Adapt and Overcome (The Maxwell Saga) (9 page)

He laughed delightedly. “Yes, that was me
. Were you there at the time?”

“Yes, I was
! I remember hearing about that. You were hit by flying shrapnel, weren’t you, and got a medal as well?”

“
That’s right – and another one for a later incident in orbit. Radetski was very good for my career.”

“Mine too
. I was awarded a battlefield promotion after a fight with terrorists. There was talk of recommending me for a medal as well, but I wanted something else. Foreign Service Program enlistees aren’t normally allowed to become pilots until they earn Commonwealth citizenship, but I asked for and was given a waiver. The Corps sent me to Small Craft School to learn to fly assault shuttles. I also used my first term of enlistment to complete my studies for a Bachelor’s degree through Fleet University. They accepted my Nasek courses as being equivalent to half the credits required.”

Steve nodded enthusiastically. “That’s exactly what I did with
the college courses I completed on Earth – got Fleet University to accept them, then finished the rest of the degree during my first term of enlistment.”

She grinned, then sobered. “When my enlistment was up, I really wanted to study pediatric medicine: but by then I knew it was a
very long course of study. I’d passed the aptitude tests to study medicine, but I didn’t have some of the required pre-med courses and qualifications. After getting them, I’d have to pay for nine years of study – four years of medical school, plus a one-year internship, plus another four years of specialization – and support myself during that time. I’d saved enough for a year, but not nine; and I wasn’t eligible for most scholarships on Commonwealth planets – they usually go to local residents.”

She sighed mournfully. “It was just… impossible. I had to
shelve the idea. It was a terribly sad decision for me, but I had to face facts and be realistic. I decided that if I couldn’t afford to become a pediatrician right away, I’d apply for a commission, and see about saving enough money over the next couple of decades to be able to tackle medicine as a second career. If I gave the Corps twenty years, plus another ten for my medical education, that’ll still leave me fifty or sixty years as a pediatrician to make a difference in kids’ lives.

“To cut a long story short, I made it to OCS and was commissioned. I spent six months at Basic School,
then I was assigned to the Armor School as a Training Platoon Officer. I’d been there six months when Lieutenant Shelby arrived, and I was transferred to his Training Company. The rest you know.”

“That’s one heck of a life story,” Steve said seriously. “I thought I had lots of challenges to overcome, but you had even more!”

They left the water and toweled themselves dry, then Steve unplugged the heated dishes from the solar sheet while Abha opened the other containers. She goggled at the hot spicy chicken casserole and rice, accompanied by salad, complete with paper plates and camping utensils. Steve plugged a flask of coffee into the solar sheet to reheat while they ate.

“You went to a lot of trouble over this!”
Abha exclaimed. “I was expecting something simple, like sandwiches.”

“I could have done that, but I… well, I wanted to impress you, after your comment about being a good cook yourself.”

She took a forkful of chicken casserole and chewed it appreciatively. “Consider me impressed! Trouble is, you’ve set the bar very high for me when my turn comes around.”

Steve grinned happily. “I’m glad to know you’re planning on a next time.”

She blushed slightly. “Well, we’re going to be working together on Rolla, so we may as well get to know each other better. Besides, you come highly recommended. Both Brooks and Carol say you’re good people.”

“They say the same about you. Hey, if
we work at it, we can see more of each other before I leave.”

“You’ll have to twist my arm, but… okay.”

They grinned at each other, then settled down to enjoy their meal.

~ ~ ~

Abha was still smiling two weeks and eight dates later, as Steve and Colonel Houmayoun boarded a Mark XIII Plus assault shuttle at Orion Industries’ launch pad.

“Take care of this bird, Lieutenant,” Major Venter warned him, only half-jokingly. “If you bend it, there won’t be another one available until the instructor unit gets there
.”

“I’ll be careful, Sir,” Steve assured him, watching the Colonel walk up the rear ramp of the shuttle, towing a suitcase behind him and carrying a
holdall.

“Good. I’ll leave it to you to make the preliminary arrangements to train their personnel
in their operation and maintenance. You have all the necessary manuals and software for that, of course.”

Steve saluted the Major, who returned it, then stepped back to allow Brooks and
Abha to make their own farewells.

“Take care of
yourself, buddy,” Brooks advised cheerfully, shaking his hand firmly. “You get things ready for us, and we’ll hit the ground running as soon as we arrive.”

“Consider it done.”

Abha took his hand, holding it a moment longer than was necessary. “I’ll keep in touch via the weekly dispatch vessel,” she promised. “You do the same, OK?”

“It’s a deal. See you in a few weeks.”
He hesitated. “I’m going to miss you.”

She squeezed his hand.
“I’ll miss you too. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

Heedless of the fact that they were both wearing uniform, she hugged him, briefly but firmly.
They smiled warmly into each other’s eyes, then Steve turned and walked up the ramp.

Steve was on tenterhooks as the reception group gathered at the military airfield outside Beaumont, Rolla’s capital city. He’d been apart from Abha for almost a month. They’d only had time to exchange a couple of messages via the weekly dispatch vessel, but her absence had done nothing to decrease his interest in her. The prospect of seeing her was even more enticing than the arrival of Brooks and the rest of the team of instructors, bringing three more Mark XIII Plus shuttles to join the lone example on the planet.

His thoughts were interrupted by a discreet cough behind him. He turned to find an officer wearing a single star on the epaulettes of his dark blue System Patrol Service uniform. He saluted him smartly. The officer returned the courtesy,
then offered his hand.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. You must be our Spacer Corps consultant concerning shuttle issues. I’m Commodore O’Fallon, Commanding Officer of Rolla’s System Patrol Service.”

“Good morning, Sir. Yes, I’m Senior Lieutenant Steve Maxwell.”

The Commodore
glanced at the medal ribbons on Steve’s chest. “I see you have four combat stars. You’ve kept yourself busy.”

“You know what they say, Sir – no peace for the wicked
.”

“You said it, not me! Be that as it may, I’m pleased to know you’re teaching our forces out of more than just a theoretical knowledge of combat.”

“Thank you, Sir. We’ll be able to do a lot more now that the rest of the instructors and another three assault shuttles are here.”

“How are you finding our old Mark IX’s? Are they still usable for training?”

Steve shook his head. “Not really, Sir. They simply aren’t capable of doing all that we require of modern assault shuttles. Also, there are never more than a couple of dozen serviceable at any one time – only half as many as your armored battalion requires for a full lift – and that’s only through cannibalizing the non-flying shuttles for spares. They can cope with a simple low-speed hop from point to point, but they’re so old and worn that they’re a potential hazard in any sort of high-stress flying.

“That’s not to criticize your shuttle technicians, of course.
Warrant Officer Labuschagne is really good at his job – as good as anyone I’ve encountered in the Fleet. He and his techs have already worked through a lot of the training material I brought with me, and studied the Mark XIII Plus in the simulators. They can hardly wait to strip one down and learn its component parts at first hand, but that can’t happen until there are a couple of platoons’ worth of shuttles on hand, so that one can be spared for technical training.”

The Commodore grinned. “I’ve met the Warrant Officer. He’s never
so happy as when he’s up to his elbows in a complicated piece of machinery. Fortunately, he’s also a good organizer.”

“Yes, Sir, that’s him to a T.
Frankly, I think he’s performed maintenance miracles to keep so many Mark IX’s flying at all.”

O
’Fallon nodded. “That he has, particularly on so limited a budget.” He made a sour face. “The previous administration ran us into the ground, so we have to spend a great deal out of our present budget just to make up for all the years of neglect. For more than a decade they refused to budget more than the bare minimum for maintenance of our equipment. The SPS had to cannibalize one of our four corvettes to keep the others in service. We took so many parts and sub-systems out of her that she’s no longer spaceworthy – we’ll have to ferry her to a shipyard in Lancaster aboard a freighter for a full refit. After the PSDF has paid for its new shuttles, we hope to buy enough heavy patrol craft to first augment, then eventually replace the corvettes.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir. Is that why you contracted for two Fleet destroyers to temporarily supplement your ships?”

“Yes. We’ve sent two corvettes to the Fleet dockyard at Lancaster. They’re presently being overhauled and upgraded, using parts taken from ships scrapped out of the Reserve Fleet wherever possible, to save money. When they get back here at the end of this year, the other two corvettes will be refurbished in their turn. As soon as we have enough patrol craft to replace them and enough money to do so, we’ll convert two of them into communications vessels – easy enough, of course, since Fleet communications frigates are based on earlier corvette designs. We’ll strip out their missile cells and convert that space into passenger and freight compartments, as well as upgrading their propulsion systems. We’re supposed to operate at least two communications ships in terms of our Commonwealth membership obligations, but the previous Administration ignored that and relied exclusively on the Commonwealth Secretariat’s dispatch vessels.”

He lowered his voice. “It’s only thanks to the Fleet that we’re still a member of the Commonwealth at all
. They tactfully turned a blind eye and didn’t officially report to the Secretariat that we could no longer fulfill our military obligations. That would have seen us expelled for sure! As soon as we got a more reasonable government after last year’s elections, the Fleet sent us Colonel Houmayoun as the new Military Attaché, instead of the Major or Lieutenant-Colonel usually assigned to an associate Commonwealth member like ourselves. He’s got enough seniority to get a lot of attention, both here and at Lancaster, and he’s been a huge help in revitalizing the PSDF and SPS. I don’t think we could have come so far, so fast without him.”

“I
don’t see him here this morning, Sir,” Steve observed, looking around.

“That’s because he’s been asked to discuss your Fleet’s contribution to our system security at the
negotiations for our asteroid mining project. He won’t be joining us.”

“That’s a pity, after
everything he did to arrange for the instructors to be sent here. Oh, well, we’ll meet with him later, I’m sure.”

They looked skyward as a low rumble grew in volume. “That sounds like reaction thrusters,” the Commodore observed.

“Yes, Sir. That’ll be more of your new assault shuttles, with the instructors aboard.”

The
three shuttles appeared in a V-shaped formation from the far side of the control tower, arcing around in a wide half-circle to settle onto the hardstand in slow, stately vertical landings. The roar of their arrival died away as the thrusters swiveled upward and were withdrawn into their housings. The rear ramps folded down, and the Marine instructors trotted down to take up formation ahead of the shuttles.

A tall, burly
Master Sergeant called the formation to attention and reported its readiness to Abha, who in turn reported it to Brooks. He stepped forward and saluted Brigadier-General Staynes, leading the welcoming delegation. “Good morning, Sir. I’m Captain Brooks Shelby, Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet Marine Corps. This is my second-in-command, First Lieutenant Abha Sashna, and my Unit NCO, Master Sergeant Demetrios Ioannou.”

“Very pleased to meet you, Captain.” The General returned his salute,
then shook hands. “Senior Lieutenant Maxwell,” and he inclined his head to where Steve stood behind him in the delegation, “has made an excellent start in revamping our assault shuttle training procedures. He assures me that with you to implement them, we’ll have our armored battalion up to speed in good time to take full advantage of the new shuttles as they arrive.”

“We’ll certainly do our best to achieve that, Sir.”

As the two men talked, Steve couldn’t help feasting his eyes on Abha, standing stiffly at attention behind and to one side of Brooks.
I’d love to run over there and sweep her into the biggest hug I can manage,
he thought to himself with wry amusement,
but that wouldn’t exactly follow military protocol, would it?
He was absurdly pleased when her eyes flickered towards him, and made contact with his. A faint flush came to her cheeks as he surreptitiously winked at her. The corners of her mouth quirked as she suppressed an answering smile, struggling to keep a straight face while on parade.

The formalities didn’t take long. The reception committee broke up as Brooks dismissed the parade, then he,
Abha and the Master Sergeant made a beeline for Steve.

“Hey, buddy!” Brooks slapped him on the back, grinning. “Good to see a familiar face.” He
turned to the senior NCO beside him. “This is Master Sergeant Ioannou. He’s going to be our primary liaison with Rolla’s NCO’s. We reckon it’ll be much better for us to ‘train the trainers’ than to do the work for them. They in turn will teach their own troops, with our assistance at first, then independently.”

Steve shook
Ioannou’s hand as he replied, “I hope I’ve given you a head start on that. I had a word with Warrant Officer Labuschagne, boss of Rolla’s shuttle maintenance facility. We asked Lieutenant-Colonel Hay, CO of the First Armored Battalion, to select twelve of the best NCO’s in the battalion and assign them to us, taking them off other duties. I ran them through an abbreviated course in how to use modern shuttles, along with Labuschagne and a dozen of his NCO techs. I covered the Fleet’s current operating doctrines and prepared them to train their own troops alongside you. I couldn’t teach them all your Marine Corps stuff, but I reckon they’re more than halfway to where you want them. I figured that’d give you a running start when you arrived.”

“Sounds like a great idea, Sir,”
Ioannou said with a smile. “Once we’ve got them to
un-
learn all that redundant Spacer Corps stuff, they might even make passable imitations of Marines!” Brooks smiled, while Abha suppressed a snort of mirth.

Steve adopted a superior expression. “You’ll find that difficult, Master Sergeant. I used
hypno-study as part of the training. I’ve indoctrinated them to believe that they’re all Spacers now.”

“Oh, the poor
things!
Why’d you do that to poor innocent mudfeet, Lieutenant?”

“It was the quickest way I could think of to raise their standards
.”

Ioannou
winced theatrically. “
Ouch!”
He looked at Brooks, shaking his head. “This one’s got a mean streak, Sir. He fights dirty. We’ll have to watch him carefully.”

“Tell me about it! He was my roommate at Officer Candidate School.”

The Master Sergeant shook his head sadly. “I could see the suffering in your eyes, Sir, but until you said that, I never realized where it came from.”

Laughing, Brooks held up his hand as
Abha’s shoulders shook with amusement. “Let’s stop scoring points off one another and get down to business. Steve, what’s next?”

“I’ll take you and your shuttles to the maintenance facility, where you can meet the group I’ve trained. Buses will take your instructors to a newly-built accommodation block at Camp Rolla. It’s very nice – I checked it out myself. They’ll each have their own rooms, with a common mess facility. They were going to put up the three of us at the visiting officers’ quarters, but I figured we’d all prefer something more relaxed; so I took the liberty of renting a furnished house for us in the suburbs of
Beaumont. It’ll cost us a little over and above our
per diem
TDY allowances, but I think it’ll be worth it. It’s very comfortable, with a patio area and swimming-pool. The PSDF has made available a couple of runabouts for our use.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brooks agreed.

“There’s one more thing. Two companies of the armored battalion are currently engaged in a training exercise a hundred clicks up the coast from here. Lieutenant-Colonel Hay asked whether we could mount a mock assault on a hilltop there, three days from now, to demonstrate how much of a difference modern assault shuttles can make. He reckons it’ll get rid of any complacency and show his people how much they have to learn. Colonel Houmayoun’s agreed in principle – he’ll brief us about it tomorrow. He’s put a lot of work into getting us here and arranging the shuttle upgrade. He’d like to get news vid of both at work, to show the people of Rolla what their taxes are buying.”

Brooks glanced at
Ioannou. “I don’t see a problem with that. Do you, Master Sergeant?”

“No, Sir. In fact, if the NCO’s Lieutenant Maxwell has trained are up to scratch, we can pair them off with our Marines and mount a joint assault. It’ll
start things off on the right foot, and demonstrate to the local news media that their own people can already operate alongside us.”

“That’s a very good idea. We’ll pair them with our instructors over the next couple of days, and do some intensive training exercises to make sure they’re up to speed. If they are, they can make the assault with us.”

“There’s another aspect to it,” Steve added. “A private investment consortium from Lancaster called the Group of 100 is here to negotiate an asteroid mining agreement. It’s a very big deal, worth trillions of credits over several decades. One of the conditions on which they insisted was that Rolla had to provide adequate security for the project. It didn’t go through earlier, because the previous administration couldn’t – or, rather, wouldn’t – guarantee that. Now that things are improving, the project can get under way, but Rolla would like to demonstrate to the Group of 100 that it’s serious about upgrading its security forces. That’s where we come in.”

“Sure. Is that anything to do with the
spaceliner we passed as our freighter entered orbit?”