Corpsman (6 page)

By now a crowd had gathered. The first sergeant ziptied the three Marines’ and the dead SevRev’s hands together.

Liege stood there a moment longer, but no one other than the SevRev was hurt, and there wasn’t anything she could do for him.  She left the gathered Marines and went back to the woman.  The IV pack was still flowing.

“Go report to the Chief,” Sergeant Vinter told her.

“But my patient?”

“Is she stable?”

“Yeah, for now,” Liege admitted.

“Well, you get back to wherever you’re supposed to be, and we’ll get her back to you.”

Liege knew that made sense, so she started back to where Green team would be forming.  The people around Tamara were being pushed back, and an EOD tech, in full disposal suit, stood over Tamara, Jessie, and Korf.  Evidently things were pretty serious, but Liege had to let the EOD Marine take care of it.  She had her own job to do now.

“Neves!  Help Dingo,” HM2 Dykstra, the Green Team leader, told her as she walked up to him.

Liege spent the next ten minutes helping HM3 Jim “Dingo” McAllister evaluate the wounded coming back to the triage station.  She had hoped to have more work, but unless Fox pulled more survivors out of the wreckage, the butcher’s bill was pretty high.  Only 48 hostages had made it back to the collection point.  Twelve of them were seriously hurt and being treated.

Liege kept listening for an explosion from over where the EOD tech was working.  To her relief, there wasn’t one. 

The operation was being touted as a success, at least from what she could tell from the newsies who were hovering around.  Only four Marines were WIA, none seriously.  At least twenty SevRevs had been killed, either by Marines or by their own hands.  And 62 hostages—48 escaping to the front and another 14 out the back—had been saved.  And then there was Tamara’s exploits, which had been captured by numerous camcorders.

With almost 500 dead hostages, though, it didn’t feel like a victory to Liege.  She was glad when the trucks came up to take them back to the stadium in town for the shuttle back up to the ship.

TARAWA

Chapter 6

“I see you’ve got a good start on things, Jessie,” Liege said as she slid onto the bench seat.

Wythe lifted a half-empty stein in a salute and simply announced, “Doc!”

Liege took one of the unused steins on the table and filled it from the only one of the three pitchers that still had beer in it.

“So, where’s the belle of the ball?” she asked.

“Veal?  Don’t know.  She’ll be coming soon, I’m guessing.  Ask her bunkie.”

“She wasn’t in the room when I left, but she’ll be here,” Fanny said.

With the unexpected mission to Wyxy interrupting their shake-down cruise, their scheduled full deployment had been pushed back to let the battalion and the ship finish hitting their pre-deployment checks, so they were all back on Tarawa.  Tempo was high, but the battalion had moved into their final admin stand-down, which meant the junior Marines had been cut loose after noon chow, and they had the evening free.  When Tamara Veal had said she wanted to meet everyone at the Down ‘N Out, it seemed like a good excuse to have one last party on Tarawa before shipping out.

Liege took a sip of the beer and made a grimace. 

“What’s this Munchen piss-water?” she asked.  “Let me get something decent,” she added, standing up.

“They’re your credits,” Wythe said.  “But I’ll drink whatever you bring back.”

Liege bought three pitchers of Wolfshead Red and brought them back to the table.  Wythe drained his stein, refilled it with the Red, and immediately drained half of it.

“Oh, I’ve got to hang out with you more, Doc.  This is the good stuff!” he said.  “But it sure runs through you.  I’ve got to go pay the rent,” he said, getting up to use the head.

Within the next ten minutes, the entire squad, minus Veal and Vinter, had arrived, and spirits were high.  It was good to unwind like this, Liege thought as she sat back for a moment, just listening to the chatter.

“So what’s the scuttlebutt about Crow?” Corporal Francewell Sativaa asked no one in particular.

“Hell of a shot, hot as a volcano, but rather a bitch, from what I hear,” Tyrell Goodpastor said.  “Why do you ask?”

“Veal invited her here, you know, to thank her for zeroing that SevRev.”

Liege hadn’t known that someone else would join them this evening.  She felt a little disappointed.  But Tamara had organized the party, so it was her call.

“You’re right about her being hot,” Vic Williams said.  “She hits the gym late sometimes like me, when it’s less crowded, and she’s mighty fine to look at.  Won’t talk to anybody, though.”

“And did little Vic try to pick up on the corporal?  Get turned down?” Fanny asked as if talking to a baby.

“Not me,” Vic said with conviction.  “I like me a woman with a little personality, if you please.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.  Like that green-haired dancer on Left Out?” Killer Wheng shouted as most of the table erupted into laughter. 

Vic mumbled something, his face turning bright red.  Liege hadn’t been with the squad the last time they were training on Left Out, so she had no idea what they were laughing about.  But if the volume of the laughter was any indication, she sure wanted to know that story.

“What’re you laughing about?” Wythe asked, returning from the head.

Corporal Wheng said, “Vic and the dancer on Left Out.”

Wythe started laughing himself as he took his seat again.  Since no one started to expound on the story, Liege cleared her throat to ask.

She wasn’t about to find out anything as Fanny shouted out, “Hey, it’s The Blonde Terror!”

Tamara Veal was making her way through the tables to join them, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Sit down, Veal.  I’ve got a pitcher with your name on it!” Wythe said, waving a mostly full pitcher of beer.

Tamara wormed her way onto the bench seat against the wall.

“Took you long enough,” Fanny said.  “We’ve almost drunk all the beer Jessie here bought for you, and the next pitcher’s on you.”

“That true, Wythe?  You buy this?”

“True that.  I told you on the
Caracas
I was buying, didn’t I?  An’ a Marine never goes back on his word, am I right?”

Doc understood Tamara’s hesitance to believe that.  Wythe was well-known for his credit-pinching—and mooching—ways.  Besides, that particular pitcher was one of the Wolfhead Reds she’d bought.

Wythe poured her a stein, and Tamara took a slow, deep swallow, making a show of smacking her lips, and then said, “The skipper wanted to see me.  Couldn’t get out of that.”

While the rest of them laughed, Wythe made a fist, put his nose in the hole made by his thumb and forefinger, and rotated it back and forth.  Tamara rolled her eyes and gave Wythe a wicked punch to the arm.

“That’s ’cause you’re a bleeding hero,” Fanny said, drawing out the “e” in hero.

“Eat me,” Tamara said as the others laughed.

In the favelas, the smack talk that Marines seemed to love was there, but not to the same extent.  It would be too easy to step over the line and instigate a
fuedo
.
[9]
  Here in the Marines, though, it seemed to be simply part of the landscape.

“Eh, you’ll get one, maybe a BC1,” Vic said, reaching his stein over the table to clink with hers.

Tamara half stood, then leaned over to accept his clink.

“Hey, watch it.  I don’t need your boobs in my face when I’m drinking!” Wythe shouted out, spilling some of his beer.

Laughter and shouts of “Oh, you love it,” and “That’s as close as you’re going to get to any,” greeted his statement.

Tamara turned a bright shade of red.

She’s embarrassed!
Liege realized. 
Maybe the smack talk’s a little much for her.

“This one’s on me!” Tamara shouted, too loudly and obviously trying to change the subject.  She grabbed the pitcher and asked, “What are we drinking?  San Miguel?”

“You can’t tell?  What a lightweight!” Liege
said.  “That’s Wolfshead Red, Tammy.”

“That’s Tamara, Doc.  I’m not a freaking Tammy.  But Wolfshead Red it is. What about Corporal Medicine Crow?  Did she show up yet?  I owe her more than I owe you guys.”

“The Ice Bitch is coming?” Wythe asked.

Oh, someone else didn’t know that the sniper was coming
, Liege thought, relieved that she wasn’t the only one left in the dark.

“The Ice Bitch?” Tamara repeated, confused.

“Yeah.  Crow.  Hot as snot on the outside, but cold as Hades on the inside.”

He clinked his stein with Vic’s in a toast.

“Well, she sure ‘iced’ that SevRev,” Veal said, looking smug.

“Touché, Tammy,” Liege said.  “We girls have to stick up for each other.  Wythe’s just mad because he’s like all the rest of the guys in the battalion, lusting after Corporal Crow when she won’t give any of them the time of day.”

“Tamara, Doc, Tamara.  But if it’s raging hormones talking, then I need to get the beer to cool these guys off.”

The “Tammy” had slipped out naturally, but it took Liege slightly aback to get corrected like that.  No one else seemed to have noticed as Veal made her way back to the bar.

“So what happened on Left Out?” Liege asked.

“You had to be there,” Wythe said.  “But you can ask ‘Little Vickee’ there and see if he’ll man up.”

Wythe drew out the “Vickee” in some sort of weird accent.

Liege shook her head, knowing she’d never get the story.  The conversation drifted to Corporal Medicine Crow, and bets were made on whether she was a lesbian or not.  Wythe and Goodpaster were firmly in the “likes girls” camp, while Wheng, Acosta, and Dolsch insisted that was just sour grapes because the sniper didn’t date anyone in the battalion.

I don’t date anyone here, either
, Liege thought. 

But she knew that was different.  She didn’t hide her socializing with men outside of the battalion.  And looking over at the adjacent table, a rather good-looking Marine had caught her eye a few times and smiled an invitation.  Maybe when this broke down, she’d go give him a look-see.

Veal came back with a pitcher, which was immediately passed around, and the talk ran the gamut from one topic to the other, and more than once, several topics were on the table at the same time.  Before Liege knew it, it was midnight, and first two of them, followed five minutes later by three more, took their leave. 

Liege looked over to where the Marine who’d had his eye on her was sitting, but he’d evidently lost patience, and the table was empty.  She wasn’t crushed, but she was a little disappointed.  They’d be deployed for at least six months, and that meant no dating for the duration. 

Oh, well, that just means time for one more beer.

“So Vic, or should I say ‘Vickee,’ you sure you won’t tell me about Left Out?” she asked, leaning over the table.

She didn’t think he’d give in that easy, but it could be a long six months, and given the time, she was confident she could break the guy.

Chapter 7

The squad milled about in the barracks commons, waiting for Tamara and Fanny.  Tamara had insisted on no big send-off, but no one in the squad paid any attention to that.  Tamara was family, and family didn’t send off one of their own without acknowledgement.  Tamara still had to check out with the CO, and Liege could see the lieutenant and the staff sergeant waiting outside, but inside the barracks was their territory.  Some of the other Marines from the platoon were outside waiting as well, but they had ceded the commons to First Squad.

All heads swiveled as Tamara and Fanny came down the steps.  Tamara carried her lone seabag, which seemed too small to represent all the Marine owned.

“Hey, I said no send-off,” Tamara said, even if she looked pleased.

“You don’t got no choice, Veal.  You are one of us, even when you’re out there on Malibu getting all trained up,” Wythe said.

Sergeant Vinter nodded to Corporal Wheng who opened his cooler and took out twelve bottles of San Miguel, Tamara’s brew of choice.  Alcohol in the barracks was forbidden, but even if the staff sergeant and the lieutenant could see through the window at what they were doing, neither made a move.

As soon as everyone had their bottle, Sergeant Vinter raised hers and said, “To Lance Corporal Tamara Veal, who’s going to be the baddest gladiator of them all.  Ooh-rah!”

Everyone echoed the “ooh-rah” before tilting back their bottles.

“You’re going in as a Fuzo,” the sergeant continued, “and you’ll always be part of the squad.  So wherever your life takes you, know that we are with you in spirit.”

Liege thought she saw a tear form in the corner of Tamara’s eye.

“And kick some Klethos ass!” Wyth shouted, which was followed by more “ooh-rahs.”

Liege felt conflicted.  She knew being selected as a gladiator, from all the billions of humanity, was a great honor.  But it was also a death sentence.  Tamara could earn untold glory, but even if she survived the Klethos, she probably had fewer than five years before the Brick
[10]
claimed her.  The modification her body would undergo was just too drastic to keep the Brick at bay.  She liked Tamara and considered her a friend.  As a human being, as a sailor, she felt pride at what Tamara was going to do, but as a friend, she mourned her sacrifice.

There was a knock on the hatch, and Liege turned to see the staff sergeant discreetly rapping on the glass, head down. 

Sergeant Vinter saw it too, and taking her cue from him, said, “OK, everyone say your good-byes.  Tamara needs to get to the CO and then off to her shuttle.”

One-by-one, each Marine went up to Tamara and shook her hand, followed by a hug.  Liege hung back, then as everyone else had said good-bye, stepped forward.

“I’m going to miss you, Tamara,” she said.

“I’ll miss you, too, Doc.”

Liege didn’t bother with the handshake; she leaned in and pulled the big Marine into a hug, squeezing as hard as she could.

“Kick some ass,” Liege whispered.

“Tamara, you’re running late,” Sergeant Vinter said.

The two broke their hug, and Tamara looked around before saying, “After being on the track team, I want to say I’m glad I was finally a ‘real’ Marine, and that it was with you.  I could never pick a better bunch of warriors to go into battle with.  Semper fi.”

There was one last shout of “ooh-rah” as Fanny picked up Tamara’s seabag.  She was going to make sure she accompanied Tamara all the way to the shuttle, Liege knew.

It took a few more moments to get Tamara through the front hatch, where she received a rousing welcome from the gathered Marines.

“So much for no send-off,” Vic said.

“Did you really think that was going to happen?” Tyrell asked.

Liege had intended to follow Tamara to the battalion CP, but it seemed as if the entire battalion—and more—had gathered. The honor of being selected was Tamara’s, of course, but still, it was also a point of honor for the battalion as well.  The Fuzos had a storied history, and this was just one more page added to it.  There wasn’t a Marine or sailor in the battalion who wanted to miss this.

Tamara, Fanny, the lieutenant, and the platoon sergeant were making their way down the sidewalk, Tamara reaching out to shake hands as she went, while more Marines closed in behind her.

There wasn’t much more for Liege to do.  She’d said her goodbyes, and the mass of people was just too much. 

“Fair winds and following seas, irmãs,” she whispered before turning back into the barracks.