In Her Name

by Michael R. Hicks

  There were none. While the ritual they were partaking in was officially prohibited, it was a longstanding tradition that would survive anything less than outright murder, and Aquino was not about to let anything like that happen on his watch. “Very well,” he said, focusing on the roster. “Alazarro!”

  Jose Alazarro broke ranks and double-timed into the building.

  “Anyone want a piece of him?” Aquino challenged. Four Marines nodded. “What are you waiting for?” the sergeant major snapped. The three men and one woman hustled through the door, followed by Aquino. There followed a few minutes of muffled grunts and groans, after which all five Marines, three of them with bloody noses or lips, returned to the formation. Together.

  And so it went.

  Reza stood in the building after his name was called, wondering about this strange practice as he took his turn being “on the spot,” as some of the others called it. Eustus, called long before him, had cleared up some things with the young men who had once bullied him, and who now had broken noses and bruises, plus some respect, for their one-time scapegoat.

  But such things held no interest for Reza. He loathed some of his companions – he did not consider them peers – disliked a few more, was neutral toward most, and genuinely liked a very small few. Despite any negative feelings he held for any one of them, however, he had no reason to assert himself. He was a priest of the Desh-Ka, and any matters of import would not be settled to his satisfaction outside of the arena and the clash of sword and claw. And this, to be sure, was not the arena.

  He turned as two figures entered the building, their footfalls soft on the stained concrete floor. He nodded at Aquino, who took his place to one side in the role of officiator to make sure things did not get too ugly, and the older man nodded back gravely. Reza understood that his situation was somewhat different than that for the others. He would have to meet a higher standard of “satisfaction.” Reza would be happy to oblige. His only real challenge would be to prevent himself from seriously injuring or killing his challenger.

  Washington Hawthorne stepped forward. A towering pillar of ebony muscle, Hawthorne made a mockery even of Thorella’s imposing form.

  “I don’t have anything against you personally, Reza,” he said, “but I wanted to know if I could take you on man to man, without all the usual bullshit. You understand?”

  Nodding at the man’s candor, understanding him perfectly, Reza stepped up to meet him. Hawthorne’s motives, while not particularly wise, were nonetheless honest and understandable, at least to Reza. He made a note that this was a man who might someday make a valuable ally and friend.

  “When you are ready, Marines,” Aquino announced.

  Hawthorne nodded, happy not to be disappointed. He had not worked very closely with Reza, but he had heard about how great he was supposed to be in close combat. He wanted to find out for himself without wearing all the protective gear and playing by all the stupid rules the instructors sometimes – but not always – required. He raised his fists like a pugilist and moved in, anxious to see how Reza would react. Reza was a lot smaller, probably more agile than Hawthorne, but he was certainly a lot more vulnerable to any blow that the larger man could deliver. Hawthorne smiled.

  The contest began as a black fist the size of a cantaloupe shot toward Reza’s face with all the force and speed of a jackhammer…

  Reza gave Hawthorne the feeling of a real fight without really offering him one. He easily dodged the larger man’s blows, and only when Hawthorne began to feel frustration and anger at not being able to get a solid hit against his opponent did Reza finally bring the match to a close. Dodging another of Hawthorne’s Herculean strikes, Reza nimbly stepped forward to deliver a carefully placed blow to the larger man’s solar plexus, dropping him without doing any damage. Reza was hardly using his true combat skills, but Hawthorne was not an enemy.

  “Son of a bitch,” Hawthorne gasped as he collapsed, doubled-over with the pain that had exploded inside him. After gagging and choking for a few moments, effectively paralyzed from Reza’s single strike, he looked up through tearing eyes to find a hand extended toward him.

  “You fight with spirit, my friend,” Reza said, “and shall prove a worthy opponent for your true enemies, whom we shall face together. Come, let us leave this place.”

  Nodding slowly, his curiosity satisfied at the expense of a slightly bruised ego, Washington smiled as he took Reza’s hand, allowing the smaller man to help him up. “I just had to find out for myself, Reza. I’m just glad you’re on our side.”

  Together, the two of them headed back outside where they would await the completion of their platoon’s unofficial farewell party.

  A much-relieved Sergeant Major Aquino followed them out.

  * * *

  The newly appointed Marines stood in murmuring groups in the main hall, waiting for the harried cadre officers to post their orders. One after the other, they were called forward to the rows of tables at which the officers and NCOs sat, presenting and explaining each trainee’s first official orders. There was no reason for people to be doing this, of course: the trainees could have their orders posted just as easily by electronic mail, and very few actually needed anyone to explain orders. But the Corps had developed a tradition of seeing their people off to their first assignment with a human face and a word of encouragement, rather than a sterile electronic beep followed by an equally lifeless form letter.

  Nicole and Jodi stood beside Reza as they all waited for Eustus to return with his orders. Nicole was nervous, Reza could tell, and also touched with sadness. She did not want to leave him again.

  Eustus came running back, weaving his way toward them through the throng of fellow Marines, some of whom were cheering at their orders, others groaning with dismay. He held them clutched in his hand, the slender plastic seal still unbroken.

  “Well, dummy,” Jodi blurted, “where are you going?”

  “I want to see what Reza’s say first,” Eustus panted excitedly. “I’ve been… well, kind of hoping we’d get assigned to the same unit.”

  “Don’t hold your breath, bucko,” Jodi told him seriously. “The fleet’s a big place, and the Corps is spread all through it and on hundreds more planetary garrisons besides. The chances aren’t too good.”

  “Yeah, but I figure that we’re probably going to be assigned to an orphan regiment, right? I mean, my homeworld never had any regiments of its own, and Reza technically doesn’t have a homeworld for regimental assignment. So that makes the chances of us being in the same orphan regiment that much greater, right?”

  Jodi looked at him skeptically. “Orphan” regiments were so named because the homeworld that originally raised them and kept them supplied with recruits had either been decimated or destroyed by the Kreelans. When that happened, the regiment’s colors and organization remained intact, but it got whatever replacements could be sent to it, regardless of the source. Planets that did not have enough people to raise a complete regiment of its own and did not have an agreement with another world to supply replacement personnel had their Marines put into orphan regiments as replacements, fresh blood. While this was not a problem in most cases, in some it could be disastrous. In one case, an entire regiment had to be forcibly subdued after the military personnel – MILPO – office had unwittingly assigned a large block of replacement Marines to it, not realizing that the fresh troops, from a conservative Muslim colony, were likely to clash with the regiment’s indigenous Hindus. It took three other regiments to put down the resulting insurrection and mutiny.

  “Well,” Jodi said, “I’ll give you an A-plus for imagination. But I still wouldn’t get your hopes up too high.”

  Eustus looked to Nicole for support, but she only shrugged. She did not know either. She had asked, of course, but the MILPO officer had stonewalled her for some reason, and she suspected that Thorella probably had something to do with it. “I do not know, Eustus,” she said simply.

  “Gard, Reza!” one of the
NCOs shouted over the low din in the room.

  “Hurry up, Reza,” Eustus said, anxious to find out if they would get their assignment together.

  Reza made his way forward and came to stand at attention before Sergeant Major Aquino, who had taken Reza’s orders packet from the sergeant at the table and now held it in his hands. The older man looked up at him with his piercing black eyes.

  “I am not surprised that you made it this far, Gard,” he said as he handed Reza his orders, “in light of what you went through before you came to us here. I hope you go far in the life you have chosen, and in the Corps.” He gestured to the sparkling new Marines around him and said quietly, “I wish all of them were half as good as you.” He stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Marine.”

  Reza nodded as he shook the smaller man’s hand. He had always liked Aquino. “Thank you, sergeant major. I shall do my best.”

  “That is all I ask. Carry on.”

  Reza quickly walked back to where the others were waiting, the orders burning in his hand. He wanted to get out of this world of “discipline” and make believe combat and into the world where he belonged, where his sword would sing with honor to Her glory, even though She no longer saw him in Her heart. The thought depressed him until he saw Jodi, Nicole, and Eustus. They and the Corps were his family now, and he would do his best to bring honor to them all.

  “Well?” Eustus asked. “What is it? Where are you going?”

  Reza opened his orders and scanned them. “I have been posted to the 1st Battalion of the 12th Guards Regiment,” he told them.

  “That’s the Red Legion, isn’t it?” Jodi said, shocked. Nicole’s mouth dropped open. The Red Legion was infamous throughout the Corps as being a dumping ground for every undesirable individual and bloody mission in the service. It was the High Command’s garbage disposal. “My God, Reza, that unit’s a meat grinder!”

  Eustus tore his orders open. “Dear Father,” he whispered. He looked up at Jodi, then Reza. “What is it they say about not wishing for something, because you might get it?”

  “You received the same assignment?” Nicole asked, aghast. “This is absurd! There must be some mistake–”

  “There’s no mistake, commander,” a familiar voice spoke from behind. They all turned to find Thorella standing there, an angelic smile on his face. “Those orders came from on high, or so I hear. I hope you enjoy your duty stations, gentlemen. Now, if you’ll excuse me–”

  “You fucking piece of shit,” Jodi snarled. “You know they don’t deserve that. Even you can’t hate them that much. The Red Legion isn’t anything more than a marching coffin.”

  “My, my,” he said, shaking his head theatrically. “You Navy types do have a way with words. I know you won’t believe this, Mackenzie, but it actually wasn’t my idea. But you’re right: the Red Legion is a meat grinder, although it isn’t listed as such. But that makes it all the more fitting for a traitor and his sidekick.”

  Eustus made to step forward, his fists clenched, but Reza held him back. “No, Eustus,” he said before turning to Thorella. He stepped close to the larger man, and was rewarded with the sharp tang of fear that suddenly erupted from his pores. “There will come a day of reckoning for you, Markus Thorella. And I pray I am there to witness it.”

  Thorella snorted derisively, but Reza could tell he was still afraid. “Say your prayers for yourself, half-breed. You and your little buddy here will have your hands full as it is.” He looked at Eustus. “I was thinking of getting you a jar of petroleum jelly for when you get there, Camden. I hear the NCOs in the Red Legion don’t like their little boys dry.”

  “That is enough, captain,” Nicole hissed. Her anger had called forth an unfamiliar burning sensation in her body, as if her blood was on fire. Her conscious mind was afraid that if Thorella did not shut up, she would find herself lunging for his throat. “Leave us. Now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he sneered. He threw a mock salute, turned on his heel, and sauntered away through the crowd.

  “Motherfucker,” Jodi called quietly after him.

  Nicole turned to Reza and Eustus. “I will see if I cannot get in to see General Tsingai about this,” she said. “He may be able to–”

  “No,” Reza said firmly. “At least, not for me. I thank you for your concern, Nicole, but I have received my orders, and I shall do my best to carry them out.” Jodi opened her mouth to protest, but Reza silenced her with his eyes before he spoke. “I do not do this purely out of respect for orders which, I suspect, are not entirely legal. But I have also heard of the Red Legion, and perhaps – for me – it is the best place. I believe that I probably would fit in better with a group of misfits than I would in a regular unit.” He held up a braid of his long hair to illustrate his point. He was the only Marine any of them had ever seen whose hair was not the regulation crew cut. And that was the least of his differences.

  Jodi scowled furiously, the normally crystal smooth skin of her forehead wrinkled like aged parchment. “What about you, Eustus?” she asked.

  “I’ll go with Reza,” he said decisively, pocketing his orders. “A Marine’s job is going to be tough no matter where he is. And I figure that sticking with Reza makes my chances of staying alive and doing my job well that much better.” He had glanced at Reza’s orders and compared them to his own. They were slated for the same company, and he could only hope that they would be assigned to the same platoon.

  “Oui,” Nicole said resignedly, trying to keep the sadness from her voice. Not only was Reza leaving her again, he was probably going to be sacrificed as undesirable cannon fodder on some rock in space that had nothing more than a number for a name. “I guess that is that, then.”

  They all stood there for a few minutes, as if not quite sure that the play they were acting out was real or only a bad dream.

  It was Eustus who finally broke the spell. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’d better get packing. The transports start loading at fourteen-hundred, and we’ve got a long trip ahead of us.” The Red Legion was scattered over a sector of space nearly two months’ hyperlight travel from Quantico.

  Nicole held back her tears as she walked with her friends toward the barracks, wondering if a year from now any of them would still be alive to remember this day.

  Twenty-Seven

  Six Years Later

  Captain Reza Gard sat at a nondescript desk in the small cubicle that served as his company’s CQ and administrative office, trying valiantly to deal with the paperwork that he could not in good conscience leave for his adjutant, Corporal Alfonso Zevon. Zevon, who only recently had been transferred to A Company, 1st Battalion of the 12th Guards Regiment (Red Legion), had transformed the company’s paperwork, which Reza considered to be a small slice of Father Hernandez’s Hell, from an unqualified mess into a real system. It was a gift that Reza was endlessly thankful for, especially since Zevon also happened to be an expert marksman and a good fighter. What terrible thing he had done to earn himself a posting to the Red Legion, Reza did not know, and would never ask.

  He looked up as his First Sergeant poked his head through the door. “Reza,” Eustus said, “there’s a message coming in for you on channel five. It’s from Nicole.”

  Reza’s skin tingled at the sound of her name. It had been months since he had last heard from her, but he had felt recently that something was different in her life, something good had happened. He felt it in his blood, the blood he had shared with her. “Thank you, Eustus. I’ll take it in here.” Eustus smiled and ducked back out.

  Reza shook his head as he thought about his friend. Eustus had insisted on staying with him in the bloody machine that was the Red Legion, despite receiving several offers to be posted to other, more “reputable,” regiments. He had also received several offers – strongly supported by Reza – to go to officer candidate school, but that, too, he had refused. “Why would I want to become an officer?” he would ask, seemingly perplexed. He had risen through the enlisted ranks on his own merit,
and now served as the senior enlisted man in his company. He was honored to serve Reza, and Reza was equally honored to have him.

  Washington Hawthorne, too, had joined the Legion – by choice, amazingly enough – two years after graduating from Quantico. He had survived long enough to become Reza’s executive officer, and would soon be up for command of his own company, an event that Reza awaited with anticipation and pride in his friend’s abilities.

  As for Reza himself, his start in the Legion as a much-maligned rifleman who had spent nearly as much time fighting his fellow Marines as he had the Kreelans had changed five months after his arrival to the unit. At the Battle of Kalimpong, half of their battalion was wiped out in an ill-planned attack against a Kreelan mining operation that had been discovered in the system’s asteroid belt. Reza had managed to rally the survivors in time to beat back a fierce Kreelan counterattack that had come very close to destroying their ship, the old cruiser Pegasus (which not long after, Reza lamented, had been burned into vapor by a Kreelan battlecruiser). For that action, Corporal Reza Gard had won the Confederation Medal of Honor and a trip to Officer Candidate School, where Nicole pinned on his gold second lieutenant’s bars three months later. He had returned to his battalion to take over A Company’s 1st Platoon, and ten months later had assumed command of the company itself after the acting company commander and executive officer were killed in action. Four years ago, that had been. Four years. A lifetime…

  Gratefully shoving aside the data pad that been monopolizing his time, Reza turned his attention to Nicole’s message. “Play,” he ordered the console. After a short pause, Nicole’s face appeared in the screen, and his heart warmed at the sight of her. She looked as beautiful as always, and was – he was not able to describe it exactly – warmer, somehow, more vibrant. Happy, he thought. For perhaps the first time since they were children, she looked happy.

  “Mon ami,” she began, almost hesitantly, “I hope all is going well for you, that you are safe there on the Rim. Jodi and Father Hernandez are fine, and asked me to say hello to you; I am sure that you will soon receive messages from both of them, but I told them to wait until I had brought you the news.