CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Fast Frigate CNSS Admiral Nelson
Within hours after the AstroGhost bearing second platoon, Fourth Force Recon Company, docked with the CNSS Admiral Nelson , the starship broke orbit and headed system-north to a jump point. Two days later, the Admiral Nelson made her first jump into Beamspace, headed back to Halfway, again via New Genesee.
The wounded Marines who were brought aboard in stasis bags were left in them; the ship’s medical department had enough work tending to the other wounded Marines in addition to their normal run of underway injuries.
“Attention Marines,” the carefully modulated female voice said over the ship’s PA system shortly after the ship secured from the jump. “Sergeant Daly to the Captain’s quarters.”
Sergeants Bingh and Bajing, who were sharing a cabin with Daly, looked at him. He shrugged.
“I guess it’s routine for the ship’s captain to entertain the Marine commander as soon as possible after a mission,” Daly said. He took a moment to make sure his garrison utilities were shipshape, then headed for the captain’s quarters.
Daly identified himself to the petty officer third class standing guard outside the open hatch of Captain Emmert’s stateroom. The petty officer rapped his knuckles on a shiny brass plate set into the cowling of the watertight hatch and announced loudly, “Marine Sergeant Daly reporting, sir!”
“Enter.”
Daly had to stoop slightly as he stepped through the hatch. Inside, he drew himself to attention and faced the captain, who was examining something on a screen at a small desk set against the bulkhead.
“Sergeant Daly reporting as ordered, sir.”
Captain Emmert swiveled to look at Daly. “At ease, Sergeant,” he said after a second’s scrutiny. Daly relaxed to an easy parade rest and kept his eyes straight ahead. Emmert turned his screen so Daly could easily read it if he shifted his eyes. Daly did. The screen showed the medical department’s report on the Marine casualties.
“You had a pretty rough time down there, didn’t you?”
“Yessir.” He knew that Emmert wasn’t probing for details of the mission; Emmert didn’t have the need to know.
“I had a chance to talk with Lieutenant Tevedes before the ship’s surgeon put him in a stasis bag.”
“Yessir.” Tevedes had gone into the stasis bag before the Admiral Nelson broke orbit and Daly hadn’t had a chance to speak with him.
“He told me you performed extremely well after he was injured. ‘Outstanding’ was the word he used.”
Daly didn’t respond; there wasn’t really anything he could say.
“Are you aware that the ship’s captain on a Force Recon mission also files an afteraction report on the mission?”
“Nossir, I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Now you know. I think you should also know something of what is going into my report. I’m going to include Lieutenant Tevedes’s remarks on your conduct after everyone above you in the chain of command was killed or incapacitated. From everything I know about it, I want to add my own hearty ‘well done,’ Mr. Daly.”
Daly blinked. “Mister” was a proper address to use with company grade officers, not sergeants. “Thank you, sir.”
Emmert smiled briefly at Daly’s blink. “You did an officer’s job, and you did it well. If I need anything else from you, I’ll let you know. Now rest and recuperate. Did you take care of that other matter?”
“Yessir. I gave them to the ship’s quartermaster as per orders.” The “other matter” was orders he was given as soon as he reported aboard: to collect the chameleons the Marines had worn on the mission and bag them without laundering, so they could be examined for traces of chemicals picked up during the mission.
Emmert nodded and turned back to his desk. Daly snapped to attention. “Aye aye, sir. Thank you.” He executed a parade-ground about-face and stepped out of the captain’s quarters. His step was light on his way back to his own stateroom. When the Admiral Nelson ported at New Genesee, the ship’s quartermaster handed over the sealed bag with the worn chameleons, along with all the image-crystals and physical evidence the platoon had collected at the Cabbage Patch, to another navy ship headed for Earth.
Onboard the SpaceFun Lines Tour Ship Blue Ocean , En Route from Atlas to New Genesee
The stateroom Sergeant Ivo Gossner and Lance Corporal Bella Dwan shared on the Blue Ocean was much smaller than the hotel room they’d shared with little problem in New Granum. Actually, it was within cubic centimeters of the size of the stateroom they’d shared on the Crimson Seas on their way to Atlas.
But it felt much, much smaller. On the way out, they’d been team leader and sniper. Generally, they both had done their best to ignore the fact that they were a man and a woman sharing tight quarters, just as they’d ignored the fact that they were a man and a woman sharing a bed in the hotel room after they made planetfall on Atlas. At least, Gossner knew he’d done his best to ignore the fact that Bella Dwan was a very attractive woman. Now he wasn’t so sure she’d been ignoring the man-woman business all that time. In retrospect, he wondered if the apparent sexual signals he’d noticed had been deliberate. On the other hand, after the one powerful bout of sex, Bella Dwan had been prim and proper to the point of prudishness. Where they’d previously shared a bed, during their remaining three nights in New Granum, one or the other had slept on a blanket on the floor, or curled in an easy chair. Their stateroom on the Blue Ocean was tourist class and had two narrow berths, one above the other. Dwan had immediately claimed the upper. She didn’t invite him to join her, nor did she ever descend to his berth during the journey to New Genesee. Her nightclothes were more modest than she’d worn in New Granum, and she always changed in the stateroom’s minuscule lavatory with the door tightly secured.
She did, though, rumple one or the other berth every morning in such a manner that any maid who happened to come in to clean would think they’d spent time together overnight. Daly wasn’t sure how he felt about Dwan’s physical remoteness. He found her physically more attractive than he had before, and now he knew how satisfyingly wild she could be in bed. He hadn’t had a serious relationship with a woman back on Halfway, just an intermittent series of casual relationships, mostly with civilian women. The most recent was with a charming petty officer in the navy supply depot. The women he connected with usually broke the relationship off after he’d gone on a couple of missions; they had too many difficulties with the frequency of his deployments, or the idea that he could come back from a mission maimed or crippled—or not come back at all—to stay with him. But Dwan was a woman who could understand and accept the fact that he was a Force Recon Marine and there were risks that had to be accepted. And, as she was a Force Recon Marine herself, he could understand her better than he could the safe-and-secure women as well. Of course, if they had an ongoing relationship, one of them would have to transfer, it simply wouldn’t do for them to remain in their current supervisor-subordinate positions. Not to mention that such a relationship was a violation of Marine Corps regulations. It wouldn’t be a major disruption of the company if one of them transferred into one of the other platoons. If a vacancy came up in one of the other sniper squads, no disruption at all. They’d have frequent separations being in different platoons, one would be deployed on a mission this time, another the other time. But they were Force Recon Marines, and accustomed to being away from their friends, so neither should that create any problem. All of which ideas he could entertain so long as he didn’t look into her eyes. He did once, and the soul that looked back at him was that of the Queen of Killers, the woman who frightened men. When the Queen of Killers looked at him, he didn’t even want to be in the same stateroom, much less have a personal and sexual partnership with her. He backed off on all thoughts of resuming what they had done together after the kill. It wasn’t until they were supercargo on the Wayfaring Freight Lines ore carrier the High Tide that Dwan finally said something on the subject. Onboard the High Tide
, En Route from New Genesee to Halfway Their cabin on the High Tide was even smaller than the stateroom they shared on the Blue Ocean . There was only one bunk, just wide enough for two people to lie spooned together, so they took turns sleeping sitting on a folded blanket on the small square of deck that was all there was between the bunk, the waterproof door, and the clothing locker. The cabin didn’t have its own lavatory, they shared a head with the occupants of the other seven so-called supercargo cabins. The head could only accommodate four people at a time, so it was fortunate that only two of the other supercargo cabins were occupied on that trip.
Dwan broke the awkward silence that had fallen over them since Atlas. “It was the kill, you know,” she said flatly. “Nothing personal, just the kill.” She didn’t look at Gossner when she spoke. He looked at her, then away. “I know,” he said just as unemotionally. “I know that happens. But you’d never given any indication before. So you caught me by surprise.”
“This was my first solo team mission,” Dwan continued with no more inflection than before. “Other times I had other outlets. It won’t happen again.” She looked at him during the last sentence. Gossner met her eyes. The Queen of Killers stared back. He also saw something else he couldn’t identify, and didn’t think he wanted to.
“I don’t imagine it will,” he said. Gossner looked away first.
After that, the silence between them was less awkward, and by the time they made planetfall on Halfway, they were back to normal. Or at least as normal as they’d been before they walked into Commander Obannion’s office and were given the mission orders.
Fourth Force Recon Company, Fourth Fleet Marines, Camp Howard, MCB Camp Basilone, Halfway
Commander Obannion looked over his company at morning formation. Not many of his one hundred and eighty-six Marines and sailors were present. First platoon was still on a training mission to Carhart’s World. Most of the squads from third platoon that had been on deployment when second platoon left for Atlas were still out and those that hadn’t been gone then were now, along with three of fourth platoon’s squads. Second platoon itself, with six dead and as many more too badly injured in its most recent mission to be available for duty, was truncated. Obannion’s gaze paused when it reached Sergeant Jak Daly, standing in the platoon commander’s position at the head of second platoon. He’d need to do some reorganizing before replacements came in. And he had other ideas for what to do with Daly. Other company business completed, Obannion finished with, “When I dismiss the company from formation, there will be platoon-level inspections in the squad bays. Everyone who passes inspection will be given a ninety-six hour shore liberty.”
The only visible reaction to the news within the platoon was an almost imperceptible shifting as the Marines stood a little bit taller and straighter. Obannion looked over the company one more time, then filled his lungs and shouted out, “COMP-ney, dis- missed!” He turned about and headed toward his office. Sergeant Major Periz walked with him, one pace to his left and rear.
“Sergeant Major,” Obannion said out of the side of his mouth, “tell Sergeant Daly that I inspected second platoon and they all passed, they’re free to take off. And tell him to stand by, I’m going to want to see him in my office.”
“Aye aye, sir,” Periz said and broke formation to head Daly off. On his way he eyeballed Sergeant Gossner and Lance Corporal Dwan. He hadn’t been able to find out what that mission of theirs was, but now that they were back, he’d find a chance to corner them one at a time and find out. Inside the barracks, Obannion signaled Captains Qindall and Wainwright to join him in his office. When Periz returned from passing the word to Daly, Obannion signaled him to come in as well and close the door. He indicated that the others should sit, and they did as soon as he took his place behind his desk.
“I’ve had my eye on Daly for some time now,” Obannion said as soon as everybody was seated. “But you know that. Well, he just had quite a baptism of fire as acting platoon commander. According to all reports, he acquitted himself well.” He looked at the others; they’d all had time to study the debriefing of the members of second platoon, including that of Doc Natron. They had also seen the deposition of Lieutenant Tevedes, taken onboard the Admiral Nelson before he was put in the stasis bag, and read the afteraction report filed by Captain Emmert of the Admiral Nelson .
“Can any of you think of a reason I shouldn’t ask him to put in for commissioning?”
There was a moment of silence before Captain Qindall, the Executive Officer, said, “I’m not so sure, sometimes he gets pretty arrogant. That’s not a particularly good quality in an officer.”
Periz barked out a sharp laugh. “Arrogance, not desirable in a Marine? Captain, arrogance is a quality that distinguishes Marines!” He leaned forward, and put his elbows on his thighs. “With all due respect, sir, Daly’s not arrogant, he’s a Marine. A lot of people, mostly the army, think Marines are arrogant. But we aren’t arrogant, it’s just that we know we’re the best at what we do—and we don’t see any reason to hide that fact.” He snorted, then continued, “Most Marines think Force Recon is arrogant. We aren’t, though. It’s just that we can do things nobody else can do, and we’re proud of it. If Daly seems arrogant to us, it’s just because he’s one of the best of us—and doesn’t see any reason to hide it.”
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, which Obannion finally broke.
“He’s got you there, XO. From where most people stand, Marines are arrogant. Us more than most.”
Captain Wainwright, the operations officer, chuckled. “Skipper, I can just imagine writing an operation order for a platoon-size mission for Daly. The afteraction report wouldn’t much resemble the original mission order.” He shook his head. “Not that afteraction reports are all that close to operation orders to begin with, especially for us.”
“ ‘No plan, no matter how well designed, ever survives the first shot,’ ” Obannion quoted the ancient military aphorism. “But for us, they should.”
Qindall looked reflective for a moment, then said, “An officer does need to be flexible. Daly’s proven that he’s capable of flexibility in stressful circumstances.”
“If nobody has any further objection,” Obannion said after giving the others a moment more to speak up, “Sergeant Major, would you get Sergeant Daly, please.”
Periz pulled out his personal comm and punched one button. “Skipper wants to see you. Now,” he growled into it when Daly answered. Without being told to, he got up and opened the office door. Daly appeared quickly. Evidently he’d been waiting outside the company office for the call.
“What took you so long?” Periz growled.
“At ease, Sergeant,” Obannion said. Daly assumed a relaxed parade rest.
“You did quite a good job,” the company commander said. “Lieutenant Tevedes said you were outstanding after he was injured. So did everyone else in the platoon. And we all know how hard Force Recon Marines are to impress.” He gave Daly an expectant look. Daly didn’t know what to say, so he merely said, “Yessir.”
“You’ve had a taste of being a platoon commander,” Obannion went on. “How would you like to have platoon commander be your usual job?”
“Sir?” The question caught Daly by surprise.
“If you would like to apply for Officer Training College, I will give my endorsement to your request. I’m sure Captains Qindall and Wainwright, and Sergeant Major Periz would add theirs as well.”
“Sir, I—I hadn’t given applying for commissioning any thought,” Daly said, slightly flustered by the question.
“Well, I have. And so have these gentlemen. We believe you would make an outstanding officer. Of course, we’d like for you to come right back to Force Recon after your commissioning.” He turned and looked out the window for a moment, then turned back. “I believe that when Lieutenant General Indrus reads the afteraction report of the mission, he’ll be happy to add his endorsement as well. So what do you say, Sergeant, would you like to be
an officer?”
“Sir, if I go for a commission, I’d become an ensign. Force Recon platoon commanders are lieutenants. I’d have to go somewhere else first. I like being in Force Recon.”
“Force Recon has staff positions open to ensigns with prior Force Recon experience. And a promotion can come fast for a sharp ensign.”
“Sir.” Daly was visibly dazed; he really had never given any serious thought to applying for a commission.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Obannion said. “Sleep on it. Go out with some other squad leaders and discuss it over a drunken night. Whatever you need to do. When you report back for duty four days from now, I’ll have an application filled out and waiting for your signature.” He stood, so did the others. “That’s all, Sergeant. Enjoy your liberty. That was a good job you did on Atlas.”
“Aye aye, sir. Thank you, sir.” Daly snapped to attention, about-faced, and marched from the company office.
When Sergeant Daly reported back for duty four days later, the application for commissioning was waiting for him. Endorsements from Commander Obannion, Captain Qindall, Captain Wainwright, and Sergeant Major Periz were already attached to it. So was an endorsement from Lieutenant General Indrus. Daly signed the application. That afternoon, orders arrived for him to report to Officer Training College on Arsenault. He left the next day.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Office of the Director, CIO Laboratories, Hunter, Earth
The lab was busy. Anya was intrigued by what she saw going on in the main area of the laboratory, particularly a device a technician was testing, a laser gun disguised as an eyebrow highlighter. “You’ve miniaturized these things since I was in the field,” she remarked to Dr. Blogetta O’Bygne. “We thought the laser pen was the hottest new thing in defensive weapons.”
Several technicians waved in a friendly way to Anya as she and Dr. O’Bygne made their way to the rear of the laboratory. “Come in here, Anya.” O’Bygne swiped her access card through the security device set into a massive door that slowly swung open to let the women into a small lab area crowded with instruments. Pieces of equipment Anya could not identify lay scattered on tables. On one of the tables were two huge flowerpots each containing a plant. Both pots contained what looked like rich, dark soil. Each plant had extended runners down to the floor and all the way to the opposite wall, a distance of perhaps six meters. One was obviously dead, its thick tendrils shriveled and brittle looking. At intervals along the tendrils were shriveled green things that looked like tiny pepper plants. But the other plant was thriving and it was obviously a cucumber plant. But—the cucumbers! They were huge!
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