by Robert Culp
I wave him towards the café line. He returns, sits his tray and himself then asks, “Stakes?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“My four troopers. What’s in it for them?”
“If they win, bragging rights. They put the Captain on her backside. Or did you have something more profitable in mind?”
“I’ll give them an extra down day. But what about the other side? What if you defeat all of them?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing, we shake hands and go about our business. I’m not going to put myself in a position to take anything away from your troopers.”
“I can support that. We do our first formation at 08 and I give out the duties for the day. I’ll have them there, about 0915 ma’am?”
“Excellent, thank you Chief Sergeant, enjoy the rest of your evening. Oh, I didn’t catch his name, but if you can figure out the trooper that took over as bodyguard from Cooper when I got back from Trelnar, I’d consider it a personal favor if he were one of them.”
“I’ll verify but I believe that was Lance Corporal Boteloer, ma’am.”
“I want him, but not to be the referee,” I say.
“Not my call, Captain,” he picks up his fork. “Actually, Boteloer is being promoted in the morning. You’re welcome to attend.”
“Excellent, I don’t mind if I do Chief Sergeant, 0800 you said? I’ll see you there. I hope you’ll forgive me, but I have a few tasks to tend to.” I stand and pick up my tray.
“Not a problem ma’am,” he pulls a document reader from a cargo pocket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
The following morning I’m on the flight deck for the first formation. We don’t have any small craft moving about which makes this the ideal place for the formation. I thought I was being early by being here at 0745 but I’m the last person to enter. The rest are all milling about, waiting. Precisely at 0800 Chief Sergeant Okkam bellows “Fall in!” Every trooper stops what they were doing and gets to their spot. Accountability is taken quickly and efficiently. A series of names are called out and various duties dispatched.
“You have all noticed Captain MacTaggert is present and are wondering why,” Okkam says. “I’m about to tell you. Sergeant O’Shields!”
“Yes, Chief Sergeant!”
“Is Lance Corporal Boteloer in your section?”
“He is, Chief Sergeant!” I look for the sergeant answering. I see Boteloer standing behind him.
“And he is present per your report, correct?”
“He is, Chief Sergeant!”
“Bring forth the accused!” Okkam shouts. What? I see Boteloer’s face. Fear and curiosity mangle his features. Sergeant O’Shields turns around. I see him point out two troopers. I hear him giving instructions but I can’t hear what he’s saying. “Accused?” Yeah, the little shit gave me attitude last week, but he never got out of line doing it. What the hell is going on? O’Shields leads the party of three, Boteloer with a trooper to each side of him, up to Rikk. They exchange salutes.
“Chief Sergeant, the accused is before you.”
“Escort, post! Sergeant O’Shields you will stay here as counsel for the defendant.” The two soldiers march back to their places. “Lance Corporal, about face and look your comrades in the eye.” Before he does, I see sheer terror on the lad’s face. “Sergeant O’Shields, secure the Lance Corporal’s headgear.”
I can’t help myself, “Chief Sergeant, a word?” I say.
He doesn’t look at me. “With respect ma’am, this is my house. I have a duty to you and to the rest of these people.” O’Shields has taken Boteloer’s cap. Much louder Rikk says, “Lance Corporal, nine days ago were you assigned to Captain MacTaggert’s protective detail?”
“Chief Sergeant, I was.”
“Sound off like you got a pair!” O’Shields screams at him.
“Chief Sergeant, I was!” he yells.
“Did the Captain give you a direct order to leave her side?”
“Chief Sergeant, she did!”
“And did you?”
“…” his silence is deafening.
“Boteloer,” O’Shields says, he is standing a little behind Boteloer, “he asked you a question. Answer it and for your sake, tell the truth.”
“I did not,” Boteloer says meekly.
“I can’t hear you!” Rikk yells.
“Chief Sergeant, I did not!”
“So you deliberately disobeyed a lawful order given to you by the ship’s commander?” O’Shields holds Boteloer’s cap in his hand. He’s moved around to stare incredulously into the terrified trooper’s face.
“Yes, Sergeant, I suppose I did,” Boteloer says.
“Don’t tell me, tell him.”
Rikk is still standing behind the pair of them. I can’t see his face, but I do see his shoulders start to shake. Is Rikk crying?
“Chief Sergeant, I deliberately refused to follow the Captain’s order.” I can hear the pain in the young man’s voice.
“And what defense can you offer?”
“Sergeant?” Boteloer looks to O’Shields. “Can you get me out of this?”
O’Shields looks to Okkam, “He has no defense to offer.”
“Then my options are sadly limited,” Rikk says. I look at the ranks of troopers still standing at attention. The younger look just as terrified as I’m sure I do, the older are staring at the deck. Rikk clears his throat. “Sergeant O’Shields, restore the accused’s headgear.” O’Shields puts Boteloer’s cap back on his head then moves to stand beside him, snapping to attention “Lance Corporal Travis Boteloer, I find you guilty of selflessly obeying the orders of your superior non-commissioned officers and following the ideals of your profession in an orderly, efficient, military manner and by the power vested in me as Chief Sergeant of the 8069th Expeditionary Battalion I sentence you to the rank of Corporal. May God have mercy on you, because none of these sons of bitches will. Rest!” The room explodes in applause, hoots, and whistles.
Boteloer looks from the formation of smiling faces to O’Shields to Okkam. Rikk steps forward to shake his hand, “Congratulations, Corporal!” Boteloer’s knees buckle but he doesn’t fall. He snatches his cap and looks at it. I can see clearly enough that it has a new shiny device on it where his dingier insignia had been.
“Please, Boss,” he stammers. “Don’t ever mess with my head like that again.”
Rikk looks at O’Shields. “Did I just hear a brand new corporal attempt to give leadership advice to the Battalion Chief Sergeant?”
“Please show some lenience, Boss,” O’Shields says. “I think he’s still in shock.”
“Fair enough, get him out of my AO. Battalion! Attention!” the troopers stop talking and snap to attention. “Fall out!” They all go their respective ways, many of them shaking Boteloer’s hand and clapping him on the back. Rikk walks over to me, “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”
“Was that necessary?” I still can’t believe what I witnessed.
“No, not really,” he says. “But it was fun.”
“For a second I thought you were going to execute him.”
“I’m sure he did too.”
“I saw your shoulders shake, I thought you were crying.”
“Far from it,” he says running a finger inside his mouth. “I almost bit a hole in my cheek trying to keep from laughing.”
“Are all promotions like this?”
“Depends on who’s in charge. But we do try to keep them memorable.”
“I’ll never forget it,” I say. “Just out of curiosity, if he had pissed off when I told him to, what would you have done?”
“Crawled his ass and delayed his promotion for thirty days.”
“So you were going to promote him anyway?”
“Sure, he’s a good troop. He’s going to make a great NCO if he’ll continue to learn.”
“So that he refused my order…”
“Sergeant O’Shields overhe
ard him telling some of his buddies about that encounter. It was mostly his idea, I just tweaked it a little bit.”
“I’m glad you sadistic pervs are on my side. I’m going to the gym.”
“Have a good day, ma’am.”
At the appointed time four troopers present themselves to me in the gym. I’ve just finished my warm-up. “Okay boys and girls, do you all know why you’re here?”
“Yes ma’am,” Corporal Boteloer says. “SarMajor Okkam said we were to assist you in your self-defense training.”
“That’s close,” I say. “Did he say anything about rules of engagement?”
“Not specifically,” one of the women says. “Ma’am, please tell me we are not here to provide you an accessible target that doesn’t fight back.”
“You are not, I’ll be doing my best to knock you flat on your collective asses, if I get the feeling you are doing anything less than the same, you will all be on KP for a week over and above what you do now. Questions?”
“Yes ma’am,” the other man has his hand up. “You mentioned rules of engagement, any one of us is quite capable of killing bare handed—”
“I’ll stop you there,” I tell him. “Here are the rules: no eye gouging, no hair pulling, no bone breaking, no nipple twisting and no strikes or locks that will keep anyone off the duty roster for more than three days. If you win, Chief Sergeant Okkam says he will give you an extra down day. I’ll give you a week's worth of extra liberty when we get back to Atlas provided our schedule allows. Any other questions?”
“Isn’t one of us here as a referee?” Desiree asks.
“Yes, Cooper, you. Anybody else?” No one says anything. I’ve watched the shraka and give them a brief outline of what the form defends against. For demonstration purposes I go through it while they watch. Then we go through it together for choreography practice. Each nods their understanding when I announce completion.
“Attack!” They waste neither time nor movement. My blocks are effective, but not perfect. I take a few shots. Some of them are very solid shots. But I succeed in keeping my feet. “Stop!” We circle up, all sweating and panting. “That’s the end of that shraka. Now, if you will indulge me, I’d like to try something a bit more—spontaneous—if that’s allowable?”
“We’re yours until the top of the hour, ma’am,” Cooper says. “Given the level at which you’ve been working though, I’d recommend five minute spurts with water and breathing breaks between.”
Boteloer asks, “Same rules of engagement, ma’am?”
“No changes to the ROE or the stakes. But of course, this time there’s no script. Referee, call it.”
Cooper nods, “Take your positions!” Water bottles go back against the wall. I’m a little dismayed but we seem to have grown an audience. “Attack!”
At the top of the hour Chief Sergeant Okkam comes by. During the next break he and Cooper have a whispered conversation. I think I have learned everything I’m going to learn today. So I yell, “We’re done!” And I block the cheap shot that Boteloer throws towards my kidneys. “Nice try,” I mutter to him. In a louder tone I say, “Thank you all for your time. Chief Sergeant, they’re all yours.” I reach for my own water bottle.
“From what Cooper tells me,” he says, “you three haven’t earned yourselves any reprieve. Hit the showers and get to work.” To me he says, “A word, ma’am?”
I take a long pull from my water bottle as the three troopers leave; Cooper keeps her place. Surely she’s not here on bodyguard duty? “What’s on your mind, Sarge?”
He doesn’t overly bristle at the nickname, but he does chide me a bit. “With respect ma’am, my title is ‘Chief Sergeant’ and my given nicknames are ‘Sergeant Major’ or ‘SarMajor,’ but not ‘Sarge.’”
“Duly noted and please forgive my ignorance. What can I do for you?”
“You have demonstrated plenty of skill. And I couldn’t help but notice that at every move you had an avenue of escape if you wanted to use it. If you’d like, you’re welcome to join us in our hand-to-hand classes, Wednesdays at 0830 right here. I can share some pointers that are hard to come by and have proven themselves handy in a scrap.”
“How do you mean?”
“Take up that stance you had at the end, yes that one. I’m going to move behind you. As I recall you did the elbow strike here?” I do it, but only hard enough to let him know it’s there. Firm abs!
“Yes! Stop there! Your hand is flat. Curl your fingers into a fist. That will make your strike harder, your arm firmer and you’re prepared to throw a punch.”
“Like this?” I extend my arm to do the strike again. This time curling my fingers like he recommends. It does feel stronger. I tag him a little harder.
I’m rewarded with a “woof!” and a strained, “Yes, just like that.” He puts his hands between my waist and hips then steps back to my front. He’s not rubbing his belly, but I think he wants to. “What do you call these techniques, ma’am?”
“Shra Kuhn. I’m not a master by any means, but I’m learning.”
“If our schedules allow, perhaps you could teach me?” he asks. “Privately, of course.”
“Don’t want the troops to see you get your ass kicked?” I ask with a mischievous grin.
“Not by a girl, no.” We both laugh. “In truth, I think it’s detrimental to morale if the crew sees you physically engaged—fighting—me; or anyone else for that matter. And it won’t matter who wins.”
“Makes sense to me, I’m sure we can work something out.” I take another pull from my water bottle and steal a glance at the wall clock. “I’m due on the bridge. Call me this evening, we’ll compare calendars.”
“Yes ma’am,” he and Cooper start to walk away.
“SarMajor!” I call.
“Captain?” he walks back to me, Cooper stops where she is but turns to watch.
“I’m not certain,” we’re close enough for a private conversation so drop my volume accordingly. “But it felt like you were trying to feel me up for a cheap thrill, were you?”
“Certainly not!” He steps back looking scandalized. “I would never put my hand on a woman without her permission. Hauling Captain Crazypants to a TMOD was an exception, of course.”
“Of course,” I answer.
He tries to save face. “And with you as my commanding officer, I can honestly say that the merest thought hasn’t even considered entering my brain.”
“What,” I ask. “Would a jury of your peers think?”
He’s silent for a minute then snaps to attention. “Good morning, Captain.”
“Good morning, Sergeant Major.” He walks away, his eyes straight ahead as he passes Cooper. She watches him then turns back to me. Then with the slightest grin and a possible wink, she turns to follow him. I watch him leave. I’m not certain he wasn’t trying to cop a feel. Nor am I certain I’m upset about it if he was.
And of course, there’s the stealth program to keep me busy. Naturally, with Gorb available and up to his chocolate stained teeth in it, there’s not a lot of slack left for me to pick up. On the Transit to Vlondra the engineering department gets another fighter and a shuttle outfitted with stealth gear. The static tests all come back with superb results. I task Shawna with finding pilots to test them with the proviso that if there are other ships in the area, she won’t be one of the test pilots.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When we come out of Transit, Shawna waits on the bridge to receive Celeste’s report with me. She wants something, I just don’t know what. Yet. She seems very agitated, almost bouncing.
“Captain, we are an hour out of Vlondra,” Celeste says. “The planet has two moons; we detect no ships in orbit—”
Shawna interrupts her, “Merrimar and I will fly the stealth fighters and Warrick will fly the shuttle.” There it is.
“Patience!” I chide her. “XO, please continue with your report.”
“Vlondra is a class IX planet, it has a thin but breathable atmosphere. App
roximately 38% of the planet’s surface is water. The non-polar regions look to be from warm to hot by our standards year round, call it 70 Fahrenheit to 130 depending on time of day, elevation, and the other typical factors. Sensors will continue to run as we approach and the model will be refined. Recoverable probes will launch in three minutes,” she turns from her holoCom to face me. “Unless you say otherwise.”
“Thank you.” I turn to Shawna. “Wing Commander: Weapons Hold, do not become decisively engaged. Now get off my bridge.”
“Aye, Captain,” she leaves. She tries to hide her smile, but doesn’t succeed.
“Continue scanning,” I tell Celeste. “I want to give the pilots some recon experience, so belay the probes for the moment. Those moons, do you see any artificial structures?”
“There are what appear to be small artifacts on each moon, they do not appear to be in use at this time. My opinion? They reached out to the moon for bragging rights and proofs of engineering and/or rocketry concepts but if they built anything there, they aren’t keeping the facilities functional. That leads me to believe they have achieved minimal space travel. There is no evidence of Transit technology.”
“Are there any artificial satellites around planet or moons?”
“We’ve identified some antique—by our standards—satellites, probably for weather and communication.”
“Have you identified any radio or other frequencies on which to broadcast our ‘we come in peace’ message?”
“We’ve been sending out the standard ‘we are not hostile and come as friends’ message across the typical broad bands of EM comms. There are two major continents and several smaller landmasses. It looks like—”
“Captain!” Chief Nicholson says, “There appears to be an answer to our hail.”
Celeste and I move over to her station, “Chief Nicholson, on speaker, if you will.”
“Greetings alien ship. This is Rator Slungar. I am the Chief of Sciences at the Howchundar Center for Research. I would invite you to our planet, but we have no functional spaceport large enough for a vessel of your size. Is there any way you could bring me to you?”