29
“This is sure something,” Bundy said as he looked across the auditorium/ballroom.
“That’s an understatement, sir,” Rev said. “I never expected this many folks would show up. Especially from the other services.”
There were one hundred and forty-three Union Marines in the Home Guard on Enceladus and another eleven on Titan, one of the largest contingents from any single service. Of that, twenty-six were deployed at the moment. But there had to be a thousand people gathered to celebrate the Perseus Union Marine Corps Birthday.
It made sense that Union civilians in the Congress would want to attend, as did the fact that the other marine corps and naval infantries would send reps, but other uniforms far outnumbered the Union Marine Corps dress blues. There was even an MDS colonel sitting up at the head table. He wasn’t the most surprising guest. At a small table to the side of the main table, three Centaurs were quietly sitting. That blew Rev away, and to be honest, he didn’t know what to think about that.
It was one thing to accept them as part of the peace. But to invite them to a traditional celebration seemed going too far. And what would they do there? Could they even eat human food?
Rev shook his head. He was not going to let their presence spoil the evening. This was going to be his first birthday ball. All marine corps tended to embrace history and tradition, and the Perseus Union Marine Corps was no different. The birthday ball was one of those traditions. But with the war, the formal balls had been mostly suspended for the duration, with only small cake-cutting ceremonies and the reading of the commandant’s message. And on New Hope, that suspension was continued due to the devastation from the invasion and then the rebuilding effort.
He shifted his attention to his table. They were in the back and to the side, a long way from the head table up on the stage, but he was OK with that. It was the company that mattered. This was the New Hope table. Lieutenants Bundy and Macek, PFCs Del Mar, and Randigold, and the newly promoted Corporal Thassom. All they were missing was Sergeant Tsao, but they had a seat for her to join them later.
Damn, we look good.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please find your way to your seats. The ceremony will begin in five minutes,” the announcer said.
Most of those in the hinterlands tables were already seated, but up front, with the higher-ups, people were mingling, shaking hands and doing whatever higher-ups do. They slowly started to make their way to their seats.
Randigold slid her quantphone across the table to Rev. “Hey, Staff Sergeant, can you snap a holo of us?”
She put her arm around Thassom, and they mugged for the shot. That started a round of shots as everyone wanted one until the lights went down and they were interrupted by the announcer.
“Marines and honored guests, welcome to the celebration of the seven hundred and sixty-ninth birthday of the Perseus Union Marine Corps!”
There was a round of applause.
From outside the room, a single drum started a slow beat. A spotlight flashed on the entrance.
“Please rise for the presentation of the colors.”
Six Marines marched in abreast. The outside two held Union M-49s at shoulder arms. The middle four held the Home Guard colors, the Marine Corps colors with too many campaign streamers to see much of the flag itself, the Congress of Humanity flag, and the Perseus Union flag, being carried by none other than New Hope’s own Sergeant Tumeric Tsao.
She looked amazing, her blues immaculate, the Platinum Nova nestled at her throat. Rev felt pride surge through him—a provincial Marine, a New Hope Marine, and an IBHU Marine at that, having that honor. He wanted to hoot and shout despite the solemnity of the occasion.
The spotlight followed them as they marched up the center aisle. If they didn’t quite have the same exact coordination as the Barclay color guard during their Landing Day celebration, Rev didn’t care. This was his Marine Corps, his nation.
The guard performed a countermarch in front of the head table, and the CoH and Perseus Union’s anthems were played. Then came the Marine Corps Hymn. If possible, Rev stood even straighter at attention, and as the last strains died, there was a spontaneous “ooh-rah” bursting from over a hundred throats.
“Post the colors!”
The color guard moved to the stands and put the flags in place. At the command of the gunnery sergeant—Sergeant First Class in Home Guard ranks—they marched out of the hall.
The lights came back on, and the announcer said, “Please remain standing for the reading of the message of the commandant.”
To All Marines Throughout the Galaxy,
Seven hundred and sixty-nine years ago today, in an old warehouse, while our founding fathers hammered out the Perseus Arm Compact, fourteen members of the charter nations’ militaries signed the Perseus Union Marine Corps into being. From those humble beginnings, the Corps has grown in number and capabilities, and, together with the Navy, has defended the Union from all her enemies.
Over those centuries, our responsibilities, capabilities, battlefields, and enemies have changed, and we have adapted, prepared to fight and defeat any threat to our Union. One thing hasn’t changed, and that is the warrior spirit that has carried us through every conflict.
Humanity has just emerged from a devastating war against a technologically advanced race, and it was the Union Marines who led the fight, paying with blood so that the invaders would be defeated. We showed our ability to adapt with rapid and decisive innovations, and armed with these, it was our fighting spirit and will that carried the day. It was Marines who landed on the Mother herself to repel that sacrilegious invasion and bring an end to the war.
Now, as we enter an era of peace, let us not become complacent. Let us not lower our guard. If one enemy can appear from the center of the galaxy, so can another, and only by maintaining a robust, professional force, can we protect the very existence of the Union and humankind.
Tonight, however, for the first time in sixteen birthdays, we are gathering in the traditional balls to celebrate our formation. Over seven hundred and sixty-nine years, Marines have created a history of heroes that humankind has never seen. Now, every single Marine and sailor has created their own history to what makes the Marine Corps what it is. Sit back, enjoy the company of your fellow Marines, families, and friends of the Corps, knowing that you are the very best.
Semper fi,
Jack O. Echo
General, Perseus Union Marine Corps.
“Please, be seated.”
Rev had heard birthday messages before, of course. But it was somehow different listening to it in this kind of setting. More poignant, more direct, maybe. The commandant even mentioned the Mother, and that had been the New Hope Raiders. It was as if he’d mentioned Rev by name.
Sergeant Tsao quietly slipped into the empty seat beside Rev. She’d be able to eat and enjoy the rest of the ceremonies with her fellow New Hopers until it was time to retire the colors.
“You guys did great out there,” Rev whispered to her.
“Dinner will now be served. Upon completion, we will begin the formal ceremony.”
About a dozen Union sailors stepped into the room, each carrying a silver tray. They marched up to the head table, and with a precision that would put most Marines to shame, presented the head party with their meals. Using sailors was a tradition that the Navy started themselves. One of the sailors was a rear admiral, if what Rev was told was true.
The Marines returned the tradition during the Navy Birthday Ball, and Rev told himself that if he was in the position, he’d have to make sure he volunteered.
Once the last person at the head table was served, a swarm of serverbots flooded the ballroom. Within three minutes, every single person was served. The head table waited until the last person had their plate, then the Guest of Honor, the Union ambassador to the Congress of Humanity took the first bite.
“I declare this meal fit for human consumption!”
Having the senior person in the room take the first bite was against normal Marine Corps procedure where the senior always ate last. Maybe things changed for a ceremony like this. It wasn’t a big deal, but it did stick in Rev’s craw just a bit.
There was a rise in background noise as a thousand people attacked their plates. Rev, included. His prime rib, broccoli, and oven-roasted potatoes with a side salad were pretty typical banquet fare. Mass fabricators put out the meals, each specific meal the same as every other of the same kind. Each prime rib was the clone of the next, each salmon fillet the same as every other one, and each ratatouille had the exact number of veggies as the next.
That didn’t mean it was bad. Rev’s first bite was fine. But the food wasn’t the reason for the celebration, and it would do.
Looking at Randigold as she attacked her ratatouille with gusto, though, he might be mistaken. He nudged Sergeant Tsao and pointed across the table.
“Hey, Randigold. Hungry much?” Tsao asked.
Randigold looked up in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry. I missed lunch with the rehearsal.”
“No, you go, girl. Glad you like it.”
“So, how’s life in the Praetorian Guard, Sergeant?” Bundy asked Tsao.
“Kinda boring, sir. We dress up in the uniform, then stand around. We’re basically props for tourists’ holos.”
“That’s it? No real military work?”
“We get to the range once every two weeks and pop a lot of caps. And we hold drills. But anything else? Not really. Not like the three in Fox Company who got to go off and fight pirates.”
First Brigade, and especially Alpha Company—that’s the company nicknamed the Praetorian Guard—was considered the elite of the elite, but Rev was glad he was here on the Big E, not on Titan. He’d be going crazy having to stand guard all day, out in the public eye.
The talk drifted to more mundane things as they ate, with the table evenly split on who was going to win the New Hope flipball championship. Not surprisingly, Rev and Bundy were sticking with the Anastasia Ants while the others, all from the main continent, were betting on the Homer Centurians.
Their chatting—with more than a little gossip—was cut short with “Ladies and gentlemen, the official ceremony will start in five minutes. Please finish eating as your plates will be removed before we begin. All participants, please take your positions.”
“Oops, that’s me!” Randigold said, taking another piece of bread before stepping away from the table. Sergeant Tsao and Bundy followed her off.
Across the ballroom, key players were leaving, including General Xanderbelt, the senior Marine assigned to the home system, and the ambassador. A serverbot trundled up to the table and quickly took their plates and used silver, filled their water glasses, and deposited a dessert fork in front of each of them.
“I guess this is it,” Rev said as he shifted his chair to get a little better view. The serverbots were efficient, and with the Navy servers taking care of the head table and a few others in the front, it took only a few minutes for the room to be ready.
A Marine captain stepped up beside the main table, and after the crowd quieted, shouted, “Sound adjutant’s call!”
A drummer took up the beat, and after a moment, he and two trumpeters marched into the room playing the "Lost Legion March." They reached the head table and countermarched just in front of the adjutant, then as if collecting him, marched back to the main entrance. Drummers and trumpeters then executed right and left steps a sufficient distance to clear the entrance doorway. The adjutant took his place behind the cake escort.
Now, everyone was in place. It was somewhat of a formal way to do it, with all the marching back and forth, but supposedly, the same process went back to Old Earth.
These were volunteer musicians. The Congress of Humanity had professional musicians for ceremonies like this, but the Marines preferred to provide their own, and Rev thought that for infantry grunts, they acquitted themselves well.
A recording started playing “Semper Fidelis,” and two colonels, in full dress, to include swords, marched in the room abreast of each other. Once they reached the front of the room, they halted, performed opposing facing movements, then marched five steps before performing an about-face, stopping to face each other. This was repeated by two lieutenant colonels, two majors, two captains, two first lieutenants, and two second lieutenants, one of them being Bundy. Rev didn’t know where they scraped up another butter bar.
When Bundy and the other lieutenant came to a halt, the music stopped, and the officers formed a rectangle, lining the way from the entrance to the front and facing each other.
One of the trumpeters played “Attention,” and another recording of marching music started to play. The officers in the cordon flashed to present arms with their swords, which Rev thought was pretty cool. As a SNCO, he rated a sword but hadn’t bothered to get one.
“Remind me to order my sword.”
<Noted.>
The general and the ambassador marched in, flanked by the officers. They reached the front, and with a lot less precision, turned to face the guests. The cordon came to order arms with their swords but remained at a position of attention.
A Marine scurried out to give the two notables throat mics.
“Please, please, take your seats,” the general said. He waited a moment. “As senior Marine in the home system, I want to thank you all for coming to help us celebrate our seven hundred and sixty-ninth birthday.”
The general wasn’t just the senior Marine assigned to the Congress—he was the third senior Marine in the Corps, a billet that usually led right to the top.
He spoke for about three minutes about traditions and service, which was far less time than Rev had expected. He ended repeating what was said in the message about being vigilant.
The ambassador was next, and she wasn’t quite so succinct. It was probably to be expected of a politician versus a Marine. Rev watched Bundy during her speech, still standing at attention. He might as well have been a statue. He was probably older than both colonels, but he managed just fine.
I should have expected it.
What he hadn’t expected was when the ambassador acknowledged the Centaurs. Rev had almost forgotten they were there, but the ambassador spent a couple of minutes pontificating about how, despite the animosity created by the war, they were now friends and looking forward to the future.
She turned and held out a welcoming arm toward the three Centaurs, pausing as if expecting a reaction. Slowly and haphazardly, muted applause trickled out. Rev couldn’t help but glance at the missing man table just forward of the stage, a completely serviced table with a white cloth, and an empty chair, representing all those Marines who had fallen over the years, Marines such as Staff Sergeant Montez, killed by a paladin as she saved Rev and the rest of her Raider team.
Finally, however, she was done. She stepped back and took her position beside the general, and the trumpeter sounded “Attention.”
A recording played the Union Marine Hymn as everyone rose from their seats. Four Marines pushed a silver cart upon which was an enormous cake festooned with the Marine Corps emblem, the numbers “769” and small flags of the planets that made up the Union. Rev stood on his tiptoes until he spotted the familiar green and yellow New Hope flag.
Behind the cake came the adjutant, and behind him, an elderly man and a smiling Randigold. Rev wryly shook his head. This was supposed to be a solemn occasion, but he should have figured she couldn’t keep the grin off her face.
The cake reached the general and the ambassador, and the escorts faced each other and then took two steps backward.
“The general will now cut the cake.”
The senior cake escort stepped forward, took an officer’s sword from the cake cart, and passed it over his left forearm, grip forward, to the general. The general stepped up and took it, and while the music played "Auld Lang Syne,” he carefully cut a piece of cake, then handed it to the guest of honor. She took a single bite and then nodded her approval.
He turned back to the cake and started to cut another piece.
“By tradition, the second piece of cake goes to the oldest Marine present. Today, that is Lance Corporal Tedly Forrest Khan. Lance Corporal Khan was born on March 2, 3731, and enlisted in the Ramper Marine Corps on his birthday in 3748.”
Ramper? Another provincial Marine. We’re taking over here.
“Lance Corporal Khan served as a communications tech, taking part in the punitive operation against the Hummingbird Faction.”
Geez, I sure don’t know much about our history. What the heck is that?
He asked Punch to pull it up so he could read about it later.
He left the Corps in 3752 and joined the civil service, assigned to a wide variety of positions spanning his career. He is now the Assistant Counsel for Environmental Reestablishment with the Congress of Humanity.”
Assistant counsel? Provincial boy and lance corporal sure made good.
The general handed the cake to Mr. Khan to the applause of the crowd before he proceeded to cut another piece.
“And, as is tradition, the third piece is offered to the youngest Marine present. Lance Corporal Ethereal Randigold was born on August 19, 3815. She enlisted in the New Hope Marine Corps on January 3, 3825.”
Enlisted? She’s a conscript, just like me.
“She was assigned to New Hope Marine’s 48th Support Battalion, before being reassigned as a Direct Combat Raider, where she took part in operations on Mistake, during the invasion of New Hope, and on Mother Earth herself.”
Rev glanced at the Centaurs. They showed no emotion, not that Rev would recognize it if they did.
“She is now assigned to Fox Company, Second of the Second, in the Home Guard.”
Applause broke out as the general handed her the cake, but no one was louder than the New Hope table.
As soon as Randigold, still smiling from her left ear to the edges of her mask, took a bite, the trumpeter sounded “Attention.”
The cake escorts pulled the cake to the side, and from the entrance, the color guard appeared, marching between the cordon, past the general and ambassador, and recovered their respective flags. They marched back to the center and formed a line abreast.
On command, they started marching forward, the drummer beating out a cadence. Once they reached the door, the general and the guest of honor marched forward between the line of escorts and exited the ballroom. The two colonels came to carry swords, marched forward until they met at the centerline, performed opposite facing movements, and in step, started marching out. As they passed the lieutenant colonels, those Marines did the same, and when they reached the majors, the majors did the same and so on until Bundy and the other second lieutenant left the ballroom.
The last to march were the drummer and the trumpeter. They marched all the way forward, countermarched, and marched back the length of the ballroom and out the doors.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this ends the official ceremonies, and General Xanderbelt wants to thank all of you for attending our celebration. You are welcome to stay and enjoy a piece of cake, and the bar will be open.”
Most people kept their seats as both the Navy servers and the serverbots rushed out with prepared pieces of cake. Rev was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to get a piece of the official cake, but then he realized that even as big as that cake was, it wasn’t big enough to serve everyone, and trying to would probably take them into the morning.
The participants came back into the room and made their way back to their seats. Bundy was just Bundy, but Rev thought Randigold was going to crack her mask she was grinning so broadly.
The serverbots brought out both chocolate and white cake. Rev took both. There was only one birthday ball per year, and he felt he could splurge after vowing to hit the gym in the morning.
He tried both and declared the white cake better. That set off a round-robin of cake testing. Chocolate won four to three. But it wasn’t the cake that was important. It was that they were having it together.
With the entire battalion on alert, only Tsao was allowed to drink, but she drank soft drinks along with the rest. Rev didn’t know if that was because she wasn’t a drinker or if she was doing that in solidarity. It didn’t really matter, though.
The New Hope Marines used the table as a base, but there was some wandering to see other tables, just as other Marines and some civilians came to theirs. The general and the ambassador made their rounds to each table, and of course, Randigold had to take a holo with both of them.
The ambassador agreed, but Rev caught the odd look, bordering on what might have been fear as she stood beside the lance corporal/PFC. Rev hoped Randigold didn’t notice.
Lieutenant Vreemish stopped by the table in his dress red uniform, the form-fitting pants and short jacket emphasizing his augments, with a small flask and two glasses in his hand. As far as Rev had seen, he was the only karnan at the celebration.
Rev thought of the D-4 agent who’d told him to form a closer relationship with the man. He wasn’t sure just how he was supposed to do that.
“Heard you got to Staff Sergeant Kvat,” he said, towering over the sitting Rev.
There was a stirring among the others at the table, and Randigold looked like she was going to jump across the table like a guard dog.
“For the record, I would like to think I would never even contemplate embarrassing a fellow trooper as I heard someone did it to him,” Rev said.
The lieutenant let out a small chuckle. “Oh, yes, I understand that completely. But whoever did it, that was a good one—not that you would know who did it. And who knows? Maybe it’ll teach him a little humility.” He took in the rest of the table. “Of course, none of you heard me say that. Well, anyway, I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday and bring you a Donat Azurco.”
He only then seemed to notice that no one had alcohol. “By the Mother, I forgot you were on alert. Sucks to be you.”
“I’ll take a rain check, sir.”
“You got it.” He nodded at fellow lieutenants Bundy and Macek, then wandered off.
All eyes turned to Rev with a single unspoken question.
“He was on Earth with us. Good guy,” he said, leaving it at that.
Slowly, people started filtering out, led mostly by those who had to go back to Titan. Tsao gave each of them a hug, telling everyone to let her know if they were going to catch the sights there so she could be their guide. Rev could tell she was earnest about that, too, and he realized that it must be tough for her there. She wasn’t the only Union Marine in First Brigade, of course, but she was the only New Hope Marine.
The rest settled in, telling stories that Rev would guess were at least half true. There was no rank at the table, either. That would come back in the morning, but for the moment, they were all just Marines.
“Look at those wimps,” Thassom said four hours later as one of the last tables broke up, the drunk Marines staggering out of the room. “Can’t hang worth shit.”
That didn’t stop the table from answering back when the group turned at the door and let out an “ooh-rah!”
Four Marines in the battalion, including Corporal Incrit, also on soft drinks, came to join the New Hope Marines when their table mates left them. There was a sense that no one wanted to let go of the night. And with tomorrow a day off, by order of the battalion commander as a salute to the Marines, there was no reason to cut it off before they were kicked out.
Their night was, in fact, cut short twenty minutes later, however, when their alert tethers kicked off. Everyone grabbed theirs in unison.
“Well, boys and girls, I guess we’ve got to go to work,” Bundy said. “We’ve got thirty minutes before muster.”
Everyone stood up, ready to jump on a tram back to Camp Reyes. It was going to be tight, but at least each of them had been cleared to be here, so a few minutes late wasn’t going to be a big thing.
All Rev could think of, though, as he looked at the table in front of him with what now were five empty birthday cake plates, was that he wasn’t going to get to the gym after all.
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