15
“Welcome to Charlie Company,” the captain told Rev and Tomiko.
“Thank you, sir,” the two said in unison.
“I guess I should introduce myself. Captain Lydia Fowler.” She held out a hand, and Rev gave Tomiko a quick glance. They were boot privates, right out of boot camp, and captains didn’t just shake hands with them.
But the captain’s hand was stretched out to them, and Rev hesitantly took it. Tomiko followed suit.
“We’re glad to have you aboard. Lots of holes to fill.”
If there were lots of holes to fill, that was not a good sign. Holes usually meant casualties.
“I wish we’d gotten more of you Oh-Two-Threes, but it is what it is until the next batch of replacements. You’re both going to the Raider Platoon, of course. Lieutenant Smith’s the platoon commander. Mustang. You’re lucky.”
A mustang was an officer who’d been commissioned out of the enlisted ranks. The DIs, some of whom seemed to have a low opinion of officers in general, tended to speak in better terms of mustangs.
“Private . . . uh, Pelletier,” she said after checking her screen again, “I’m sending you to Third Team. Gunny Thapa is the team leader.
“Private Reiser, I’m sending you to . . . wait a moment. This isn’t right.”
She touched her right ear and said, “First Sergeant LeDeux.” A moment later she said, “I’ve got the two new joins here. I’m checking the roster, and it has them both going to Third Team.”
She listened for a moment, slightly nodding, before she shrugged and looked back at Tomiko. “I guess this is right. You’re going to Third Team as well.”
Rev and Tomiko exchanged glances. As Raiders, there were limited places for them to go. All of their recruit class were from metro Swansea, so with the regimental system in place, all of them were going to either the Safe Harbor Provincial 8th Infantry Regiment (REIN), the Gryphons, or the 48th Support Battalion. Technically, Charlie Company was part of the 6th Reconnaissance Battalion, out of Camp Falcon, but they were part of the (REIN), one of the reinforcing units to the regiment. They were attached, so it was no surprise that they’d be going to Charlie Company’s Raider Platoon. As two boots, however, it was a surprise that they’d be going to the same team. From a logical standpoint, it would be better for Rev if he’d have more experienced Marines as his teammates, but he couldn’t help but feel relieved. He would not be going into this alone.
“We’ve had some losses, and Third Team is shorthanded.” Then almost to herself, the skipper said, “I could still switch Gramerie . . . No. We’ll do it this way.”
She turned her attention back to the two privates. “You’ve got the rest of the day to check in. I want you to be ready to report to Gunny Thapa at morning quarters.
“Do you have any questions for me?”
The two shook their heads.
The skipper looked tired. Haggard. Rev had heard rumors that the company had taken heavy casualties over the last six months, and that was obviously weighing on her.
“Great,” she said, standing and offering her hand across her desk. In that moment, she looked renewed, if only a little. Any help was welcome, it seemed. “Welcome to Charlie Company. Hope you stick around.”
* * *
The rest of the day was full, but routine. Weapons draw, snapping in, drawing gear, getting rooms assigned, checking into the regimental sick bay—the rhythm was familiar, even if the location was new.
Finally, an hour after missing evening chow, Rev stuck his head into Tomiko’s room and said, “Let’s get to the club.”
“Why? So you can finally screw Krissy?”
“No! I’m just starving, and we can get a burger or something,” he blurted out.
“Yeah, right, big boy,” she said, the last in a falsetto. “And you’re turning red.”
He could feel his face burn. And she was right. Krissy had been assigned to the grunts, light infantry. With fewer mods, she’d have been with the regiment for almost six weeks by now. Rev wasn’t so sure he was going to get laid, as Tomiko thought, but he did want to hook up and see if Krissy was still interested. Six weeks would have given her a lot of time to find someone else.
The problem was that he didn’t know where she was. She’d be in the regiment, sure, but there were three rifle battalions, each with four companies. Since they were not allowed quantphones—a stupid rule, he thought—he couldn’t just call her up or send a text. But the E-Club would be the center of non-rate social life, and he’d be able to track her down there.
“And what about Mia?” Tomiko asked, a wicked grin on her face.
“I should never have told you about her,” Rev grumbled.
He really didn’t miss Mia, and with him in the Marines and not with the Guild, he didn’t think she missed him. But when a group of them were talking about lovers they’d left behind, he hadn’t wanted to feel left out, so he inflated their relationship a bit.
“Oh, geez. You are so easy to give shit to,” Tomiko said, putting her arm through his and pulling him out of the doorway. “Let’s go get you laid.”
Rev wanted to argue, but that would only give Tomiko more ammunition, so he let her pull him to the elevator and down to the bottom deck.
“Uh, do we have to sign out?” Rev asked the duty, a lance corporal standing behind a podium at the entrance.
The duty snorted, then said, “You ain’t recruits no more, boot. Just make it back by twenty-four-hundred.”
They’d already spotted the E-club while checking in. Five minutes later, they were inside its protective cocoon. The club was limited to E-1 through E-3. No NCOs. No SNCOs. And for sure, no officers. And as long as they didn’t destroy the place or each other, the non-rates were pretty much left alone while inside.
Rev’s stomach growled the minute the smells from the kitchen hit him.
“I guess you really are hungry,” Tomiko said. “What say we grab a bite, then we can try to track everyone down.”
Rev was good with that, so they went into the galley and to an open autochef. The menu wasn’t extensive, but there were all the old standbys. Rev ordered a burger, Tomiko a gordita.
As the autochef churned away, a voice called out, “About time you slackers got here.”
“I know that voice,” Rev said, turning around with a huge smile on his face.
Cricket, along with a PFC Rev didn’t recognize, was standing behind him. It took about a nanosecond before Rev enveloped the smaller Marine in a bear hug.
“Damn, son, let me breathe!”
The bear hug surprised Rev. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his friends. More than a little embarrassed, he released Cricket, who received a much toned-down hug from Tomiko.
“Dyce, this is Rev and Tomiko. I told you about them.” He turned back and said, “And this is Dyce Stewart. We’re in the same squad. Delta Company, First Battalion.”
“Deathdealers!” they shouted in unison, smacking elbows.
“Deathdealers suck!” a voice called out from the back of the galley.
“They’re all just jealous,” Cricket said with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “So, you just get in?”
“This morning,” Tomiko said. “Spent all day checking in. Missed chow, so . . .”
She tilted her head back to the autochef where Rev’s burger was at seventy-two percent, her gordita at sixty-seven percent.
“The gorditas are pretty good here. Better program than in the chow hall,” Cricket said approvingly. “The pelmini are good, too. But you’ll find out. So, what about you two? How was your MilDes Phase?”
“Tough. Took a while to get used to the augments,” Rev said.
“Cricket said you two are Zero-Two-Threes?” Dyce asked.
“Yeah.”
“Much respect,” Dyce said, touching his forefinger to his forehead.
Tomiko and Rev both gave short, awkward laughs.
“We’re just boots,” Tomiko said. “We haven’t done anything yet.
“Still, you guys are something.”
“So, where is everyone? You keeping in touch?” Rev asked Cricket, anxious to change the subject. Tomiko was right in that they hadn’t done anything yet, but the fact that this guy was giving them respect was a little troubling. What were they getting into?
“Bundy’s already a PFC. Meritorious. He’s in tanks, of course.”
Which Rev had figured. Not that he’d wangled PFC already, although it wasn’t surprising. The tank battalion was the only place in the regiment for armor.
“I saw Aguilera, too. He’s in supply.”
Cricket’s tone was more than a little dismissive, and Rev wondered if the schism between Direct Combat and Combat Support—no, supply was in General Support, he reminded himself—was more than just good-natured ribbing.
“Uh . . . Fyr and Udu are in Second Mech. Fyr’s in Golf and Udu’s in Echo Company. Orpho’s in Alpha. Oh, you remember Cali Hu? She’s a Disk Marine with Golf. You’ll see her around, I’m sure.”
Disk Marines, with their mobility, often supported or took on recon missions, but the Raider Company was a little separated from the rest of Recon Battalion. Rev didn’t bother to correct his friend, however.
“And you know Willow—”
“Not to interrupt, Cricket,” Tomiko said, putting her hand on his arm. “Well, yeah, to interrupt. But our good buddy Rev, here, has blue balls something fierce, and he wants to hook up with Krissy, Where’s she at?”
“Miko! Give me a break! I told you it isn’t that,” Rev said, but was stopped cold when Cricket’s ever-present smile disappeared.
“You haven’t heard?” Cricket asked.
A hollowness started to form in the pit of Rev’s stomach.
“Of course not. You just got out of Nguyen.” Cricket took a deep breath, then said, “Krissy went to Fox. They were embarked on the Gharial.”
At their blank looks, he went on. “The fucking Centaurs hit the ship. There were no survivors. Respect to the fallen.”
Rev’s vision started to narrow, his mind going numb. He’d realized, almost in abstract, that they were embarking on a dangerous three years. Not everyone was going to make it through. But already? And Krissy?
Reality just gave him a shot in the gut, and he bent over and dry-heaved.
Behind Rev, the autochef chimed. His forgotten burger was ready.