Tales From the War (Kinsella Universe Book 5)
Page 11
“As you wish, Commander.
More Marines appeared, some going up, most down. The gunny pushed up his ‘eyes’ and watched as two medics worked on each of the bodies.
“Good work, Commander,” the gunny told him, when the second team had looked at their boss and shaken their heads.
“They wouldn’t quit. The second one I really wanted...” Ernesto sighed.
The gunny waved at the dead man. “Risky shots. Knees are small and knobby. His head was obviously too small of a target, not many brains.”
“I grew up on Barrio,” Commander Sanchez said sadly. “You learn to shoot young there.”
The gunny nodded. “So I’ve heard.”
One of the medics leaned close the gunny and spoke for a minute in a hushed whisper. The gunny’s face had no expression. “Police the area, corporal. Make sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s. No screw ups. The full med team will be here in five.” The corporal nodded, and he and the other combat medics began to survey the area with the Mark I eyeball and video cams.
The gunny nodded in the dead men’s direction. “I am told that they were both zonked to the gills. The one you took the gun from has a crushed chest from when you dropped on him. He’d have died in minutes, even if you hadn’t shot him. Number two should have been immobilized with pain. But he wasn’t.”
“Suppose I BSed about my part?” Ernesto asked curiously, more pro forma than anything else. It wouldn’t matter.
“The whole complex is wired, Commander. It’s all on tape; the Board will get instant replay. Quite a sight. If you ever get tired of the soft life, you come see me. I can get you fixed right up with something a whole lot more exciting.”
Ernesto laughed. “I rather like calm and quiet, Gunny. One day I’m going to retire to a little place up in the hills of Barrio.”
The gunny nodded. He had a cousin who’d served on Barrio. His cousin had said the hunting there was better than any place else in the universe. Every critter on the planet hunted people; you hunted back or become alien plop. The gunny saluted the commander, and if you wanted to believe it was coincidence that was the moment his captain appeared.
The Marine captain eyed the bodies, then Commander Sanchez. “Sir, if you would, please come with me.” Ernesto followed him out into the corridors, a few doors now open, curious eyes watching him. Abruptly Donna was there, waiting. “Ernesto?”
“Just two goons, Konigin. A lot of noise, no risk.”
She looked at him for a long moment. “Sure.” She turned to the Marine captain. “Tell your boss, thanks.” She walked away without another word.
The captain watched her go, and then said quietly, “Such gratitude! You take down two armed men, unarmed yourself, and she doesn’t say a word of thanks to you; just me.”
Ernesto stopped and touched the other’s arm. “Captain.” The other stopped and looked. “My job is to protect her. That’s my duty. In a little while, you’ll be off duty. Do you think your boss is going to stop by after hours and thank you for having come to work today?”
“I didn’t save his life.”
“Captain, you’d do well to find another job,” Ernesto told the younger officer and then starting walking away, leaving the other standing, uncertain.
The captain turned to the gunny, watching from a few feet away. “I pooched it; damned if I know how.”
“Duty, Captain,” the gunny told him, nodding in the direction the lieutenant commander had vanished. “Duty isn’t a scalar -- it’s boolean. You do it, or you don’t. It’s like being pregnant or dead -- you are or aren’t. Little duty, big duty... doesn’t matter. You do it, or you don’t.
“That ensign; she thanked Colonel Huerta because his job isn’t protecting her, that duty belongs to Commander Sanchez. She thanked the colonel for putting you on call; she didn’t thank you for doing your duty either. Just the colonel for going out of his way. You need to think about this, sir. You really need think about it. The commander is correct; if you don’t understand this, sir, you’re going to be a total screw-up the first time it hits the fan.” The gunny turned and walked away, without a further word.
The Marine captain silently watched the tech crews going over the scene for the seventh or eighth time. Thoroughness; that was the watchword, the colonel had told him: every “i” dotted, every “t” crossed; everything by the numbers.
The reason zooted Marines had been banging on that door two minutes after the first report of gunfire was because there was a Ready Force on duty; not the usual TO & E for an officer trainee’s dormitory. “In the event nothing happens,” the colonel had told them at the briefing, “it will have been a useful exercise. I’m as sure as I can be; we’re going to be seeing considerable RF activities in the coming weeks and months. I like being ahead of the curve.”
Four hours later the captain was off duty at the officer’s club, sitting with his best friend. “Jack, your family have been Marines for what a hundred fifty years?” His friend nodded. The captain explained what had happened, what he’d said, and what he’d been told. “I don’t really understand, Jack.”
“When the colonel briefed us; do you think he had specific orders?”
The captain thought, realized that there had been none, and shook his head.
“Someone in BuPers or, maybe Operations called the Marine Commandant. We have a young woman, going to be at the Fleet Academy for the Quickie Class. No details. Not so much even, as a gruff, ‘See to it no one disturbs her studies.’ Just the statement. And eventually it worked down to the colonel. Then to us.
“It wouldn’t be right, you see, to put that kind of guard on an ensign -- no matter how deserving. Not formally. So, a quiet word and here we are.”
“I don’t understand.” The captain was more unnerved than he’d ever been before. “If she’s important, she should have guard detail.”
“She’s Fleet; she’s one of us. We take care of our own. None of us, not one, would be comfortable with special interest intervening like this. Not if it was for ourselves. Yet, she’s Fleet. Pond scum do not sneak around with silenced weapons, faked orders and are allowed to kill one of us. Not while we can stop it. So, no. No orders; no formal orders. But duty, yes. Duty.”
The captain saw his friend searching his face; was appalled to see the other’s face close off. “Jack, tell me what’s wrong? It has to be simple, something basic.”
“Hold your breath.”
The captain looked surprised, hesitated, before doing as bid.
The other man shook his head. “You fail.” His voice was cold, hard.
“Why? I did it.”
“You hesitated. What if someone had dumped gas in the compartment and I noticed it first? Do you really expect alarm gongs and warning sirens first? Absolutely not! Someone will say, ‘Hold your breath.’ Duty, instinct. You have a textbook understanding of the concepts. Do you understand that you will get people killed, the way you are now?” His friend shook his head. “I have to report this, I’m sorry.”
“Look,” the captain said, frantic. “It has to be something simple! For God’s sake give me a clue!”
The other looked at him, no expression on his face. “You don’t understand what I am talking about; you don’t have that clue you were talking about.”
“I don’t understand what?” The captain was beside himself with rage and frustration.
The other shook his head. “Anything and everything. I’m sorry.” Jack stood and left. The captain sat looking at the bubbles rising in the beer in his glass; finally he turned and left himself. A few minutes later he was banging on a door. A blurry-eyed gunnery sergeant opened it a few minutes later.
“Captain,” the gunny said with a grimace, not looking pleased.
“Gunny, they say you should go to your gunny when you haven’t a clue how to find your ass. Gunny, I don’t have a clue! None of this today makes sense! What am I doing wrong?”
“You want to know, Captain?” the Gunny asked. The cap
tain nodded. “Look me right in the eyes, and ask again.”
The captain lifted his eyes and met the gunny’s. “Gunny, what am...” There was a clink of metal on the floor, the captain looked down, then back up. There was an old-style .45 automatic lined up at the captain’s head.
“Captain, the first rule of being a Marine, officer or enlisted... the very first thing you have to learn: do what you are told.” The gunny wiggled the gun barrel, but not enough to let the captain escape. “That suffices for all of us, enlisted and commissioned. The rest of the regulations boil down to little more than that.
“Officers, Captain, have to learn it as well as the lowest ranking line grunt. Then they have to learn why you give orders. Captain, you don’t follow orders, and you haven’t a clue why they are given.
“The first thing you do, Captain, when given an order is think about whether or not you’re going to obey it. Orders aren’t debatable, Captain. There’s never a question about why, just how. It’s just something you do. Sorry, sir, you don’t.” Abruptly the pistol vanished, and the door slammed shut, leaving the captain in the hall, feeling foolish.
The next morning he stood in front of the colonel, rigid, trying not to be deathly afraid. The colonel was reading a personnel file, almost certain his, before he looked up.
“I get negative reports on officers from Port all of the time. Occasionally from Fleet. Port complaints, for the most part, I file under ‘dirty-foot Porties’ and ignore. Fleet complaints -- well, I look those over. Now and then there are meat-heads, even in the Fleet, who don’t understand what is means to be a Fleet Marine.
“Captain, Commander Sanchez is not a fool. He says that you need ‘extra training in the area of order taking and duty management.’” The colonel looked at him, his eyes bleak.
“Now, a brother officer has suggested that you might not be fit for duty with troops. And last, but not least, Gunny Hodges has requested information from your Officer Training School as to who your TAC officer and gunny were there. ‘To prevent a possible gap in Marine OTS training.’”
The colonel’s eyes bored into his. “Tell me, Captain, in your opinion should I make an effort to salvage you?”
The captain stood rigid, finally shaking his head. “No, sir. I don’t understand what it takes to be a Marine officer.”
“I don’t understand N-space geometry, Captain. I asked if you think you can learn the job.” He waved at the folder on his desk. “Gunny Hodges blames your training for your poor state of preparation.”
“I don’t know, Colonel.”
The colonel looked down at the papers, then back at the captain. “I’ve had no complaints about your performance until today. I personally signed off on your promotion to captain; I commanded your promotion board. What do you think I should do with you?”
“I need to learn my duties, sir. Better than I have up to now.”
The colonel stared at him for a long second, then said, “All of us, every last member of the Human Race is in danger of our lives. Our enemy is implacable, not interested in anything beyond our destruction.
“The effort of every last one of us is required in our defense of our species. Officers have been shot for gross incompetence, for failure to do their duty in this war, Captain. As it stands now, you would be at grievous risk to suffer the same fate, and worse, the mission might fail.
“I am assigning you to the 211th Regimental Combat Team. They currently have the duty for the Intake Training Command. You will command a Marine Boot Company. Your duties in that area, Captain, will be 100% administrative.
“The two reports on you, plus the request for information are in your records jacket; however they have not been logged. The major who commands the 211th, Captain, will read them, and then make his own judgment concerning you. If, Captain, you learn more about your duty, how to take and give orders, he would be at liberty to tear those reports up. Or log them, thus ending your career and very possibly your life. Do or die, Captain.”
The colonel snapped a salute, and the captain returned it; then wheeled and left the room.
IV
Two hours later the captain was walking towards the shuttle stop when a short woman stepped in front of him. He stopped and blinked. Donna Merriweather! He glanced around, but saw no one.
“Ernesto told me this morning that my thanking your colonel was the proximate cause of your relief.”
He shook his head. “No, I was relieved because I don’t have a clue about what I’m doing wrong. I think too much, I'm told.”
“And I think too little, Captain,” she told him. “I’ve never had a problem giving or taking orders; my father made very certain I learned to jump to obey his every whim, everyone else around me jumped to obey my slightest whim. From the very earliest age. I’ve learned to think; it’s a judgment call, Captain.”
“I lack good judgment,” he told her simply.
“You lack experience,” she corrected him. “The bozos will tell you about duty and honor until the cows come home, Captain, but it’s all judgment.” She held his gaze.
“I don’t want you to move until I tell you to,” she told him.
He locked every muscle in his body; not if I’m run over by a truck, will I move, until told otherwise. Even if I outrank her.
“Behind you, to your left, a man is drawing a bead on me with a rifle,” the young woman said matter of factly. “You have a pistol, a phone. Do something -- now!”
He took a step to his left, moving forward; knocking her to the ground, covering her with his body, scrabbling for his weapon from the awkward position.
There was a chuckle from beneath him. “Ernesto would go ape, seeing you groping me!”
He looked down at her, startled. “Exercise complete, Captain,” she said softly. He lifted up, and held out his hand to help her up.
She faced him. “They have it wrong, Captain. It’s your emotions that are getting in your way. You find yourself in an unfamiliar situation, and you don’t know how to proceed, so you fall back on emotion.”
She shook her head. “That's a bad choice, Captain. Stick with your instincts.” She waved at the floor. “Those were good instincts, Captain. Just do that and you’ll be fine.” She bobbed her head, “See you around the Fleet, Captain!”
She turned and left.
V
Richard Merriweather remained seated as the others flanking him stood to greet the three newcomers. Two of the Federation people were known to him. One was the Federation Resident General, the man who represented the Federation Council on Campbell’s World. His only function in the Campbell’s government was Director of Statistics. The second man was Rear Admiral Jimmu Timmu, the cocky Japanese who commanded the Fleet base on California.
Unsurprisingly, Admiral Timmu was in the rear; Richard despised men who preferred to lead from behind. It was the third man, the one he didn’t know, who led. “Chairman Merriweather,” the man in front said, introducing himself, not offering to shake hands. “I am Vice Admiral Charles Gull.”
Richard didn’t let the frown he felt show on his face. He’d at least heard of the admiral; formerly Deputy for Fleet Operations and was obviously no longer retired. “You know Admiral Timmu and the Resident General do you not?” Admiral Gull continued.
Richard nodded and remained seated and unspeaking. If the other was going to ignore some of the elementary forms of diplomatic courtesy, so could he. “This is General Thom, my chief of staff; Albert Napier, the minister of state; Chief Alauemi, my interior minister.” He waved at the last of the men in the room. “Gonsalvo Rickie, the prime minister.”
“I was somewhat remiss in my introduction, Chairman Merriweather,” Admiral Gull continued smoothly. “I forgot my other title. I am the Federation Regional Commander, Region 16. Fourteen systems, including Campbell’s World, are under my direct military command. I have also been directly appointed military governor of Snow Dance, where I anticipate I will command from, for the foreseeable future.”
“Yes, sir. And considering the nature of the Emergency, I have extensive civil authority as well.”
“Civil authority in what areas?” the interior minister demanded.
“Except for Snow Dance and Campbell’s, truthfully, not much. Later, perhaps. Certainly I will be coordinating the overall war effort of the systems in this region. I am just from Snow Dance; we met the aliens there a week after they came here. Snow Dance had four incursions; all were destroyed without loss to the Federation.”
“You defended Snow Dance?” General Thom asked, obviously surprised.
“Yes. I have a squadron of ships placed at my disposal. I determined that Snow Dance was too important to allow to be destroyed or taken. We think that the aliens were going to attempt a landing.” Admiral Gull smiled thinly. “They were unsuccessful.” He glanced upwards. “While I left a defensive force at Snow Dance, most of my flotilla came with me. Here.”
Admiral Gull reached into a pocket and placed a HDD on the table. “These are Federation Orders-in-Council for Campbell’s.”
Everyone in the room glanced briefly at the plastic disk, and then back at the admiral. “As Snow Dance, Campbell’s will have a special status, not at all similar to that which most planets enjoy.”
“Why are we being singled out?” Richard asked calmly.
Admiral Gull shrugged. “There was an incident, prior to the attack here. A ship, saying it belonged to the ‘Campbell’s Patrol’ approached California Base without a flight plan. They were warned off, but continued to approach. They only broke off after being fired upon. Admiral Timmu was, of course, somewhat curious about what the ‘Campbell’s Patrol’ was. Then the aliens attacked and he could see what the Campbell’s Patrol was. Private, nuclear armed vessels.”