13
The next two days were a sea change in how the others interacted with Rev. No one, other than the two Mad Dogs, had treated him poorly, but there had been a degree of hesitance in connecting with him.
That was all gone. The other staff sergeants and sergeants first class stopped to chat in the commons area. Junior Marines smiled or even thanked him for helping Corporal LeMay. Evidently, she’d been a popular NCO.
And the attention was not just about the accident. It was like a dam breaking. He’d been used to the sidewise glances when Pashu was attached, but for the most part, it was like his IBHU didn’t exist.
Now, particularly with the other SNCOs, there were frank discussions about his experiences fighting with her. Rev was conscious of the warnings about the others trying to dig out information that they could take back to their intel branches, but while he realized that he could be a little naive, he thought there was just frank curiosity. And from a tactical standpoint, if he was going to fight with them someday, they needed to know what he brought to the table.
And, if he was completely honest with himself, he was grateful to let the others know that he’d tasted Centaur blood. Except for a minority of troopers who were sent to the Home Guard for purely political reasons, the troopers were all top-notch soldiers, Marines, guardsmen, and so on. Rev had a deep-seated feeling of . . . not that he had an inferiority complex, per se, but that he’d succeeded in combat solely because of Pashu.
Judging from the reactions when he first started relating some of his war experiences, some of the others might have thought that, too. No one was hostile, but it was as if Rev could hear them think, “Sure, that’s all fine and dandy that you dropped a riever, but you had that massive weapon for an arm.”
It wasn’t until Ting-a-ling mentioned that as a lightly armed Raider and long before he’d gotten Pashu, he’d taken out a paladin with an incendiary grenade while perched on top of the thing. That caused a few jaws to drop, and Rev made a silent promise to thank his friend.
And that revelation immediately jumped him up a few steps on the ladder of respect. But even better, that started a series of stories from the others about their encounters. This time it was Rev’s mouth to drop open. He was serving with some Grade A, bona fide stud warriors here. After experiencing the ridiculous morass of a bureaucracy that was the Home Guard, and after the accident, he’d been getting a little concerned about what might happen if they did get into a fight. Now, he was feeling much more comfortable. These troopers, from all over the galaxy, were the real deal.
And it wasn’t just within the company. The first evening after the accident, four SNCOs from the Alliance—which was nominally a strategic competitor of the Union—came by and dragged him to the SNCO Club and plied him with drinks. LeMay was from their planet, Tatterhall, and they wanted to express their thanks. Rev brought along Ting-a-ling and Staff Sergeant Rice Unifora, and Rev had the best night since he arrived on Enceladus.
One bump in the road remained: the lieutenant. If anything, the officer was showing open animosity toward Rev.
The first sergeant seemed to have been right about whether the lieutenant would be leaving the Guard. Four days later, and he was still commander. But he’d taken a pretty big hit, and every time he came across Rev, he glared as if everything had somehow been Rev’s fault.
Rev was only a little ashamed that he’d hoped the lieutenant would be relieved and sent packing. He could justify it in his mind by saying that the platoon commander should have instilled more discipline, but he couldn’t fool himself that even a small part of that was simply because the man didn’t like him.
“He’ll get over it,” Rice had said while they were discussing the platoon commander.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s a good guy, and he knows his stuff,” Ting-a-ling said.
“Easy for you to say. He likes you,” Rev said.
“What’s there not to like?” Ting-a-ling asked. “I’m a great guy.”
“Well, I guess I’m not, ’cause he hates me.”
“You’re overreacting, Rev-boy. Just lay low and keep out of sight. The top runs the day-to-day stuff for the platoon, anyway. And in a year and a half, the lieutenant will be done and gone home.”
“None too soon, if you ask me.”
Rev knew Ting-a-ling was right, but he didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having Rev admit it.
<It is fifteen minutes until your call.>
Rev almost jumped. Punch had been so quiet lately that when he did say something, it often took Rev by surprise.
“Thanks. I’ll go and take it.”
He looked at the other two. “I’ve got a call coming.”
“Mala?” Rice asked.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, look at him. He’s getting red,” she said, reaching over to pinch his cheek. “It’s so cute.”
“I should have never told you two about her.”
“I’ve never known a guy who doesn’t want to brag about his conquests,” Rice said with a laugh.
“It isn’t like that. She wasn’t a ‘conquest.’”
“You keep telling yourself that. You might even believe it someday.” Rice stretched, arching her back. “And I think I’m hitting the rack. I’ve got battalion duty bright and early. By the Mother, I hate that.”
She stood up and said, “Make sure you darken your door. You don’t want to embarrass yourself.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. Lonely boy, far from his girl. She calls him on a private line. You know how things go.”
“Oh, geez, Rice. Why is it that every woman I know has her mind in the gutter?”
“Because men who don’t understand women fall into two groups: bachelors and husbands.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“That’s because you’re a bachelor.”
Rev just shook his head. “I swear, I don’t understand women.”
“That’s what I just said.” She leaned over and gave Rev a kiss on the top of the head. “Don’t fret your little mind about it.”
Ting-a-ling stood up. “I was going to make the same kind of crack, but she beat me to it. I’m hitting the rack, too. You go take your call. Have fun, but not too much fun.”
“You, too?”
Rev shook his head as his friend entered his cell. Rev didn’t think he was a prude, but sometimes, he just didn’t understand his fellow Marines and troopers.
* * *
“Busy. They’ve got us hopping. We just got back from a two-day training cycle out on the surface.”
“They’ve got surface training? I thought it was all, like, underground,” Malaika said.
“Gravity’s so weak here that they give us harnesses to counteract it. We do vacuum ops right on the surface. Cheaper than getting the Navy to take us somewhere.”
That, and they don’t like carting us around as if they were just bus drivers.
“I guess that makes sense. You be careful, though. Vacuum ops are nothing to underestimate.”
You’ve got that right. Not that he was going to tell her about what happened to LeMay and Wuhing. No use worrying her.
She broke contact with his eyes, trying to look around him. “So, that’s your quarters?”
“Yeah,” Rev said, scooting to the side of the pickup so she could see. “My home for the next three years.”
“It looks . . . small.”
“That’s because it is. I’ve got this little cubbyhole at the entrance where I can sit and work on my terminal, and then the rack. No head. I gotta go out for that.”
“It’s kinda cute, though. Looks like enough room for two in that rack, if you know what I mean,” she said with a throaty laugh.
Yeah, I know what you mean, he thought, trying not to roll his eyes. First Rice, now you, Mala?
“Unfortunately, only assigned personnel in the base. No visitors. And you’ll be a civilian soon enough.”
“Damn, Rev. Just joking. Trying to, you know, remind you of what’s waiting back here when you come.”
“Yeah, I knew you were joking. I was just playing along.”
Except he didn’t know she was joking. In retrospect, of course, she had to be, but he’d thought she was serious. Sometimes, it seemed as if they didn’t understand each other at all.
“Speaking of which, what’s your status on that?”
“Already started the process. I had my first Run Amok Week brief today.”
“Shouldn’t that be ‘Don’t Run Amok Week’ brief?” Rev asked.
“Ha-fucking-ha. You need to get Punch to give you better lines, ’cause it’s not like I haven’t heard that, oh, about a hundred other times today.”
The Corps hadn’t been discharging any significant number of Marines since before the war, and now, with combat vets returning into the civilian population—particularly with large numbers of augmented Direct Combat Marines—there was concern that the trauma of war could manifest itself in bad ways. Someone with a PTSD event, someone far stronger and quicker than a normal human, could pose a danger to the populace. So, the Reintegration of Returning Marines had been reestablished and updated. Every discharging Marine had to go through a week of briefs, exercises, and psychological evaluations.
That was almost enough reason for Rev to stay in uniform in and of itself.
“So, what are they—” Rev started to ask before he was cut off by his hatch chime.
Rev wasn’t expecting anyone. With his first free time since forever, he hoped it wasn’t the first sergeant with another shit detail.
“Wait a second,” he told Malaika as he set the hatch to transparent.
Lieutenant Macek was standing in front of his cell.
“Can I help you, sir?” he asked through the intercom.
“I was hoping that we could talk.”
Rev could see that something was bothering the lieutenant. Why he’d be coming to see him was something Rev didn’t know, but Marines supported Marines.
“Wait one, sir. Let me cut off this call.”
He turned back to Malaika. “I’ve got to go, Mala. Something just came up.”
“What? But we just started chatting,” she said, disappointment taking over her face.
“I know, but I’ve got the lieutenant here, and you know officers. Can’t wait for whatever it is. Besides, this setup is pretty righteous. I can take incoming calls right here in my cell, and if you’re at the USO, these don’t cost us a bit. We’ll have plenty of time to chat.”
“Well . . . OK, I guess. It’s just that I miss you so much.”
“Me, too. But I’ve got to go.”
“Wait.” She looked around to see if anyone was looking, then leaned over and planted a kiss on the pickup. “Think of me in your dreams.”
It was almost a relief when Rev cut the connection. And that made him feel guilty. Shouldn’t he miss her as much as it looked like she missed him? But the lieutenant was waiting, and he didn’t have time for that.
He opened the hatch and started to get out.
“Can I come in?”
Rev looked around his tiny space. The lieutenant wasn’t a particularly large man, but Rev was, and with their augments, both were rather bulky.
“It’ll be kinda tight, sir. There’s not much room here.”
“I’d rather have a little privacy, if you don’t mind.
Supposedly, the cells were private with no monitoring. Rev didn’t believe that for a second, but unless the lieutenant wanted to plan a coup and take over the Council, he didn’t think that whatever AI was monitoring them would flag anything said.
“Sure, come in.”
Rev got off the chair and sat on the edge of his rack. There wasn’t enough clearance for him to sit upright, so he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
The lieutenant took Rev’s chair and looked around the cell. “Shit, I’m never going to complain about my cell again. This is like a coffin.”
“Can I get you a drink, sir? I’ve got a couple of Teks.”
He perked up. “Really? What’re they like?”
Rev reached over his head and into the shelf there, pulled down a Tek pouch, popped it into the small cooler by the sink, and gave it ten seconds. The cooler chimed, and he pulled it out before tossing it to the lieutenant.
“You tell me.”
Tek flowed through the veins of the Osnovnoy Alyanz. It was based on an old Russian bread-based drink called kvass. There were evidently several copycats, but Tek was the first and most popular. It could be found on New Hope if one looked hard enough, but Rev had never tried it there. Seeing cases of it in the corridor mini-exchange, and now being in the company of Cossack troopers, he thought he’d give it a try.
The lieutenant popped the straw, sniffed the opening, then took a swallow. His face twisted in disgust, and he leaned over to Rev’s sink and spit it out.
“Wow! Give me a Coke any day.”
Rev shrugged. It wasn’t that bad, but it sure wasn’t good. “Yeah, and I bought a twelve pack.”
The lieutenant raised his eyebrows.
“It was the smallest pack they had.”
“That’s because they know if we tried one, we’d never buy another. So, I take it you have ten left?”
Rev nodded.
“Just toss them. And, sorry about your sink. I didn’t mean to poison it.”
“No problem, sir. So . . . what do you want to talk about?”
The frown came back, and the lieutenant took a deep breath to gather himself. “This is . . . I don’t know if this is appropriate.”
Rev waited.
“I’m wondering if I belong here,” he finally said.
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I don’t know shit. I mean, compared to my troopers. My platoon sergeant is a Mad Dog—not one of their karnans, but a regular one. He’s made it very clear that I’m worthless and that he’s gonna be running the platoon.”
“I must be missing something here, sir. He’s a platoon sergeant, and you’re the commander.”
“But he’s right. He’s got campaign ribbons out the wazoo, and me . . . I don’t know what you know about me. I got hit twenty minutes into my first fight. On Echo Junction. CASEVAC’d out. Never even fired my weapon. Then there was the invasion of New Hope and then us going to Earth. That’s it. I really don’t have much in the way of experience, and everyone in my platoon, every single trooper, has more combat time than me.”
Rev pursed his lips, not knowing what to say—and he was feeling extremely uncomfortable.
“Sir, with all due respect, maybe you should be talking to the major, or maybe the gunny? Or even General Platte?”
Major Liege was the only other IBHU officer and the unofficial leader of the rest. Gunnery Sergeant Poole was the senior enlisted IBHU Marine.
“I thought about that. But . . .”
“But?”
“They’re regular Corps,” he got out in a rush. “Not from New Hope.”
The response surprised Rev, but maybe it shouldn’t. Rev had barely spent any time with the major and gunny yet, and they could be great Marines for all he knew. But there was a difference between the regular Corps and the more numerous, but perhaps not as well outfitted, provincial Corps throughout the Union. At least before the war, that is. During the war, Rev thought that if the New Hope Marines were any indication, the provincials more than carried their own weight.
It was supposed to be one Marine Corps, but the fact was that many in the regular Corps thought they were better than the provincials, and most provincials carried a bit of a chip on their shoulders because of that.
But that didn’t mean that Rev knew what to tell the lieutenant. As a SNCO, he knew, in a general sense, that one of his missions was to guide, advise, and teach junior officers. But he’d never been in that situation before. In the first place, the Raiders tended to receive more experienced or prior-enlisted lieutenants. In the second place, Rev had just made staff sergeant, and during his time with the Raiders, there had always been SNCOs to take that responsibility.
Looking at the lieutenant, however, he knew he had to do something. As an IBHU Marine, the lieutenant was one of the more powerful military individuals in existence, but if he was suffering from confidence, then that capability was wasted.
His mind raced as he tried to figure out what to do.
“What’s this guy’s rank?” he asked, more to give him some time than because it would help.
“I don’t know what they call it. But he’s got the light-yellow tab like you do. So, a staff sergeant.”
There’s one problem.
“Punch, what do the Mad Dogs call their staff sergeant equivalents again?”
<Over sergeant.>
“Lieutenant, I know we use Army ranks in the Guard, but when you address him in private, show him the respect to call him by his real rank, over sergeant.”
The lieutenant let out a huff of air in almost dismay. “So, I need to show him more respect? Isn’t that going to add more fuel to the fire?”
“No. I don’t think so. But calling him by his rank helps set the boundaries within his own understanding of the military hierarchy. When you call him staff sergeant, all you’re doing is reinforcing the fact that you two are not from the same services. And you know the Mad Dogs. They already think they’re the Mother’s gift to humanity.”
Shit. Where the heck did all of that come from?
But as soon as he said it, he thought he was right. It wasn’t the answer to the lieutenant’s situation, but it could help form the foundation.
“OK, sir. Answer me this. Has he blatantly refused an order?”
“No. Not really. But it’s his condescending attitude, his ‘Don’t worry, Lieutenant, I’ll handle this,’ or ‘You just worry about officering and leave the rest to me.’ I mean, really? I’m supposed to turn the platoon over to him? And if I say no to something, or if I want to do something, he always reminds me that I don’t have the experience that he does, so I don’t know how to get things done.”
The experience thing was something that Rev couldn’t fix. It was true that the lieutenant, while not a combat cherry, was not as experienced as most of the troopers in the Guard. All of them were supposed to be the respective creams of the crop from their services, so it made sense that almost all of them had extensive combat experience.
The lieutenant had been selected not for his combat experience, however, but rather because he had an IBHU. Four of the other IBHU Marines, PFC Marie del Mar from New Hope and three from the regular Corps, were in the same situation as well, but none of them had been placed in a leadership position.
He understood the lieutenant’s feelings. Heck, he had a little of the imposter syndrome himself. Sure, he’d killed that paladin on Preacher Rolls before his IBHU, but that had been more luck than anything else. Since then, what he relied on was the hunk of tech he hung on his shoulder. But feeling unqualified or not, the lieutenant was in the billet, and he had to step up to the plate and swing away.
“Sir, and I say this with all due respect, put on your big boy pants and put away the crying towels.”
The lieutenant jerked his head back in surprise.
Well, if all you wanted was a shoulder to cry on, you came to the wrong person.
“Sure, you don’t have the experience that some, maybe most of the troopers here have, but it isn’t like you’re a combat cherry. You got your arm blown off in one fight and helped turn back the tin-asses on New Hope. You were there on the Mother for the last engagement, too.”
The lieutenant grimaced at that last statement.
Dumb move, Reverent.
The lieutenant’s team had killed their Centaurs, just like most of the rest of the teams sent to the home planet. If not for Rev and the MDS lieutenant, Earth would probably just be gravel floating in space right now. So, Rev had just reminded him of his poor judgment.
“But experience or not, you’ve got one thing on your side. You’ve got those butter bars on your shoulder, and that means the Union put its trust in you to lead Marines. And now you’re with the Home Guard. Do you have the breadth of experience that other people have? No. Heck, PFC Randigold has more. But she isn’t an officer. Neither am I. You are.
“So, act like an officer. You command your platoon, not some Mad Dog over sergeant. He’s subordinate to you, and the Home Guard backs that.”
“But—”
“No buts, sir. I’m not saying ignore your platoon sergeant. That experience he has is worth a lot. But the decisions are yours, not his to make. If he makes a suggestion—and put it in your mind that no matter how he expresses it, no matter his wording or tone, whatever he says is just that, a suggestion—then you tell him you’ll consider it. If you don’t like the suggestion, then don’t take it. Tell him you’re doing it another way. And if you think it’s a good suggestion, then make it your decision, not his. You give the orders.”
Rev stopped and tried to see how the lieutenant was taking it. He was right, he was sure about it, but the “crying towel” comment might have been too much.
“Well. I’m not sure I expected that,” he said.
Rev lowered the intensity. “Look, you’re a good platoon commander. Yeah, a little rough around the edges, and you worry too much about how your Marines perceive you. But you did fine during the invasion.”
The lieutenant looked surprised at his comments.
“Oh, you don’t think we enlisted have our own mafia, and we don’t check out our officers?” Rev asked with a laugh. “You’re an IBHU Marine, and we’ve got more than the Brotherhood of Steel going on. Of course, I’m going to find out.
“My point is that you’re no greener than any other butter bar. Not even that green. You’ve tasted combat. Yeah, you’ve got a lot to learn, but so do all of us. I sure do. The tactics will come. But what has to be there now is the authority of command. I don’t mean your commissioning certificate. I mean that steel inside of you that deserves command authority.”
He paused for a moment. “My second Raider platoon commander, Captain Omestori, he reported in as a butter bar. He was so green it hurt. The rest of us, we didn’t know if he was going to work out. But he had two things going for him. First, he did everything in his power to support us. He even offered to throw away his career to fight for me over some awards bullshit. But second, while he asked for Top Thapa’s opinions, and he asked us sometimes for input, too, every time, when it came down to it, he made the decision.
“I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, I’d rather have a commander who might make some mistakes along the way than some wishy-washy spineless toad who can’t make a decision.”
“And I’m a wishy-washy spineless toad, Staff Sergeant?”
“Oh, no, sir. I didn’t mean it like that.”
The lieutenant waved off the protest. “Maybe I am.” He let out a huge sigh.
Rev watched the lieutenant closely. He hadn’t meant to be insulting, but what he said fit the bill. The question was how the lieutenant was going to take it. But as he watched, he could see the resolve take over the officer’s eyes, he could see the man sit up straighter.
“Damn it, you’re right. I am the fucking platoon commander, not him. If he doesn’t want to follow my orders, well, I can court-martial his ass.”
Oh, shit! What have I created?
“Um, sir, you might want to think twice about—”
“Don’t worry, Staff Sergeant Pelletier, I’m just blowing off a little steam. I’m not going to go refer him to a court. I don’t even know how that would work in the Guard. I’m just saying, he’s got to understand that I’m in command.
“I . . . I knew that, of course. I don’t know why I was letting him run over me. So, thank you for reminding me.”
“They tell me that’s what a SNCO is supposed to do, sir,” Rev said with a smile.
“So, you passed that test, then. And I guess I needed it.” He looked around the cell and said, “I didn’t mean to take up your free time. I’ll leave you to whatever it was you were doing.”
He stood up, and Rev followed. The two took up most of the space.
“Sir, it might take a bit of time. Just be firm, but fair. And if you need to talk to someone, unofficial like, you know, out of your chain of command, I’m here. And not just about this matter. Anything.”
The lieutenant smiled and said, “I’ll try not to depend on you. I’ve got to lead on my own, right? But thanks for the offer. I may take you up on that sometime.”
He raised his social arm. “Brothers in steel?”
“Brothers in steel,” Rev said, clanking arms together.
Rev watched the lieutenant as he strode back down the corridor. It could have been Rev’s imagination, but he could have sworn that the officer was walking straighter, his shoulders back. The lieutenant was green, but Rev thought he had potential. How he grew into his role, how his steel was forged, would be the difference between making general someday or washing out early. To listen to the other SNCOs, a lot of that depended on the staff sergeants, gunnies, and first sergeants who made the first few hammers on their steel, forming the basic blade.
Rev had no idea if he’d handled that correctly. He wished Top Thapa was there, or even Master Guns Tuala. But like he’d told the lieutenant, sometimes, you just had to step up to the plate and swing away.
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