Recruit (17 page)

Chapter
21

Ryck sat at the test bench, watching the results on the PI-530.  He didn’t really need to be there.  The process was automated.  Once the test was initiated, each
PICS was pulled out of its locker, trundled over to the bench, and subjected to the tiny pulses the 530 threw at it. 

The
PICS was high tech.  It might be over 50-year-old tech, but high nonetheless.  And that required constant maintenance.  The 530 was just one of the tools in the armorer’s box to keep the PICS
in top working condition.  This piece of test equipment sent tiny pulses into the skin of the PICS, testing the kickbacks.  Each kickback had to react within 10,000
th
of a second, firing back at the incoming projectile or pulse.  Coupled with the integrity of the LTC array armor itself, the kickbacks helped the PICS to withstand 20mm cannon fire or 6mm hypervelocity rounds. They only helped marginally to pulse weapon strikes, but the PICS had other defenses for those. 

The
PICS being tested belonged to Corporal Timothy Brown in Golf Company.  Golf was the “heavy” company in the battalion, with each Marine and corpsman having a suit.  Ryck had been in Fox, where only one squad would be suited up if the mission required it.  Ryck had seen Brownie out and about, but other than one group conversation on the NFL, he never really had any contact with him. 

Ryck had been transferred to H & S, to the Rehab Platoon (the “Sick, Lame, and Lazy Platoon”) once he had gotten out of the hospital, and while he still hung out with the guys, he did not train or work with them.  Fox had been out on a routine show-the-flag mission
to Barrow to help celebrate their Landing Day, so for the last two weeks, he hadn’t even had them around.  He knew they had returned the night before, but no one had stopped by.  It was great when he was around them, but with new guys coming in, and with him on his eighth month since being wounded, he felt like he was being forgotten

The green light flashed, and the numbers popped on the screen.  Brownie’s suit was at 98.7%, good enough for government work.  Ryck reached out with his left hand and hit the approve button.  Brownie’s suit was trundled back to its locker and another was taken out.  Ryck knew he really wasn’t necessary in the test.  The lab was fully capable of automatically rejecting or accepting test results.  This was make-work.  This was a result of the psych docs who insisted that all servicemen and women in regen be given work as soon as it was feasible.  It was supposed to make them feel needed.  On one hand, Ryck thought that was so much BS. No one doubted that Ryck was hurt.  His right arm, now three-quarters grown, was proof of that.  But still, the “Sick, Lame, and Lazy” label didn’t make him feel very good, nor the “
gen hens” nickname, even if those undergoing regen used that term among themselves.  On the other hand, he could have done worse.  Some of the other gen hens were pushing papers, monitoring chow, or other thrilling, exciting jobs.  At least Ryck was still peripherally associated with combat, and both CWO2 Slyth, the Fox Company armorer and CWO4 Heng, the battalion armorer,  had taken him under their wings, teaching him quite a bit about not only the PICS suits, but also all the battalion’s weapons.  Ryck was still infantry through-and-through, but the weapons were pretty brills.

It also helped that CWO4 Heng had a prosthetic hand.  It had only been his second regen, and it had gone well
at first, but the regen had failed at the wrist.  Hands were more difficult than arms, for reasons beyond Ryck’s understanding, but still, a partial regen was rare.  Heng had petitioned to remain a Marine, and it was granted.  His prosthetic was pretty amazing, but still, the Corps rarely approved such requests, and only when the petitioner had a mission that he could accomplish.  Of course, CWO4 Heng’s four, yes, four Platinum Stars, might have helped in that. 

With Heng on his mind, Ryck looked at the regen sleeve on his right arm.  This was his fourth sleeve.  As his arm grew longer,
he went up a size.  This one looked to end right about where his wrist would be.  He wondered if he would have problems with the hand just as Heng had.  He was scheduled for a full scan in two days.  Maybe the docs would tell him something then.

Actually, his regen had progressed unremarkably.  Sure, he had phantom pain and itch
ing with his missing arm, but not to any great extent.  His left fingers, though, had been another story.  The itch had driven him crazy.  With the regen process, the nerves re-knitting caused prickling for most people, and nothing could be done to stop the cause of the itching.  Only treating the symptoms could be done, and with only varying degree of effectiveness. 

His regen for his left fingers was technically completed, but he wore a special glove to protect the tips.  It was skin tight, so it didn’t get in the way of his using the hand.
  Being one-handed sure beat being no-handed.

“Happy birthday, Marine,” CWO4 Heng said, sticking his head in the test lab.

“Happy birthday to you, too,” Ryck said.

“You know, the pageant starts in about 20, and the armory is officially off duty now.  You coming?” the Heng asked.

“Uh, yeah, sure.  I just wanted to get some things finished up here,” Ryck said.

In all truth, Ryck hadn’t planned to watch the pageant.  He couldn’t get out of the mess night that was scheduled for the evening, but he figured he could skip the pageant without anyone noticing.  He wasn’t in the mood to watch the units march in review.  While he was holed up in the hospital, Fox and Echo had conducted yet another live op, the takedown of the so-called “Kingdom of Morvania.”  That was three live ops since Ryck had come aboard, which was pretty amazing for a “peacetime” Corps.  Joshua, who had gone to the supposedly premier First Marine Division, had yet to go into harm’s way.  While Joshua was jealous of Ryck’s experiences, Ryck had only been on two of Fox’s ops.  He’d been lying flat on his back in his hospital bed when the company
had answered the call to battle. 

CWO4 Heng was waiting, though, so Ryck stopped the 530 and powered it down.
  Together, they walked down the passage and logged out. 

“Happy birthday, Marines,” the sailor manning Post 4 said as they came up.  Post 4 was manned around the clock, but for the Marine birthday, the sailors at the Naval Air detachment usually took over some of the vital posts to let the Marines enjoy the celebration. 

The gunners mate who had taken the post was huge, muscles upon muscles.  His obsidian skin was in stark contrast to his Navy whites, and his smile notwithstanding, Ryck got the feeling that he could take on a Marine in a PICS even in just his skivvies.  He had no doubt that the armory was in good hands.

The two Marines made their way through the various support buildings, past the regimental headquarters, and out to the parade deck.  They skirted the brass, Navy and Marine, the Legion reps, and all the civilian bigwigs in the center section of the bleachers and made their way to the far right to join the other peons. 
In front of them, the entire regiment and attachments were waiting in formation.

Most Marines celebrated three birthdays in the course of an Earth year.  The first was on February 27, commemorating the founding of the
Infantería de Marina back in 1537.  There had been an unbroken line of service since then, so that was considered the birthdate of the modern Marines.  The celebration on Feb 27 tended to be subdued, with memorials for those who had fallen over the years.  The most telling moment was when the names of those who had fallen that year were “read out,” that is, their names announced as they joined the list of absent comrades.

The second birthdate was November 10
th
.  This was the date when the Federation Marines were officially stood up.  That this was also the anniversary of the date of the US Marine Corps was not lost on anyone, but with the largest contribution to the new Marine Corps, the Americans had held some sway.  Politics were not absent in matters of the military.  This birthday was more celebratory.  The pageant was one of the main events, the mess night the other.  Free flowing drink and hearty companionship were the orders of the day.

The third birthday varied by unit.  With four Marine divisions, each with
four regiments (three infantry and one combat support) that made 48 combat battalions in the Corps.  Coincidently, there were 48 separate Marine Corps that joined to form the Federation Marines.  While not official at first, each battalion “adopted” one of the old corps.  They flew the colors, they kept the artifacts, and they celebrated the founding of that corps.  Ryck’s regiment, the Ninth Marines, were the “South East Asia Marines.”  First Battalion had Thailand’s  Royal Thai Marine Corps.  Second battalion, Ryck’s battalion, had the Philippines Marine Corps, and Third Battalion had Indonesia’s Korps Marinir.  On their adopted corps’ birthdays, they would serve traditional food from that contributing nation.  During the last birthday for Second Battalion, the Philippines had even sent traditional dancers for the celebration.  Ryck had been still in the hospital, but the dancers had made the rounds to all the gen hens.

Of course, First Battalion, First Marines had claimed the US Marines, and
3/1
had claimed the Infantería de Marina, but that was a waste, as far as Ryck was concerned.  It was like having a personal birthday on Christmas.

Ryck had missed the last battalion party, but no one, if it was at all possible, missed the big celebration.  Several ambulances pulled up, and the most of the non-ambulatory Marines and one corpsman were wheeled out.  Ryck caught the eye of LCpl Jonas Greenstein and nodded a greeting over the heads of the other spectators.  Jonas had badly broken his back in a hover accident and had been Ryck’s hospital suitemate for several months until Ryck was discharged back to the battalion.  Even with most of his body intact, it was still going to be awhile until his nervous system re-knitted itself.

“Here we go,” CWO4 Heng said as the regimental commander stood up and approached the reviewing stand, the sergeant major one step behind and to his left. 

Back at Camp Otrakovskiy, outside of St. Petersburg, with the division headquarters and two of the regiments, the division commanding general would be the reviewing officer.  This year, the assistant commanding general had gone all the way out to Camp Dneprovskiy and Tenth Marines to be their reviewing officer.  That meant Col Pierre didn’t have anyone from higher headquarters horning in on the regiment’s celebration.

With the CO in place, the band slowly marched from behind the formed units.  Only the lo
ne drummer kept beat.  When it reached in front of the formation, it wheeled about to face the CO.  The band commander, who was actually a sergeant in First Battalion, raised his baton and waited.

“Regiment, atten . . . hut!” the adjutant shouted from off to the left of the reviewing stand.

There was the swish and slap of close to 7,000 Marines and sailors coming to attention.

“Sir, the regiment is formed!” the adjutant shouted out, his voice only slightly breaking at the end.

“Very well,” came the reply, not as loud, but clear to those in the stands.

With that, the band commander’s baton came down, and the band kicked into the Federation national anthem.  Everyone in the stands stood up, those in uniform saluting, the rest with their hands over their hearts. 

Next came the Marine Corps Hymn, then the Navy Hymn, followed by the Foreign Legion’s
Le Boudin.
 
Finally, Alexander’s planetary anthem was played.  Ryck was glad when the last verse of the Dirtball anthem finished that he wasn’t back at Camp Otrakovskiy.  As the division headquarters, there would be many more foreign dignitaries, and each one would have his or her anthem played.

As the band finished, the adjutant
marched out to the center and read the citation.  Each year, the commandant sent out his message, and each year, it was read out at pageants and mess nights.  Ryck tuned it out.

With the formalities over, the pageant itself could begin.  The spectators sat down, the Parade of Marines led it off.  This was Ninth Marines, so the Marines dressed in the uniforms of the Thai, Philippines, and Indonesian Marines were the first to march by.  Ryck was surprised to see that i
t was Sams, LCpl Samuelson now, in the Philippines Marines uniform.  Sams had been busted to private only a year before, but he was already back up to lance corporal and the new fair-haired child of the company.  Sams and Ryck had two of the four Battle Citation 3s awarded for actions on the
Robin
, but then Sams had gone and earned a BC1 fighting the Kingdom of Morenvia.  The so-called King had declared sovereignty for the island nation of Lesia on Glorywall.  The only problem was that the people of Lesia had no intention of letting some outsider in, and “Merlin the First” had taken over 500 children hostage to ensure the cooperation of the people.  Two Marine companies had gone in to secure the situation.  Against only 30-40 “royal militia,” it should have been and was a cakewalk.  Despite this, Sams had managed to distinguish himself in the rescue of the kids, from all reports saving their lives.  From women on Atacama to prisoners on the
Robin
to children on Glorywall, Sams seemed to have a thing for the civilians.

He was grinning ear
-to-ear as he marched down in review, smartly saluting the CO as he passed.  Following the three positions of honor, Marines marched by in period uniforms for each of the other corps that had made up the Federation Marines.  As tradition dictated, once all the corps had marched by, the Federation colors, followed by the Marine Corps colors, passed in review.  Everyone came to their feet and saluted again.  Then, the mass of Marines started to march.  A couple of companies were missing due to operational commitments, but it was still impressive.  Ryck hadn’t wanted to come, but he felt the pride stir within him.  This was a pretty potent force.