Plague Wars 06: Comes the Destroyer (19 page)

“Colonel Simms has directed that key personnel on duty be accompanied by escort at all times.” The private said this with a straight face.

“All times?”

“All times when on duty outside of Battalion spaces,” he amended.

Repeth was really starting to get tired of asking, but she did anyway. “Why?”

“Personal security, Master Sergeant.”

She raised her chin and looked askance at the man. “You’re effing kidding me. Is the sergeant major augmented? Full Marine cyberware?”

“Of course, Master Sergeant.”

“Then what in the hell could threaten an armed Marine who could blow through a roomful of normals without breaking stride? Has there been some sort of sabotage? Is there an insurgency or terrorist movement of which I am unaware? Have the Meme landed?”

The private squirmed. “No, Master Sergeant. That’s just the policy.”

“That’s just the policy.”
What the hell kind of lunatic is the battalion commander, anyway?

Suddenly the door the two had been guarding flew open and a short man with the look of a South Sea Islander stepped out. As expected on any sergeant major, his uniform was impeccable, but there was something slightly off about his gait as he took four steps out the door toward the group of three. Before the portal shut behind him she caught a glimpse of another man, a pudgy man in what looked like white food service garb.

“Good morning, Master Sergeant. I don’t recognize you.” The man’s eyes seemed hazy and dull, his demeanor defeated, odd for a Marine.

“I just arrived today, Sergeant Major. I’ve dropped off my paperwork at Personnel and I have my commander’s interview tomorrow, but I thought I’d look you up today.”

“Good, good.” He held out his hand. “Good to have you aboard. I can use you…” he muttered as his face grew thoughtful. “Repeth. Where have I heard that name?”

“My father was a retired Sergeant Major, but he died in the LA bomb.”

“No, that’s not it.”

She didn’t really want to talk about saving the President or any of her other exploits that might have gotten her name known. Having a hero’s reputation could easily backfire, and wasn’t something to be bandied about on her first day. “I was on
Orion
during the battle.”

Tano nodded. “Maybe that’s it.” He turned to walk down the corridor away from the battalion HQ. Because the base was laid out in an enormous wheel pattern, this curving walkway would presumably circle the entire structure. “I have a mind to make you Bravo Company’s first sergeant.” Once he started moving, his steps seemed to firm up and take on a grim determination. The two privates followed at a discreet distance.

“I’d be honored. Are you short of senior NCOs?”

“Short of good ones,” Tano muttered.

This shocked Repeth. In her experience, EarthFleet Marines were normally hand-selected at every stage, though admittedly she had been earthbound for several years and had mainly professional journals, media and hearsay to guide her. She’d only joined EarthFleet proper a few months ago, when she’d found out that they were sending Rick out here to Callisto as a CyberComm officer.

“Why short of good ones?” she asked.

“Let’s have some coffee,” Tano said instead of answering her question. Turning a corner, he led them to a kiosk tucked into a widening in the corridor, one of several selling fast food. He bought four cups, handing two to the attendant Marines but sending them to sit by themselves several tables away.

Once they settled at a spot against the wall where they were unlikely to be overheard, Tano answered, leaning in close, and Repeth smelled the sharp tang of alcohol on his breath. Now she understood the “private conference” with the cook. Probably unauthorized hooch, but that was a longstanding tradition of every navy she ever knew. That actually relieved her mind. Knocking back a few cheap drinks on the job seemed less repugnant than some kind of lover’s tryst. Especially as the two privates undoubtedly knew all about it.

Clearly Tano noticed her noticing, and raised his eyebrows. “You’d drink too if you had to put up with what I do.” He gulped his coffee as she sipped hers. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Sergeant Major, you were a US Marine before EarthFleet, right?”

“Twenty-seven years, Master Sergeant Repeth.” Bitter pride came through in that simple statement.

“I did almost twenty myself before I transferred. Can’t two old leathernecks be honest with each other?”

“All right.” Tano took a sip of coffee and made a face. “This commander is a problem. He’s not a real Marine.”

“Said ‘EFM’ on his door…”

“He’s a recent transfer. For some god-awful reason the subcommittee on the Combined Council that oversees EarthFleet Marines decided to let nationals come in from other services when they joined up. Simms was a US Army major and going nowhere. He’d been involuntarily transferred to the reserves, so he joined EarthFleet and somehow kept his rank.” Tano grimaced. “Then he got promoted, and took over here. I had him checked out, after I realized what kind of man he was.”

“And that is?”

“Selfish. Political. He has a lot of connections. Obviously he pulled strings, or swapped favors. As a boss…well, you see the uniform we’re in. Appearances are everything to him. He’s ambitious, and his primary goal is taking no risks, keeping his record blemish-free.”

Repeth bared her teeth. “Maybe we can get him promoted to somewhere he can’t do any harm. A staff position?”

Tano’s bleary eyes hardened. “I’m not going to fob my problem off on someone else, Master Sergeant. Nor am I going to request a transfer out, like some have.”

So that’s where some of his best people went – looking for a better command climate, or incoming replacements finding out they were coming here and wiggling out of the assignment.
“Very well,” she said. “What’s your strategy?”

“Strategy?” He laughed without humor. “Dig in and hold until relieved.”

Repeth thought about saying more, like
that doesn’t sound much different from what Simms is doing
. As she’d just met the man, she decided to make her own assessment and see how bad it really was before sticking her oar in too far. “Just let me know what I can do, Sergeant Major,” she said.

“You can get Delta Company in shape. Bad officers seem to collect mediocre ones, and while Captain Rapplean isn’t the worst, he’s a long way from the best. You’ll see.”

“I guess I will. Any direction on how I should handle him?”

Tano’s expression turned as sour as his breath. “You’re a big girl. You figure it out.”

“Semper fi and oo-rah, Sergeant Major.” It was the only thing Repeth could think of to say.
Got my work cut out for me
, she thought as she stared at the man in front of her.
Are you as mediocre as you say the officers are?

“Take a load off, Master Sergeant,” he said. “I hear through the grapevine you’re going to be my new spear.” That terminology for “First Sergeant” was common in Europe and harkened back to the Roman legions, where “First Spear” was the senior enlisted man in a century of one hundred. The man’s smooth good looks, blonde hair and slight accent combined with his word use and name placed him as Scandinavian.

“That’s what I hear from the sergeant major, though I haven’t received any official word, sir.”

“We’ll operate as if it will happen. The colonel leaves all enlisted assignments to the sergeant major.”

“Very good, sir,” Repeth agreed, and Rapplean grunted. She raised an eyebrow in question.

“The colonel feels it’s
beneath
him to get into NCO business.”

An odd viewpoint, but one she could live with. Then she realized what her company commander had just done. Within five minutes of meeting a senior NCO who might or might not be working for him, he’d denigrated his commanding officer to her. Rapplean could have phrased that explanation in any number of less damning ways, but he’d immediately revealed his lack of respect for Simms. So had the staff sergeant at the desk, come to think of it, and so had the privates escorting Tano. So had the smaj, but honesty among senior NCOs in private was expected and customary.

Serious cracks always start small.

“How is the company, sir?”

Rapplean shrugged. “Fair. Staff Sergeant Botkina has been acting spear, so you’ll have to get with her. She can probably tell you more.” He reached into a drawer to draw out a clear, unmarked plastic bottle. “Drink?”

Repeth hesitated just a moment before agreeing.
No need to antagonize the man now
. “
Skoal
,” she essayed as she raised the plastic cup he’d poured.

Rapplean blinked, then smiled. “
Skoal
.” He downed his dram and poured another while she sipped hers. Rough on her throat, it reminded her of the homemade white lightning she had first tasted so long ago on the McConleys’ farm.

“So…” he continued, “once you get settled in, perhaps I can tour you around the base a bit? Show you where the fun’s at?”

Alarm bells began to ring in her head as she processed what he just offered. Officers, especially commanders, did not give personal walk-arounds to enlisted people they supervised. Another NCO could do that. If the boss had intended to make a quick introduction to the company spaces, he’d have simply said “come with me” and given her the nickel tour. She kept her expression bland as she replied, “Perhaps you can show my husband and me the base some off-duty day. Once we’ve settled in.”

Rapplean’s face blanked, then brightened false. “Of course. We’ll have to get together some time. Well, let’s go find Botkina, shall we?” He slammed the rest of his drink and put away the bottle, then led her out of his office and carefully closed and locked his door.

Another anomaly. Lock a desk, sure, or his quarters, but his office? What happens if his first sergeant needs to get in there for paperwork? Where is the trust in this unit?

The nickel tour materialized after all, brief and desultory – barracks, common room, dayroom. Apparently Rapplean had lost interest. She was starting to see what made him mediocre. If she was correct about her feeling, the man’s priorities ran more toward alleviating his natural boredom than attending to his command.

Their last stop was the company orderly room, military terminology for the administrative offices. Suddenly something that had been unconsciously bothering her made itself known. Usually – okay, always – a company commander’s office was at or very near the orderly room. A unit with a paper strength of two hundred or less did not need much administrative support, especially with battalion headquarters nearby, so the standard configuration had the CO, first sergeant, and a couple of admin troops in a cluster.

This orderly room had two small offices and a space in front with four facing desks for those who didn’t rate. Two female Marines and a female sailor sat there, chatting, and glanced at her as she came in. One office had Staff Sergeant Botkina’s name and rank, and the other had a corporal’s rank alongside the name “Swieu.”

Corporal? What the hell was a corporal doing with an office?

“Morning, ladies,” Rapplean singsonged at the three, and they put on artificial smiles to answer, “Good morning, sir.” The captain breezed past them, leading Repeth toward Botkina’s office.

Inside, a large woman with a broad peasant face and hard eyes stared at the two newcomers from a seated position, then stood up, as if doing so was an afterthought.

If I didn’t know better, she stood because I am here, not because her commander walked in.

“Staff Sergeant Botkina, this is Master Sergeant Repeth. She’ll be taking over as Spear. I’ll leave her with you.” With that, the CO bolted, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “Bye, ladies,” Repeth heard from outside.

The two women eyed each other across the room office. Repeth thought of asking about Rapplean, to establish some camaraderie, but realized immediately that to do so would risk exactly what had put her off in the first place – criticizing the leadership right off the bat.

Instead, she set her wheel cap on a chair and stepped forward with her hand out. “Good to meet you, Staff Sergeant. Sorry this is so abrupt.”

“No problem.” The other woman’s thick Slavic accent seemed to cover a certain unhappiness as she clasped palms with Repeth.

At least there was no excessive hand-crushing, despite her size. Repeth prepared herself to like Botkina if she could. Certainly no one else she’d met here had been likable, either professionally or personally.

“I see you’ve met our CO,” Botkina said, and then stopped.

Repeth just waited for her to go on, but she did not. “Yes,” she replied, but still the other did not continue. Finally she prompted, “What’s he like?”

Botkina flicked her eyes at the door, and Repeth immediately reached behind herself to close it tight. The staff sergeant then waved her to a seat. “Master Sergeant, may I be frank?”

“Of course. We’re the most senior NCOs in this company, I assume. I don’t gossip.” This last was not only a promise but an implied warning to stick to business.

“You see the orderly room is all female,” Botkina stated.

“I wondered about that.” Repeth now inferred that Corporal Swieu was also a woman. “Are female Marines sidelined in this company?” Marines continued the tradition of everyone at the line level being a combat troop. Any pure admin or support types would be collected at the battalion level or higher, and would not be fully cyber-augmented.

“No. Not the way you mean, I think. They are protected.”

Understanding dawned. “From the CO. He’s a womanizer?”

“That is correct. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

Botkina looked uncomfortable. “Corporal Swieu does not need protection. Rather, I am keeping an eye on her.”

“An eye. Because…”