Indomitable (6 page)

As Promise neared the end of the tube, she reached up and grabbed the bar marked
OVERHEAD
, swallowed hard, and swung herself into RNS
Nitro
's standard gravity. Her timing wasn't quite right, and she nearly toppled forward before getting her feet planted beneath her. The junior officer of the deck was waiting with a datapad.

Her heels came together with an audible clap that echoed across the boatbay. She honored the colors, and then pivoted toward the officer of the deck and snapped a crisp salute.

“Permission to come aboard, ma'am?”

Suspended high above by invisible cables was the flag of the Republic of Aligned Worlds. It depicted the known 'verse spinning on its axis, in the protective embrace of a female seraph, wings unfurled. The feathers were vaguely reminiscent of the billowing sails that had once harnessed the wind to deliver men-of-war to battle. Around the flag's four edges were the names and planets of the charter member worlds of the RAW. Next to and below it hung the Navy's own standard.

“Permission granted,” Second Lieutenant Elizabeth Jiles said, returning Promise's salute. Jiles wore navy-green utilities with black piping along the sleeves and trousers, and two gold bars on each collar point. Jiles's rank was equal to that of a Marine Corps first lieutenant, or an O-2, just like Promise. There was a slight twinkle in Jiles's eye. “Lieutenant Paen, welcome aboard the
Nitro.
”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Promise removed her beret and tucked it under her arm. “You run a tight boatbay. That was an extremely fast lock-and-tube.”

Jiles's gray eyes brightened visibly. “Thank you, ma'am. We do our best. If you'll follow me.” They crossed the flight deck of Boatbay 2 and passed between the lengths of two docked vessels, the nose of a Navy launch on the right and the cockpit of an assault-class light attack craft on the left. Both were battened down and had the look of polished alabaster. Each vessel bore markings stenciled in black and gold on the nose. The assault-class LAC was nearly three times as large as the much smaller transport shuttle and powered by dual fusion plants, a primary and a backup. As they neared the launch's engines, Jiles came to a stop and turned to face her. A gunnery sergeant in RAW-MC navy-blue regular dress, with three gold hash marks above the cuff of each sleeve, stepped out of the shadows and into full view.

Promise's heart nearly stopped when she caught sight of him.

“I believe you know the gunny,” Jiles said. “We've been playing cards together for a while. The other day we got to talking about the strain being felt across both our branches. How the Lusies keep pushing our boundaries, like they did on Montana.” Jiles gave Promise a telling look. “So, ma'am, I tell the gunny that we need more Marines like that Lieutenant Paen from Montana, the only Marine Corps officer to ever command a Navy warship. Then the gunny says he happens to know her.” Jiles cocked an eyebrow. “Turns out he wasn't kidding. When I told him you were on today's arrivals he asked if he could meet you in the boatbay.” Jiles saluted once more, and held it for a good second longer than protocol dictated. “It's a real honor, ma'am. I'll be back in five minutes. If you'll excuse me.”

Jiles walked behind Gunnery Sergeant Nhorman Khaine and disappeared from view, leaving an expressionless Khaine in her wake. He too saluted, though he exaggerated the upswing and clicked his heels together a bit harder than protocol dictated. Promise responded in stunned silence. The gunny stuck out his hand and grasped hers enthusiastically. Only then did he smile. “Lieutenant Paen, it's so good to see you.”

 

Seven

APRIL 19
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1025 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

RNS
NITRO,
PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6

She didn't see the
hug coming or she would have dodged it.

Promise went rigid in Khaine's arms as the space between them emptied out. They'd had a few close calls together when Khaine had been her platoon sergeant, back when she was a lowly stripe. She almost pushed out of Khaine's embrace, too. And then she didn't. Her arms relaxed and her hands found his shoulder blades. She leaned in ever so slightly, her head just under his chin. “You would have been proud of your toon. They fought…” Promise's voice grew thick as the memory of Lance Corporal Talon Covington surfaced. Tal smiling, holding his railgun over one shoulder with ease. Covington had been their toon's heavy-weapons expert, and he'd thrown himself on a grenade to save Promise's life.

Khaine patted Promise's back as she shook in his arms. When they pulled apart, reality was a blur of emotion.

*   *   *

“I hope you don't
mind the breach in protocol, ma'am.” Khaine cleared his throat a couple of times and sniffed a liter of recycled air. “The last time I saw you,
you
were my subordinate. Now just look at you. It only took you what, two years to go from corporal to first jane? Congratulations. I couldn't be more pleased. Took you long enough. How was Officer Candidate School?”

“For the most part, OCS was straightforward and uneventful.” It took Promise a moment to look him in the eye. “I enjoyed the history and command theory. Major Jeff Garaund's course on pre-Diaspora wet navies was my favorite.” Promise grew thoughtful. “Did you know preindustrial sea powers used to press their sailors into service, often after they were captured from enemy vessels? No Hartford Accords or Terran Conventions or even a basic outline of what we consider commonsense, humane rules of warfare. Talk about barbaric.”

I know that smile. He's humoring me. Fine, not everyone's a history buff.

“The PT, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired.” The gunny's expression changed immediately, the sort of look that said he knew what coming and was looking forward to the tale. “When I was your corporal, I ran a lot of klicks, uphill and downhill in utilities and boots with a pack strapped on my back, hugging my rifle, every day no matter the weather, and if I wasn't running with my company I was at the range or humping my gear back from it.” Promise smiled. “At OCS, we almost ran buck naked—just PT uniforms—covering ground in shallow-treaded ‘civvies' better suited for a morning stroll. I went into OCS conditioned. A lot of ninety-day wonders thought fifty push-ups were unreasonable. Seriously! They had a mental block they couldn't see past. I'm embarrassed to say my time for the five-klick actually increased because I spent most of my waking hours in class, drafting reports, drawing up operational plans, and when I wasn't in class my nose was in a book. I loved every minute of it—don't get me wrong. Unfortunately, my muscles paid the price. Seems to me the bars have it a bit too easy.”

“That's because us noncoms work for a living.”

Promise wagged a finger at him. “A fact I doubt you will ever let me forget, Gunny.”

“Not a chance.”

*   *   *

Khaine hadn't expected such
emotion to come out of him, and he certainly hadn't planned to hug the lieutenant.
What was that about? A substantial breach in protocol is what it was. Thank God we were sandwiched between two craft, in a relatively quiet part of the boatbay.
The gunny thought back to the day Private Paen had reported to him for duty. The smartly pressed uniform that could have stood on its own, and a face like a still lake. Except for the eyes. He'd been pleased for Promise when she'd made private first class, and lance corporal, and then full-screw. Their relationship changed the night he overheard her cries, and found her in her rack in the throes of a nightmare. He almost woke her but stopped himself at the last moment. That battle had been hers to fight. When she finally woke, he'd handed her a drink with a sedative in it, and asked her if she needed to talk. The murder of her father was still fresh. Grit-on-discipline could push pain aside for only so long. She told him she couldn't keep going like this. He assured her that she could.

The first lieutenant standing before him was just as neatly turned out. Smart-looking regular-dress uniform and polished bars. The same calm face, plus a noticeable scar above the left ear. The eyes were still weary. But they'd hardened with confidence.

“Well, Lieutenant, you have a meeting to keep with the colonel. I don't want to make you late.”

“Yes, about that, Gunny…”

“Ma'am, may I offer you a bit of advice?”

“Always.”

Khaine searched her eyes a moment longer before speaking. “Colonel Halvorsen is a straight shooter. He can smell BS from a klick away. He dislikes being aboard ship even more. The colonel does his best to hide that fact. It still affects his mood when he's operating in the drink. Most boots in the company don't have a clue. You're one of his company commanders and that puts you squarely in the need-to-know. Don't ever let on to him that you do know, don't take his foul moods personally, and don't ever make him repeat himself. Understood?”

“Roger that. Thank you, Gunny.”

“You may not thank me afterward, ma'am.” Khaine took a quick look around the bay before turning back to Promise. “Permission to speak freely?”

Promise raised a weary eyebrow.
I thought you were.
“Okay, granted.”

“I'm going to be blunt with you, Promise. Charlie Battalion has heard the scuttlebutt about you, and some took the time to read up on the matter; at least what the Bureau of Public Affairs released to the nets.”

“What scuttlebutt?” Try as she might she couldn't keep the edge out of her voice.

“You
are
a ballsy, can-do Marine. And, you did a lot of good on Montana. I couldn't be prouder.” The gunny canted his head. “Others resent your success. Their ilk will always be with us. Some believe you're a loose warhead. A glory hound who threw her command against a no-win situation. Only things didn't turn out that way. The naysayers chalk it up to blind luck, which proves what they know.”

The gunny's revelation lit Promise like an inferno.

“I remember that look,” Khaine said. “Think before you speak, Promise. That's why I wanted to talk with you before you saw the colonel.”

Promise did her best to sit on her temper, turned away. Her hands started to shake anyway.
I lost a lot of good people on Montana and nearly got myself killed, more than once, defending my star nation and her people; families and children who had to leave their homes because a megalomaniacal Lusie commodore invaded their homeworld.
“You know I'm not a glory grunt, Gunny.”

“Not even close. But, I'm not the one you have to convince.”

Her head snapped around, nostrils flaring. “The colonel?”

“Safety that temper, ma'am. It will not serve you well. The colonel is
not
your enemy. He does not resent your past successes or wish to see you fail in the future. He just has reservations. The first sergeant came to me with questions. I told her you have my confidence and suggested she take the matter up with you personally. You may not want to hear this but I'm going to say it anyway. Halvorsen is your CO, and it's his responsibility to figure out what sort of Marine you are. The competent can-do jane I know you to be, or a glory-sponging jackass.”

The gunnery sergeant held up his hands. “Easy, ma'am. I said he's still trying to make up his mind. Look at this from his perspective. You took a severely understrength company of mechanized Marines and a few LACs, and fought off a full battalion of the same, plus twice the number of LACs, and a light CRURON of Lusie warships to boot. A lot of bars and stripes think you're some kind of tactical witch.”

Promise snorted. “Hardly.”

“Careful, it just might stick. I suggest you consider cultivating that image. I'm not telling you to make stuff up.” Khaine grew thoughtful. “When the boots under you think you're capable of more, it tends to raise the bar higher for everyone under your command. On the other hand, I've heard rumors too, and if they are even partially true some of the brass think you lost your battlefield perspective … and got lucky.”

Promise's voice shook as she spoke. “All I did was
my
duty.”

“I know. Remember that when you see the colonel. There's Lieutenant Jiles now. She will escort you to the lift.”

As Promise turned around, the gunny pitched his voice low, and just above a whisper.

“Promise, don't ever forget who you are. Don't ever let anyone else forget it either.”

 

Eight

APRIL 19
TH
, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1031 HOURS

REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD

RNS
NITRO,
PARKING ORBIT WHISKEY-ECHO 6

“Come.”

The bulkhead door to the main deck's holotank opened. Promise stepped through it and into a dimly lit expanse. The floor was carpeted and muffled her steps. As the door closed behind her, the darkness pressed in from all directions, and made her feel small. She keyed her minicomp to find the room's schematic and realized her mistake the moment the screen glared to life.
I should have used a red light.
For a moment she couldn't see a thing.
Breathe, P, take it easy.

Her other senses reached out to compensate, peeling back the black one pitch at a time. Her ears detected the ever-present hum of a warship emanating from the deck and the overhead. Her feet sensed the ever-so-faint tremor reverberating beneath her, no doubt emanating from the warship's massive fusion engines. The air smelled flat and recycled. Slowly her eyes adjusted until she could make out the opposite bulkhead on the far side of the room. She followed its curve to the end of a row of tiered seating. Then the next row down came into focus. The back of the nearest chair sat five meters away. Promise started scanning, row by row, until she was sure the room was empty and she was in the wrong place.