COMMANDER
Chapter 6

“Mutiny? Oh, please! Like I know anything about running a frigate through a T-jump!”

“Well, it’s not like you and the captain are fond of each other, despite the sudden spate of good manners between the two of you. What would this be for, then?” she pushed, her tone all professional now.

“Just between you and me?”

“I can’t agree to that yet, Commander. Tell me first, and we’ll see.”

Her dark, burnt copper hair danced lightly as she spoke but her eyes were dark and set resolutely.

“The Marines, as a group, have long believed the way to win any objective is to simply overpower it and smash it flat. We roll in with everything we’ve got and hammer until whatever it is stops moving. I’ve been thinking for quite a while, now, we should have a smaller squad or two specializing in what they used to call “surgical strike capability” a few hundred years ago, uh, subjective time, anyway. I’ve got a handful of people in mind I’d like to try it with. See how it works.”

“Let me do a little research,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “Come see me tomorrow. By the by, how is the shoulder coming along?”

We chatted a few more minutes then I headed for the bridge. There was no one there I recognized but the comms officer told me where I would find Dotes. Dotes didn’t look surprised to see me at all, and updated me on their findings from the balance of the day.

The asteroids were quite rich in what we needed and the drones were on their fourth run. Those clever units could mine nearly any substance quickly and efficiently. They had also returned some exotic alloys never before seen, no doubt produced by the random acts of asteroid collisions, abrupt massive heating and pressure, equally massive cooling, and Gods Above only knows how many repetitions. Evidently the science squids were having multiple orgasms.

EM monitoring of the system had revealed planetary transmissions, and the society on the second planet was alone in the system and in the 2D television age. We were now monitoring those emanations continuously. Based on the near exact match in language to what we spoke, our best assumption postulated the planet Hanos had been colonized by humans. We would make plans to verify the assumption!

With planetary orbits and rotations, it would be nine more days before the Rontar had to move to stay shielded from possible detection. It should give us plenty of time to fill our materials reserves and get at least two more fabs running. Two more weeks and we would be at full production capacity again. In a month we could have main engines back on line. Gods! A fucking month!

Would we last that long?

Would someone, or something, violent and anti-social find us?

Beyond that was anyone’s guess. We would just have to take it slow and careful, gather intel and prepare. With the new situation, we may not make planetfall at all. We’d have to find a comet or asteroid to mine for ice, and a gas giant for some Helium3. Nothing we hadn’t done before.

I thanked Dotes and shook his hand, then headed home. It was dinnertime. At chow, I saw Trooper Donner sitting across the room and waited until she looked my way and covertly signed a quick message to her. A few minutes later, she left. I waited two more minutes then followed her out. Once in the main hold, I spotted her standing in a dark corner of a passageway intersection and made my way to her.

“Evenin’, sir,” Donner greeted me with a nod.

“Trooper,” I acknowledged. “How are you feeling?”

“Beat to shit, sir. Gunny Flynn really worked us over. I got bruises on my bruises!”

“Did you learn anything?”

“You bet, sir. Gunny Flynn has an unusual training method but it seems to work. I know I am improving in my blade work. I also understand a little better now the ideas being taught.”

“The ideas are great ideals for us, troop. What about you? Have you learned anything about yourself?”

“Fuckin’ A, sir. I learned I can take a lot more pain and punishment than I thought I could.”

“Feels good, yes?”

“Damn hard lesson, sir, but yeah . . . it is good.”

“I’m a little curious, Donner,” I said. “What is it that drives you to run so hard, fight so hard? What keeps you moving when the others have collapsed or given up?”

“I joined up to fight pirates, sir. My whole family was killed by pirates when I was a kid on Biggs in the Wontar system.”

“Damn! Tough thing to go through. How did you escape?”

Her eyes flicked away, searching for something to lock onto. She didn’t want to answer me. Whatever had happened must have been very hard, very painful.

“Trooper . . . you don’t have to answer, and I won’t order you to. But I would like to know your story.”

She hesitated a little more with a sudden drop of her head, her eyes focused on the dark gray poly deck plates. Then suddenly I saw the decision to speak when her eyes snapped back up to look at me, defiant, determined.

“They hit us when I was twelve. I didn’t escape. Three brothers and my father were butchered, as were nearly all the men in our village. My mother was raped by several of them and then they cut her throat. My ten-year-old sister and I had to watch. Then, we were taken to the center of the village where all the other young girls of the village had been gathered. There were seventeen of us between the ages of six and twelve. I was the oldest. To teach the other girls a lesson, they stripped my sister and me and raped us in front of them all. Seven of the pirates took us, forced us, in every way. My sister died in front of my eyes while they laughed and she screamed and bled. They kept me naked and put us all in their ship in cages. I had to take care of the younger girls. It was the only reason I was kept alive. The other village women, the older single girls and the mothers up to the age of thirty or so were kept alive and in another place on the ship. All of the others, the ones of no value, were killed. On the trip to the next world I was raped repeatedly and beaten every day, and the littler girls had to watch . . . to learn what men would expect of them and to think about how to please men better . . . to avoid beatings and maybe to gain better treatment, better food.

“When we landed on the next planet where we were to be sold into slave markets, the Fleet came and Marines rescued us. From that moment, I wanted to be a Marine and to kill every pirate I could. I have killed them, too, sir, a lot of them. Now . . . here are the Shaquaree who take whole fucking planets full of people as slaves for Gods Above only know what kind of fate.”

She paused a moment, and a new, flinty look came into her eyes as they narrowed.

“I heard stories about you, sir. We all have. I heard about the number of Shaquaree you’ve killed yourself, and the number of battles you have had with them. You’re the only one to have that many battles with them and still be alive. You’ve killed more of them, personally, than any other single human. So, when you picked me, challenged me, I had to be up to it, sir. If you can do it, then so can I. And by the Gods Above I will! And we’ll kill them all, sir. We’ll find a way to fucking kill them all!”

Her story explained a lot. To have gone through all she had at such an age would have broken many, maybe most. She had not only survived, she had become driven, hardened, and found a way to channel her pain and rage in a positive manner. What could I say in response to her story, her opening up to me, in a way which wouldn’t be trite or condescending? I could only nod.

Finally, I said, “Semper fi, Marine.” After a moment, I continued, “What about the others in my little training group? How are they holding up?”

“I can’t really speak for them, sir, but I haven’t heard any unusual bitching.”

“Do you think they’ll make my cut?”

She looked hard at me for a moment, unsure of exactly what I was really asking.

“I can only assume from the way you phrased the question, Commander, you are asking whether or not the other ten troopers have the same drive and determination I do. Otherwise you would have asked someone else.”

I just looked at her and waited for her answer.

“Yes, sir, I think a couple of them will definitely make the cut. The others I am not so sure about.”

I nodded in satisfaction. She could think, she could make decisions, she could pass judgment and be honest. She was not dependent on humility or overtly prideful, and she was very motivated.

“Carla, isn’t it? Carla Donner?”

“Correct, Commander.”

“Gather the group, Donner, and meet me in Hangar 10 at 2100.”

A big smile lit her face and she replied, “Aye, aye, sir! 2100 in Hangar 10.”

I returned to the office and commed Hazel. Her eyes brightened when she saw my face.

“Hi, JD!”

“Hello yourself, Doc. I just thought I’d check and see if you made any progress on the request I put in earlier.”

Her expression told me she caught the drift immediately.

“Yes, actually, I did. I believe we can respond to your request almost immediately.”

“Do I need to come up to the hospital?”

Her smile widened and those pixie eyes flashed. “No need, really. Why don’t I come down to your office?”

I smiled back. “That would be fine, Doc. Shall we say about 2000 hours?”

“Perfect!” she said. “See you then.”

I worked in the office until she knocked at 1950. By 2005 we were in my quarters and she was insisting on an exam. I sighed as I removed my clothes . . . pure contentment. Near 2045 somewhere we were dressing again.

“About my request . . .” I started to say.

“You’re going to love this,” she said. “It turns out you aren’t the only one with those thoughts. There was a full section of ‘clandestine operations’ material in the database archives. My AI was very helpful, and said, ‘Under the present circumstances, preparation for such activity is fully warranted, and the request does violate any enhancement protocols.’ Take a look at these!”

She pulled a plastic box from her pocket containing a dozen little tan ovals about two millimeters wide and one centimeter long, each with a tiny wire about a centimeter long coming out of one end.

“These are subsonic transceivers, good for about a 1,000-meter radius . . . and they’ll work through up to three feet of plas-steel.”

“Subsonic? What does that mean?”

“Subsonic, sub-vocal, there are several descriptions which are appropriate,” she answered. “Basically, it means you have to speak out loud but even a whisper will work.”

“Wow! Implants, I assume?” I queried.

“Yes. They go into the bone behind the ear. According to the documentation, once they are implanted and initiated, the wearer will hear transmissions like a voice speaking quietly into their ear. The unit is easy to switch on and off with just an eye twitch.”

“Have they been tested?” I assumed, since the AI had to tell her about them that very day, they must have been produced by the AI with the med lab equipment.

“Yes . . . and implantation is fast and easy. A trauma bot can do it in about three minutes. In ten minutes the scar can barely be seen, even if you are looking for it.”

“Anybody else know about these, or even about the capability?” I asked.

Hazel frowned. “No! Of course not. I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

I smiled to take away any offense. “Yeah, and you seem to know just when to open it, too!”

Her eyes flashed and she licked her lips as her smile grew. “Ready, again, big fella?”

“Mmmm . . . don’t tempt me, witch! I have to meet my group in a few minutes. Is it possible to, maybe, get this done tonight? We’re meeting in Hangar 10.”

The frown returned. “That’s Navy country.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “but I have a sergeant who is, um, seeing, a young Navy lass who manages the maintenance schedule for the hangar. We get it for training several times a week, all quiet and private-like.”

“Ooh, sneaky! I like it!” She turned serious again. “Yes, it could be done tonight. For twelve implants, that’s about . . . let’s say an hour. Do you have the time?”

“No problem. Do you have a trauma bot available?”

The smile returned. “No problem.”

The team was assembled in a jumbled group, most sitting or squatting near one end of the capacious hangar. The doctor held back by the hatch and would wait there until I motioned for her.

“Tenshun on deck!” a voice rang thinly in the huge hangar bay.

I had been spotted. I walked over to the group and assumed a Parade Rest stance in front of them.

“Stack weapons and line up! Shoulder to shoulder facing me.”

This took about ten seconds to accomplish. My, my, they were either terrified or eager.

“Puhrade . . . Rest!”

I looked them over, one by one, carefully. Not one of them met my eyes, not one of them was anything but at perfect Parade Rest with their eyes focused on an invisible point three meters behind me and exactly two meters off the floor.

After a short pause, I continued, “I am putting together a team. I require extraordinary individuals, of whom I will make extraordinary demands. Together, we will push ourselves beyond the limits of what any of us think we may be capable. I cannot tell you why. I cannot tell you when or how, or any of those things. Each of you will have to make your decision based on whether you trust me, or not. If you answer yes, I will give you orders. Some of those orders may make no sense at all to you but I will expect instant and complete compliance, or I will kill you myself without warning. Think this over carefully. This is a decision which will change your life. I know you have all probably heard similar rhetoric from other instructors or officers.”

I took a step forward and looked at each of them, intently, and growled deeply, “I mean it.”

I took a step back, and continued. “The simple question, boys and girls, is this. Do you want to be a member of my team? The doctor is here, and if you decide ‘no’ she will have the trauma bot perform a procedure to wipe the memory of this meeting from your mind. The same as is done for Basic washouts or drops. You will simply wake up with your own fire team and carry on. Oh . . . and, by the way . . . the odds of your long-term survival may drop sharply if you answer ‘yes.’”

I smiled at them with my handsome countenance. I’m sure it made quite an effect.

“Alright . . . decide now. You have one minute.”

I began to pace back and forth in front of them, my head down staring at the floor. With no hesitation, Trooper Donner stepped forward one large step and came to Attention. The big man on the end, Bolton, was next, and then several of them moved at once. At the thirty-second mark, they were all in a line standing tall. I stopped pacing and drew myself to Attention.

“Damn, you make me proud!” was all I could say for a moment.

“Team, at ease,” I ordered, and motioned for the doctor to come on over.

As she crossed the bay deck pulling the floating trauma bot beside her, I gave them a fifteen-second stare, gathering my thoughts. Of course, not all of them would make the cut. When I said I needed extraordinary individuals, I meant it. What I was going to try hadn’t been done in hundreds of years, but I was going to try anyhow. I would search the clan for those who had exemplary records, battle experience, specialized knowledge or experience, anything which might be needed on such a team as I was forming. If I could get four or five from this group, and find another four or five, it might work. I was ready.

“Each of you . . . has had your ass kicked by me. Each of you . . . has had your ass kicked by Blademaster Gunnery Sergeant Flynn. Each of you . . . has had your body forced beyond the limits you previously thought possible. Each of you are battered and bruised and hurt more than you have hurt for a long time.”

I waited another fifteen seconds. “Why have you said ‘yes?’ Free speech!”

Bolton, on the end at my right, spoke first, “You ordered all of it, sir. But . . . that’s not the whole reason.” He hesitated a moment. “The whole reason is that you came down and sweated with us, sir. You did every fuckin’ rep you ordered us to do. You ran every step you ordered us to run. In fact, you led the whole way! None of our officers since Basic have done that, sir.”

“Yeah,” agreed one of the females, a brunette nearly as tall as the first speaker, “and when you kicked our asses you didn’t hold anything back, male or female, and you kept explaining what you were doing and why. I gotta respect that, sir.”

Another man spoke. “We have not been challenged like this for a long time, Commander. No matter how much it hurt, it felt great to know we were being challenged by someone who would take the challenge themselves, as well.”

A fourth man entered his comments with a chuckle, “Fuckin’ A, sir. Nobody likes getting beat to hammered shit, but the man who was beating me was taking the same chances I took. You made it clear we were weapons free and you didn’t back up a step or nothin’!”

“Pardon my French, sir, but you were already fucking beat to hammered shit,” drawled another female. “Any other officer would have been in hospital for a week, and then baby-steppin’ it for a month. And besides, it took our minds off of our situation . . . families and all.”

I held up my hand to forestall any further comments, and to change the subject from lost families. “It doesn’t sound to me like any of you have much respect for your line officers.”

There was some shifting of weight and clearing of throats, but no responses.

“We are still in free speech. Tell me the truth. Zero recriminations, my word.”

Carla spoke, finally. “Truth is, sir, we respect our line officers because it is our job, and our lives depend on it. We know that. But we respect you more, because you earn it.”

I nodded to them. “Alright . . . thank you.”

I paced another moment, then faced them once again.

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