by John Ringo
“Yes, sir,” Bill said, trying not to smile. “And the officers who clearly have too many friends in the press corps?”
“If I find them, I will quietly move them out of any position of proprietary knowledge at all,” the CAO said. “I’d, frankly, prefer to move them to Davy Jones’s Locker, but there is so much paperwork involved in something like that. Diego Garcia will have to do. But so far the details are holding. So far. I should leave.”
“Excuse me, sir?” Bill said.
“Young Bergstresser appears to want to introduce his bride to you,” the CAO said, gesturing with his chin.
The bride and groom were circulating and being congratulated. Weaver had been watching one of the bridesmaids, a particularly pulchritudinous example of womanflesh, and hadn’t noticed Berg and his bride getting closer and closer. As he glanced over, though, he caught a flash of Two-Gun looking their way and it was obvious he was unwilling to approach with the CAO there.
The next time Berg looked up, Weaver caught his eye and gestured with his head for him to come over. Berg’s glance at the CAO was clear so Weaver repeated the gesture.
“Sir, Two-Gun has faced some of the worst monsters in the Galaxy,” Weaver said as the bride and groom approached. “He can face the Chief of Astronautic Operations.”
“Admiral Townsend,” Berg said, nodding formally at the CAO, “may I present my bride, Mrs. Eric Bergstresser.”
“Of course, Lieutenant,” the CAO said, taking Brooke’s hand and bowing to kiss it formally. “Mrs. Bergstresser, you are a vision. It is said that every bride is beautiful but you exceed all expectations.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brooke said, blushing.
“I know that you feel you’ve picked the finest man on earth to marry,” the admiral continued. “And I agree. Sometime, sometime quite soon, you will be finding out just how extraordinary this young man is.”
“Does that mean that his missions won’t be…” Brooke’s forehead furrowed for a moment then she shrugged. “I think the term is ‘black’? Eric won’t really talk about what he does.”
“He can’t,” the CAO said, nodding. “I’m sorry for that but that’s the rule and I’m glad to hear that he’s following it. But, yes, pretty soon the operation will go white. How soon, I’m not at liberty to divulge.”
Weaver’s ears perked up at that. One bit of information that the CAO clearly had, and Bill did not, was that the decision to go white had been made and there was timing on it.
“But when it does, all will become clear,” the admiral continued. “Including what an extraordinary man you’ve married.”
“I already know he’s extraordinary, sir,” Brooke said. “But thank you.”
“Two-Gun,” the admiral said, “you’ve got a week. Use it well.”
“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, nodding. “Can I get a hint?”
“We’re becoming archaelogists,” Weaver replied. “I think that’s indirect enough, isn’t it, sir?”
“Just fine,” the CAO said. “Archaeological mission, Lieutenant. Should be routine.”
“Our normal routine, sir?” Berg asked, trying not to grin. “Or ‘routine’ routine?”
“Routine routine,” the CAO answered. “But we never know, do we?”
“No, sir, we don’t,” Eric admitted. “And, Brooke, this is Commander Weaver. I told you about him.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” Brooke said, looking him up and down. “You don’t look like… what I expected.”
The CAO barked a laugh at that and shook his head.
“People tend to say that,” Bill replied. “They generally expect someone older and with less hair. And, please, call me Bill.”
“Actually, I was wondering that you’re not ten feet tall and breathing fire,” Brooke corrected, grinning. “Bill.”
“In that case, Eric has been exaggerating,” Weaver said. “I have to add my compliments to the admiral’s. You are truly stunning. Eric is a very lucky guy.”
“That I am, sir,” Berg said.
“What are your plans?” the CAO asked. “And to be clear, I’m referring to after the honeymoon.”
“I’ve secured off-post quarters, sir,” Eric replied. “Brooke will be occupying those and intends to apply for college.”
“Well, it’ll be easier to survive on lieutenant’s pay, that’s for sure,” Townsend said. His aide whispered in his ear for a moment, then handed over a message form. The admiral read it, his expression unchanging, then looked up and smiled. “I hope you both do well. The captain and I, however, have a previous appointment.”
“Yes, sir, I understand,” Berg said, tugging at Brooke’s arm. “Thank you for coming.”
“Get Admiral Blankemeier and General Holberg,” Townsend said to his aide. “I’ll take Captain Weaver in lieu of Captain Prael. Is transportation laid on?”
“Yes, sir,” the Navy captain said.
“Let’s do this.”
“May I ask what my previously scheduled event is, sir?” Bill asked quietly.
“We have to go to Camp David,” the CAO said. “There’s a meeting there in the morning. It seems the Russians and the Chinese are aware of the Blade.”
“Who is the girl with the blue hair?” Brooke asked, gesturing with her chin to a girl in a skimpy black dress dancing with a tall, incredibly stiff Marine. The girl looked to be in her early twenties and had bright red hair with a shock of blue dye at the front. “Is that a girlfriend I should know about?”
“We went out clubbing, once,” Eric replied. “But girlfriend would be stretching it. She’s a linguist, a really good one. Sort of a savant.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” Brooke admitted.
Eric thought of the linguist in the Cavern of the Dragons, stretching out her hand and directing the opening of the gates. Nobody had been able to figure out the puzzle, but it was as if the linguist was God-touched in some way. She certainly was strange enough.
“I’m not sure I can explain it, either,” Eric admitted. “But she’s special. Not retarded special, the other way. Gifted. Almost scary sometimes. We work with a lot of top-flight people but Miriam’s…”
“I can see you like her,” Brooke said, tightly.
“Not that way,” Berg replied, grinning at her. “She’s way too weird for me. But, yeah, I like her and admire her. Same deal with the guy she’s dancing with. Sergeant Lyle. We call him Lurch cause he’s so messed up. And tall.”
“That’s not very nice,” Brooke said.
“Worse than you think,” Eric said. “He got that way in a roll-over. Spent most of a year in therapy then nearly as much time convincing the Marines to let him back on active. Then he went back through Force Recon Qual and operator training to get in the line units. Gotta admire that much determination. Good operator.”
“And that means what?” Brooke asked. “For that matter, what are quarters? You said something about ‘securing quarters.’ I figure you don’t mean the coins…”
“Quarters are where you live,” Berg said, pulling Brooke towards the twosome. “Securing off-post quarters meant I got us an apartment.”
“Why not just say you got an apartment?” Brooke asked curiously.
“It was the CAO,” Berg replied. “That’s how we talk. You’ll get used to it.”
“Two-Gun,” the tall sergeant said. “And his lovely wife. Do I get a kiss?”
“Of course,” Brooke said, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He still had to bend over. The sergeant was tall and thin as a rail but with a wiry toughness that was apparent even in formal attire. “You’re Mr. Lyle?”
“Sergeant Lyle,” the sergeant said. “But you can call me Lurch.”
“And this is Miss Moon,” Berg continued, gesturing to Miriam.
“Miriam,” the linguist said, shaking Brooke’s hand then giving her a hug. “I’m so glad you two are together. You seem so right for each other. You’re staying in Newport?”
“Norfolk,” Berg corrected. “Housing in Newport is impossible. I was looking at a small house, but an apartment made more sense.”
“I haven’t even seen it, yet,” Brooke admitted.
“Not how it’s supposed to go, Two-Gun,” Lyle said. “Wives are in charge of quarters.”
“I’m letting her get her feet on the ground,” Berg admitted.
“I wonder what sort of officers’ wives club the new CO’s going to run,” Lyle said. “I heard it was pretty good under Mrs. Spectre.”
“Just have to find out,” Berg said. “But, again, I’m going to let Brooke get used to the whole idea first.”
“What is an officers’ wives’ club?” Brooke asked. “I’m getting a bit lost here.”
“The military is a specialized culture with a tremendous number of traditions,” Miriam said, looking at her almost sorrowfully. “As with any subculture, it has its own language and customs. Some of them are unnecessary holdovers from days when it was often physically separated from civilization or at least its home civilization. Think of Army officers and their families stationed in cavalry outposts on the Great Plains or the Naval officers stationed in the Phillipines or even Hawaii before it became fully developed. Surrounded by strangers, many of them hostile and all of them from societies that were alien. The only social life they had was their own kind.
“Then there is the fact that military families face stresses unfamiliar to the culture that produces them. Police officers and firefighters face as many risks and during times of peace even more than the military. But if a firefighter or policeman is injured or killed in the line of duty, the families find it out almost immediately. And the officer’s commander is there to bring the bad news.
“With the military, death or injury can occur so far away that it takes time for information to reach the families. And there is the unknowing. The waiting for news, good or bad, and so often convincing yourself that it’s going to be bad.”
“That I know about,” Brooke said, finally really getting it. “I met Eric just before his last mission. And I was on pins and needles waiting for word.”
“Quick work, buddy,” Lyle said, doing the math.
“I asked her to marry me as soon as we got back,” Berg said, grinning. “She made the mistake of saying yes. And almost the whole time, since, I’ve been in OCS.”
“That sort of separation is normal in the military, unfortunately,” Miriam continued. “Civilians don’t have to put up with it, normally, and find it very strange. They don’t understand the stresses even if they try to be nice about them. Often, they don’t understand why the spouse puts up with them. So the military tries to help, often doing the opposite, with spouse support groups. They’re generally organized by the commanding officer’s wife, one of the duties that you’ll have to take over if Eric ever reaches that lofty state. Sometimes there are severe generational clashes, but those are fading. There are always societal clashes, especially with newlyweds. Newly wed spouses often don’t understand the point. That is, until they need the support of people like them. And, of course, as with anything bad leadership can make something like that truly horrible. In which case, they’re generally voluntary.”
“Yeah, but if she decides she’s going to sit it out, a bad CO’s wife will go complaining to her husband,” Lyle pointed out. “Sometimes you can have a great CO and a horrible wife. Or the other way around. I knew one unit that wished its boss and his wife could change places. Nobody knew why she put up with the bastard.”
“Eric, do you want to be a career officer?” Miriam asked. “Do you want to do twenty years and retire as a colonel? Or do you want stars?”
“I got all of that but stars,” Brooke said.
“She’s asking if I want to be a general,” Berg said. “Sure, I mean I’ve thought about it. Who doesn’t? But I’m not sure if I’m going to even reup as an officer. I more or less have to do four years, but…”
“Brooke, would you prefer that he just do four years then get out?” Miriam asked, turning to the bride. “Or do you want him to be a general? Do you want him to wear stars?”
“I want him to do whatever will make him happiest,” Brooke said.
“I feel the same way about Brooke,” Berg interjected.
“Then, Brooke, you have to decide if you want to be Mrs. General Bergstresser,” Miriam said, gesturing to the commandant’s wife, who coincidentally was chatting with Brooke’s mom. “If you do, behind every successful person is a strong spouse. Officers are no different, be they male or female. You have to decide if you’re willing to play the political game and back your new husband, often at your own expense. There are tremendous sacrifices that military families make, long separations, bad housing, often a degree of hostility from the local community and lower pay than they can generally get in the civilian world. You’ll spend years raising your children on your own, knowing your husband often as a stranger who drags in a bag of dirty laundry and leaves as soon as it’s done. And if he continues in the vein he’s chosen so far, never knowing when you’ll get a call from his CO saying that he won’t be coming home. A casket filled with parts will be lucky; more likely it will just be weighed down with sandbags. And even if you have played the perfect wife, which will often be at the expense of whatever career you’ve chosen, you’ll have lost the game. And you’ll have little or no control of how that game’s been played.”
“This is a great conversation for a new bride to hear,” Lurch complained.
“Mrs. Commandant probably had something she was planning on doing today,” Miriam pointed out, shrugging. “Because her husband, for whatever reason, decided to attend this event, she had to give up her plans. It’s the sort of thing he had to bring his wife to. And she had to go. Or he’d never have made commandant. And now he’s leaving, without her.”
“What?” Berg said, looking over at the door. The senior brass were quietly filing out, followed by their aides but not their wives. Weaver was with them, as well. But not Miller who was holding up the bar and apparently telling war stories. But he caught the exit, Berg could tell.
“That bodes poorly for us,” Lurch said. “Because that looks like an emergency exit.”
“And an emergency for the Gods eventually becomes our emergency,” Berg said. “But I’m not even in-processed. So if you end up launching tomorrow, I won’t be there.”
“Be a shame to launch without our good-luck talisman,” Lurch said, grinning. “But if we gotta… Oh, hell, I haven’t had pre-mission, yet.”
“Pre-mission on the cruise again?” Berg said, wincing. “I know that’s going to be my lot. Just once I’d like to get pre-mission in in the normal timeframe.”
“I, however, have had pre-mission,” Miriam said, smiling. “I wheedled it out of Dr. Chet as soon as we knew a mission was coming up.”
“You’re supposed to be in lock-up,” Berg said, frowning.
“Different rules for technical specialists,” Miriam said. “Brooke, you look as if you’re still processing what I told you.”
“I am,” Brooke admitted. “And trying to catch up with the language.”
“I can give you a dictionary,” Miriam said, smiling. “I wrote it after the first mission. Nothing that violates operational security, but it might help.”
“If you would, please,” Brooke said, nodding.
“I’ll e-mail it to you,” Miriam replied. “Have you given any thought to it?”
“I sort of already did,” Brooke said. “Eric and I were… Well, we were sort of on a date when he got a call and had to go.”
“The term for which is ‘recalled,’ ” Miriam said. “I was supposed to be presenting a paper that day; I remember it well.”
“And then I didn’t know what was going to happen,” Brooke said, frowning. “I got one short message from him and sent him one.”
“And did you talk to your friends, to your mother, about it?”
“Yeah,” Brooke admitted. “And my friends…�
��
“Didn’t get it,” Miriam said. “And thus we’re back to the spouse association. The point of such an organization, a well run one anyway, is that they do get it. There’s a lot of claptrap associated with it, stupid parties that are sincerely lacking in men; dresses and hats and gloves, fortunately, have mostly gone the way of the dinosaur. But the point, under all the formality and the social overlay, is a group of people who are stuck in an unusual situation and have to adapt to it. A situation that the people outside that group, the friends they had back home for example, generally don’t ‘get.’ ”
“I get it,” Brooke said, grinning. “What does your spouse, who I presume isn’t military, think about it?”
“What spouse?” Miriam asked, holding up her left hand. Other than a ring in the shape of a spider on the middle finger it was unadorned.
“And, uh, you go on these… missions?” Brooke asked.
“I promise I won’t steal your husband, Brooke,” Miriam said softly. “He’s a very nice guy and you make a great couple. But, frankly, he’d bore me to tears in a month, no more.”
“Well thank you very much,” Berg said.
“Two-Gun, you’re a very nice young man, but you are very young and although you’re very smart you’re also very focused,” Miriam said. “And not in areas I find interesting. From where I stand, that adds up to booooring.”
“What about me?” Lurch asked when the group stopped laughing.
“Nice boy-toy, maybe,” Miriam said. “Less than a month. Weekend at most. No, three hours. Max.”
“You’re very… frank,” Brooke said.
“Only when it doesn’t hurt people,” Miriam replied. “Sergeant Lyle, were you hurt by that comment?”
“Not a bit,” Lurch said. “You’re pretty, but I’ve been around you when you’re bored. No thank you. Crazier than a ferret on catnip.”
“And the new ship doesn’t have any pipes to paint!” Miriam wailed.
“You guys are nothing but in jokes,” Brooke said. “Can you at least explain that one? And why people call him Two-Gun?”
“Gentlemen,” the President said, shaking the admirals’ and generals’ hands. “Thank you for coming. Some introductions are in order. Bob?”
