The Space Guard station had been a priority, more as a statement than for tactical reasons. It was there to show the galaxy that Elysium was now part of the Federation, but that this wasn’t a Federation land-grab. A Coast Guard station didn’t have the same militaristic connotation as a Navy or Marine base.
Esther was still surprised that everything had happened so quickly. The Battle of Naxos had galvanized the population, a population that resented the fact that their patron planet of Athína had ignored their plight, and it took the unaffiliated Federation to step in and “rescue” the planet from the Right Hand of God. The general consensus was that if the Federation cared more about the Elysium’s security than their own patron, then maybe they should formalize ties with them. A special vote was taken, and 74% of the people voted to secede from Athína and request membership in the Federation. For the first time since the turbulent redrawing of the maps after the Evolution, a planet or government entity had joined the Federation. The Federation Council had acted almost immediately, approving the request. The Memorandum of Intent was filed with the UAM,[13] and in three weeks, on July 1, the formal transfer would be made.
It had been a whirlwind six months for Esther and her surviving teammates. Instead of being recalled to Omaha, they were kept on planet until Major Filipovic and another team arrived to prepare for the influx of FCDC and Marine trainers. FCDC engineers had already started the expansion on the Elysium recruit training base, and the first of the 10,000 new recruits, the best of those who’d tried to enlist after the battle, were already in-processing.
Two days and a wake-up, she thought. And then I’m out of here.
Esther had been more of a staff officer since the battle, and she was anxious to get on with her career. She’d been told by her monitor that she had orders to Tac 1, to start in the 9 September class. The course was 11 months long, and then it would probably be to a staff billet for a year before returning to the fleet, but this time as a company commander. She was glad she had come to recon, and she would treasure her time there, but she wanted that company command. As it was, she’d probably make major before the end of that tour and get promoted out of the billet.
“They’re ready for you,” a baby-faced Hellenic lieutenant said, coming in the hatch.
A lance corporal followed, pushing a hover chair up to the master chief, who gave it one look and said to the lieutenant, “If you think I’m going to be pushed in this thing like a damned invalid, you’ve got another thing coming . . . sir.”
Esther fought hard—and lost—to keep the smile off her face as the lieutenant fumbled around, saying nothing that made sense except for a few “sorries” that he managed to get out. The lieutenant waved off the lance corporal who quickly made herself scarce.
“Let’s get this over with,” Constantine said, as the three of them walked out of the brigade headquarters together.
“She’s a beauty,” the master chief said as they emerged from the building.
In the oval in front of the headquarters, the UFSPS Manta was displayed on a gleaming silver pylon. She’d been beaten up so bad that when coupled with her age, the Space Guard had decided repairs didn’t make much sense. So when the speaker prime requested her, the Federation transition team immediately agreed.
None of the damage on the outside had been repaired. The Elysiumites wanted her in all her battle glory. On her underside, the strut that Esther had hung onto was already beginning to gather a sheen where soldiers rubbed it for good luck.
At least she thought it was the strut. She hadn’t noticed at the time that there were several there, so she wasn’t 100% sure that it was her strut, but that is the one she’d identified as it.
There were hundreds of spectators between the Manta and the stage, and a separate stage for the press was set up to the side. The VIPs were already in their seats, but they stood up when the three of them approached. The conditional planetary administrator, the quadrant administrator, the Sixth Division commanding general, the Fourth Fleet commander, and the regional FCDC commander, and the Third Minister himself represented the Federation. There were dozens of Elysium notables, but Esther only recognized the speaker prime and the Hellenic Army commanding general. And all were gently applauding as the Space Guardsmen, the Marine, and the Army captain approached their seats on the stage. On an elevated purple cushion behind the podium, lay three of the gaudiest medals Esther had ever seen.
The Star of Nikólaos was a large, multi-pointed gold and platinum star hanging from a huge blue ribbon festooned with gold circles. The circles made it look like a child’s costume, to Esther, but she’d been told that pattern came from the flag of Saint Nicholas, the same saint who gave the universe Santa Claus. That didn’t make sense to her—wasn’t Santa dressed in red and white? Be that as it may, the Star hadn’t been awarded for more than 45 years, and that was a Vance Hold star. The new status of Elysium resulted in adding a few points and the platinum highlights to the star, differentiating it from any other of the Greek Diaspora governments.
In the stands, Daren Poulsen, and Elysium native and holder of the Athína version of the Star, awarded 68 years ago, sat as a guest of honor. The three of them, though, were to be the first living recipients of the new Elysium Star of Nikólaos.
“Classily subdued,” the master chief whispered to Esther as they paused at their seats behind the three medals, acknowledging the polite clapping.
Esther had to stifle a laugh, and she made sure to elbow the master chief in the ribs as they sat.
The ribbon would probably cover her entire chest once it was put over her neck, a far cry from the much more subdued Federation Nova. Luckily, she wouldn’t have to wear it again unless she was on Elysium. There was also a more normal-sized ribbon and clasp to hang the medal from her chest during formal dress functions off the planet and then a simple ribbon for her existing ribbon bar. Still, the medal for the Star was at least twice the size of either her Navy Cross or BC2.
The Hellenic Army chaplain took the podium to issue the evocation, and all the sitting guests and awardees stood. Esther looked out over the crowd, barely listening to the chaplain as she tried to put the last six months into perspective, something that had been eluding her.
She’d lost three teammates: Tim, Lyle, and Bug. While two trawlers had been diverted to pick up the survivors on Naxos several hours after the battle, it had taken a full standard day for the Army to recall and send the Second Brigade to Naxos where they’d picked up Bob and his three soldiers, collected their dead, and taken sixteen wounded prisoners. Many of their dead would have had reasonable chances at getting resurrected if they’d been placed in stasis immediately. Bug’s body was too ravaged, either from the fight or from the rocket FPF, but both Lyle and Tim would have stood a good chance. Twenty-six hours after getting killed, though, their bodies had deteriorated too far to be resurrected.
She’d also lost 44 brigade soldiers and two Space Guardsmen, and she sometimes had to remind herself that their losses meant just as much to their families and friends as Tim’s lost meant to Adrianne and his little Barry and Neosha, as Lyle’s loss meant to Horty, as Bug’s loss meant to his parents and siblings.
She glanced at Constantine, his head bowed as he listened to the evocation. He’d been in command, and he’d lost more than half of his men and women. Yes, he hadn’t the weapons needed to fight a battle; yes, he didn’t have the support even a half-assed military would have. But he was still the commander, and she knew the losses were eating at him.
She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.
“What’s that for?” he whispered.
“For them,” she said. “For who we lost. But also for who survived.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand back.
The chaplain ended, and those with seats sat down, settling in for maybe an hour of speeches. The battle would be extolled, the sacrificed of so many lives lost mourned, and the righteous fortitude of Elysium going forward proclaimed. And, Esthe
r, knew, the three of them would be held up as examples of the warrior incarnate.
Sometimes, maybe many times, soldiers were awarded for actions that did exemplify what it meant to be a selfless warrior. Her father’s own actions as a lieutenant for which he was awarded his first Nova, for example. He’d simply kicked ass. More often, though, it was not really an individual who earned the award, it was the unit. The medal may hang on an individual’s chest, usually a commander of some sort, but it was earned by everyone there.
Esther, Constantine, and the master chief were about to receive Elysium’s highest award, but without Tim and Lyle, without Petty Officer Krüger, without Bug, Lieutenant Spiros, without de Marco, Pusser, and Master Sergeant Kang, without all of the brigade, the Manta, and her recon team, whether they survived or died—the battle would have been lost.
As was usually the case, the awards sitting on the purple cushion were being awarded to individuals to wear, but they were an acclamation of the unit.
Esther looked at the gaudy, almost cartoonish medal, one that had given her pause at first, wondering what other Marines would think of it as she continued her career. But it wasn’t her medal. It was their medal, all of those who’d fought.
And she would wear it with pride.
OMAHA
Epilogue
“I’ve got your link now, ma’am. Booth B,” the civilian tech said, nodding at the small, soundproof room.
Esther thanked the tech, entered what was little more than a closet, and sat down. The terminal was blinking green, ready for her connection.
“May I have your desired waypoint connection?” the AI asked.
“Tarawa, United Federation Marine Corps Headquarters.”
“May I have your desired terminating connection?”
Esther rattled off the number. Within a split second, her call was already on Tarawa. It would take longer for her call to be patched through a few klicks from the headquarters than to have it sent halfway across the galaxy.
Esther had gotten used to her hadron handset. Now, back on Omaha, she had to jump through the administrative BS to use the division facilities to make her call. Technically, the call was supposed to be for official business. Non-official calls were only authorized at the Marine Corps Personnel Welfare Center, but Esther didn’t want to have to wait in line for an hour or more for her turn, and it did involve the Corps.
She sat there waiting while the call went through. It took a few moments, then the screen flashed on and a familiar face appeared.
“Esther, this is a surprise. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine, General. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”
“No worry about that. Too many years on the Corps’ schedule have got early rising imprinted into my DNA. I’ve been up for an hour.”
“Are you . . . I mean, how are things going?”
“You mean to ask, what’s an old fart like me doing now that I’ve retired? Well, I’m bored as hell, Esther.”
Major General Jorge Simone had retired six months ago after failing to be selected yet again for his third star. Personally, Esther thought that was a travesty. General Simone was both one of the most capable human beings she’d ever met and someone who’d probably done more for the Corps and Federation than anyone else alive. As far as she was concerned, he deserved his third star for his past service alone. But with Chairman MacCailín out of office, Esther thought the general had finally seen the writing on the wall and tendered his resignation.
The general had been her father’s right-hand man throughout the Evolution. But too much blood had been shed during the fighting, and sadly, probably more pertinent, too many political careers had been ruined or destroyed. General Simone’s elevation would have been a reminder to many of the sacrifices made on both sides, and that might have been enough to curtail his advancement in and of itself. Throw in political infighting, with many of the players holding a grudge, then it was a foregone conclusion that the general’s career was done. The politicians couldn’t tarnish the memory of her dead father, but they could reach out to his lieutenant in revenge.
He might be out of uniform now, but he was still about the smartest man she knew, and he understood the workings of the Corps. More than that, he had her back and would always be honest with her.
“I thought you were going to take up golf or something,” Esther said.
“Tried it when I was still on active duty. Didn’t understand the appeal then, and retiring didn’t bring me enlightenment.”
Esther felt a wave of worry sweep over her. She hadn’t called to discuss the general’s retirement, but it was obvious he wasn’t adjusting well. He’d never married, so he was alone in the condo he’d bought in Valiant Overlook, the civilian housing project that had become de-facto officer housing for most of the O4’s and above assigned to Headquarters and retired officers who couldn’t break themselves away from at least being close to the flagpole.
“You need to do something, sir, you know—”
“Please don’t tell me ‘get a hobby,’ Esther. That’s what everyone says. And don’t worry. I’ve got the VIW, I volunteer for the USO and the library, and I get the faded stars brief every two weeks.”
The “faded stars brief” was a presentation made to all retired flag officers twice a month, bringing them up-to-date on the state of the Corps.
“And you didn’t call me all the way from Omaha just to listen to an old man complain. What’s up?”
“You’re not old, sir,” she said, unwilling to let that pass. “But yes, I need some advice.”
She’d almost said “fatherly advice,” and that would have been an accurate statement, but the loss of her father was too close of a wound for both of them.
“Eh, maybe I can help you there, Ess. What’s up?”
“Well, I’ve got my orders, only they’re TBA.”
“To Be Accepted orders? But I thought you were going to school next. They think you’ll turn them down?”
“I thought I was going to school now, too, sir. I need it. What with three years in recon, I’m a little behind the curve if I’m going to get a rifle company.”
“You’re not behind any curve. Your running mates have all been in staff or support billets.”
“For two years, not three. And I had six months in RTC, too.”
General Simone flipped up one hand as if brushing off her complaint.
“You worry too much. You’re doing fine. But I assume you’re going to tell me just what was in these orders?”
“Yes, sir. See, they’re APOC.”
“Hmm,” the general said, sitting farther back in his chair. “Commandant or Chairman?”
“They didn’t say.”
“Curioser and curioser. They didn’t specify?”
“No, sir.”
“At the Pleasure of” orders mean a Marine, sailor, or FCDC trooper would be reporting directly to the designated letter. For Marines, a “C” meant either the Commandant or the Chairman himself.
“That sounds serious, Ess. What have you heard?”
“The CG personally handed me my orders. He said that because of my training, and because what happened on Elysium, I’ve been proven to have an ‘aptitude’ to complete unique missions of a more strategic reach.”
“Which can mean you would be the designated butt-boy for whatever might have to be done.”
“I’m not sure why Elysium has anything to do with that, though.”
“Really, Ess? You’re a bright young woman, so you can’t have missed that the Federation gained an entire planet.”
“But that wasn’t me. I just happened to be there.”
“It happened on your watch. And if it had all gone to hell after, you’d be paying the price for that.”
“Maybe . . . OK, you might be right, sir. But the fact is that I don’t have any ‘special skills’ like the CG said. I know I’m a good officer, but I lead Marines. I’m not a schmoozer. My social graces are lacking. So if I’m supposed
to go out and be a junior attaché somewhere and be a super-spy, I don’t think I’m cut out for that.”
The general laughed, and then said, “I think you watch too many Hollybolly flicks. The Federation has spies. What they probably need, however, are trained operators to do what has to be done without landing a full Marine battalion somewhere.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I never had ATOC orders. But it could be anything.”
Esther put both elbows on the desk and lowered her head to her hands, rubbing her temples for a few moments.
“I don’t know, sir. It’s just that if I get further behind the curve, I won’t have time for Tac 1, and I might not get my rifle company.”
“And then you’ll never make major, and that means no colonel’s eagles, no stars, and no commandant.”
Esther lowered her hands and stared at the general’s image, her mouth dropping open.
Am I that transparent?
“There’s nothing wrong with ambition, Ess. If you didn’t have it, you’d be a pretty lousy officer.”
“So, what do you think, sir?” she asked after digesting what he’d just said.
“What do I think about what? Whether you should accept the orders?”
“Well, yes, but do you think I could be committing career suicide?”
Tac 1 was more than training for the next level of billets. It was more than a ticket punch. It was also where bonds were formed between a year-group of officers, bonds that could be extremely beneficial as they advanced through the ranks.
“You could be,” the general said.
That’s not what I wanted to hear!
She’d called him for advice, yes, but also to assure her that if she took the orders, she wouldn’t jeopardize her career plans. Frankly, the orders intrigued her, and just as with her decision to go to RTC, Esther had a hard time turning down a challenge. The idea that she was specially chosen played to her ego as well, something she acknowledged.
But more than any single billet, Esther was firmly focused on the end goal: Commandant of the Marine Corps. Everything she did was intended to be a stepping stone to that goal. If she failed along the way, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying, and handicapping herself in her pursuit of that goal didn’t make much sense.
Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2) Page 28