“Well, maybe, but that’s because he’s the Scout-Sniper Platoon commander. If he were still with a rifle platoon, he’d be in the fight. And when he’s a company commander, hell, that’s the best job in the Marines,” he said, his eyes lighting up when he said “company commander.”
“I know, sir, but the lieutenant, he’s a sniper at heart. He became an officer because he was a good sniper, just like you’re offering me. And I’m the same. I’ve got being a sniper in my blood, and I don’t want to give that up. And if I honestly evaluate myself, being totally blunt, I’m a helluva sniper, but without any false modesty, at best, I might be an adequate officer, and for me, adequate doesn’t cut it. I need to be the best, and I can be that doing what I’m doing now.”
The major sat back, looking stunned. Gracie knew he must have been thinking this was a no-brainer for her. And it was a no-brainer, just not the way he thought it would be. Gracie also knew that he’d be personally disappointed. He’d taken ownership of the platoon, and with how the platoon had performed so well on Jericho. To have one of his snipers get into the Academy would have been a feather in his cap as well.
The major seemed to be getting his thoughts in order, and it took a few moments before he said, “I understand, Sergeant, believe me I understand. Right now, sitting in back of this desk, I miss my time as a company commander. But if I stick with it and do my best, maybe I can get command of a battalion someday. And if I think back far enough, you know, to the Old Corps,” he said with a laugh, “when I was a corporal and a fire team leader, I thought it couldn’t get any better than that. But it did, and I can’t describe the personal satisfaction I’ve felt as a commander.
“So do this for me. The CO’s gone for the day, and I won’t tell her your decision until morning. Think about it. Call your family. I think one of your people is a major, right? Major Watts, right? Why don’t you give him a call and see what he says? I can authorize the comms with battalion.”
Holy Heavens! He’s done his homework on me, Gracie thought, feeling things were getting a little creepy.
Major Franklin Watts was of the Apsaalooké, but he wasn’t from Lodge Grass. Gracie knew who he was, and she’d seen him before, but they weren’t close, and she wouldn’t feel comfortable calling him up out of the blue.
“So I’m not taking your refusal as a done deal. Take the night, and let me know in the morning.”
He stood up, hand outstretched as he asked, “Deal?”
Gracie looked at the hand for only a moment before she took it and said, “Deal.”
“OK, good. I’ll wait to hear from you in the morning.”
As Gracie left the S3’s office, she felt 100 kilos lighter. She’d agreed with the major to wait until morning, but she knew in her heart she’d made the right decision.
Being an officer was in no way a declaration of superiority. It was simply a different position to be filled as the unit completed its missions. A platoon commander was no “better” than a rifleman, who was no better than a tank driver, who was no better than a cook, who was no better than a sniper, who was no better than a platoon commander, bringing the circle to a close. Just as a finger is no better than a toe but part of what makes the body work, all those Marines are the parts that make the Marine Corps work. Without them, without all of them, the Corps would fall apart.
Gracie was a scout-sniper and a damn good one. She enjoyed the work, and she knew this was how she could make the best contribution to the Corps. This was where she belonged.
She was whistling as she left the CP. She turned right instead of left, though. She was going to go to the armory before returning to the platoon to tell the others her decision. She had a sudden desire to take a look at the Model W first.
Heck, she was a sniper, and weapons were in her blood.
Chapter 31
33
“So, you’re out of here, huh, Sergeant?” Corporal Estiville asked, scanning her orders.
“Yeah, sure am. I’ve got a 1500 shuttle to catch; then I’m gone.”
“You heading out to. . .” the corporal said, pausing to look at his readout, “the Juneau?”
“No. I’ll pick up the battalion when they debark. Right now, I’m going home for some leave. First time in four years.”
The corporal looked back at her records again, then asked, “Lodge Grass? On Earth? Where’s that?”
“In Montana,” she answered, then added, “In the United States,” when the confused look stayed on the corporal’s face.
“Ah, the United States. In Hollybolly, right?”
Gracie stared in shock at the corporal.
“The United States isn’t in Hollybolly.”
“But that’s where they make all the flicks, right? I watch them all the time.”
“Uh, you do know that there is not one ‘Hollybolly’ place. The ‘Holly’ is from Hollywood, in the US, in California. The ‘bolly’ is from Bollywood, in Mumbai. That’s in India.”
“Yeah, where they make all the flicks.”
“They don’t make them right there. It’s just a generic term for the industry,” Gracie said, wondering how the corporal had such a lack of knowledge.
The corporal shrugged and handed Gracie back her orders.
“Well, anyway, have a good leave back home. You’re good to go.”
Gracie tried not to shake her head as she left admin. Her mood brightened as she headed for the front hatch. It wasn’t that she’d had a bad time with the Fuzos. It had been good. But it was time, she figured, to move on and see new things.
She took the corner into the main passage, and suddenly, she slowed down. She’d been in the passage many times, and after her welcome into the battalion almost four years ago, she’d never looked at the plaques on the wall. It was only now that she was leaving that she suddenly became curious. She checked the time. She could afford to spend a few minutes here and still get to the chow hall to eat before leaving for the spaceport.
The Fuzos were noted as one of the most storied battalions in the Corps. It had the third most battle streamers of any battalion, and its Marines and sailors had shone. Nine of them had been awarded the Federation Nova-five of them posthumously. There had been eight Marines go on to serve as commandant, nine as Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps. One corpsman, Styles Wu, had gone on to earn his commission, rise to the Chief of Naval Operations, and finally ascend to the Chairman of the Federation Council. Along with General Lysander, that meant two in the battalion had risen to the highest position in the Federation.
The personal plaques were around the corner at the entrance to the CP. The plaque closest to the front hatch was also the newest one. It shone in bright burnished copper. Although Gracie knew who it was for, she still had to read it. It was hung in honor of Tamara Veal, Chief Warrant Officer and Gladiator.
“That was quite some fight,” a voice said from in behind her.
Gracie turned to see Staff Sergeant Riopel standing there.
“Yeah, it was,” Gracie said, turning back around.
“And you helped put her there.”
Gracie shrugged, but she agreed. If she hadn’t zeroed that SevRev, he’d probably have blown up, taking Veal with him. No one had mentioned that in a long time, but it felt good that the Staff Sergeant had mentioned it. He hadn’t forgotten.
“They’re making a flick out of it, you know,” she said.
“Yeah, I heard. So who’s going to play you? Diedre St. Billings?”
Dierde was the latest overly-developed celebrity who seemed to be a celeb simply because, well, because someone decided she should be. Her first foray into flicks had been a disaster, and she was somewhat of a standing joke.
“Fuck you, Staff Sergeant. With all due respect, of course,” she said. “I’m thinking I’m going to call the producers up and tell them I’m going to play myself. I’m going to be a star. I don’t think anyone could capture my absolute gloriousness.”
The staff sergeant laughed, and then said, �
��You might have something there. So, are you going to the chow hall? I’ll walk you there.”
“You can walk me, but I’m sort of meeting Zach there.”
“I just said I’m walking you there, not eating with you. We staff sergeants can’t mingle with the riffraff, you know,” he said with an affected air of 18th Century high-society.
“OK, let’s go then,” Gracie said, reaching out to gently touch Tamara Veal’s relief as she stepped off.
BOOK 2
KULISHA
Chapter 32
62
Gunnery Sergeant Gracie Medicine Crow glassed the gentle slope stretching out 1,500 meters before her. The slope was full of depressions and terrain features, which along with the vegetation, offered plenty of places for concealment.
She checked off the most logical FFPs. If they were the most logical, then no sniper should select them, but not all snipers were that smart. Successful snipers were, but Gracie had cut short the careers—and lives—of more than a few enemy snipers who had not been as accomplished as her in their craft.
She examined each spot, then applied a trick she’d learned of shifting her gaze a meter or so, then relaxing her eyes. Sometimes, her peripheral vision could pick up something out of whack when her direct vision couldn’t. Her first counter-sniper kill had come that way during the Gerryland Incursion when the enemy sniper was using his version of the Federation tarnkappe. Looking directly at it, the light-bending camouflage had worked, but by looking slightly to the side, the very minor border between the artificial and the natural had caught her attention, and she registered the kill.
That didn’t work here, though. She picked up nothing. She shifted to her secondary positions. Personally, she would never have selected these positions, either, given the terrain. They were still too obvious. She saw nothing at the first, but as she was shifting to the second, something caught her attention. She swung back, not quite sure what she’d seen, only that her subconscious alarm had gone off. It took almost half a minute, but there it was. One stalk of grass was bent to the left when the surrounding grass was either upright or leaning right. Someone or something had passed by. It could have been a few days ago, and it could have been something as innocuous as a bird perching on it, but Gracie’s instincts screamed at her that it had been a person and very recently. She examined the terrain and the angle of the bent grass, and she was sure that it was a sniper and to where he or she was stalking. She zoomed out slightly, and then settled in to wait.
It took almost five minutes, but an entire bush along the route she’d identified momentarily shook. Gracie immediately zoomed in, but there wasn’t any sign of a person there. It didn’t matter. Bushes just don’t decide to shake like that.
“Jed, I’ve got something, 30 meters to your left and back maybe 20,” she passed on the comms.
“Roger that,” the sergeant said as he started to move to his left.
“OK, that’s far enough. Now back up,” Gracie told him.
She watched him back-step until he reached the offending bush, then said, “Stop. Now two steps to your left. Now one step back.”
“Here?”
“Bingo.”
The sergeant held up his three-meter gotcha stick over his head, but instead of bringing it down stretched to its fullest extension, he reversed it, and as if planting the Federation flag on a new planet, brought it straight down. From where it hit the ground, just below Gracie’s view, a ghillied Marine arose, defeat evident in his posture. Or her posture, as the case might be. As the Marine pulled back her hood, Gracie identified her.
“You get another one?” Top Riopel asked from where he sat beside her.
“Yeah. Corporal Franzetti.”
“Franzetti? Shit, I thought she was a lock,” the top said. “You going to let anyone pass today?”
“I’m not ‘letting’ anyone. It’s up to them if they pass or fail.”
“Roger that. But we’ve got to get snipers out to the battalions, and we can’t do that if you fail each candidate.”
“But we can by sending unqualified snipers out there who are going to get zeroed their first time out, Top?”
This was an ongoing argument between the two. Top Riopel thought that seasoning in the field was acceptable for all those except the obvious failures. He called it Darwinian Selection. If they survived, they’d be effective scout-snipers. Gracie thought that each sniper sent out to the field already had to prove that they were effective.
The two SNCOs were actually quite close despite this difference of opinion. Along with Major Wadden and Staff Sergeant Suggs Rustan, the old 2/3 platoon mates made up four of the sniper school’s staff of 22 Marines. Add in Sergeant Kathy Albert and Staff Sergeant Brice Fa’amoe who’d also done tours with 2/3, the school had a very evident Fuzos feel to it.
“Well, we’ve got 12 more out there and more than two hours left. Let’s see if anyone can make it through.”
“Roger that,” Gracie said as she started glassing the range again.
She didn’t have ill will for any of the candidates, and she hoped all of the rest of them would succeed today, but no one was getting a free pass. If they wanted to graduate and become scout-snipers, they had to earn it.
Chapter 33
62
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Gracie asked, poking her head inside Major Wadden’s office.
“Yes, Gunny. Please, come in,” the major said, holding out a hand to indicate she should take a seat. “How did it go today?”
Is he backing Riopel? she wondered. Master Guns Frielander must have already given him the numbers, so why’s he asking me?
“Four passed, sir.”
“Four out of twelve. Not so good.”
“There’s still Wednesday, sir. We’ll see how many learned from today.”
“Yes, I guess we will. Hopefully, more will make it, and I can keep the colonel off my ass.”
He said that matter-of-factly, and Gracie did not get the feeling that there were any undertones in his wording. Not that she thought he’d really compromise his standards. The major was probably at his terminal rank. He’d been stuck in the scout-sniper community too long. An enlisted Marine could make a career in the sub-field, but not an officer. Other than his second lieutenant billet as a rifle platoon commander, the major had been with the sniper community for the rest of his officer career, and that was pretty much career suicide. Because of this, and because of his nature, he was not apt to bow to pressure from above when he thought that would compromise the mission.
“But that’s my problem, I guess, and that’s what I get paid the big credits, right? And I didn’t call you in to discuss our latest class of candidates.”
Gracie looked at him expectantly.
“I’ve got set of orders that just came in. They’re sending you TAD back to Tarawa for duty to parts unknown—well, I mean wherever you’re going from there isn’t mentioned other than ‘additional duty off-planet.’”
Gracie sat back, puzzled at what he’d just said. She’d only been with the school for a little less than four months, so it seemed odd that she’d be getting any orders, whether TAD or permanent. After 205-2 graduated, she was slated to become the SNCOIC[26] of 205-4, something to which she was really looking forward.
“I’ve gone ahead and pulled them on the S-Screen for you.”
That was a telling comment. If they were on the secure S-Screen, the orders were too classified to be sent to her PA, even with the PAs Gen 2 factorization module installed.
He handed her his screen, which she read, becoming even more confused.
CLASS: TOP SECRET
From: Director of Marine Corps Personnel
To: Gunnery Sergeant Gracie F. Medicine Crow, UFMC, EN3762178
Subj: Temporary Additional Duty Orders
You are hereby temporarily relieved of your current duties and ordered to report to the Director of Marines Corps Personnel at Headquarters, United Federation Marine Corps, Tarawa, NLT
0800 local 13 June 409, for further duty off-planet.
Forrester Truong
Lieutenant General, UFMC
Director of Marine Corps Personnel
CLASS: TOP SECRET
FULL DELETE AFTER READING
There’s nothing there! she thought before looking up at the major in confusion.
“Yes, my feeling exactly,” the major said, obviously reading the expression on her face. “And sorry, I don’t know anything more to tell you. But if you looked at the header string, these are TBA orders, To Be Accepted. It’s your choice on whether you want to implement them or not.”
He took back the S-Screen and then made a show of hitting the delete button, starting the complicated process of completely eliminating any trace that the message had ever existed.
“But how can I decide if I don’t know what they’re for?” she asked. “And I’m taking 205-4 next week.”
“Orders like this don’t come lightly. Someone has a very specific mission for you. And don’t worry about getting a class. We’ll get you the first one forming up after your return.”
“Sorry, sir. I’m just confused. Why me?”
“Why you? It’s not because of your winning smile, Gunny. It’s probably because you have more kills over the last eight years than any other Marine, I’d be guessing. Probably since you were the Inner Forces Corps NCO of the year in 404. Probably because everyone in the Corps knows you are the best sniper we’ve got on active duty. Without going too far out on a limb, I’d say the Corps needs someone with your skill level for a particular mission.”
She wondered what mission that could be, but her mind was blank.
“Do you think I should take it, sir?”
“That’s your call, Gunny. I’d have to consider, though, that you were selected because someone thought you were the right fit for the mission, and if you turn it down, the next person, someone slightly less-qualified, to step up to the plate. But that’s just me, and I’m pretty much a desk jockey.”
Sniper (Women of the United Federation Marines Book 2) Page 17