Corpsman

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  The heavy beat of “I Want It” by Grayson Parade suddenly blared out into the warehouse to the cheers of most of the Marines. The song was probably not on any Marine Corps approved list of music, but it was popular.

  “Come on,” she said to Vic, grabbing his hand and pulling him out into an open area in the warehouse.

  “But I want my cake,” he protested.

  “You’ll get some, but not now. Now, you dance!”

  Within moments, other couples were out on the make-shift dance floor, bopping to the music. Vic was a good-looking guy, but he danced like a possum with a corncob stuck up his ass. It didn’t matter, though. It just felt good to let loose.

  Wythe followed Vic, then Corporal Sativaa, then Pablo, who was a surprisingly good dancer. They were followed by a string of men, most of whom Liege didn’t know. She didn’t care. Liege was a party girl at heart, and this was her first party since landing on the planet.

  There were far fewer women than men in the battalion, and while male Marines danced alone or with each other, most waited their turn to dance with a woman. Even the CO got out to shake her ass, first with the XO, S3 and chaplain, then with a very embarrassed PFC Poussey, much to the delight of the battalion.

  The warehouse wasn’t the most elegant place for a birthday ball, but it was the Marines and sailors who made a ball, not the venue. And Liege was having a great time. She was sad when two hours later, the music was cut off.

  “Sorry to pull the plug, but all of you on the port watch, you need to get ready. We’ve got to let the starboard watch come in for their ball,” the sergeant major passed on the mic.

  The squad filtered back to their table, picking up their covers and the plastic cups with:

  United Federation Marine Corps

  398th Birthday Ball

  Second Battalion, Third Marines, The Fuzos

  Skagerrak Point, Jericho

  stamped on the side.

  “I never did get my cake,” Vic said to Liege as they started to file out of the warehouse.

  “Neither did I,” she answered.

  She didn’t care. This was only her second Marine birthday ball, but she thought she would remember it well for the rest of her life.

  TARAWA

  Chapter 18

  Liege had Vic put another five kilos on the bar. Flattening her shoulder blades, she took a breath, lifted it free of the cradles, then slowly brought the bar down to her chest before pushing it back up. It was more difficult this way, the slow lowering, but Liege was able to complete the eight reps, withVic hovering over her, hand poised and ready to assist if she needed it.

  “Good job,” he said as the bar settled back into the cradle.

  Four months earlier on Jericho, Liege would never have imagined she’d become a gym rat, and she certainly couldn’t imagine benching 60 kg. She felt better physically—no hint of her kiss by the energy weapon anymore—but more than that, she felt better mentally. She had a new level of confidence.

  She got off the bench, raising her eyebrows to Fanny, who usually lifted heavier than her. Fanny just nodded and got on the bench as it was. Liege felt a small surge of pride. She’d finally reached Fanny’s level.

  “So, as I was asking you, you really didn’t know what the Corpo de Fuzileiros meant?” Vic asked.

  “No, I told you. I could figure out “corpo,” but “fuzileiros?” What the heck is one of them?”

  “But it’s our nickname. You never wondered what a “Fuzo” is?” he persisted.

  “Not really,” Liege said as she moved to spot Fanny.

  “And you’re from Nova Esperança, right? Settled by Brazilians. And you can’t speak Portuguese?”

  “Hell, Vic. I’m from DeBrussey, and we don’t speak French,” Fanny said as she settled her grip.

  The night before had been the battalion’s patron day celebration. The battalion’s patron was the Portuguese Marine Corps, the Corpo de Fuzileiros, formed in 1618 and one of the first Marine Corps in existence. When the Federation Marine Corps was formed, each of the infantry battalions adopted one of mankind’s extant Marine Corps as its patron unit as a way to carry on hundreds of years of traditions.

  Vic had asked Doc if the battalion’s motto, “Braço as àrmas feito,” was well-known on Nova Esperança, and he’d been surprised that she’d never heard of it, nor did she know what it meant. He brought it up again that morning at the gym.

  “Yeah, but Doc here, I’ve heard her swear in Portuguese, so I thought she must speak some,” Vic said as Fanny started her set.

  “But I’m not Portuguese. My ancestors were Brazilian, but we speak Standard at home,” Liege said.

  Actually, there was a flavor, so to speak, of old Brazil in the favelas. Liege’s Avó could speak some Portuguese, and quite a few words had become absorbed into Standard, not the least being her gang’s name, Commando Meninas, which simply meant “Commando Girls” in Portuguese, but using a few words in daily life was a far cry from knowing how to speak another language.

  “Anyway, it’s not like we’re the same as Portuguese. Brazil had its own Marine Corps. I looked it up last night. 3/8 has them for their patron, so if I’m supposed to have some historical connection to Earth, maybe I should have been assigned to them.”

  Fanny finished her set, and Liege helped Vic add 40 more kilos to the bar.

  “So do you have any of the old customs at home?” Vic asked as he lay down on the bench. “What about food?”

  “Food? We eat what the fabricators put out,” Liege said with a laugh. “Nothing too fancy in the favelas. Maybe the suits get more, but we make do with what we can afford. But, I guess we do like Carioca red beans and rice, and I think that’s Brazilian.”

  “Oh, I know that. They serve it at a rodizio my family likes.

  “Rodizio?” Liege and Fanny asked in unison.

  “Sure. Rodizio. There’s another word for it, too, churrascaria. You sit down, and waiters come out with big long swords with roasted meats on them. The servers cut the meat off right onto your plate.”

  “Ha, I don’t think our fabricators have those kinds of recipes,” Liege said.

  “No, not fabricators. I think it has to be real meat. And lots of it,” Vic said just before he started his rep.

  “Oh, aren’t we high society, only eating organics,” Fanny said, reaching over to fist bump Liege.

  In the favelas, Liege had eaten real vegetables at some of the festivals at the cathedral, but never to her knowledge meat. She had organic meat a few times with the Marines, but she’d mostly toyed with it on her plate. To be honest, the thought gave her the willy-wallies.

  “You don’t know what you’re missing. Tell you what. There’s a rodizio in Kentville. Let me see what they have, and if it looks good, we’ll all take a weekend and hit the town.”

  Kentville was Tarawa’s main resort. Tarawa didn’t get a lot of off-planet tourists, so it mostly serviced residents. But it was supposed to be nice, and there was even a Marine Corps Lodge there. The room rates at the lodge were based on rank, so Liege, still an HM, would have to pay very little. Liege was saving up to bring her family to Tarawa, but she’d always wanted to check out Kentville, so if she could share expenses, that might be fun.

  “OK, you check it out, and we’ll think about it,” Liege said, speaking for both Fanny and herself. “But right now, you’re hogging my bench. I think I’m good for 65 kilos, and you’re in my way.”

  Chapter 19

  “When’s she supposed to get here?” Wythe asked.

  “She’ll get here when she gets here,” Fanny told him.

  Most of the squad had parked themselves on the steps to the barracks, waiting for Tamara Veal to show up. Liege was pretty excited. She’d watched the fight on Halcon 4, of course, almost beside herself as Tamara stepped into the ring.

  Tamara had always been a big girl, but the gladiator Tamara was almost unrecognizable compared to the lance corporal squadmate she’d been. She looked huge, even on the
holo projector, but she moved with a sense of grace that was surprising for someone that large.

  When she’d moved into what everyone now knew was a Maori haka, Liege couldn’t remain sitting. She’d gotten up in the barracks common room where at least 60 Marines were packed in to watch, giving up her seat and starting to pace back and forth.

  When the fight with the Klethos queen commenced, Liege couldn’t tear her eyes away, but she feared what she’d see. The battle went back and forth for a few moments, and it looked as if the Klethos had kicked Tamara to the ground, but suddenly, the Klethos’ neck was spouting blue blood, and the fight was over. The cheers that filled the common room threatened to shake the building’s very foundation.

  And now, for the first time since she’d left, Tamara was coming for a visit.

  They’d already had a formal parade that morning, with the commandant himself presenting Tamara with a Single Combat Service Medal. Liege tried to catch Tamara’s eyes as they passed in review, but she wasn’t sure the gladiator had seen her among all the Marines marching by.

  Liege was a little nervous to be meeting Tamara. They were friends, but not bosom buddies. Tamara had left before the bonds had grown too strong. And now Tamara wasn’t even a lance coolie anymore; she was a warrant officer. Maybe she was above them now. Fanny and Liege had been tasked with escorting Tamara to a room to get her into some over-sized Fuzos PT gear the battalion had specially made for her, but maybe with her new rank, she’d want another officer to help her instead of two non-rates.

  Fanny and she had discussed that possibility, and they’d decided that if Tamara objected to them, they’d ask Lieutenant Southerland, one of Hotel’s platoon commanders, to take over.

  Liege leaned back, elbows on the step behind her. The sergeant major had passed that Tamara was visiting the Wounded Warrior Battalion, so it was just a matter of waiting. Pablo and Lassi were sitting on the next step below her, playing Next. Liege could never quite grasp neither the rules nor the attraction of the inane word game, and she only listened in with half an ear.

  Her mind was drifting when the low murmur rising from the battalion let her know Tamara was coming. A large, custom van pulled in front of the battalion CP.

  “Come on, Liege. We’ve got to get up there,” Fanny said, pulling on her arm.

  The two wove their way through the Marines as Tamara, looking sharp in her alphas, stepped out of the van to the cheers of the battalion. She stood there for a moment, looking a little embarrassed, when they reached her.

  “We’re guessing you might want to get more comfortable, ma’am?” Fanny said, holding out the PT gear.

  “I’ll ‘ma’am’ you, Fanny, but yeah, let me get changed,” Tamara said, looking happy to see them.

  Tamara scanned the crowd, then pointed to the rest of the squad, now standing on the steps.

  “About time you showed up, ma’am! We’re starving here!” Wythe yelled out to the laughter of the crowd.

  Tamara followed Liege and Fanny, high-fiving Marines as they went. Tamara had to duck to get into the CP, and they led her back to the sergeant major’s office. In the constrained space for her bulk, it was a little difficult for the gladiator to shuck off her alphas, which Liege took and hung up on a large, but still too-small hanger. She slipped on the PT gear with the 2/3 emblem emblazoned on the front of the shirt. They didn’t have any shoes big enough for her, so she kicked off her florsheims and simply went barefoot.

  “I heard Jericho was pretty rough,” Tamara said.

  “Yeah, it kind of sucked,” Fanny admitted. “The ROE[12] was messed up, you know.”

  “You heard about Wheng, right?” Liege asked.

  “No, what about him?”

  “They brought a wall down on him, him and Korf. Korf was messed up, but he pulled through and was CASEVAC’d, but Wheng didn’t make it,” Liege said.

  Tamara looked gut-shot when she heard.

  “Don’t let Doc downplay it. When the wall went down, we got hit bad, and she went all badger there, digging like crazy while rounds were bouncing everywhere. She pulled Korf out and saved his ass. She’s getting a Navy Cross for it.”

  “Really?” Tamara asked.

  “It was no big thing,” Liege said, trying to be humble, but feeling more than a bit of pride.

  What she’d done was nothing like what Tamara had accomplished, but still, she was proud to see that Tamara seemed impressed.

  “Well, your fans are out there waiting. Shall we?” she asked Tamara.

  The three left the CP and rejoined the massed Marines and sailors. The sergeant major called Tamara forward.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said to the two of them as she strode up to join him.

  The sergeant major welcomed her “home,” and gave a brief synopsis of her time with the battalion, with focus on Wyxy—as if no one there had already known it all. He only talked for a few minutes before giving the mic to her.

  “Thank you for your welcome,” she said, stumbling a bit on the words. “I. . .I’m glad to see some friendly faces. And some not so friendly, Staff Sergeant Abdálle. Yeah, I see you there,” she said, pointing down at him.

  “Oh, she didn’t!” Lassi said, as the squad fist-bumped each other and the battalion broke out into laughter.

  The platoon respected their platoon sergeant, but it was fun to hear him take a little shit.

  “I’ve followed your deployment on Jericho, and I have to say, I’m proud of you, all of you. I just found out that my friend, Doc Neves, is up for a Navy Cross, and I’m, well, I’m bursting with pride at that. I just wish I’d been with you in person instead of just in spirit.”

  Liege turned red at the mention. This was Tamara’s day, not hers.

  “I’m detached from the Corps right now. But there are eight of us serving as gladiators, and we remember our roots. And my roots, where I feel at home, are with Second Battalion, Third Marines! Fuzos!”

  Her saying “Fuzos” opened up the faucet as over a thousand voices opened up with “Fuzos, Fuzos!” Finally, it looked like Tamara gave up and handed the mic back to the sergeant major. He gave up as well, and signaled to the food line to start serving.

  Liege and the rest of the squad started heading over to where the chow hall had prepared a pretty good layout. With recent promotions, Lassi Rassiter was the only PFC left in the squad, and she could have gone up ahead, but she stuck with the rest.

  When Liege and the other E3s reached the head of the line, she was surprised to see that Tamara was there slinging macaroni salad. Liege held up her plate and received a scoop while Tamara told her to save a place for her. She gave Wythe two scoops, telling him that was for making him wait.

  By that time, Liege was accepting a roll from the battalion CO herself, who had taken a position serving on the line as well.

  “Here you go, Doc. Get yourself a dog from the XO. They look pretty good.”

  Liege was in her PT gear, not in uniform, and it still surprised her when senior officers singled her out. She knew with the Navy Cross recommendation she was somewhat of a rising star, but that boggled her mind.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she said, hurrying to where the XO was dishing up hotdogs.

  Once through the line, Liege followed the other E3s back to their position on the steps. Tyrell started to take a bite of the choco-nudge cookie when Wythe smacked his hand.

  “Wait for the warrant officer. She said she’s joining us.”

  A few minutes later, the corporals showed up, and after that, Sergeant Vinter made her way back to join them. They sat around making small talk, their attention on the big gladiator still dishing up food.

  Tamara was a chief warrant officer, higher ranked than any enlisted Marine, but lower than even a boot lieutenant. So if she was going to go by rank to get fed, she’d be right after the sergeant major. As the guest of honor, she could have been first, but she’d thrown that out when she decided to serve.

  “She’s going last,” Wythe said
, looking back to the serving line. “She just made Gunner Morrey go before her.”

  Gunner Morrey was a Chief Warrant Officer 4, so he was senior to her. There weren’t that many officers though, even if there were some visiting O5’s and even an O6. It didn’t take long before the four servers made a big show of serving each other, and Tamara made her way back to join the squad.

  Wow! For such a big girl, she sure doesn’t have much on her plate, Liege noticed.

  Tamara looked around, then folded her legs, and as graceful as a cat, sat down on the grass so her face was almost level with those sitting on the steps.

  There were a few hesitant words spoken, and more than a few “ma’ams,” before Tamara broke out with “Let’s cut the formal stuff for the duration, OK? I got promoted, but it’s more of an honorary position. And I really just want to relax and get all the scuttlebutt.”

  The squadmates looked at each other awkwardly. Honorary position or not, she was still a chief warrant officer.

  “Like what?” Corporal Sativaa asked hesitantly.

  “Well, for starters, who’s hooked up with who? When I left, Tyrell, you were madly in love with some cashier at MakerMart. Is that still on?”

  “Oh, tell her, Lover Boy,” Fanny said excitedly, but not giving him the chance to respond. “His little cashier was 16 years old, and get this, her dad was the logistics group chief of staff.”

  “No!” Tamara said, her eyes alight as she leaned in.

  “Hey, I didn’t know that when I met her. She said she was 19 and that her family were tech monitors at Cool Air. As soon as I found out, I cut her off,” Tyrell protested.