by W. C. Bauers
The first lieutenant standing before him was just as neatly turned out. Smart-looking regular-dress uniform and polished bars. The same calm face, plus a noticeable scar above the left ear. The eyes were still weary. But they’d hardened with confidence.
“Well, Lieutenant, you have a meeting to keep with the colonel. I don’t want to make you late.”
“Yes, about that, Gunny…”
“Ma’am, may I offer you a bit of advice?”
“Always.”
Khaine searched her eyes a moment longer before speaking. “Colonel Halvorsen is a straight shooter. He can smell BS from a klick away. He dislikes being aboard ship even more. The colonel does his best to hide that fact. It still affects his mood when he’s operating in the drink. Most boots in the company don’t have a clue. You’re one of his company commanders and that puts you squarely in the need-to-know. Don’t ever let on to him that you do know, don’t take his foul moods personally, and don’t ever make him repeat himself. Understood?”
“Roger that. Thank you, Gunny.”
“You may not thank me afterward, ma’am.” Khaine took a quick look around the bay before turning back to Promise. “Permission to speak freely?”
Promise raised a weary eyebrow. I thought you were. “Okay, granted.”
“I’m going to be blunt with you, Promise. Charlie Battalion has heard the scuttlebutt about you, and some took the time to read up on the matter; at least what the Bureau of Public Affairs released to the nets.”
“What scuttlebutt?” Try as she might she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice.
“You are a ballsy, can-do Marine. And, you did a lot of good on Montana. I couldn’t be prouder.” The gunny canted his head. “Others resent your success. Their ilk will always be with us. Some believe you’re a loose warhead. A glory hound who threw her command against a no-win situation. Only things didn’t turn out that way. The naysayers chalk it up to blind luck, which proves what they know.”
The gunny’s revelation lit Promise like an inferno.
“I remember that look,” Khaine said. “Think before you speak, Promise. That’s why I wanted to talk with you before you saw the colonel.”
Promise did her best to sit on her temper, turned away. Her hands started to shake anyway. I lost a lot of good people on Montana and nearly got myself killed, more than once, defending my star nation and her people; families and children who had to leave their homes because a megalomaniacal Lusie commodore invaded their homeworld. “You know I’m not a glory grunt, Gunny.”
“Not even close. But, I’m not the one you have to convince.”
Her head snapped around, nostrils flaring. “The colonel?”
“Safety that temper, ma’am. It will not serve you well. The colonel is not your enemy. He does not resent your past successes or wish to see you fail in the future. He just has reservations. The first sergeant came to me with questions. I told her you have my confidence and suggested she take the matter up with you personally. You may not want to hear this but I’m going to say it anyway. Halvorsen is your CO, and it’s his responsibility to figure out what sort of Marine you are. The competent can-do jane I know you to be, or a glory-sponging jackass.”
The gunnery sergeant held up his hands. “Easy, ma’am. I said he’s still trying to make up his mind. Look at this from his perspective. You took a severely understrength company of mechanized Marines and a few LACs, and fought off a full battalion of the same, plus twice the number of LACs, and a light CRURON of Lusie warships to boot. A lot of bars and stripes think you’re some kind of tactical witch.”
Promise snorted. “Hardly.”
“Careful, it just might stick. I suggest you consider cultivating that image. I’m not telling you to make stuff up.” Khaine grew thoughtful. “When the boots under you think you’re capable of more, it tends to raise the bar higher for everyone under your command. On the other hand, I’ve heard rumors too, and if they are even partially true some of the brass think you lost your battlefield perspective … and got lucky.”
Promise’s voice shook as she spoke. “All I did was my duty.”
“I know. Remember that when you see the colonel. There’s Lieutenant Jiles now. She will escort you to the lift.”
As Promise turned around, the gunny pitched his voice low, and just above a whisper.
“Promise, don’t ever forget who you are. Don’t ever let anyone else forget it either.”
Eight
APRIL 19TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1031 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
RNS NITRO, PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6
“Come.”
The bulkhead door to the main deck’s holotank opened. Promise stepped through it and into a dimly lit expanse. The floor was carpeted and muffled her steps. As the door closed behind her, the darkness pressed in from all directions, and made her feel small. She keyed her minicomp to find the room’s schematic and realized her mistake the moment the screen glared to life. I should have used a red light. For a moment she couldn’t see a thing. Breathe, P, take it easy.
Her other senses reached out to compensate, peeling back the black one pitch at a time. Her ears detected the ever-present hum of a warship emanating from the deck and the overhead. Her feet sensed the ever-so-faint tremor reverberating beneath her, no doubt emanating from the warship’s massive fusion engines. The air smelled flat and recycled. Slowly her eyes adjusted until she could make out the opposite bulkhead on the far side of the room. She followed its curve to the end of a row of tiered seating. Then the next row down came into focus. The back of the nearest chair sat five meters away. Promise started scanning, row by row, until she was sure the room was empty and she was in the wrong place.
“Over here, Lieutenant,” said a hollow, gruff voice. A hand popped up about halfway between her and the floor of the tank. Promise might have missed the wave altogether except for the minicomp on the speaker’s wrist, which was lit up like a navigational buoy.
“Center aisle, eight rows down, on the left.” Then the hand disappeared.
She found the steps and saw the back of the colonel’s head a moment later, then stopped in the aisle and came to attention.
“Sir, Lieutenant Paen, reporting for duty, sir!”
“At ease, Lieutenant.” Lieutenant Colonel Halvorsen saluted without rising from his chair, and motioned to the seat one over from his. “Take a seat,” he said. “I do some of my best thinking in here. The lights are different, less artificial, and easier on my eyes. I’m told it has something to do with the tank’s optics.”
The colonel hadn’t asked her a question or invited her to comment. And Promise didn’t know the man at all. Unsure of how to respond, she took the advice of her dearly departed father. Keep your trap shut and listen good.
She had no sooner sat than her chair shifted beneath her; a bit more low-back support. The seat narrowed and the armrests came up. The headrest rose and tilted in until it brushed the nape of her neck. The seat warmer surprised her. She fought the urge to relax and instead forced herself to remain more or less at attention, back rigid, hands folded in her lap.
“Tell me something, Lieutenant. What is the primary duty of a Marine Corps company commander?”
And there it is, she thought. Direct like an energy wep. The gunny was right—he’s trying to make up his mind about me. What would my father have said? Oh, right—bite your tongue young lady, or your words will come back to bite you in the tail. She drew in a slow, measured breath, just as she’d do if she were on the shooting range. The neutral smell of sanitized oxygen swelled in her lungs. Her nose twitched when she detected the slightest hint of saffron in the air. All at once her senses opened up and reached out for confirmation. Mom?
“Present,” Sandra Paen said. “I suggest you stay in the present too. Mind the gunny’s words and the colonel’s. Go on, answer him.”
Not funny, Promise thought back. She was a big girl and she could handl
e matters on her own. She didn’t need her hand held. She thought she saw an arm wave from the corner of her eye, same row she was seated in, from the opposite side of the aisle. She looked over and saw nothing there.
“Munchkin, why do you keep asking yourself what your father would have said or done? He’s not here anymore.”
The voice was now as close as a whisper and there was no mistaking who it belonged to. She really didn’t know what to call her talks with Sandra Paen. Sometimes it was just her voice in Promise’s head, knocking around like a stray memory. Other times she could swear her mom was really there, with her in the moment. Was her subconscious merely projecting itself into her daily affairs? Had her dearly departed mother somehow reached out from beyond the veil? Had something inside of her cracked? If she was truly honest with herself, a part of her feared that. Did it really matter? Her mother was right. Dad wasn’t here anymore.
Mom, I appreciate it. Really, I do. You’ve got lousy timing.
“My timing is usually spot-on. But, if you really want me gone, I’ll go. Okay?”
Sandra stood up and entered the aisle. She shook her head and then headed up the steps.
Wait!
The colonel cleared his throat. “Lieutenant? How long do you plan on keeping me waiting?”
Great. Promise took a deep breath. So much for first impressions.
“Lieutenant?” Now Halvorsen sounded put-out.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not one for giving pat answers. As to your question, sir, experience has taught me the primary duty of a company CO is twofold: to protect her command and to accomplish her mission, sir.”
“True, and paraphrased from the Regs.” The colonel didn’t sound impressed. “But that’s an oversimplification of battlefield realities. A Marine with your experience should know that by now. Regs are static. War is nothing of the sort. Please elaborate.”
Promise heard the sleeves of the colonel’s regular-dress jacket crease. She canted her eyes enough to see him rubbing at his face with both hands, hard.
Wonderful.
“That dark place just showed up,” Sandra said from the seat next to Promise’s, causing her to nearly jump out of hers. “Maybe he’s tired, dear. It is after all still early in the hundreds of hours. Why can’t you Marines tell time like normal people? What is it? Zero dark forty? You need to get some sleep. The bags under your eyes are growing, dear.”
It’s thirty, Mom. Zero dark … oh, never mind.
“You take my point,” Sandra said.
Taken. Please.
“Stop brooding.” The voice in her head started to laugh, which pissed her off even more.
“Tell me this, Lieutenant,” Halvorsen said after a long pause. “Can you really protect your Marines and complete the op at the same time, all of the time?” The colonel’s question sounded genuine enough, without a hint of challenge in it.
He has significant reservations about my ability to command. The gunny was right after all. This is about Montana.
“You’re assuming, dear,” Sandra Paen said.
No, I’m not. Have you heard anything the man has said? I’ve only just reported in and he’s already upset with me, Promise thought back.
“Easy, kiddo. Maybe he’s just getting to know you. He is your new commanding officer, after all.”
Promise put a hand to her brow to knead the side of her temple. The three-way conversation was giving her a headache, dredging up bad memories. Memories of Montana, memories of the Marines she’d lost there, memories of her mother’s death. You weren’t there to raise me, Mom. Stop trying to do it now.
Silence. The presence in her head retreated until Promise was fairly certain she was alone.
Mom, MOM. Ah, come on, Mom. I didn’t mean …
“Lieutenant, I get the feeling you’re distracted. Is there some other place you need to be?”
Promise shifted in her seat and nodded. “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”
This is just wonderful. What did the gunny tell you? Don’t make the colonel repeat himself and what did you do, twice?
“Lieutenant.”
“Roger that, sir. I mean yes, sir. I’m listening, sir. Just thinking about how best to respond…”
“And?”
P, get a grip, P. What is wrong with you?
Promise took the sort of breath she would before pulling the trigger of her sniper rifle, deep and full of more oxygen than she needed, and then she drew in a second and exhaled normally, squeezed the trigger to take up the slack, and fired. “You asked if a CO can simultaneously protect her soldiers while completing the op, all of the time. If I may be so bold, sir, you’re essentially asking if the two ever come into conflict. I know some officers who would answer that question in the affirmative. Well, sir, I’m not one of them.” Her voice came out with a bit of an edge, and hearing that made her wince.
“Well, thank you for enlightening me, Lieutenant Paen. Care to elaborate on that?” Halvorsen kicked his feet above the chair in front of him and folded his arms across his chest.
Promise felt the hairs on her neck stand at attention. She had already mussed the conversation, so she grabbed it by the flight stick and went full-throttle. “Well, sir, a CO must send her Marines into harm’s way. That comes with the job. Some come home wounded, and others are carried by sixes. But the orders must still be given. Not giving them would be a dereliction of duty.”
The colonel didn’t exactly laugh. “So the mission trumps all?”
“On the contrary, sir. Duty requires me to keep faith with the Marines under my command. They expect me to send them out with the orders that give them their best possible chance of completing the mission and coming back alive. To do that I must learn my Marines’ strengths and weaknesses; help them utilize the former and overcome the latter. Coming back alive is never promised. Knowing your CO is watching your six should always be a given.”
“What about the ones you lose?”
“We bring them ho…” Her voice jammed in her throat. She couldn’t say that because she tried her best and still failed to make it happen.
“Home,” the colonel added for her after a moment. “We always bring them home. Semper fi, Lieutenant. Too many don’t ever make it back, do they? We’ve both sent soldiers to die. Tell me, how do you live with that?”
That’s right. I sent a lot of Marines to die on Montana. Lost most of my unit in the process. So how did I live with that? She wanted to say as well as anyone could have but the moment she thought that she hesitated. Oh, I don’t know. I talk with my deceased mother about it. Colonel, meet Sandra Paen. Her anger was getting the best of her. So, she opened her mouth and said exactly what she was thinking.
“Sir, with respect, if you have a question about me please just go ahead and ask it.”
“Excuse me, Lieutenant. I thought I just did.” The colonel turned his head and his eyes bored into her. “It sounds to me like you’re the one who needs to get something off of her chest. You didn’t ask to speak freely, but since you already are, please don’t stop now.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Promise grasped for words. “You’re right … right to have reservations about me … right to ask about the Marines I lost in combat.” The colonel’s tongue clicked like he was going to speak. Before he could get out a word Promise cut him off. “Please, sir, please hear me out. How could you not? After Montana, the scuttlebutt flew through the battalion. She’s a maverick, out for glory, reckless. A loose tactical warhead. There might be a shred of truth in there, somewhere. I didn’t take kindly to a Lusitanian commodore invading my birth world, and I took it personally, sir. How could I not? The Montanans are my people. I did my duty and protected good people who couldn’t defend themselves. And I got a lot of my Marines killed in the process. You want to know how I live with my dead, sir. By remembering them. I remember them every day of my life. I see their faces before lights-out. I dream about them. BUMED says to give it time. Well, sir, it’s a slow fade. Maybe that’s the true
burden of command, living with your dead. Frankly, I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.”
Nine
APRIL 19TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1036 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
RNS NITRO, PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6
Price Halvorsen hated to admit when he was wrong. His first impression of Lieutenant Paen had taken an unexpected turn. He’d come to the holotank with his mind made up about her only to find the loose warhead analogy didn’t quite fit. She was brash and aggressive, but he found no trace of the overconfidence that usually accompanied that sort of Marine. Maybe she’s just rattled. I tend to do that to my junior officers. And she’s been through the grinder.
“Lieutenant. Let me show you something.”
The colonel typed several commands into his minicomp. A moment later a solar system sprang to life about two meters above the holotank’s deck. A sun appeared and then one by one nine planets materialized in different orbital planes. “This is the Korazim system. The fourth world from the sun bears the same name.” The colonel selected the third planet from the sun, an angry red globe. The name SHEOL appeared in a holographic tab to the planet’s right. “This lovely world will be our home away from home for the next six to twelve months.” Then the tab disappeared and Sheol swelled until it filled the holotank. A sea of red clouds shrouded the entire planet.
“Sheol is a world very much at odds with herself,” Halvorsen said. “Her nickname is Camp Hell-No. Believe me, it fits. Virtually nothing grows there because of the heat and the marginal standard atmospheric conditions. The SAC will make your lungs pay. The water is loaded with toxic concentrations of heavy metals. Masks are not mandatory for short trips outside, though they are highly recommended. Rebreathers are required for runs and ops unless you’re suited up. If you see the sun you’ve seen a rare sight. The days are violent. The nights shake you in your rack. We tried terraforming the planet to the tune of eight trillion chits, all because of this.”
