COMMANDER

“I will not,” I continued after letting my gaze roam over them all for several long seconds, “be repeating what has already been heaped upon you . . . congratulations, rah-rah-rah, first of the breed, planetary pride, and all the rest. Though it is all true, you have heard enough of it and now I will tell you the bald truth. You have completed the first two steps of becoming a Marine. You completed basic training, and you swore an oath of loyalty and service. This is only the beginning of your career and experience as you move on to the third step, to active duty.

“I know each you have been drilled with the litany, ‘the harder you sweat in training, the less you bleed in battle.’ I know because this is what was drilled into me and drilled into Lt. Donner. There is another version you may have heard, which goes ‘the more you hurt in training, the less you hurt in combat.’ This was also drilled into Lt. Donner and your other instructors. By me, personally. Some may still have bruises to prove it.”

A round of light laughter responded.

“And they will all tell you the litany, the clichés, are true and real.”

I paused a moment and swept the crowd with my gaze.

“What I will also tell you is this; neither I, nor any other officer, will ever ask you or order you to do anything we are not willing to do ourselves. We will train just as hard as you, we will eat with you, we will risk everything you risk in exercise and in battle. Therefore, when an officer gives an order I expect instant compliance, unquestioned obedience. Nothing less is acceptable. Whether you understand the reasons for the orders or not, you will obey them. Whether you agree with the orders or not, you will obey. You will obey to the very best of your ability, with all your heart, with all your mind, and with all your strength.

“That . . . is what I give to the Marines . . . everything I have to give!

“That is what I require of my troopers . . . everything they have to give.

“Is . . . this . . . clear?”

“HOO-RAH!” cried two hundred and fifty voices as one.

“May you succeed in every endeavor or die valiantly as heroes! Welcome to the Marines, Troopers! Dismissed!”

Hoo-rah, indeed. There were numerous and conflicting legends about where the unofficial cry of the Marines had originated. Of the two most popular myths, one said the cry, or call, had originated as “Oo-raw,” which was a sort of bastard pronunciation of the word “Uhrah” in an ancient Earth language of Turkish origins which meant “Blood.” As in “Blood of the enemy!” This explanation made the call into a battle cry. The other popular myth said the call was a derivative of the celebratory call of ancient England, which had evolved from “Huzzah” to “Hoo-rah,” then to “Hoo-ray.” Somewhere, several centuries ago just prior to the Marines taking to space to aid and support Navy efforts, the call had been sort of, unofficially, addressed in a memo from some general who defined it as “Hoo-rah.” That is what it had been ever since.

I did not mingle at the reception. Didn’t even attend it, actually. I watched from the command office. There was a band playing, dancing, refreshments including an open bar, all the usual. I could see the instructors mingling, speaking with parents and siblings. No doubt extolling the virtues and accomplishments of their trooper, and painting a bright future of travel and experience. I could see Ronin, too.

I could not have been happier when she volunteered for this duty. Flynn had wanted it, I know, but I wasn’t about to release him from his duties to the Wedge. Someday, maybe someday soon, Flynn would be a major commanding two wedges and he needed the experience with one wedge to prepare.

Ronin had slipped away into the darkness at the edge of the crowd. One second she was there, casually looking around, and the next she was gone. I could follow her progress, barely, as she made her way around the fringes of the crowd. Soon, she was walking through the starlight toward the office. She looked outstanding in her fatigues with her battle ribbons, and she had grown her hair out just a little bit, just enough to comb. She was beautiful, walking proudly and alone in the starlight. I felt a stir in my loins.

To me, she was the one who embodied the spirit and soul of a Marine, not me. I should tell her! I should also tell her I am falling in love with her. I should. Would I? I had never known a woman who had so completely captured my attention and respect.

There were battles coming, though. Would it be fair to her, or me, to have the distraction of a relationship, and all of the effort maintaining one of those required? Other questions and doubts flooded my mind. And then, she was there, entering the door.

“I knew you would be here,” she said.

Gods Above, her voice sounded so nice in the darkness of the warm night!

“Yeah. Hiding out, I guess. After all, the government people did ask me to make it short and to try to not embarrass anyone.”

She snorted. “Short-sighted prigs! They have no idea they owe their freedom to you! You were the one . . .!”

Even her snort was cute but I had to interrupt her.

“No, that’s not true. It was all of us. Marines, Navy, all of us, not just me.”

“Space turds! It was your idea, your strategic plan, your tactical plan. Maybe others helped carry it out but it was you who conceived it and you who drove it. Without you, I don’t think any of this would have happened.”

It was my turn to snort.

“I’m no hero. It’s you, and others like you. Like Spear, and Timmons and . . .”

She was looking at me now, her eyes gorgeous and glowing in the starlight. She was leaning closer, and I could smell her hair and hear her breath come faster.

“. . . and so many others! You are the heroes! I’m just . . .”

“A legend,” she murmured, interrupting me. “Did you know that?”

“A what?”

“They tell stories about you, down here. You and Timmons. They may not know the captain’s name, or Dotes’ name, or Jenkins’ name, or even my name, but everyone knows who you are.”

“You are the one who captures the spirit and soul of the Marine trooper, Carla. From the first day I met you, right up to now, it’s you. It’s you who inspires me.”

“Me?” She laughed out loud. “You are bent and twisted, then! Me! With puke and spit dribbled all over myself, and barely able to stand much less walk or run or fight? You really don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?” she suddenly said, standing up straighter with her fists on her hips.

I blew and sputtered, and finally said, “Yeah? Look who’s talking!”

“What do you mean? Do you mean I can’t take a compliment?”

Suddenly she sounded angry. What the hell?

“First of all, sir, someone would actually have to compliment me. Not blow smoke up my shorts!”

Then she was gone, striding away into the darkness outside. Crap. Apparently I had no idea when someone was complimenting me. And, I was the only man I knew who could fuck up paying a compliment to someone else!

We had two weeks before they came. Ronin started a new basic class with three hundred recruits, and both teams of the SOG were dirtside as instructors. Fifty of the new suits had been produced and ten more were nearly finished. The new Hanosian troopers were integrated into the clan evenly, and Gods Above had there been some wide eyes at the new “training” vids we presented them. That particular class and lecture was careful to include reminders of their standing as Marines and the honor we held dear. They would not only hold this knowledge within the Marines and never share it with family, they would also recognize, however they felt about it personally, their government leaders had made the decision to withhold the information as in the best interests of all Hanosians.

We also had six troopers training as advanced pilots. When they were done they would be able to expertly pilot anything on the Rontar except the Rontar herself. Of the now four Wedges, I also had one trooper from each under Doctor Annsbury and the Medical AI training to be full-fledged doctors. The clan was at full strength plus forty-nine. Though I had four lieutenants over the wedges, I had yet to assign any Billet officers. Actually, I needed to sit down and focus, and do a complete re-org of leadership. Finding the time to do it, though, was problematic.

Oh, Gods Above! I remonstrated myself. Quit making excuses and whining about it, and just get it done!

The Rontar and the alien ship, which we decided to call the Phoenix, were hidden away inside the rings of the gas giant. The Phoenix was manned by a skeleton crew of flight officers and an army of repair robots, along with a handful of engineers and technicians. She was space-worthy and could move and maneuver, and her shields were decent, but she had no real weapons. She was not ready for battle. The Rontar, on the other hand, had a new suit of shields and armor, more power than she would ever need, exponentially smarter and faster AIs, and a brand-new set of large, razor sharp teeth and talons. She didn’t look like much, maybe, but this could work to our advantage. Even with the significantly more mass from the heavy metal armor, more missiles and munitions, the Rontar was incredibly faster and more maneuverable than before.

Grafnal and lasers were several multiples of ten more powerful than before, and every missile aboard was either photonic or the new quantum design, upgraded to new designs implemented from adapting Torbor tech with our own. We had donated the nukes and plasma missiles to the Hanosians. With the new interior room provided by utilizing AC and smaller superconducting cables, we carried more missiles and massive amounts of projectile ammo for the PDP batteries, which now fired twice as fast with advanced computer accuracy and tracking capabilities. As well, all of our AV and new LCs had been upgraded to the new systems in shields, weapons, and armor. Hoo-rah!

AI nodes were everywhere and all linked, capable of operating in the network or alone, as necessary. The interior of the ship was studded throughout with anti-boarder lasers and converted 10mm double-barrel computer-controlled machine guns, not to mention the robots with AIs, which could convert to attack machines instantly. They had no weapons other than their metal arms, legs, and fingers yet, although we were working on it, but with their inherent speed and strength they could easily tear apart a spacesuit or the creature inside it.

When the Shaquaree jumped in, two battleship-class vessels appeared simultaneously. A minute later, two more, and a minute after that, two more. Then more until there were ten ships in all. Eight of them were scattered around the system in pairs while two were stationed directly above the planet. With so many triangulating, it was too late for us to power down and go dark. Captain Lewellyn ordered the Phoenix and drones to power down and powered up the Rontar equally to keep energy readings level. Hopefully, they would think there was only one ship out here.

“Lieutenants!” I called out over the subspace transceivers. “Flynn and Harris, your wedges are with me! We’re going dirtside. Jenkins and Peters will handle ship activities. All trainee pilots and doctors remain aboard. Donner, get your people as safe as you can and form up but stay as dark as you can. We’ll be there shortly.”

“Cmdr. Dotes.”

“Here.”

“Rawlings. I need to transport 213 personnel dirtside asap.”

“Can do, Commander, but we need to move quickly. Ten at a time, you do the math. Once the captain hits the burners we’re done.”

“We’re on our way!”

We had, maybe, thirty minutes depending on the battle plan Lewellyn selected. To save time, we transported the new suits with troopers in them, leaving half of the new suits on the ship for Jenkins and Peters to use. I selected Troop 1 from Wedge 4 under Lt. Harris to transport down in the new Gen6 ABS, while the rest of Wedge 4 transported in their own Gen5s. Troop 1’s own Gen5 suits would be transported later if there was time. It was possible to transport while on the move but not with shields at full strength. Troopers in suits pounded through passageways at breakneck speed.

We managed to get all the personnel down but missed on the extra Gen5 ABS for Troop 1 as the captain dialed up the shields to our previous max levels and powered engines to begin his battle run. I had been in the last group to go through, unsuited but grasping my katana with a pistol on my hip and my rifle over my shoulder. As I stepped out of the circle of nine other troopers who appeared with me in the clearing I could see Flynn and Harris forming up their wedges. Ronin and her teams were still at the training compound a klick away.

Within minutes I had mounted one of the new suits and we were racing toward the compound. Despite being many kilos heavier, the new suits felt lighter and responded faster. Mondo! When I had mounted the one I was in, the AI had greeted me by name. It seems the good doctor had loaded DNA specs and brainwave patterns into AI programming so every suit could recognize who was climbing into it. Truly impressive.

“Greetings, Commander Rawlings. Please tell me if I can do anything to make the fit more comfortable for you.”

“Greetings. I can’t seem to get my katana mounted quite . . .”

“Move it just a little overall to your right, sir, and slightly tilt the handle right and the tip left.”

I felt it click into place firmly. “Nice! Better angle, easier access. Now, about syncing with my nanos . . .”

“Already done, sir.”

Holy hog spit!

“And, do not worry about changing suits if you have to, sir. All Gen6 suit AIs will carry your records and preferences at all times.”

“Damn, you boys are good!”

“To paraphrase, sir, ‘you ain’t seen nothin’, yet!”

“You have emotions?”

“Not actually, sir, but I do understand them with my psychiatric programming, and I can approximate them in speech patterns.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic! All right, then, let’s get moving!”

I continued talking with the AI as we ran to the compound.

“If you don’t mind, sir, I will coach you as we go, based on your lack of formal training in the Gen6.”

“All of the troopers in new suits are getting this same treatment, and coaching?”

“Absolutely, sir, and the AIs will record and remember each preference.”

“What about access? Can any trooper mount a suit and have access? And, can anyone else access my records or preferences in a suit?”

“Any trooper can mount any suit, but every rule of data access and security is exactly the same as the Combat AI, Commander.”

“Very good. Do you have radio frequency monitoring capabilities?”

“Yes.”

“Begin, please. All frequencies as well as all Navy and Marine comms. Notify me of anything you think may be significant concerning our battle against the Shaquaree, the Torbor, or the LCP.”

“Searching database for relevant entries and scanning comms.”

Ronin and her teams were waiting for us at the edge of the large clearing where the compound was located, close by the command office.

SOG, Lt. Carla Donner CO

Team Zulu

Name

Specialization

Call-sign

Rank

Louise “Lou” Carson

Team Leader

Boomer

Sergeant

Robert Franko

Comms

Buzz

Trooper

Jeff Denby

Suits

CanMan

Trooper

Henry Bolton

Weapons

Dog

Trooper

Jon Gold

Medical

Stitch

Trooper

Harry Kendricks

Demolition

Bang

Trooper

Judy Bulo

Computers

Mouse

Trooper

Bernard LaSalle

Sniper

Star

Trooper

MaryAnn Dubois

Driver

Wheels

Trooper

Steve Reinhardt

Pilot

Flyboy

Trooper

Team Yankee

Name

Specialization

Call-sign

Rank

Linda Vickers

Team Leader

Spear

Sergeant

Ed Piccolo

Comms

Hondo

Trooper

Emma Burton

Suits

Rigs

Trooper

Jim Waters

Weapons

Bear

Trooper

Adrienne Pall

Medical

Arrow

Trooper

Julio Ramirez

Demolition

Iceman

Trooper

Arnold Bell

Computers

Gremlin

Trooper

Louise Watson

Sniper

Banshee

Trooper

Lewis Barnes

Driver

Speed

Trooper

Newton Volper

Pilot

Stick

Trooper

It took thirty minutes to get all of Teams Zulu and Yankee into their new suits and reform the two wedges. Troop 1 was re-assigned to security at the training compound to replace the SOG instructors who would now take up their proper duties as my elite strike teams. Troop 1 would take command of the three hundred new recruits and get them armed out of the armory, field train those who needed it in how to aim and fire, and then get them all on barricade duty to fortify the camp as much as possible, as well as escape and evade plans should they be forced to un-ass the post.

After the personnel assignments were sorted out, we held an officer meeting to share updates and to review tactical plans. Strategic plans based on various “threat scenarios,” including this one, had already been drawn for some time.

According to sensors, another Shaquaree ship had appeared over the planet and was truly monstrous in size, immediately recognized as one of their slaver ships, and it began sending down large shuttles immediately. Most likely, these would be loaded with troops to occupy and control, then the shuttles would be loaded with Hanosian prisoners to send back up to the waiting behemoth. Lewellyn reported his run toward the planet to take on the ships there to forestall shuttle traffic would be unsuccessful. The other eight ships scattered across the system were maneuvering, in pairs, to intercept the Rontar.

No matter how you cut it, we were all in for a fight.