by Gary Beller
“Absolutely.” Praxis said, looking at Ashlie and smiling.
“Petty Officer,” The Senator said, “I will likely interview several more of your team mates, but your commanding officers are all in agreement, that you should receive the Medal of Honor. Do you have anything to say?”
Ashlie stood, without thinking, and took a deep breath. “Permission to speak freely, sirs?” the Senator and the Generals nodded.
“Senator, Generals, I am humbled beyond explanation that I have been nominated for the Medal of Honor, but I do not deserve this award. Did I risk my life to save Colonel Pierce? Yes. But on that field, on that day, I was not the only one who risked life and limb for others. When the bomb in the bulwark exploded, Chief Petty Officer Stillman lost his leg, but still attempted to render aid to Sergeant Major Bond before he was killed. Staff Sergeant Ramirez, one of our support gunners, gave his life to save both the Colonel and I. He provided covering fire as enemy soldiers targeted me, making himself the target, which in turn cost him his life. On that bloody field on that cursed day, sirs, the uncommon valor you attribute to me was, and always is with 1st Special Missions Unit, a common virtue,” She said, pausing a moment to catch her breath.
“If I am to be awarded the Medal of Honor, Coalition military policy dictates I be removed from my unit, that I be rotated back to Earth. I would not be allowed to continue to serve with my Marines…My family. I have served with 1st Special Missions Unit for nearly two years. In that time, my teammates and I have experienced joys, heartbreak, victories and defeats. These Marines, they are my Marines. My brothers and my sisters. Before the war, I had the pleasure of helping deliver Kevin and Clara Bielema’s second daughter. I served as a bridesmaid for Master Sergeant MacArthur’s wedding. And together we have mourned and buried our dead. I have trained and deployed and fought with my Marines at every step. Every campaign, every raid, every battle. Sirs, if receiving the Medal of Honor means that I am forced to leave my Marines, then I must respectfully refuse. We have lost one Corpsman already, this team cannot afford to lose another, and I cannot sit idly by while my family, my Marines, carry on.”
Ashlie sat down, breathless, waiting for a stern rebuking from one of the three men sitting across the table from her. To her left, she saw only admiration in the eyes of Ben. The Senator sat back for a moment, then looked to the two Generals. “Colonel, Petty Officer, please excuse us a moment.”
Ashlie and Ben stepped outside and waited. “How’s the field?”
“All kinds of fun…” She said, leaning against the wall and yawning. “Sorry, didn’t get much sleep. Recon decided to try a sneak attack in the middle of the night.”
“And…?”
“We kicked their asses naturally.” Ashlie smiled. Her smile didn’t last long. Daniel Hardfighter stepped out, nodded, and headed on his way. Praxis stepped out next and looked at Ashlie. “Well,” he said, “You got your wish, Corpsman. Senator’s pissed that he came all the way out here for nothing. You’ll receive the Navy/Marine Corps Cross instead. And I officially signed an order extending your tour of duty with 1st Special Missions Unit.”
“Thank you, General.” Ashlie said, shaking his hand. Her smile returned brighter. Once the General was out of sight, she hugged Ben. “Looks like you’re stuck with me now.” She laughed. “Back to the field?”
“No. grab a shower and a fresh uniform, I need you to run physicals on new candidates.” Ben said.
“Yes sir.” She said.
Chapter 8
The medical checks took Ashlie most of the day. She kept the tactical radio scanner on in the office so she could listen in on what was happening in the field. For the rest of the team, it was eventful.
Their morning started by playing “Red Force”, setting an ambush for the lead elements of Brigadier General Westover’s brigade. 1st Battalion, 7th Marines was leading the column of more than 2,000 Marines, following a sixty-year old country road through the great forest. Their objective was an old Banor field fortification left over from the occupation of the planet, now occupied by 3rd Brigade, 2nd Marine Division.
Alpha Company, the “Spearhead” Company from Westover’s fabled “Bayonet Brigade” was leading and setting a quick pace for the Brigade until they came across a series of simulated anti-personnel mines that cut 1st Platoon up pretty good. 2nd and 3rd Platoons rushed forward to provide cover and security for the “wounded” Marines.
At this point, the Special Missions Operators began using their underslung grenade launchers as light mortars. The simulated rounds, essentially long-ranged flash bangs, landed and gave off a lot of light and noise. Alpha Company’s commander, Captain Derrick Grimes, quickly got his discombobulated company together, ordering 2nd Platoon to push forward and to the right of the road, while 3rd platoon mirrored their movements on the left. 4th Platoon provided cover for the evacuation of wounded from 1st Platoon.
By now the Battalion Commander, Lieutenant Colonel Morrison, had brought the remainder of 1st Battalion forward and was in a bad mood. “What the hell happened, Captain?” He asked, then was briefed quickly. That’s when the bolt of blue light caught both the Colonel and the Captain. The Colonel, a colorful man from southern Mississippi, let out a string of obscenities that General Westover would later claim could be heard for miles.
In the woods, the Operators from 1SMU were moving in groups of four, firing on elements of the Marines as they went, then moving on to a new position. After a half hour, Alpha Company was pinned down on a line a mile west of their objective, with 1st Lieutenant Jemiyah calling in for support. Kate, choreographing the chaos from a sniper’s hide three hundred meters from 1st Battalion’s lines, heard and saw more and more Marines trampling into the woods. She estimated by now that Alpha Company had been reinforced by the remainder of the battalion. “Phantoms, break contact and move to point Charlie.” She ordered.
Kate knew her team could take down Alpha Company, and likely Bravo Company as well, but having Charlie Company and Delta Companies pushing through now, as well as the arrival of 2nd Battalion meant that less than two dozen operators were facing nearly 1500 Marines, and although they had mobility over the larger unit, the surprise and shock of the initial violence of the ambush had worn off.
The phantoms quietly moved back from the engagement area, firing as they went. Once contact was broken, they mounted vehicles and took off at full speed up the road to the old Banor fort. Brigadier General Raz Farrah took Kate’s report that an entire brigade was coming towards his position. The General didn’t wait long for a decision to be made.
The Phantoms were put in the lead, as pathfinders and skirmishers, as elements of the 25th and 28th Marine Regiments left out of the base. Only 3rd Battalion, 25th Marines stayed behind to occupy the position. Westover’s Brigade was still untying the tangled knots the Phantoms had previously tied them into when Farrah’s brigade struck. The battle ended up lasting several hours before Westover’s Brigade overran Farrah’s and went on to take the fort.
That night, as both Brigades pitched tents and sat around camp fires, the two Generals toasted each other’s brigades, but the talk of most of the camp was 1st Special Missions’ Unit’s ambush. General Westover was surprised and shocked to find that his hardest hitting Marines, those from 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, were so quickly and efficiently tied down by such a small force.
“This is why we do this, though.” Westover said to Farrah, “Whose idea was it to set the ambush?”
“First Sergeant McMillan.” Farrah said with a shrug. “Her team was scouting down the road and knew your Brigade was coming, so she called and asked permission to set the trap.”
“Miss Katie Mack, I shoulda figured.” Westover said, pulling a cigar out of his pocket and lighting it up. “That lady knows how to seriously fuck some shit up.”
At that moment Westover saw the Jumper fly low overhead and come to a hover, then slowly descend to land. “Incoming,” Farrah said.
“Who the actual fuck i
s dropping into our bivouac on a Jumbo?” Westover asked, more to himself than to his fellow brigadier. The two men walked to the clearing where the Jumper was settling in on the grass. When the rear ramp opened, the first two people out were Ben and Ashlie. Ben saluted the two Generals. “Evening, Sirs. Any idea where I might find my team?”
“Over that way,” Westover replied, “They send a Jumbo all the way out to deliver a Lieutenant Colonel and a Corpsman? How’d you manage that shit?” Westover
“Gotta know the right people.” Ben grinned.
“We know the same people,” Westover smiled. He, along with Ben and the Hardfighter Brothers, had all grown up in the same area, and been part of the same youth groups as kids.
“Hey we just thumbed a ride. Straighten up though, that birdie’s about to lay some brass on your ass.” Ben said, shook hands with both Generals, and walked away.
“The fuck was he talkin’ about?” Farrah asked, confused. A moment later thirty or so officers and NCO’s came off the Jumper, led by Lieutenant General Hardfighter. Both Westover and Farrah snapped to attention and saluted. “Good Evening, Sir.”
Praxis returned their salutes. “Who’s all here?” Praxis asked.
“Just our brigades right now, sir, and 1SMU. Major General Grant has the rest of 1st Division set up about 800 meters south of here,” Westover reported. Praxis looked at Farrah, “And 2nd Division?”
“Encamped along the river, about a mile east of here. My recon company said SOB was doing some ninja shit about three miles to the northwest of our position.” Farrah reported. SOB was Praxis’ brother’s command, the Special Operations Brigade, and “ninja shit,” as Farrah reported it, was slang among regular infantry units for Special Operations maneuvers.
“Alright, stand by gentlemen.” Praxis said. He turned to one of his officers, who began working the comms. “Gather your officers, Battalion and higher for a brief. I just gave an order that’ll piss off about 35,000 Marines.”
Twenty minutes later, 4 Colonels and 13 Lieutenant Colonels, including Ben, gathered around the area where Praxis’ staff had set up their camp for the night. The Officers circled up around where Praxis was standing.
“Here’s the deal. From this very spot, it is twenty miles to the gates of the Base. Right now, the balance of our fielded forces are converging here and we will be making the twenty mile march as a Corps.” Praxis said. “The order of March will be by Brigade and Division. Corps Headquarters will lead, followed by the color guard. I want 1 SMU following the Corps Colors, and then 1-1, 2-1, so on and so forth. Special Operations Brigade will bring up the rear.”
“We having us a parade or something back at base?” Westover asked.
“Yeah. Senator Daiki and his staff are here on an official visit, and said he would like to review the Marines. I reluctantly agreed, but only because he was going ape shit about a ‘waste of a trip’.”
“What’n the hell was he doing out here anyways?” Farrah asked. Praxis could see Ben trying not to laugh, so he punted. “Colonel Pierce, care to explain?”
“He was investigating whether or not to give Corpsman Adams the Medal of Honor. Although all the senior officers present were in agreement that it was warranted, she very politely told us to go fuck ourselves.”
“Ah…yeah…I’d be pissed to.” Farrah said.
The morning dawned relatively cool for this part of the planet, high seventies, and humidity to match. The units formed in good order, and by some miracle 40,000 Marines got organized and moving on time.
It took just over five hours for the leading units to reach the gates. Praxis ordered the column to halt, and radioed an order down the line, stretching four miles back, for all personnel to fix bayonets and for weapons to be carried at right shoulder-arms. In the sunlight of early afternoon, thousands of bayonets glistened in the sunlight as the Marines marched down Broadway, the main parade route on the base. A reviewing stand was set up halfway down the street. The column again stopped at the start of the parade ground. Praxis’ voice boomed in everyone’s ears.
“Marine Expeditionary Corps Lima! Prepare to Pass in Review!”
Orders were passed down the line even to the Company and Platoon level. Finally, they stepped off. As 1SMU approached the reviewing stand, Ben yelled, “Eyes, Right!” and executed a salute with the sword he was carrying. The rest of the unit, except Bielema at the extreme right of the line-abreast formation, turned their heads to the right and brought their weapons to Present Arms, a traditional saluting gesture with the weapon oriented vertically, muzzle up and bayonet pointing skyward. Kate, standing to Ben’s left and carrying the unit’s guidon, oriented the colors from vertical to horizontal.
On the reviewing stand, the Senator and his staff stood at attention, taking in the spectacle of it all. “You’d think these Marines had been practicing for this. They just spent three days in the field and came off a 20-mile march.” One of the Senator’s staffers said in awe.
“They are Marines,” The Senator said. “I remember my days in the Corps fondly. I expected these Marines to put on a good show, but this….General Hardfighter has done well with this command. Well trained, well disciplined, These Marines may just win us this war.”
“Yes, Sir.” The staffer said.
Chapter 9
In the days following the field exercises, Ben was finally cleared to return to full duty. Ashlie had managed to weed out about half the replacement candidates. Kate’s report indicated that Chief Geoff Mason would do fine, and so he was the first official replacement.
Soon added to the roster was the new Executive Officer, Major Summer Isabelle Dawn, who preferred to go by Sid. “Congratulations on joining the team, Major.” Ben said, shaking her hand. “Thank you, Colonel.” She said, taking a seat next to Kate in his office.
“Now, what of these other replacements? I understand Kevin’s been giving them quite the work through?” Ben asked.
Kate smiled at both Sid and Ben. “Oh yeah. They probably feel like they are back in Boot Camp. He’s hard on them, but he’s getting results. We had five more wash out just this morning.”
“At what point do you quit washing out people and sign them on?” Sid asked.
“Like with you, or with Chief Mason, if we have someone who fits right in a spot that is needed, and is clearly a step above the rest, we sign them on. We still need another heavy weapons gunner, and I know Kevin’s taken a special interest in the half-dozen or so that have presented themselves.” Ben explained.
“Should we bring Gunny Bielema in on this conversation, you think?” Kate asked.
Ben stood and looked out the window. Kevin had been appointed as the leader of the Special Missions Training Cadre, and had drafted D. J. Smith and Erica Martinez as his assistants. All three wore distinctive brown campaign covers, normally associated with Basic Training Drill Instructors. Marine regulations did, however, allow training cadres for Special Operations Teams to wear the covers, but only during training.
“For now, let him be….” Ben said, “He looks like he’s having fun.”
“I bet.” Sid said. “I wonder though, if they aren’t pushing a bit too much? I mean, none of those Marines down there are greenhorns. They’ve all got the rank, they’ve all got the combat experience and they’ve been through the grinder already or we wouldn’t be testing them.”
Ben turned about, and looked down at Sid. “Major…” He began, quietly, “This unit has endured hardships beyond the dreams of many a Marine. The fact that you had already served with 7 SMU and 9 SMU is really the only reason you’re not out there right now, with them. When the three of us joined Special Missions, it was pass the Grinder, wait for a spot, interview, do a PT test and a physical and you’re in. That was before the war. My experience, First Sergeant’s experience, yours too I am sure, has shown the Banor to be far more vicious than anything we expected.”
Both women sitting across from Ben nodded. Ben stood up, folded his hands behind his back and looked a
gain out the window. “These Marines have been in combat, yes. But the things they will do here, with this unit, they need to be properly prepared. Major, how many of those Sergeants or Staff Sergeants down there do you think are ready to take charge of the team if need be?”
“There’s what? Twenty of them? Maybe four or five could do it effectively.” Sid said, puzzled by the question.
“Those are the ones we need to be finding. On Tyrannia, command of the infiltration team fell to Kevin. He was a Staff Sergeant. Overall command was on Kate, who was a Gunnery Sergeant. Two officers, four NCOs were killed, others including myself critically wounded. Every Marine in this unit needs to be able not just to follow us, but to take charge and lead if we go down.”
“Understood, Sir.” Sid said.
By the end of the week, Kevin had found his new Heavy Weapons Gunner, Sergeant John Roberts. Kevin sent him straight up to Ben’s office.
“Sergeant Johnathan Roberts,” Ben said, looking over his file, “From Round Lake, I see?”
“Yes, Sir.” He said, proudly.
“Well, looks like Gunny Bielema made a good choice, always nice to have a home-town Marine on the team.”
“Yes, Sir.” Roberts said, “Your parents…They own the bakery at Rollins and Cedar Lake?”
“Yeah. You go there a lot?” Ben asked.
“All the time. Best donuts in Lake County, Sir….and I think you know my mother, sir.”
“Oh?” Ben asked.
“Yes sir. Mom always said she knew Frank and Ethel’s son, went to school with him…Unless you have a brother?”
“I’m an only child, what’s your mom’s name?”
“Marie Roberts, Sir.” John said.
“Oooh yes….we know each other.” Ben grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Head cheerleader. I haven’t seen her since graduation.”
