Corpsman (12 page)

JERICHO

Chapter 17

“Grab a seat, Doc,” Wythe said, kicking out a folding chair.  “You looked pretty copacetic out there, standing proud.”

“True that,” Pablo said.  “Copacetic to the max.”

“Thanks,” she said as each of the Marines lifted a fist for a bump, even Doc Opah, her replacement with the squad. 

Opah wasn’t a total replacement.  Liege hadn’t moved out of the Vineyard, and Opah hadn’t moved in.  But when the squad went on a mission, Opah took her place.  Doctor Mannerheim, and supported now by Doctor X’anto, had insisted on no combat missions for her.

Liege had been surprised at how she’d just felt.  When the chief asked her to be part of the color guard, it had just been one more task.  But holding the Navy colors had been more emotional than she would have guessed.  She felt honored.  She might be serving with the Marines, but she was still a sailor, and pride ran deep.

“Did they read the commandant’s birthday greeting yet?” she asked, having marched out of the warehouse after posting the colors and having only just returned.

“Yep,” Wythe said.  “All Marines, blah, blah, blah, tradition, blah, blah, blah, I’m proud, blah, blah, blah, Joab Ling, General, Commandant.”

“Oh come on, Wythe,” Fanny said.  “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m not saying it was.  I gots me a tingle, I did, by jove,” he said, the last “gots me a tingle” in a comically weird old-timey accent of some sort.  “But are any of the birthday messages any different?”

“Fucking Wythe,” Vic muttered.  “I liked the message.”

“I liked it, too,” Wythe said, suddenly sounding defensive.  “But if any of you can recite the entire thing to Doc, be my guest.”

Liege looked around the Warehouse D.  Almost half of the battalion was gathered inside the warehouse, one of the port’s two largest and the one not chock full of cargo.  It didn’t matter where they were or the mission, the Marines did not forget their birthday.  The entire battalion was not gathered together, however.  The “police action” (it was not to be referred to as a “war”) had only gotten more intense, and the battalion XO had taken a heavily reinforced Hotel Company to create a secondary camp on the south side of the city.  Other Marines were out on patrol or manning positions, so half of the battalion was most of the available Marines.  During the second seating, Marines now on post would be relieved for a second ceremony.

Liege’s duties were over for the moment, but there was more to the birthday ceremony.  There was no official guest of honor, so the CO stood in, giving a short speech.  Liege tried to listen, but the acoustics in the warehouse left a lot to be desired.  She did catch the end, though, where the CO told the S-3 to get on to the birthday cake.

“Present the cake!” Major Cranston shouted out.

All hands stood as four Marines solemnly marched forward, carrying a good-sized birthday cake. 

Gunny Coventry has outdone himself
, Liege thought. 

It looked like it could have been bought from a professional bakery.

Once the cake had been placed on the table, the major called forward the oldest and youngest Marine to get the first pieces of cake. 

“Sergeant Major Jassus Douber-Link is the oldest Marine in the battalion.  He was born on 13 July 338.  He enlisted in the Corps on 14 July 346,” the major called out.

The sergeant major graciously accepted his slice, taking a bite and nodding that it met with his approval.

“And, also per tradition, the next piece of cake goes to our youngest Marine.  Private Klip Poussey was born on 9 May 367. . .”

There was a collective moan from the Marines in formation.  Wythe and Pablo bumped fists while rolling their eyes.

“. . . and enlisted in the Corps on 9 May 384.  He joined the Fuzos on 12 August 384, 11 days before our current deployment.”

Poussey, standing proud but looking slightly nervous, accepted his piece and took a tiny bite.

“I can’t believe they are letting babies serve now,” Corporal Sativaa said.

Liege had been the same age as Poussey when she enlisted, but she felt much older than Poussey looked.

Normally, the guest of honor would get the next piece, but as expected, the CO refused.  The S-3 put the body of Marines at ease, and Gunny Coventry started cutting up the cake.  Table by table, the Marines and sailors rose and joined the line to get their piece.

Liege was standing next to Fanny and Lassi when a familiar face made her way back to them.

“Corporal Crow, happy birthday!” Liege said.

“Happy birthday to you, too.  You’re looking good.  I didn’t see a trace of a limp.”

“Oh, I just got kissed a little.  Doc Gnish sent me up to the
Josh
, and a couple of sessions on the ELS, and I’m good as new.”

“ELS?” 

“You know, the Electrolavage System.”

“I just wanted to say that what you did was pretty ballsy.  I. . .I. . .” the corporal said.  “Well, I just wanted to tell you that.”

She started to turn away when Liege said, “I heard it was you on one of the buildings keeping the jericks off my ass.”

“It wasn’t just me.  And your platoon was showing their fight, too.”

“Maybe, but I appreciate it,” Liege said, holding out her hand.

Corporal Medicine Crow took it, then asked, “The Marine you pulled out.  I know he got CASEVAC’d, but how is he?”

“Korf’s gonna make it,” Wythe said, answering for Liege.  “He’s back on Tarawa in regen, but that son of a bitch will be back before we know it.”

“Good to hear.  Well, I, uh, I need to get back in line if I want to get my cake.  All of you, happy birthday.”

“You, too,” Liege told her.

“That was decent of her,” Fanny said.

“Maybe she was lording it over us,” Wythe offered.

“Maybe, maybe not.  But she zeroed a shitload of jericks, and she probably saved at least half of our asses.”

“Yeah, but from up on the roof tops, out of danger.  Not like Doc here.  That’s why Doc’s getting a Navy Cross, and the Ice Bitch’s getting nothing.”

“I don’t know.  I saw the recording where she had her a-gunner hold her over the edge of the building.  That had her more exposed than any of us, and that’s when she zeroed the crew-served gunner who had me in his sights.  I don’t know about you guys, but I think she saved my pretty ass, at least,” Liege said.

There was laughter when she said “pretty ass,” as she had hoped.  Yes, everyone knew she’d been recommended for a Navy Cross, but she still felt awkward about discussing it.  And she felt more than a little unworthy.  When she’d been out there digging Korf out, her mind had been on autopilot.  She hadn’t really contemplated that what she was doing was dangerous.  It wasn’t until later, when she’d watched the recordings, that she’d really processed the fact that she could easily have been killed.

The heavy beat of “I Want It” by Grayson Parade suddenly blared out into the warehouse to the cheers of most of the Marines.  The song was probably not on any Marine Corps approved list of music, but it was popular.

“Come on,” she said to Vic, grabbing his hand and pulling him out into an open area in the warehouse.

“But I want my cake,” he protested.

“You’ll get some, but not now.  Now, you dance!”

Within moments, other couples were out on the make-shift dance floor, bopping to the music.  Vic was a good-looking guy, but he danced like a possum with a corncob stuck up his ass.  It didn’t matter, though.  It just felt good to let loose. 

Wythe followed Vic, then Corporal Sativaa, then Pablo, who was a surprisingly good dancer.  They were followed by a string of men, most of whom Liege didn’t know.  She didn’t care.  Liege was a party girl at heart, and this was her first party since landing on the planet.

There were far fewer women than men in the battalion, and while male Marines danced alone or with each other, most waited their turn to dance with a woman.  Even the CO got out to shake her ass, first with the XO, S3 and chaplain, then with a very embarrassed PFC Poussey, much to the delight of the battalion.

The warehouse wasn’t the most elegant place for a birthday ball, but it was the Marines and sailors who made a ball, not the venue.  And Liege was having a great time.  She was sad when two hours later, the music was cut off.

“Sorry to pull the plug, but all of you on the port watch, you need to get ready.  We’ve got to let the starboard watch come in for their ball,” the sergeant major passed on the mic.

The squad filtered back to their table, picking up their covers and the plastic cups with:

United Federation Marine Corps

398
th
Birthday Ball

Second Battalion, Third Marines, The Fuzos

Skagerrak Point, Jericho

stamped on the side.

“I never did get my cake,” Vic said to Liege as they started to file out of the warehouse.

“Neither did I,” she answered.

She didn’t care.  This was only her second Marine birthday ball, but she thought she would remember it well for the rest of her life.

TARAWA

Chapter 18

Liege had Vic put another five kilos on the bar.  Flattening her shoulder blades, she took a breath, lifted it free of the cradles, then slowly brought the bar down to her chest before pushing it back up.  It was more difficult this way, the slow lowering, but Liege was able to complete the eight reps, withVic hovering over her, hand poised and ready to assist if she needed it.

“Good job,” he said as the bar settled back into the cradle.

Four months earlier on Jericho, Liege would never have imagined she’d become a gym rat, and she certainly couldn’t imagine benching 60 kg.  She felt better physically—no hint of her kiss by the energy weapon anymore—but more than that, she felt better mentally.  She had a new level of confidence.

She got off the bench, raising her eyebrows to Fanny, who usually lifted heavier than her.  Fanny just nodded and got on the bench as it was.  Liege felt a small surge of pride.  She’d finally reached Fanny’s level.

“So, as I was asking you, you really didn’t know what the Corpo de Fuzileiros meant?” Vic asked.

“No, I told you.  I could figure out “corpo,” but “fuzileiros?”  What the heck is one of them?”

“But it’s our nickname.  You never wondered what a “Fuzo” is?” he persisted.

“Not really,” Liege said as she moved to spot Fanny.

“And you’re from Nova Esperança, right?  Settled by Brazilians.  And you can’t speak Portuguese?”

“Hell, Vic.  I’m from DeBrussey, and we don’t speak French,” Fanny said as she settled her grip.

The night before had been the battalion’s patron day celebration.  The battalion’s patron was the Portuguese Marine Corps, the Corpo de Fuzileiros, formed in 1618 and one of the first Marine Corps in existence.  When the Federation Marine Corps was formed, each of the infantry battalions adopted one of mankind’s extant Marine Corps as its patron unit as a way to carry on hundreds of years of traditions.

Vic had asked Doc if the battalion’s motto, “
Braço as àrmas feito
,” was well-known on Nova Esperança, and he’d been surprised that she’d never heard of it, nor did she know what it meant.  He brought it up again that morning at the gym.

“Yeah, but Doc here, I’ve heard her swear in Portuguese, so I thought she must speak some,” Vic said as Fanny started her set.

“But I’m not Portuguese.  My ancestors were Brazilian, but we speak Standard at home,” Liege said.

Actually, there was a flavor, so to speak, of old Brazil in the favelas.  Liege’s Avó could speak some Portuguese, and quite a few words had become absorbed into Standard, not the least being her gang’s name,
Commando Meninas,
which simply meant “Commando Girls” in Portuguese, but using a few words in daily life was a far cry from knowing how to speak another language.

“Anyway, it’s not like we’re the same as Portuguese.  Brazil had its own Marine Corps.  I looked it up last night. 3/8 has them for their patron, so if I’m supposed to have some historical connection to Earth, maybe I should have been assigned to them.”

Fanny finished her set, and Liege helped Vic add 40 more kilos to the bar.

“So do you have any of the old customs at home?” Vic asked as he lay down on the bench.  “What about food?”

“Food?  We eat what the fabricators put out,” Liege said with a laugh.  “Nothing too fancy in the favelas.  Maybe the suits get more, but we make do with what we can afford.  But, I guess we do like Carioca red beans and rice, and I think that’s Brazilian.”

“Oh, I know that.  They serve it at a rodizio my family likes.

“Rodizio?” Liege and Fanny asked in unison.

“Sure.  Rodizio.  There’s another word for it, too, churrascaria.  You sit down, and waiters come out with big long swords with roasted meats on them.  The servers cut the meat off right onto your plate.”

“Ha, I don’t think our fabricators have those kinds of recipes,” Liege said.

“No, not fabricators.  I think it has to be real meat.  And lots of it,” Vic said just before he started his rep.

“Oh, aren’t we high society, only eating organics,” Fanny said, reaching over to fist bump Liege.

In the favelas, Liege had eaten real vegetables at some of the festivals at the cathedral, but never to her knowledge meat.  She had organic meat a few times with the Marines, but she’d mostly toyed with it on her plate.  To be honest, the thought gave her the willy-wallies.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.  Tell you what.  There’s a rodizio in Kentville.  Let me see what they have, and if it looks good, we’ll all take a weekend and hit the town.”

Kentville was Tarawa’s main resort.  Tarawa didn’t get a lot of off-planet tourists, so it mostly serviced residents.  But it was supposed to be nice, and there was even a Marine Corps Lodge there.  The room rates at the lodge were based on rank, so Liege, still an HM, would have to pay very little.  Liege was saving up to bring her family to Tarawa, but she’d always wanted to check out Kentville, so if she could share expenses, that might be fun.

“OK, you check it out, and we’ll think about it,” Liege said, speaking for both Fanny and herself.  “But right now, you’re hogging my bench.  I think I’m good for 65 kilos, and you’re in my way.”