"It does indeed," Sturgeon agreed. He looked back at his monitor. "I asked Andy to get us the replacements we need as fast as possible. I was sure he'd come through, but I didn't expect him to get seventy-five new Marines to us so quickly." His brow furrowed. "I wonder how long it'll take for the other forty-three to reach us?"
Ramadan accepted the question as rhetorical and ignored it. "Call up ‘Paragraph 1.’"
Sturgeon did and cocked an eyebrow again as he read it. He looked back at Ramadan but his eyes didn't focus on him. "It would appear that the assistant commandant is also on first name terms with people in very high places." The paragraph, a Navy Transit Order, instructed the captain of the Vicksburg to head to Thorsfinni's World by the most expedient route and delay his previously given cruise orders until after he delivered his Marine charges to 34th FIST.
Ramadan nodded. There was no hint of a deployment for 34th FIST in the message summary or any of its annexes. A major deployment was the only reason he could think of for the Chief of Naval Operations to so abruptly alter cruise orders. The Combined Chiefs wouldn't overrule the CNO on such a matter. That meant Aguinaldo had pulled strings with either the Minister of War or the President of the Confederation of Human Worlds.
A light on Sturgeon's desk began blinking. He touched a button next to it. "Speak," he said.
"Sir," came the voice of his aide, Lieutenant Quaticatl, "the Vicksburg has launched six Essays. ETA at Boynton Field, fifteen minutes."
"Thank you. Get my vehicle, I'll meet them. I want the sergeant major to come with me." He cut the intercom before Quaticatl finished saying, "Aye aye, sir" and told Ramadan, "That must be our replacements. Let's go meet them."
The first man off the first Essay to make planetfall at Camp Ellis's landing field was the light cruiser's captain, followed immediately by his chief of ship. A ground crewman ushered the two into a landcar, which whisked them the hundred meters to the waiting Marines.
The captain dismounted, came to attention two paces in front of Sturgeon and saluted. "Sir, I'm Commander Egerhazi, captain of the Vicksburg. This is my chief of ship, Senior Chief Bosun Penya."
Sturgeon returned the salute. "Welcome to Camp Ellis, Commander, Chief." He introduced the members of his party, and hands were shaken all around. "I'm surprised to see you. I wasn't expecting to get replacements so fast."
"I'm surprised to be here myself, sir."
"I understand you've got seventy-five Marines for me."
"Ninety-two, sir."
"Annex C only showed seventy-five."
"Yessir, that's how many I brought from Earth. We had a stop along the way to deliver a diplomatic pouch to the embassy on St. Brendan's. A drone from HQMC arrived just a few hours ahead of us. When we broke orbit, we had half of the embassy's Marine guards added to those we already had for you. Something else wasn't in the message summary I transmitted to your headquarters." He made a sour face. "I'm also turning over half the Vicksburg's Marine contingent.
"Sir, I'm normally the last man to leave the ship when we make planetfall. But with all due respect, I just had to meet the Marine commander who swings enough weight to delay the start of a warship's cruise, and strip both an embassy and that warship of half their Marine contingents."
"You were delayed leaving Earth?"
The Vicksburg's commander nodded. "We were less than an hour from breaking orbit when the CNO himself ordered us to stand by for new orders and passengers."
Egerhazi also delivered a sealed communication to Sturgeon.
The clerical work to put the new men in their units was complete by the next afternoon, but Brigadier Sturgeon held them isolated in the FIST HQ area for two more weeks. The sealed communication Commander Egerhazi had delivered was from Assistant Commandant Aguinaldo:
Ted,
Thanks for your reports. They gave me a much clearer picture of what happened on Kingdom and Quagmire than the official reports did. Be assured that I was able to use all of it to good effect.
I'd like to tell you more, but there are things I won't entrust to a written communication. Besides, most of your replacements are boarding the CNSS Vicksburg right now and I have to get this up there before she sails. Expect the rest of your replacements within two or three weeks. Be patient, I'll fill you in when I see you—which will be sooner than you expect.
Andy
When he sees me? Sturgeon wondered. Which will be sooner than I expect? Am I being called back to Earth? He shook his head. Not likely. Is he coming here? He knew that when the ACMC visited posts, it was announced well in advance, and "Sooner than I expect" wasn't well in advance.
His thoughts weren't productive, so he put them aside for the time being and devoted his energies to directing his staff to develop new tactics to use against the Skinks—he was positive 34th FIST would fight them again, and probably sooner than later—and to training his Marines to fight that enemy more effectively. In odd moments he tried to figure out why the Skinks simply attacked, and resisted every attempt at communication.
Aguinaldo surprised him again. The remaining twenty-six replacements, to bring the total up to 118, arrived within two weeks. Sturgeon ordered all the newly assigned Marines assembled in the base theater for a "greetings from the commander" message. He didn't always bother with such things, and when he did he usually let FIST Sergeant Major Shiro deliver it. But he gave this one himself.
The newly arrived Marines, ranging in rank from PFC to lieutenant, sat in the center-front rows of the theater built to hold two thousand people. The first sergeants of every company in the FIST sat behind them, keeping close watch on everyone. There was a buzz of anticipation as the new men speculated on whether Brigadier Sturgeon was going to explain why their orders had been changed so abruptly, or why they had been yanked out of their duty stations before normal rotation and sent to a very active FIST located on a hardship world. The Marines who had already been through a change of permanent duty station knew how unusual it was, and that such changes were usually made for disciplinary reasons—not that they'd done anything to merit disciplinary action. In comparing notes with each other, only a few of them noticed that almost none of them had families, or at least no family they were close to. Those few thought there was something more ominous than simple disciplinary action behind their transfers—but they didn't share their concerns with the other Marines.
Sergeant Major Shiro, in his dress reds, marched onto the stage. His heels clicked loudly enough on the wooden boards to draw all eyes to him and cut off most conversation. The left breast of his tunic bore more decorations and medals than most of the replacements had ever seen on one Marine before.
"Attention on deck!" Shiro bellowed.
The 118 replacements and the company first sergeants jumped to their feet and snapped to attention.
Brigadier Sturgeon, also in dress reds, marched onto the stage and took his place front and center. There was a lectern, but he didn't hide behind it. He stood at ease at the front of the stage, his feet spread to shoulder width, hands clasped loosely behind his back. His scarlet tunic had at least as many decorations and medals as the sergeant major's, maybe more. He looked over his new men for a long moment before speaking.
"Good morning, Marines," he finally said.
"Good morning, sir," they all said back.
"At ease." There was a brief rumble as the Marines sat.
Sturgeon looked at them for a moment longer, then resumed.
"You're probably wondering what's going on," he said. "Most of you are now in your second or third unit since enlisting—some of you have been around for a good deal longer than that. So you know that once orders have been cut and issued, they're graven in stone for anything short of a major deployment. You also know how unusual it is for Marines to be transferred in the middle of an assignment for anything other than disciplinary reasons—which isn't the case for any of you. I'm about to clarify matters for you."
The house lights dimmed and a hologram popped up to rotate next to Sturgeo
n. It was a curious figure, not much more than a meter and a half tall clad in a tan field uniform none of the replacements had ever seen before. The figure had a three-tank arrangement on its back, and a hose ran from the tanks to a nozzle held in his hands. His face was convex, his skin a dry-looking tan, like old parchment, and there was something peculiar about his eyes.
"I know he doesn't look like much, Marines, but he's the fiercest opponent I've ever encountered on the battlefield. He is what we call a ‘Skink.’" He paused to observe the men's reactions, which he could still see in the darkened theater. Some showed none, some looked puzzled, and some were merely curious. A few opened their eyes wide as they caught the implication of "what we call."
"He's not human," Sturgeon said bluntly. He ignored the subdued gasp that met his announcement. "I know you've always been told Homo sapiens is the only sentient species in the known universe. Other than the Marines of 34th and 26th FISTS, who just fought a major campaign against them, and the residents of Kingdom, where that campaign was fought, almost nobody knows about the Skinks. The top level of the Confederation government has made the determination that their existence will be kept secret.
"Since you are now in on the secret, you are quarantined. Until such time as new orders come in—if they come—you are in 34th FIST for the duration. You will not be transferred to another unit. All retirements and other releases from active duty are canceled. You may not go on off-world leave. You are not to speak of these matters to anyone outside of 34th FIST, or anyplace where anyone outside of 34th FIST might overhear. You will not, in any way, shape, or form, communicate any of this information to anyone off-world. The penalty if you violate any of these strictures is Darkside. Yes, Darkside does exist, it is not just a boogeyman parents use to scare their children into behaving.
"This isn't as bad as it might sound at first. Thirty-fourth FIST has been quarantined for over a year now. No one has gone to Darkside. We are all living our lives, we are all carrying on. You will adjust.
"Welcome to the Confederation's unofficial First Contact military unit.
"Now, Sergeant Major Shiro will release you to your company first sergeants." He turned to march off the stage.
"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Shiro roared. Everyone jumped, up, stunned by what they'd just been told, and stood rigidly at attention until Shiro ordered "AT EASE!" Then he handed them over to their first sergeants.
How are they taking what I just told them? Sturgeon wondered as he left the stage. He knew it was a hell of a thing to be told, especially when they were already confused and concerned about the way they'd been transferred.
Well, he thought as he straightened his shoulders even more than they already were, they're Marines. Marines go where we are sent and do what we are told. Nobody says we have to like it. They'll deal with it.
Third platoon met outdoors, along the sunny side of the barracks. It was a mild summer day at this latitude of Thorsfinni's World, with temperatures not much over fifteen degrees centigrade. The gusty breeze smelled of fish, but the Marines didn't notice; Thorsfinni's World always smelled of fish. Three Marines they didn't know, a lance corporal and two PFCs, stood at a corner of the wall. They were obviously new men, replacements for the Marines they'd lost on Kingdom, but they didn't have the slightly nervous look of Marines joining a new platoon.
Corporal Dean murmured to Corporal Claypoole, "They look like they just came off a major campaign."
"Yeah," Claypoole agreed. "Someone must have told them about us."
"Hell of a way to wake up in the morning," Corporal Pasquin said.
"You've got that right," Corporal Chan chimed in.
Corporal Dornhofer looked at the three Marines. "I'll bet they're put off by the fishy smell," he said.
"Do you smell fish?" Claypoole asked. "I don't smell fish." The others laughed.
Corporal Kerr wondered if he was going to be given one of the new men. If he didn't get one, he'd have to talk to Staff Sergeant Hyakowa and find out why not. When he hadn't been given one of the six replacements the platoon received midway through the Kingdom Campaign, he'd wondered if that was because Hyakowa and Lieutenant Rokmonov, who had taken over as platoon commander after Gunny Bass was killed, didn't trust him to break in a new man. He knew he was capable. Or thought he was. He shook his head sharply. Stop that! he ordered himself. He was probably better than anyone else in the platoon at teaching a new man. If he hadn't been away for so long after being almost killed on Elneal, he'd probably be a squad leader now. I'd better get one of the new men, he thought.
Corporals Barber and Taylor from the gun squad looked at the new men and tried to figure out which of them was a gunner. They figured the gun squad would be reorganized and Barber would get the new man—he was both senior and more experienced.
Staff Sergeant Hyakowa strode out of the barracks and took a position facing the members of third platoon.
"All right," he said. "We've got new Marines for the platoon, but you already figured that out." He nodded toward the new men. "The platoon's getting a reorganization," he went on, addressing the older Marines. "I'll give the basic assignments to the squad leaders, then you reorganize your squads and report to me how you did it." This was the normal way new men were integrated into the platoon. Hyakowa crooked a finger at the new men. They stepped out from the corner of the barracks and walked over to the platoon sergeant.
"Lance Corporal Groth just graduated from Marine Corp communications school on Earth. Yeah, that's right, he's way overqualified to be a platoon comm man. Someone must have pulled some heavy duty strings to get us replacements as fast as possible."
"PFC Dickson, show yourself." A tall Marine with a scar on his left cheek took half a step forward. "He comes to us directly from the CNSS Vicksburg, where he was ship's complement. That's right, one day he's a spacegoing bellhop, the next day he's in the mud with us. This is his first assignment to a FIST. He's got a primary MOS of guns. Hound, he's yours."
Sergeant Kelly gave Dickson a wave, and the new man joined him.
"That leaves us PFC Summers. He has a tour with 39th FIST behind him, but he joins us directly from embassy duty on Carhart's World. Rat, you've got him."
Sergeant Linsman, second squad's leader, nodded. Summers joined him.
"That's it. I'm not going to muck about anymore with squad assignments right now. We've got a new platoon commander coming in and he might have other ideas."
"Do we know who the new ensign is yet?" Sergeant Ratliff asked.
"All I know is his name's Bestwick. He's meeting with the Skipper now and gets command tomorrow at morning formation. Any other questions?" There weren't any. "Squad leaders, do your things. Groth, come with me." He headed back into the barracks, trailed by Groth.
"Second squad, gather 'round," Linsman said. His men formed a tight semicircle in front of him and Summers. He looked at his squad for a long moment, pondering how he was going to plug Summers in.
The easiest thing would be to give him to Claypoole, who was missing a man. But Claypoole was his most junior fire team leader and simply didn't have the experience. Chan could do it; he'd proved that on Kingdom when he got two new men. But the best man for the job was Kerr. Hell, Kerr should be squad leader, not him, Linsman thought. But he already had Kerr running herd on Corporal Doyle, and Kerr was probably the man in the platoon best qualified to handle Lance Corporal Schultz. So what was he to do? He didn't want to give Claypoole a new man until he had more experience or there were so many replacements at once that he had no way to avoid it. Neither did he want to make Chan the squad's official breaker-inner of new men. That meant he had to give Summers to Kerr. Besides, he'd gotten the impression that Kerr had his nose bent out of joint on Kingdom when he wasn't given one of the new men there.
He had to move one of Kerr's Marines to one of the other fire teams, but which one? And to whom? He couldn't give Corporal Doyle to Chan or Claypoole; even though he was filling a lance corporal's slot, Doyle had time in grade ov
er both Chan and Claypoole, so technically he was senior to both of them. And Schultz, who seemed to live and breathe combat, was very capable of scaring the shit out of anybody given command over him.
Well, he was a Marine, and like the Marines always said, "When in doubt, act decisively."
"Tim, you get the new guy. Rock, I'm moving Hammer over to you."
Kerr simply nodded. He'd rather have lost Doyle than Schultz, but he'd already thought along the same lines Linsman had and understood why he made the choice he did.
Claypoole grinned as he said to Schultz, "Welcome to my home, Hammer," but he looked a bit sickly. Linsman expected him to handle Schultz? Was the man out of his flipping gourd? Nobody could handle Schultz, except Gunny Bass and Corporal Kerr.
Linsman looked at Claypoole, Schultz, and Lance Corporal MacIlargie. "I've got you where I want you," he said. "All my problem children and troublemakers together in one fire team, right where I can keep an eye on you." He managed not to quail when Schultz looked at him.
Ensign Bestwick had mixed emotions. He'd been a staff sergeant, a platoon sergeant, and became acting platoon commander when his platoon's commander was badly wounded on a deployment a year earlier. He performed well enough that when his FIST returned to its base he was offered a commission and was sent to Officer Training School on Arsenault. But the day before graduation, he was put aboard a fast frigate and sent to Thorsfinni's World to join 34th FIST. He wasn't happy about missing the graduation ceremony or about losing his assignment to 11th FIST. On the other hand, 34th FIST had a reputation for being hard-charging, and a deployment and combat record to back up the reputation, where 11th FIST was almost a ceremonial unit rather than a combat unit. So he felt good about that. Then there was that shocking news Brigadier Sturgeon dropped on them less than an hour ago. He still hadn't gotten over that, and doubted he would in the immediate future.
Sentient, spacefaring aliens who only wanted to fight and kill humans? That was the first he'd ever heard of sentient aliens, except for rumors. And 34th FIST was the designated military First Contact unit—and was quarantined to keep the secret safe? He might never go home again? Not that he had a real "home" to go to, but still... And never get transferred or be allowed to retire? If those "Skinks" really were as bad as he'd been told, living long enough to retire was problematic anyway.
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