“He's lazy," she said after a long pause, “entitled. I think he's been given special treatment because of his father.”
“Rear Admiral Chancy?” Dean said.
“That's right, sir. Nothing I've seen about his attitude, ability, or dedication to EsDef would reflect his current standing.”
“Thank you for your candor,” Dean said. “I know I'm putting you in a difficult position.”
“Yes, sir,” Tallgrass replied.
“I take it serving under a decorated captain rubs him the wrong way. That is something I will have to rectify. Do you have any thoughts on what might help Corporal Chancy perform at a higher level?”
“No sir. He doesn't recognize the privilege we have to serve in OWFR.”
“Alright, well... that will be my burden to bear. For now, I need you prepared for the mission. I take it Staff Sergeant Chevez has spoken with you?”
“Yes sir, we have a plan in place to stow charges for timed detonations, and as well as live rounds.”
“Will it compromise our supply of non-lethal ammo? I'm afraid that we're going to burn through more of those tranquilizer flechettes than we would regular munitions.”
“I would agree with that assessment,” Sergeant Tallgrass said. “But we won't be carrying mortars, that should give us almost twice as much non-lethal ammunitions as we would normally carry into the field.”
“Excellent. Thank you so much for being candid Sergeant. It is a pleasure to have you on our team.”
“The pleasure is mine sir,” she said, standing up and saluting.
Dean stood and returned her salute, then watched her leave. He wanted to ask more, to find out what Chancy had said about him specifically, but it wasn't appropriate for a Captain to grill his Demolitions NCO as if they were rivals in high school. Dean was barely more than a year out of high school himself, but he'd never gotten caught up in the catty popularity games that most teenagers obsess over. That life seemed so idyllic to him after a year in EsDef. He hadn't known the rigors or the danger he would face, nor the fame and the demands of being a Recon poster boy.
He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, wishing he knew how to deal with Corporal Chancy. Helping his platoon gel as a team was a delicate maneuver that required the finesse of battlefield tactics. The Corporal was a time bomb just waiting to explode, and Dean would have to find a way to defuse the obstinate soldier, or remove him from the platoon. Only time would tell which strategy was best, and Dean's fear was that the volatile demolitions expert was on a countdown that was too swift and the inevitable fallout too destructive for the platoon to escape unscathed.
Chapter 12
That afternoon, Dean observed VR marksmanship drills from each specialty. The shooting drills were part training, part game. Unlike their group training, the marksmanship drills were not physical. The HA Specialists sat in their armor, practicing coordinated fire via their battle helmets. The Fast Attack Specialists normally deployed all their weaponry, but Dean limited them to the utility rifles, since that would be their primary weapon on Rome Three. Demolition teams often trained with a variety of munitions. They sometimes defused bombs, or practiced launching mortars to hit targets that were out of visual range in all kinds of weather conditions.
Dean sent Sergeant Tallgrass on an errand and took her place. He could see the strange look on Corporal Chancy's face, and couldn't determine if it was amusement or frustration. Dean was good with his utility rifle, not an expert marksman, but not a timid one either. He found great satisfaction in working with his weapon, and while the non-lethal ammunition was difficult to adjust to, he still felt confident he could keep up with Corporal Chancy.
Dean's TCU could mimic any of the battle armor his platoon used, so with a few blinks he cycled through the different specialties and settled on Demolitions. The program came to life and Dean found himself on an open field with Corporal Chancy. They wouldn't have to move, and there were stationary targets set up, each with a distance marker beside it. Dean lifted the training rifle, his TCU automatically bringing up a targeting reticle. The utility rifles didn't have sights or a scope, their battle armor allowed them to fire with the gun held at an easy shoulder position or from the hip if the need arose.
“Any advice on shooting these tranc-darts?” Dean asked. He didn't need advice, but he did need to gage the obstinate Corporal's openness.
“Don't miss,” he said, raising his own rifle and firing several shots.
Dean's TCU highlighted where the flechettes would have impacted the targets, had it been a life fire exercise. Every shot hit the target, but in a wide pattern, with none impacting the fist sized red section at the center of the target.
“That the best you got?” Dean asked.
Chancy huffed, but didn't reply. Dean aimed his rifle and fired a dozen shots. Half of his were in the center red. He could have done better, but didn't want to make the competition too one sided.
“I'm the best shot in the platoon,” Corporal Chancy argued. “It's just these damn flechettes. They don't fly straight.”
He raised his rifle and Dean noticed that he took more time with his aim. Dean could see the Corporal's heart rate as one of the many metrics his TCU displayed, so even though Chancy talked tough, Dean knew his heart was pounding hard in his chest. Dean wanted to give the Corporal encouragement, that was his nature. He enjoyed seeing his platoon excel. He could be hard on them, but it was always a purposeful discipline, his ego didn't play a factor in the abilities of his platoon. Dean wanted Chancy to shoot better than he could.
The shots were like puffs of air followed by the pop of the next dart being cycled into place. Every shot Chancy made was close to or in the red. It was an improvement, but it only equaled Dean's performance.
“Let's try moving targets,” he suggested.
For the next half hour they practiced shooting everything from hulking alien creatures, to traditional clay targets. Dean had to hold himself back, while Chancy struggled to keep up. Dean knew that Demolition specialists were as well versed as the other platoon positions with marksmanship techniques, and Corporal Chancy had been at the top of the list of enlisted demo experts. There was no way he should have been ranked so highly with his weak rifle skills. Dean wanted to switch to mortars or shoulder fired rockets, even hand thrown concussion grenades, just to see if perhaps Chancy’s strengths in other areas made up for his deficiency with a utility rifle, but he didn’t want to seem as if he was testing the Demolitions Specialist. Instead, he tried another track.
“You’re father is Rear Admiral Chancy?” Dean asked, even though he knew the answer.
“That’s right, and your father is the administrator of a third rate hospital in Michigan.”
Dean was shocked that his Demolitions Corporal had looked into Dean’s background and glad that his TCU hid the look of surprise on his face. His family and where he grew up wasn’t a secret. It wouldn’t take much work to find the information, especially with all the stories written about him after receiving the Planetary Medal of Honor, but Chancy was using the information like a weapon. He was striking out at Dean and at the same time making a statement about himself.
“You’re a Captain,” Chancy said, the contempt in his voice unmistakable, “because real officers like my father needed a poster boy to keep the civies happy. How old are you anyway, nineteen? Making you an officer is total bullshit.”
“Glad to see you’re finally speaking up and saying how you really feel,” Dean said, realizing his effort not to humiliate Chancy as they practiced with their utility rifles had failed. He hadn’t meant to make the Demo Specialist angry, but something had certainly pushed the young man’s buttons. Dean was still just trying to figure what Chancy’s issues were. “The pouty rich boy act was getting old.”
“Don't think for a second you know me,” Chancy said so loudly that Dean’s TCU automatically adjusted the audio levels.
“I know enough,” Dean said. “I know that you aren’t
very good at your job, which just doesn’t happen in EsDef. You’re on my team because you were ranked at the top of the available candidates, but your performances are well below average. Which either means you’re here because Daddy paved the way, or you’re purposefully trying to sabotage our efforts.”
“I’m the best damned Demo geek in the service.”
“Hardly," Dean said.
“If you weren’t an officer…” he let the threat trail off.
“But I am an officer,” Dean said. “I’m your commanding officer, which means you will follow my orders. I don’t need you to like me, Corporal. I’m not looking for friends. And whether you believe me or not, my chief concern is the safety and performance of our platoon. You got a issues with me, that’s fine. You put this platoon at risk, we’re gonna have a problem. I won’t hesitate to bench you, Corporal, if you can’t give me one hundred percent effort.”
“My father will have your commission if you try,” Chancy threatened.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Get your shit together or get used to scrubbing armor and staring at the walls of your quarters.”
“You’re through in the service.”
“Not likely.”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
Dean wanted to say more, in fact he wanted to pull off his training gear and get physical with his entitled Demolitions Specialist, but he stuffed his anger down.
“One hundred percent effort or you stay behind, Corporal,” Dean said, then he pulled off the TCU, hung it carefully on the rack and left Chancy in the training room.
He needed to blow off some steam and there was very little opportunity to do it. Luckily, the HA Specialists had already gotten the exercise equipment in the REC in order. Dean put himself through a rigorous workout, until his muscles were quivering and he was coated in sweat. Then he draped a towel over his shoulders and went to the Wardroom to get something to drink.
Lieutenant Owens was sitting at the long table, reading a report on his data pad as he sipped coffee from a plastic mug. He looked up when Dean entered, a slight smile playing at his lips. Dean filled a large container with a protein infused drink that did a poor job of imitating chocolate milk. He drank most of it down in one long draught, then turned around and saw that Lieutenant Owens had pulled a seat away from the table beside his own.
“That for me?” Dean asked.
“I was hoping you had a few minutes.”
“I just finished my workout. I could clean up first.”
“No need, Captain. Join me, please.”
Dean walked over and sat down, his tired body sinking into the thickly padded chair. It felt good to let his body relax for just a moment, the tension and fatigue flowed away from him and despite his reasons for being upset, he let himself feel happy for the moment. There was nothing like a hard workout, feeling his muscles pushed to the point of exhaustion. He always felt better after working himself to his limits in the weight room, the chemical release usually made him feel as if he could take on any challenge. Allowing himself a moment to enjoy the feeling did more for his mood than just about anything he could have done.
Lieutenant Owens gave Dean a moment, before he spoke up.
“I checked the Raptor,” he said softly.
“And what did you find?”
“Nothing,” Owen said, sounding slightly irritated. “There’s no ordinance on it at all.”
“Perhaps they loaded it separately and it just needs to be mounted.”
“I thought of that, and had my crew do a full inventory. We checked everything within our area. We have no munitions for the Raptor. There are drones on board that have weapons, but my orders for this op are very specific. I’m to take your crew down with the Raptor. No drones are to be deployed. I can shuttle your platoon, but I can’t offer air support.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Dean said. “I understand that we don’t want to kill colonists, but I have a bad feeling about going into a combat zone armed only with non-lethal ammo.”
“What can I do?” Lieutenant Owens said.
“You’re our eye in the sky, but perhaps you can do a little more than that,” Dean suggested. “Monitor the communications coming from Rome Three. I don’t have the time to do that, especially once we’re on the ground. I need to know what’s happening, so that we’re not caught off guard.”
“We can do that,” the Lieutenant said. “I’ll put my team on media coverage as soon as we hit the system.”
“Good, that’s a start. Hopefully I’m just being overly cautious, but I don’t want to get caught with my pants down.”
“Anything we can do to help is a vast improvement over VR training or twiddling our thumbs in the REC. I lead a four member team, but they’re good people. And this ship isn’t new, but our equipment is first rate.”
“Excellent. It’s good to know we have friends in high places.”
Dean smiled, hoping that he would be able to get all his people safely back from what could be a very difficult and hostile mission. He didn’t know why he had such a bad feeling about the op, perhaps it was because both of his previous experiences had been so absurdly difficult when they shouldn’t have been. He had yet to have the kind of support Force Recon needed to do its job well. And dropping onto a planet where the colonists were in a full blown state of war was not the time to press his luck.
“We’ll get you there and back again, Captain. You have my word on that.”
“You’ve read Tolkien?” Dean asked.
“Just the classics,” Owen said. “A little magic at the right time never hurt anyone.”
“Indeed,” Dean said.
Chapter 13
The Charlemagne came out of FLT while Dean was sleeping. He ran his platoon through a short training exercise as soon as he was up, then ordered everyone to eat a hearty meal. There were more reports to be filed as they approached Rome Three, but Dean know things were about to get crazy busy, so he forced himself to eat as well. Dean was working his way through a larger than normal breakfast when he was summoned to the bridge of the ship by Vice Admiral Duncan.
Dean quickly consumed the rest of his food and was strongly reminded of his brief induction training outside of Boulder Colorado. Meals during that first two weeks with EsDef had been hasty affairs between long periods of very physical training.
Wiping his mouth as he dropped off his dishes to be cleaned he turned and left the Wardroom, making his way to the Bridge, which he had yet to visit since coming aboard the Charlemagne. The door swished open as he approached and he could see that all the ship’s naval officers were at their stations.
“Ah, Captain Blaze, thank you for joining us,” the Vice Admiral said, motioning him over to an empty spot in the room.
The bridge of the ship was a square room with small pit in the center where the commander’s chair was surrounded by touch screen monitors and large clear view screens. The commander, Vice Admiral Duncan in this case, could control most of the ship’s functions from his chair, while monitoring the transparent readouts of the various systems and still see all the other officers in the room.
A brass rail encircled the pit, and Dean passed the navigation and communications work stations before coming to an empty chair. There were a bank of vid screens, most of them showing live video feeds from the exterior mounted cameras around the ship. He could see the New Rome system sun in the distance on one camera, nothing but distant pinpoints of light on a camera from the dark side of the ship. The two pictures slowly changed as the ship rotated.
Another monitor showed the plot, with the Charlemagne moving slowly toward Rome Three, which was already being orbited by over a dozen ships. Dean tried to make out what he was seeing, to understand how the three dimensional space was illustrated on a two dimensional vid screen, but it wasn’t easy. The distances alone boggled his mind, and they were already within the heliosphere.
“We’ll be on station in six hours,” VA Duncan said to Dean, who loo
ked up from his screens to give his full attention to the superior officer. “Our orders are to send your platoon down as soon as we are locked into a stable orbit. You’ll be joining the other units at FOB Delta and get your orders from Major McDowell once you’re on the ground. There’s a lot of chatter coming off the planet. It’s chaos down there.”
“Any indication of what exactly is going on?” Dean asked.
“The colonist reports contradict one another,” the VA said. “What we do know is that there are pockets of fighting in all the major cities. Most of which are on this continent.”
On the maid vid screen in front of Dean the planet appeared. It was a high resolution photo taken from orbit. The shot zoomed in and the image raced down through the atmosphere toward the greens and brows of a large landmass surrounded by oceans. When the landmass filled the screen city names appeared over grayish spots that Dean guessed were the larger cities.
“Rome Three is one of the older colonies, with three generations of native born colonists. They’re more loyal to this world than to earth. I doubt you’ll find a warm reception.”
“We rarely do,” Dean said.
“You can download that updated map onto your data link. It’s got FOB’s Alpha through Delta, along with the locations of various combatants. We’ll do our best to keep it updated for you, but the orbital connection isn’t good. I think the locals may be trying to jam us.”
“Sir, do you know what side we’re on?”
“EsDef isn’t taking sides. Major McDowell will outline your strategy on the ground. They’re keeping things hush hush on our end.”
“Will the shuttle operator be able to remote pilot the ship?”
A look crossed Vice Admiral Duncan’s face that made it clear he was lying and didn’t like it.
“The brass wouldn’t send you down if it wasn’t safe,” he said. “But it never hurts to take precautions.”
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