by Black, Alan
Misha thought briefly about her earlier rampage through the APES held parts of the craft. It might have ruffled a few feathers, but she knew the main difference was that she and her fellow APES would be going into combat together. She knew an AMSF technician could easily leave a valve turned the wrong way or a button unpushed, then calmly go to lunch after launching a FAC off the flight deck, all without any damage to themself. Most AMSF personnel Misha met had too much pride in themselves and their service to do such a thing. However, if a FAC jock insulted and pushed the wrong enlisted person, it would be a long walk back to the mothership, with very little scenery to take their mind off the nagging lack of oxygen in space. Misha met more than her share of this type of officer in her time in AMSF intelligence.
Misha decided to let Britaine stew in his own juices. Her father taught all of his children to argue, haggle, negotiate and generally verbally twist their way through most conversations. She had never been very good at negotiation, but one phrase she remembered very clearly. She could even hear her father’s voice as he shouted ‘the first man to speak loses’. Besides, in this case it seemed to be much more prudent to remain silent than to draw blood.
She continued to stare at Britaine in silence.
Finally he said, “Well?”
Misha smiled at him and replied, “Pardon me, Colonel. Did you ask something?”
“You know damn good and well I did, McPherson. I command here. I will not be insulted on my own spacecraft.”
“Colonel Britaine,” Misha said, still smiling, “I may be a new third, but I am not ignorant of our respective service's contracts. I agree you are in command of this vessel. Without a doubt, sir, I agree.”
She stepped toward Britaine, moving quickly to break through his physical comfort zone. Misha didn’t know where the man was from. If he was from one of the crowded worlds, he might have only a few inches of personal space. If he came from one of the agricultural worlds like her home planet of DropSix, he might have come to the AMSF with a bubble space of four or five feet. That much space would be greatly whittled down over the years of spacecraft service. However, she had never met a FAC jock who didn’t get uncomfortable when pressed physically, at least when they were sober. She was pleased to see a flash of concern in his eyes.
She said calmly, “I have a copy of the APES contract with the AMSF for this deployment. It has been attached as Exhibit 11 of my orders. It is in my glass-pack. Do we need to review them, sir?”
Britaine’s eyes hardened, “So you are a barrack's lawyer, McPherson?
“Hardly, Colonel, it is just that I am not ignorant of my rights and responsibilities.” Misha stared into his eyes with as much control as she could muster. “Our agreement states clearly you are in command.”
“See there, McPherson.” The man was positively gloating.
“However,” she said as if she hadn’t been interrupted, “our agreement does not place me under your command nor does it place me on your organizational chart with a few minor exceptions. That would be to repel boarders, assist in a mutiny, or for emergency battle damage while in space. Furthermore, Colonel, my orders are to report to you when my command is present and available for transport. My orders clearly state I have until tomorrow at 17:00 standard hours to report, at which time you will provide my command with transportation into a combat zone. End of relationship.”
She continued, “I did stop by today as a courtesy call. I would prefer to have an amicable relationship with you and your officers, Colonel Britaine. But, if that is not the case, then I can persevere while you take the 1392nd to our destination.” She smiled sweetly, knowing everyone in the room knew she had just called an AMSF Colonel a glorified bus driver. Britaine’s face was red as he tried to control his temper. Misha could see he was struggling to hold his tongue.
She said, “Colonel Britaine, it does seem I have interrupted your staff meeting and perhaps I have been remiss in starting our relationship off on the wrong foot. May I suggest we start over fresh tomorrow after I have assembled my command?” Without waiting for Britaine’s response, Misha spun on her heel and was out the hatch. She held her temper, but at a cost. Internally she was boiling. Something or someone was going to get hurt if she didn’t work out soon to blow off some excess energy. Still, she hadn’t expected to hurt someone as quickly as she did. She slammed full force into a man coming in the opposite direction down the hallway. He was sent sprawling out before her on the deck with his civilian clothes in disarray.
“Ow,” the man said quietly as he looked up at her. “Slow it down a bit, young lady. I am just a tad too delicate for this kind of meeting, at least without the proper introductions."
Misha would have walked on with only the briefest of apologies if the man had not been smiling. Instead, she did something she always hated herself for doing. She blushed. When she blushed, it was a bright red from the tips of her ears to the nape of her neck or even further depending on the situation. Blushing was an unfortunate side effect of a heavy-worlder's ability to pump copious amounts of oxygen-rich blood into their dense musculature. Combined with Misha's pale skin, a left-over from her Scottish heritage, she almost glowed in the dark.
She offered the man a hand and pulled him to his feet. He was a smallish man, almost a foot shorter than her, he was very slightly built, not skinny, but more of the wiry type. She was glad to note she hadn’t damaged him, seeing as she was twice his size.
The man said, “Sergeant Gan Forrester of the Allied Marshal Service. And you must be the vaunted Third Hamisha McPherson? I am pleased to meet you.”
She said, “Sergeant Forrester, please accept my apologies. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Well, it only seems fair that you put me on my keister. You tore through the APES like a whirlwind and from what I just overheard in Britaine’s office you stirred up a shit storm in there with the AMSF. You might as well try to do some damage to the Marshal Service, too. Make it a clean sweep for the day." The man smiled up at her. “Well, Third, I don’t seem to be damaged beyond repair. No harm, no foul.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.”
“Please, call me Gan. And you prefer to be called Misha if what I read in the news is correct. Well, Misha, perhaps we can get together before this little cruise is over. I would love to hear about Guinjundst, that is, what you can tell me about it. I understand the secrecy and all of that. Military history is sort of a hobby of mine.”
Misha said, “I don’t know how long the 1392nd will be aboard the Kiirkegaard, Gan.”
He smiled, “Longer than I will, I would guess. I am going on a little field investigation in the Gagarin System. It’s not so much an investigation as it is a little boondoggle for me. It is a like a paid vacation. It’s kind of a reward for me having the least errors in the productivity reports over the past year. That’s me, just a good little data pusher.”
Misha turned to go, but the man continued unabated. “Since you are heading on past the Gagarin System, we will have a few days before the flight takes off, plus it is three jumps to Gagarin, even for military spacecraft.”
Misha’s comm unit emitted a quiet bip and broadcast, “Third McPherson to the main hatch.”
Forrester sighed, “Well, I would love to stay and continue our chat, but it seems you are needed elsewhere and I have to go face Colonel Britaine now that you have stirred him up. Thanks for that, by the way.” He smiled, turned and headed into Britaine’s office before Misha could respond.
Misha was almost at the main hatch before it occurred to her that Sergeant Gan Forrester knew more about her destination than she knew. She wondered how the little man knew so much about her when she had only been on board a few hours. Or was it longer? She shook her head, thinking that it was going to be a long transport to wherever it was they were going. Wherever that was, she was going to have to do a dirt drop when she got there. That would mean she would have to stuff her command into combat armor, strap onto skid plates, jump out hatchway
s and slide through the atmosphere of a hostile planet to engage an enemy. She knew that much about her mission. She may not know where or when, but putting combat boots on the ground was what APES did.
Reaching the main hatchway, Misha saw the diminutive form of the young spacer from the station’s principal gate. She brushed past the AMSF main hatch guard and greeted the girl.
“Brianna. Thank you for taking on this little task for me. I appreciate it.”
Brianna smiled, “It’s my pleasure, ma’am. I mean, sir. I am sorry it took me so long, but I had to wait until I got off duty to get to the shops.”
Misha smiled back. “Did you have any trouble finding what I need?”
“No, sir. Only…” The girl’s voice trailed off.
“Only what, Brianna? I won’t bite your head off.”
“I found what you asked for, but I think it was probably a bit more expensive than we thought. Um, I kind of took a hit in my savings account getting it for you. I’ve never bought anything like it before. I hope I did okay.”
“Hand me your glass-pack.” Misha said. She took the device from the girl and tapped the two glass-packs together making a cross connection. Whistling through her teeth, she said, “You are right, Brianna. This is a bit more expensive than I thought, too. Well, never mind, you get what you pay for. And a girl's gotta have what a girl's gotta have.” She punched in the financial codes to transfer funds from her account to Brianna’s. She didn't mention the extra ten percent she authorized for her time and trouble. Favors for friends were one thing, but she did not want to overstep bounds with someone she just met.
Brianna said, “Third McPherson, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Misha handed the girl’s glass-pack back. “Only we are not on duty now and since I had you running all over the station on personal errands for me, why don’t you call me Misha. All of my other friends do. Ask away.”
“Yes, sir. How do I get to be an APE?”
“Good question. I can see you have been thinking about it. Well, finish your four years in the AMSF. That is first.” Misha went on to explain to the girl how all APES must complete at least four years with another military or paramilitary service: the Allied Mobile Space Force, the Allied Marshal Service and even some planetary ground forces or police forces from some larger cities qualified.
APES service was strictly voluntary. A person could do what APES do if they could pass the mental and physical requirements of another service. What the APES did was combat; wherever and whenever called upon to do so by the Allied Systems. Every APE fought from The Sixth-Level Commander John Cochran down to the newest rookie. In the APES, most combat training was on-the-job training. You became a veteran if you survived. If you didn’t survive, the APES would send a letter home to your family with an insurance settlement check.
All APES maintained secondary and sometimes tertiary duty qualifications. The design of each squad was to be self-contained and self-supporting; having their own medical staff (medic, doctor or psychiatrist), cook, skid plate expert, quartermaster (scrounger), armor repair technician, records specialist, weapons technician, expendables (ammunition) supply clerk, general supplies clerk, power specialist and intelligence/linguist. All commanders require secondary duty qualifications outside of the command structure. A fifth-level commander might also be a general supplies clerk and thus functionally report to the quartermaster, the cook, or any other position depending on the situation. Many commanders did come from general supplies as that specific secondary duty offered an individual a wide understanding of most squad functions.
Many old-timers have more than one secondary duty due service time and changing interests. Additional duties are an individual choice to be tackled on their own off duty time. Each such duty merits extra pay. Each APE also has training in some spacecraft system: environmental, gunnery, power-room systems, tactical, intelligence, small craft or fixed-wing operations, etc. Since many APES come from the other services this is normally a matter of expanding on previously learned skills.
Misha explained that every commander regardless of rank commands his own squad. A fifth-level commander (a fist) or The Sixth himself commands a fighting squad of ten troopers and goes into combat. By tradition, a commander’s own squad is never handpicked, no matter how high his rank. It is comprised of any remaining members of the squad he commanded as a second-level. Over time, he gains replacements. Randomly assigned replacements come from existing available troopers or new recruits. Commanders who foolishly lose a high percentage of their squads are regarded unfavorable for higher advancement.
Ten troopers and one commander form a squad. These eleven people constitute what is organizationally the first tier. A second-level commander (a deuce) is in command of most squads. This is the most basic APES unit structure. Any squad unable to regain full strength during a regeneration phase is folded into another short squad or if severe shortages occur, they are disbanded to fill other squads. Commanders must fill a slot in the organizational chart. Any commander without a slot is re-organized downward or if the need arises, moves upward into an open slot.
A third-level commander (a third or trey) directly leads a squad of ten troopers and also commands ten second-levels. Each deuce is in charge of a squad of ten troopers. These 121 people constitute a second tier.
The fourth-level commander (a quad) leads a squad of ten troopers. This is affectionately called a quad squad. The fourth directly oversees ten third-level commanders. These 1,331 fighting troopers form a third tier. Often times a unit this size or larger does not have its people located physically on the same spacecraft, station, planet or even in the same region of space.
A fifth-level commander (a fist) leads a squad of ten troopers and supervises ten fourth-levels. These 13,310 men constitute a fourth tier.
The sixth-level commander leads a squad of ten troopers and also directly commands, if the APES were fully staffed, ten fifth-level commanders. These 131,100 men constitute the fifth tier.
Misha told Brianna that her command was in the first fifth. It had to be as there had never been two fifth levels in all of APE history. If a hundred and thirty-one thousand APES in combat armor could not do the job, then it couldn’t be done. She also pointed out that her command was in the third fourth tier, plus the ninth third tier and the second second tier, otherwise known as the 1392nd.
She explained that no APE is, was, or ever will be drafted or inducted against their will. Nor will they be kept in the service unwillingly. The only exception is that an APE cannot quit when on deployment or during regeneration phase. Even taking on replacements during a deployment is not normal as it can affect teamwork.
“So,” Misha concluded. “There you have the short course in APEery. Still want to join up?”
Brianna nodded. “Only it sounds like I can’t get assigned to your squad even if you would have me.”
Misha smiled. “I would trade for you right now if I could. I would rather have heart than size any day, but it just does not work that way. Tell me the truth, Brianna: are you having problems where you are now? Because, if you don’t like military service in the AMSF, then you surely will hate being in the APES.”
“Oh no, sir. I like it fine, but…well, you know. Sometimes it’s just not enough. Plus, I saw the way you handled the crowd at the gate. I never saw anyone take control like that. I mean, I have always been somebody else's little.”
“Excuse me?” Misha asked. “You’re a 'little'?"
Brianna smiled, “Yes, sir. You know, Daddy’s little girl and Mother’s little helper. My older sister Danielle is in the AMSF. She’s a captain now. She got me assigned to this safe little job on the gate because I am her little sister. I don’t want to be a little anymore. I want to do.”
Misha said, “I know. Believe me, I know. You finish your time in the AMSF then find any APE commander and enlist with us. In the meantime, find the oldest noncom you can in your outfit. Get their advice, listen to them and le
arn from them. Ask them who to go to for training in hand-to-hand combat. I assume you are already learning a martial art form as part of your duties? Good! Also, pick a specialty: if you like cooking, then cook. If you are good at physics, begin to learn power mechanics. Don’t waste too much of your time in bars and at parties. By all means, play and have fun, just don't make it a time-consuming habit. And if I can ever do anything, you contact me. I’ve already downloaded my address into your glass-pack. You write and let me know, hear?”
Brianna said. “Yes, Misha, I hear. I’d like to write to you. Thanks, you don’t know what this means to me.”
Misha said, “I mean that now, that’s an order. You write and let me know how things are going.”
Chapter Nine
Misha stepped into the training bay where all of her squads had assembled. She had ordered an inspection for one hour and she had lost all of that hour. First she spent too much time with Britaine, then bumping into that weird little man Forrester, and finally she spent way too much time with Spacer Morin. However, she realized the time she had spent with Brianna had brought her back to why she had joined the APES in the first place. It cleared her head and she felt ready to tackle her new command. As ragged as it was, it was now hers to mold, form and shape into a fighting unit.
Unfortunately, she might only have a week or so to pound this group into some semblance of a fighting unit before dropping in combat mode on some hellhole of a planet. Fully twenty percent of her troopers were APES rookies headed for their first dirt drop. Six out of her ten seconds were new commanders, although each was a veteran trooper.
Each squad clustered into rough groups with the clusters scattered around the training bay. Troopers squatted or sat on the deck as the mood struck them. Most were chatting among themselves, although the tension in the room was almost palpable. Her squad had assembled near the hatch.