by C. R. Daems
"Another one?" I asked as I scanned the area, hoping we were a long way from the Moech camp. I felt drained and hadn't even tried to move. I had felt better after Smitty's interrogation.
"Yes, four I know about: Smitty's interrogation, the sentinel standoff, the military police interrogation, and your latest Moech capture," he recited, holding up one finger at a time. He asked. "How many fingers do you see?"
"Thanks, Isaac," I said as I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"I've called the group to you, since you aren't fit to travel," Isaac said.
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"Twenty-four hours. They should all be arriving soon. Firebird and Smitty arrived a couple of hours ago," Isaac said as Firebird and Smitty appeared as if by magic.
"You really can't follow orders," Smitty said and gave a snort. "Even your own."
"I was just providing an extra distraction so my team could get clear," I said with a serious face. Then I held my breath and asked the question I was dreading the answer. "Is everyone…functional?"
"Everyone except our platoon leader who we thought was dead because she didn't return any clicks," Smitty said. "Scared me to death. I thought I'd have to take over as platoon leader." He made a look of horror which didn't look faked. "I even sent Mueller an update since he queried you for one." He turned his TCom so I could see the message.
Watcher, we detonated what we think was the Moech's only remaining ammo supply, and there won't be any more coming anytime soon as we have the road blocked. Fox is three clicks. Flintstone.
"I resent that. I'm two clicks, wounded but functional," I whined.
"Actually, you were zero clicks, dead, and have only recently been upgraded to three clicks, not functional. Here is Mueller's reply."
Flintstone, stay where you are. Colonel Delgado has decided to risk the battalion on the fact that you did eliminate their ammo supply. The attack starts in eight hours. The chief is leading Platoon One on the Moech's south flank. You should see them in a day or less. Mueller.
* * *
When I opened my eyes sometime later, Simons was looking down at me, shaking his head. "They tell me you can't even obey your own orders," he said with a sigh.
"I thought if I screwed up, I could go back to being a member of a squad."
Simons had the nerve to laugh. "Who would want a squad member who couldn't obey simple orders? In fact, who would want a squad leader who can't be relied on to stay with her platoon? And who sits and thinks when given a simple assignment?" he said with a frown that looked serious. I was beginning to get worried when he laughed. "Everyone, including the Moech, is calling your platoon the Ghost Platoon. You have no orders–good thing since you don't listen–and no one knows what you are doing or where you are until you call in, but your platoon always has a company-sized impact on the war. You're going to wind up with the only platoon with permanently assigned members…and a waiting list. Sorry, Jolie. I know that is your worst nightmare, but it's the realities of our profession. The good news is that I believe your emphasis on ready will keep that number small."
"Good work, Fox," Mueller said as he approached. "I'm glad I listened to the chief about you. Letting a squad just wander off with no objective appears ridiculous on the surface. I've talked to your team. You and they are like malicious ghosts." He laughed. "Colonel Delgado thinks I'm a genius, and the Tasmanians the Devils we claim. He wanted to give you and the members of your platoon medals until I reminded him that by tradition, we don't accept them."
"I'm glad," I whispered unconsciously, thinking it would somehow diminish us by recognizing one individual's contribution over another.
"It's true, Chief. We are more than brothers and sister. We are et anima una," Mueller said as he and Simons walked away. I agreed. We were of one mind and I felt it deep in my bones and knew rank and medals would destroy that forever.
"What do you think of our new title, the Ghost Platoon?" Smitty asked.
"I like it so long as it remains unofficial," I said, liking the one-mind concept and not wanting to do anything to weaken or destroy it. He smiled as if reading my thoughts.
"Not to worry. Every squad and every platoon has a call sign. Ghost is our call sign rather than a number. Appropriate, as it's led by a sister." He frowned. "How did you shoot yourself?"
"My Moech wounds weren't life-threatening so I needed one that looked like a chest wound. I knew they would see what they expected to see–a mortally wounded Tasmanian. I didn't expect them to drag a dead body back to their camp. I thought they would continue to chase the others and leave me there to rot.
"And you used your Gong Luan to lower your breathing and heart rate like you did during my interrogation of you on your training exercise." He stared down at me like I'd lost my mind.
"I'm not suicidal. They would have killed me in a shootout. I was outnumbered ten to one and wounded. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, until they dragged me back to their camp and the necromania began." I shuddered at the memory. Smitty cringed then changed the topic.
"Well, I owe you. If you had died, some idiot would have made me the platoon's leader because you insist on calling me your second in command."
"That's so you'll have a good reason to watch my back," I quipped. "Since I'm not fit for duty, where are you taking the platoon, Smitty?"
"Nowhere! Everyone told Mueller we needed a rest after all the running around." Smitty laughed. "I'll wager that was the first and last time he'll ever hear a Tasmanian say he needs a rest." He paused and looked serious. "He got the message. Without the Fox leading the platoon, you might as well throw us into one of the other platoons. I think the Ghost Platoon has a permanent roster and leader."
When I woke sometime later, Delgado was standing in the tent with Colonel Medina.
"Sir," I squeaked out in surprise.
"Relax, Luan. I always liked the Tasmanian concept but thought they should be treated as a regular unit within the army, like the Rangers. But, this assignment has helped me see that would be a mistake. You don't think like a normal military unit. When I asked Mueller what you were going to do, he said he didn't know. And when I wanted to give your unit a medal for what they’d accomplished, he said you wouldn’t accept it." He paused awaiting a response.
"No, sir. That wouldn't be right."
"Why not?"
"That would make us different from our brothers. Personally, it would make me feel like an outcast," I said. Delgado shook his head. Medina pursed her lips.
"I think I'd like to be in an organization that thought like that. No medals, no rank. Back at Fort Endeavor, Mueller and Luan will have the same rank. And a cry, Devils to me, would bring every Tasmanian racing to that person no matter where they are or what they were doing at the time. So, it makes sense. They consider themselves all the same and want to stay that way," Medina said with a bit of longing. "Jolie, could we teach someone to lead a group like yours?"
"I would be considered a substandard Ranger because I would find it hard to act the way you would expect a well-disciplined soldier to act. As the chief often says, Jolie's been noted on occasion to follow orders." I grinned thinking of the chief. "I would be glad to teach anyone you recommend the Gong Luan Vanquishing Fear exercise. Given they practice it regularly, it will cause them to think differently. You can talk to Staff Sergeants Shirley Knight and Clare Beal about the class."
* * *
"What's happening with the war?" I asked as I struggled to get out of bed. My father had always stressed, spending too much time in bed was contrary to a speedy recovery because your muscles atrophy from lack of use.
"Colonel Delgado struck the North Moech forces massed at the Moech Alley. They weren't prepared as they were waiting on senior officers to replace the ones your team killed." Smitty paused to steady me. "Consequently, the forces attacking the city of Nowice are eventually going to run out of supplies and ammo. Delgado plans to help that along by attacking the rear of the Moech forc
es. The Moech will still have a numerical advantage, but without sufficient ammo, they won't last long."
* * *
They didn't. Ten days later, we were on transports heading back to Delphi.
"Jolie, I hear your platoon is now called the Ghost Platoon," someone shouted.
I walked around the bay looking into bunks and storage containers and even peeked into the conference room. While I was wandering the bay, all talking and all noise stopped.
"Well, to tell the truth, although I'll deny it if one of you do-gooders leaks it, my team had me lost the whole damn time. I decided to wander on the south side of the Moech army hoping to stay far south away from the action. But halfway along, Spiderman tells me we have North Moech troops coming along the road. So, I order us off the road until they pass. Then I call the boss and let him know troops are coming. He's pleased. After we pass the North Moech army camp, I see a large tent. Thinking it has to be South Moech, I march in and find it's the North Moech. They reach for their weapons and one pulls out a grenade. As I race out, I hit the center pole and the tent collapses on them and the grenade explodes. So, I call the boss and tell him. He's pleased. My head's spinning from the blast, so I ask Firebird which way is south. He points and we take off running. Hours later, I find we are at Moech Alley. So, this time I poll the team. Eventually, they all decide which way is south. How damn difficult can it be when we are at Moech Alley? Two hours later, we find a farmhouse. I figure they will know the closest city and knock at the door. When it opens, the damn house is full of North Moech officers. I run screaming and my team starts shooting. It's a miracle they or the Moechs didn't kill me in the crossfire. So, I call the boss and report we killed a bunch of Moech officers. He's pleased. I take another poll to determine south, and we take off based on a five-to-four vote. And where do we wind up? Moech Alley. I see they are getting ready to send some officers to their army attacking Mortone City and decide to hijack their vehicle, better in Mortone City than wandering out here between two Moech armies. So, I tell Smitty to block the road. He drops three trees that block the road. We kill the soldiers and I get my vehicle, but the trees Smitty cut are too big to move. So, we start walking, again. Before I know it, we are walking besides the Moech camp. I send most of my team to the other side to create a diversion so I can sneak by. They begin shooting, and their bullets set the ammo truck on fire. It explodes and almost kills me. The boss is pleased. I'm not. I need a new team that can keep me out of trouble." I bowed as the laughing quieted down.
Then Taipan stood. "Actually, it was Jolie who kept saying, ‘That's south, you idiots!’"
One after another, each team member recounted the story from their perspective. In their versions, I was the one who kept getting the team in trouble. It was a fun two days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Planet Delphi: The Ghost Platoon
"Sit, Jolie," Howard said as I entered his office. The room reflected the man I had come to know and respect: clean, comfortable, and no clutter. Two padded chairs sat in front of his small wooden desk, which had nothing on it except for what he was currently working on. Behind him was a bookcase filled with books, and the walls were covered with pictures of people, not places. He was dressed in the standard Tasmanian uniform while I was in combat fatigues.
"The doctors have given you a clean bill of health and claim you're fit for duty, but you had a very traumatic experience, and I doubt you told them all the details."
"My true father always warned me that revenge was a cancer that could destroy a person, but I have to admit cutting my tormentor's throat also worked," I said as Howard watched me intently. "So, that story is an unpleasant history."
After a long silence, Howard nodded. "The senior Tasmanians have approved, after talking with all your platoon's current members, that your platoon is a permanently configured unit. They did not choose to give it a name, although Ghost appears to be its unofficial title…or Lost…on occasion." He smiled. "After hearing what you did, there is a renewed interest in your Vanquishing Fear exercise. Even Colonel Medina has expressed an interest."
* * *
I was very apprehensive as I entered the Tasmanian club several days later. Scanning the club, I saw Smitty waving at me. He sat at a table with three women and three Tasmanians. They were all smiling. I made my way slowly in their direction, feeling like I was in enemy territory.
"The Tasmanians are Lucas and his wife Angie, Bryan and his wife Sally, and Clark and his wife Tara," Smitty said when I reached their table.
"Hi, Fox, we hear you're a permanent platoon leader with permanent members," Clark said smiling. "You must have really screwed up or you like trouble."
Clark was on the tall side, around one hundred eighty-nine centimeters, wiry build, and an angular face with close-cut sandy hair, and the oldest of the three men. He looked to be in his late twenties whereas the other men were closer to twenty-five. The other two men were both several centimeters shorter, more muscular built, with brown hair cut just above their ears. Their wives were similar, with shapely figures, long black hair, and a good six centimeters taller than me. They all appeared to be in their early twenties.
"My teammates are older and smarter than me. They do all these clever things and somehow manage to give me the credit. It's ten against one, so what chance do I have?" I whined.
"The Fox is like a shark. Where they can smell blood in the water some five kilometers away, she can sense where the best action is within ten kilometers," Smitty said with an ear-to-ear grin.
"See what I mean? It's a conspiracy," I shouted and put my head in my arms on the table.
"Well, Jolie, we aren't that good, but tell us what kind of man you want to catch, and we'll tell you how to get his attention in any sized room," Sally said, with a devilish smile.
"What do you mean, kind of man?" I asked completely confused. But the men looked interested.
"Men fall into categories, and each category is attracted to different types of women. Once you figure out the type you want to attract, the trick is to dress and act appropriately," Sally said almost in a whisper, which had the men leaning forward to hear better.
"Of course, acting and dressing will only get you so far. For example, you're attractive but have a boyish figure. So, what you wear is very important in that case," Angie said while inspecting me closely.
"What the girls are trying to say is that first impressions are important in meeting men. And how you dress and act will determine who you attract," Tara said. "So, the better you know what you are after, the more we can help."
"What if I don't know what I want?" I said knowing this wasn't a good start.
"Look around this club. All the women here want basically the same type of man: strong, virulent, and physically fit. Men who are reasonably intelligent, employed, and can provide physical and financial security for them and their future children." She waved her arm to include everyone. "Note how they are dressed, both those married and those looking to get married."
"How do I know who's married and who isn’t?" This was turning out to be harder than I thought.
"Look at us and then around the club," Tara said, "and study each woman. It will become obvious. You're a good example. You treat the Tasmanians as brothers, and they respond to you like you are their tomboy sister."
"So, that's how you caught me?" Clark interrupted, looking seriously at his wife.
"No, love. That's how I got your attention. Otherwise, you would never have known what a catch I was," she said, giving him a kiss. It was an interesting night, and we had a lot of laughs. I decided I needed an introductory male/female course. The wives agreed and volunteered to help.
* * *
Over the next two months, Tara, Sally, and Angie either individually or as a group took me to one nightclub, bar, or event each week and discussed each individual and the hookups as they occurred. That included what they were wearing, how they acted, and what they were probably looking to accomplish, and their c
hances of success. By the end of eight weeks, I concluded the Tasmanian Qualification School was easier. On the ninth week, I treated them and their husbands to dinner at the Le Meurice, an expensive French restaurant in Carlson City and afterward the Fira nightclub for cocktails and dancing. It cost me two weeks' salary, but their help was worth it. The following week, they helped me shop for a civilian wardrobe, which cost another two weeks' salary. The best part was we had become good friends, and I had women I could get advice from when I needed it.
* * *
Colonel Medina stood mesmerized as she watched the monitors displaying the ten individuals undergoing my weekend Vanquishing Fear class.
"Your father subjected you to this type of horror for three years," she exclaimed in shock. He must have been–"
"A loving and gentle man who wanted his only daughter to be able to survive on our unpredictable and chaotic worlds." I gave Medina a small smile. "Physical strength and martial skill don't make a master of the art or master of oneself. A balanced and peaceful mind is also required to act when everyone else is frozen in indecision or reacting in panic."
"So, if I understand, this training enables you to consider your options for dealing with the threat rather than reacting with a reflexive or emotional response. And it can help you control your body’s automatic rhythms, like heart rate, breathing, etc.?"
"Yes, but only if you practice regularly," I said, wanting her to understand this class wasn't a magic wand and required and ongoing commitment.
"I understand you're notorious for sitting down after you are given an assignment or problem, and your teammates join you when you do." Medina laughed. "I can see why you fit so well in the Tasmanians. You're the perfect gladiators, but you don't fit well in the military's structured organizations." She paused, her gaze off in the distance. "Thank you, Jolie. I'd like to get on your list for one of the next classes."