“Why didn’t you just pay her?” Sven asked.
Every Marine during the operation had a micro-drone following him or her, tracking and recording their every move. If a Marine stole or damaged something during the course of the mission, a local government rep descended on the victim to pay for the damage.
“Because she refused payment. Says this was a ‘special’ coat.”
“How’s your knee?” the major asked Esther.
“It hurts, sir.”
Within the teams, first or nicknames were generally used, which was why Captain Lugar was “Sven” to Esther. But the major was the school XO, so he was “sir” to the students.
“Have Doc check it as soon as we get back. You’ve still got Mount Motherfucker on Tuesday.”
He didn’t have to say more. The mission today was their last graded event. Technically, having completed it successfully, both she and Sven had passed the course. They were almost recon Marines. However, tradition was that on the final day, there was a group run from the school to the top of Mount Snyder, better known as “Mount Motherfucker.” It was not a timed event, but each Marine or corpsman had to reach the top. Esther only had a few days to get her knee ready.
“That was pretty copacetic, Captain, with that dickwad in the office,” the gunny said as the two students started to change into their field uniforms.
“Am I in trouble for that?” Sven said, looking toward the major.
The exercise ROE was pretty stringent. There was to be no harm done to any citizen. Sven had staked out the waiting room, trying to pick a victim. The guy he’d chosen had been full of bluster, and when Esther had left and come back in, Sven had shifted his original plan and egged the guy on to complain. He hadn’t realized that the guard’s reaction would be so intense.
In retrospect, his plan was sound. If he’d done the diversion, he’d be in some holding cell now with a mission failure recorded.
“No. It was not your fault that the militia over-reacted. That’s against their ROE, so they have to deal with it.”
“Knew it,” Esther said.
She’d been sure the guard at the tax office was military. The Marines and the local government had to jump through a million hoops for an operation like this. What sold it was usually that it was good training for a planet’s security forces. But egos tended to flare, and a planet or country’s local forces often tended to pit their best against the Marines. The forces who needed the training the most were pushed aside and the exercise, at least on the host side, became a thing of pride.
“Help yourself to pizza,” the gunny said when the two were dressed.
Esther hadn’t noticed the delivery boxes, but she hurried over to where the gunny pointed. Her stomach growled with anticipation. She’d been so hyped over the mission that she’d forgotten that she hadn’t eaten since the night before. Popping open the top, the room was suddenly enveloped with the aroma of one of her favorite foods.
“Sven, what kind do you want? We’re first, so we get choosies.”
“Bacon? Is there bacon in there?”
Esther shifted the individual boxes, checking.
“Bacon and duck egg.”
“That’ll do.”
“Major, Gunny, do you want some?” she asked.
“No, we’ve eaten. You enjoy.”
Esther had just taken the first wonderful bite when Doc Tee came in, wearing the robe of a Brother of the Light. He looked disappointed that he wasn’t the first one back, but he brightened up when Esther handed him a piece of pizza. Doc was one of two corpsmen to make it through the course so far, and the common perception was that he was probably the most dangerous man in the class.
Esther didn’t bother showing him her knee. He couldn’t do much more than say, “Your knee’s fucked up” without any of his medical gear with him.
By one, twos, and even a group of three, the class arrived at the rally point. Delaney was wearing a dress, but Tonto had him beat. The staff sergeant arrived still naked but clutching his envelope. Everyone laughed as he arrived, but he didn’t say a word except to demand some food. Esther looked forward to seeing the recording of his day. How he’d completed the mission buck naked was beyond her imagination.
By Endex, 31 of the 35 students had arrived. Three were in custody of the local police. One was still out there, and gunny left to collect him. The failures would be recycled to the next class to try again-except for one. He’d already been recycled once before, and this had been his last chance.
As the class filed out to spend the night at the contracted hotel, Sven stepped up close to Esther and quietly said, “Thanks. I’d never have made it without you.”
“You got me through, too,” she said. “Pretty smart what you did with that poor guy.”
“Yeah, I’m surprised I even though of it. Not bad for a trog, I guess,” he said, his ever-present smile even larger.
“And yeah, and I wasn’t too bad for a WAM, I guess, either” she replied, giving Sven’s extra-wide shoulders a squeeze.
Esther knew she was driven to succeed. She wanted to be better than anyone else, and she measured her success with every promotion, with every award. But as she looked around her joking classmates as they entered the hotel, she realized that reward was not just promotions. It was in belonging, to be part of something bigger than herself.
She’d been cast adrift ever since her parents were killed with only Noah left, and she’d done a pretty good job of shutting him out. It had left an empty hole in her soul, one she’d been trying to fill with hard work and dedication. But after boot camp first, after NOTC, and especially now with RTC, she was finally beginning to realize that there was more than one way to fill the void. It was also in the brotherhood, in the knowing that all of these Marines and corpsmen had her back and would die for her if need be. And she would do the same for them.
It was an awfully good feeling.
OMAHA
Chapter 23
Esther looked at her image in the mirror. She was reporting in, so she was in her Alphas, and from what Gunny McNeill had told her, it might be one of the few times for her to wear the uniform. Recon Marines were under “relaxed grooming regulations,” but to wear anything other than utilities, they had to conform with the full regs.
Esther understood the need for the relaxed regs for MARSOC Marines, but she was going to battalion, and she didn’t see why the normal regulations weren’t followed. Maybe it was a gender thing, she wondered. She wasn’t about to grow a beard, after all.
She thought she looked good in the Alphas. They fit her well and showed off a toned, athletic body. She only had four ribbons on her chest, which wasn’t particularly impressive for someone seven years in the Corps. That was ignoring the fact that her senior ribbon was a Navy Cross, though. That one ribbon spoke loudly. It might not be a Federation Nova, but it was the next best thing, and Esther was proud to be wearing it. Now, with the simple crossed-paddles badge of a reconnaissance Marine just above it, she thought she looked damned sharp, and she regretted that she wouldn’t be wearing Alphas or Charlies often over this next tour.
Esther thought she had a pretty good idea of who she was, and she was not ashamed to admit that she liked to show off. Some Marines made a show of not caring about medals or specialty badges. She was of a different mind, though. Marines who weren’t proud of their accomplishments were somehow lacking, in her mind. Noah tended to be like that, she knew, and that was one reason why she thought he wouldn’t reach the heights that she herself would reach.
Chasing medals was normally disastrous, however, and usually resulted in Marine casualties. But it was different to simply take pride after the fact. She was sure most Marines would agree with that, even if the culture of the Corps tended to demean that kind of attitude. Which was why Esther had never mentioned one of her goals as a Marine. There had never, in the history of the Federation, been a father-child tandem of Nova awardees. Esther wanted to be half of the first pair to earn Nova
s. She was not going to chase one by putting her Marines at risk, but she was sure, that if faced with a situation that demanded it, she would not hesitate over fear for her personal safety.
She tugged on her gig line and left her room the Temporary Officer’s Quarters. Camp Iwasaki was a unique Marine base in that it was in the middle of a large, modern city. Sheelytown was not just the planetary capital, but the capital of one of the four or five richest planets in the Federation. Originally terraformed and developed by the Buffet Foundation almost 400 years ago, it had grown into an economic powerhouse. Some people from the core considered Omaha a hick-planet, bereft of culture, but from what Esther had seen since landing yesterday, it might give Earth a run for her money. On the short trip to the base, she’d been amazed at the art and architecture she’d seen.
Sixth Recon Battalion wasn’t at Camp Iwasaki, of course. The camp housed only the division headquarters. But even away from Sheelytown, Esther thought she would enjoy exploring the planet during her down-time. She might still be relegated to the Outer Forces, (which she still thought was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if the press was still interested in her. That ship had sailed long ago.), but at least she was back in civilization.
Esther’s space-lag still had her screwed up. She wanted breakfast, but it was already approaching 1100 local. That left out the O Club, which had a reputation as being one of the nicest in the Corps. So she headed to the exchange food court where she dialed up an Eggs Benedict. She ate it carefully to keep from spilling any of the hollandaise on her blouse. As she ate, she kept looking around, trying to spot a familiar face. But it was a big Corps, and she didn’t recognize anyone. Not one seemed to take any notice of her, either.
By the time she’d finished, it was 1145, and she knew the civilians in admin would be going to chow. So she decided to explore, starting with the Exchange. As expected, it was pretty good, far outclassing the ones on Wayfarer Station and Reissler Quay. The selection of civilian goods was impressive, and a good percentage of items were much cheaper than back on Tarawa. She checked out the commissary, then wandered over to the O Club, which was as impressive as advertised. Finally, at 1330, she wandered over to the HQ Annex to check in.
Esther had never reported in at a division level. But with the battalion on the same planet as Division, the Joint Receiving Section handled all Marines and sailors arriving on Omaha. It was much smaller that she’d expected until she realized that with the regiments on other planets, most of the division’s personnel went directly to check in with them.
Sven had told her that she wouldn’t make a commander’s call with the CG, but Esther had known Major General Molina since he was a major, so she thought he might make an exception for her—not that she’d admitted that to Sven. So she entered the JRS and scanned her wrist.
A middle-aged lady sitting at a desk behind the counter suddenly looked up and said, “First Lieutenant Lysander?”
No, I just chopped off her hand and scanned it to throw you off.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Where have you been? You were supposed to report in today.”
“It is today,” Esther said, confused.
“It’s 1330, Lieutenant. We’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“Since I haven’t checked in yet, my PA is only in civilian mode.”
“Hester, I’ve got Lieutenant Lysander. Call Bruce and get him working on her,” she told the older man two desks over from hers.
She got up and came to the counter, holding her hand out for Esther’s packet. A wrist chip should be more than enough to initiate a check-in, Esther had always thought, but the military liked to over-think things. So all Marines were given a data-cube and plastisheet printouts of their orders. The woman took the cube and placed it in the reader.
Esther stared at her, wondering just what the heck was going on, but with the officious manner of some mid-level civilian employees, the woman, who hadn’t even told Esther her name, wouldn’t bother explaining why all her consternation.
Esther was getting impatient while the woman made some entries, then stood at the counter, back to her, and facing Hester.
At last, Hester looked up and said, “1636 on Harmony.”
The woman turned to Esther and said, “You’ve got a flight to Washoo Township at 1636. I hope you’re still packed.”
“But . . . but I haven’t checked in yet?” Esther protested.
“What do you think I just did, Lieutenant? You’re checked in; now we’ve got you on a commercial flight to your battalion.”
“I’m confused. I already have a ticket for Thursday. So what’s going on?”
The woman rolled her eyes as if Esther was an idiot, and Esther had to refrain from jumping over the counter and punching her in the face.
“That other ticket was canceled. Your battalion sent us a message that you need to get there immediately.”
“Why?”
“I’m sure I don’t know the specifics, but you’re deploying at 0115 in the morning. I suggest you get going. You’ve got to be checked in and at the gate by 1606.”
She turned around with an obvious dismissal. Esther stared daggers at her for a long few seconds before she wheeled about and rushed out of the office.
Deployed? Like this again?
One day, Esther was going to report into a unit and actually get to know her Marines before being thrown into the shit.
LUCKY FORTUNE #9
Chapter 24
“Anything?” Esther asked Grayback.
“Nada. Everything’s routine,” the sergeant said.
“OK, I’ve got it. Catch some Z’s.”
Esther settled in behind the P-2001. The passive surveillance console was a nice piece of gear: lightweight, a small footprint, and the ability to monitor 11 different spectrums. It was also very expensive. The Federation was paying 80,000 credits for it, part of an agreement the government had made with Novaset Industries to keep it exclusive to the Federation military and FCDC. The Two-Oh-Oh-One (an awkward nickname, Esther thought) didn’t need a monitor. It could be placed and left alone, and it would function fine. However, even without the issue of security for the team, Esther wanted active eyes on the console to make sure it didn’t walk off while no one was looking. Esther would take a long, long time earning enough to pay it off should someone take a hankering for it.
This was the third time Esther had joined a new unit in the Corps, and this was the third time that she’d deployed within 24 hours after arriving. That had to be some kind of record. She was either the luckiest or unluckiest Marine in the Corps.
On the one hand, Marines hated sitting on their asses. They lived for action, and Esther had experienced that with each live mission. On the other hand, she would have liked to have some time to get to know her unit before being thrust into the fire.
It hadn’t been too bad, this time, though. Bravo Company had deployed as a unit to provide support to a task force consisting of the Sixth Raider Battalion and 1/15, a “normal” infantry battalion. Both Sixth Recon and Sixth Raiders were division assets while 1/15 belonged to the 15th Marine Regiment.
Recon companies rarely deployed as a unit, but the huge expanses on Lucky Fortune #9 required orbital and extensive ground intel gathering. More than that, though, when Lucky Fortune demanded Federation assistance, they got it in spades. The corporation was one of the oldest in the Federation, going back 800 or more years to old China. Now, its reach was galaxy wide, and it was the 34th largest corporation in existence. So when the CEO called up the chairmen to complain about saboteurs on Lucky Fortune #9, the new chairman, just six months on the job, called up the Navy chief of staff and the commandant to take action.
Esther didn’t pay too much attention as to why they were there. Sure, Lucky Fortune had a security force as large as a Marine division, and most of the Marines thought they should be able to handle their own brush fires, but the whys and wherefores of their deployment didn’t matter as much to her as fo
rging a tight platoon. Not being the primary recon unit in the task force had been fine with her. Major Carlstein, the company commander, had assigned Second Platoon to one of the more secure areas, which was fine with her. It was more time to get a feel for her platoon.
And after two weeks of sitting in the forested hills overlooking a refining complex, she’d at least gotten to know a third of them. A recon team was seven Marines and a Navy corpsman, unlike a 13-man rifle squad. Three days after landing on the planet, the platoon had gone out into the field, but as separate teams. Esther could have stayed back at the camp with the task force headquarters—in fact, that was the SOP—but with the company commander on the mission, that freed her up to attach herself to one of her teams. One of Esther’s teams was 25 klicks away. The other was 60. She’d communicated with the other two teams, but that was about it. And if any of her three teams got into trouble, there wasn’t a way for another team to get to them.
That wasn’t a major problem, however. Between all three teams was a company of Raiders. One platoon was occupying a Forward Operating Position four klicks from Esther. The rest of the company was between her other two teams and sending out active patrols.
She pulled out her hadron phone, tempted to call Top Gann, her platoon sergeant, who had gone out with Third Team. The hadron phones were a tremendous resource, even if they were overkill on a single planet. The phones used matched technology to create instant communications no matter how far apart the phones were from each other. One “batch” was 16 phones. When one phone was activated, as in speaking into it, all of the other 15 phones reacted in the exact same way at the exact same time. Esther had listened to the explanation, which delved deep into quantum physics, but most of it had gone over her head. To her, what was important was that they worked. She had three of them in the platoon, and even if the skipper was back on Omaha, she could speak with him as if he was just down the hall.
Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2) Page 16