasn’t there because of her. But maybe she was there because of him.
She held her first platoon briefing aboard ship the second day out. Another one on the fourth, and another on the sixth, the day before landing.
“Red Raiders on the left flank of the Primaries, Cujos and Harlequins. Right flank is Tomahawk Charlie, and you know those guys are good. Rear guard is Beethoven’s Fifth—the obligatory laugh went through the room—and reserve is Hooligans.”
Talice activated the holomap on the desk, and the platoon gathered round. “Approach is from the south, landing before dawn as usual. All units are to be in place no less than two hours before sunup, The Company landers deployed at least ten kilometers out, engines hot. We’re sure the pirate base will see them, but that’s our diversion. They’ve been prepping with considerable zeal.”
She flipped to another scene, close-in and detailed. “This bunker is a hard target. JoJo and Zulu will have HE and AP rounds for the SmartGuns, all small arms with 10mm loads. Keep your personal weapons close, just in case.” She paused. “Bayonets will be fixed.”
Looks passed around. It was one thing to use impersonal weapons like the SmartGuns and typical M-22 pulse rifles. Knives, especially bayonets, were weapons all platoons were trained with, but seldom required to use.
“It’s us or them, Marines,” said Mac quietly, standing at the side. She continued, at a nod from Talice. “Since we’re flank, we follow the Primaries in and provide cover. Use full optics and augmented targeting. As before, Konee and Jance on point, Martin cover, Dosu, you provide cover for the SmartGuns. Ollie, rear cover.”
Oliver “Ollie” Preston was the newest Red Raider, twenty-nine, and an antique weapons collector. His bionic eyes had given him sniper precision without a scoped weapon. His only vice seemed to be a carefully cultivated Olde Earth British accent. He gave Mac a polite nod in acknowledgement.
Rory stepped to Talice’s side. “We’re platoon Primary, Mac is Support. The lieutenant goes in with Mac, to direct the flank overall. Briggs and Hotshot have M1A1 launchers at the fore, Taylor and Arty cover. Hato Rey and Doherty flanks. Bělinka is with me until the field is cleared.”
Talice looked them all in the eye, one by one. “Questions?”
Konee raised her hand. “Lieutenant, if I may, how many combat missions have you led? Just curious.” A laugh went around the room, this time longer and deeper.
Talice grinned with the rest of them. “This is my first… as your OIC. You guys better make sure it won’t be my last.”
“Hua!” The chorus resounded off the plastisteel walls.
* * *
The Twenty-Ninth and Thirty-Third Marine Companies landed without incident. Two orbits and three hours later, the Trooper PODs were launched. One malfunctioned, a Hooligans, but was retrieved safely. Talice hoped it wasn’t an omen for the mission.
Two flights of Valkyrie fighters were in low orbit, ready to swoop down on anything harassing the ground mission. The pirates were known to have ships, and Command wanted no interference on the landing cycle.
Red Raiders soft-landed five kilometers out from the target and dispersed in the darkness. Talice listened with one ear to her platoon chatter and the other to the field leaders; Mac. Rory. The sergeants and lieutenants scattered over a two-kilometer swath of rock and dirt and a bit of ice. All positioning themselves for a full assault before sunup. A timed-to-the-second operation. She marveled at how it
could be done so well, but knew it as fact. She’d done it. They all had.
Once on the ground, the platoons went into stealth mode, which meant Comm-Silence, except between team leaders, and officers to each other. No comm from the Major or Captains until the operation was a Go.
Talice adjusted her HCS heating, checked her E-Water and E-Gel reservoirs, took a swallow of each from the tubes inside her helmet, and raised her scanner for a look-see.
The new suits were sleek and form-fitting, a bit snug compared to the old ones. The power joints were great, taking stress off tendons and ligaments that were always sore after a mission. The advanced helmets not only had full NightSight, IR, but UV, X-Ray, and 20X mag. The comm system was better, too. Each ear could be set to separate channels, hence Talice listening to her platoon and others at the same time. It had been disconcerting during training, but with practice, it could be done.
The sleekness of the suits helped deflect incoming fire, but Tactical Sciences still hadn’t produced wearable armor that could stop an AP round without pulping the Trooper in it. Tests had shown the impact alone would break bones and nearly liquify organs, even if the AP round was a dud.
“Primary advancing,” came a whispered comm in her ear, from Cujos’s lieutenant.
Talice tongued her comm switch. “Left flank advance, twenty meters, Go.”
Rory moved his team first, Mac following behind. Talice stayed ten meters from Mac, just in case the enemy sighted either of them.
She listened as the other teams moved forward, taking positions as the previous team advanced, keeping structure to the operation. She also scanned wavelengths, trying to pick up chatter from the pirates. Surely they were aware of the troop ship landing and monitoring the Companies. A lot depended on that maneuver, out in the open, but a force Command was certain the pirates couldn’t counter head to head. Therefore…
The comm waves were quiet. Talice only heard occasional static, more than in most operations. She wondered if her suit comm was defective, or there were maybe planetary auroras they hadn’t been advised of. Geez, I hope not…
