Star Marine!

by John Bowers

  They stared at each other for a heartbeat, mouths open with disbelief.

  "Gina, I don't believe it!"

  "Wade, what — what are you doing here?"

  "I'm assigned here now. I've only been here a few days. Jesus, I can't believe it!"

  Impulsively, he bent over and kissed her on the cheek. She tilted her face until their lips met, then blushed as she realized they were in full view of everyone in the room.

  "Are you eating alone?" Wade asked quickly.

  "Yes, unless …"

  "Come on."

  He led the way to a table and they set their trays down. Wade held her chair and then sat across from her, grinning foolishly. "Actually, I'd heard that you were here, but things have been so hectic that it slipped my mind. Eventually I would have looked you up."

  "Well, I had no idea where you were. Mom told me you called a few months back, but all she knew was that you had joined the service." She stared at the insignia on his shoulder in amazement. "You're an officer?"

  "A very, very junior officer," he grinned. "They offered me this job, but part of the condition was that I had to pass OCS first."

  "OCS?"

  "Officer Candidate School. So I spent eight weeks in Pearl Harbor to get the rank. Now I'm here."

  "Doing what?"

  "Attached to the planning staff. Can you believe that?"

  Regina studied him for a moment, then nodded knowingly.

  "I can believe it. You were always good at organization."

  He shrugged modestly.

  "About the only thing I'm allowed to organize so far is coffee filters. I should've gone into housekeeping."

  "Entry level people always get the shit jobs," she laughed. "You'll move up."

  "I hope so. What about you? What kind of stuff are you working on?"

  "Propaganda," she told him. "Training holos."

  "Training holos? You mean, like hand-to-hand combat?" His eyes teased her.

  "Of course not," she smiled. "I'm working on a holovid to teach the troops about Sirian culture. It's called Your Sirian Enemy. Can you believe that we've been at war for six years and nobody's ever done that?"

  "I believe it. They were just waiting for the right person to do the job. That's a subject you know a lot about."

  "Well, I didn't really think I was an expert, until I saw what they were planning to release. I'm amazed at how little the average Feddie really knows about the enemy."

  They talked while they ate, catching up as much as they could in the twenty minutes they had. When it was time to part, they hastily exchanged information.

  "I've got an apartment a few blocks from here," Regina told him, and quickly wrote down the address.

  "I'm billeted right down the street from you!" he exclaimed. "In the BOQ."

  "Okay, great. We'll have to plan dinner some time."

  "Great." Wade quickly glanced around, saw that only two other people remained in the room, and gave her a hug. "I've really missed you," he said fervently.

  "I missed you, too," she said. "I've got to get back now. Call me, all right?"

  "You can count on it."

  April 0228 (PCC) – Washington City, DC, North America, Terra

  Had Wade Palmer expected to be inserted into the center of the Federation's strategy-making machine, he would have been disappointed. But he'd known from the outset that he would only be a junior member of the planning staff, and would likely take years to attain a position of any importance. So he counted his blessings at just being included, and vowed to learn everything he could.

  Which was more than he could have possibly anticipated.

  The planning staff consisted of some of the highest-ranking officers in all the military services, including the Federation Infantry, Star Marines, Space Force, and Fighter Service (which fell under the umbrella of Space Force but was actually an independent service). These ranking officers numbered about twenty-five, but were merely the tip of the iceberg; the planning staff included literally hundreds of officers of every rank, mostly junior grade.

  One who wasn't junior grade was Rear Admiral Henri Boucher, a Space Force officer from France. Boucher (pronounced boo-SHAY) was a senior member of the top twenty-five. He was also Wade Palmer's boss, although Wade's actual supervisor was Commander Raymond Kamada; it was Kamada he had to keep happy.

  The Chief of Staff was General John Willard.

  After the first couple of days of orientation, Kamada put Wade to work. Setting him in front of a terminal, he pulled up a list of text files and told Wade to memorize them. At first Wade thought he was kidding — the file names scrolled for several pages — but when he looked into Kamada's dark eyes, they held no sign of amusement.

  "When you finish," Kamada told him, "come and see me."

  Wade gulped. "Uh — sir, this may take a day or two."

  "When you finish," Kamada repeated. "I don't want to see you until then."

  "Yes, sir."

  It took him thirteen days, seated at the terminal for hours at a time, mind reeling and eyes burning. He'd barely gotten started the day he ran into Regina in the commissary, and continued for several days after that. The files covered the military spectrum, filled with facts and details Wade not only didn't know, but had never dreamed existed. He couldn't literally memorize all that data, of course, but he did make notes. Copiously. He wrote down summaries of everything he thought might be important to remember, and noted how to find other data quickly.

  In boot camp and OCS he'd been taught everything he needed to know about the military structure, protocol, and the chain of command. Now he learned there was a great deal more, and he struggled to grasp it all. He read the entire service manuals of the three major services, read the history of the Federation military from the very beginning to the present.

  Next he delved into a history of interplanetary relations within the Federation, then moved on to another history of the interstellar community, and learned how it all related to the Federation. At one point, he absently reflected that Regina would love this stuff, then decided she probably already knew most of it. For the first time, he began to understand the politics of the last hundred years — cultural issues, trade relations, and how they had eventually led to war.

  All that took several days, but he was far from finished. Now he got into tactical and strategic theory. He was amazed at much of it — the Federation had never fought a war, and a great deal of what he was reading came from ancient Terra history, when wars had been more common.

  He plowed through the tactical scenarios envisioned by each of the services, noting which tactics had been tried and which were still theory. Privately, he questioned how much of the theory still held in a war that spanned the stars. It was true that battles had been won — Sirian space power had been stalemated, the Outer Worlds retaken — but though the Sirians no longer operated freely within the Solar System, they were far from beaten, and in order to defeat them the Federation would need to carry the war outward, away from friendly space. How would these theories hold up then?

  Wade learned logistics. How each kind of military unit functioned, what equipment it needed, what was required to transport it to the battlefield, what supplies were required to sustain it. What weapons were used by each kind of unit in each kind of combat, how those weapons functioned, what their effectiveness was. Again, much of this information was still theory ….

  Thirteen working days after he started, Wade reported to Cdr. Kamada's office. To his surprise, he was admitted immediately. He stood before the commander's desk as the older man gazed up at him without expression.

  "Finished?" Kamada asked.

  "Yes, sir. I read every file as thoroughly as I could."

  "So, what do you think?"

  "Sir?" Wade frowned.

  "Think you're ready to draw up a plan to finish the war now?"

  "Uh, no, sir. I think I'm just beginning to understand how complex the job is going to be. The more I learned, the more I realize
d how much I really don't know."

  Kamada's expression didn't change, but his eyes glinted.

  "Really!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sit down, Palmer."

  Wade sat stiffly.

  "How much of what you just studied did you already know?"

  "Very little, sir."

  Kamada nodded slowly. Several seconds passed.

  "How much did you memorize?"

  "As much as possible, sir. But not all that much."

  "What you've just seen is only the beginning. No one can give you everything in a computer file, but you are now prepared to really start learning. No one expects you to come up with all the answers, but if you are to be useful in your present assignment, you have to learn as much as you can. You'll keep on learning. In this job, study never stops. If we fuck up, even slightly, it could cost thousands of lives. You understand that?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You'll eventually hear fighting men complaining about the 'rear echelon'. You may run into some of them sooner or later, and they may challenge your right to wear the uniform. From their point of view, you aren't a real soldier, because you don't fight. But, Palmer, if we don't do our job properly, those men will never stand a chance."

  Wade said nothing. Fresh in his memory was his first — and only — visit to the O-Club in Pearl Harbor.

  "If you do well, you'll move up the ladder. But every rung up that ladder saddles you with more responsibility, more duty. It isn't going to be a picnic. Your decisions could save lives, or cost them. Unfortunately, no amount of study can prepare you for every eventuality. Only experience can do that, and even then only poorly."

  Silence hung between them for ten seconds.

  "Any comment?" Kamada offered.

  "No, sir. I understand what you're saying, Commander. I take the job very seriously."

  Kamada nodded again, studying his face thoughtfully. Finally he reached into a cabinet and drew out a stack of printouts. He set the stack on the desk. It was five inches thick.

  "Your next assignment is to take this data and analyze it. This is a fairly detailed summary of the Titan landing, from inception through execution. What I want from you is a thorough, in-depth analysis of every aspect of the operation. I want your evaluation of what went wrong, and what went right. Don't pull any punches, and don't put down what you think I want to see. This has to be completely unbiased. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir!"

  "Dismissed."

  Wade stood quickly and reached for the printouts.

  "Er—"

  "Yes?"

  "When do you want this, Commander?"

  "Astonish me."

  "Aye-aye, sir." Wade lifted the stack and headed out the door.

  Chapter 10

  Wednesday, 16 April, 0228 (PCC) – Orbital 6, Orbit of Terra

  Rico Martinez hefted his space bag onto his shoulder and stood in line to debark from the shuttle. The aisle was crowded with passengers and he waited his turn with the patience of the infantryman. He'd boarded the spacecraft on Terra barely two hours ago and was already tired, the weariness of inactivity. The shuttle made him claustrophobic — too much like riding a landing craft down under enemy fire — but he suppressed his nerves and let the line move at its own pace. Over half the passengers were servicemen and he guessed that most of the civilians were government employees. With the war on, very few tourists ventured into space these days.

  Passing through the exit hatch, Rico emerged into a spaceway, a long tunnel leading from the shuttle into the station. Artificial gravity came on right after docking, so there was none of that miserable floating while grasping for handholds. His stomach was still a bit queasy from the weightlessness he'd experienced during orbital approach and his first priority would be to get something to eat to settle the butterflies. The end of the spaceway came in sight and he stepped into the terminal area and paused to look around.

  Orbital 6 was one of the older stations, built over a century earlier and remodeled several times. Rico didn't know much about its size or capacity, but it was like a small city that circled the planet every twenty-four hours. The room in which he stood was a couple of stories high, pleasingly decorated in muted colors, vegetation everywhere, much of it suspended fifteen feet above his head. To his immediate right was a waiting area for passengers, and just beyond that a desk where two uniformed employees checked baggage and boarding passes for those taking the shuttle back down to Terra. The wall behind the desk sported the blue and white logo of American Spaceways, but Rico knew the Space Force ran everything these days. All civilian carriers had either been taken over by, or subcontracted to, the military. Large amber digits in several places designated this area as Gate 34.

  Rico got his bearings and set out, following a gaggle of debarking passengers into a corridor that led out of Gate 34. It was a big station and this was only a small piece of it. His orders clearly stated that he was to be on the first available lunar shuttle leaving Orbital 6 to his next destination. The Star Marines wanted to know where its people were at all times, so his next stop would be the military registrar's office.

  Passing into the corridor leading toward the main part of the station, Rico spotted a holo with a basic map of the station, complete with the standard You Are Here marker and colored numbers designating various points of interest. He stopped long enough to figure out where the military office was located, then tried to figure out the best way to get there. Several other people were doing the same thing, including another Star Marine Rico had seen on the shuttle.

  "Same ol' shit!" the other man muttered loud enough for Rico to hear. "Every one of these goddamned places is the same! Who can read this shit?"

  "You looking for the registrar?" Rico asked.

  "Yeh." The other Marine was looking at him now. "You, too, prob'ly, huh?"

  "Yeah. I see it on the legend, but I can't find it, either." He grinned. "What outfit you with?"

  "Thirty-first. You?"

  "Thirty-third. I'm Rico Martinez." He stuck out his hand.

  "Tyrone Brown." The other man shook. "You'd think the mutherfuckers'd make it easy for a couple of grunts tryin' to follow orders, huh?"

  Rico agreed. "I guess they didn't know there'd be a war when they built this place," he said. "Only rich and educated people would ever pass through here."

  "Yeah, well, they missed that one by a mile. Hey, there it is! Goddamn! How the hell do we get to it?"

  "Can I help you gentlemen?"

  The two men turned to face a slender young woman in an American Spaceways uniform.

  "If it's your first time aboard Orbital 6," she smiled, "finding your way around can be a bit confusing."

  "We have to find the military registrar," Rico explained. "It's on the map, but—"

  The girl was already pointing.

  "The second lift door on the right, the red one. You'll exit on the registrar's deck, then go left about fifty yards. You'll see the Federation flag as soon as you exit the lift, and the registrar is right under the flag. You can't miss it."

  With a farewell smile, she was already off to help someone else, and Rico and his new companion set off toward the lift.

  "Second door on the right, drop down the lift to the center of the universe, then turn left for four light years," Tyrone said. “Goddamn military is the same all over."

  Rico laughed, glad to have someone to talk to.

  "So where you shipping out to?" he asked.

  "Luna Base 2. Just got off leave." Brown glanced at Rico, and suddenly grinned good-naturedly. "How about you?"

  "I think I'm going to Sirius."

  Brown laughed, short and explosive.

  "Yeah, I'm hip. We live long enough, that's where we'll all end up. How long you been in?"

  "Five years."

  "I been in six. Six fuckin' years! And I thought it was gonna be a' adventure!"

  "Well, I guess you could call it that. I've seen more places in the last eighteen months than I
knew existed. And walked to most of 'em."

  "Brother, I hear that! You been in action?"

  Rico hesitated. "Not yet. You?"

  "Yeah, I was at Outer Worlds. Spent seven months on Ganymede."

  "How was it?"

  "Sheeit! Fucking pressure suits ain't no way to fight a war, man! Ain't no such thing as a flesh wound on one of those airless moons. Your suit gets nicked, you die. Real fast and real ugly."

  Rico nodded as they reached the lift and jumped into it.

  "I trained on Luna for eleven months," he said. "We had four hundred guys in my training battalion, lost twenty-three to suit accidents. When I do get into action, I hope to hell it's on a planet with an atmosphere."

  "You an' me both, brother! I can handle dyin' for the Federation, but if I do I'd rather get nailed fair and square by enemy fire."

  They came out of the lift and found the registrar's office just where the young woman said it was. Eight or nine other military types were signing in ahead of them, and it took ten minutes to find out about their connecting flights. Private Brown's shuttle was already boarding, and an attendant offered to show him how to reach it. Rico's ship wouldn't board until the next day.

  "Well, damn, Rico!" Tyrone said regretfully. "I gotta go. Hope to see you again some time."

  They shook hands once more, and Rico nodded.

  "Good luck, man. Kill lots of Sirians."

  Brown flashed a broad smile over his shoulder as he followed the attendant.

  "Already did!" He waved and trotted after his guide.

  Rico watched him go, then looked at the housing assignment he'd been given. He would have to spend the night on Orbital 6, then board his ship the following afternoon. Unaccountably, he felt suddenly lonely at seeing Brown go. They'd known each other exactly twenty minutes, but he'd liked the other man right from the start. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to for the next thirty hours.

  He shook his head and set out to find the hotel deck. After thirty minutes of searching, wandering up and down various corridors and lifts, he finally stopped another uniformed attendant and asked directions. Shortly he was on the right deck standing in a huge, cavernous concourse that looked like the lobby of a Terraside hotel. It was ornate and functional at the same time, with hovering plants and a small cascading waterfall that belied the fact that he was twenty thousand miles above the planet.