“Jasmine,” Mandy said, catching up with her. “Do you want to join me for a drink?”
“Sure,” Jasmine said, after a moment of hesitation. She would have to download the files on Corinthian, then read through the interview transcripts again ... there was just too much that they would have to do. And if they failed to find a way to slip down to the planet, the entire operation would have to be aborted. “Just remember ... no shop talk.”
Mandy nodded as they stepped out of the main building and walked towards the coffee shop. Alcohol was strictly prohibited on base, with threats of dire punishment handed out to recruits on their first orientation talk, even though it couldn't affect the Marines. Not, Jasmine considered, that it really mattered. The coffee was very good.
“It’s been too long,” she said, as they sat down with a mug of coffee each. “How have you been?”
“Shipping backwards and forwards,” Mandy said. “And yourself?”
“Shipping backwards and forwards,” Jasmine said. They shared a laugh. “I think you’ve probably been doing more interesting missions than me.”
“I don’t know,” Mandy said, thoughtfully. “I handed Sword over to her new Captain four months ago, then spent two more months commanding one of the new-build cruisers. It was quite exciting.”
Jasmine smiled. “I bet you never thought that you would command a starship while you were on Earth,” she teased. “Aren't you glad you came?”
Mandy nodded. “I still wonder what happened to my friends at times,” she admitted. “And then I’m glad to realise that I’m out here, well away from Earth.”
“It took you long enough to realise it,” Jasmine said.
Mandy flushed. “I was a stupid brat,” she said. She shook her head, firmly. “Michael found someone else. It shouldn't bother me, but it does. Why?”
“Poor emotional control,” Jasmine said, deadpan. She smiled at the girl’s shocked expression. “It's been two years since you dumped him. Do you want him back?”
“Yes ... no ... I don’t know,” Mandy admitted. “There are times when looking at him reminds me of everything and times when I just want to crawl into his arms and hide. Does that make sense?”
“I think you were promoted too far while too young,” Jasmine said. Marines went through hell before receiving their tabs, but the ones who couldn't take it were weeded out before they reached the Slaughterhouse. Mandy hadn't volunteered to be enslaved by the pirates for several months. All things considered, she'd done extremely well. “How are you coping with command?”
“Fairly well,” Mandy said, softly. “There are just times when ... when I feel unsteady.”
“Make sure that you have a steady XO,” Jasmine said, wondering if she should take her concerns to Colonel Stalker. The last thing they needed was a starship commander having a breakdown while the ship was in combat. “And watch yourself carefully.”
“I hope we’ll have more chances to spar while we’re in transit,” Mandy said, grimly. “I need to learn.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jasmine promised. Mandy had taken to unarmed combat like a duck to water, although she would probably never match Jasmine or Captain Delacroix. It wasn't an uncommon reaction among liberated pirate captives. “And I’ll keep an eye on you.”
It bothered her, more than she wanted to admit, that Mandy showed almost no reaction to her words.
Chapter Nine
The eventual shift to parliamentary democracy moved the source of power from the monarch's person (and lineage) to the people. Power was vested in a representative body that could overawe the strong and, at least in theory, provide both stability and an ability to overcome the succession issues that had plagued earlier states. When there was a clear idea of how the next leader was to be selected (and eventually replaced) it was possible to plan ahead, far more so than in any other state. Furthermore, as the parliament (however named) was elected by the population at large, it was difficult to question its legitimacy.
-Professor Leo Caesius, Authority, Power and the Post-Imperial Era
Jasmine scowled as she straightened her dress uniform, silently grateful that she didn't have to wear the gaudy designs favoured by the Imperial Army or the Civil Guard. Marine dress blacks were formal without being too spectacular or uncomfortable, but she didn't know any Marines who actually liked wearing them. But there was no choice.
Besides, she thought, four days in lockdown was quite bad enough.
A trumpet blew and she straightened to attention, followed rapidly by the rest of the Marines. “Company ... present ... arch,” Command Sergeant Patterson bellowed. “Mate and match!”
Jasmine unslung her rifle from her shoulder and held it upwards, forming one half of an arch. The other half was formed by Sergeant Barr, who had taken two hours off the training field to attend the wedding. Jasmine kept her expression blank as Joe Buckley, flanked by Blake, appeared at one end of the line of Marines and marched down the middle of the arches. At least they’d been able to come out of lockdown early enough to rehearse the ceremony before it actually began. Forming the marital arch didn't look difficult, but it was harder than it seemed.
Joe Buckley stopped in front of Colonel Stalker and saluted. After a long moment, Colonel Stalker returned the salute, then motioned for Joe Buckley to step backwards.
“Dearly beloved,” Colonel Stalker said, in a soft voice that seemed to carry to the edge of the field, “we are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Rifleman Joseph Buckley to Lila Namath, a woman who has shown her willingness to enter our family. We welcome her to the fold.”
Jasmine turned to look as Sergeant Howell, standing in for Lila’s father, escorted her through the rifle-formed arches. The girl wore a white dress and a veil that hid her face, although her dress was tight around her breasts and hips. She certainly looked to have a good figure, Jasmine decided, wondering why Joe hadn't seen fit to introduce Lila to the platoon beforehand. But then, Blake would probably have scared her off, wrecking the platoon’s unity in the process.
Lila stopped in front of Colonel Stalker and bobbed a curtsey to him. The Colonel saluted her in return, then looked past her towards the rest of the Marines.
“Form ranks,” Command Sergeant Patterson ordered.
The first time Jasmine had heard that order, back in Boot Camp, it had been a disaster; the Drill Instructors had not been impressed as the recruits crashed into one another. Now, the platoon moved smoothly into lines behind the happy couple, showing their support – and, Jasmine realised in a moment of irrelevance, blocking their line of escape. She couldn't help wondering, as Colonel Stalker cleared his throat, if that had been deliberate. Both parties could have backed out well before the ceremony got underway.
“Marriage is a commitment,” Colonel Stalker said. “Those who marry into the Marine Corps join something far greater than the sum of their parts. Their partners are as much as a part of the Corps as those who have suffered through the Crucible to win their Rifleman’s Tab. They are there to support their partners – and through them, the Corps. It is no small commitment – and it is no shame to admit that it is beyond one’s ability to handle.”
He was right, Jasmine knew, although a civilian would have difficulty in understanding it. A military position was far more than just a common job; a military partner suffered stresses and strains that had torn thousands of marriages apart. It wasn't uncommon for a wife to be separated from her husband for months, if not years ... and then only to see her husband for a few weeks before he was called away again. She would raise their children alone, without enough help or support ... and, if the husband was badly wounded, she might even end up taking care of him as well.
The Marine Corps tolerated marriages and did its best to support them, but it often wasn't enough. Jasmine had worked her way through Boot Camp and then the Slaughterhouse; Lila hadn’t ... and couldn't really understand what was going to happen until she experienced it. Jasmine could only hope that what she and Joe h
ad formed was strong enough to last the decades, because Joe couldn't stay at the training grounds indefinitely. Sooner or later, he would go back on active duty and leave Avalon for weeks or months at a time.
She smiled ruefully at Joe’s back. At least a male Marine could get married. Marriage was often the end of a female Marine’s career.
“Lila Namath,” Colonel Stalker said, quietly. “Will you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, forsaking all others, in sickness or in health, to be with him until death do you part?”
“I do,” Lila said, softly.
“Through him, you are marrying the entire Marine Corps,” Colonel Stalker added. “His duties will impose upon you – and you will owe duties to the Corps yourself. Will you accept this burden?”
Jasmine felt a tear prickling at the corner of her eye. Military wives had to work together; they were the only ones who understood what their fellows were going through. A Marine’s wife was an Auxiliary even though she’d never been within a thousand light years of the Slaughterhouse, one who was vitally important to the morale of her husband’s platoon – and, for that matter, for the other wives. At least Lila wouldn't have to deal with wives from the Imperial Army. The senior ones often believed that they shared their husband’s rank.
“I will,” Lila said.
“Joseph Buckley,” Colonel Stalker said. “Do you take this woman to be your legally wedded wife, forsaking all others, in sickness and health, until death do you part?”
“I do,” Joe said.
Command Sergeant Patterson raised her voice. “Where is the ring?”
Blake made a show of searching through his pockets, then produced a tiny box from his sleeve. Colonel Stalker took the book and opened it gently, revealing a simple gold and silver ring. Normally, wedding rings for Marines were produced on the Slaughterhouse – in their own way, they were as unique as Rifleman’s Tabs – but this one had been produced by a jeweller in Camelot. It would be replaced if contact was ever re-established with the Slaughterhouse, Jasmine knew, but it just didn't seem likely.
Maybe we need to start producing our own Rifleman’s Tabs, she thought. It was against tradition, but so much tradition had already been dented when the Empire withdrew from the sector – and much further towards the Core Worlds, if the defectors were to be believed. Admiral Singh would not have dared move against the Empire so openly if she believed it still posed a threat. After all, previous rebellions by military officers had drawn a sharp response.
Colonel Stalker held the box in front of Joe Buckley. “Take the ring,” he ordered, quietly, “and place it on her finger.”
Joe obeyed.
“With this ring,” Colonel Stalker said, “I pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”
Joe gently pulled the veil aside and kissed Lila on the lips. Jasmine smiled when she saw the girl; she looked fragile, but there was an inner strength and determination that might just keep her going when times grew hard. And she clearly loved Joe ... she joined in the cheers and whistles as the kiss grew longer and longer, before they finally separated, still holding hands. Blake wolf-whistled cheerfully and Joe tossed him a look that promised bloody revenge in the future.
“We shall now proceed to the mess,” Command Sergeant Patterson ordered. “Form ranks behind the couple and advance!”
***
Edward allowed himself a smile as the Marines followed Joe and his new wife into the mess hall, which had been specially decorated for the occasion. The cooks had joked about feeding the happy couple on standard rations, but after they’d pushed the joke as far as they could they’d consented to produce a proper wedding cake and a decent meal. One advantage of serving on Avalon was that it was easy to obtain proper food. There was no need to tolerate the algae bars of Earth when planet-side.
It was a pity that Gaby couldn't join them for the ceremony, he thought, let alone the handful of other Marine wives who had either followed the company from Earth or married Marines after they had arrived on Avalon. Tradition was tradition, however; the wives would meet Lila officially later, although Gwendolyn had ensured that she’d had a chance to meet them before the wedding. The stories they’d told obviously hadn't put the poor girl off. But then, Joe Buckley was a good Marine, even if he was also a trouble magnet. Perhaps a stint on the training grounds would be good for him.
There was no rank in the mess, at least not when there were no visitors from the Imperial Army or the Civil Guard. Edward had attended enough post-conference dinners hosted by Imperial Army officers to understand why they kept running into trouble; the vast majority of the officers had simply lost touch with their men. The worst ones issued orders from a safe distance, never noticing or caring that the orders were unmatched to the situation. It worried Edward, the more time he spent behind his desk, that he might lose touch too. Micromanaging was a deadly temptation.
He watched with some private amusement as the cooks put a large dish of roast meat in front of the happy couple, then started to serve the rest of the Marines. Gwendolyn growled a command that they’d damn well better not get used to being served, but she was smiling as she said it. Edward took his own plate and stated to eat, realising that the cooks had spent hours preparing the dinner. It would be wrong not to eat as much as he could.
Lieutenant Yamane didn't seem to be having problems with the platoon, but that was going to change. Edward had had enough experience to know that taking someone out of the unit always caused problems, particularly when there was no time to retrain properly. In some ways, that wasn't a bad thing; 1st Platoon couldn't take its standard weapons and armour to Corinthian. But it prevented the newcomers from being properly integrated into the unit. Even the most experienced Marines had their quirks that had to be accounted – and then compensated – for.
And then Blake Coleman was likely to turn into a problem, if he didn't find a new partner soon.
Edward surveyed 1st Platoon thoughtfully, making a mental note to have a brief talk with Sergeant Harris before the platoon departed on its mission. Rifleman Carl Watson had transferred over from 4th Platoon; unlike most of the other Marines, he had experience in fitting into a completely new unit. Sergeant Howell had noted that Watson was a joker, but when the chips were down he performed very well. He would have to overcome the stigma of replacing a beloved member of the platoon, yet he’d done that before. Harris would ensure that the right steps were taken.
And beyond that, it isn't your problem, Edward told himself, sternly. You cannot micromanage an operation several hundred light years from Avalon.
Once the meal was finished, Blake Coleman stood up to give the traditional speech.
“I had a lot of stories to tell you about Joe – a freaking great mass of stories to tell you – but he threatened to reveal certain incidents on our first shore leave if I talked about them in public,” Blake said. He leered cheerfully around the room, ducking the handful of vegetables thrown at him by various Marines. “I ran through hundreds of them and he vetoed them all, even the one about ...”
He whistled tunelessly for a long moment. The Marines chuckled.
“But the memory that sticks in my mind was the day we were ambushed on Han,” Blake said, more soberly. “Everything was chaotic back then; half of the units on the planet didn't know what the other half were doing ... it was a freaking nightmare. There we were, patrolling through a small complex of houses, when some bastard flips a switch and we’re suddenly being fired on from all angles. We later discover that the Imperial Navy officers who were watching from orbit were tricked; the insurgents had hacked their systems and edited the waiting ambush out of the records. After that, we learned a few lessons ...
“We were pinned down,” he continued, returning to the original story. “The situation is grim; the bullets are crawling towards us and we don’t have anywhere to go. Joe pulls out a grenade launcher and starts laying down fire, hurling grenades in all directions. He must have hit something because the fire start
ed to slack off, just long enough to let us run towards the nearest house. We throw grenades through the murder holes some ingenious insurgent has cut in the walls, then crash in through the door. There’s no one inside.
“We think – hey, this is a good place to hole up – and start using the building as cover. A moment later, the floor shatters and we fall down ... right into the shitter. It turns out that the villagers used it as a communal shithole; no luxury toilets in that nameless hellhole, no sir! All seven of us fell right in ... all I’m saying is thank God for nasal implants, know what I’m saying?”
There were some chuckles from the Marines who hadn't been there at the time.
“And then – and then – Joe starts babbling about fart gas and what would happen if some idiot strikes a match,” Blake said, when the chuckles had died down. “We can't help it; we’re swimming in the shit and we’re laughing our asses off. We’re still laughing when four Raptors bring two additional platoons as reinforcements. And Joe even asked them if they wanted to join us!”
His face darkened. “Word got around and everyone outside the platoon took to holding their noses every time we walked past,” he added. “Good thing we were in the middle of a war, you know. We would have put inter-unit relations back a few months.
“Joe is very good at getting into trouble,” he concluded. “But he’s also very good at getting out of trouble. I think that Lila and Joe will have a very long and happy married life together.”
He raised his glass. “Lila and Joe!”
Edward concealed his surprise. Either Blake had had an epiphany or Sergeant Harris had had a few words with him. But then, remembering Han might have concentrated his mind on the more important matters in life. The planet had been utterly nightmarish, not least because Imperial Intelligence had been so badly misled in the early weeks of the war.
Gwendolyn nudged him after four other speakers had feted the happy couple – and told stories about Joe that were reasonably clean.
The Empire's Corps: Book 04 - Semper Fi Page 9