16
“Moving like that’s going to get you killed, P4. You have to put some effort into it!” Rev shouted across the range.
“But I’m trying, Corporal!” the former MilDes Ninety-nine whined.
“Trying ain’t good enough! How many times do I have to tell you that? If you can’t survive the range, then how the hell do you expect to survive a real tin-ass?”
Rev had met quite a few Ninety-nines while in the Marines, and, despite the tendency to stick with other Direct Combat Marines, he’d downed more than a few beers with them. Except for a close decision back when he was a recruit, he could have been in their ranks. From those he got to know, it was rarely apparent why they’d been relegated to the bottom of the Marine Corps ladder.
Not so with Private Preston Porter Pierson, who Rev had immediately christened P4. Soft, unfocussed, and lacking drive, he wasn’t Marine material. Rev didn’t consider him even Ninety-nine material. But the Marine Corps, in its infinite wisdom, had not only shifted him to Direct Combat but had given him his own IBHU.
And now, he had only three more days to whip the private into some degree of proficiency. With the Centaur mass incursion, there just wasn’t any more time, and if the other IBHU trainees could work their arms, then they were jerked out of the pipeline and sent to front-line units. Rev wasn’t sure if he could get Pierson into adequate shape if he had a year.
“Wheng, show him how to do it.”
“I’m on it, Corporal!”
Lance Corporal Sisi Wheng, on the other hand, could be up to the task. Her control needed work, but she was willing and driven, two good combinations. And she’d been a combat engineer when a training accident took her hand, so she’d already been Direct Combat.
As soon as she reached the starting position, Rev signaled to the range NCOIC to start the target. The simulated paladin was a sight better than the one he’d used on the same range to demonstrate Pashu’s capabilities what seemed so long ago. It appeared from the right side of Range 401, speeding across the open area. Wheng immediately took off, trying to head it off, which was a mistake as the angle meant the paladin had less of an arc to traverse its pedestal.
Just when he thought she was dead meat, she darted to the inside, and the paladin’s shot missed her. She managed three more jukes and got to within seventy-four meters before the paladin nailed her. It was an angry and embarrassed young Marine who came back to the bleachers, vowing to do better next time.
Pierson, on the other hand, was sitting, staring up into the sky at who knows what. Rev just shook his head. He could only do so much with the raw material given to him and the extremely short time window.
“OK, you two. Let’s look at your last runs and dissect them to see what went wrong. Then we’re going to do it again, and again, and yet again until you get it right.”
Wheng leaned forward in anticipation as the NCOIC powered up the holopad. Pierson’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.
Rev’s stare hardened. He was going to get lazy bastard into shape or kill him trying.
Wheng had actually survived twice when Rev called the training to a halt for the evening. Pierson hadn’t even come close, and the worst thing was he didn’t seem to care. Rev made a note to himself to talk to the captain about the situation and see if anything could be done. It seemed a waste to spend all that money on an IBHU only to have it destroyed, and it certainly wasn’t fair to try and force the square Pierson into a round Direct Combat hole. It was going to get Pierson killed along with any other Marine who depended on him.
* * *
“Because you need to know how to take care of your IBHU. You’re not always going to have Daryll here with you. That’s why.” Rev said with an exasperated sigh.
Daryll just smiled as he went through his checks.
“But I can just get Boxer to run the checks,” Pierson said.
“After you put him on. Your battle buddy can’t do much when your IBHU’s on the rack.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” Well, you should have instead of challenging me.
“So, I suggest you get off that stool and come here to watch what Daryll’s doing.”
As more IBHU Marines were hitting the fleet, armorers were being trained up to take over the maintenance of the weapons. But Rev planned to keep Daryll as long as he could. He’d built up a strong relationship with the man, and civilian or not, he trusted him more than a Marine who was still learning about the system.
Pierson stepped up beside Daryll and started watching. It wasn’t that the Marine was fighting authority. He just seemed to want to know the why of whatever he was told. Rev could understand that to an extent. But not for every little thing. Sometimes, a Marine just had to salute smartly and march on.
Rev started to take a seat by Wheng when their was a rap on the door. With Daryll busy, Rev went to see who it was.
“There you are,” a pissed-looking Nix said. “Been looking all over for you. The master guns wants to see you in the company office.”
“Of course, he does. Well, I’ll head over as soon as we’re done.”
“You think I’ve been running all over the base to find you if he wanted to wait for you? He wants you ASAP.”
He resisted rolling his eyes and said, “OK, OK. I ‘m on my way.”
“Just get over there, OK? I’ve got better things to do with my time than tracking you down.”
Why didn’t you just call me? he thought as Nix spun around and strode off, looking none too happy.
He closed the door and returned to the others. “Hey, Daryll, my overlord wants to see me.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got it. I’ll zap you the readings.”
“Both of you stay here until your IBHUs are upchecked, then head back and get some chow. I want to see you at twenty-hundred in the conference room for another sweat session on maneuver angles. You both better be ready for it.”
He left the armory and headed back, wondering what it was this time. It had only been two days, and the new team leader/platoon sergeant hadn’t been as raging an asshole as Rev had feared, but he was constantly micromanaging, always getting involved. And why did he have Nix, a senior sergeant, acting as a gofer tracking Rev down? And it wasn’t as if there was something like a quantphone, right?”
Rev pulled out his and checked for messages.
Brilliant, there, Reverent. You forgot to turn it on.
Range rules were that no phones were allowed to be turned on. Evidently, once, possibly years ago, an incoming call somehow set off some ordnance, and now, in typical Marine Corps fashion, all civilian phones had to be turned off while within fifty meters of a live range.
“Why didn’t you remember to tell me to turn my phone back on?”
<Because you have never directed me to do so.>
“Well, I’m directing you now.”
After all this time, Rev would have expected to figure out how to use his battle buddy by now, but little things like this kept slipping through the cracks. As a fount of knowledge, he was great. For telling jokes, as bad as they were, he was OK. But his ability to volunteer information or assistance was somewhat hit or miss.
Rev powered up his phone, and there were three missed messages, two from Nix and one from the master guns.
Oh, well. Not much I can do about that now.
Now he knew why Nix looked pissed off. Rev would have felt the same if the roles had been reversed.
Rev cut behind the chow hall and into the company area. As he was rounding the corner of the barracks, he said, “Afternoon, Lieuten—”
He stood in open-mouthed surprise as Private Harisa gave a wry grin and said, “Afternoon, Corporal Pelletier.”
“What . . .”
“My orders got changed due to the present circumstances. I was supposed to go to General Support Battalion, but they needed all experienced hands for high-priority units, and that includes the Raiders.”
Rev didn’t know how to react. She was still an officer in his eyes, but here she was, a private.
“So, you don’t have to become a MilDes Ninety-nine?”
“Oh, no. I’m still a Ninety-nine. It’s already done. So, after we’re done here, I’m supposed to go back to the battalion.”
“That’s . . . that sucks, ma’am.”
“No more ma’am for me, I’m afraid.” Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes weren’t.
“But why back here to the platoon?” Rev asked.
“You see any other Raider platoons in the regiment, Corporal? And how many of us have worked with you IBHU Marines?”
“No, but this sucks.”
“If I’m going into combat, I’d rather go with Marines I trust, so it isn’t so bad.”
Brave words, but Rev couldn’t imagine it. He was still trying to get used to being a corporal in the team now, but that was nothing compared to Private Harisa.
“It’ll be fine, Corporal Pelletier.”
“Rev. Call me Rev.”
Non-rates didn’t call NCOs by their first name, but non-rates weren’t officers a few weeks ago.
“I didn’t get the chance on New Mars to talk to you. But I wanted to say that you got screwed over.”
“It is what it is. I was in command, and I didn’t follow my orders.”
“But I was the one who made the decision. Not you.”
“No. You acted. I could have stepped in.”
“But the Torinth Accords. I’d already made the deal,” Rev said, not letting go.
“And as the colonel in charge of my case said, if you were that untrustworthy, then I should have been there with you and not back with my team.”
To be called untrustworthy took Rev aback, and she must have seen the shock on his face because she said, “His words, not mine.
“Look, Corporal, I knew what I was doing, and I knew the potential consequences, but even if I’d been with you, I wouldn’t have changed a thing.”
Rev scrunched up his brows as he digested that. “But if you knew you’d get in trouble, then why didn’t you try to stop me?”
She smiled, and this time it seemed genuine. “Because what you decided, that was the right thing to do, of course.”
Rev hadn’t thought of the personal consequences at the time. He’d just been convinced that he was right and everyone else would agree. It had been an easy decision for him to make. But Harisa had understood that she was putting her career on the line, and she still went along with him.
That was true courage and showed the temper of her steel.
He was at a loss for words, so it was almost a relief when his phone buzzed, even when he saw it was his team leader.
“I’m right outside, Master Guns. I’ll be there in a minute.”
He turned back to the private. “I still think it sucks big time. You shouldn’t have been demoted.”
“Life sucks, and then you die. What are you going to do?”
“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around.”
Trite, but he was feeling guilty and was at a loss for words.
He turned around and hurried to the barracks entrance. No one was avoiding his eyes as he walked down the passage to the company offices, so he didn’t think he was in big trouble, but with so little time until they shipped out, any interruption like this was one too many.
Rev opened the hatch into the office. The master guns was in the outer office, speaking to an unfamiliar gunny. “Master Gunnery Sergeant, sorry I’m late.”
“Corporal Pelletier, glad you could make time in your busy day to see me. Go in and wait for me while I finish up here.”
Rev tried to withhold the wince at his tone and entered the office. The master guns had already decorated it with plaques, 2D photos, and holos, and that seemed to indicate that he was planning on the long-haul here.
Rev didn’t sit down but started to look at the master guns’ I-Love-Me wall. Like all such walls, there were the unit plaques, a dozen from mostly infantry units, but one from Marine Headquarters on New Mars. There were images of him as a slightly younger Marine at his promotion to gunnery sergeant, and there were no less than four of him with previous commandants and several of him posing with what looked like infantry squads, out in the field. A holo ran a loop, and as Rev leaned forward, he was surprised to see it was of the master guns, as a sergeant, receiving a Gold Nova from a four-star general.
Rev looked over to the medal citations. There were quite a few of them. Along with the Gold Nova, the second-highest Union award for valor, were three Silver Novas and a host of lesser awards. Rev didn’t want to be impressed with the master guns, but he was.
In the center of the same wall was a single 2D image, except Rev couldn’t tell which was the master guns. Two young Marines were smiling, arms around each other’s shoulders in a desert world, three moons stacked in the sky behind them. Both were shirtless with their utility trousers on. And both were mirror images for each other.
The master gunnery sergeant entered the office, and Rev jumped, feeling guilty for some reason. The platoon sergeant pointed at the chair, and Rev sat.
“Are you a twin?” he asked.
Stupid question, Reverent. Of course, he’s a twin.
“That’s my brother,” the master guns said in a subdued voice. “Enlisted on our eighteenth birthday.”
The thought of two Master Gunnery Sergeant Tualas was just a little too hard to swallow at the moment. One was more than enough.
“Where is he now?”
The master guns looked at Rev for a moment with dead eyes and said, “In the family plot on Apia. KIA the day after that picture.”
Shit! Way to go.
“Sorry,” Rev said, before he just shut up, wishing they could just move on. Evidently, the master guns felt the same.”
“There is a move to transfer you, Pierson, and Wheng to the infantry.”
You could have knocked Rev over with a feather. Never in a million years would he have expected to hear that.
“But . . . but, why? I’m a Raider.”
The master guns shrugged and said, “Raiders don’t kill Centaurs. It’s not their mission.”
“But I’ve killed them, even before my IBHU.”
That seemed to take the master guns by surprise, and Rev wondered how much he’d been briefed on the Marines in his command.
“On Preacher Rolls.”
“And how did you do that? With a Yellowjacket?”
Which was a logical conclusion. The Yellowjackets were the infantry’s prime weapon before the Morays really hit the fleet, and while they weren’t overly effective against Centaur armor, they could, if the Gods of War smiled down upon them, take a riever, or possibly even a paladin, out.
“It was too close. I had to use a Phoenix.”
The master gunnery sergeant’s eyes got wide, and he asked, “With a Phoenix? You melted one?”
“Yes, Master Guns. It was suppressed after we got back. The brass didn’t want to highlight how we got our asses handed to us. But you can ask Sergeant Reiser or Sergeant Nix if you don’t believe me. They were there.”
“You’re a Marine NCO. Of course, I believe you. And later, I’d like to hear the details. But even if you managed to kill a . . . what kind of tin-ass?”
“A paladin.”
The master guns raised his eyebrows and then said, “Even if you managed to drop a paladin with a Phoenix, the fact of the matter is that the mission of the Raiders isn’t to kill tin-asses. If it were, you’d be armed for that. Your M-49 main weapon is effective against drones and such, but not against tin-asses in their armor. Raiders conduct recon, they attack infrastructure, they take out weapons systems.
“You, however, have been augmented with your IBHU to become a Centaur-killer. So, the reasoning is, you should not be a Raider.”
“What . . . where do they say I should be?”
“With the infantry.”
“The infantry aren’t tin-ass killers, either,” he blurted out, even knowing the master guns was career infantry.
“They are more than Raiders and recon are. The grenadiers and missileers are armed to kill them,” the platoon sergeant said more than a little defensively.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He needed the master guns on his side. He couldn’t afford to antagonize him.
“Punch, help me. Give me something.”
<You have to be more specific. What do you want me to give you?>
“I need to prove that this is a bad idea.”
<From what he’s said, moving you is the logical course of action.>
Rev shook off his battle buddy’s comment. The thought of leaving the team had him almost in panic mode. But he couldn’t just say he didn’t want to move. He had to have a reason.
He leaned forward in his chair, almost to the edge of the master guns’ desk, and said, “Teamwork is vital in killing a tin-ass. You can’t just go it alone. And when are we lifting ship? Four days? Five days?”
“About that, most likely.”
“You take me out of the Raiders, and I won’t have time to develop the rapport wherever they send me. I’ll be up shit creek without a paddle.”
Don’t make it personal. Make it the mission.
“I mean, I won’t be as effective in killing tin-asses, and that means more will be left to fight the tanks, the mech, the infantry.”
The master guns just sat there, looking at Rev, who couldn’t begin to unravel what he was thinking.
“What about Lance Corporal Wheng and Private Pierson? They haven’t had time to develop much of a rapport.”
Which was true, but Rev wasn’t going to admit that. “Whatever time I’ve had to work with them, and they with their teams, is more than they’d get anywhere else,” he said.
“And does it really matter where I’m at? Where they’re at, if that’s where we can be the most effective? I’m just a Marine with a weapon, like you told me the other night. And if the Raiders are the ones who are employing me, then the Raiders are Centaur-killers, right? Like infantry with Morays. Like me with a Phoenix.”
“So, you’re saying that this is a bad idea?”
“Yes, Master Guns. I just want what’s best for the mission, and moving me isn’t that.”
The stern look faded from the master guns’ face. “Which is exactly what I told them you’d say.”
“Excuse me?”
“Colonel Destafney wanted to know your opinion on this, so he told the sergeant major, who then told me to find out what you thought. I told the sergeant major that you were a Marine, and of course, you’d want to stay with your unit, but I had to ask you.”
“So, you agree?”
“It wasn’t up to me to agree or not. The colonel wanted your opinion, not mine.”
“So, what now? Are they going to pull me?”
“I doubt it. Like you said, there’s no time. Likely some paper pusher thought it would be a good idea, not thinking about the timeline.”
Rev felt a rush of relief, then some embarrassment at his reaction to the concept. He’d told the master guns that it didn’t matter where he was, and that was true. If he’d be more effective as an infantry grunt, then that’s where he should be, no matter if he really wanted to stay with the team.
“But speaking of Wheng and Pierson, how are they progressing?” the master guns asked.
The abrupt change of course took Rev off-guard, and he said, “Wheng shows promise. She’s raw but a good Marine. Pierson is a basket case. In fact, I was going to ask you if I could see Captain Omestori about keeping Pierson back when we ship out.”
“No.”
“Master Guns?”
“No. You won’t see the captain about that.”
That wasn’t the response Rev expected.
“But he’s a liability. He’ll get killed, and he’ll endanger his team.”
“Well, then, you’ve got another couple of days to make sure he isn’t a liability. That’s your job, right?”
“But—"
“But nothing. Didn’t you just tell me that the mission is paramount?”
“Uh . . . yes?”
“So, complete the mission. We’re going to need all of our assets if we are going to come out of what’s heading our way with our skin intact.”
It took a moment, but Rev realized that the platoon sergeant was right. Rev was right to be concerned with Pierson, but sometimes, you just had to play with the cards you were dealt.
“Right, Master Guns. I’ll get him ready.”
“You do that. Anything else?”
“No.”
“Then I suggest you get going.”
Rev stood and started to leave when the master guns said, “And Corporal. Don’t sell Private Pierson short. There’s a Marine in everyone. You just have to uncover him.”
Rev stood there for a moment and nodded before continuing out. The master guns might be right, but with Pierson, the Marine was deep, deep inside, and Rev was going to have to do a lot of digging to uncover him.