Sister Time-Callys War 2 (11 page)

Major Kelly, a pale, black-haired guy the size of a small tree, took the company colors from the Charlie Platoon master sergeant, acting in place of the command sergeant major, and passed them to General Pennington. One of the men read out the orders giving him command. General Pennington passed the standard to Jake. He took them, formally accepting responsibility for his new command. He handed them back to the master sergeant, wishing again that Mueller hadn't been off-planet when their orders were cut and had been able to arrive before he did. He hadn't seen him in two years, and it would have been good to have him here.

Pennington was an interesting man. Younger than he was, but had for some reason kept his white hair when he rejuved. Medium height but solidly built, he probably wouldn't have made the height-weight standards before the war. But after they'd been relaxed in the war, everybody's militaries had just neglected to put them back in place for juvs. Juvs had to work hard at it to get fat, so the bean counters and brass just assumed extra weight on a juv was muscle mass. Jake had met an exception or two, but the general wasn't it. Still, the hair made him look like a babyfaced old guy. Mosovich let his mind wander during the speeches. They were all pretty meaningless. It was important that you have speeches.

Solid military tradition. What was said in those speeches was much less important than having them in the first place. It took a really charismatic speaker to hold the attention of a group of soldiers overdue for their chow. Pennington wasn't that speaker. Not today, anyway.

". . . You men have a vital mission in todays Special Operations Command, hooah? You form the backbone of Earth's defense against pirates, insurgents and terrorists. Perhaps more importantly, you serve as a living example of the best traditions of interservice cooperation, and the inclusion of Galactic forces in the SOCOM family is an inspiring step into tomorrow for the armed services, hooah? As I stand here before you today I am awed, awed by . . ." Pennington's words flowed over him as his eyes scanned the ranks, noting the sharp, immaculate appearance of his new troops and their officers.

Pennington did occasionally draw his attention back, making Jake suppress a smile. The man used

"hooah" the way most Canadians he knew used "eh."

Bravo Platoon was on the obstacle course this morning, stretched out across the obstacles as much by the staggered starting times as by the different speeds of the officers and men. Most of the wood components of the structures were weathered and graying despite originally being pressure treated. Some things, like the wall and team-climbing tower, were obviously new, as they gradually replaced aging equipment. The cargo netting was also new, but someone had judged the wood frame able to withstand yet another replacement net. The rolling logs were original to the course. For some reason logs just didn't wear at the same rate as the rest of the wood. And, of course, the rusty barbed wire was added incentive to do the low crawl right. The ball buster carried a risk of splinters that also provided incentive for good performance. Bravo's CO, having started in the last third, made a point of finishing in the first third. He'd pay for it tomorrow, but what the hell, it was only pain.

Captain Jack "Quinn", born Jack O'Neal, was a short, homely, young-looking man with carrot-colored hair and so many freckles that it was hard to tell whether he was a fair-skinned man with brown dots or a brown-skinned man with fair spots. Anyone who at first made the mistake of classifying him as a little shrimp would be surprised at the strength built into his wiry frame. His team favored Blackjack for any mission that involved moving around underwater. The man simply would not float, but had the stamina to be one of the strongest swimmers in DAG. This might have had something to do with his having swum daily in saltwater since before he could walk.

Right now, he was rubbing an army-brown towel over his sweat-soaked hair and squinting into the sun across the O-course to the massive brigade XO, Major Frederick Sunday "Kelly", jogging across the turf to meet him. One or two of the men looked up as the XO approached. Most hid their curiosity, jogging back to the barracks or the gym for a quick shower and a thorough check to make sure, again, that absolutely everything was clean and squared away for the first look by the new CO. And their first look at him, of course. The ubiquitous PDAs had improved the speed of the ancient grapevine system by leaps and bounds. Captain Quinn and all of his men knew exactly when the colonel would be looking them over, and were determined to ensure that their customary excellence was improved to perfection.

He had George O'Neal "Mauldin's" first impression of the new CO. Now he wanted Boomer's. He loped down the side of the course to meet the major halfway.

The excessively large officer stopped in front of him and returned his salute before turning to walk beside him back in the direction of the HQ.

"Okay, Boomer, what's he like?" Quinn said.

"I dunno, Jack. As first impressions go, I don't think he's gonna be a bean-counting weenie, and he doesn't come across as a weasel, but he was kinda quiet. Didn't give me a lot to go on. His record looks really good, but what the fuck can you tell from them these days? Likes his coffee, but how much can you tell from that?" Major Kelly shrugged. "Speaking of coffee, let's check out the mess hall and grab a cup. Make sure they got the word. This week would be a hell of a time to burn the stew."

"Think he's likely to be
too
good?" The captain scratched the end of his nose, looking sidelong at his childhood friend.

"Your guess is as good as mine. In case anybody didn't get the memo, remind them that their opsec has to be flawless until we have a much better idea of what we can get away with." The major lit a cigar and blew a stream of smoke towards the sky, "Wouldn't do for him to twig and us lose all this free training.

Wouldn't do at all."

"I'll take care of it. Not like I should need to, but I'll make sure. Doesn't do to tempt Mr. Murphy," Jack said. "Okay, now what do you think of our new Command Sergeant Major?"

"Well, they obviously know each other from way back. I think he's sharp, he's going to be the Colonel's eyes and ears. He's going to be around more we need to be twice as careful around him," the captain said. "The good news is, he seems like kind of a blow-hard, you know? Think a thought, say a thought.

Subtle ain't his middle name. So we should be okay with him." He nodded to the XO and broke into an easy lope, leaving Kelly to his cigar and his thoughts.

Like most DAG personnel, Quinn didn't live in the barracks. Unlike most of them, one of the privileges of rank he indulged in was keeping a couple of fresh uniforms in his office and taking advantage of the small cubicle shower at the end of the line of stalls in the head down the hall. Before cleaning up, he took out his PDA and phoned the master sergeant who was Bravo's senior NCO.

"Harrison, go through and remind everybody one more time that with a new CO this is absolutely not the time to get sloppy about anything. It's probably overkill, but be sure they understand. I'd hate to have to put everybody on corn and soybeans for a week." The captain said the last in a joking tone, but it was the most serious part of the message, telling the NCO that Bane Sidhe OPSEC was what he most wanted his people to be careful about.

"Hooah, sir," Harrison acknowledged.

Security taken care of, Quinn headed for the shower. Wouldn't do to be all sweaty and stuff when the new CO arrived.

Friday 10/15/54

It was a brilliant, cold, windy fall day. The kind of day at the coast where you didn't dare step outside without a pair of sunglasses to protect your eyes from the bright reflections of the sun and the grit in the air. Cally had accompanied Shari on an island-only shopping trip that was really an excuse to wander around the store and buy a pound or so of Ashley Privett's best fudge. Most of the things they needed themselves were either already back at home, or were on a list for Cally to pick up on the weekend trip to Charleston she had announced that morning at breakfast, telling the kids that no, they couldn't come this time. It was a mommy trip. She felt a little guilty that Shari assumed that, going alone, she was going to confession—but only a little. She really
was
going to take at least a little time to shop for stuff to wear at the family reunion next week like she'd said. She'd just probably shop, well,
quickly
.

Another purpose of this morning's trip to, as Shari put it, "beautiful metropolitan Edisto" was to let them discreetly gawk at the changes in the store. On the island, frequently you had to make your own excitement. Cally waved and smiled at Karen Lee, the wife and co-conspirator of an active Bane Sidhe agent. Karen's family were local for a few years to give the authorities time to forget about them before they went back out to a new posting with fresh, young identities. Karen was a quiet person, who seemed to find the Clan O'Neal personalities on the island a bit overwhelming at times.

True to type, and probably for the best, Grandpa had handled the negotiation with the Bane Sidhe over the code key sale. She looked around at the changed store, impressed. Papa O'Neal could get things done in a hurry when he decided he was On A Mission.

With so many fedcreds at stake, they had been remarkably easy going about the sales commission. As soon as the keys were flown into Charleston, Cally had made delivery to Michelle. The payment, in cash and small denominations, had come in the kind of briefcase that made her feel like the holodramas'

stereotypical drug dealer. She'd paid out their commission to Grandpa, who had come back home with a trailer full of trade goods for the store. Charleston being a main port, his large purchases hadn't caused so much as a raised eyebrow. Similar large cash buys of available light consumer goods were routine there.

Post-war, areas around the world where unusual things could grow or be mined had been rapidly recolonized, leading to the rebirth of the coastal or river-based city-state. Off-planet migration being the poor man's route to rejuv, that interesting development looked like it might even last awhile. The population to rebuild genuine nations just wasn't there. The city states' greatest need, besides essential trade goods, was for the basic end-user products and small comforts the residents couldn't make for themselves—which was rather like the O'Neals on Edisto, now that she thought about it.

Island finances being what they were, the end result of all this was Grandpa becoming a silent partner in the store. Before, Ashley had had to make the store look full, or at least not empty, by spreading the off-island goods out at the front of the shelves, interspersed among locally made home crafts. Now, the shelves were actually full, and with manufactured goods and things that weren't merely regional. There were frozen turkeys and canned cranberry sauce to be had for Thanksgiving dinner this year. Mike and Duncan Sunday—who of course still thought their last name was Thompson—were happily applying an olive drab coat of paint to the store's exterior walls, no doubt for exchange credits to apply to the purchase of some of the goodies inside.

Shari was flipping through a fashion magazine on the rack that Ashley had for some reason installed at the back of the store, cooing shamelessly over the fall runway photoshoot from Chicago. Tommy had hacked them a back door into the online version of the same magazine, but there was just something about holding the glossy pages in your hands. Cally was keeping half an eye on the clothes on the pages and half an eye on Morgan and Sinda, who were nudging and whispering to each other near a batch of toys. None of the toys looked breakable, at least. Sinda was eying a doll in a lacy blue and white dress with equal measures of childhood greed and love.

A quiet, irritated buzzing from the front of the store escalated in volume to two clearly audible and irate female voices.

". . . just because I had to punish your kid over that disgusting frog mess . . ." Yep, Pam again. She was starting to get shrill.

"Nobody gets credit in my shop. . . . and if you didn't spend all your money on that trash you read, you'd be able . . ." Whups, Ashley already biting her words out like that. Not good. Cally walked over to Morgan and Sinda and grabbed their unresisting hands, leading them back towards Shari, who hadn't even looked up from her magazine. She absently gathered her great-grandchildren in with one arm while Karen edged slightly behind her.

Cally walked around her small collection of people, assassin-turned-mom securing a ready exit by moving a dolly of soft drink cases so that instead of blocking the back door it was blocking one of the aisles.

". . . know a book if it bit you on the . . . and you just know they'll all be gone by the time . . ." Pam was shrieking now. Pretty soon she'd be fainting and making a great show of looking all over her body for her inhaler.

". . . into
my
shop, driving off my
paying
customers . . ." If Ashley didn't watch it, she was going to lose her voice again. Probably for days this time. Cally nudged a box of something out of the way with her foot. Shari still hadn't looked up from her magazine, lifting her arm from around the children to turn the page, returning it to pat Sinda on the shoulder. Karen just looked frozen in shock.

Another voice joined the first two, querulous as another woman started to complain about the inequity of ever-rising prices for people on a fixed income.

"Time to go." Cally scooped the magazine out of Shari's hands and dropped it back on the rack. "You know with Louise joining in they'll be lucky to get it over without coming to blows." She put her hands behind her charges and made gentle shooing motions as she ushered them out the back door, moving Karen along with the group. Emerging into the sunlight seemed to shake Karen out of her daze a little.

"Are they always like that?" she asked in disbelief.

"Nope," Cally answered, "sometimes they're worse. Welcome to family politics 101."

They walked around the side of the building towards the front. Shari waved to Mike and Duncan, who hadn't missed a beat, spreading paint onto the freshly-bleached boards with smooth, even strokes.