Then there were the two Federation Novas. One went to Hanaburgh to go along with the Silver Star he’d been awarded for the fight on Lore ten minutes before.
Not bad for a hooah FCDC trooper, Hondo had thought, as he listened to the Nova citation.
Like most Marines, Hondo referred to the FCDC troopers as “fuckdicks,” but if they could produce Marines like Burger, then he vowed to stop doing that.
Then there was the second Federation Nova, awarded to Second Lieutenant Armando Abrams, United Federation Marine Corps. That had been bittersweet. Hondo understood now that during the battle, the lieutenant was already in a deep depression, and he’d been trying to get killed by the Grubs, only his fighting spirit wouldn’t let him when he had his Marines to defend.
PTSD had been around since man first began to fight each other. “Battle fatigue,” “the thousand-yard stare,” “shell shock,” and “soldier’s heart” were all terms used before medical science began to codify the disorder. Modern medicine could do wonders to combat it, but a sufferer had to seek treatment—and those around them had the duty to get the sufferer help. Even today, after centuries of fighting the disorder, fighting men and women often couldn’t face the fact that they needed help.
It was a sign of weakness, it was a sign of not being up to the task—that was the thinking. Marines (sailors, soldiers, Legionnaires, Guardsmen, host, etc.) were strong, and they never needed help, right?
But the same serviceman or woman would think nothing about going through regen to replace a missing leg, to grow new eyes. Somehow, the shame was still there, that someone suffering from PTSD was at fault for their thoughts.
Hondo and Staff Sergeant Rutledge had gotten stinking drunk the day after the lieutenant had killed himself. They had both seen it in their platoon commander, and neither had reported it to the battalion commander, the battalion surgeon, or even the chaplain. Neither wanted to ding on their commander, a man they’d admired tremendously. If they had, however, then the lieutenant might possibly be still alive and being treated. He’d be standing next to Hanaburgh right now, the Federation Nova around his neck.
Raising their fifth or tenth beer, both men had vowed to each other that they would never ignore the signs of PTSD again. Even in death, their lieutenant would possibly be saving future lives, and they owed him that.
In the center of the parade deck, Gunnery Sergeant Rutledge handed the company colors to Private Batbayar, the junior Marine in the company, who took her position behind him and to his left. He performed an about-face, waiting for the general’s orders. This would be his last moment as acting company commander. In formation behind them, Captain White and more than 150 Marines waited, ready to be formally assigned to the company.
Hondo had been surprised that the twenty-three of them had been left alone so long. He knew it was politics. The situation with the Brotherhood was still shaky, and the public affairs bureaucrats evidently thought that keeping the survivors together made for better propaganda, to remind them what the UAM—and the Klethos—had done to protect the same Brotherhood that had abandoned the fight.
Politics or not, Hondo had appreciated the chance to stay isolated, spending as much time as they could in the field training. He just hadn’t been ready for a new Alpha Company.
Ten more minutes, and that new company will be here.
He still wasn’t sure how he would feel when Rutledge handed the colors to Captain White. Not that what he felt would change the course of the company.
Behind the general, the adjutant called out the order to commence with the change of command.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we now begin the second part of today’s ceremony where Gunnery Sergeant Roy Rutledge will relinquish command of Alpha Company, First Battalion, Fourteenth Marines, to Captain Harris L. White,” the narrator said.
Meanwhile, Cara stepped five paces forward, did a left-face, and marched forward to stand beside the gunny, while Captain White and his first sergeant marched forward alongside the massed Marines, then performed a left-turn and marched across the front of the formation to come to a halt next the gunny and Cara in the box formation.
The narrator started giving the standard spiel about the history and meaning of command, but Hondo’s mind started to wander. His thoughts were on those who had fallen. He knew Greg Ling’s family was in the stands observing, as were Antman Acevedo’s, and he wanted to see them when this was over. The first sergeant’s wife wasn’t. Hondo, along with the rest of the company, had helped Guang Nordstrand pack up her base housing the month before, and she’d left Aegis 2 to return home.
A flurry of motion registered in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t budge. The gunny was passing the company colors to the captain.
The old Alpha was gone, long live the new.
The gunny and Cara marched back to the rear of the formation, while Captain White took his place as the new company commander. And that was that. After the general gave the command, Captain White dismissed the company—his company now.
Immediately, the civilian handlers rushed forward to gather the “old” Alpha Marines for a photo-op and questions from the press, and for the next ten minutes, Hondo joined the rest in posing with the first minister and the general while answering questions about how proud—and humbled—they were. The handlers had spent several hours prepping them over the last two days, so they were ready and knew what was to be expected. Even Pickerul kept to the script without any snide comments.
Hondo kept scanning the crowd, so he was surprised when he heard a “Hey, Solider, looking good!” from behind him.
“BK, glad you could make it,” he said, edging back so he could see his good friend.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said, lifting the Cross from his chest with a finger, before letting it back down and giving him a crushing hug. “I miss you, big guy,” the petite Marine whispered in his ear.
“How did you get permission to come? I thought you guys were on work-ups?”
“We are. But I just happened to give an interview to the local station, which was picked up by the UP. I told them about how we came up together, how close we are, how everyone looks up to you. You know, all the bullshit.”
“Don’t tell me, your command thought they’d get some good press if you came.”
“Got it in one. And one of those newsdrones hovering over us like fucking gnats is on us now . . . oh, don’t worry, you guys listening now can edit out my nasty language,” she added, looking up at the mass of tiny drones that were recording the ceremony.
She turned him around to better display his Navy Cross, then spoiled it by raising her middle finger.
“BK!”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m serious about them editing it. But let’s give them something they can use,” she said before jumping into the story about how the two of them had to molt from their PICS on K1003 and then attack one of the Grubs in their longjohns.
To listen to her, Hondo just about saved the entire universe from utter destruction. Hondo just listened and nodded, letting her go on.
“Hondo!” another voice called out, and he turned to see Lauren coming over, one arm dragging Cara, who was still talking to a reporter who kept following her and asking questions. She was in her Navy whites, the first time he’d seen her in a dress uniform.
Hondo wasn’t sure if the bright light in her eyes faded a few lumens when she saw BK’s arm around his waist.
“Uh, Lauren, hi.”
“Congratulations on your Navy Cross,” she said.
Hondo just nodded, then said, “Lauren, this is BK. BK, this is—”
“I know who this is,” BK said, an almost evil grin coming over her face. “This is your—”
“BK!”
“Well, it’s true, big guy. You’ve already told me about her.”
She turned to Lauren and said, “Pleased to meet you. I’m BK. Hondo and I go way back. And take it the sergeant you’re dragging over here is Cara?�
��
“Can you give me a moment?” Cara asked the persistent reporter and said, “Good to meet you, Sergeant. I saw that interview you gave on the net. I’d like to hear more about Hondo fighting the grubs in his longjohns. That’s an image that’s burning in my mind.”
“Hey, BK. How long are you going to be here? I’d like to speak to Lauren for a few moments, if I can.”
“Until zero-dark-thirty tomorrow. So sure, maybe I’ll tell Cara here about K1003. But you’re taking me out to dinner—that is, unless your girlfriend objects.”
Shit, BK, give it a rest!
He was beginning to doubt the intelligence of spilling his life secrets to his best friend.
He looked at her shit-eating grin, then rolled his eyes.
“I’ll catch up to you in half an hour. Try not to get into any trouble.”
“Me? Trouble? You wound me!” she said, linking her arm through Cara’s and leading her away from the anxious-looking reporter.
“Girlfriend?” Lauren asked when they were alone, or as alone as two people could be while standing on the parade deck with people milling about.
“That’s just BK. She loves to yank people’s chains.”
Lauren shrugged, but she didn’t look convinced, if the tiny smile that tilted the end of her mouth was any indication.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving the company.”
“I know, Cara told me.”
Cara was keeping Second Squad. There would be seven new Marines in the squad, and she said she wanted to make sure the new Second was as good, if not better, than the old.
“So, you’re going up to battalion headquarters? That’s what she said.”
“Yes, for three weeks.”
Lauren raised an eyebrow and asked, “And what’s after that?”
“I’ve been talking to people, you know. And I need a change. I know Cara’s staying, but for me, it isn’t Alpha anymore. Wolf and Tammy are leaving, too.”
“So, you’ve been talking to people? And what do these people say?” she asked, her voice sounding just the tiniest bit apprehensive to him.
“Well, I just decided this morning, and I told the sergeant major. I’m going to recon.”
“Recon? she asked, sounding surprised.
“Well, RTC, that’s the Reconnaissance Training Course. I have to make it through the eight weeks to get the MOS.”
“Wow. I didn’t expect that.”
“RTC’s on Tarawa. All it does is see if we’ve got what it takes, weeding out those who can’t. And then there’s MSOC, where we actually learn the skills for the job. That’s another twenty-four weeks.”
“That’s a long time,” Lauren said, her voice subdued. “After that, then what? You coming back to Fifth Division?”
Which he knew she meant Camp Walters on Aegis-2.
“I don’t know. I can’t select that.”
“Well, I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Hondo had been dreading this moment. He’d enjoyed Lauren’s company for the last few months. She’d come down to the planet, and he’d spent two weekends up on Holcomb Station—the first time along with Cara, the second time alone, just Lauren and him. She was fun, and a good friend. He wondered sometimes if she might become something more than a good friend. But now he was telling her that he wasn’t going to be around.
He could have easily gotten a job at battalion or one of the higher headquarters, but Hondo had to get away. There were too many memories, both good and bad, that were filling his thoughts to the bursting point. He didn’t think he had PTSD, but the lieutenant and his problems were heavy on his mind. He’d finally spoken with one of the Navy psychiatrists, who had ruled out classical PTSD, which was a relief, but suggested that maybe he needed a change of scene. The more he’d thought about it, the more he thought that was a good idea. Then a chance meeting with a recon gunny had piqued his interest. The idea of pooping and snooping out on his own, with only a small team instead of a full squad, had a strong allure. He asked for a screening, which he passed (barely), and with his record, he’d been accepted.
He still hadn’t signed off on the orders, but his meeting with the sergeant major had convinced him to pull the trigger. Immediately he felt as if a load was taken off his shoulders, and he was excited to begin.
That didn’t answer what his relationship with Lauren was, or if there even was a relationship. Military romances were difficult at any time, but with her in the Navy and him joining recon, that would be a pretty difficult obstacle to overcome.
He wanted to try, though.
“And you really want recon? You aren’t simply running away from the past six months?”
“I thought I was at first, but no. I really want to do this. I want to prove myself.”
She nodded, her eyebrows scrunched up.
“Three weeks, huh?” Lauren finally asked him.
“Yeah. I leave on the 18th.”
“Do you have any leave saved up?”
“Well, yeah. It’s been hard to take any of it with the tempo around here.”
“I think I can manage ten days. What about you and I taking leave together?”
What? Hondo wondered, looking over at her.
She was staring straight ahead, her body as still as a statute.
“I . . . I think that would be great,” he managed to get out.
A smile crept across her face as her posture relaxed.
“Yes, it would be,” she said, as she reached out and took his hand in hers.
Thank you for reading Alliance. I hope you enjoyed this book, and I welcome a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or any other outlet. The second book in the Grub Wars, The Price of Honor, is now available. You can read the first chapter below or by clicking here.
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Other Books by Jonathan Brazee
The United Federation Marine Corps
Recruit
Sergeant
Lieutenant
Captain
Major
Lieutenant Colonel
Colonel
Commandant
Coda
Rebel
(Set in the UFMC universe)
Behind Enemy Lines
(A UFMC Prequel)
The United Federation Marine Corps’ Lysander Twins
Legacy Marines
Esther’s Story: Recon Marine
Noah’s Story: Marine Tanker
Esther’s Story: Special Duty
Blood United
Women of the United Federation Marine Corps
Gladiator
Sniper
Corpsman
High Value Target (A Gracie Medicine Crow Short Story)
BOLO Mission (A Gracie Medicine Crow Short Story)
Weaponized Math (A Gracie Medicine Crow Short Story Available in the Expanding Universe Anthology 3)
The United Federation Marine Corps’ Grub Wars
Alliance
The Price of Honor
United (working title, coming soon)
The Return of the Marines Trilogy
The Few
The Proud
The Marines
The Al Anbar Chronicles: First Marine Expeditionary Force--Iraq
Prisoner of Fallujah
Combat Corpsman
Sniper
Werewolf of Marines
Werewolf of Marines: Semper Lycanus
Werewolf of Marines: Patria Lycanus
Werewolf of Marines: Pax Lycanus
To The Shores of Tripoli
Wererat
Darwin’s Quest: The Search for the Ultimate Survivor
Venus: A Paleolithic Short Story
Secession
Duty
Non-Fict
ion
Exercise for a Longer Life
Author Website
http://www.jonathanbrazee.com
The Price of Honor Page 25
