| |
Shortly after twenty-two-hundred hours that evening, four large personnel shuttles with Fleet Auxiliary markings, their position lights on and flashing, punched through the low cloud cover and slowly descended for a landing on Fort Arnhem’s parade square. There, Erinye Company waited in three ranks, by troop, each Marine carrying a duffel bag and a heavy backpack and wearing pressurized battle armor.
All had their visors up, so they could enjoy a few more minutes of fresh air before spending the coming weeks or even months breathing the recycled sort.
Containers at the edge of the parade ground turned landing strip held ammunition, extra equipment, spare weapons and parts, and a dozen demolition kits. They, and what the Marines carried, would be the sum total of Erinye Company’s holdings for this mission, along with whatever the garrison armory in Tyrell contained.
Moments before the shuttles from CFA Carentan landed, Lieutenant Colonel Bayliss appeared out of nowhere and headed for Curtis Delgado, standing to one side with First Sergeant Hak. Both stiffened when they noticed him.
“Good evening, sir.” Delgado saluted.
“Ready and raring to go?”
“You know us, Colonel. Footloose, fancy-free, and always in the mood for a good fight.”
“Colonel Decker and Admiral Talyn send their best wishes. She wanted to come up and see you off in person, but she was briefing the Grand Admiral on Tyrell Station at twenty-one hundred, with Colonel Decker joining in from his office. Apparently, they’re still at it. Otherwise, he’d be here with me.”
Delgado guffawed. “The Grand Admiral is still in the office this late?”
“You’d be surprised how many of the big shots in the Puzzle Palace routinely work longer hours than you and me.”
“Good thing I’m not destined to become a general. Pushing paper after sunset isn’t my idea of serving the Commonwealth.”
“Nor mine, but unless you purposely screw up, there’s nothing you can do if the Corps wants to pin a star on your collar. Other than refuse, that is. And refusing promotion generally means early retirement. Then what? Sitting on the dock, fishing?” Bayliss gave the younger man a smile that clearly said, not me.
“Didn’t you buy a place south of here — waterfront property in the tropics, if I recall correctly?” Delgado asked, eyes on the shuttles now lowering aft ramps as their thrusters spooled down.
“Sure. And the operative word for that house is vacation, not retirement. At least not in the foreseeable future. The same goes for Colonel Decker and Admiral Talyn, who bought their own place nearby. She has her eyes on the CNI’s job and won’t let Zack go off by himself. And if he doesn’t go, neither will I.”
Bayliss paused when he heard Delgado’s helmet speakers come to life.
“This is Carentan shuttle flight. Passengers and cargo may now board.”
Bayliss rapped his knuckles on Delgado’s armored shoulder. “Enjoy your mission, Curtis. If someone goes after the payload stash, give them hell.”
“Sir.” Delgado snapped off another salute. Then, he raised his hand over his head and made a wide, circling motion, the signal to mount up.
Well-practiced as they were, Erinye Company’s Marines vanished into the shuttles along with their personal and collective gear, portable containers included, so quickly that Bayliss allowed himself a fatherly smile.
Moments later, the aft ramps rose while thrusters spooled up again. Bayliss watched them lift off and followed the flashing navigation lights until the low cloud cover swallowed the shuttles again.
As always, when seeing off one of his units, he felt a pang of regret that his time leading Marines on missions, combat or otherwise, was over for good. Squadron commanders rarely led from the front nowadays. Operations in the dirty little wars of peace cropping up with alarming frequency were for captains and majors. Of course, that might change if the centralists and their corporate masters upped the ante.
With Erinye Company gone, the entirety of Ghost Squadron was deployed, along with half of B, C, and D Squadrons. The other halves were busy helping the 1st and 2nd Battalions, Marine Light Infantry, and the 2nd Special Forces Regiment ramp up, leaving Bayliss with little to do.
He pulled out his communicator, and, unsure whether Zack Decker and Hera Talyn were still communing with the Grand Admiral, he sent her a brief text message confirming Erinye Company’s departure.
**
First Sergeant Hak poked his head through the open cabin door.
“Everyone’s settled in, Skipper, and thankfully we’re the only passengers. The facilities are way better than what we normally enjoy aboard Savoyard class Q-ships, so it’ll be a nice, relaxing cruise.”
He pulled a data wafer from the breast pocket of his black battledress tunic.
“Here’s the layout of the ship, listing the cabins and their occupants. The working compartments are off-limits, as is the bridge, but I expect the captain will invite you for a tour and at least one meal at his table. You can choose between the passenger’s mess or the ship’s wardroom. Noncoms and junior ranks will use the passengers’ mess. Drinking rules are pretty strict, and they expect us to enforce them. The rest of the details are on there.”
Delgado snorted. “Not that our Erinyes are in the habit of getting loaded, so I doubt it’ll be a problem.”
“One thing, though. The crew members I dealt with gave me the impression they were not overjoyed at this sudden change in plans, which might explain our rather abrupt reception by the hired help. If we’re delaying shore leave, you could get an earful from the captain.”
Civilians working for the Armed Forces crewed Commonwealth Fleet Auxiliaries such as Carentan, a mixed passenger, and freight transport. They weren’t covered by the Code of Service Discipline, though they came under their own rules, stricter than those of the regular civil service.
“I’ll handle our captain. Have no fear, Top. Make sure Metellus sets up a daily training schedule for us. We’ll use the sim facilities this ship offers for more than just fun and games. Ditto for the gym.”
“He already started on that, Skipper.”
“Right then, First Sergeant, let’s take a tour of our little kingdom and see how the peasants are living.”
Delgado put away his personal tablet and stood. For a moment, he felt naked wearing battledress without his sidearm, but CFA personnel didn’t like passengers carrying weapons aboard their ships. He couldn’t really blame them. Though armed, they were neither designed nor used as operational transports.
**
That evening — Carentan, like all Fleet vessels, Navy and CFA, operated on universal time, and they’d arrived in what was the middle of the ship’s day — Captain Leung invited Delgado to dine at his table in the wardroom. After settling in, the latter had slept to adjust his internal clock, and he felt sufficiently refreshed for polite conversation.
As Delgado entered the wardroom at the appointed time, a stout spacer in his fifties with black hair and a gray beard stood and held out his hand to greet him. He wore a quasi-naval uniform with merchant rank insignia, the sort where the Navy’s executive curl above the top stripe was replaced by a sharply angled lozenge.
“Major, welcome. I’m Yan Leung.”
“Curtis Delgado, sir. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Please sit.” Leung indicated the chair across from his. “I always try to dine with the senior officers from among the passengers on our first night out. You felt us go FTL, I presume?”
“No, sir. I was sleeping. When we lifted off from Fort Arnhem, it was after twenty-two-hundred hours local time, and I’m one of the lucky few who isn’t woken up by the transition.”
“I understand you’re from the 42nd Marines.” Leung and Delgado sat back as a steward placed brimming soup bowls in front of them.
“Yes, sir. H Company, 3rd Battalion.” Delgado picked up a spoon, intrigued by the soup’s subtle aroma.
“First assignment to Tyrell Station?” Leung tasted his and nodded in approval.
“Yes. Is this your first time heading there?”
“Indeed. Any idea what precipitated this sudden assignment? Carentan was due for a few weeks in refit when Fleet HQ laid this trip on us — bring you there and take the current garrison home.”
Delgado gave him a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine, sir. Keeping those on the sharp end in the dark is SOP. This is excellent, by the way.”
“Thank you. We keep high standards in the galley. Your troopers are enjoying the same food, by the way. And as for being kept in the dark, I’ve been a Fleet Auxiliary spacer for twenty-five years, and it’s always the same. But other than that, I can’t complain. How about you, Major?”
“Can’t complain either.” Delgado gave him a quick grin. “I’m a lifer. This is what I’ll do until they put my sorry ass out to pasture once I hit my promotion ceiling, which might already have happened.”
“Are you an Academy graduate?”
“Mustang, sir. Made command sergeant and took a direct commission to captain.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but you look pretty young for a major who started as a private.”
“You know how it is.” He made a self-deprecating gesture. “Luck, hard work, and being in the right place at the right time. Mostly the latter.”
“And no other officers in your company.”
Another grin. “My CO figured I could handle three months of garrison duty by myself. The others are taking advantage of the situation and catching up on their career courses. I’ll probably spend my downtime on distance learning. Us mustangs need to do things twice as well as Academy grads to be thought half as good. Fortunately, it’s not difficult.”
Leung let out a bark of amused laughter that attracted the attention of the wardroom’s other occupants — a dozen Fleet Auxiliary officers enjoying quiet meals at four-person tables.
“A man after my own heart, Major. I started as an ordinary deckhand and made my way up as well.”
“If it’s not impolite to ask, why the Fleet Auxiliary, sir?” Delgado knew little to nothing about the civilian spacers serving aboard non-combat vessels, transporting people and supplies throughout the Commonwealth.
“And not the Navy, you mean?”
“Or the commercial shipping sector.”
Leung put on a thoughtful expression as he picked up his fork, speared a chunk of meat, and popped it in his mouth. After swallowing, he took a swig of water.
“There are plenty of spacers in my family tree, some of whom served in the Navy during and after the Shrehari War, so you could say wanting to see the galaxy was in my blood. But I couldn’t stomach the idea of boot camp, then trade school, and afterward a five-year hitch under naval discipline. So, once I graduated from high school, I attended one of the merchant spacer training institutes on my homeworld and learned the bosun’s trade. When I received my apprentice ticket, I applied to the major shipping lines and the Fleet Auxiliary.
“They replied first and offered a decent billet, which I took right away. Over the years, I climbed up the ranks, earned my watchkeeping certification, went back to school, and earned my master’s ticket — paid for by the Fleet, mind you. The rest is history. You could say I made a decent career for myself wearing a diamond rather than a loop, without spending my waking hours focused on cutting operational costs at the behest of a shipping line’s head office.”
He finished his plate, then said, with a wry smile, “I’m a lifer in the Fleet Auxiliary and glad of it. Even if the Navy can send me haring off in all directions at a moment’s notice. But that’s part of the game. We’ll enjoy our time ashore once we’ve delivered you and the unit you’re replacing.”
“So not too many hard feelings aboard?”
“Oh, a fair bit of irritation at first — postponed leave plans will do that — but now that we’re on our way, it’s just another job for the Fleet. We’ll be home with our feet up, watching the sunset, while you’re not even a third of the way through your tour in Tyrell Station.”