Corpsman (13 page)

Chapter 19

“When’s she supposed to get here?” Wythe asked.

“She’ll get here when she gets here,” Fanny told him.

Most of the squad had parked themselves on the steps to the barracks, waiting for Tamara Veal to show up.  Liege was pretty excited.  She’d watched the fight on Halcon 4, of course, almost beside herself as Tamara stepped into the ring. 

Tamara had always been a big girl, but the gladiator Tamara was almost unrecognizable compared to the lance corporal squadmate she’d been.  She looked huge, even on the holo projector, but she moved with a sense of grace that was surprising for someone that large.

When she’d moved into what everyone now knew was a Maori haka, Liege couldn’t remain sitting.  She’d gotten up in the barracks common room where at least 60 Marines were packed in to watch, giving up her seat and starting to pace back and forth.

When the fight with the Klethos queen commenced, Liege couldn’t tear her eyes away, but she feared what she’d see.  The battle went back and forth for a few moments, and it looked as if the Klethos had kicked Tamara to the ground, but suddenly, the Klethos’ neck was spouting blue blood, and the fight was over.  The cheers that filled the common room threatened to shake the building’s very foundation.

And now, for the first time since she’d left, Tamara was coming for a visit.

They’d already had a formal parade that morning, with the commandant himself presenting Tamara with a Single Combat Service Medal.  Liege tried to catch Tamara’s eyes as they passed in review, but she wasn’t sure the gladiator had seen her among all the Marines marching by.

Liege was a little nervous to be meeting Tamara.  They were friends, but not bosom buddies.  Tamara had left before the bonds had grown too strong.  And now Tamara wasn’t even a lance coolie anymore; she was a warrant officer.  Maybe she was above them now.  Fanny and Liege had been tasked with escorting Tamara to a room to get her into some over-sized Fuzos PT gear the battalion had specially made for her, but maybe with her new rank, she’d want another officer to help her instead of two non-rates.

Fanny and she had discussed that possibility, and they’d decided that if Tamara objected to them, they’d ask Lieutenant Southerland, one of Hotel’s platoon commanders, to take over.

Liege leaned back, elbows on the step behind her.  The sergeant major had passed that Tamara was visiting the Wounded Warrior Battalion, so it was just a matter of waiting.  Pablo and Lassi were sitting on the next step below her, playing Next.  Liege could never quite grasp neither the rules nor the attraction of the inane word game, and she only listened in with half an ear.

Her mind was drifting when the low murmur rising from the battalion let her know Tamara was coming.  A large, custom van pulled in front of the battalion CP.

“Come on, Liege.  We’ve got to get up there,” Fanny said, pulling on her arm.

The two wove their way through the Marines as Tamara, looking sharp in her alphas, stepped out of the van to the cheers of the battalion.  She stood there for a moment, looking a little embarrassed, when they reached her.

“We’re guessing you might want to get more comfortable, ma’am?” Fanny said, holding out the PT gear.

“I’ll ‘ma’am’ you, Fanny, but yeah, let me get changed,” Tamara said, looking happy to see them. 

Tamara scanned the crowd, then pointed to the rest of the squad, now standing on the steps.

“About time you showed up, ma’am!  We’re starving here!” Wythe yelled out to the laughter of the crowd.

Tamara followed Liege and Fanny, high-fiving Marines as they went.  Tamara had to duck to get into the CP, and they led her back to the sergeant major’s office.  In the constrained space for her bulk, it was a little difficult for the gladiator to shuck off her alphas, which Liege took and hung up on a large, but still too-small hanger.  She slipped on the PT gear with the 2/3 emblem emblazoned on the front of the shirt.  They didn’t have any shoes big enough for her, so she kicked off her florsheims and simply went barefoot.

“I heard Jericho was pretty rough,” Tamara said.

“Yeah, it kind of sucked,” Fanny admitted.  “The ROE
[12]
was messed up, you know.”

“You heard about Wheng, right?” Liege asked. 

“No, what about him?”

“They brought a wall down on him, him and Korf.  Korf was messed up, but he pulled through and was CASEVAC’d, but Wheng didn’t make it,” Liege said.

Tamara looked gut-shot when she heard.

“Don’t let Doc downplay it.  When the wall went down, we got hit bad, and she went all badger there, digging like crazy while rounds were bouncing everywhere.  She pulled Korf out and saved his ass.  She’s getting a Navy Cross for it.”

“Really?” Tamara asked.

“It was no big thing,” Liege said, trying to be humble, but feeling more than a bit of pride.

What she’d done was nothing like what Tamara had accomplished, but still, she was proud to see that Tamara seemed impressed.

“Well, your fans are out there waiting.  Shall we?” she asked Tamara.

The three left the CP and rejoined the massed Marines and sailors.  The sergeant major called Tamara forward.

“I’ll talk to you later,” she said to the two of them as she strode up to join him.

The sergeant major welcomed her “home,” and gave a brief synopsis of her time with the battalion, with focus on Wyxy—as if no one there had already known it all.  He only talked for a few minutes before giving the mic to her.

“Thank you for your welcome,” she said, stumbling a bit on the words.  “I. . .I’m glad to see some friendly faces.  And some not so friendly, Staff Sergeant Abdálle.  Yeah, I see you there,” she said, pointing down at him.

“Oh, she didn’t!” Lassi said, as the squad fist-bumped each other and the battalion broke out into laughter.

The platoon respected their platoon sergeant, but it was fun to hear him take a little shit.

“I’ve followed your deployment on Jericho, and I have to say, I’m proud of you, all of you.  I just found out that my friend, Doc Neves, is up for a Navy Cross, and I’m, well, I’m bursting with pride at that.  I just wish I’d been with you in person instead of just in spirit.”

Liege turned red at the mention.  This was Tamara’s day, not hers.

“I’m detached from the Corps right now.  But there are eight of us serving as gladiators, and we remember our roots.   And my roots, where I feel at home, are with Second Battalion, Third Marines!  Fuzos!”

Her saying “Fuzos” opened up the faucet as over a thousand voices opened up with “Fuzos, Fuzos!”  Finally, it looked like Tamara gave up and handed the mic back to the sergeant major.  He gave up as well, and signaled to the food line to start serving.

Liege and the rest of the squad started heading over to where the chow hall had prepared a pretty good layout.  With recent promotions, Lassi Rassiter was the only PFC left in the squad, and she could have gone up ahead, but she stuck with the rest.

When Liege and the other E3s reached the head of the line, she was surprised to see that Tamara was there slinging macaroni salad.   Liege held up her plate and received a scoop while Tamara told her to save a place for her.  She gave Wythe two scoops, telling him that was for making him wait.

By that time, Liege was accepting a roll from the battalion CO herself, who had taken a position serving on the line as well.

“Here you go, Doc.  Get yourself a dog from the XO.  They look pretty good.”

Liege was in her PT gear, not in uniform, and it still surprised her when senior officers singled her out.  She knew with the Navy Cross recommendation she was somewhat of a rising star, but that boggled her mind.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said, hurrying to where the XO was dishing up hotdogs.

Once through the line, Liege followed the other E3s back to their position on the steps.  Tyrell started to take a bite of the choco-nudge cookie when Wythe smacked his hand.

“Wait for the warrant officer.  She said she’s joining us.”

A few minutes later, the corporals showed up, and after that, Sergeant Vinter made her way back to join them.  They sat around making small talk, their attention on the big gladiator still dishing up food.

Tamara was a chief warrant officer, higher ranked than any enlisted Marine, but lower than even a boot lieutenant.  So if she was going to go by rank to get fed, she’d be right after the sergeant major.  As the guest of honor, she could have been first, but she’d thrown that out when she decided to serve.

“She’s going last,” Wythe said, looking back to the serving line.  “She just made Gunner Morrey go before her.”

Gunner Morrey was a Chief Warrant Officer 4, so he was senior to her. There weren’t that many officers though, even if there were some visiting O5’s and even an O6.  It didn’t take long before the four servers made a big show of serving each other, and Tamara made her way back to join the squad.

Wow!  For such a big girl, she sure doesn’t have much on her plate
, Liege noticed.

Tamara looked around, then folded her legs, and as graceful as a cat, sat down on the grass so her face was almost level with those sitting on the steps.

There were a few hesitant words spoken, and more than a few “ma’ams,” before Tamara broke out with “Let’s cut the formal stuff for the duration, OK?  I got promoted, but it’s more of an honorary position.  And I really just want to relax and get all the scuttlebutt.”

The squadmates looked at each other awkwardly.  Honorary position or not, she was still a chief warrant officer.

“Like what?” Corporal Sativaa asked hesitantly.

“Well, for starters, who’s hooked up with who?  When I left, Tyrell, you were madly in love with some cashier at MakerMart.  Is that still on?”

“Oh, tell her, Lover Boy,” Fanny said excitedly, but not giving him the chance to respond.  “His little cashier was 16 years old, and get this, her dad was the logistics group chief of staff.”

“No!” Tamara said, her eyes alight as she leaned in.

“Hey, I didn’t know that when I met her.  She said she was 19 and that her family were tech monitors at Cool Air.  As soon as I found out, I cut her off,” Tyrell protested.

“Lucky you did, or you’d still be in the brig,” Wythe said.  And then to Tamara, “But never fear, ma. . .uh, Tamara, our Casanova wasn’t alone long.  Next thing we know, he’s hooking up . . .”

With that, the barriers were broken, and it was like old times.  Several other Marines came over for short stints, and the CO came to give her regards before she left, but most of the rest of the battalion gave the squad their space.  As much as they might take pride that one of their own had been elevated, they knew this was a chance, maybe the last chance, for the gladiator to just be one of the gang.

It was 0200, and the quad was long deserted, before they finally broke up.  Tamara stood and gave everyone a hug.  Liege felt her eyes water just the tiniest bit as Tamara enveloped her. 

They walked her over to the van, where Tamara apologized to the lance corporal driver who’d been patiently waiting.  Tamara got in, and the vehicle slowly rose, pivoted, and took off.  Liege and the Marines watched until the van turned the corner out of sight.

Without a word, each of them turned and silently walked back to the barracks.

Chapter 20

I, Liege Anna Neves, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Articles of Council of the United Federation of Nations against all enemies, foreign and domestic, and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without mental reservation or purposes of evasion, and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the rank of which I am about to enter, obeying the lawful orders of those appointed over me and leading those of lesser rank to the best of my abilities.  So help me God.

Liege lowered her right hand as Rear Admiral Giscard said, “Congratulations, HM3 Neves.  Your promotion is well deserved.”

The admiral stepped forward to take off the HM stripes that Liege had simply tacked to the right sleeve of her alphas.  He pressed the new crow
[13]
in its place, then stepped back.  Liege saluted him.

“Chief, I think you’re up?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.  And it’s my pleasure.”

Chief Sou stepped forward, took off the stripes of her left sleeve, and pressed the crow home.

“Looks good, Hospitalman Third Class Neves.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

The admiral stepped to his right where another corpsman from 1/2 was getting promoted.  Liege let out a deep breath.  She was now an E4, and more than the prestige, that now meant she could bring Avó and Leticia to Tarawa.  This was for what she’d been working.

Still, she was proud of the promotion, and she was proud that she’d been selected to get promoted by the admiral himself.  Rear Admiral Giscard was the Medical Officer of the Marine Corps, and it was tradition that on June 17, the birthday of the medical corps, he promote a handful of corpsmen.  Liege, whose official promotion date was not for another 14 days, had been one of two non-rates to be so honored.

Her alpha blouse was tight across her neck, but she resisted the urge to lift her chin.  With her time in the gym, she was getting a bit bigger, and her alphas no longer fit as well as they should have.  She could have worn her looser fitting Navy service dress, as one of the corpsman getting promoted to chief had, but she was serving with the Marines, so she had gone green with her Marine uniform. 

When HM Paulsen, the corpsman from 1/2, received his crows, the six corpsmen (two former non-rates, two petty officers, and two chiefs) conducted a left face and marched off from in front of the admiral.  Their exit petered into nothing as they simply broke apart and joined the rest of the gathered corpsmen. 

The medical corps’ birthday was not a major observance as those celebrated by the Marines for their birthdays or patron day celebrations.  It consisted of the promotion ceremony, a quick speech by a senior officer, and then a short reading pertaining to the medical corps.  That was followed by the inevitable cake and a short period of socializing.  The Marines tended to rehearse their celebrations until they had each movement and event down cold; the Navy tended to fly by the seat of their pants.

Since they were on Tarawa, the assistant commandant of the Marine Corps was the guest speaker.  Liege had never seen the great man in person.  She didn’t think she’d seen any flag officer.  Now, with a four-star Marine and a two-star sailor, she’d broken that drought.

Hell, he looks like my Avó,
she thought as the general stepped forward.

The general undoubtedly was in full control of his senses, unlike her grandfather, but from a physical standpoint, they were not too different.  That hit Liege a little hard.  With her Avó’s condition, she tended to think of him as old, but in reality, his chronological age wasn’t that high.  Looking at the general, who was delving into how much the Marine Corps valued their corpsmen, she realized that her Avó should be the same vibrant, competent man.  He was too young to be an invalid.  The thought made her sad.

As her mind went to her Avó, she missed most of what the general said, only coming back to the present as the crowd broke into polite applause.

The general stepped back, and Command Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Lin Follette stepped up onto the podium. 

He looked over the gathered sailors and Marines, then asked, “How many of you have heard of The Sovereign Hospitaller Order of St John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes, and of Malta?”

A few people raised their hands.

“They’re more commonly referred to as the Knights of Malta.”

Quite a few more people raise their hands as well.

“Why am I asking you this? It’s simple.  We owe our very existence to them.  The Order of St John, the Knights of Malta were most known for their wars in the Holy Land.  Probably most of you don’t know that they still exist as a sovereign nation, inside a single building in Rome on Earth, but that’s beside the point.  As far as the medical corps, I want to point out something.  Look at their name: The Sovereign Hospitaller Order of St John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes, and of Malta.  What was that third word? 
Hospitaller
.”

Liege had heard of the Knights of Malta, but if she’d heard of their official title, she’d certainly never noticed “hospitaller.”  She focused her attention on the command master chief, wondering where he was going with this.

“That word is the key.  The knights weren’t doctors.  They were medieval versions of medical assistants.  They were founded about fifteen hundred years ago to serve sick and wounded crusaders and pilgrims, helping the doctors and doing all the care such as changing bandages, feeding patients, cleaning them up, lancing boils and whatnot.  In other words, they were the world’s first corpsmen.

“But, and this is a big but, they were different from all the other medical assistants of the era.  The knights were the first chivalrous order, and from them, we get all our ideas of how knights are supposed to act.  They also took vows of poverty and chastity, though, and to serve the Pope.  What they didn’t do was take vows of non-violence.  Quite the contrary, they were perhaps the fiercest warriors of the Crusades.

“When Suleiman the Magnificent attacked the fortress on Rhodes, the home of the knights, he attacked with over 200,000 men.  The knights were only about 500 men.  But they held out for six months, beating back every Ottoman attack.  What finally got them was when they ran out of food.  Starving, they surrendered, and Suleiman let them keep their arms and sail away in recognition of their courage and tenacity.

“The reason I’m relating all of this is because I want to stress one thing:  the Knights of Malta set the stage for us.  They might have been hospitallers first, but they were still warriors, noted warriors.  And that is the same with you.  You are corpsmen, and your mission is to treat your Marines.  They depend on you for that, and that, as General Cusak said, is why they hold all of you in such high esteem.  But they also count on you to fight alongside them.  You are healers, keeping death at bay, but you are also dealers of death when the time comes.”

Liege had never really considered that, and she had to take stock of her thoughts.  She’d been in combat, but except for an un-aimed burst of fire back on the
Imperial Stabiae,
she didn’t think she’d fired her weapon in anger.

“Over the years,” the command master chief continued, “Navy corpsmen have answered the call.  Corpsmen have been awarded all the old top medals, from American Medals of Honor to British Victoria Crosses to Heroes of the Russian Federation—and just about every other medal from every other country.  Since the founding of the Federation, 18 corpsmen have been awarded the Federation Nova.  Thirteen of those Novas were awarded posthumously. 

“Corpsmen have been answering the call for centuries.  You are the latest in that long line of service and tradition.  All of you volunteered for this duty, and you are the best the Navy has to offer.  And all of you here are lucky enough to serve with our sister service.  Some of you may never hear a shot fired in anger, but most of you will, and how you react will prove the temper of your steel.”

The command master chief paused to look out over the crowd.

“You really are the best we have to offer, and I’m proud to serve with you. 
Semper fortis
, sailors,
semper fortis
!”

The Navy didn’t have a set war cry like the Marine’s “ooh-rah” or the Confederation Army’s “hoo-yah,” but the shout that burst forth from a hundred throats was no less formed out of raw emotion.