"We've met a couple of times." Stark stepped forward with his hand extended. "Pleased to see you again, sir."
Lieutenant Mendoza shook the offered hand, nodding solemnly. "Thank you, Sergeant. Or should I call you Commander on this occasion?"
"Whatever you're comfortable with, Lieutenant. Hey, have you met Corporal Gomez? She's your son's acting squad leader."
The Lieutenant nodded again, this time to Anita Gomez as she came to stand with visible discomfort nearby. "I have not yet had that opportunity, but from all I have heard, Corporal Gomez appears to be highly effective in that role." Gomez's expression shifted marginally as she eyed Lieutenant Mendoza appraisingly. "My son advises me that the Corporal will accept nothing but the best performance from her Squad."
Everyone looked at Gomez. "That's what the Sargento expects, right?" she stated defiantly. "I'm not gonna let the squad go to hell just 'cause he's busy right now."
Sergeant Sanchez appeared, face calm and composed, waving a small greeting to Stark and Reynolds, as if he'd last seen them the day before. "Corporal Gomez's performance has been in the highest traditions of the service. I speak particularly of her defense of Mango Hill during an action prior to your arrival. She is indeed a good squad leader."
"Then my son is most fortunate. And you are a good platoon leader, I hear."
Sanchez shrugged, face and voice as noncommittal as ever. "I feel the responsibility to do my best in that position. However, I am merely an acting platoon commander, Lieutenant."
"That's true of everyone," Vic pointed out. "We're all just filling in at jobs we don't have the actual rank for."
"Sure," Stark agreed. "I'm the acting Commander, and we've got acting officers of every stripe. Some do real good, some don't. The best ones don't seem to need the acting rank to get the job done, so I'm not sure if acting ranks really amount to more than a hill of beans."
Lieutenant Mendoza smiled softly, the exact way Stark had seen Mendoza's son smile many times, but then, unlike his son, began speaking his inner thoughts unprompted. "There is a story from the American Civil War about that very issue. A battle had been fought over a long day, so the armies of the North and South were tired. Evening was coming on, and with the dimming light and the smoke from the gunpowder used in weapons at that time, the visibility had become very poor. At one critical spot on the Northern line, a train of mules was brought forward to resupply the Northern soldiers with ammunition. Just then, the Southern infantry launched a final attack against that very location. The Northern soldiers were weary. The attack might have succeeded and changed the course of the battle. But the firing of the Southern soldiers and the screaming of their battle cries panicked the mules, which stampeded directly toward the advancing Southerners. In the smoke-shrouded dimness, the attacking Southerners could see nothing, but could hear the thunder of hooves and the rattle of harness. They concluded they were being charged by an unseen force of Northern cavalry and retreated."
Stark laughed. "Stranger things have happened in battle. What's this got to do with acting rank?"
"After the battle," Lieutenant Mendoza explained, "the teamster in charge of the mules wrote the commanding officer of the Northern army. Noting that his mules had saved the battle for the North, the teamster asked that the mules' heroism be rewarded by promoting them to the acting rank of 'horse.' "
"Ha! Good story. That oughta keep us humble."
"Yeah, appropriate, too," Yurivan needled. "Even with acting rank, Stark here is still mule headed."
"Thanks, Stace. Not like you, huh? Tell you what, since you're doing half the job you should be, I'll let you be an acting horse, but only half a horse. You can guess which half."
Yurivan grinned, unabashed. "You keep sweet-talking me like that and Reynolds will get jealous."
Vic raised both eyebrows. "Jealous? I've been trying to get Ethan Stark interested in someone else for years so he'd stop following me around."
"Well, if you don't want him, I sure as hell don't."
Stark glanced sidelong at Lieutenant Mendoza. "You see what I have to put up with."
Lieutenant Mendoza smiled again. "You are fortunate that your staff has such high morale."
"Fortunate. I'll try to remember that." He looked around, then backed a step away. "I want a chance to talk to the rest of my Squad, you guys. Okay? I'll be back in a while." He turned, finding Chen hovering near the bar with two soldiers Stark didn't know. "How's the hip?"
Chen grimaced, rubbing the spot. "Okay, I guess, Sarge. The docs claim if I get hit there again they'll just put a zipper in to make it easier to fix next time."
"I hope the last hip joint had a good warranty," Stark joked. "These friends of yours?"
"Sorta." Chen waved the other soldiers forward. "Replacements, Sarge. You know?"
Stark somehow kept his smile even though a cold ball formed somewhere in his gut. Replacements. He wouldn't see Hoxely here, or Kidd, or Maseru. He'd barely even had time to meet Maseru, a face fading too rapidly into oblivion. It ain't right that a soldier dies, and you can't remember how they looked. It ain't right. "Yeah," he finally agreed. "I know."
"This here's Private Josh Finley and Corporal Vince Caruso." The new soldiers nodded stiffly, visibly nervous. "They're originally from Third Division, Sarge."
"Third? You guys stayed, huh?" Stark reached to shake their hands, noticing how the simple gesture relaxed the two soldiers. "Thanks. I know it's hard leaving your old outfit."
Private Finley smiled, a brief twitch without humor. "There wasn't too much left of our old outfit to leave. Just three of us from our platoon still in one piece after Meecham's offensive. Gardiner didn't stay, but that was mostly because his girl is back home, and he couldn't handle maybe never seeing her again."
"I don't second guess anybody's decision on that," Stark noted. "My Squad treating you okay?"
"Sure, Sergeant. Uh, I mean, Commander."
"Sergeant's fine tonight. You apes relax and have a good time."
"Speaking of girls," Chen interjected with a grin, "looks like Private Murphy has arrived with his."
"Murph's got a girl? That's his guest?" Stark turned to see, remembering his conversation with the Private about dating civilian women. Murphy stood in the doorway, proud/nervous like a kid bringing his girl home to meet his dad, then stepped in. Stark stared briefly as he saw Murphy's date, then grinned hugely. "Robin Masood. Long time no see."
"Good evening, Sergeant Stark." Robin hugged Murphy's arm protectively, smiling up at him.
"This the civ who visited you while your arm was growing back, huh?" Stark asked Murphy, then turned to Robin. "I should've warned you that if you kept visiting soldiers in hospitals you'd pick up something."
"I'm glad you didn't."
"Murph treating you okay?" Stark demanded mock-seriously.
"He's a perfect gentleman!" Robin declared.
Corporal Gomez stepped close. "You made Murph a gentleman? Now you gone and ruined him, and I'm gonna have to turn him back into an ape."
Murphy beamed around at his audience. "I can still fight. Better than ever. I got somethin' special to fight for now."
Stark caught the flash of unease Murphy's proud words generated in Robin's eyes. "That's right. You got somethin' special to live for, too."
"Uh, sure, Sarge." Murphy turned away, momentarily distracted by his squad mates as they crowded around to tease and compliment him on his new relationship.
Taking advantage of the moment, Stark leaned in close to Robin, speaking quietly. "You sure you want to get into this? You ready for what comes with being in love with a guy in the mil?"
She flicked a quick look his way, then nodded. "Yes. I think so. Murphy is a wonderful guy, isn't he?"
"I never looked at him that way so I'd have to guess, but he's a good kid. That's not what I'm talking about. Being a full-time partner's hard enough without having to worry about your partner getting killed as part of his job. Can you handle that?"
S
he hesitated a moment. "I think I can."
Good. I can tell she thought about it before answering. "It's not easy. Believe me, all of us in here understand that. Don't be afraid to talk to someone if you get stressed out or just plain scared. Call me if you ever need to."
"Thank you, Sergeant Stark." She smiled suddenly. "I feel as if I'm talking to Murphy's father."
Stark smiled back. "Seems like that sometimes, I guess. Don't forget. Call me."
"I will."
Stark had agonized a bit over what food to offer his Squad, deciding eventually that a formal meal would just make them (and him) feel awkward. As a result, the trays a food service specialist wheeled in on a buffet cart carried the same sort of chow Stark normally ate.
Stacey Yurivan picked at her plate suspiciously. "This looks way too much like standard rations that've been prettied up a little," she complained. "Where's all that fancy food the senior officers used to eat?"
"You mean the steaks and lobster and junk?" Stark asked, hooking a thumb to point behind him. "In the same freeze lockers they were in when I got here. I'm not eating like a king while my people eat rations."
"You could feed your people steaks and eat rations yourself," Chief Wiseman suggested. "Then you'd really be virtuous. A true leader. Let's try it tonight."
"Sorry. I'm saving all the steaks in case we need to go on short rations. You can't stretch standard rations without making 'em inedible."
"That's 'cause they're already close to inedible," Private Billings agreed.
"Right. But good stuff can be stretched a lot."
Lieutenant Mendoza glanced around the table. "That is a lesson we learned all too well during Operation Eastern Steel. I thought everyone else present was too young to have participated in that campaign."
"We are," Stark concurred. "But we've all talked to veterans who were there. That's the sort of lesson that gets passed down. So, I'm saving the good stuff. Even the lumpia."
"Lumpia!" Yurivan howled. "Stark, you're a sadist."
Lieutenant Mendoza took a taste, chewing slowly. "Yet this food is better prepared than standard rations. Do you use the cooks and food service personnel who attended the senior officers?"
"A few," Stark admitted. "I mean, that's their jobs, and they're damn good at doing 'em. But I don't need all of those people. We don't have nearly as many soldiers in headquarters as they used to have officers, and I can carry my own plates and pour my own coffee. Most of the specialists are being rotated around to the other kitchens to teach the rest of the cooks how to make rations look and taste a little better. It's not much, but it's something."
Time sped by, Stark bouncing from joking with his Squad to serious talks with Lieutenant Mendoza. He felt nerves bundled into tight balls of tension slowly easing, the comradeship and support around him providing something more than simple conversation. It came as a surprise when Sergeant Sanchez walked up to stand half-apologetically before Stark. "I regret that I must pay my respects for this evening."
"So soon?" Stark glanced at the time. "I guess it's not 'soon' after all. Where'd the time go?"
"Maybe we shoulda had a timeline for this op entered in our Tacs," Billings joked.
"Yeah," Chen agreed, "along with orders on what to chew and when to chew each bite. You ever gonna cut orders to our Tacs like that, Sarge?"
"If I ever do, you apes come down here and beat me with your rifle butts until I regain my sanity." Stark smiled as everyone laughed, just as they would have at such a joke months before. "Okay, you guys, it's real late. Later than I meant to keep you. We've got plenty of spare rooms here in headquarters since we're managing to run things without all the officers they used to need, so if anybody wants to stay the night just pick a room to crash in. The empty ones don't have personal locks. You can get back to your barracks in the morning. That okay with you, Sanch?"
Sanchez inclined his head once in agreement. "I have no objection. Corporal Gomez, your squad members may feel free to remain this evening. For my part, I shall return to the barracks. I will be needed early in the morning at a training session."
"Understood. Thanks for coming, Sanch."
"De nada. In truth, I have missed the experience of watching Sergeant Ethan Stark conduct a private war against his superiors and enjoyed seeing how he has adapted to filling the role he once disdained." Sanchez kept his tone bland, only the barest twitch of a smile revealing his words as humor. "Until later."
Sanchez's departure triggered the others, as soldiers lined up to say good-nights and trooped out in small groups. Most, Stark suspected, would walk quickly from headquarters, detouring only long enough to stow their weapons at the barracks, and then head to the nearest bar in the Out-City portion of the Colony so they could extend their partying further into the night. Well, let 'em. It's not like I wouldn't have enjoyed doing the same once upon a time.
Murphy, smiling like he'd won the civ Set-for-Life Lottery, departed with Robin Masood still hanging on one arm. Lastly, Lieutenant Mendoza, his son, and Corporal Gomez came forward. The Lieutenant looked around the almost-vacant room, then back at Stark. "This was a good idea, I believe, Sergeant. Most commanders would benefit from real contact with their personnel, instead of staged events at which little actual interaction took place."
"That was part of the idea," Stark admitted. "But I also needed it, for personal reasons. These apes," he gestured to indicate Mendo and Gomez, "mean a lot to me. I'm still one of them."
"As you should be in many ways. I believe you already know those ways in which you can never be one of them again." Stark nodded. "Good night, Sergeant Stark." Lieutenant Mendoza turned slightly. "Sergeant Reynolds."
Vic smiled as if amused by the courtesy. "Where've you been all my career, sir? I could've used a Lieutenant like you."
"Perhaps that is why I was given an entire career of my own to enjoy that rank and not be promoted." The Lieutenant flashed a smile at the humor at his own expense.
"Could be," Stark agreed. "Lieutenant, give me a call later on. There's a lot of stuff I'd still like to talk over with you."
"In a few days, Sergeant?"
"Okay. Don't wait too long." Stark saluted precisely as Lieutenant Mendoza left, his son and Gomez following with nods to Stark, then he stood just outside the room watching his last guests depart.
Vic leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching Corporal Gomez walk away in conversation with Lieutenant Mendoza. "Now, that is a sight," she declared.
"What?" Stark asked, following her gaze. "What's the big deal?"
"Your Corporal seeking out the company of an officer? You don't think that's unusual?"
Stark laughed briefly. "When you put it that way, yeah. Wonder why she's doing that?"
"Oh, that I know. I saw her during this get-together. Your Corporal was watching you and your reactions to everyone. She saw you listening to Lieutenant Mendoza, treating him like someone you trusted, someone who knew stuff you didn't know, and she obviously took that assessment to heart."
"Huh." Stark watched the mismatched pair, along with Private Mendoza, walk around the corner and vanish from sight. "Gomez was watching me that close?" Vic nodded. "Well, smart soldiers learn from veterans, right? I just gotta tell her to be a little less trusting of me."
Vic's eyebrows rose. "Are you dangerous, Ethan?"
"To the wrong people, yeah, but that's not what I meant. I ain't perfect, Vic. Gomez shouldn't assume everything I do or say is right."
Stark's answer seemed to amuse Reynolds. "Hero-worship is a horrible burden, huh?"
"I am not a hero," Stark replied heavily, his words dropping out with flat emphasis.
"Maybe not, but you get the job done." She canted her head to indicate the hall. "Let me walk you home, soldier?"
"Sure." They headed for his quarters, moving together with the quiet acceptance of old comrades, until Stark broke the silence. "Hey, Vic, you think my old high school yearbook is still on-line?"
"Sure. Nothi
ng ever comes off-line. It just sits there. Of course, we may not be able to access it from here right now. The authorities back home are restricting a lot of comms even though we're supposedly still talking. Why on Earth, or rather, why on the Moon, do you suddenly care about a high school yearbook?"
Stark shrugged. "I want to look up a teacher's name, see if I can find him some day and let him know he did make a difference, even if it did take a few decades for the lessons to work their way through a teenager's know-it-all skull."
Stark's Command Page 25
