Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (13 page)

Distracted by taking in the room, he walked over to one of the officers who was standing off to one side and watching the map nearby. “I'm looking for Admiral Bence.”

The officer looked at
Litovio
for a moment. “That all depends on one's sense of military decorum.”

Litovio was taken aback by the officer's rudeness, then he realized his error. He looked at the officer's collar. “I'm sorry, Major. I just landed planetside and my wits aren't entirely about me. Sir, can you direct me to the Admiral?”

He watched as the Major seemed to debate mentally the merits of
Litovio
's request. He did his best to remain attentive as a proper lower ranked officer should.

“He's on the top deck.” The major then turned back to the map table.

“Thank you, Sir.”
Litovio
left the map room and climbed the stairs to the top deck. There he was greeted by two nondescript doors. He attempted the door knob on both. They were both locked. He then knocked on each door. After knocking, he stepped back to the middle of the wide landing.

A beat later, the door to the right opened barely a span. A young attractive face peeked out. “May I help you?”

There were no females in the marines, so the face surprised him. “I'm looking for the admiral.” Then he added with some hesitation. “
Khaooldro
sent me.”
Why did I think to say that?

The young woman closed the door as carefully as she had opened it. The latch was almost inaudible.

A few beats passed, and
Litovio
felt frustrated.
Why was it taking so long?
He walked back up to the door and was about to knock again.

As he did, the door opened all the way. The attractive face fit an equally attractive body that was revealed through the well-tailored uniform.
Color sergeant? There's no way she's in the Marines.

The woman motioned for
Litovio
to follow. He blushed and followed her through the door.

The woman led him down a narrow hallway and knocked on another door. When she heard the muffled voice beyond, she opened the door and gestured for
Litovio
to enter.

Litovio
obeyed and brushed past her slightly in doing so. The whiff of her perfume was captivating. She closed the door behind him.

Once inside, he saw an old-fashioned wooden desk—the kind his father used—with a high-backed chair. He stared at the chair briefly, feeling the weight of his father's disappointment in his career choice. As
Litovio
walked up, the chair turned around as if for dramatic effect.

“Are you Colonel
Litovio
?”

“Captain, Sir.”

“Ah yes, Captain
Litovio
. I've been expecting you.”

“Um, you have?” Litovio studied the man behind the desk. It had to be Bence, the only Admiral the Postal Service had. Bence wore the Naval rank of Admiral on his collar, which Litovio thought made sense. He decided Bence was not a Navy officer on loan, he lacked the military bearing common to officers.
Why does he look so uncomfortable in uniform?

“Yes. I asked for the finest strategic mind in the Imperial Postal Marines. I was told it was you.”

How could that be? I've barely been in the Marines for six months. How would they know what I was really capable of?
“I'm flattered, but you must have the wrong person.”

The Admiral smiled. “Oh, no. I'm quite certain you'll do. My name is
Phocas Bence
. You can call me Phocas.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't. You're an Admiral, which I'm surprised the Marines even have.”

A chuckle. “Desperate times call for desperate measures—and ranks. The Emperor created the special rank for the upcoming operation.”

“What operation?”

Phocas's face turned serious. “I forget you've not been told.” He rose out of his chair and walked around to the front of the desk, close to
Litovio
. Once around the desk, he lifted himself up slightly and sat down on the edge of the desk. “I'll put it to you simply: a faction within the Imperial Navy has declared war on the Emperor.”

Litovio felt the shock of Admiral Bence's statement. The accusation seemed too unrealistic. “How large a faction?”

“That doesn't matter. The Emperor feels the rest of the Navy is complicit in the matter, for they have refused—refused—the orders of the Emperor to bring this rogue element to heel. Can you believe that? Well, I can't. Therefore, the Emperor has ordered the Imperial Postal Marines to form a fleet and reduce the rogue Navy fleet. He appointed me to be admiral of that fleet.”

The news unnerved Litovio. The Guna report notwithstanding, the Navy was master of its craft. “So, what, I'm supposed to come with you as some sort of strategist?”

Bence jumped off the desk. “Exactly. I knew they were right about you. You will make a fine aide, Colonel.”

“Captain, Sir.”

“Well. An Admiral can't have a captain for an aide, Colonel.” Bence hammered Litovio's shoulder. “I have a few things to wrap up here. We'll be a couple days. You might want to contact your ship—”

“The
Spaka
.”

“Right. Contact the
Spaka
and tell them the news. My orders are encoded as TOR-5309. The
Spaka
should have the order in its database waiting for me to activate it. Once you've contacted the
Spaka
report back and get me off this rock before the Gunans decide to make a run for this outpost to kill me.”

Litovio
walked out of the office stunned. He was uncertain which was more shocking, the rebel fleet, the Navy's complicity or his being made fleet strategist. Or the Admiral, who was curiously lacking military bearing. Litovio walked back to the hangar and used Angel's shuttle to contact the
Spaka
. The orders checked out. An ongoing combat operation would delay their return for a couple cycles.
Litovio
wondered how he was going to pull this one off. He regretted joining the Marines. He did, however, pin on the rank and go looking for a certain major.

“Why?”

“I feel like I'm going to puke.”

Angel
laughed and slapped him on the back. “Welcome to the surface, Marine. You've been in space long enough that you've adjusted to artifical gravity. This is real gravity.” Angel then made a series of short hops in place. “We should only be here a few cycles, so roam around a bit but come back.”

Bophendze walked out of the hangar and into the sun. It blinded him for a few beats, his eyes tearing up. After he adjusted, he breathed deeply natural air and wished he never had to return.

He strolled through the garrison where they landed. He saw the open parade grounds, about two acres in area. He looked around the grounds, amazed at the green. It was a color he did not realize he had missed. The small trees dotted the perimeter of the parade grounds, which was ringed by a cobblestone road. From where he stood, he could see the headquarters building to the North. The west side had the dining facility, and the south had the canteen where enlisted marines could unwind. The garrison seemed almost at peace to Bophendze, except for the actively manned anti-aircraft batteries watching the skies, and sandbags and weapons pods protecting the perimeter.

The Gunan sun started to hide behind the distant trees as it started to set. He felt some peace because of the relative openness of the garrison, and because Smee managed to remain silent. Bophendze felt alone with his thoughts. He decided to head over to the canteen, to see what relaxation meant to a marine on planet.

He started to walk across the parade field before its openness made him feel self-conscious. There were no other marines on the parade field. He decided the safe thing to do was walk around the perimeter. It was less likely to cause an NCO to yell at him for being where he should not be. He remained guarded as he walked to the canteen.

Once inside, he felt more relaxed. The canteen was much darker inside than out. It took Bophendze a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. Once they did, he noticed that the windows were shrouded in blackout cloth.
Why waste the effort to blackout the building when the Gunans probably know where it is.

He found himself admiring the architecture, something he never cared for before.
Is Smee making me look at things differently?
The various rooms were small, perhaps some architect's plan to give the marines a feeling of intimacy, a chance to hang out with a few comrades, rather than the open bay barracks where sleeping space was shared with dozens of peers.

Bophendze bought a drink at the bar that was conveniently located just inside the canteen's doors. He thought the architect was smart about minimizing the distance between tired marine and drink, even if the paint in the rooms was too feminine for men prepared to fight.

Sipping his drink, he drifted through each of the canteen's rooms. Most of the other marines seemed not to notice him, which a part of him did not mind. Though he did feel a bit left out, and he hoped he might have a chance to actually mingle, versus drifting through.

Bophendze finally settled on a room where they were playing cards. Four sat around one table, looking very intense as they did. Each had varying piles of chips scattered about. The one with his back to the wall had the largest pile. Bophendze watched the four play for several beats, sipping his drink. He had no idea what they were playing.

It's called Batalo, or Militado, depending on which part of the Imperium you hail from. You should play.

No way. You see the chips? They're gambling. I don't know the first thing about Batulo, so they'd fleece me. There's no way I'm going to risk what little I have on chance.

It's Batalo, Puppet, not Batulo. Batulo is the Keicahn word for something inappropriate you do with your sister. Batalo's either played with one or two decks—they're playing as a foursome so it will be two decks—with four suits. The face cards are kreitoj and the number cards are either landoj or ensorĉoj. It's not nearly as much chance as strategy. With three other players it's more important to play the player and not the cards. See the one with his back to the wall? Watch how he looks at the other players when the cards are dealt.

Bophendze watched closely, as he could see two of the player's hands easily from his vantage point. The jacket pocket of the one with the chips had “Sablaroki” stenciled on it. The round ended, and the player just to Sablaroki's right started shuffling the cards. He dealt out five cards, Sablaroki not picking his cards up until the other players had. Each of them selected two cards then passed the hand to the right. Then each player in turn selected one card from the remaining hand and passed it right until all the cards had been selected. Another round was dealt and selected the same way. They then discarded into a graveyard, leaving themselves with hands of seven cards. Then there was a round of betting before actual play commenced.

See? Most of the cards are known by the other players. They each have a pretty good idea of how the others will play. Did you notice that he spent more time looking at the other players? He has already figured out how most of them are going to play.

What do you think his chances are?

In his vision, Smee flashed “13\

Show-off.

But watch him win anyway. If you sat down at this table, I promise you that you can walk away much better off than you started.

Bophendze watched the hand play out. Players laid out number cards, canting them to draw what Smee described as potency, then used face cards to attack the other's hands. In the end it came down to two players—one being the one with his back to the wall. Based on what was on the table, he was about to lose.

“You want to give up,
Keius
? You know that I'm going to win. Want to divide the pot?”

“Don't bluff,
Sablaroki
. You know I have you against the wall. Well? Are you going to lay down your next chip and buy into your doom?”

“Keius, Everytime you thought I was bluffing, I've beaten you. So, go ahead, call my bluff so I can win this hand quickly. Don't waste my time debating.” Sablaroki made a show of counting Keius' remaining chips—four. He picked up four of his own chips and placed them in the pot. “Are you that certain? Willing to put in your last chips?”

Keius hesitated. He looked at his cards then at Sablaroki'. “Fold.”

See? I told you. He's in their heads now. No way he can't win this table.

What's to say he doesn't get into my head?

You amaze me with your obtuseness. I'm here. It's not like you're playing by yourself. You might not be able to read his facial ticks, but in the time we've been here I've picked up on his cues. All you have to do is follow my lead. I know the percentages and the game. Since we see all the cards as they're being selected we'll know all but two of what he has. This is a sucker's game.

That's cheating.

If you're not cheating you're not trying in this game or in life. Come on. This will be fun. Just play a few hands and make a few dozen quid and we can get out of here.

Bophendze weighed the options in his mind.
Fine, but if I end up losing my shirt you won't hear the end of it.

“Mind if I join in?”

Sablaroki
had finished sliding the pot to his side. He looked up and eyed Bophendze with suspicion. Then he glanced at the other players.

“Sure, if you don't mind him taking all your money.” Keius rose out of his chair. Bophendze noticed Keius was only a little older than he was. “Maybe you'll have a better chance of beating him than we have.” He turned to the table. “Sablaroki, if you weren't my friend I'd beat you until you explained how you were cheating.”

Bophendze took a seat at the table.