“You worry too much. You’re doing fine. But I assume you’re going to tell me just what was in these orders?”
“Yes, sir. See, they’re APOC.”
“Hmm,” the general said, sitting farther back in his chair. “Commandant or Chairman?”
“They didn’t say.”
“Curioser and curioser. They didn’t specify?”
“No, sir.”
“At the Pleasure of” orders mean a Marine, sailor, or FCDC trooper would be reporting directly to the designated letter. For Marines, a “C” meant either the Commandant or the Chairman himself.
“That sounds serious, Ess. What have you heard?”
“The CG personally handed me my orders. He said that because of my training, and because what happened on Elysium, I’ve been proven to have an ‘aptitude’ to complete unique missions of a more strategic reach.”
“Which can mean you would be the designated butt-boy for whatever might have to be done.”
“I’m not sure why Elysium has anything to do with that, though.”
“Really, Ess? You’re a bright young woman, so you can’t have missed that the Federation gained an entire planet.”
“But that wasn’t me. I just happened to be there.”
“It happened on your watch. And if it had all gone to hell after, you’d be paying the price for that.”
“Maybe . . . OK, you might be right, sir. But the fact is that I don’t have any ‘special skills’ like the CG said. I know I’m a good officer, but I lead Marines. I’m not a schmoozer. My social graces are lacking. So if I’m supposed to go out and be a junior attaché somewhere and be a super-spy, I don’t think I’m cut out for that.”
The general laughed, and then said, “I think you watch too many Hollybolly flicks. The Federation has spies. What they probably need, however, are trained operators to do what has to be done without landing a full Marine battalion somewhere.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I never had APOC orders. But it could be anything.”
Esther put both elbows on the desk and lowered her head to her hands, rubbing her temples for a few moments.
“I don’t know, sir. It’s just that if I get further behind the curve, I won’t have time for Tac 1, and I might not get my rifle company.”
“And then you’ll never make major, and that means no colonel’s eagles, no stars, and no commandant.”
Esther lowered her hands and stared at the general’s image, her mouth dropping open.
Am I that transparent?
“There’s nothing wrong with ambition, Ess. If you didn’t have it, you’d be a pretty lousy officer.”
“So, what do you think, sir?” she asked after digesting what he’d just said.
“What do I think about what? Whether you should accept the orders?”
“Well, yes, but do you think I could be committing career suicide?”
Tac 1 was more than training for the next level of billets. It was more than a ticket punch. It was also where bonds were formed between a year-group of officers, bonds that could be extremely beneficial as they advanced through the ranks.
“You could be,” the general said.
That’s not what I wanted to hear!
She’d called him for advice, yes, but also to assure her that if she took the orders, she wouldn’t jeopardize her career plans. Frankly, the orders intrigued her, and just as with her decision to go to RTC, Esther had a hard time turning down a challenge. The idea that she was specially chosen played to her ego as well, something she acknowledged.
But more than any single billet, Esther was firmly focused on the end goal: Commandant of the Marine Corps. Everything she did was intended to be a stepping stone to that goal. If she failed along the way, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying, and handicapping herself in her pursuit of that goal didn’t make much sense.
“Did you ever meet Major Potsdam?”
“No, sir.”
“OK, he served with your dad and me on Quail Hunt, so I thought you might have met him. He’s the only Marine I know personally that had APOC orders, his to the Chairman. He was out of the loop for five years, ostensibly a Marine, but not really acting as one. He was promoted to major while on the orders. Potsdam had a good rep before his orders, and he did well for us. But he never made lieutenant colonel. He retired and ended up working for a security lobbyist, last I heard.”
“Did he go to Tac?”
“No. And before you ask, he never had a rifle company, either. I didn’t sit on either of his promotions boards, so I don’t know why he wasn’t selected, but there were murmurings that maybe his loyalties were no longer with the Corps. We weren’t on great terms with the chairman then, if you remember.”
Esther lost her focus on the general’s image as she thought about that. It made sense.
“What if the ‘C’ in this case is the commandant?”
“That might make a difference. But you won’t know until you accept them, correct?”
“That’s what the CG said. He told me he didn’t even know the scope of the orders.”
That’s the problem with secret-type orders. You have to accept them before knowing what they are.
“So, as you can guess, I’m asking you for your opinion. Should I accept the orders?”
The general made a slight, almost sad smile, and said, “Ess, you know better than that. I’m not the one to tell you whether you should or not. That is a personal decision that only you can make. No one else.”
Disappointment came over her. She asked him because she didn’t know what to do, and with her father gone, the general was her only father-figure. She half-way wished he’d just tell her what to do, taking the decision out of her hands.
“But I will say this, Ess. I told you that having ambition is fine. It’s laudatory, in fact. And I’ve known since you were a little girl that you were brimming over with it. But, in my opinion, it shouldn’t rule your life.
“The fact of the matter is that you are on track for colonel, maybe even general. If everything fell into place, and you showed as much skill as a senior officer as you’ve done as an NCO and a junior officer, then maybe your ultimate goal could be in reach. But is it a certainty? Not even close. How many Marine officers are there who would be considered for commandant along with you? They will be just as ambitious, just as disciplined, in pursuing the position as you are.
“So, as I see it, you can keep marching in step with your peers. It’ll be difficult to stand out marching along with them, but you also won’t stand out for the wrong reasons. And if you keep marching in step and more and more of your peers fall out, then at some point, you might be among the 30, 40, heck, a hundred potential candidates. If you grasp the brass ring, you will be able to put your signature on the Corps, just like your father did.
“Or, you can take a chance now on having an impact on the Corps, or even the Federation. APOC orders are not given out freely, and you can assume that whatever your missions are, they will be important.”
“So, you think the orders are for something important?”
“I don’t know for sure, but yes, I think so. By their very nature.”
It shouldn’t be this hard.
“But just as marching along, getting every box checked won’t guarantee the ultimate billet, neither will accepting these orders preclude it. All it would be is an obstacle that you’d have to clear.”
“So, you won’t give me your opinion as to if I should accept or not, but basically, you’re boiling it down to handicapping my career in order to possibly have an impact on the Corps or keeping with the expected progression and go to school, get a company, and so on.”
“That’s not quite how I’d put it, but essentially, yes.”
“But father said having a rifle company was his best billet ever.”
“And so he was right. It is the finest billet in the Marine Corps.”
“Better than becoming a general?”
“It’s not even close, Ess. Not even close. General officers get the accolades, but the work isn’t fun, not even close. A rifle company commander, now that’s fun!”
“So, I should be a company commander?”
“Absolutely!”
“What? You’re telling me to turn down the orders?”
“Absolutely not. You should be a company commander. You should be in a logistics billet. You should train recruits. You should do ever billet. The problem is time, of course. So you have to pick and choose what the Corps offers you.
“There’s one last thing that should go without mentioning, but you know me. I’m going to go ahead and mention it.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Why are you in the Corps, Ess?”
What?
“I . . . I’m not sure what you mean.”
“It’s an easy question. Why are you a Marine?”
“To serve the Federation, of course.”
“To serve the Federation, or to serve yourself?”
“I . . . I . . . ” she started, getting a little upset with the question.
General Simone held up a hand to stop her.
“They are not mutually exclusive, Ess. And from a philosophical standpoint, possibly irrelevant. But it is a valid question. Do you want to serve where you can best contribute to the Marine Corps’ mission, or do you want the Marine Corps to assign you to the billet that best serves your interests? I think if you answer that, then the decision will be easier to make.”
“Are you saying I only care about myself?”
“Far from it, Ess. I’m not judging. Maybe both are one and the same.
“But I’m rambling, aren’t I? You don’t need me pontificating to you. It’s easy for me—I won’t suffer the consequences. Just think about it, Ess, and you’ll make the right decision for yourself.”
“You’ve given me food for thought, sir. And you’re not pontificating. You’ve been a great help.”
“When do you have to tell them?”
“COB tomorrow.”
“Well, think about it. Go with your heart, whatever that is.”
“I will.”
The two fell into a silence that stretched out, before the general broke it with, “So, what do you think of Esther? She’s a cutie, huh?”
It took Esther a moment to switch gears and realizing that he was talking about her niece. Noah and Miriam just had their third child, and they’d named the little girl Esther. She’d been happy when they’d named their first daughter Hannah, after Noah’s and her mother, but “Esther” was a little disconcerting to her for reasons she wasn’t quite sure. She was honored, but she wondered if that incurred a commitment of some sort on her.
Still, the little girl was adorable.
“Yes, she’s a cutie.”
“Did Noah tell you they want me to be the godfather?”
“No, he didn’t. Are you going to do it?”
She was ashamed to admit that she hadn’t spoken with Noah for awhile.
“It’s not like my time here is too crowded. Yes, I’m heading out there in two weeks for the ceremony. Are you coming?”
“I’m not sure. It depends on my schedule. You know how it is.”
“Yes, I know,” the general said, his eyes boring into hers from light-years away.
She broke contact and took a sincere interest in her fingers.
“Remember, Ess, they’re family.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, accepting the implied criticism.
He’s right, as usual. Whatever I decide, I need to visit them. Isn’t an aunt supposed to show up and spoil her nieces or something like that?
There was a knock on the hatch, and the tech asked, “Ma’am, I’ve got a Cat 2 call that needs to go out, and you’ve been on the longest.”
Esther’s call was a Cat 4, the lowest priority.
“I’ve got to go, sir. Thank you for your time and advice.”
“Any time, Ess. I’m here for you. And I hope I see you at the christening.”
Esther cut the connection and stepped out of the tiny room. A lieutenant was waiting, holding a sealed folder. She nodded at him, thanked the tech, and left the comms shack, stepping out into the muggy, late-afternoon air. Marines were getting off work and going home to loved ones, an empty quarters, or out into the ville to eat and relax. She knew that whatever choice she made, they’d be doing the same thing a year from now, a decade from now, a century from now. The Marine Corps was timeless. The name might change in the future, but the spirit would remain the same forever.
Don’t get maudlin, Esther!
General Simone had made some good points, which she knew he would. But she was focusing on his last statement. Was she in this for herself or for the Corps? She really didn’t know.
Esther didn’t give as much credence to his comments on her chances to make commandant. She was confident that it would be within her reach. No one had ever accused her of having a lack of self-confidence. But just because she had that, well, many people would say hubris, that didn’t mean she was wrong. She knew commandant was a possibility, and she also knew she could serve the Corps admirably in the position. And the fact of the matter was that as commandant someday, she’d have more of a positive impact on the Corps than she could as a captain, no matter the billet.
On the other hand, the Corps wanted her for the APOC billet. For whatever reason, the powers that be thought she was the best fit for it. And as a captain, that billet undoubtedly gave her more of a chance to do something significant, something that could affect the Corps or even the Federation.
Part of her wanted just to let go and accept, to experience whatever it was that faced her. The challenge was undeniably pulling at her. But she’d sort of done that with recon, so the other part of her wanted to get back into the pipeline and start checking off the required boxes. Going to recon had been a slight risk to the normal career progression, but one she thought she could overcome. Accepting these orders would double-down on the deviation, and pretty soon, she’d run out of time to get back on track.
The more she thought about it, the more she wanted just to go to school and get her rifle company. Being a company commander had been her near-term goal since she was commissioned.
She’d been walking aimlessly, lost in her thoughts, when her decision crystallized. She stopped dead in her tracks, and a major on a bike almost ran her over. He shouted out, but she ignored him and turned, walking over the grass straight to the headquarters. She didn’t need to wait until COB tomorrow. And she didn’t need a sleepless night as she second and third-guessed herself.
Marines and civilians were pouring out of the headquarters as Esther walked up the steps, like a salmon fighting the current. She had to push to the side to get by them. She walked up to the second deck and down the passage to the modest office at the end.
“Captain Lysander,” Ms. Porter-Effrieti said as she walked in. “Is the general expecting you?”
“No ma’am. But I’ve made up my mind on my orders.”
“OK, if you’re sure. He’s in a meeting now. Would you like to wait?”
“I don’t need to bother him with this. If you could, just tell him I accept.”
Esther turned around and left the office, a huge weight taken from her shoulders. There really hadn’t been a choice, and she wasn’t sure why she’d even had to think about it. She was a Marine, first and foremost. She took the orders assigned to her because that was what Marines did. If she never made it to school, if she never got her rifle company, that was just the way things went, and if she couldn’t rise above that and still make commandant, then maybe she didn’t deserve it in the first place.
She still had no idea what the billet entailed or what she’d have to do, but she was pretty sure she was in for some interesting times.
NOAH’S STORY: MARINE TANKER
GAZIANTEP
“We’re going into the city, Staff Sergeant?” Noah asked. “I thought . . .”
/> “. . . that we don’t go into cities. You’re right, Lysander. We don’t. Except we are,” Staff Sergeant Jarvistus Cremineli said, his voice evident with disgust.
Sergeant Noah Lysander, fresh out of armor school at Camp Ceasare, was the driver for the Anvil, the Number 3 tank of Charlie Company’s First Platoon. The company had been attached to Task Force 54/03, the Federation response to the Ataturk incursion into Cennet.
Noah was somewhat familiar with Gaziantep. His father, while a lieutenant colonel, had taken his battalion onto the planet, but in support of Ataturk against Cennet aggression. The planet had been a thorn in the side of the Federation for years, and it seemed some things never changed. At least this time, the Marines were there to support Cennet, a Federation government against the non-member Ataturk government.
Noah’s big M1A4 Davis purred under his seat, a 40-ton behemoth waiting to be let loose. The fusion engine could push 2500 horsepower to the road wheels, and that made her a veritable sports car. At 185 cm, Noah was almost too tall to fit in the driver’s hole, but by scrunching, he could see out the blocks and drive the beast, even if his head hit the hatch whenever he took a bump too quickly.
He wasn’t concerned about his driving, however. He’d been at the top of his class during his Class Four quals, and he knew he could put the Anvil through her paces. What he was concerned about was the order the platoon had been given: go into Glen’s Landing on a recon to see who was there.
One of a tank’s most important advantages was its maneuverability. The M1 was fast and powerful, and it could engage a target at 6,000 meters and destroy it. For MOUT[24] operations, tankers liked to stand off a klick and pound the enemy in support of the infantry. Getting into the cities themselves limited their ability to maneuver and made their tanks big targets. An insurgent or militiaman, with little training, could drop an incendiary device off a roof that would burn right through a Davis’ armor.
Reconing a town was not armor’s job; it was the infantry’s. But Kilo Company had been held up in the hills on the north side of the Pierpont Valley, and Glen’s Landing was astride the intersection of the Demir Highway and Route 14, the main roadway in the valley itself. Colonel Bhekizizwe, the ground element commander, wanted that intersection secure before he committed Lima and Echo Companies into the assault on New Antalya, the only major Cennet city that the Ataturk forces had been able to capture. The commander’s intent was to eject the Ataturk forces from New Antalya and force them back across the border, then deploy along that border to let the Federation teams negotiate from a position of strength. Leaving the Demir Highway unsecured would be begging for someone to cross the border at the river crossing south of Glen’s Landing, and then hit the Marines from their rear.
The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins: The Complete Series: Books 1-5 Page 52
