Indomitable (51 page)

“Captain, there's more, isn't there. What aren't you telling me?”

Yates met her gaze evenly. “I wasn't going to say
anything.
It's the colonel's job and I was glad to leave him to it. Look,” she said, opening her hands. “The company is a mess. Too much trauma does something to a unit. Jupiter tried to kill herself when she came to. Yesterday, Corporal Youseff from Third Platoon hanged himself in the head. Maxi found him just in time, and cut him down before it was too late. That young man suffered brain damage and he may not recover. Do you know why he did it? PFC Bohmbair was his best friend.”

And Bohmbair died on my watch.

“Marines from the other companies in the battalion are talking about us like we have a death wish. Some of the religious types think we've been cursed. Like the snake on our unit patch. Maybe they're right. I don't know anymore. The colonel believes the company should be disbanded, at least for now. The final decision isn't up to him, but if I'd had to guess, it's probably going to happen. What else can we really expect?”

“I expect to do my duty, ma'am. It's just talk and superstition and it's all nonsense.”

“Not if people believe it, it isn't. The wounds are real. Promise, the Pythons have run their last op. You're to be reassigned. All of us are. The colonel already made some transfers to shore up the holes in his remaining units. Most are staying behind, on Sheol. Lance Corporal Van Peek went to Golf Company under Captain Spears. Fourth Toon needed a new heavy-weapons expert. Atumbi went with him and you'll be happy to know he just made PFC, too. Sergeant Margolease is the new platoon sergeant in India Company, Third Toon. The gunny is headed back to Hold to teach at the School of Infantry. For now, it's back to Hold with you and Kathy too, for rehab. You'll both be reassigned to a new unit at a later date, once you're off the wounded list.”

“Ma'am, what about you?”

“I'm headed back to Hold to assume command of Lima Company, Charlie Battalion.” Promise nodded. That meant the captain wasn't going too far from home and that she'd be back. “I asked to take you with me, but was told no. You won't be cleared for duty in time. My new lieutenant is already working up my Marines back on Hold. I'll be there for a month and then it's back to Sheol to bring the battalion up to full strength.”

“Thank you, ma'am,” Promise said. “Your faith in me means a great deal.”

“We haven't worked together long, and we've had our differences. But I've come to respect you, Promise. I still believe you're brash and ill-tempered. Inspite of that, there's no one I'd rather have covering my six in a firefight. Just remember to hold your tongue and don't say everything that comes to mind. Okay? Do that and you'll be fine.”

“What about Maxi?”

“Sergeant Sindri stays with me. He will command Lima Company's Fourth Platoon. I need a veteran like him to keep watch over all the unblooded cubs I'll be inheriting. Lima is going to be as green as they come; probably greener than the Pythons were before we deployed to Sheol.”

Yates looked at her chrono and yawned. “I need to get some rack time.” She stood and arched her back, and looked over her shoulder. “So do you. First you have some visitors first. I hope you don't mind.”

 

Sixty

MAY 26
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1322 HOURS

RNS
NITRO,
PLANET SHEOL, GEOSYNCHRONOUS ORBIT, DAYSIDE

Suddenly Promise's bed was
surrounded by a wall of Marines dressed in beegees and somber expressions.

Race Atumbi held out his hand first. He was wearing the single gold flat stripe or runway of a newly minted private first class, set against khaki flash, on both shoulders of his beegees. His unit patch was noticeably absent. She supposed that made sense with Atumbi's reassignment. The revelation still stung. Victor Company—aka the Pythons—had paid for their nickname in blood. Knowing the name wouldn't continue created a swirl of confusing emotions inside of Promise, and she had no idea how she was going to sort through them.
Guess I'll have time for that later while I convalesce. Right now I've got a promotion to celebrate.
Promise was happy for Atumbi. Sheol was his first deployment and he'd already been through so much death and destruction. Promise saw confidence rising up in the young man, and something told her he'd forever shed the nickname “Trip.” She could tell by the way he held his shoulders back and how he held his head high; those attributes hadn't been there before. Maxi cleared his throat and nodded toward Atumbi's outstretched hand.

“Ma'am, it's been an honor.” Atumbi hesitated when he realized he'd just tried to shake the lieutenant's bum wing. He quickly stuck out his left.

“Congratulations, Private First Class. You deserve it.”

Atumbi beamed and cleared his throat. “This is for you, Lieutenant.” He pulled something from the pouch on his utility belt. It was his missing unit patch, the python coiled around a warship, constricting it to death. Promise's eyes started to mist up against all of her objections. “I wasn't a Python for long, ma'am, but in some ways I always will be.” Promise turned the patch over as her vision blurred. He'd added a white interface to the back of the patch, and added his signature and a short message:
Semper paratus,
always faithful.

“Thank you, Race. I…” Promise looked hard at the patch and swallowed. It was something Marines did when they sent off a beloved commander. Signed the unit patch. The sentiment overwhelmed her. She'd lost Victor Company—she'd lost the Pythons—when Captain Yates was put in charge. The patch should have gone to the captain, not to Promise. Her hand closed around the patch, knowing she didn't really deserve it.

“It's okay, Promise,” Yates said from the corner of the room. Promise hadn't realized the captain had stayed. “They asked me if it was okay. This entire situation has been, well, it's been less than optimal, and the Pythons never really were mine to begin with. What happened to you wasn't right. The way they took the company from you—I see that now.” Yates looked a bit flushed. “
Your
Marines, well, they followed me but they admired you. Here, I signed mine too. After all, the Pythons were yours first.”

One by one, they each said good-bye. Lance Corporal Van Peek mock-punched Promise in the arm before handing her his patch.

“Thanks, Nate.”

Sergeant Jesus Margolease hung back a bit and Promise had to urge him forward. “I feel like I'm intruding, ma'am. I was a last-minute replacement, you know.”

“I'm glad you came to say good-bye. Good luck in I Company.”

The gunny passed shots to toast the occasion. “Gunny, what is in this?” Promise said as she took hers in hand and ran it under her nose.

“An energy drink, I believe, with some restoratives and vitamins. You don't think the doc let me in here with the good stuff, do you?”

They all shared a good laugh over that, and the gunny added his patch to the growing pile. “Gunny Ramuel, Godspeed” was written in bold lettering on the back. Ramuel wrapped her hand in both of his massive paws. “I won't be too far away, Lieutenant. You need anything you comm me or just drop by, understood?”

“Yes, Gunny.”

They chatted a few minutes more and then each Marine departed with a final handshake and a warm smile. Promise was nearly worn out by the time they left. And then there was just Maxi.

“Well, P, it's been a good run.”

“Almost six years, right?” Promise said in a thick voice.

Maxi nodded and looked at the unit patch in his hand. He seemed reluctant to give it to her, and when he did his face became flushed. It said, “Sergeant Sindri, I was the lucky one.”

“I didn't know what to write.…” Maxi looked down at his boots.

“You said it better than I ever could. I was the lucky one. We've been through a lot, Maxi. And you've been the best friend I could have hoped for.” Promise grabbed a tissue by her bedside. “This isn't good-bye, okay? Just see you later. Take good care of Captain Yates. Comm me before you deploy with your new company.”

“Will do, P. You get better and get back in a mechsuit, soon.”

“Roger that,” Promise said.

As Maxi walked out of the room a piece of her heart walked out with him. She heard stirring from the other side of the bed and turned over to see Kathy awake and staring at her with puffy eyes. Kathy yawned, gave her a puzzled look, and then glanced at the mound of unit patches on top of Promise's bedsheet.

“What'd I miss?” Kathy's stomach rumbled like one of Sheol's volcanoes. “What's for breakfast? I'm starving.”

 

Sixty-one

JULY 18
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 0902 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

NEVERFAR MANOR

Heavy rain pelted the
windows of Neverfar Manor. The weather was unseasonably wet and humid, and dark-gray clouds had blunted the morning light. Promise gazed out the kitchen window of Lieutenant General Felicia Granby's country home as raindrops streaked down the checkered windowpane. It wasn't much of a way to pass the time, but she didn't have anything better to do, and she'd volunteered to man the oven until the timer beeped. Sephora and the general's husband, Roman, were playing a game of chance in the den. The general had opted for her morning paper by the bay window and a cup of hot tea. The weather didn't seem to be an issue for any of them. For Promise it was another reminder of everything that had gone wrong in the past two months. That, and she was bored out of her mind.

Promise yawned and checked the muffins, again. She pulled several mugs from the cabinet to her left and placed them on the waiting tray.

The past six weeks had been uneventful, which was putting the best possible spin on six of the longest weeks of Promise's military career. She was overrested and overfed (her sides had thickened noticeably). Rehab had gone according to plan but was still taking too long. Her new trigger finger still wouldn't follow orders. Her brain was issuing the right commands and her nerves were firing downrange and hitting targets, but the muscle memory wasn't there yet. Her doctor had told her to be patient with the finger, and he'd finally approved her return to light duty. A desk job and screenwork caught up with every officer eventually. She'd yet to be reassigned because she was still on the injured-service-members list. All that added up to a lot of “still”s. Promise was itching for action.

She'd commed Twelfth Regiment's senior personnel officer during the first week of her convalescence on Hold, before she was released to Joint Spaceport Mo Cavinaugh's Health and Wellness Center for physical therapy. At first getting through had been easy. “Lieutenant, I'll let you know as soon as you're reassigned.” Then a week passed and then two. So she called again. “I'm sorry. I don't have anything for you yet. Please be patient.” After that her calls went unreturned. She met the SPO's AI, named Charles. Charles was always polite and the SPO always busy. Eventually Charles stopped answering her comms.

“Charles, I know you're getting my messages. Call me back, please.” How far she'd fallen to have to grovel at the feet of an AI. “I'm about to be cleared for duty. You
know
how to reach me.” Promise began to wonder if she'd ever see the inside of a mechsuit again.

That's when she'd started calling daily. Then a vid had arrived from Lieutenant Colonel Halvorsen himself. His sit-tight-and-wait speech made her suspicious and her mind kept going to a dark place. “BUPERS is juggling a lot of boots right now, and has more pressing matters than deciding the fate of a lowly bar. You're still wounded. Stop fretting. Get better and give them time. Don't make me return to Hold and kick your ass.” By this time she was visiting the range three times a week. Her range sessions were the highlights of her otherwise ho-hum life. Requalifying at fifteen meters, slow fire, with the standard-issue pulse pistol put a skip in her step. It was a temporary high. The doc wouldn't let her back in a mechsuit for three more weeks, which meant no Heavy Pistols or tri-barrels or miniguns or anything remotely fun. Life wasn't fair. Thankfully she still had her GLOCK and the doc didn't know about it and what he didn't know about couldn't hurt him. It was only a matter of time and training before her trigger finger stopped anticipating the break and pulling her shots high, and to the left.

Sephora had seen to her every need, and visited her in the hospital when she wasn't working, and cooked for Promise when she returned to their quarters (she still hadn't found a place off-base yet). Sephora had found a job at a local pet store that ran an adjacent veterinary clinic and pet rescue, and she was also volunteering at a women's shelter several times a month. She'd even taken in a stray named Striker. The speckled mutt had taken up residence at the foot of Promise's rack.

Sephora's laughter pulled Promise out of her thoughts and to the open doorway to the den. Promise crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. Cinnamon and flour and brewing caf and the smells of a well-used kitchen swirled with the pungent scent of burning firewood as soothing instrumental music played in the background.

*   *   *

Sephora and Roman were
seated near the hearth at a small table fashioned from a large tree stump. It was ornately carved and lacquered, and small tiles were scattered across its surface.

“This game is impossible,” Sephora said, raising her hands in frustration. She was struggling to remember all the names of the scoring combinations of the game, all the melds and matches, pongs and kongs and chows, and the special tiles that earned you bonuses. The tiles were fashioned from small rectangular bits of carved bone and inlaid with traditional Chinese symbols and characters, some primary colors, others white with space-black script. The fireplace crackled with blazing hardwood.