The second-to-last man in the line was XO. He was the second most senior Marine in the battalion, but in the Corps of Drums, he was just another drummer, commanded by Corporal Spain.
The Marines married up, and Corporal Spain slipped into his position within the group. For the next ten minutes, the 19 Marines moved through a series of intricate maneuvers, never stopping their drums. When the two bass drummers came to the front and somehow performed a duet that would put a snare drummer to shame, the crowd erupted into cheers.
Noah could feel his blood pounding. He’d probably attended fifty beatings during his lifetime, both as a dependent and as a Marine, and they still never failed to move him.
Too soon, the Corps of Drums went into their finale, the crescendo rising as they moved like Dervishes, sure to crash into each other, but never quite doing so. The crowd was calling out and cheering, but the drums’ pounding beat drowned the crowd out.
Just when Noah thought their drumsticks surely had to burst apart, they stopped dead, one stick raised, the other on their drums. They stood like statues, not moving. Noah could feel the anticipation.
The huge crash made him jump despite him expecting it. Eight PICS Marines had entered the hall. Around each one was an enormous leopard skin, and under the left arms of four of them hung huge kettle drums.
The 19 original drummers Marines broke their position to beat out a “Forward, march!”
As far as Noah knew, his father’s old battalion, 2/3, had initiated the use of PICS Marines in a beating. Other battalions claimed credit, but Noah was going to stick with his father’s claim. Now, they were part and parcel to almost all beatings, and they were a crowd favorite.
With the four kettle drummers pounding out a cadence, the other four marched forward, spinning around in a one-legged 360 as they took their place in front of the guests. They each slowly raised their right hands up high, almost in a Roman salute, then brought them down with a resounding crash to their chest carapaces, then beat a quick tattoo.
Grubbing cool!
The four kettle drummers, with the rest of the corps, turned to face the drumless four, answering the chest tattoo as they formed a half-circle around them. With the massed drums providing a back-beat, the focus was on the drumless four as they started an intricate dance, all the time beating on their own bodies. The sharp clangs were a contrast to the booming drums. Several times, the four turned to pairs with each one pounding on his or her partner’s body.
The crowd was enthusiastically cheering, but they were easily drowned out by the combined booms of 23 drums and four drumless PICS. At another point, the four turned to the kettle drum PICS and used their hands to pound on the drums while those drummers rapped on them with their drumsticks.
When the entire group broke out of their formation and started weaving about each other, Noah’s heart jumped to this throat. There was a reason why PICS and non-PICS Marines didn’t mix. A slight mistake, a slight stumble, and there would be one Marine pancake. Yet they managed to march and cross paths with each other with precision.
The finale was amazing—Noah had no other word for it. The combined pounding of 27 Marines, simply blew the huge hall away. Noah wasn’t sure what he was hearing through his ears and what was being pounded into his chest, and he didn’t care. Corporal Spain had made the battalion proud.
Noah took a moment to look up at the dais. Commander Anderson was pounding on Esther’s back. She was applauding, a huge smile on her face. A beating was for the rank and file, it was for the civilians who observed it. It was not simply to please the CO. Still, Noah was happy to see that she’d enjoyed it.
He turned back to the Drum Corps. They had frozen in place. Finally, Corporal Spain stepped up raising one drum stick before bringing it back down with a soft tap. Immediately, the Marines of the Drum Corps performed right and left faces, and with Spain giving them a beat, marched out of the ballroom. The applause was deafening. Noah hurried after them.
Noah and his father had often discussed what was important about a beating. It wasn’t combat after all, and that was a Marine’s job, not to entertain civilians. But there was an almost visceral connection with being a Marine that the beating uncovered. A beating, something taken from Marines long past, transcended the “job” of a Marine and touched on the soul of a Marine. Just as ancient homo erectus sat pounding on hollowed logs around a campfire, this set off a sympathetic beating in his very DNA. At this very moment, Noah was not a man who was a Marine; he was the Marine Corps. A small cell in the bigger organism, to be sure, but still, he was the Corps.
Noah reached them just as the last Marine entered the holding room and the solemn formation broke into individuals, cheering and backslapping each other. Sergeant Olsen from the armory was there to help the PICS Marines shuck their huge combat suits, and as each Marine emerged, he or she was hugged and high-fived. Noah, still feeling pumped, had intended on joining the celebration, but as he saw Major Frazier pick up the much smaller Staff Sergeant Souder in a hug, he held back.
This was their show, their moment. He wasn’t part of it.
With a smile, he closed the door into the holding room and made his way back to the ballroom. With the official ceremony over, he knew he had to show his face and press the flesh. The Drum Corps entertained, a sergeant major shook hands. Everyone had a place in the Corps.
FS MOUNT FUJI
Chapter 13
Esther
“How in the hell did they manage that?” Esther asked, her temper rising.
“On Novyy Donetsk, ma’am, where we did our Patron Day celebration.”
“I know where we did our celebration, Doc. I was there, remember?” she said, eyes rolling. “I mean how the hell did this happen?”
Navy Lieutenant Siren was an earnest battalion surgeon, but the woman had a habit of stating the obvious and sometimes missing the key point.
“The two visited a civilian free birther clinic and had their implants removed, ma’am.”
Free birthers. What the hell?
On most new planets, governments wanted people to go forth and multiply. Planets had to be populated, whether by birth or immigration. However, on many of the older planets, the teaming masses created a huge burden simply to give each citizen their UAM-approved minimum standard of life. The UAM BPA, the Basic Propagation Agreement, made it a crime against humanity for a government to use forced sterilization or any other method of involuntary birth control, but it did not forbid governments to offer incentives for reversible birth control.
The “free birthers” were a loosely organized group that felt any form of birth control still fell within the category of crimes against humanity, and aside from fighting legal battles, they offered services to people who wanted birth control methods to be removed or reversed.
“We hit Novyy Donetsk 40 days ago, Doc. I thought it took at least three months for the effects of an implant to fade away. How can O’Shannon be pregnant already?”
“Three months is the normal rebound period, ma’am. Obviously, Sergeant O’Shannon is particularly fecund.”
“Fecund, Doc?” Esther asked, trying not to roll her eyes.
“Fertile, ma’am. It means easily able to become pregnant.”
Hell, Doc, I know what “fecund” means. I was just wondering why you didn’t say “fertile” in the first place.
“Yes, I know. But how are you sure they had their implants removed on Novyy Donetsk?”
“I saw the medical report, ma’am.”
“If I may interrupt, Colonel?” Lieutenant Commander Hans Julian, the Mount Fuji’s XO and acting legal officer asked. “It doesn’t really matter when they had it done.”
Esther stopped and reset herself. He was right. Whether Sergeant O’Shannon and Corporal Rhee removed their implants on Novyy Donetsk or before, the fact was that they had done it, and that was what mattered.
“So, we now have a pregnant squad leader in Bravo Company. According to you, Doc, Sergeant O’Shannon is d
etermined to carry the child to term.”
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
Esther hadn’t needed a response from the battalion surgeon; she was merely thinking out loud.
“Well, whether she is or she isn’t, I want both of them brought up on charges.”
“Both of them?” the XO asked.
“It takes two to tango. They both were willing participants in this.”
“Roger that.”
“Uh, Colonel, there’s going to be a problem with that. The BPA,” Commander Julian said.
“Why? I’m not getting in the way of Sergeant O’Shannon and Corporal Rhee’s fundamental right to procreate. I am merely charging them with removing their implants.”
“Which you can’t do.”
“Sure, I can. Having the implants is a requirement for a Marine or sailor to be deployed,” she said.
She imagined she could almost feel her own implant, a centimeter or so into the muscle of her left arm, just under her armpit.
“Yes, it is a regulation, one upheld by the courts. But the BPA specifically allows for anyone to remove birth control methods at any time.”
“What?” Esther blurted out. “You mean, we can require Marines to get implants to be deployed, but they can take them out at any time?”
“That’s about it.”
Esther looked over to Noah who gave her a slight shrug. She could tell this little tidbit took him by surprise, too.
“What about if they lied to Doc Siren here, I mean, if they really had them taken out, say, before we actually embarked? The free birthers would fake a medical report if asked. The two had, what, four days back on Last Stop where they could have done that, and the free birthers would fake a medical report to say they had it done on Novyy Donetsk,” Major Frazier asked.
“I’d have to check, but I don’t think they would be required to inform anyone that they had the implants removed,” LCDR Julian said.
“That’s not my point. O’Shannon is pregnant now, but normally, it takes three months for that to be possible. So, if she and Rhee lied to Doc Siren, that in and of itself is a violation of the UCMJ.”
That could work, Esther thought.
She stole a glance to Noah who subtly shook his head.
He’s right. I’d be opening a can of worms, and I’m not going to get drawn into that kind of a mess. Better just end it now.
“I’m not going to have a pregnant sergeant within the battalion. For all I know, she goes out and loses the baby, and the free birthers say I’m a criminal against humanity. So, Captain Gill, from this moment, Sergeant O’Shannon is assigned to H&S. Same with Rhee,” she told Captain McLamb. “At the first opportunity, both Marines are to be put on any available transport back to Last Stop where I’ll request that they be transferred out of the battalion.
“Would that be allowed, Commander?” she asked the ship’s XO.
He seemed to contemplate that for a moment before he nodded and said, “I’d say so. You have the full authority to transfer anyone within your battalion, and you can send anyone back as well. It would be up to your command whether they actually transfer the two out of the battalion, of course, but even if you didn’t, you could have them as part of your rear party.”
“Then let’s do it. XO, keep me informed. OK, let’s move on. Captain Montoya, you’re up.”
“Thank you, ma’am. As you now, we’re now in Condition Charlie for piracy in the Delvier Sector. There has been an increase in chatter . . .”
It was looking more and more that the Dark Tide was planning a bold action of some sort in the Delvier Sector, and the Mount Fuji was standing by. Civilian vessels were being told to avoid the region. Condition Charlie was a heightened, but not extreme, condition of alert. Esther had been in Charlie half-a-dozen times in her career where nothing developed. But HQMC had canceled the battalion’s joint exercise with the Confederation army, and that was not done lightly. Noah thought, however, that maybe the Confederation had done the canceling as the battalion was only in Charlie. Either way, there was a feeling of excitement beginning to build throughout the ship. With only three months left for deployment, they might be seeing some action.
With that in mind, she should be paying more attention to her S2. But her thoughts were drifting to Sergeant O’Shannon and Corporal Rhee. Both were good Marines without any disciplinary problems. Yet they had decided to remove their implants, something they knew could have career-threatening consequences. All to have a baby.
Esther felt her own implant begin to burn.
It’s your imagination, Lysander. You can’t feel it.
She and Jim had discussed children, of course, but always as part of some far future plans. They were both too dedicated to the Corps, and both had careers that they hoped were still only beginning.
Still, in a small way that she could quite understand, she envied O’Shannon.
“Ma’am? Do you want to see that?” Captain Montoya asked.
Esther looked around, confused for a second. She had no idea what the S2 wanted to show her.
“Yes, go ahead,” she said, leaning forward and trying to look engaged.
Come on, Lysander. Command now and worry about a family in 20 years.
Chapter 14
Noah
Two months later, Noah was going stir crazy. The battalion was still in Condition Charlie while the Mount Fuji cut square circles in space. The excitement over the possibility of action that had gripped the ship had slowly atrophied into utter boredom punctuated by outbursts of frustration and fistfights. As the sergeant major, Noah knew it was up to him to keep the battalion from falling apart, but at the moment, he was more interested in simply sitting in the chief’s mess, out of the reach of the bulk of his Marines.
He idly spooned his Leicestershire Stew, pushing the mass of glop from one side of his plate to the other and back again, never actually lifting any more of the mess to his mouth. He wasn’t being reasonable, he knew. The stew was fine, one of the more popular recipes in the ship’s fabricators. But as the Mount Fuji had not pulled into any port for going on ten weeks now, and as she hadn’t had an underway replenishment, the ship was out of the fresh vegetables and fruits he liked. The officers still had a few supplies in their stasis pack, but the chiefs had consumed the last of theirs two weeks ago.
“Sergeant Major?” First Sergeant Quisenberry asked, sliding into the seat beside him.
“What do you need, Cory?” he asked, trying to put a hint of interest in his voice, interest of which he was totally devoid at the moment.
“It’s Lieutenant RP again,” he said. “He’s driving Gillespie crazy. Now he’s got the platoon using toothbrushes to clean berthing because they failed his inspection.”
Noah tried not to roll his eyes. First Lieutenant Moses Radiant Purpose was a royal pain in the ass. He knew everything and held almost everyone else in disdain. The problem was that he was almost as good as he thought he was, at least as far as tactically. As far as being a leader, he left a lot to be desired.
“And what does Captain Kingery say?”
“He said he’s going to talk to the lieutenant, but, you know . . .”
Yeah, I know. Just because RP is a Torritite, you think Esther or I needs to get involved.
“Look, Cory, you’re from Pannington, right?”
“Yeah, you know that.”
“So, if the chaplain starts acting up—”
“The chaplain? He’s not going to act up.”
“Let me finish. Let’s just say he apostates, becomes the minion of the devil and starts demanding newborn children for sacrifices, since he’s from Pannington, too, is it now your job to rein him in?”
“That’s different, Sergeant Major,” the first sergeant protested.
“The hell it is. You want me, or really, you want me to get the CO to take care of RP because we’re half Torritite.”
“No, that’s not what I mean.”
“Yes, it is. And just like last time y
ou came to me, Lieutenant Radiant Purpose is your headache, yours and Captain Kingery’s. You take care of him.”
He turned back to his stew, this time actually taking a bite, which pained him to admit wasn’t half bad. He hoped Cory would take the hint and leave.
But no, he was like a terrier on a rat. “We’ve tried, but the captain can’t fire his ass—”
Whatever feeble excuse the first sergeant was going to say was interrupted by the 1MC.
“All Navy and Marine Corps principle staff are to make way to the wardroom at once. I say again, all Navy and Marine Corps principle staff are to make way to the wardroom at once.”
Noah and the first sergeant looked at each other for a moment, First Lieutenant Radiant Purpose forgotten. Nothing specific as to why they had an immediate meeting had been said in the announcement, but between the two of them, they had almost 40 years of service. They knew it in their bones.
They jumped up from their seats and ran out of the chiefs’ mess and down the long passage to the wardroom. It was go time.
Chapter 15
Esther
“F1 is leaving the hangar bay,” the yeoman said, his voice the model of efficiency.
Esther didn’t feel so calm as she stood by the projection stage, a 60 cm-long hologram of the SS Calypso Queen hovering a meter high over the base. A grand dame in her day as a cruise liner, she’d fallen victim to the ever more extravagant ships that pulled in vacationers and was now relegated to hauling contract workers from world to world. On board now was a crew of only nine—and 2,677 workers headed to Fortuna.
Why the ship’s captain had decided to cut through the Delvier Sector would be something for the investigators to determine, but right now, those 2,686 souls were the responsibility of the FS Mount Fuji and First Battalion, Eighth Marines. And on the near side of the stage, next to a hologram of the Mount Fuji, Esther could see the ship’s shuttle, with Wes McLamb and one of his platoons on board, leaving for the crossing to the Calypso Queen.
Blood United (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 5) Page 12