Lieutenant Colonel

by Rick Shelley

  Cavanaugh Zim was waiting for him.

  “We’ve started the preliminary assessment of your recorded reports, Lon,” Zim said as they got settled in his office. “And the cataloging has started on the publications you picked up. I imagine we’ll be picking your brain pretty regularly for years to come, trying to get every detail we can out of you. This morning I just want to get some sense of your impressions. I’ve got a few questions here.”

  A few dozen questions. Zim asked his questions, then sat back and let Lon talk, sometimes asking follow-ups, or prompting Lon for greater detail. The session was being recorded, sound and video. That did not bother Lon. Often he closed his eyes while he talked, using that to help him focus his thoughts, his words. At intervals Zim called for a break. They would take five or ten minutes, have coffee brought in, or leave the office to stretch their legs and breathe different air.

  It was very close to noon when Zim said, “I think we’d better call it a day, Lon. Let’s go over to the officers’ club and I’ll buy lunch.”

  Lon got to his feet and stretched. “Thanks for the offer, Cav, but I think I’ll pass. I want to get over to battalion and find out how badly they’ve screwed everything up the seven months I’ve been gone. Probably take me a month or more to get things back the way I like them.”

  “After lunch will do just fine for that, Lon. I really have to insist.”

  “Why is everyone going to so much trouble to keep me away from 2nd Battalion? I heard about Matt’s boy getting killed, but that can’t explain all this. Something must be up.”

  “Keep your shirt on, Lon. Indulge us, please.” Zim guided Lon through the door. “It’ll only be another hour. Then Matt can explain everything. Trust me.”

  Lunch did not go down easily for Lon. He felt annoyed and concerned. He could not imagine what all the secrecy was about, why his return to his unit was being stalled so thoroughly. Zim had to do most of the talking. Lon’s replies were generally monosyllabic. It was a reversal of how the conversation had been in Zim’s office through the morning.

  “Come on, Lon, don’t go working yourself into a lather,” Zim urged. “It’s just that Matt wants this to go just right.”

  “Wants what to go just right?” Lon shot back.

  Zim shook his head slowly. “There’s a time and a place for everything. Just let it drift. One more drink and it’ll be about time.”

  Lon rushed through his final drink. Zim dallied, stalling as long as he thought he could without getting Lon too upset to think straight. Then Zim got up. “I guess it’ll be time by the time we walk over to your battalion headquarters,” he said.

  The central area of the DMC’s main base had been laid out in a regular and orderly way. The largest building on base was Corps Headquarters, which also served as Government House for the world. A broad parade field extended from the west facade of Corps Headquarters all the way to the main gates. The fourteen line regiments were arranged along the long sides of the parade ground, 1st through 7th on the north, 8th through 15th (there no longer was a 9th Regiment; it had been virtually destroyed on a contract that—in retrospect—should never have been accepted, and the 9th had never been reconstituted) on the south. Each regiment had its headquarters at the far end of its section, marking the “bottom” of a long, narrow horseshoe, battalions on the flanks, with battalion headquarters in the center of the company barracks. Ancillary units—armor, artillery, and support services, for example—were quartered farther from the central parade ground.

  Since the main officers’ club, where Lon and Zim had eaten, was south of Corp headquarters, they had only a moderate walk to the offices of 2nd Battalion, 7th Regiment, across the parade ground and down Seventh Street, which ran between the battalion areas. Only a few soldiers were visible in 2nd Battalion’s area, policing the ground—a regular fatigue detail.

  “You could at least give me a hint what to expect,” Lon said as they neared the entrance to 2nd Battalion’s headquarters.

  “No way,” Zim said. “This is Matt’s show. I’m not going to give you a peek at the script.”

  Zim stayed at Lon’s elbow, herding him directly toward Matt Orlis’s office on the ground floor. Zim knocked, but scarcely waited for the muted “Come in” from the other side of the door. Zim pushed Lon in first, then closed the door behind the two of them.

  “Glad to see you back, Lon,” Matt Orlis said as he got up from the chair behind his desk. There was no gladness in the voice, though, and Lon was immediately struck by the drawn—almost haggard—look on Matt’s face.

  Lon met Matt halfway across the office and they shook hands. “I was sorry to hear about Mark,” Lon said. “Nobody would let me come see you until today.”

  Matt Orlis’s shrug was minuscule, as if any more effusive gesture was beyond his physical capacity. “It’s a risk we all take,” he said. “As for the delay…” He did not complete that sentence. “Have a seat. You, too, Cav. You might as well stick around for the rest of this.”

  Lon hesitated. Matt had simply turned his back and retreated to his position in the rear corner of the office, behind his desk. Cavanaugh Zim went to a chair at the side of the room, out of the way. Finally, Lon took the seat near the corner of Matt’s desk.

  “What the hell is going on, Matt?” Lon asked.

  Orlis leaned back in his chair but met Lon’s stare. “This time tomorrow, I’ll be a civilian. I’m retiring. You take over 2nd Battalion. Your promotion to lieutenant colonel is effective at midnight tonight. Vel Osterman from Delta Company will be your executive officer. His promotion to major will be on the same general order as your promotion.”

  “Matt…” Lon started, but Orlis cut him off before he could get more than the name out.

  “Save it, Lon. It’s a done deal. I made my decision ten weeks ago and there hasn’t been a single second thought. I’ve put more than thirty years into the Corps. It’s time to get out. Linda and I need to spend more time with each other, and with our children, our remaining children.” Lon could almost feel the pain in Matt’s voice. “I would have left sooner, but I wanted to wait until you got back.”

  “You could have been the next regimental commander, Matt,” Lon said. He leaned forward. “A seat on the Council of Regiments. Maybe a term as General before long.”

  Matt shook his head. “No. I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it.”

  Once more, Lon hesitated before he spoke. “I’m sure you know your mind, Matt, but I still think it’s a shame. You’re a damned good officer, and you’ve always been a terrific friend.”

  “You’ll be needing a new battalion lead sergeant, too,” Matt said. “I talked Weil into sticking around through the end of the week to help you get settled in, but he’s also retiring. Hell, he’s got more time in the Corps than I do.” Weil Jorgen had been a platoon sergeant in the battalion’s A Company when Lon first arrived as an officer-cadet, and had moved up the line through the years.

  Is anyone staying? Lon wondered. “I’ll want Phip Steesen as my lead sergeant,” he said. “If he’s not retiring, too.”

  Matt ignored the sarcasm in Lon’s voice. “I told Colonel Black it would be Steesen. Regiment will cut the order promoting him effective Friday, when he takes over from Weil officially. I’ll tell Weil to have Alpha send him over so you can tell him yourself.”

  “I’ve got to get back to the shop,” Zim announced, getting up from his chair. He went to Lon and offered his hand. “Congratulations on the promotion, Lon.” They shook hands, then Zim turned to Matt. “I’m sorry to see you go myself, Colonel, but I do understand why.”

  As they shook hands, Matt shook his head and said, “Not entirely, Cav, not entirely,” very softly.

  After Zim had left, Orlis used the intercom to tell Weil Jorgen to get Phip Steesen in as quickly as he could be located. Then he turned to Lon again.

  “It hasn’t been easy, these last months,” Matt said. “You’d think that after thirty years of losing friends and comrad
es, seeing some of them die, a man would get used to death. Especially in the Corps.” He shook his head. “It ain’t so, Lon. It just ain’t so. There are still nights when I wake up crying, feeling a knot in my stomach the size of a soccer ball.”

  “Some things you can’t get used to, Matt. There are nights I lie awake worrying about Junior. He wants to be a soldier as much as I did when I was a kid. And I can’t think of any way to keep him from joining the Corps, as soon as he’s old enough.”

  “My father was in the Corps, and both his brothers. Both my grandfathers. It goes back nearly two hundred years in the Orlis family,” Matt said. “Soldiering is what we do on Dirigent. It makes the world turn. But, dear God, this hurts.” Matt’s voice broke. He seemed to be near breaking into tears. It took him more than a minute to get his emotions under control. Lon sat quietly, not moving at all, trying to keep his own worries about Junior from getting to him in response.

  “Sorry, Lon,” Matt said when he could speak without showing anguish in his voice. “I shouldn’t have laid that on you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Matt.”

  Orlis took a deep breath, held it a moment, then let it out. “Weil can give you a better briefing on what’s going on in the battalion than I can. Delta and Bravo have new officer-cadets since you left. Wallis Ames moved to regimental staff six weeks ago. He’s handling communications and transportation.” Matt shrugged. “After twenty-three years as a captain commanding Bravo Company, something finally turned up that let him become a major.” Ames had been a competent but unimaginative line officer; never any strong black marks against his record but also without any special flair for the business of combat.

  “Charlie Company is number two on the rota for company-sized contracts,” Matt said. “The rest are farther down, and we’ve got a way to go to get to the top for battalion- or regimental-sized contracts.”

  “I know. I checked the rotas last week, just after I got in,” Lon said. Contracts came in all sizes, depending on the needs and resources of the client. The Corps maintained separate listings to make sure that every unit got its fair share of contracts. Contract pay was higher than garrison pay, and—especially on a combat contract—there was always the chance of a completion bonus.

  “If we had been closer to the top, I think I would have retired sooner, Lon. The way I’ve been, it wouldn’t have been fair to the men for me to command the battalion in combat.”

  “You’d have done it up right, Matt, the way you always have. That would have been better than sending the battalion off without either of us.” “I’m just relieved the situation didn’t come up.”

  Lon’s office, across the hall from Matt’s, was much as Lon had left it before leaving for Earth. There were a few recent papers on the desk, and the complink screen showed a list of files that he needed to check out. No sooner had Lon sat at his desk when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Lon looked up to see Lead Sergeant Weil Jorgen enter. “Good to see you back, sir,” Weil said.

  “It’s good to be back, sort of,” Lon said. “Sit down, Weil. I hear you’re running out on me, too.”

  Before he sat, Weil glanced at the door, almost as if he could see through two doors, to where Matt Orlis was. “It’s time for me to hang it up, sir,” Weil said. “Getting awful hard to stay in good enough shape. I’d rather choose when I go out than just turn up deficient on a physical training test. Last one was awful close. Too close.”

  “What about the colonel?” Lon asked, very softly.

  Weil shook his head. “It’s been rough for him, losing his oldest boy that way. Like the life just drained out of him. At first, we all thought it’d pass, that he’d get back to something like normal. Maybe not all the way, but…well, you know, sir. But, if anything, it’s just dragged on him harder. Sometimes I could see him cringe at the sight of battledress uniforms. Like to broke my heart, seeing him like that. We’ve been on a lot of contracts together, all the way back to when he was a raw lieutenant and I was a squad leader. Ages and then some.”

  Lon nodded. “He’s changed, that’s for sure. I’m bringing in Phip Steesen to hold down your desk when you go. I’m glad you’re sticking around a few days to help us all get up to speed. Phip, me, and the new exec.”

  “Well, sir, Major Osterman’s been hanging around several weeks now, acting as executive officer, so he pretty well knows what’s going on already. Steesen, now…” Weil grinned. “Well, I’ll lay you ten to one he spends thirty minutes bitching about you ruinin’ his life again.”

  Lon matched the sergeant’s grin. “No bet, Weil. Phip’s bitched every time we put another stripe on his sleeve. Keeps saying he wishes he was still a private taking orders, not stuck in the middle taking and giving.”

  “He can carry on, but he’ll do the job right as anyone. You get under the crab hide, he’s a damn fine soldier—but don’t you dare tell him I said that, sir.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me, Weil. Any idea how long it’ll be before he gets here?”

  “Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Send him straight back as soon as he comes in.”

  Lon recognized the pattern of the knock on his office door. “Come on in, Phip,” he said. He leaned back and grinned as Phip opened the door and seemed to peek around it before coming all of the way into the office. “Have a seat. Relax.”

  Phip Steesen had been one of the first friends Lon had made when he came to Dirigent and joined the Corps as an officer-cadet. Phip, Janno Belzer, and Dean Ericks had been in the fire team Lon had been assigned to. The three of them had taken him under their collective wing, as it were, and the four of them had quickly become close friends, spending much of their off-duty time together as well. Janno had gotten married and left the Corps little more than a year later. Dean Ericks had been killed on contract, nine years back, on Bancroft.

  “I see you made it back in one piece,” Phip said as he sat in the chair at the side of Lon’s desk. “Get all the cobwebs swept out?” The relationship the two men maintained was delicate. They were close friends, but on duty, Lon was an officer and Phip a noncom, and Lon had been above Phip in the line of command from the day he received his lieutenant’s pips.

  “I think I finally cut the strings,” Lon said. “Earth could hardly be more alien. My folks are moving here. Should arrive some time in the next few weeks.”

  “Hey, that’s good news!”

  Lon smiled. “It is. Now, I’ve got more news for you, and I’m not sure you’ll think it’s quite as good.”

  “Oh-oh. When you start out like that, it’s odds on that I’m not going to like the finish.”

  “You’ve got until ten o’clock tomorrow morning to turn Alpha Company over to your successor as company lead sergeant. Matt Orlis is retiring tomorrow, and Weil checks out Friday. You’re Weil’s replacement. He’s finishing out the week to help us both get settled in.”

  “Oh, Lon. Why’d you have to go and do that to me?” Phip said, and Lon wasn’t certain if the remark was serious or in jest. Or somewhere in between.

  “You know the reasons as well as I do,” Lon said, struggling to keep from laughing. “If nothing else, you know how I like things better than anyone else I might pick, and—most of the time—I know what to expect from you.”

  “Don’t polish my brass. We’ve known each other too long.”

  This time Lon couldn’t hold back the laugh. “Exactly. That’s why I need you in the front office when I move across the hall. Besides, I’m sure Jenny will find use for the extra money you’ll draw as battalion lead sergeant.”

  Phip groaned. “Jenny could find use for the extra money if I was General.” When Phip had finally “broken down” and married, four years before, it had been news almost of the magnitude of “Man Bites Dog.”

  “Does Captain Girana know you’re shanghaiing me?”

  Lon shook his head as he reached for a key on his desk complink. “Weil, get Captain Girana on the
line,” Lon said when Jorgen answered the intercom call. It took no more than thirty seconds before Tebba Girana appeared on the screen.

  “Tebba, you need a new lead sergeant,” Lon told him. “I’m taking Steesen.”

  “You mean it’s official now?” Tebba asked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, I’ve been figuring you’d steal Phip since I heard you were getting the battalion. Wil Nace will be the replacement.”

  “Good choice,” Lon said. “I’ll have the order published. The effective date will be Friday, but I’m pulling Phip over here tomorrow, as of the change-of-command ceremony.”

  “You can have him now, if you can find him,” Tebba said, chuckling. “Just send him back to clean out his desk.”

  “No respect. I don’t get no respect at all,” Phip said, loud enough for Tebba to hear.

  “He’s here with me now,” Lon said.

  “I know, Lon,” Tebba said. “At least, I knew he had been called over to see you. I’ll tell Nace he’s finally moving up. He’s been due the promotion for years. Thought I’d end up losing him to another company so he could get it.”

  “He coulda had my job any time he wanted it,” Phip said.

  Once Phip left, Lon called Sara to tell her the news about his promotion. “This is one you didn’t pick up on the backyard net,” he said then. “The grapevine must have broken.” Over the years, there had been times when the officers’ wives appeared to know when everything happened before their husbands did.

  “I thought Matt would change his mind,” Sara said. “I just couldn’t believe he’d go through with retiring.”

  “You and the kids coming to watch the ceremony tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” Sara said quickly. “I was just trying to decide just what-all I’ve got to get done.”

  “I’ll probably be home late this evening, tomorrow evening, too,” Lon said. “All the time I’ve been gone, I’m going to have a lot of work slipping into the new job.”