10
The two Marines stayed at the market for three more weeks. Fighting had been much lighter than expected, and the city was declared secured late on the first day of the landing. The planet was declared secured after fifty-two hours.
But that didn’t mean they could just pack up and leave. Three hundred million citizens had been prisoners for close to ten months. People had been displaced. Infrastructure had been destroyed. It was going to take some time to put things back together.
And perhaps most of all, all those people needed to be screened. The brass hadn’t foreseen that humans would actively work for the Centaurs, and now they were scrambling to address the situation. Teams were being brought in, and every single citizen was going to be interviewed before they were released.
The lieutenant and master sergeant had come to see Rev and Tomiko the second day. Rev had reached the end of his boost, and he was out cold, but Tomiko had been given their marching orders. They were to stay at the market and assist in the screening. They were a known factor to the people, and that was assumed to be beneficial in the process.
It wasn’t. Rev woke up to a market surrounded by memory wire, armed Marines guarding the entrances. Fydor LaMare, the other cordon captain, and some of the proctors had approached Rev to let the people out, promising that everyone would be screened, but the Omega Division officer who’d arrived to take charge of the process gave that an immediate no. With the OD officer in civilian clothes, the animus that quickly grew was aimed at the Marines. The master sergeant who came with the OD officer bore the brunt of that, but Rev, Tomiko, and the rest of the uniformed Marines received their fair share of the hate. Even Lima seemed to resent their presence.
To make matters worse, with all the civilians kept as prisoners—ironically more so prisoners than they were with the Centaurs—food distribution was spotty at best. The restaurants and food stalls in the food court attempted to feed everyone, but they weren’t set up for that. They were out by the second day. The Navy started shipping in combat rations, but there never seemed to be enough.
Slowly, as more and more people were interviewed, they were released, and things started to get back to normal. Not completely normal, but in that direction.
Not everyone was getting released. The numbers of Angel shits uncovered were surprising. The bulk never became kapos, but they were nevertheless considered security risks.
Tomiko and Rev were debriefed as well. At least their debrief was conducted by Marines, not OD. Rev gave his account, uploading his recorded feeds. Between him and Tomiko, they made sure that Lima, Fydor, Amicia Lin, Beth Rysth-Lorraine, Nik Orleans, and the proctors were noted for their contributions. And for Rev, he asked if Tanton McCough could be retroactively reenlisted back into the Corps.
He knew the old man would appreciate it, but it went beyond that. Getting killed in the line of duty as a Marine would result in many more benefits for his family than if he was just among the millions of civilians who had died since the initial Centaur invasion.
Three weeks at the market were followed by four with the rest of the platoon while waiting for a lift off the planet. Three Marines and a corpsman from the platoon had been lost during the mission. Sergeant Jessie Milano and Doc Raize Portis from First Team had died while unsuccessfully trying to hold off five or six mini-Centaurs from their civilians. Scores had died under the onslaught, but Milano and Portis’ actions allowed even more civilians to scatter to safety.
No one knew what had happened to Corporal Tank Listerman and Lance Corporal Mud Dog Hringa, also from First Team, which left everyone with a hollow feeling in their gut. NIS and ODIS would investigate later, so hopefully, their stories would eventually be told.
Finally, however, the platoon’s number came up, and it was time to leave.
As they lay on the ground in their sticks, Rev looked across the spaceport’s apron to the civilian shuttle waiting for them to board.
“Hey, Hus-man, at least this time we’re not going Navy,” Rev said.
“I hope they got chow. I’m sick of D-rats.”
Rev and Tomiko’s first shuttle ride had been on a Navy Isis shuttle, packed with gear, and Hussein had waxed poetic about the benefits of hitching a ride on a civilian craft. Rev hoped Hus-man had been telling the truth and not just feeding the boots sea stories. He was rather sick of D-rations as well, and he could use a little pampering.
A trolley rolled up, manned by a petty officer.
“OK, Marines. All your ammo. I need it dumped now!”
“Really?” Tomiko muttered in a low voice, too low for the petty officer to hear, but not low enough for augmented hearing. “They trust us to fight, but not enough to believe we won’t shoot up our ride home?”
“I mean it,” the petty officer said when no one got up. “You are not going to get on your shuttle until all your ammo’s turned in.”
“OK, people. You heard him,” the gunny said, getting up and dumping ammo into the trolley’s open hopper.
With a sigh, Rev got up and started dumping ammo as well. M-49 darts were very compact while in their magazines, and he got rid of close to two thousand. He left one magazine with 114 darts in his shin pocket. If caught, he’d say he forgot it. But they weren’t on the shuttle yet, and who knew if there were more Angel shits, or even a mini-Centaur still roaming free.
Tomiko gave his shin a pointed look as he sat down on the tarmac before she patted her upper arm. A 57-dart mag would easily fit there unnoticed.
A yellowshirt shouted at them to get back up, telling them it was time to embark. They marched in stick order across the tarmac to the pretty shuttle. A logistics staff sergeant waited at the hatch and scanned each of them before they got on board.
An attendant, impossibly clean looking in his blue trousers and yellow shirt, welcomed them aboard and directed them to the seats.
Tomiko took a seat in the last row, and Rev plopped down beside her.
“You going to miss this place, Miko?” Rev asked.
“Are you high?” she asked with a huff.
“Oh, come on. Nice weather. Lots of O2 to breathe. Off on our own. What could have been better?”
She just shook her head.
<Are you attempting humor?>
Even after almost four years with his battle buddy, it still sometimes surprised him.
He was tempted to say no, but that would only screw up its machine learning.
“It’s called sarcasm.”
<And that is funny?>
“Sort of. Not really, I guess.”
<Noted.>
“Hey, what did I tell you?” Hussein asked, leaning across the aisle. “This is the way to fly.”
The shuttle attendant was coming down the aisle, pushing a cart. Mouthwatering aromas filled the cabin. Rev wished Tomiko hadn’t picked a seat in the back, but he waited his turn. The attendant finally reached them and passed a meal to him with a cheery, “Enjoy!”
Rev cracked it open. He didn’t recognize what kind of pasta was the main course, but he didn’t care. After almost eight weeks of D-rats, anything would be heaven.
He ate while a recorded voice gave them a safety brief and was licking the box clean as the shuttle took off.
He never looked back down at the planet as they climbed into the atmosphere.