33
<Right!>
Rev planted his left foot, pushing him to the right as the riever reacted, spinning around.
You’ve got this, Reverent. Just a few more seconds . . .
<Sixty meters.>
Rev wasn’t sure why he couldn’t just fire. The rievers were quicker targets, but they didn’t have the armor of the paladins or coursers. But he was told he needed fifty-five meters before engaging, which was coincidentally—or not so coincidentally—about five meters beyond the Effective Casualty Radius of a Centaur’s shredder anti-personnel weapon.
The riever reversed the spin, darting to the left, which served to bring its pedestal around quicker.
No problem. Rev could reverse as well, dodging to the left and closing the distance in two steps before the Centaur could fire. He stuck out his right foot, and his heel skidded on a spot of loose ground. Pashu’s mass wasn’t a help as he flailed to keep his balance, but he fought through it—just in time for the riever to fire. An instant later, red paint exploded against his chest.
Crap!
“Endex, endex. All hands return to the range line.”
“What happened?”
<We were killed.>
“No shit, Sherlock. I mean, that was just a small stumble. I slipped more against the courser.”
<Which is a slower target. The riever was able to react quicker. You’ll see during the hot wash.>
Rev shook his head. Unless Colonel Tolouse ordered another run, this was the last one before they took off at zero-dark-thirty the next morning. Rev had been feeling pretty confident about his abilities, but this . . . he just hated to leave New Hope on a fail.
He slowly jogged down the range to the line. Around him, the other Raiders were appearing from their positions. Gunny Lupe, the Fifth Team leader, glared at Rev, but no one said anything. The gunny was one of those who didn’t seem enthused about their roles in the mission.
Sergeant Nix jogged up, slapped Rev on the back, and said, “What happened?”
“Slipped. Nothing more.”
“Tough luck on that. But you’ve been on a roll.”
You can be on a roll, but one mistake and your mother gets an official visit from the chaplain.
The colonel and Major Jewell were poring over the feeds as Rev came up.
“Go and dismount, then take fifteen. We’ll do the debrief after,” the colonel ordered.
“See you in a few,” Rev told Nix, jogging back to the trailer.
Daryll raised his eyebrows at the paint, but he didn’t say anything. He opened the door and motioned for Rev to go inside. Rev made his way to his chair and sat while Daryll pulled over the hoist.
As usual, Daryll went about his work without much in the way of conversation. But Rev had overheard something earlier in the day, and it was bothering him. Except for Doctor Chakrabarti—and he surely wasn’t going to ask her—Daryll was the only Sieben employee with whom he spent any time. That didn’t mean they were friends. Heck, Rev didn’t even know his full name.
Something easy enough to fix.
“Hey, Daryll. All you Sieben folks seem to have PhDs. Do you? Are you Doctor . . . ?”
“I’m just a tech.”
That didn’t work. Just ask.
“Not just a tech. But I just realized that you’ve never told me your last name.”
Daryll seemed to think for a moment, then he said, “I don’t think I ever did.”
Rev waited, but when nothing was forthcoming, he said, “Since we’re working so closely together, can you tell me it?”
Daryll fastened the straps to Pashu, then disconnected it from Rev. As always, there was a ghost-whisper, Rev was calling it, like something was wisped away from him.
“Begay.”
It took a moment to realize that Daryll was answering the question.
“Begay? We’ve got a General Begay. He’s in charge of all of New Hope’s Marines. You related?”
There were probably millions of Begays, but Rev just wanted small talk.
“He’s my uncle,” Daryll said as he swung Pashu out of the way and pointed to Rev’s social arm on the shelf.
“Your uncle? Wow, what a small world.”
“Not really. That’s how I got this job. Doctor C wanted certain, uh, concessions, and the general wanted his brother’s boy gainfully employed. That’s the way the galaxy works.” He waited a moment, then added, “But I am qualified, I guess I should tell you.”
That set Rev back, however. If Daryll was connected, maybe he wasn’t the one to ask.
Screw it. Just ask. What are they going to do?
“Hey, I was wondering. Today, I overheard something some of your Sieben guys were saying. I don’t think they wanted me to hear it, though.”
Daryll grunted. “I keep telling them you Marines have all been augmented, including your hearing. For a bunch of smart dudes, it just doesn’t seem to take.”
Ooh. That’s good. He doesn’t act like he considers himself one of them.
“Yeah, we can hear pretty well. But what I heard, it surprised me. They were talking about volunteers.”
With Rev not picking up his social arm, Daryll grabbed it and handed it over. He had no visible reaction to what Rev had said.
“I mean, I’m a volunteer. And there are certainly others in my position, you know, as in missing an arm. But I get the feeling they were talking about, well, Marines who have all their arms. Like maybe they’ll have one cut off?”
Daryll just stared at him.
“I mean, that’s pretty extreme, right?”
“I’m just a tech, and I’m not in a decision-making capacity. I don’t get told much. But sometimes when people talk, when there’re rumors, well, there could be a kernel of truth to that.”
Which was not what Rev wanted to hear. He wanted Daryll to laugh and blow him off.
Before he could ask for clarification, however, the door blew open, and Staff Sergeant Delacrie leaned in.
“Get your arm on and get on the truck, now!”
“What about the debrief?”
“Later. There’s something going on back at camp. Something with the Fries.”
* * *
The bus stopped in front of the barracks, and the Raiders poured out. Frisians from the Raiders and recon were straggling out and placing their seabags in formation in front of the building.
“Stand by. Let me find out what’s going on and where we’ll go for today’s hot wash,” the lieutenant shouted out.
“What the hell’s happening?” Tomiko asked.
Ting-a-ling came down the steps carrying two seabags, one on each shoulder. He plopped them down in front of the line of his soldiers.
“What’s going on?” Rev asked him.
The Frisian turned around with a glare that forced Rev to take a step back. When he saw who it was, his countenance relaxed, but only a bit.
“What’s going on is we’re getting evicted.”
“What? Who?”
“‘Who’ is your Union directorate. All of a sudden, we’re persona non grata. Enemy personnel.”
Rev stared at him, dumbfounded. “Enemy? The tin-asses are the enemy.”
“You’d think, huh?”
“So, what . . . you have to leave?”
“Gave us two hours. Won’t even let us take our weapons. We’ve got to march out like skippy-do prisoners of war, not like warriors.”
“But—”
“I’d like to stand and chat, Rev, but I’m kinda busy at the moment.” He turned away from Rev and faced his soldiers. “Stand tall with your heads held high. Let’s show these Marines what a real warrior is like.”
“Raiders, gather around,” Top Thapa shouted.
Rev gave Ting-a-ling one more look, then joined the rest of the team.
“As you probably guessed, we’re losing our Fries. All of them are being sent back to Fry-land. Our Marines with them, they’re coming back, too.”
“What is this? That tin-ass body we supposedly have?” Nix asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. But yeah, I’d say so.”
Tomiko pulled Rev’s head down to her and whispered in his ear, “Did we really do this? You and me?”
Rev just shrugged. He knew the two of them hadn’t done anything wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.
“The lieutenant’s locking on a space for our hot wash. Let’s get our weapons turned in and meet back here.”
“I’m staying here,” Rev announced.
“What? The lieutenant said—”
“With all due respect, the Fries . . . the Frisian flight, our Raider Team Four, has fought and bled with us. Five of them, for God’s sake, died with us. I don’t give a damn about what our governments are doing. We’re brothers and sisters in arms, and I’m going to see them off.”
“Me, too,” Tomiko, Hussein, and Strap said, almost in unison. Others quickly joined in.
Top looked like he was going to take issue with that, but then he said, “I guess the hot wash can wait.”
The Raiders formed a loose group in front of the Frisians. Recon Marines started to join them, and Marines from other units began to show up. No one said much as they watched the Frisians form up.
Tomiko remained almost glued to Rev’s side—or was it that he was glued to her side? It didn’t matter. They were the only two there who knew that the Centaur body was a fact.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. No one who’d fought the fight deserved to be treated like criminals. He wished he could do something, but he was just a tiny speck in the vast Union military machine.
“Fall on your duffles but stand easy until we get the word to load up,” the yellow-master with Recon shouted. Both flights moved into place.
Before he knew what he was doing, Rev left his group and walked up to Ting-a-ling, who gave him an indecipherable look.
“I know this doesn’t mean much, but I call you brother. We’re warriors.”
He reached up, took off his soft cover, and held it out to the Frisian. He didn’t know if Ting-a-ling would ignore him, knock the Marine Corps cover to the ground, or what.
There was a hushed silence as Ting-a-ling stared at the cover in Rev’s hand for a long moment, then he took off his own beret and held it out to Rev.
With a sense of relief, Rev took the beret, surrendering his cover. He put it on his head while Ting-a-ling donned the Marine cover.
“I call you brother, too,” Ting-a-ling said. “Always and forever.”
Suddenly, there were Marines around him, offering their covers. With a lot more Marines than Frisians, the math didn’t work out. But within a minute, all the Frisians were wearing soft covers, and the lucky Marines had on berets. They intermingled, talking and laughing until the yellow-master called his soldiers to attention.
The Marines stepped back, sober once more. The yellow-master gave them a left face, and then by column, and told them to file into the waiting bus, the same one that had brought the Raiders back from the range.
As the first soldier threw his bags into the bottom of the bus and climbed inside, someone started clapping. More and more joined in as the applause echoed between the barracks.
The yellow-master was the last to board, and he stopped at the steps, turned, and waved before stepping inside. A moment later, the bus rose on its skirts and made its way out of the parking lot.
Rev watched it until it disappeared from sight.
“Well, now what?” Hussein asked.
“We’ve got seven hours until we deploy. I suggest you get your ass ready,” Staff Sergeant Delacrie said.