by Brian Dorsey
After a short pause, Stone continued.
“Captain Matthews’ death means there’s a company without a commander. I’ve spoken with Colonel Hastings and want to congratulate Captain Hugh Jackson on his promotion. You’ll take command after we return home.”
Martin tried to hide her distain. Jackson was a great fighter and his men loved him…but he was such a loudmouth, womanizing asshole. Unusually looking for the positive in the situation, she could at least take solace in the fact that he would no longer be Bravo Company’s XO and thus out of her chain of command. Forcing a smile to her face, she looked across the room toward Jackson. As she did the tall, powerful Jackson stood and spoke.
“I proudly accept the honor and responsibility of command and will hold the post with courage and dedication until promotion or death offers it to another.”
“Uu-ah!” shouted the room in support of Jackson’s pledge.
“Well said, Jackson,” replied Stone as he illuminated a 3D map over the briefing table. “Now back to business. We have been tasked, apparently directly, by ProConsul Maxius to investigate possible arms supplies to inhabitants in the Bravo System by the Terillians. Also, a remote listening post has indicated the possibility of Terillian activity in the Golf System, namely Golf 2 and 3. I will take Alpha, Charlie, and Delta Companies along with 3rd and 4th platoons from Bravo onboard Mt. Castra and recon the Bravo System. Martin, you and Lieutenant Cresius will stay on Draxius. You’ll do a quick orbital recon of Golf 2 and 3 and follow up on anything you pick up. Once you’re done, Draxius will either return home or join Mt. Castra depending on what we find in Bravo.”
Martin’s skin felt electric and her senses perked. Even though Cresius was a First Family son, he was a full year junior and had little experience. The words ‘Independent Command,’ roared inside her head. She did her best, but failed, to hold in a huge smile.
She placed her hands on the table to rise and accept the honor.
“And Jackson,” added Stone, “since you’re in between commands, you’ll take operational command of the Golf expedition.”
“I’ll keep my eye on ‘em for you sir,” replied Jackson, casting his gaze at Martin and giving her a quick wink.
“Son of a bitch,” mouthed Martin under her breath. ‘I’m never gonna get away from this jerk,’ she thought.
“Outstanding,” responded Stone. “Martin—”
“Sir,” answered Martin, barely holding back the shock of losing a command she never really had.
“The wounded will remain on Draxius as well—15 in all; four in serious to critical.”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied.
“Then we’re settled,” concluded Stone. “With the exception of 1st and 2nd Platoons, the rest of Bravo will transport over to Mt. Castra at 0800S tomorrow. At 0900S the wounded on Mt. Castra will be transported to Draxius. At 1000S, Draxius will detach and set a jump course to Golf. Once there, establish Golf time zone, send a pulse message of your arrival, and commence your recon.”
“Uu-ah,” shouted Jackson.
“Uu-ah,” mouthed a despondent Martin.
***
The slide of Martin’s pistol locked into place as the last round was fired. She quickly ejected the magazine, grasped another from her vest and slammed it into her pistol. In a single motion she pressed the slide catch, driving the slide to slam forward, and brought her weapon to firing position. The next target illuminated and she fired.
‘Hit,’ came over the earpiece connected to the range system.
Two more targets illuminated. She quickly checked off when she identified the Guardsmen markings and fired into the second target.
‘Hit. Scenario complete. Calculating score.’
Martin holstered her pistol and waited for the score to appear on the screen to her left. After a few seconds, a flashing light accompanied by an electronic beep indicated her score had been calculated.
Rounds expended: 50
Hits: 50
Kill Hits: 49
Kill %: 98
Score: Expert…well done.
“Damn it,” cursed Martin.
“98% isn’t too shabby,” came a familiar voice from behind Martin.
She exhaled heavily and looked up toward the bulkhead in frustration. “What do you want, Jackson?” she huffed without turning to greet him.
“That’s Captain Jackson, Lieutenant,” he replied.
Martin felt the pressure on her jaws as her teeth pressed together in frustration. She turned to face Jackson. “Sorry, Captain Jackson, Sir!” she barked loudly as she brought her body to attention and saluted. “The lieutenant requests to know why the fuck you are bothering me…Sir.”
“Easy there,” he replied. “I just—”
Martin remained motionless, like a statue, her salute still locked in place.
“—Damn it, Martin,” continued Jackson as he saluted to force Martin to stand at ease.
Martin relaxed her stance but her body was still tensed. All she had wanted to do was to get some range time in after the frustrating news she would be under Jackson’s command for the Golf System recon and she hoped that a 0100 range time would have meant she would be alone. Again, she had underestimated Jackson’s ability to get under her skin.
“I just want to get in a few rounds in peace, Sir,” she said.
“Then go ahead, Lieutenant,” he smiled.
“No, I think I’m good,” said Martin as she reached down to pick up an empty magazine.
“You sure? You did miss that one kill shot.”
“Thanks,” she grumbled. “But I’ll just come back when it’s not so crowded,” she added as she turned toward the exit.
“Wait,” said Jackson.
Martin paused and let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Sir.”
“I actually came here to talk to you.”
“Sir, I’m not really in the mood for more—”
“Just shut up for a minute,” interrupted Jackson.
Martin’s skin warmed and her mouth tightened as she readied herself for the next insult.
“Why do you think you get so much shit from me?” asked Jackson.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
“Bullshit,” answered Jackson. “I want an answer.”
She let out another sigh. “I guess because you and the others are just dicks…Sir.”
“Ha,” guffawed Jackson.
“That’s funny to you?” she asked, her anger growing.
“There are two reasons for the crap you take, Em.”
“Please enlighten me.”
“There are the ones that are intimidated by you and act out to cover it up. Then there are the ones that don’t want to seem like they’re making things easy on you.”
‘Easy?’ thought Martin. Nothing about her adult life had been easy. “And which one are you?”
“Well, you don’t intimidate me, Emily,” he smiled. “And I’m one of the few you don’t.”
“So you’re being a dick because treating me like a fellow officer makes you look soft? Frankly, Sir, that’s bullshit.”
Jackson shook his head and laughed again.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You really don’t get it,” he replied. “You really don’t understand how unique and special you are?”
A warm wave of pride and accomplishment washed over her body. Jackson had clearly given her a compliment and she liked it. “What do you mean?” she asked trying to hide her satisfaction.
“How many females are in the Guard?”
“Just me,” she replied without thinking.
“Yes. Just you. In the entire history of the Guard, you are the first and only female. And you’re an officer.”
“And?” asked Martin.
“And…that means everyone’s eyes are on you, mostly hoping you’ll fail.”
“So you’re waiting on me to fail?” asked Martin, her previous sense of pride now dashe
d.
“No dummy,” said Jackson. “But a lot of people are and nothing will change that.”
“Haven’t I proven myself?” she asked, exasperated. “Don’t I deserve to be here?” A tear started to form but she willed it from flowing down her cheek.
“Everyone knows you have the physical skills,” said Jackson. “Shit, you’re one of the best pentathletes in the world and I watched you on the Senatorial video link win the world championship in gymnastics when you were 16,” he paused and smiled. “You were like this tall,” he added as she held his hand about a meter and a half off the deck. “And look at you know,” he continued. “You’re as tough as they come…but stubborn as a Plains mule with a chip on your shoulder the size of a moon… but definitely tough.”
“Then what else do I have to do?” asked an exasperated Martin. “I’ve heard this whole line before, ya know…I’m talented, smart, skilled, but…” she paused to take in a deep breath as the rest of the sentence tore at her core. “…I’m a commoner, I’m a woman, my father—”
“Martin—”
“It’s crap,” she continued.
“No,” replied Jackson sternly. “It’s reality and that’s the damn point. You carry all that baggage around. Baggage about shit you can’t control when the real problem is you.”
“What?” huffed Martin.
“You. It’s not your family name. It’s not that you don’t have dick. It’s not your daddy. There’s no doubt to anyone you’re a good soldier, but right now you’re a mediocre leader at best.
“Screw you,” she spat. “That’s crap. I’ve outperformed every—”
“Leadership isn’t about you being the best, Martin.”
“Really?” laughed Martin. “Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Sergeant Yates. He tried to feed me the same line of crap yesterday. Before I set him straight.”
“I doubt a lieutenant has set Sergeant Yates straight in a decade,” laughed Jackson. “But maybe if both your senior officer and one of the most respected NCOs in the Guard are telling you the same thing, you might want to listen.”
Every muscle in her body tightened. She had busted her ass and this was the thanks she got? “I’m not going to feel bad for expecting my men to meet my standards. I never asked anyone under my command to do anything I’m not willing to do or can’t do myself,” she grumbled as she pounded her hand against her chest.
She felt his hands grasp her arms tightly, not violently or aggressively, but with a firmness that made her feel…safe. She fought against the warm feeling that washed over her body but couldn’t help herself. “What are you doing?” she asked sheepishly.
“You can run most of these guys into the ground but there’s more to leadership than giving orders and showing everyone you’re better than them.”
“I’ve heard that my whole life,” she replied as she feigned trying to break free from his hold. “Am I the only one that gets to be told they’re not good enough?”
Jackson shook his head. “If that’s all you’ve heard, then you haven’t been listening.” He paused, staring into her eyes. “When you were sixteen, who was the best female gymnast on our planet?”
“Me,” she answered.
“Who set the record for all Humani military in the combat course?”
“I did…twice.”
Jackson pulled her close. She struggled to remain focused on her anger with all of the butterflies in her stomach.
“No one’s telling you you’re not good enough, Em,” he said reassuringly. “You’re focusing on shit you have no control of…all that political crap. You can’t change any of that…at least not now.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Unlike you, the rest of us have limits and not just societal ones either…physical skill, intelligence, dedication…believe it or not, these are actual limits that most people have to struggle with every day. And regardless of how hard some try, most will never reach the Emily Martin standard.”
“Then they just aren’t trying hard enough,” replied Martin. “If they—”
“Just stop. You can become one of the best officers the Guard has ever seen. But first you have to realize people aren’t machines, no matter how well-trained or dedicated.”
“Am I supposed to start every morning quarters with hugs and talk about everyone’s feelings? You’ve gotta to be kidding me…these men are supposed to be warriors.”
“And they are, Emily,” replied Jackson. “You’re a hunter, a predator of the highest level, and that would make you the perfect leader…if the Guard was a pack of wolves. But we’re human and brute force isn’t enough. Your bravery and skill is why they follow you but if—”
“I’m glad everyone is so concerned about how I run my platoon,” she interjected, the frustration from the lengthy critique driving her to finally break free of his grasp. “Thanks for the advice, Sir,” she grumbled. “But if you and Sergeant Yates don’t mind, I’ll run my platoon the way I see fit.”
“It’s up to you,” replied Jackson, shaking his head again. “But just remember, Major Stone went out on a limb to choose you over that First Family cadet. And he didn’t do that because you could run faster or shoot straighter. He did it because he thought you might just make a good leader…don’t let him down.”
“The major’s displeased with my performance?” asked Martin, her stomach tightening.
“Not displeased…concerned,” said Jackson bluntly. “You’ll either get it and become the leader he hopes you’ll become or you won’t and you’ll quit or retire a lieutenant.”
A tornado of emotions tore through her body. She felt defensive and angry that both Yates and Jackson had questioned her leadership. She was confused and frustrated that they wanted her to expect less from her men than herself and her stomach still danced from the forceful but reassuring way Jackson had held her. Worst of all, she was anxious and worried that Major Stone was concerned about her performance. She just needed the conversation to end and to get away from Jackson. “I’ll take it under advisement, Sir,” she replied. “Unless you’re giving me an order?”
“Not an order, Emily. Just some advice.”
Jackson stepped in close and placed his hand on her shoulder. The same warmness rippled through her body and settled low in her stomach.
“Just think about it,” he continued. “And don’t let those assholes—like me—get to you.”
“Never did,” she responded flatly in a lie she hoped he wouldn’t recognize.
“Of course not,” smiled Jackson as he removed his hand. “Guess I’ll let ya get back to your target practice…looks like you could use it.”
“Thanks,” she grumbled.
“Goodnight, Lieutenant Martin,” said Jackson.
“Sir,” she replied with a salute.
As Jackson turned and walked toward the exit, Martin slid the rifle from her shoulder and took aim. She took a deep breath to steady her aim and the butterflies in her stomach. “Damn him,” she said out loud as she fired.
Chapter 3
After a few hours of restless sleep, Martin made her way to morning quarters. With all Guardsmen except Martin’s and Cresius’ platoons boarding transports for Mt. Castra, the small hangar bay of Draxius would be too crowded so she had directed Sergeant Yates to have the platoon assemble in the gym. As she neared the entrance, she heard her platoon talking and stopped to listen before entering.
“Why did we get this shit assignment?” one of the men asked.
“Because the major hates you, Shara,” replied Yates mockingly. “He wakes up every morning and says to himself, ‘How am I going to screw over Corporal Shara?’…now that we’ve cleared up the fact that Shara is responsible for everything bad that happens to the platoon, are there any other questions?”
“What’s on the agenda today, Sergeant?” asked Private Frederick. “What has our lieutenant decided we suck at today?”
“No shit,” added Private Moore. “Even though she’s hot
, I’d hate to be in the sack with her…No, not there…too slow…too fast…you’re doing it wrong…just…just get off me…I’ll do it myself,” he mocked in a female voice.
Martin turned and rested her back against the bulkhead as she let her head bounce against the hard metal. It was the same shit she’d overhead walking into rooms or from whispers meant to be just loud enough for her to hear since she was a cadet. She’d usually ignored it—she wouldn’t give the jerks the satisfaction—but after last night’s emotional talk with Jackson, she was at her limit. Her first thought was to march into the room and knock Moore’s teeth out. She inhaled deeply and was preparing to enter the room when Yates’ booming voice stopped her.
“Attention!” roared the grizzled NCO.
She heard the platoon snap to attention.
“What the fuck do you people think you’re doing?” continued Yates. “Who here is a Guardsman?”
“Uu-ah!” echoed through the gym as they answered in unison.
“Bullshit!” shouted Yates. “Guardsmen don’t act like a bunch of teenagers…they act like men.”
There was a long silence before Yates spoke again.
“Who here can outrun Lieutenant Martin?”
Silence.
“Which one of you killers can outshoot her?”
Again silence.
“Anyone want to challenge her to a fight?”
All Martin could hear was the sound of the gymnasium’s ventilation fans.
“Until one of you pussies can actually be a better soldier than her, maybe you should keep your mouths shut...and in case anyone was wondering, that wasn’t a damn suggestion.”
“But, Sarge,” spoke Corporal Lin, “we’re never gonna meet her fucking impossible standard.”
“Lin,” responded Yates, “does she ask you to do anything she can’t do herself?”
“No, but—”
“Well that sounds like a Corporal Lin problem and not a Lieutenant Martin one. And you, Moore,” added Yates, “the next time I hear you talk about an officer like that in front of me, you won’t have to wonder what it if feels like to be fucked by a superior because I will fuck you and I don’t cuddle afterwards.”