by Chris Hechtl
He put his hands up. “You got yourself into it,” he said. She glowered at him. “Sorry,” he said turning back to the kids. “We weren't told much, but I bet a lot of them will go to Agnosta to learn to be a marine.”
“Oh yeah, true,” Naysmith said, nodding as she latched onto that thread as if she was drowning in a sea of somber faces, which she was. “They'll go there, get an abbreviated boot camp, get fixed up if they need it, and get their implants and stuff. Real rank and all that,” she explained. “Those that joined the marines I mean. Many are still in the Kathy's World militia,” she expanded.
“Don't confuse them anymore than they already are,” Wayne muttered under his breath.
“Trying not to. Do you have any cartoons on this thing?” she stage whispered.
“Only anime which is, um, a bit too adult for them,” he admitted with a flush of embarrassment.
She shook her head. “Okay, um …”
“Ma'am, we're getting reports of additional missing gear,” a supply private said, coming in to the tent. “Um … shit …,” he noted the audience.
“Probably people not keeping up with inventory, and with so many extra bodies, things tend to get lost,” Corporal Naysmith said airily as she walked the private out. “Wayne's got your back. He can answer your questions while we sort this out,” she said.
Wayne grimaced. “Thanks a peach,” he muttered as he turned back to the kids. Hands were raised. He gulped then chuckled. “Okay …”
Once they were outside, the corporal put her hat on to ward off some of the rain then glared at the private. “Okay, what?”
“Some of the stuff has turned up. I know you discounted it as tired minds and misplacing stuff but this is damn peculiar,” the private said, waving a tablet. “We don't have anyone light fingered, and I took a stroll through the barracks to be sure. It's too much for any one person to steal.”
The MP frowned thoughtfully as she went over the list—some medical supplies, a few small items. MREs she could discount. It was indeed odd. Most of the squads were out on patrol or holding critical choke points. Only the HQ squad, a small MASH unit, the captain's tiny staff, and the MPs were in the firebase. “Any of the squads pass through lately?”
“Echo did, um, two days ago.”
“And inventory was done when?”
“Just now,” the aggrieved supply clerk said. “I do it every two days to be sure.”
“Good for you,” Naysmith said, forcing herself not to roll her eyes at the paper pusher's OCD. “Wanna bet Echo did a little pilfering to augment their stocks when they were in the base? They might have had to resupply or something. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission I suppose,” the MP said sourly.
“Ma'am, that's against regs. We might need it in a crunch and …”
“We can order more I suppose. Fortunately, none of it seems critical. They took a bit from each but not the entire supply.”
“That would have alerted us, ma'am.”
“Okay. I'll talk to the Sarge and get him to lean on Echo to ease up on their midnight requisitions. Go check for anything else gone or misplaced.”
“Where is it going?” the private asked plaintively as he took the tablet. “Ma'am, someone's got to write it up and …”
“It's probably being handed out to medic and people in the field, either to lend them a hand or to get them to talk so we can get intel out of them. I'll talk to the Sarge like I said. You finish the inventory,” she said.
The private nodded and took himself off, muttering darkly about forms to fill out.
^<(>^<)>^
As the kids settled in to the firebase routine, a female MP got them to do some chores and light duty to help out and keep busy. They seemed eager to do something to stave off boredom. That they wanted to contribute was a nice change.
She managed to wangle a buddy into getting some combs and brushes from the troops. These she used to get the girls to sit down and do their hair after dinner. As they relaxed and chatted about inconsequential stuff, she opened up a little about her past in order to get them talking about their own.
In doing so her sympathetic ear triggered her training. She realized many of them even at their adolescent age had been raped—some more than once. All were fierce and grim about the enemy though.
“Well, you don't have to worry about it here. We've got your back. We'll get you to somewhere safer when we can.”
The girls exchanged looks. Then one sniffed.
“Ever flown? They might send a ship to fly you out. Won't that be fun?” Roni asked as she braided a girl's hair.
“Like in a plane? Or El Diablo?”
“Um … plane I think. Aircraft I mean. It might be a blimp, I don't know.” Then the significance of the last question caught up with her. “Wait, what do you know about this El Diablo?” she probed eagerly. “You've seen him?”
“Of course. We do not speak of him though. El Diablo will protect us,” they told her. One girl lifted her chin. “He saved me. Cut the bastard's throats,” she growled.
That surprised Roni. She stared at them, taken aback. “You … wait, let me see if I'm getting this straight. You've met the big bogeyman? This El Diablo?”
One started to nod but then a person coming into the mess tent made the girls lock up.
“You know of him?” the intel officer asked, having heard the last. She came in, bright eyed and eager for details.
“He killed the men who were … who …,” the girl squirmed looking away.
“He killed the ones who killed my mom and dad,” a blue-haired little girl said and then snuffled. After a moment she wailed for her mom, heartbroken. Her fellow kids patted her back in sympathy. “That's okay, Gracy. It's okay,” one of the little girls murmured, rubbing and gripping her shoulders.
Snuffling she was led off.
The intel officer was torn. She wanted to get more, a description, but the kids were obviously too traumatized to continue. Also, due to their age, their stories would be highly suspect. If she pressed the issue, they would shut down on her. She had to build trust and that took time.
“Ma'am, I hope you'll hold off. With all due respect, I was getting them to open up a bit …,” the MP said with a closed expression.
“I know. I screwed up. I should have held off.”
The MP hesitated then nodded once. “Yes, ma'am, you did. But what's done is done.”
“You have a degree in this?” the ensign asked, clearly nettled. She knew that the best people to draw out the kids were female or someone close to their age who was sympathetic. Men weren't made to handle such things well, though they did try.
“In trauma therapy, no, ma'am. I was working on a psychology degree, just an associates before we shipped out though,” the MP told her. “and I know kids are hard to get stuff out of. They see things from a different perspective. They also tend to omit details.”
“And see things from a lower viewpoint. Things we may not need to know,” the ensign sighed. “We've got to get a handle on this though,” she growled. “Just got to.”
“Well, I do have one thing for you,” the MP said. Instead of verbalizing her report, she downloaded the entire conversation to the officer's implants. The intel officer nodded and went off to her temporary office to process the file and glean what she could. She immediately set up a program to break the dialog down into a script she could easily read and process as she walked.
“That'll keep her busy, I hope,” the MP said with a shake of her head.
^<(>^<)>^
As the kids settled in, they quietly told stories of their childhood before the pirates came with the occasional snatches of bits about their survival after the pirates had come. All of them avoided talking about their first encounters with the pirates; it seemed it was just too traumatic for any of them to face.
All of the children checked out healthy. Some of the older kids were given spare clothes that the marines had picked up in their travels. All were fed and ba
thed on a regular basis.
Alley was gratified about that. The kids had it all down to a routine with the older kids acting as noncoms or officers to make sure the younger set got whatever needed done. They never yelled and never fought. The kids were dutiful and quiet when they weren't playing. It took several days for her to see them play much at all. Usually they locked up and watched the marines with soulful eyes whenever one of them came by. They were quiet until the marine departed too.
She did admire that the kids were squared away, having their own version of check-in each morning and inspection. That was amusing to some of the jarheads; they took it as mimicry. But she saw it as an established routine, just like the roster they called off with chores. None of them argued; they all pitched in, even in the mess tent doing dishes. She was impressed.
Polly and a brown-haired young man everyone called Doc Boy kept near her during her waking hours. Both seemed eager to learn so she tried to remember to keep up a running commentary on what she was doing and why. They seemed amused by her antics.
Only when a marine on patrol came back with a battered soccer ball and kicked it around a few times did they lighten up to play a little. She even saw a few crack the occasional smile. A laugh made her smile in turn. Slowly tension she didn't know she had built up seemed to ease. The kids were starting to relax, to fit in. That was good.
But there was one kid who was pretty good at avoiding her attentions, despite her duty. The shaggy-haired pack leader was very good at avoiding getting checked out by the medic. It baffled her; he'd insisted the others each get checked.
“We need to check him out, Polly; he might be sick. He's hunched over all the time like that. We could help. I know he wears baggy clothes, but I've seen his hands and arms. They are like sticks!”
Polly shook her head. “No, he's always been like that. It's the way he was born. He's a … chim … chim ….” Her face took on a troubled expression as she struggled with the word.
“Chimera?”
“Yeah,” the girl said, beaming.
“Oh.” Alley frowned thoughtfully. After a moment she shrugged. “I've treated chimera before. I wonder if he's body shy?”
“Yeah,” the girl said exhaling in relief as the adult latched onto that excuse.
“Well, he doesn't have to be. I've seen a lot. I treat all kinds: Neos, bugs, humans, and little kids,” she teased, smirking at the girl. “Even Gashg,” she said, wrinkling her nose.
“Gashg? Really?” Polly asked, eyes wide. “Where?”
“Oh, on Agnosta before we left. The idiot got himself banged up. Would you believe they like that sort of thing? Masochists the lot of them I swear. The females have a thing for scars,” she said, shaking her head. “You'd think they'd get enough with their claws when they um …,” her voice petered off as she remembered her audience. She blushed and then coughed into her fist. “Sorry, um …”
“So, you've treated all kinds of species?” the girl prompted.
“Yeah,” Alley said. “I went to school for a long time to learn, then took my turn in practical medicine. I've got the equivalent of a paramedic license. Here, closer to a trauma nurse I suppose,” she said thoughtfully. She shrugged. “I'm not really interested in settling here though, no offense.”
“Um, none taken. Why though?”
“I go where the navy tells me to. Once we've got the pirates cleaned out and things sorted out, they'll reassign us to somewhere else. We might get some downtime, then we'll do a bit of training and then we're off to the next planet.”
“Are there a lot of them?” Doc Boy asked.
Alley turned to him. “A lot of what? Pirates or planets?”
“Both,” he said.
She frowned then shrugged. “A question above my pay grade I guess. I don't honestly know. We know the pirates have taken a number of worlds. We're in the business of taking them back.”
“Good,” Polly said, touching her arm briefly. “You said we need to put the spray away? What is it again?”
“You mean the stuff we used to clean the marine's leg? It's a biofoam. It's got antiseptic and antithetic properties in one. Some cauterize too. It is a form of field dressing to close a wound until the patient can be medivaced for better treatment … to say here,” she said.
“Cauterizer. So they won't lose blood?” Doc Boy asked carefully.
“As long as the wound isn't too deep or nicks or cuts a major artery or vein,” Alley explained. “When one of those happens, the medic has to clamp it, then repair the blood vessel or use a surgical laser to cauterize it. But that will lead to the loss of the limb if it isn't undone and properly repaired within a few minutes. But better to losing a limb than a life …”
^<(>^<)>^
Despite the inquiries, the pilfering problem continued. Corporal Naysmith narrowed it down to the kids. Theft hadn't been bad at all before the kids had come; it had been practically unknown in the camp. Most of the time it had been a case of someone “borrowing without asking.” Anything of value that went missing usually turned up when the owner started to get loud about it, usually on their rack or under it sometime later.
But they were getting bolder, and that bothered her. The sooner the juvenile delinquents were distracted, the better she thought. And the sooner they were out of her hair for good, the better, she reminded herself.
Since the kids were getting taken on as unofficial mascots of the platoon, everyone tended to turn a blind eye to some of the petty things they did. Few grumbled when the kids took up the showers overlong or used up a lot of food and blankets. They knew the kids had been through hell and deserved a break.
Some of the marines tried to get the kids to engage, but they were reluctant. Gracy and Polly seemed to patrol the group, latching onto anyone who got too close to a marine. That was perhaps for the best since the marines didn't need any unwanted attachments at this point the corporal thought.
It didn't stop the squads from bringing back more clothes, toys, and blankets from the nearby farms and abandoned structures though. Some were obviously from wreckage; you could tell from the smell of smoke or suspicious stains. Each squad passed on a report to her and to the officers that many of the places they had visited had already been picked over. There had been no food, medical gear, or weapons. That put a few people on edge, wondering about pirate activity.
Naysmith, however, wondered if the kids had gotten there first.
PFC Orange, a father she knew, brought back a satchel of toys for the kids. He was quite pleased and was ribbed about being Father Christmas by the marines as he held up the bag. But he was in for a bit of a shock when he tried to hand them out.
The older kids were obviously contemptuous of the gift of the toys. The younger kids naturally wanted to play, but their elders smacked their hands away and scolded them. A little boy and girl wanted to play so badly they lingered, sad as the marines stood there, surprised and taken aback by the teenager's anger. The little boy Bobby snuffled and then left, but the little girl stood there stubbornly and sobbed, head down. After a moment she started to howl.
It tore at PFC Orange's heart. The marine got angry and tried to intervene. “Let her play,” he said roughly, picking the discarded doll up. He'd seen the little girl's bright eyes, her inquisitiveness, her sudden fleeting impish smile of anticipation. To see it cut off like that made his blood boil. “You might have lost some of your childhood, but she's just a kid, not a soldier.”
“She is what we say she is. She needs to grow up if she's going to survive,” Polly answered, eying him coldly.
“She can play. Let her play. What is she going to do?”
“She has chores. She has duties to perform,” Polly said, yanking the girl up by the arm. She yanked the girl's arm so hard she yelped and started crying harder.
“You're hurting her,” the marine snarled, stepping in. Suddenly he was surrounded by other kids, blocking him off from the girl. “Damn it …,” he saw the sea of cold faces looking up at him
and hesitated. “It's not right!” His fists clenched, fighting the urge to grab his sidearm. Some of the cold ways the kids were looking at him gave him the willies. “I've got a kid like that back home. I …”
“Enough,” a voice said, cutting over everything. All activity in the quad stilled. All eyes turned to the source of the order. PFC Orange looked up as well. Corporal Naysmith saw his instinctive straightening at the commanding tone. It was admirable that the young man had put so much into one word.
“If there is a discipline problem, refer it to me. I'll handle it,” the dark young man said, staring at them behind his sunglasses.
“I'm trying to give the kid a toy. Wanna tell me what's wrong with it?”
“Nothing. But she has chores and duties to perform. Those come first,” the young man said, hand signing the others nearby. The sled dogs and other animals looked up expectantly at him, ears quivering. He waved a sign and they backed down, laying back down and then attempting to relax.
The corporal stepped forward. She placed a hand on the PFC's shoulder and urged him silently to take a step back from the confrontation. “Let's all calm down. No sense getting upset over something minor,” she said. “A misunderstanding,” she said.
“Misunder … whatever,” the PFC snarled. He stormed off, angry. The corporal saw the little girl look longingly after him before Polly got in her way to block her view. She wondered briefly what that was all about.
“Come to me as I said. I'll deal with it,” the leader said, eying her.
“A little hard to do when you make yourself unavailable all the time,” Corporal Naysmith said, eying the young man. She felt something crawl up and down her back, but she didn't let it affect her. She had a duty, and she wasn't going to give in to the stare of a kid.
“I am where I need to be, when I need to be,” the young man said, turning away from her.
