COMMANDER

The two troopers quickly stripped off their work fatigue coveralls. The difference between them was striking. Johnston was a tall, heavy female, a real Amazon, well-muscled with thick thighs, broad shoulders, and large breasts. Walker was a thin male, half a meter shorter and perhaps twenty-five kilograms lighter than Johnston. It took them only thirty seconds to mount the suits once they were disrobed, half the time of a current suit. The new suits had a pleasant, soft green glow, barely perceptible in the lights of the bay and appeared to power up nearly instantaneously with the sealing of the suit.

“The change in power-up color is due,” Jenkins said, “to different characteristics embedded into the outer impact matrix.”

What was amazing was seeing both suits empty and exactly the same size, now accommodated to the different sizes of the occupants. What followed then was an even more amazing spectacle of superiority of the newer design suits.

“By incorporating AC and superconductor tech, we increased power flow and AI capacity,” Jenkins began his lecture. “With more power, we increased shields and weapons output. AC and more power also made the suit servos much stronger, easily able to handle replacing normal armor and structural elements with the denser alloys. At this point in the new design, our power output and usage is limited by the strength of the alloys used in the servo couplings. When redesigning weapons configurations to handle the increased power we also discovered a way to enhance the properties of the absorption gel-coat with light-sensitive ionizations. The outer layer of deflective armor scales is largely unchanged except we also incorporated a dense metal-ceramic mixture which absorbs and diffuses what energy beam power is not refracted or deflected.”

Flynn took over the narration as the six suited figures jumped, danced, and leaped, alternately attacking and defending. The current suits were at full power on lasers and the new suits were unaffected, completely unharmed. Ten-millimeter rounds bounced off of them without apparent effect, and un-powered katanas either struck and slipped away with no effect or broke their blades. Lasers splashed and deflected. Full-power plasma cannon blasts curled around them but left them completely undamaged other than tossing the suit and trooper a couple of meters.

“As you can see, sir, the new suits are just as flexible and yet faster, quicker to respond, due to the superconductance properties of the new circuitry. Laser output has jumped from 5TW to 25TW max continuous, 40TW in eight-second bursts with three-second recovery, and they range from a few watts to paint a target to full power with a thought to the AI. The plasma cannon have increased ten-fold in output while also shrinking in size. The mini-missiles have not changed in configuration or launch, only in warhead and propellant. Weapons control is 500 percent faster acquiring target than previous. The power lance is now all dense metal, and nearly indestructible. The blade vibrates at atomic speeds, and will literally cut through anything except crystal. Crystals of any kind simply shatter under the vibration effect. Even with the new suit shields on full power, the lance blade goes right through it with no bounce, no deflection.”

I was stunned at the numbers. A suit, a fucking armored suit, with lasers and plasma cannon nearly as powerful as the Rontar once boasted, and shields as powerful as a corvette. Gods Above!

“Now, sir, watch this,” Jenkins said excitedly. “Johnston, Walker, switch!” he added over the suit comm.

I was momentarily confused. Switch what? Then the two new suits stopped and locked, and the green glow faded. The suits popped open and both troopers dismounted, swapped suits, and remounted. In less than a minute both suits had either stretched or shrunk to match the body configuration of the occupant and powered up. Both then moved, taking several steps, and both fired low-powered laser at two of the current suits, all to demonstrate full sync had taken place between the trooper and the AI. The greenish glow faded abruptly during the second demo.

“What happened?” I asked, despite seeing the suits continue moving with no apparent interruption.

“We can mute the glow now, Commander,” Jenkins said proudly. “No more give-away to let the enemy see us in low light or at night.”

“Well, just fuck me raw, as Timmons used to say!” I nearly shouted. “Gentlemen, I salute you!”

“We aren’t finished with testing, yet, Commander. There is still a lot of work to be done before we go to production,” Jenkins stated to moderate.

“What does the AI say?” I asked.

“All simulations, all calculations, are passed at minimum 100 percent, even full space combat scenarios,” Flynn answered.

“Then what is your plan, Lieutenant?” I asked Jenkins, who headed the suit upgrade project.

“We put a gel-body in one suit and a trooper in the other, and perform some full-power tests in space, sir. We send out a Troop in current suits as support, with an AV and full medical standing by with the group. If everything passes, we go to production.”

“Carry on. Well done, troopers! Well done! This will save a lot of lives.”

I sat in my office leaned back in my desk chair. So many amazing things had happened in the last six months. Star had made a full recovery. All lieutenants were operating above expectations. Spear had blossomed into a real hard-ass, “take no prisoners” sergeant and a great instructor. Boomer took to leadership like a duck to water.

If only we could have another six months of non-conflict. We could have the space dock and station nearly completed, we could have the alien vessel repaired and operational even if not fully refitted. We could even graduate another class of recruits to fill out our personnel rosters completely. The Hanosian government was building a standing army and weaponry for defense against alien invasion, including missiles and armor based on the new technologies.

My relationship with the doctor was long over. In fact, we rarely spoke anymore except for necessary business. She considered me a murderer because of the executions of two of the captured Torbor under my control. Perhaps history would judge it to be the truth. Perhaps not. It did not matter to me, though, to others it did. I received many odd glances, some outright hostile stares when I moved through Navy country.

The president of the new Hanosian government had requested, through their ambassador and ever so nicely, that I not make any public appearances on Hanos. The potential negativity associated with my actions may serve to undermine positive accomplishment, wouldn’t you agree? An odd statement from someone who had ordered the executions of Torbor, as well. It was amazing how “righteous” he and his cohorts could appear, especially considering the secrets they kept from their constituents.

The two I had executed had deliberately undermined all our efforts with the others to gain intelligence, and they had nothing to offer us in terms of specialized knowledge. The five remaining Torbor were now cooperating with alacrity!

I did what I believed in my heart, my soul, needed to be done. It was my decision, my responsibility, my job to do, and I did it.

Memories intruded for a few moments. Major Kowalski strode through my mind, larger than life. I was a sergeant aboard the Antilles leading a Troop under Lt. Bernardo and Major Kowalski. Kowalski was a true hero. His exploits were legend throughout the Fleet and the Marines. He’d fought pirates and quelled rebellions on colony worlds, he’d fought the Shaquaree and killed thousands of them, even taken out a whole corvette-class ship nearly by himself by ramming an AV through their shields and crash-landing in the launch bay to lead his troopers on a rampage through the interior.

He had also been busted from colonel clear back to major for standing his ground firmly in the face of a howling mob on a colony world demanding pirate captives be turned over to them rather than being carried away for “Fleet” trial and justice. He would not release them, as they were Marine prisoners and his responsibility. The general in charge of the sector had sided with the colonists. Why delay things or upset the locals with more work for the Marines when the locals would take care of things for free? It had been a fucked up political situation but Kowalski had stood firm and resolute. He’d done his job as he saw it to be done, and was never heard to utter a single word of regret.

Three troopers in one of my fire teams had made a serious, avoidable mistake in the servicing of an AV resulting in the deaths of five other troopers when a seal failed and the AV depressurized while maneuvering in space. My investigation caught the mistake and the three troopers were brought up on charges.

In the Marines, there are three levels of crime and punishment. Level One was minor infractions, calling for PT, garbage duty, confinement to quarters, runs, and similar punishments. Level Two was more serious infractions of insubordination or errors costing either equipment or lives. Level Two convictions required much more serious punishments such as time in the brig or corporal punishment such as strokes with the lash. Level Three crimes were mutiny, insubordination on the battlefield, murder of another trooper, etc., and all Level Three crimes carried the potential of the death penalty.

I brought the results of my investigation to my lieutenant, with recommendations for Level Two charges as required per the results, and the lieutenant would pass judgment. Any line officer could enact Level One punishments. Level Two reviews required a lieutenant or above, and Level Three always required a major or above unless it was on the battlefield.

Major Kowalski was seated nearby in the HQ office of Marine country of the Antilles when I reported my findings to Lt. Bernardo. Bernardo read the report thoroughly, with care. This was serious.

“Sir,” Bernardo said to Kowalski, “perhaps the major should read the report.”

Kowalski’s face darkened into a thundercloud. “Is this a Level Three, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir, but I think . . .”

“You are not thinking!” shouted Kowalski. “You are suggesting the major should take precedence in a situation where the lieutenant should be passing judgment and taking action!”

The lieutenant began to stammer something else when Kowalski shouted, “Ten-hut!”

The lieutenant and I both snapped to without a word.

“Sergeant! You will explain to me what the fuck is going on here!” snarled the major.

“Sir! This sergeant has failed to train and motivate his troopers to the best of their abilities, sir! Three of my troopers failed to properly service an AV seal through laziness or neglect. As a result, five troopers have gone outside while on training exercise. My investigation shows this clearly, sir.”

“So this is your fault, Sergeant?”

“Sir! I believe it is, sir.”

“Well, I do not!” shouted Kowalski. “Leadership is from the top down, not from the middle! Who ordered you to conduct this investigation, Sergeant?”

“Lt. Bernardo, sir!”

“I see,” Kowalski muttered.

Kowalski began pacing, fuming, while the lieutenant and I remained rigidly at Attention. Clearly, the major thought the lieutenant should have been responsible to conduct the investigation into five trooper deaths during an exercise. The regs stipulated “the next senior officer ranking above the highest-ranking victim could conduct the investigation.” This meant, since a corporal had died, at least a sergeant must perform the investigation. In real terms, in actual practice, since a potential Level Two infraction was involved, the lowest rank which should investigate was a lieutenant.

“What is your specialty, Sergeant?”

“Hand-to-hand and blade, sir.”

“Alright. We have a good Blademaster but we can use another hand-to-hand instructor,” said Kowalski. “AI, record! Sergeant Rawlings, you are promoted to senior sergeant and assigned as Billet 2 hand-to-hand instructor. Lieutenant Bernardo, for your obvious lack of motivation in attempting to hand off this Level Two infraction to me, and for ordering a sergeant to perform the investigation which you clearly should have performed, you are hereby reduced in rank to sergeant and will take Rawlings’ place over the Troop.

“Now, for the Level Two infraction. All three troopers are sentenced to ten strokes of the lash. Sergeant Bernardo is sentenced to five strokes of the lash to remind him he is a leader, not just an officer. I sentence myself to five strokes of the lash, as well, because I have failed to lead and motivate effectively. Senior Sergeant Rawlings is the only trooper present who stepped up and took his responsibility clearly and seriously. Senior Sergeant Rawlings, I further sentence you to administer punishment as a reminder leadership is responsibility, not authority. My sentencing and reasoning will be read out loud at the punishment formation.”

“Now, then,” he continued, “do either of you wish to appeal this judgment to a higher authority?”

Right! Let me think. Do I want to take my arm out of the commode plumbing and stick it into a trash reclamation unit instead?

“Sir! No, sir!” Bernardo and I shouted nearly in unison.

“AI, end recording!”

There has never been a duty I so much wanted to avoid or get out of than applying the lash to Major Kowalski. The lash is a nasty piece of business with four strands on the end of a three meter whip. The separate strands, when applied properly, could lacerate deeply, cutting to the bone. When we were all lined up in the main hold, the entire clan required to watch while at Attention with the commander looking on. While the particulars of the case were read out loud by the AI, the major came to stand close by me and speak quietly.

“Sergeant Rawlings,” he said, so quietly only I could hear him, “I want you to teach the three troopers a clear lesson. Hurt them the way they should be hurt to pay for their sins. I want you to teach Sergeant Bernardo a lesson, too, but go easier on him. We want to teach and motivate, not break. As for me, well, troop, I know you don’t want to do this but you must. The lesson to the clan must be clear. I will order no man to do what I am unwilling to do. Therefore, if I want to teach another man a lesson, I must be willing to learn the same lesson. Fuck me up, trooper. That is an order.”

He winked at me, then, and finished, “I’d do it to you. For the sake of the clan.”

Kowalski turned and walked to the fifth support girder set into the deck plates, stripped off his blouse, and grabbed the girder with both hands and braced himself. The same position each of the others were in. One by one, I approached them and applied the strokes required. Blood flowed as flesh opened. The troopers grunted and screamed. One of them passed out and fell on the eighth stroke and I applied the last two to his fallen body as required. Sergeant Bernardo never uttered a sound other than a few grunts.

I obeyed my orders, and opened up Major Kowalski’s back like a ripe tomato. When I was finished, I turned, unashamed of the tears on my face, and shouted, “Medic!”

With a sigh, I turned back to the holo-display and the task of reorganizing the clan. This time around however, it was with joy instead of sorrow. I had to be sure to integrate all of the new Hanosian troopers as evenly as possible throughout the Troops of the Clan, leaving no room for cliques to form. I had already spoken to the line officers and the lieutenants about the possibility of resentments. After all, the Hanosians had families and they had a planet. The troopers of the Rontar did not.

There were two things in favor against any potential resentment. First, the discipline bred into the clan troopers. Second, the attractiveness of the Hanosians. With their large, violet eyes, both the men and women were very attractive. I had made no changes to the relationship policies held by both the Navy and the clans. Relationships and sex were strictly between those involved, and no one else’s business.

The only rule which remained germane concerned the chain of command. Nothing could be allowed, ever, to interfere with or influence the chain of command. Period. In recognition of this paramount need, relationships between flag officers and troopers or line officers seldom occurred, but it was choice by individuals rather than rule. Perhaps I should speak with the Hanosian recruits, as well. On second thought, never mind. They would have already heard the necessary lecture from their instructors.

“The man I bring to you now has risked his life, directly, to save the lives of many of the troopers who have been your instructors. He has saved my life. He attacked one of your Hanosian crocodiles with his bare hands to save the life of Sergeant Vickers, nearly dying himself from wounds received in the fight. This man embodies the spirit and soul of the Marines.

“Without further ado, I am proud to introduce the head of Clan PapaBravo, Commander JD Rawlings.”

As I walked onto the low stage, Lieutenant Donner backed away from the microphone and cried, “Ah-ten-hut!” Over two hundred fifty pairs of boots slapped simultaneously as everyone in the courtyard wearing a uniform snapped to Attention. The crowd of civilian family members and the media standing behind the graduates jostled to get a better look and bright camera lights nearly blinded me. I could hear murmuring going on back there. Gods Above, Ronin had laid it on thickly! Spirit and soul! I could almost hear Gene Timmons laughing his ass off and shouting “Holy hog spit!”

The secretary of state and the secretary of defense had already spoken. I had hoped the media crowd might begin to thin out a little. No such luck.

“Graduates,” I began, “At Ease!”