Starfist: Blood Contact (3 page)

"It has come to my attention," Sturgeon continued, "that a certain platoon in this FIST's infantry battalion has a tendency to run wild when it's on liberty." He fixed Bass with a steely eye and drummed his fingers on his desktop.

"Sir?" Bass said into the void.

"You know what I mean, Gunnery Sergeant," Sturgeon snapped. "I'm talking about the third platoon of Company L."

Bass's jaw clenched. His platoon didn't run wild. When his men were on duty, they were the most disciplined platoon in the entire FIST, and he'd bet the pension he didn't really expect to live to collect on that. So what if they were particularly high-spirited when they were on liberty?

"When your platoon pulls liberty in Bronnoysund, it makes more noise, damages more property, and gets into more fights than any other unit in this FIST. It's a wonder that every man jack among them hasn't been in front of Commander Van Winkle for nonjudicial punishment—or before me for a formal court-martial!"

"Sir, it's a good platoon. My men work hard and they play just as hard."

Sturgeon seemed to ignore Bass's defense of his platoon. "I think the matter could be properly resolved if third platoon, Company L, had a regular platoon commander instead of an acting commander."

There it is, Bass thought bitterly. I won't accept a commission, so they won't let me keep a platoon.

Maybe they'll give me an ensign as good as the last one. The last officer of third platoon, Ensign Vanden Hoyt, had died bravely during the fighting on Diamunde. Bass had served as acting platoon commander ever since.

"You always say you refused a commission because you can do more good for the Marine Corps by training and taking care of the Marines in one platoon or one company than by becoming an officer and losing touch." Sturgeon snorted at the implication that officers lost touch with the enlisted men they led, and exchanged glances with the other officers. "Therefore, I'm going to exercise a prerogative available to me as commander of a remote FIST. That is to assign senior noncommissioned officers to fill the billets of commissioned officers on a permanent basis. Commander Van Winkle concurs with me that you can probably do the job. Captain Conorado has said he can put up with you as long as I agree to bust you a grade or two if you screw up. So I'm assigning you to permanently fill the position of platoon commander."

The brigadier stood abruptly. A broad grin split his face and he extended his hand across the desk.

"Charlie," he said when the stunned Gunnery Sergeant Bass took his hand, "just because you refuse to accept a commission doesn't mean I can't get an officer's work out of you."

Bass hardly heard Sturgeon's last words. Conorado was pumping his other hand, Myer was pounding on his back. Van Winkle and the two sergeants major were on their feet and crowding in to offer congratulations Ramadan hovered behind them, trying to find space to squeeze in to add his own.

Charlie Bass had been with third platoon, Company L, 34th FIST for more than two years. On Diamunde he'd begun his third stint as acting platoon commander. Both of the previous times, he'd had to yield command to newly commissioned ensigns. The first one...well, he preferred not to think about Ensign Baccacio, who hadn't had enough enlisted experience before getting commissioned. The second, Vanden Hoyt, had been a staff sergeant and a good platoon sergeant before being commissioned an officer. Most officers—all Marine officers—were commissioned from the ranks, and he didn't resent giving up command. But sometimes... And the constant changing of commanders couldn't help but be disruptive to the platoon. Now third platoon was his. He wouldn't have to give it up to the next junior officer, a man who'd probably come aboard with less experience than Bass had, who'd join the company on his first assignment as an officer.

Bass was overwhelmed. He mumbled his thanks to the men congratulating him, but later couldn't remember what any of them said or what he replied.

The campaign on Diamunde had nearly been a disaster. It was particularly tough on third platoon: it had not only lost its commander, it also lost a squad leader, three of six fire team leaders, and a gun team leader. A PFC had been killed in action as well. In a blaster platoon, seven men dead out of thirty was heavy casualties no matter what kind of operation they happened on, and Diamunde had been maybe the toughest campaign Bass had ever served on. Two other members of third platoon had been seriously wounded in the campaign and, even though they had returned to it, were still on light duty. Third platoon was in serious need of replacements. They got them. Well, they quickly got six, and six out of seven wasn't bad.

The Marines of Company L stood in formation on the parade ground behind their barracks. At first glance something seemed not quite right about the formation, even though the garrison-utility-clad Marines were in uniformly erect positions, and the lines they stood in might have been laid out by a surveyor. The woo squatting at attention in front of third platoon wasn't the oddity. Neither was it the fact that First Sergeant Myer, who rarely attended the company's morning formations, stood to the left of Captain Conorado. A second glance showed the problem—there were gaps in the ranks. Open spaces had been left for the men who were no longer with Company L. Captain Conorado's eyes, and First Sergeant Myer's, were held by the holes in the ranks. They'd lost some good Marines on Diamunde. Any losses were too many, but the gaps were far too many. Behind the Skipper and the Top, Company Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher stood in front of a smaller formation, twenty-one Marines drawn up in two ranks. The next time the company fell into formation, those Marines would be in it and there wouldn't be any gaps.

"We lost good Marines." Conorado was finishing up his eulogy to the men who died on Diamunde.

"We lost good friends." He didn't shout, but his voice was loud and clear and no one in the formation had to strain to hear him. "But they aren't gone, not totally. They were Marines, and as Marines they will be remembered by the Corps for all time. You will carry them with you for the rest of your lives. Marines who follow along after you will carry you just the same.

"Centuries ago our progenitors, the United States Marines, had a saying: ‘Marines don't die. They go to hell and regroup.’ Those old Marines also said that Marines guard Heaven's gates.

"Our companions remain with us in our hearts. Someday, whether it's as battle casualties, as the result of the ravages of illness, or simply from old age, we will rejoin them. Now let us take a moment of silence to remember them."

Conorado bowed his head, as did the hundred Marines facing him. Behind him Thatcher lowered his head. Some of the twenty-one other Marines, the replacements, bowed theirs as well. Most of them had been through such ceremonies before. All of them felt uncomfortable; the ceremony reminded them of their own mortality, and starkly brought home to them the fact that they were replacing well-liked and respected men.

After a moment Conorado cleared his throat and everyone looked up again.

"Behind me," Conorado said, "are Marines newly assigned to Company L. They have already been assigned to platoons, you have already met some of them. When you are dismissed, you will go by platoons to areas that have previously been assigned to you. The new men will go with you so that you can formally meet them all and your platoons can be reorganized. But before I release you, one other piece of company business remains."

He paused and looked from one end of the company to the other, then called out, "Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Bass, front and center!"

Bass stepped briskly from his platoon sergeant's position and marched to stop two paces in front of the company commander. He sharply saluted. Conorado returned the salute, then Bass faced left and took a few more paces to stand at Conorado's right side.

"Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Bass," Conorado said to the company, "as you all know, has been serving as acting platoon commander of third platoon since Ensign Vanden Hoyt was taken prisoner by the rebel forces on Diamunde. As of this morning, by direction of Brigadier Sturgeon, Commander, 34th FIST, Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Bass is no longer acting platoon commander, he is platoon commander." He pivoted to face Bass. "Gunnery Sergeant Bass, take your position as platoon commander."

Bass again saluted Conorado. "Aye aye, sir!" he said loudly. When the captain returned his salute, Bass pivoted and marched to the platoon commander's position in front of third platoon, which had been empty until then.

Conorado looked at his company again, it seemed to each Marine that his skipper looked him directly in the eye. Conorado filled his chest, then bellowed, "Platoon commanders, dismiss your platoons." He made an about-face, and he and Myer marched back into the barracks.

While the platoon commanders took their men to the assigned locations, the platoon sergeants joined Gunny Thatcher and took their incoming men from his control. Sergeant Hyakowa, first squad leader of third platoon, acted as platoon sergeant. He took six new men to the company classroom. Conorado and Myer were already there.

Hyakowa put the replacements in the front row of seats. In another moment the entire platoon was present, everyone seated and looking attentively at their company commander. Finally, Conorado spoke.

"I've already met with all the platoon commanders and platoon sergeants, so everybody knows what to do. I'm here with you, the men of the third platoon, because your loss of leaders on Diamunde was so much greater than anybody else's. Third platoon is going to have the greatest reorganization in the company. There is one leadership change that I want to tell you about myself. You are not getting a new platoon sergeant." He held up his hand to forestall questions. "By that I mean you aren't getting somebody new, someone you don't know. I'm sure that every one of you who's been here for any time at all will agree with Brigadier Sturgeon, Commander Van Winkle, Top Myer, Gunny Bass, and me that Sergeant Hyakowa richly deserves to be your new platoon sergeant."

Cheers and shouts of congratulations broke out. The Marines closest to him slapped Hyakowa on the shoulders or pounded his back. Hyakowa had acted as platoon sergeant on many occasions, so everyone knew that he would do a superb job. Even the woo seemed pleased. It hopped onto Hyakowa's shoulder, where it glowed a bright pink.

"As you were, people! "Top Myer bellowed. The pandemonium died out and the Marines looked back to Conorado.

"Gunny Bass and Sergeant Hyakowa have spent considerable time figuring out a reorganization of this platoon. Top Myer, Gunny Thatcher, and I agree with what they've come up with. So I'll let them tell you the rest of your reorganization." Abruptly, he stepped out, heading for the classroom entrance.

"Platoon, a-ten-shun!" Myer bellowed.

The Marines jumped to their feet and stood rigidly at attention as Conorado left, followed closely by Myer.

"Relax, sit down," Bass said as soon as they were gone. He strode to the front of the classroom, where Hyakowa joined him, facing the platoon. They waited a moment while the Marines resumed their seats. The six men in the front row, in a new situation, not knowing much if anything about their new leaders or fellow Marines, sat stiffly while the Marines behind them lounged. Some of the new men watched the woo as it returned to its usual perch on Dean's shoulder.

Bass studied the men in the front row for several seconds, then raised his eyes to look at the rest of the platoon. "We've got a lot of new Marines for you to meet. I'll call out their names." He looked back at the front row. "When I say your name, stand up and turn around so everyone can see you. Many of you have already met Corporal Pasquin." Pasquin stood and glowered at the platoon. "I've read his record and spent some time talking with him. He was on one campaign when he was with 25th FIST. He also served on a peacekeeping mission to Cross and Thorn, and a peacemaking deployment to Rodina when he was with the 18th, so he's been around a bit. He's on his second enlistment. I'm sure once he gets to know everybody and gets his feet wet here, he'll turn out to be a fine asset to this platoon." Pasquin sat and Bass went on to the other new men, none of whom had the rank or experience that Pasquin did.

"PFC Dobervich joins us from Arsenault. Right, he's a boot, this is his first duty. The same goes for PFC Hruska. PFC Yi just graduated from gun course. PFC Quick," he shook his head, "is an oh-one,"

infantry military occupational specialty, "just like the rest of us, but he spent his first four years in the Corps on embassy duty. This is his first assignment as a real Marine." He raised his voice and continued talking over the breakout of laughs and jeers that greeted Quick as he stood, red-faced. "PFC Rowe joins us from 11th FIST. He's got a couple of campaign ribbons, one for a peacekeeping mission and one for an indigenous-forces training operation—and most of you know what they can be like. Now he's going to find out what it's like to be a Marine in the active Corps." This time Bass allowed the laughter to go on for a moment while he stood slightly bowed, looking at the floor to hide his eyes.

"All right, here's the deal," Bass said, standing erect, arms akimbo. "We've got two squad leader positions to fill." He paused to clear the lump that suddenly filled his throat. "I don't think anybody will have any problem with Ratliff and Bladon moving up. Knock it off!" he snapped as his men began congratulating the new squad leaders. "I'm sure a day will come when they're busting your asses to get you ready for an inspection, or to take an objective with more people shooting at you than you think you can face, when you won't be so happy with them." He paused and glared at his men in mock menace. A couple of the new men swallowed and wondered what kind of hardass they had for a platoon commander.

"Sergeant Kelly," he nodded toward the gun squad leader, "is now the senior squad leader and will be acting platoon sergeant when either Sergeant Hyakowa or I are gone. Now, we've got four fire team leader slots to fill. The first one's easy—we've got a new corporal, Corporal Pasquin. Rabbit, if I give you Dornhofer as your first fire team leader, can you handle Pasquin for second fire team?"