Indomitable (5 page)

First Sergeant Samantha Fuji,
the senior noncommissioned officer in Charlie Battalion and Lieutenant Colonel Halvorsen 's command advisor, was waiting outside the lift's bulkhead door. When it opened, Fuji's delicate brows knitted together as she read the colonel's expression. The colonel strode across the threshold and onto the deck, and Fuji fell in on his six o'clock, a half pace behind him. Fuji's rank insignia rode both shoulders proudly: three inverted gold Vs up top and three below, set against khaki flash. Her stripes arched left to right in metronome precision as she matched the colonel's much longer stride.

“You're looking … determined, Colonel.”

Halvorsen looked over his shoulder and grunted. “Is it that obvious?”

“I've known you long enough to tell when something is bothering you, sir.”

“I suppose that's why I keep you around, First Sergeant.”

Fuji snorted. “Well, sir, someone has to look out for your best interests. May I ask the colonel who managed to piss him off this time?”

Strips of recessed lighting lit the gunmetal-gray passageways of the
Nitro.
Every ten meters they encountered a seam in the bulkhead wall, where a door could close to seal off a section of the vessel from a fire or hazardous chemical leak, or to lock down the ship to thwart a boarding maneuver, or to isolate a hull breach should the
Nitro
suffer a loss of atmosphere. Navy ratings and officers ducked in and out of bulkhead doors and paid respect as the colonel and the first sergeant passed.

On Republican warships, passageways running stem-to-stern posted white double-lined arrows along the bulkhead walls, at eye level. The arrows always pointed forward, toward the bow of the vessel. Passageways running starboard-to-port posted blue arrows, which pointed outboard, toward the vessel's hull. All of which ensured that only a civilian could get lost on a warship, or a “delta-sierra” seaman who wasn't squared away.

The deck plating clanked underfoot as they walked, Fuji taking nearly two steps for every one of Halvorsen's. The colonel hesitated as they came to a fork in the passageway, allowing the first sergeant to take point.

Fuji followed a blue arrow to starboard. “This way, sir.”

A warship's decks bore clear, pedestrian labels, which suited Halvorsen's “kilo-india-sierra-sierra” attitude perfectly. The command deck was always the “main deck,” and the main deck was always situated at the core of the vessel, with upper and lower decks labeled accordingly—UD1 or LD1, for instance. Warship nomenclature sectioned vessels into roughly three parts, A to C, forward to aft, with a starboard “S” or port “P” qualifier. Larger vessels went up to D and E sections, and sometimes F. He'd gotten on the lift from Lower Deck 3–Starboard Section C (LD3-SSC) and met the first sergeant on the Main Deck–Starboard Section C (MD-SSC).

At periodic intervals, the colonel looked up at the arrows near the seam between the overhead and the bulkhead to gather his bearings. Three turns later they were near the holotank, far away from the ship's all-Marine compartments and deep into “squid” territory. He realized, much to his own consternation, that the first sergeant hadn't looked up at the arrows once. He wasn't sure how to get back to his own quarters, and this put him in an even worse mood. The
Nitro
wasn't his post. He was just a passenger on the Navy vessel, being ferried to his next duty station. That's what Marines did: Marines Always Ride in Navy Equipment. He didn't need to know the bowels of the ship like his own backside. The passageways were well marked anyway. So what if an astro-patch was riding his port side? None of it set him at ease. As they passed from Section C into B, he slowed without thinking.

First Sergeant Fuji came to an all-stop, turned around, and cocked her head upward. At 163 centimeters, the first sergeant was on the shorter side of average for a female Marine. Fuji's oval eyes twinkled as they met her superior officer's gaze.

“A certain lieutenant on your mind, sir?”

The colonel crossed his arms and sighed. “Well?”

“Her jacket is … interesting.”

“And?”

*   *   *

First Sergeant Fuji waited
for a young rating to pass, and then she stalled for time. It wasn't uncommon for the battalion commander to ask his “first shirt” what she thought about a Marine under his command, particularly when said Marine was just reporting in for duty. In another Marine Corps, Fuji would have held the rank of sergeant major. But the RAW-MC preferred small unit sizes, and smaller units had pushed the chain of command downward. That meant first sergeants in a very real sense ruled the roost at the battalion echelon.

Fuji clearly sensed there was more behind the colonel's question than a cursory inspection might reveal, and that made her weary. In fact, she feared the colonel harbored significant doubts about his new company commander. Perhaps Lieutenant Paen's upcoming one-on-one with the colonel was actually a come-to-Jesus meeting. If so, she pitied the lieutenant for it. Regardless, this wasn't Fuji's maiden jump across the 'verse. Commenting on a
superior,
however young and inexperienced she might be, well,
that
wasn't done lightly, not even by a first sergeant. Particularly not to a disgruntled light colonel with friends on the RAW-MC's selection board for the rank of captain.

Fuji folded her hands behind her back and decided to humor the colonel. “Would you care to clarify what you're after, sir?”

“What happened to your ability to read my mind?” Fuji shrugged. “Okay, fine, what's your frank assessment of her?”

Fuji stalled again. “Have you spoken with Gunnery Sergeant Khaine?”

*   *   *

Halvorsen grunted, not at
all pleased. He knew exactly where Fuji was going with her question, and he didn't like it at all. Not one bit.

Nhorman Khaine served in the billet of the battalion gunnery sergeant, or the “battalion gunny.” Khaine directly reported to First Sergeant Fuji. Fuji was in many ways Halvorsen's right hand. Likewise, Khaine was hers.

The battalion gunny was an enigma in other military traditions. In fact, the RAW-MC was the only Marine Corps in the 'verse with that billet, the only Corps to field companies of forty mechanized Marines, the only Corps with gunnery sergeants serving as senior enlisted noncoms at the company echelon.

Battalion gunnies like Khaine functioned as a intermediaries between a battalion's gunnery sergeants and the battalion first sergeant. If there was a problem with morale in one of Halvorsen's companies, or a serious disciplinary issue to be addressed, or any number of other issues that might arise in the day-to-day operations of a battalion of Marines, Khaine would likely hear about it long before he did. And Khaine could always play the part of the “good gunny,” allowing Fuji to be the heavy when the situation warranted it.

Halvorsen smiled grudgingly. “I'm still thinking, Samantha.”

“Understood, sir.” Fuji did her best not to smile back at her commanding officer.

Halvorsen knew that Gunnery Sergeant Khaine knew more about Lieutenant Paen than probably anyone else in the battalion. Khaine had actually served with her when she was a mere corporal in his platoon. That was Samantha's real point, after all.

Still, Samantha has a valid point. Khaine saw her in combat,
he admitted.
That counts for something. It still doesn't mean she's fit to lead a company of my Marines.

“No. I haven't spoken with the gunny,” he said with a hard edge to his voice. “And I don't intend to. Any more questions?”

“No, sir.” Fuji stood to her full height. She wiped every trace of emotion from her face and met the colonel's eyes without hesitation. She stared just long enough to make her point too.

“All right, Samantha. I'm putting you in an awkward position and I can see you don't like it.”

“Sir, with respect, I'd rather not comment on Lieutenant Paen until I've had a chance to meet with her first and form my own impression.”

“I respect that, and normally I'd agree with you. In this case, I'm worried about a potential weak link in my chain of command. There's little time before we deploy. I need to be well out ahead of any … personnel difficulties that may arise. It's fine and well to make your own first impressions. I'm sure you realize we don't always get that luxury.”

Fuji stiffened. “Of course, sir.”

“In that case, I'd value your assessment of her … now.”

The first sergeant looked away, momentarily lost in thought. “At first glance … she's impressive. Dedicated and daring come to mind too.” Fuji pitched her next words carefully. “The Silver Star isn't handed out casually, sir.”

“Humph. Those aren't the words that come to my mind.”

Fuji pursed her lips. “I suppose other words come to mind, depending on your point of view. Her actions on Montana were quite … brazen.”

“That's one way to put it. Reckless also comes to mind.” His eyes narrowed. “I see. So your assessment is…”

“Undecided, sir.”

“Smart answer, Samantha. I told you there's a reason why I keep you around.”

“And I believe I said something about looking out for your best interests, sir. If I may speak boldly, sir, you really need to speak with Gunnery Sergeant Khaine about her, and Captain Spears for that matter. The captain field-promoted Promise to second lieutenant after he was wounded on Montana. The gunny saw her in action. Both men had high praise for their lieutenant.”

“
Their
lieutenant?” Halvorsen crossed his arms. “Aren't you just the event horizon calling the gravitational hole black?”

“That's not fair, sir.” Fuji scowled respectfully. “The gunny was Promise's platoon sergeant before she made sergeant herself, and he fully endorsed her promotion. He used to be her superior and now he may have to follow
her
orders. His perspective is uniquely valuable. So, I sought it out. Lieutenant Paen went from corporal to first jane in two standard years. That's not a record—particularly with the Corps expanding so rapidly—but it's still fast. All I asked him was how he thought she was holding up under the acceleration.”

“And?”

“He said two things. First, she's the real deal. Secondly, I should ask her myself, with respect of course.”

Halvorsen grimaced. “Point taken, First Sergeant. I'll do that.” He looked down the passageway, and squared his shoulders. “I suppose I better go and meet her?”

“Indeed, sir, you should.” The first sergeant kept her feet planted.

The colonel had moved several paces down the passageway before he realized that Fuji hadn't budged. Then he turned around and threw her a questioning look.

“Something
else
on your mind, Samantha?”

“Because you asked, sir, yes.”

Halvorsen noted the concern in her eyes.

“There may be more to Lieutenant Paen than either of us realize. I queued up her last fitness report. Frankly, sir, what I heard on the vid impressed me. But, and there is one, she's locked down tight—too tightly I think—like someone who's afraid of losing control. She may need to learn to bend or at some point she might just break. At the moment, sir, that's my best assessment of Lieutenant Paen.”

Halvorsen nodded and turned thoughtful. “Anything else, First Sergeant?”

“Because you asked again, sir, yes. Have you seen Victor Company's range scores?”

“Yes, I have. And?”

“They're pathetic. At least two toons of privates and PFCs are scoring subpar.” Fuji's eyes filled with disgust. “We're pushing our boots too fast, shortening training times, cutting through fat into bone. The lieutenant's unit isn't ready to deploy. She needs more time.”

“You just had to go and remind me of that. I know, Samantha. I've already filed an official complaint. Lieutenant Paen is going to have to make do, just like the rest of us. Ours is not to reason why.”

“Ours is but do or die. I know, sir.” Fuji looked the colonel squarely in the eye. “That's what I'm really afraid of.”

 

Six

APRIL 19
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1022 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

RNS
NITRO,
PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6

Promise swam the tube
between the shuttle and RNS
Nitro. Nitro
's bays were full-up with LACs and support shuttles, which explained why Promise was boarding through
Nitro
's fore collar instead of stepping off a gangway in one of the battlecruiser's expansive boatbays. Swimming the tube was a mildly disorienting experience that reminded Promise more of falling down a shaft than floating through zero g between two vessels under artificial gravity. A host of emotions flooded her mind as she put out a hand along the inside of the tube and pushed off to make a course correction.

Her newly reconstituted command was barely stitched together, the seams so weak even minor stress might tear Victor Company apart. She had more than her share of janes and jacks fresh out of boot camp and the School of Infantry. And they'd been rushed through. She planned to have words with the colonel about that. No reasonable commanding officer could expect a company full of untried, unblooded soldiers to operate smoothly in toons of five mechanized Marines, or together as a company. Not like a veteran unit could. Unit cohesion was hard-won and earned toon by toon, shoulder-to-shoulder, and hardened by training that either held true or tore apart in the close fight.
But I've got a real problem. V Company is full of green-as-get-you-killed privates and PFCs, some with poor marksmanship scores. I can't call them all riflemen, not yet. And it's not just poor scores, others nearly failed the long-range portion of their final evolution. A few are borderline proficient in mechsuit combat techniques, but they were allowed to graduate anyway instead of being bumped back an evolution for extra training. The Corps may be strapped for boots, but skimping on training like this is going to get a lot of my command killed.