Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (8 page)

And it was expensive. Oh My God was it ever expensive. Nearly one hundred thousand dollars per roll expensive. And the Marines and sailors of the Vorpal Blade still tended to use it very much like duct tape, up to and including keeping partial rolls tucked away in odd places “just in case.”

When Captain Zanella had signed off on his first inventory in the unit and seen the prohibitive cost of the material, he nearly had a heart attack. For a few dozen rolls of space tape he could buy a Wyvern suit. He had blanched every time he saw the stuff and nearly screamed when he saw Marines using it to attach bits of equipment to their combat harness. He'd prohibited it from use under all but the most dire and fully official circumstances and ordered all rolls turned in on pain of pain.

Then his RTO had pulled out one of the many contraband rolls the Marines managed to retain and saved his life with it.

After that, he was a believer in space tape. If the Marines wanted to keep rolls, that was fine by him. As long as he had the budget, he'd buy all the space tape he could get his hands on. He still, however, prohibited using it to make hackysack balls.

“Just about done, sir,” Lieutenant Ross said, looking up from the paperwork he was explaining.

“You're looking a bit fried, Two-Gun,” Captain Zanella said.

“Just trying to figure out when I can see my new bride, sir,” Eric replied, shaking his head. “There's . . . a lot of paperwork here.”

“Every bit of which Lieutenant Ross has to review and I have to review and sign,” the CO said. “Paperwork is what officers were created for, Lieutenant Bergstresser. It is our lot in life. Get used to it.”

“I will, sir,” Berg said. “Not complaining, just contemplating.”

“Well, come on in and we'll get this over with,” the CO continued, heading for the door of his office.

“Grab a seat, Eric,” the captain said, sitting down behind his desk and contemplating his Inbox. “See this?” he continued, gesturing at the overflowing pile. “That's just what I haven't caught up with, yet, today. Because I had to go over to Quantico. I'll be here until at least nine catching up. Lieutenant Ross will be here nearly as long. For the first few days, you're going to have much the same schedule and you'll probably take what you can home. Not all of that stuff is classified, fortunately. Honestly, though, even as much as I like and respect you, I could wish that the President hadn't stuck his nose in. If he hadn't, or if he'd just said 'Send him to OCS,' then we'd have done this the normal way. You'd have spent at least a year in one of the MEUs getting used to being an officer, then come back here.”

“I think I'm going to be able to maintain a separation from my former teammates, sir,” Eric replied.

“I don't,” Zanella said. “And it's the least of my worries, frankly. Force Recon officers are generally closer to their troops than officers in regular units. We spend too much time separated from large groups of other officers. If your platoon is in Thailand, it's hang out with the troops or be by yourself. And you never fly without a wingman in Thailand. That's not the problem. Problems. Comments?”

“Still waiting to find out what I'm going to do wrong, sir,” Eric said.

“Good one, Two-Gun,” Zanella replied, grinning. “Okay, if you'd been in an MEU, the stuff that just got dumped on you would have been spread more. Some of that in an MEU is MEU specific. The motorcycle thing would have an officer, a JO admittedly, in charge of it for the whole MEU. Ditto the MWR inventory, but a different officer. So JOs would spread the load and have time to adjust to it. Then, when an officer got to Force Recon and got handed the same shit all over again, just more of it, he'd have already developed the habits that would help him shift the load faster. You don't have that experience because you didn't spend time in the MEU.”

“I guess I'll just have to learn fast,” Eric said.

“And so many things,” the CO said. “Among other things, that Direction of the President missed sending you to Officer Basic Course and Force Recon Officer Training. In both of those you would have learned more details of how to handle your troops in a combat environment and in garrison. OCS, necessarily, covers the broad spectrum. You were supposed to really be taught how to be an infantry officer, and then a Force Recon Officer, in those two courses. You've had neither. I've been reviewing the lesson plans of both and realizing just how much you missed. Including introduction to the CMS. You also haven't had any experience running troops. I know that you've had experience being a troop and think you know what it's all about. But from this side of the desk, things are different. Priorities, especially. So you're going to have to learn. Much of this I'm going to throw on Gunnery Sergeant Juda.”

“He's back?” Eric interjected. The Gunny had been hit even worse than the CO during the battle. “Sorry, sir.”

“He is, indeed, back,” Captain Zanella said. “However, since his right leg is still missing a goodly chunk of muscle, he's somewhat grouchy. Hopefully he won't oh-so-subtly take it out on his new lieutenant. But part of any gunny's job is to teach the newbie lieutenant, that being you. In fact, given your position I'm sure that all the senior NCOs will tend to be helpful. Perhaps too helpful. Do you get my meaning?”

“Eventually, I have to learn to do this myself,” Eric said. “Is that what you mean, sir?”

“More or less,” Zanella said. “Just one of many traps, Lieutenant. There's one last trap I need to point out. I suspect it's the one you've probably already thought about. That trap is the trap of courage. You know where I'm going?”

“I don't take the door, anymore, sir,” Eric said, if anything sadly. “I'm supposed to send others to take it.”

“Not supposed to,” the CO corrected. “Must. You must send others to take point. You don't lead from a bunker or from the ship, usually, but by the same token you have to place your Marines in the position of greatest risk. Their job is to kill stuff and blow things up. You lead from behind, to convey my orders and expand on them. I don't mind an officer who's willing to get his hands dirty, in fact I demand it. But the point on anything, be it loading the ship or fighting Dreen, are your Marines, not 'Two-Gun Berg the One-Man-Killing-Machine.' If you can get through an engagement without firing your weapon you're doing things correctly. And if I see you toting gear instead of figuring out what's supposed to be toted, next, I will damned well bust you back to sergeant. Are we absolutely, positively clear on this?”

“Clear, sir.”

“I said the job of an officer is to do paperwork,” the CO said, leaning back. “But that only covers part of the spectrum. The real job of an officer is to consider not 'what now' but 'what's next?' Your NCOs handle 'what now.' You tell them 'Take that room' and they take the room. You don't have to tell them how to take a room. They know that. Your job, while they're taking it, is to consider what's next. After that room, what needs to get done that's not an automatic trained reaction. Do you need to prepare defenses? Or is this a raid and you need to consider the problems of exfil? The job of the officer is to look ahead in time and be prepared for what time is going to throw at him. Leadership and all the rest comes quickly enough. If your troops realize that you know what you're doing as an officer. The first time that one of your NCOs says 'What now, sir?' and you have the answer they don't . . . that's when you start being an officer. Clear?”

“Clear, sir,” Berg said. He'd had much the same speech in OCS, but he had to admit that Captain Zanella hit the high points better.

“On the ride out, I'm going to devote two hours a day to professional development,” the CO said, sighing. “However, I seem to recall a Marine sergeant who had his head fairly firmly on his shoulders instead of up his ass. Try to keep it there.”

“I'll try, sir,” Eric promised.

“Now, you need to complete your training with Monsieur Ross then decide if you actually have time to go home tonight to do more than change clothes. See ya tomorrow morning.”

“Most girls like you want to be waitresses,” the restaurant manager said, looking Brooke up and down. “You could make way more money as a waitress.”

“I know,” Brooke admitted. “But I want to learn to cook. I'm hoping I can do some of that working in the kitchen.”

“All I got is busser,” the Italian said. “You're mostly going to be washing dishes, maybe chopping some vegetables. Even my choppers, they got professional training.”

“It's why I'm applying here,” Brooke said, smiling prettily.

“Damn, you'd make a good waitress,” the manager said. “I don't know for busser. That's hard work and no pay, hardly. I don't think you'd last.”

“I'm willing to work hard,” Brooke said patiently. “But I really want to learn how to cook.”

“Maulk,” Antonio said, shaking his head. “I tell you what. I make you a waitress and part time chef. If you can get along with Fernando. I put you on Fernando's shift. Victor's gay but Fernando, he like ladies. He keep his hands to himself but you smile at him he teach you some stuff. Rest of the time, you're a waitress. I need pretty waitresses. You don't last, you don't last.”

“Thank you,” Brooke said, smiling.

“It's these damned Hexosehr recyclers, sir. A CO2 scrubber is easy. These, we don't understand how they work so when they break, and they do, we can't figure out how to fix them short of replacement.”

Weaver was upside down, leaning over backwards, examining a piece of alien machinery and trying to act like the position was totally natural.

“It's an ionization separation system, Chief,” Weaver said, pointing. “Filtration, ionization point, separation point, oxygen reconsolidation, compressor system. What's the issue?”

“The separator's not working,” the chief said. Chief Petty Officer Dean Gestner, lead machinist of the Blade
II, was stuffed into the narrow space between the ionizer and a bulkhead. Fortunately, he was a small guy. “We're getting a half a dozen toxins come through. Not just CO2. Ketones, esters, you name it. Some of it gets thrown out in compression, but the separation's the problem.”

“We got a spare separator around?” Weaver asked.

“Sure, sir,” the chief said. “Four in spares baseside. But are we gonna have one when we're on the back side of Gamma Nowhere?”

“Point,” Weaver said. “We're getting at least two Hexosehr tech reps on the next cruise. We were supposed to get them before now. Pull and replace this separator and hold onto it. We'll get them to examine it and tell us what's wrong and how to fix it. For that matter, have you asked Tchar? He's starting to get a handle on some of this stuff.”

“No, sir,” the chief said, grinding his teeth.

Unfortunately, the chief had the full measure of Napoleon complex that went with his size.

“Look, Tchar's around for a reason, Chief,” the XO said. “He's an invaluable source of technical expertise. He won't be with us on this cruise, but he's going to be with us on others. If you can't handle working with an Adar I'll find a chief who can. Are we clear?”

“Clear, sir,” the chief said.

“Pull it and replace it,” Weaver repeated. “Then give it to Tchar to look at. Make sure we've got at least one replacement for each system. And ask Tchar, if he figures out how to fix it back to spec, how he did it and for him to write the repair manual. There's a bunch of this Hexosehr stuff we don't have repair manuals on, yet. Looks like we're going to have to write them.”

“Got it, sir,” the chief said as Weaver pulled himself out. The chief followed then stopped to brush some dust off his coveralls. “There's another . . . issue, sir.”

“Yes?” Weaver said.

“This chick with blue hair came breezing into the shop yesterday and asked what we needed done,” Gestner said. “I told her to get the hell out of my shop. When I did, I started getting grief from PO Morris and PO Gants. I've got that under control, but I just thought you should know. I don't think much of having women on a boat, sir, but if it's got to be it's got to be. But I won't have them in my shop.”

Weaver looked at the chief blank-faced and wondered exactly how to handle this.

“Okay, Chief Gestner, here's the deal,” Weaver said. “You just monumentally grapped up.”

“Excuse me, sir?” the chief said hotly.

“Are you going to actually listen to why you grapped up?” Weaver asked. “From someone with far less time in the Navy and about five hundred times more time in space than you?”

“Of course, Captain,” the chief said, his teeth grinding again. “I am always seeking the wisdom of my betters.”

“Chief, that wasn't even on the edge of insolence,” Weaver warned. “I'm serious. Are you actually going to listen? Or are we going to turn this into a dick beating contest? One that, I guarantee it, you are going to lose.”

“I apologize, sir,” the chief said, taking a deep breath. “I am listening.”

“Miriam Moon is the ship's linguist, yes,” Weaver said. “But on the last cruise . . .  Look, she's ADHD. You know what that is, right?”

“So are both my kids, sir,” the chief said, his brow furrowing.

“Incredibly smart little monsters that go ballistic if they get bored?” Weaver asked.

Gestner chuckled. “More or less describes them, sir.”

“When Miriam gets bored, she starts wandering around the ship, being . . . annoying as hell,” Captain Weaver said. “Since she's a civilian, there's only so much the CO can do about that. What we found out, more or less by accident, on the last cruise is that if you give her something to do, she does a spectacular job. Especially something mechanical. She completely rebuilt one system and painted every steam-pipe in the ship along with doing all sorts of minor jobs. Not to mention fixing the neutrino injector in the middle of a battle. The reason she breezed into your shop, Chief, is that it's more Miriam's shop than yours. She was a major part of the design team when the Hexosehr built this ship. And you got about twenty percent more relative space because of it. So you should be thanking her, not insulting her. And the reason Red and Sub Dude gave you grief was because they were trying to tell you the same thing. Knowing both of them, they were probably doing it badly, but that was what was going on. Now, you're going to apologize to Miss Moon, give her full access to your shop and utilize her. In fact, first thing to do is put her in charge of this thing and see if she can figure it out. But apologize first, sincerely. How you handle that with your people is up to you. If you're the type that can't lose face, you're going to have a hard time doing so. But you are going to apologize and you are going to utilize her or you're not a chief that can handle the Blade. Are we clear?”