Starfist: A World of Hurt (6 page)

Sturgeon knew all about standing at attention in the ranks for outrageous amounts of time while windbags spouted off about things of which they had precious little knowledge and even less feeling. He scrapped the remarks he had planned to make and ordered, "FIST, PARADE
REST!
" Parade rest, feet at shoulder width and hands clasped behind the back, was still a formal position, but less strenuous and easier to hold than attention.

"Marines," he said, "I am about to award decorations to some of you for heroism displayed during our recent campaign on Kingdom. At the same time I will promote those of you who have been serving in billets above your rank.

"Some of the decorations I will award today are interim. A few of you performed acts of heroism on Kingdom that merit higher decorations than I am authorized to award. In those cases, today I will award you the highest decoration allowed by my authority. Be assured that recommendations have been forwarded to the appropriate authorities and that should those authorities concur, at a later date the award I give you today will be replaced by the decorations you deserve.

"Remain at parade rest unless you hear your name called. If your name is called, come to attention and march to the reviewing stand."

He turned to Shiro. "Sergeant Major, call the roll!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Shiro unrolled a scroll he held clutched in his left hand and began reading names. At each name, someone in the formation came to attention and broke ranks to march to the reviewing stand, where a master sergeant from the base headquarters company directed him to the stairs to the stand. After calling each name, Shiro either read the citation that described what the decoration was and why it was being awarded to the Marine, or gave the rank to which the Marine was being promoted.

Brigadier Sturgeon pinned decorations on those being awarded medals and handed promotion warrants to those being promoted. He was assisted by the family members or special friends of each Marine who had such people present.

The final three people to be called were the three being commissioned, and Charlie Bass was the last of them. They took off their enlisted tunics and donned their new officers' tunics, then had ensigns' silver orbs pinned onto the epaulets; changing into the gold trousers of the officer dress reds would come later.

Newly commissioned Ensign Charlie Bass grinned like an idiot as Katie helped Brigadier Sturgeon button his new tunic and pin on his new silver orbs.

After Bass returned to his position at the front of Company L's third platoon, Brigadier Sturgeon called the FIST to attention, then ordered, "PASS IN REVIEW!"

Commands were shouted and, as one, the Marines faced right and began marching.

Almost immediately, the lead company turned a corner to the left, marched forty meters, turned left again, and marched past the reviewing stand. As each company reached the stand, its commander shouted out, "EYES RIGHT!" and heads in the marching formation snapped toward the reviewing stand, only the rightmost rank continuing to look forward.

"EYES FRONT!" came the command as each company in turn completed its pass. The military personnel on the reviewing stand raised their hands in salute to Commander van Winkle as he and his staff marched past at the head of the infantry battalion. They held their salutes as the battalion's headquarters company and all three of its line companies marched past.

Seconds later they saluted again as the FIST's composite squadron marched by. Then they saluted the artillery battery and the transportation company. The FIST headquarters company brought up the rear, and was saluted in its turn.

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Staff Sergeant Wang Hyakowa's call boomed loud enough to echo off the walls and reverberate the length of third platoon's squad bay.

Corporal Rachman Claypoole, on his way back to his fire team's room from the squad leaders' quarters, was facing in the right direction to see for whom the platoon sergeant called attention. His face lit up and he repeated the call, "ATTENTION ON DECK!"

Sergeant "Rat" Linsman, Claypoole's squad leader, was standing in the doorway of the squad leaders' quarters and saw the reason almost at the same time. "ATTENTION ON

DECK!" he bellowed so quickly his voice and Claypoole's sounded almost as one.

At the opposite end of the long passageway, Lance Corporal Isadore "Izzy" Godenov poked his head out of his fire team's room, snapped to attention, and echoed the cry.

"AS YOU WERE, PEOPLE!" newly commissioned Ensign Charlie Bass roared. His face turned red. His men had snapped to attention for him before, but always because of respect for him personally--this was the first time Marines had been called to attention for his rank, and he wasn't sure he liked that.

Then he saw the expressions and heard the voices of the Marines who boiled out of their rooms to crowd around him, and realized they were indeed responding to him, not his rank.

"Welcome back, Gu--ah, sir!" Sergeant Lupo "Rabbit" Ratliff, the first squad leader, said, pushing his way through the Marines in his way. He thrust out his hand to shake his platoon commander's hand. "And congratulations on your commission!"

"Outta my way, Rabbit, I saw him first," Linsman said, elbowing his way next to Ratliff. "I'm so damn glad to see you back, ah, sir!"

"Yeah, but I've known him longer. Welcome back--sir!" Sergeant "Hound" Kelly, the gun squad leader, forced his way between the other two sergeants.

Then Bass lost track of exactly who was welcoming him back to third platoon, crowding too tight, forcing Hyakowa and the squad leaders out of the way, pumping his hand, slapping his back. After a couple of moments he managed to free his hands and raise them above his shoulders, palms out.

"All right, people. Back off, will you?" He shot a glance at Hyakowa and the squad leaders, as though accusing them of abandoning him to fend off a serious assault by himself. Then his face split in a broad grin and he looked around at his platoon again. "It's good to be back--right where I belong."

He looked from face to face, remembering names, remembering actions he'd been through with them,
his
Marines! Then he saw six Marines who were hanging back, faces he didn't know, but he knew they were the replacements for Marines who had been killed or were too seriously wounded to return to duty during the campaign on Kingdom.

In his mind's eye he saw the faces of the Marines who weren't there to welcome him home: Lance Corporal Dupont, his longtime communications man, who was killed at the same time Bass had been captured; Corporal Stevenson, from the gun squad, who'd been a PFC when Bass first joined third platoon; Lance Corporals van Impe and Watson, who had also been with the platoon about as long as he had; PFC Gimble, who'd joined the platoon after they first encountered the Skinks on Society 437; Lance Corporal Rodamour and PFC Hayes, for whom Kingdom was their first and only deployment with 34th FIST.

Sergeant Bladon and Corporal Goudanis weren't there either--they'd both been so severely wounded on Kingdom they'd been evacuated and nobody knew whether they'd ever be able to return to duty.

His eyes misted over as he remembered them, those men, Marines all, who'd given the last full measure in defense of people they didn't know. He almost shouted angrily at the excited Marines who surrounded him, still enthusiastically welcoming him back, ordered them to knock off their grab-assing and show respect for their dead. But he didn't. He remembered in time that old Marines don't die, they go to hell and regroup. He knew those dead Marines would live forever in the collective memory of the Corps. They'd already been mourned by the platoon, the company, the battalion, the FIST.
He
was the only one who hadn't properly mourned yet. And just then wasn't the time for mourning. He could hold that off until later.

He fixed the new men with a gimlet eye and said firmly, "I'm Gunnery Ser--" Well, he
tried
to say it firmly. He started again, speaking above the raucous laughter of his men. "I'm Ensign Charlie Bass and this is my platoon. Who the hell are you?"

Those nearest the new men stepped aside and pushed them forward so they could meet their new platoon commander.

First a big lance corporal came to attention in front of him. "Sir, I'm Tischler. Gunner, first gun team."

Another lance corporal said, "Zumwald, first fire team, sir."

A barrel-chested PFC of slightly less than average height was next. "PFC Gray, sir.

Blasterman, first fire team, first squad."

Next was: "PFC Little, sir. Second fire team, second squad."

Another: "PFC Shoup, sir. Second fire team, first squad."

Finally: "PFC Fisher, sir. Second fire team, second squad."

"Lance Corporal Tischler, PFC Gray, PFC Shoup, PFC Little," Bass said, fixing the names he already knew to the faces he was now seeing for the first time. "I'd say welcome to third platoon, but it seems you've already seen action with us. Gray, Shoup, Little, Fischer, how are your wounds?"

The four looked at him, surprised that he knew they'd been wounded on Kingdom when they hadn't joined the platoon until after he'd disappeared and was presumed dead.

"Fine, sir," each replied. "All healed."

"Glad to hear that. We never know when we'll have to go out again, and it doesn't do to have Marines on light duty heading into harm's way.

"Staff Sergeant Hyakowa tells me you're all settled in your fire or gun teams and there's no reason to move anybody, so I'll accept that." He paused and looked at them. Twenty-nine Marines who depended on him to lead them to successful completion of whatever mission was assigned to them--and bring them back alive and whole. He knew from his experience he could rely on twenty-three of them to do their jobs well enough that he'd be able to fulfill their expectations. Everybody in the company chain of command from the Skipper on down to Hyakowa told him the six replacements the platoon had received on Kingdom were just as good--and that they all had combat experience even before they joined the platoon. Just then, he'd take their word for it--anyway, he had no reason to suspect they were misleading him.

"Well," he said before his thoughts kept him silent long enough to cause discomfort or concern among his men, "I just wanted to come in to say hello and that I'm glad to be back.

Now, if nobody else has done it yet, I'm sounding liberty call. Get out of here. I don't expect to see any of you again until morning formation tomorrow." He turned and headed back down the stairs with Hyakowa right behind him.

"COMP-ney, a-ten-HUT!" Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher bellowed the following morning.

"'TOON, ten-HUT!" the platoon sergeants cried out in turn.

The 110 or so Marines standing in formation behind the barracks snapped to.

"'TOON sergeants, re-PORT!" Thatcher called.

The platoon sergeants about-faced and called, "Squad leaders, re-PORT!"

"First squad, all present and accounted for!" the first squad leader roared back.

"Second squad, all present and accounted for!"

"Gun squad, all present and accounted for!"

When their squad leaders had reported, the platoon sergeants again faced front.

"First platoon, all present or accounted for!"

"Second platoon, all present or accounted for!"

"Third platoon, all present or accounted for!"

"Assault platoon, all present or accounted for!"

Thatcher ticked them off on his clipboard as the platoon sergeants reported all their men present or accounted for. Finished, he about-faced himself.

The rear door of the barracks opened and Captain Conorado, the company commander, marched out, followed by the company's other five officers. First Sergeant Myer and the company clerks, as usual, didn't attend the morning formation, nor did Supply Sergeant Souavi.

Conorado stopped in front of Thatcher, who brought his right hand up in a crisp salute.

Conorado returned the gesture just as sharply and held it. The officers formed a rank to his rear.

"Sir, Company L all present and accounted for!" Thatcher announced loud enough for every man in the formation to hear, even though the man he addressed stood only a pace in front of him.

"Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant," Conorado replied in a voice that carried just as far. "The company is mine. You may take your place." He cut his salute.

"The company is yours. Aye aye, sir!" Thatcher cut his salute, stepped a pace to the rear, pivoted to his right and marched to his place in the formation, just in front of the lead rank of first platoon.

Conorado stood silently for a moment, looking over his company.
His
Marines, who he was so proud of. Again, they had faced that implacable enemy known only as "Skinks," and again they'd defeated them, even though the Skinks had come up with new and horrendous weapons. He'd almost lost this company once, thanks to the machinations of a bureaucrat-scientist he'd offended, but now it was his again, and it seemed it would be his for the rest of his life. If he might never rise above the rank of captain, well, at least he'd be the commander of the best company he'd ever served with.

"At ease!" Conorado finally said. He didn't roar or bellow; still, his voice carried clearly to every man in the formation.

"I have two announcements this morning.

"First, Headquarters, Marine Corps, has notified us that a medal is being struck for the Kingdom campaign. Which is too bad for those of you who are already top heavy and were hoping for just another campaign star on your Marine Expeditionary Medal. You'll just have to find room for another medal." A smile threatened to break out on his face as he looked at several of the senior Marines as he spoke, though he didn't turn around to include Ensign Bass, who had been on more campaigns than most other Marines.

"Second, in light of our most recent experience, next week we will deploy south for training in swamp and jungle warfare. And don't even think of liberty in New Oslo while we're away; we're going farther south, leaving Niflheim and headed for an uninhabited equatorial island called Nidhogge." He allowed the muffled groans to run their course. Swamps and jungles, right. Train for the last war.