They reached the far side of Alamagordy and looped through the restaurant district. If it was possible, even more of the spectators looked deep into their cups. All were excited, though, all cheering. One little boy, no more than five years old, rushed out, and Noah had to stop to keep from crushing the little guy. The boy slapped his leg as Kyle Montree almost crashed into him from behind.
“Hi!” he said, hands clasped together as he looked up at Noah.
“Hi,” Noah replied, first over the platoon circuit before realizing his mistake, and repeating it after turning on his exterior speakers.
He slowly lowered his huge gauntlet fist, which the boy happily fist-bumped before running back to his parents at the side of the route.
“Get going, Noah,” Kyle passed on the P2P.
Kyle and Second Team were the second to last rank, with Third Team bringing up the rear of the battalion. Noah hurried a few steps to catch up, but he wasn’t too concerned with interrupting the entire parade. He wasn’t going to risk stomping on a little kid, after all.
The rest of the parade was more of the same. There were fewer people along the terminals, but still, there seemed to be more spectators than total residents of the station. At each terminal, as the platoon marched out to the end, Noah could see the front of the battalion as it doubled back, and twice he spotted Esther. He waved each time, but she probably couldn’t tell him from any of the other PICS Marines.
Forty minutes after starting out, Noah was filing back to the loading bay with the other Marines. He was frankly exhilarated. He hadn’t thought much about the parade, but it had exceeded any expectations he might have had. Their boisterous reception had been better than anything he’d seen before.
Along with the rest of the platoon, he had to wait in the loading bay for quite a while as Second Platoon molted, which was only fair as they’d had to stand around and wait while his platoon had suited up. Noah normally felt a small pang of regret when he molted, but this time, he didn’t give it a second thought as he slid out and the arms took his PICS back into storage.
He gave Turtle a high-five and listened to Tad explain to anyone who would pay attention to him on how many women along the route had caught his eye, propositioning him. They still had the speeches and the dinner, and there would be the beating, at which the battalions with Anglo patrons made extreme efforts to excel, but Charlie Company was in the second seating, listening to the speeches and watching the beating over the monitors.
Beatings were pretty copacetic, Noah knew, what with the pounding of the drums, and some battalion drum corps put on some amazing shows. Listening to the bigwigs ramble on, however, was probably better endured in their berthing spaces. What excited Noah now was after all the official ceremonies, getting out into town. If today’s reception to their parade were any indication, then maybe tonight would be even better.
He wanted to see if Turtle was right. He didn’t drink much as a habit, but whatever he did drink would be so much better if some friendly civilian was buying!
Chapter 22
Esther
“Lysander,” the first sergeant needs to see you,” Sergeant Orinda said, poking her head into their berthing space.
“Do you know what for?” she asked, looking up from where she was cleaning her M99.
“Not a clue. Go ahead and stow your weapon, though. I got the impression from him that you might be awhile.”
She looked down at her skivvy shirt. Weapons cleaning could be a little messy, and her shirt was blotched with polyblack.
“Yeah, better change that first,” the sergeant said before ducking back out.
“Brown-nose,” Vixen half-coughed, half-said.
“Fuck you, too,” Esther replied without any real rancor.
She wondered why the first sergeant wanted to see her. She’d barely had four words with the man and never one-on-one. She whipped off her skivvy shirt, rolling it into a ball, and throwing it in her laundry bag. Pulling out a new one, she slipped it on, then put on her utility blouse. After a quick check in the mirror, she smoothed her short hair, grabbed her rifle, and opened the hatch.
“Say hello to the first sergeant from me,” Vixen said.
Esther lifted her hand behind her, middle finger extended, as the hatch closed. Two minutes later, she was turning in her weapon, although she had to convince the armorer to take it, promising to come back and finish her cleaning.
Another four minutes, and she was standing tall outside the first sergeant’s office. She knocked at the hatch, and a deep, gravelly voice shouted out “Enter!”
First Sergeant Parker was a whippet-thin Marine, supposedly able to run for hours, not that he had much chance to show that off on the station. Esther thought he looked almost like a rat, with a long-drawn-out face. His chest, when he wore his Charlies or Alphas, spoke of a very busy, very notable career, with two Silver Stars and a host of lesser awards. Now, in his utility trou and skivvy shirt, he didn’t look the part.
“Take a seat, Lysander. I’ll be wit you in a sec.”
The first sergeant had a clipped way of speaking, the “wit you” just one example. Esther would have thought a first sergeant would have a better command of the language, but then she remembered his two Silver Stars. She had a feeling that many people over the years might have underestimated him, and they probably regretted it.
He was staring at his screen, so Esther looked around the office. He had a pretty impressive I Love Me wall, with plaques and pics. One caught her eye, and she leaned forward to get a better look.
“Aye-ah. That be your pa, after Yakima 4.”
Esther stood up and moved closer. It was her father, then a colonel. Yakima 4 was where he’d stopped the Klethos, and a young Sergeant Parker was standing tall while her father pinned a Bronze Star on his chest.
“Good man, your pa.”
She sat back down, wishing she could ask what he’d done to earn the Bronze Star, and had her father merely pinned it on him, or had he been more involved with the specific action. She knew a lot about her father, of course. There had to be a dozen books written about him, and there were the three Hollybolly flicks. He had told the three of them—Ben, Noah and her—stories, too. But Esther had not heard too much about him from his fellow Marines, what they thought of him as a peer or as a commander. And she yearned to know. He was her father, her hero, able to do nothing wrong. Was that even close to an accurate picture of him?
She straightened up in her seat, hands on her knees. To her disgust, she could feel a lump in her throat, and her eyes started to moisten.
Get it together, Esther!
She barely heard the muffled voice coming from the first sergeant’s PA, but he responded, “I got her here now. We’ll be down in a tic.
“Lysander, we’re going to da CP now. The skipper’s dere wit da CO.”
“Uh, what for, First Sergeant? Did I do anything wrong?” she blurted out.
“No, nothin’ wrong. The CO, he, well, I’ll let him say.”
He seemed to contemplate her, wondering if he should say something more. Esther looked at him expectantly as he opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“Look, PFC Lysander, you’re OK. You got what it takes. But you ain’t dere yet.”
“Pardon me, First Sergeant?” Esther asked, confused.
“Sergeant Orinda an’ Staff Sergeant Czyżewski,” he said, using the Staff Sergeant Ski’s full name. “Dey say you’re doin’ good, dat you got a future in da Corps. But you got a ways to go, Marine. You need to be tempered still.”
Of course, I need to be “tempered,” she thought. That’s what I’m doing now, aren’t I?
“If da high ‘n mighty are noticing you, that might be intriguing, if you know what I mean. And for someone like you wit big plans, it might seem like a shortcut.”
Am I that obvious? she wondered.
As slow as the first sergeant might seem with his speaking style, Esther realized that not much got past him. His awa
rds spoke volumes as to his skill and courage, but Esther thought there was also a very sharp mind hidden behind his rat face.
“Just remember, you need more time in da trenches.”
“What’s this about, First Sergeant, if I can ask?”
“Not up to me to say,” he said as he put on his blouse. “Let’s go.”
All of the company and battalion offices were in “Command Alley,” so it took less than a minute to reach the sergeant major’s office. First Sergeant Parker didn’t knock and just entered. Esther had flashbacks to Camp Charles and being called in with Noah before seeing the battalion commander, and she felt the first tendrils of nervousness snake their way into her psyche. She still didn’t know what was going on, and the first sergeant’s little speech had her on edge.
“PFC Lysander, thanks for coming,” the sergeant major said.
As if I had a choice.
“The CO wants to talk to you,” he said, offering nothing else.
About what? About what?
“Sir, I’ve got PFC Lysander here. Are you ready?” he spoke aloud.
“Thanks, Sergeant Major. Please, send her in,” the CO’s voice filled the room.
The sergeant major started out, motioning Esther to follow. When the first sergeant started to follow as well, the sergeant major waved him back.
The commanding officer’s office was next to the sergeant major’s, so Esther barely had time to compose herself before the sergeant major was knocking on the jamb of the hatch, announcing, “Sir, PFC Lysander,” then telling her, “Report to the CO.”
Esther drew herself up into a position of attention, then marched in, centering herself on the CO’s desk, saying, “Private First Class Lysander, reporting as ordered, sir!”
Esther had lived her life around colonels and generals. She was on a first-name basis with more than a few flag ranks. Before she enlisted, she would barely have noticed a lieutenant colonel.
How things had changed.
Lieutenant Colonel Oscar de Hugh was not a particularly menacing individual, and his reputation was not that of a hard-ass, yet Esther couldn’t control the trembling in her legs. This was her commanding officer, and he literally had life-and-death power over her. He might as well have been a god.
“Stand at ease,” he said in a pleasant voice, which did nothing to calm her trembling.
“PFC Lysander, I’ve been talking with Captain Mikhailov.”
It was only then that Esther noticed her company commander sitting there, along with the battalion XO.
“You’ve performed quite well in the battalion, quite well. Your BC3 attests to your combat instincts, but beyond that, you’ve exhibited leadership abilities, yes, leadership, that go beyond your rank. That probably can be expected, given your pedigree. Expected.”
Where is all of this going? Esther wondered, more than a little confused.
“You’ve already earned a degree, from an old Earth university, none-the-less.” He looked over at Captain Mikhailov and added, “I only received mine from Sunset.”
Sunset University was one of mankind’s largest off-campus schools, very popular in the military as sailors and Marines could enroll and take classes no matter where they were stationed.
“We, that is Captain Mikhailov, Major Westmoreland, and I are making an assumption, an assumption that you have aspirations, given your pedigree. Are we correct?”
Esther stared at the CO. This was not what she’d been expecting, and she wasn’t sure what she should say. Of course, she had “aspirations.” Who wouldn’t? But she didn’t want to come across as arrogant, or worse, as someone riding her father’s reputation. That last “give your pedigree” could be a loaded statement. But, she couldn’t deny her ambition, so she decided truth was best.
“Yes, sir. I have certain aspirations for my career.”
He beamed at her and said, “Of course, of course. And that includes getting commissioned.”
The CO wasn’t specifically asking her a question, so she remained silent.
“And that’s why I’ve called you here. You’ve proven yourself in combat. You’ve shown leadership tendencies. You’ve already earned your degree. I—we—think you’re ready. I’d like to bring you to H&S. You’ll be one of my clerks, and I want you to observe how the command structure works. The command staff is a well-oiled, a well-oiled machine, something those in the rifle squads don’t realize. If you’re going to be a success as an officer, you need to understand the intricacies of the process.
“You’ll serve with me here, as an intern, so-to-speak, until. . .Major Westmorland, what class would it be?”
“83-3, sir.”
“Yes, 83-3, 83-3, which forms up in February. That gives us time to get in the paperwork, and you can start the next phase of your career. And next June, you’ll be commissioned as a second lieutenant.
The CO stood in front of her, a huge smile on his face, as he waited for her to respond.
Esther felt a rush of excitement. Of course, she wanted to be commissioned—she just thought it would take more time in the trenches. And to have it offered to her on a platter like this was more than surprising; it was simply astounding. She really didn’t think she was qualified yet, that she had paid her dues.
She wasn’t qualified, though, she quickly realized. Sure, she’d been in combat, but she had hardly “proven herself.” All she had proved was that she didn’t run away in fear and that she could trigger an M333. Despite her BC3, that was all she’d proven. And as far as leadership, that was pure BS. She was still a PFC, soon to be a lance corporal, but far from being an NCO. She had no real leadership experience—choosing what flick she and her friends were going to watch on a Sunday afternoon did not qualify.
Esther knew she had it in her. She knew in her heart that she would make a great NCO. But knowing she had the capacity and learning how to be a leader and acting as one were not the same thing.
She yearned to agree with the CO. He was standing there, waiting for a response. He looked positively eager. But why? Did he think that recommending the daughter of Ryck Lysander would reflect on him?
She blinked several times as if she could erase that thought from her mind. She was being unfair. Politics were undoubtedly part of the equation. He wasn’t offering this to Vixen, after all, who had seven more months in the battalion than she had. But he had to think she was qualified. Sending her to NSA Annapolis only to wash out wouldn’t reflect well on his judgment, and, yes, given her “pedigree,” some might blame him for “wasting” her potential.
Esther wanted to say yes. It would be so easy just to say yes and bypass years of experience.
I could learn leadership as a lieutenant, after all, she thought, trying to convince herself that the shortcut would be feasible.
Shortcut!
The first sergeant had warned her about taking a shortcut. He had known what was going to be offered, and without overtly coming out against what the CO was offering, he’d let her know his opinion.
And he was right, Esther realized. She wasn’t ready. The most beautiful blade made by master swordsmiths would shatter like glass if swung too early, before the process was finished. It had to be tempered, just as the first sergeant had said. Esther knew she was the blade, made from the finest steels and full of potential. But she also knew she wasn’t ready. In order to realize that potential, she needed more time and experience.
She took a deep breath and said, “Sir, I am humbly honored by your confidence in me, but I have to respectfully decline.”
His eyes clouded over, and she hurriedly added, “It’s not that I don’t want a commission. You are right, sir, I do want one. But I think I need more time. I’m not even an NCO, and if I want to be the best I can be, to best serve the Corps and Federation, I need that experience from which to draw.
“After all, sir, my father was a sergeant before he was commissioned, and it seemed to work out pretty well for him.”
That last was a cheap shot, she k
new. But he’d used her “pedigree” on her, and she thought it fair to throw it back. She waited for his response. He was her CO, after all, and she couldn’t afford to have him as an enemy. That could forever destroy her future in the Corps.
The CO stood there, eyes furrowed, and when his eyebrows relaxed, Esther let out the breath she’d been holding.
“I think you are ready, PFC, and your reasoning for not accepting only goes to prove I’m correct. Your maturity far surpasses your age and current rank. Far surpasses. But I will honor your decision. Let’s revisit this in a year or so, after you gain the experiences you think you require. So, I am not taking your response as a refusal, but merely a request to postpone a decision. Does that meet with your approval?”
Relief swept through her. She’d managed to tiptoe through a potential minefield and come out relatively unscathed.
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Well, then, PFC Lysander. I’ll release you back to Bravo where you can gain experience. I’ll keep my eyes on you, though. Dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Esther said, coming to attention before performing an about face and marching out of the office.
Did I make the right decision? I could have gotten commissioned, but if I fuck up now somehow, that chance could be gone forever.
First Sergeant Parker was waiting in the passage. He looked up as the sergeant major merely said, “Back to Bravo.”
“Let’s go, Lysander,” he said, the beginnings of a smile ever-so-slightly creasing the corner of his mouth.
Chapter 23
Noah
The “skeeter wings”—the single chevron of his new rank’s insignia—on Noah’s collar felt heavy. He thought everyone had to be noticing them. He was inordinately proud of them, despite the fact that his promotion had been simply due to time-in-grade. There hadn’t even been a real ceremony. The company had filled Classroom A, and after a short lecture on the status of the company and the upcoming month’s general training schedule, several Marines were awarded their Good Conduct Medals, five were given hash marks, and Turtle, Noah, and two other Marines were promoted: Turtle and the other three to lance corporal, Noah to private first class. Now, with ten privates in the company, Noah finally outranked someone.
Legacy Marines (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 1) Page 14
