Supplanted

I was late to the briefing. At 1545, I entered the already buzzing ready room at the Kaletown Military Operations Center to attend my first official Freedom Fighters meeting with what I can only admit to be less than great exuberance. Who knew that tying a four-in-hand necktie was so difficult, and the instructions that came in the box were of no help. My late arrival went virtually disregarded as almost half of the required number of senior and junior officers had yet to make an appearance in the briefing room.

For security purposes, the exact whereabouts of each high ranking officer in a combat unit on or near the front lines is known to none; only a select few know a select few, and those few know a few others, etc. As such, a general broadcast of the order to meet had been transmitted to every holo-vid on the planet, whether owned by military personnel or otherwise. Many of the targeted officers were no doubt living in areas of the planet not easily accessible to Kaletown in less than two hours. Funny that our new commandant had failed to realize that. Funny too that he would think that all of his senior officers would be off duty at the same time and, therefore, available to attend an unscheduled briefing. How he expected those that were on patrol to show up in person I will never know.

I was recognized immediately upon my entrance by the Major General himself. So much for my presence being virtually disregarded.

“James, my old friend! So good to see you again. I suppose you don’t recognize me, eh? The gold stars do pose something of a distraction.” He winked. “They make me look very different, right? Look at you. Don’t you look smart in your new uniform?”

I saluted the General. “Sir, yes sir. Good to see you too, sir.” I was woefully out of practice with my general saluting. He didn’t return my salute.

“Why so formal? Don’t you think that the meeting of a long lost pair of old friend needs a more personal touch?” At which point my new commanding officer embraced me heartily; my right arm still cocked in the saluting position. “Didn’t I tell you that we’d both survive this inconvenient little war? Come, sit down. We have a lot to catch up on.”

I was unwillingly escorted to the head table in the large briefing room. On the walls were holographic star maps of the five sectors occupied by the remnants of humanity, constantly changing themselves as battle information was updated over the ethers. Directly behind the dais was a holo-projection of the gamma sector with several bars and arrows indicating troop movements and stations. Wilson’s World occupied the center of the universe behind the seats.

I looked around nervously for the Sergeant Major. Apparently he hadn’t arrived yet, or maybe he hadn’t been invited. I did see the commanders of the numerous carriers currently docked at the spaceport filing in, along with the commanders of their subsequent fighter compliments. I knew each of them by name, but I don’t know where they lived in and around Kaletown.

The General began regaling me about the awesome responsibilities of command. I listened only halfheartedly. He didn’t seem to notice. Eric was, and still is, someone who prefers the sound of his own voice. As long as he has a supposedly attentive audience, he’ll talk himself blue in the face without noticing the actual attentiveness of said audience. I smiled and nodded for him while surveying the assembling group.

The only person who seemed concerned over the sparse turnout was the person I recognized as being the First Lieutenant who broadcast the order to assemble. He held a video clipboard and seemed to be checking off the names of all those who had shown up. I thought I’d also overheard him asking some serious questions of the attendees; one of which sounded like, “Where do you live and how can we reach you?”

I noticed a sudden silence.

“Sorry, I missed that last part,” I said to the General, awkwardly noticing that it had become my turn to speak. “I was momentarily distracted by what I thought to be the appearance of an officer I’d heard to be killed in action.” I lied.

“Oh, no problem, old man. I just asked what you’d been up to since graduation. Have you any family of your own or such and whatnot?”

“Not unless you count my chickens.”

“Well, perhaps after they’re hatched,” he laughed loud and long. “No, I mean like a wife and kids. No? Whatever happened to that girl, oh what was her name? Susan? Sally? Samantha? Didn’t you two ever hook up? I thought things were awfully serious between the two of you when we parted.”

He was talking about Celia. “No. Celia and I were never a serious couple. We barely knew each other. We were only twelve.” I was actually relieved when the Aide-de-camp interrupted our conversation.

“Major General Josten, sir,” he smartly reported. “Half of the required officers have arrived. The other half claim to be indisposed.”

“Indisposed?!” the General roared. “And what, pray tell, can keep an officer under my command from attending a mandatory briefing as important as my first?”

“Combat duty for most of them, sir,” the Lieutenant said dryly as he turned his video board to where the General could read it.

The Lieutenant came across to me as a man not easily flustered by the blustering of his superiors. Calm, cool and collected. Admirable qualities in a right hand man I’d say, especially in a fight or a potentially violent situation. The rest of the conversation was held at a lower volume and out of earshot from me and every other occupant of the room. Finally, the two broke confidence and went to stand at their seats at the head of the table.

“Take seats,” the Lieutenant ordered over the bustle of the room. Every officer complied; some not as exuberantly as others. I often note the lack of exuberance in wartime.

“Gentlemen,” the General began while still standing. He received a surreptitious tug at his elbow from the First Lieutenant. “And ladies,” he hastily corrected after a quick glance around the room. “I have called this meeting to inform you all . . . even those who chose not to attend,” he cleared his throat authoritatively, “of the new order of battle from which we will now be adopting our new line of thinking.” I noticed a general groan; Eric did not notice.

“Firstly, all units under my command will be expected to be ready to appear in parade dress at any given moment.” He watched the reaction of the assemblage, grinned at their confusion and consternation, and continued. “The good news is that our diplomatic corps has made encouraging peaceful overtures to our enemy. The bad news is that we will be expected to welcome that enemy as honored guests; hopefully in the very near future, into our midst.” The assemblage began murmuring.

“At ease!” ordered the First Lieutenant.

“Thank you, Lieutenant LaTourno.” At least now I knew the First Lieut.’s last name. “I’m sure that the units under my management will comport themselves in the highest level of . . . comportment that a military unit can achieve . . . under these conditions. Secondly, as a gesture of good faith that we do indeed seek a peaceful resolution with our enemy, all patrols will be cut in half. That is both in size and in area patrolled. We don’t want to scare off our new allies.”

“We don’t want to invite our enemies to catch us with our pants down either,” a suddenly bold Major shouted out as he rose to his feet. He added a quickly deferential, “Sir. With all due respect, what moron decided on this course of action?” He sat awkwardly as if he were embarrassed to be the only man standing. Some of the others nodded their heads in a show of support. That seemed to make the Major feel better.

Gen. Josten turned to his aide and said in a low voice, “I want that man on report. Who is he?”

“Major Robert Nelson,” LaTourno replied from behind his clipboard. “Shall I add the usual punishments, sir?”

“Not just yet,” the Gen. smiled. He readdressed the officers.

“Your concern is duly noted Major Nelson. But it is ill founded. We are at war so that we may have peace. That peace is soon to be realized. We will welcome it however it may present itself. Rest assured, gentlemen,” nudge, “and ladies: we are upon the cusp of victory. Our enemy is tired of fighting, and we are ready to accept his defeat and capitulation with gracious . . . gratuity.

“My third and final point,” he continued without missing a beat. “We are to prepare for a celebration. Every unit will be cleaned and polished to look its best. Parade practice will begin ASAP. For those who are not in attendance, that means tomorrow. Are there any questions? No? Good. Next meeting at 0600. Carrier commanders only. Dismissed.” Our new CO quickly left the meeting.

A befuddled room of officers came to attention and began an unorganized leaving of the briefing room behind the General. I attempted to make my way out as a member lost in the crowd. My exit was not to be; I was waylaid by Lieutenant LaTourno.

“The General would like to see you in his office,” he told me. I sheepishly nodded my compliance.

It was at this point in time that SGM Gamble made his belated yet enthusiastic entrance.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked rather unconvincingly. He started talking to no one in particular as he was passed by the exiting officers. “It took me forever to find my dress greens. They were at the laundry. I should have known, the last time I wore them was to a farewell party at a brothel, and . . .” Ron was accosted by LaTourno.

“Name, rank and serial number, Sergeant Major.”

The information was given to the First Lieutenant expertly. Only I seemed to notice that Ron was speaking in his most sarcastic military tone.

“And your place of residence?” Lieutenant LaTourno continued.

“Fleabag Hotel, room 1313, Mockingbird Land, Kaletown, Wilson’s World, gamma sector, none-of-yer-damn-business-pencil-neck, and you can shove yer zippy code. . .” The Sergeant Major had lost his patience. Not that he had much of it to begin with. The First Lieut. was quite taken aback.

“You? What? I. . . How dare you address a superior officer in that manner!”

Ron grinned maliciously. “When I meet a superior officer, I’ll apologize. You, as a commissioned member of Earthforce, should know better. No NCO may reveal their place of residence to any officer not directly above them in the chain of command. Especially not the planetary Sergeant Major. My home is my secret castle. You want to know where I live? Bribe a concubine.”

“Oh, er. Yes. Very well,” LaTourno stammered. It was kind of relieving to know that he could be flustered. “Good to know that you know your military protocol inside and out, Sergeant Major. However, conditions are changing. We may need to get in touch with you on an immediate basis and, therefore, need to have a reliable point of contact. If you had attended the briefing on time, you would have been made aware that your position has now acquired quite a bit more responsibility. I’ll . . . we’ll need you on call at all hours. And I’ll overlook the insubordination this time.” He had regained his own sense of control of the situation.

“Peachy,” Ron sneered. “I assume you have my cell number, Lieutenant? If not, it’s 555-EAT. . .”

I decided to butt in. “Perhaps, Lieutenant, if you, well, accompanied the Sergeant Major and myself for a drink later. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong feet. May I suggest, O’Malley’s Pub, 2015 hours? You can’t miss it; everyone knows where it is. I’m sure a brief meeting in a social setting will help to smooth things over. Don’t you think so, Sergeant Major?”

I almost thought that Ron was going to bite my head off. “Sure. Sounds like a peach of a plan, sir.” His tone did nothing to ease my mind. “O’Malley’s, 2015 hours.” He added to the lieut., “You’re buyin’.” With that he stomped out the door.

“We should be getting to the General’s office,” LaTourno growled to me, but while facing in the direction of the departing SGM. His face was set with a scowl that I would not like to see again; especially not directed at me; he was also scribbling something hastily on his holo-clipboard; something about insubordination.

“Lead the way,” I said. I would have time to worry about what I had gotten myself into later.