4 - 2
GOOD ORDER AND DISCIPLINE
“Every Society is based on an implicit social contract backed by the explicit violence of The State or Party against non-conformity. In a sense then, every society is a game in which the concrete punitive laws of government and the ephemeral laws of social relations form the boundaries. Informal regulations even go so far as to enumerate which explicit laws it is not only permissible, but required to break. Naturally these rules not only regulate how the game is played, but they inform the development of a meta-game of optimal play. The goal is always to create a system in which the optimal method is also the most beneficial to society at large.“
-Cyrus Sirenium, Quotations from the Throne Ch. 10, 33 MIC
Lt. Petrova stood idly scrolling through an inknote, sort of enjoying the fact that she could finally go outside without a mask on again and reviewed the records as Senior Mechanic Sergeant Jhuva worked through the line-by-line with her. She swiped to the next page. SSgt. Jhuva tapped his stylus down on Red 2, highlighting it on her own display.
“Now ma’am, the left final-drive is pretty mauled. I thought at first it was just the powerpack that was fucked up but when we went to spool and put drive to the tracks and the gears in there fuckin’ ate ‘emselves alive. I think some shrapnel or maybe pieces of a sabot bounced in through the bottom hull. Either way it got caught up in there somehow. Pissed out all the gear-lube into the bay and fuckin’ shredded the cogs. Mills pulled off the bottom drain plug and got like a handful of chips out, no lube. You can hear bigger pieces shearing and knocking, even if there wasn’t anything extra in there they got a life of maybe 10 or 20k with no oil.” Jhuva explained gesturing to the Lioness behind him.
Red 2 was in a sorry state. Pitted all over its front quarter by small arms fire with a few larger marks from 30mm and hollow-charges. Though there was nothing major enough to knock it out of the fight entirely, looking at it still reminded her of archival picts of bear attack survivors.
“Can you fix it before we leave?” She questioned.
SSgt. Jhuva pulled at his nose. The grease marks left by his fingers were barely noticeable against his charcoal skin. “That’s a tall fuckin’ order, ma’am. We can fix it, but we gotta disassemble the whole left hand final drive assembly, patch the housing, replace all the gears and factor in time for break-in too or it’ll grenade just the same.” SSgt. Jhuva looked over his left shoulder toward the vehicle. “CARLINI!”
Another grubby mechanic crawled on his back out from under Red 2. “Yes, Senior?!”
“You fuckin’ find that hole yet?!” Jhuva shouted.
Able-Mechanic Carlini used the lip of the open powerplant bay to pull himself to his feet and trotted over. “Yeah check, Senior. It’s uh in a real shitty spot though. Dunno if I can get a patch on it to weld without pulling the whole pack,” Carlini explained.
“If you’re not gonna be able to fix it here, we’ll do it at Fort Fortune. I already talked to Saber 3, if it's not gonna drive, at least get it to roll and we’ll be done with it for now.” Lt. Petrova directed while writing a few lines onto the inknote maintenance summary.
“Check rodge, ma’am. We’ll get the track back on and tow it to the lame pile.” SSgt. Jhuva jerked his thumb to the thinning lot of vehicles too broken to repair in the limited amount of time they had, but weren’t write-offs either.
A few Lynxs missing entire wheels and axle shafts; four Lionesses similarly mauled to Red 2; and a pair of Ocelots from CAAT-2, one with a gaping hole through its thankfully unmanned turret.
Behind them was the ignominy of ‘the boneyard’, the vehicles too far gone to ever be worth repairing; the burned out remains of Red 4; the husk of Black 1, which hadn’t even managed to retain its roof plate or turret when it was struck; and the half-crushed Voltzade can of Wham! all sat there loaded onto shipping pallets, waiting patiently to return to friendly soil on the last train home.
“You get your date yet ma’am? Half of Bat. Maintenance left yesterday. Just me, Senior, Ensign Davila and like four of our Privates left here.” Mech. Carlini asked politely.
“Day after tomorrow at the earliest, we’re on fucking trail,” Lt. Petrova lamented while scribbling in some more notes for later.
Red 1 and 3 were already halfway back to Ridge City. Even their prizes had left this morning enroute to an Equipment Exchange Point in Samara where they’d be repatriated back to the Noachians in exchange for a fat chunk of cash.
Sgt. Santiago and his Pioneers had already left. They’d detached and fallen back into their parent company earlier in the week. Dalia, Sam, and most of the Regiment were already gone too. Hell, the entire 2nd Rifle Div. and two thirds of the 3rd Lancer Div. were already gone.
Those still left behind were a skeleton crew, practically hurling warfighting functions at their RG replacements to take over while they rushed out the door.
Apparently the deadline for withdrawal was part of a peace agreement. It sounded stupid and irresponsible initially, but now she just wanted to go home. It wasn’t her place to worry about the potential fall-out of an Army-Central and Regent level decision. Work was drying up fast anyways. The only reason she was still here was that stupid hunk of metal sitting in front of her, its owner had to stay until it left. She dumped the inknote into her back pocket and headed back to the Company TOC.
Rand and the rest of the Platoon sans a few leaders were lazing about their tent. The promises of ‘formal billeting’ had turned out to be just another tease, apparently the Republican Guard had already taken up residence there. They were leaving soon anyways that while they complained, as all soldiers do, they didn’t care all that much. Cpl. Seevan kicked Rand’s cot and he rolled over slowly, mid-day nap interrupted.
“Big shot, Mechs want some help puttin’ Red 2’s track back on. You busy?” He questioned. Rand blinked sleepily several times.
“I thought they said they weren’t gonna break track, Corporal?” Rand questioned while sitting up and slipping his boots back on.
Seevan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they said that, but they couldn’t get the drive sprocket off to look at that gear thing without taking it off.”
“Yeah, I’ll help. Balachenko!” Rand agreed without much fuss and tossed an empty water can at Balachenko across the room, nailing him in the temple.
“What!” Balachenko burst out gesturing wildly with his comm, it’s Tri-D distorting as he whipped himself around and ripped a headphone out. “I’m tryna to fucking watch this!”
Rand glanced at the display, easily identifying the match. “Hektor stomps in the second period, Shon Lictan goes out on injury on the second to last action. There, you’ve seen it. Match is a week old anyways; c’mon we got shit to do.” Rand motioned for him to get up.
“What shit?” Balachenko questioned as he stood up and begrudgingly tossed his comm aside.
“Putting track back on Red 2, bring gloves and eye-pro.” Cpl. Seevan directed.
“Are you fuckin…where’s your Squad?” Balachenko grumbled under his breath while he fished out his personal protective equipment.
“I think you mean: ‘Check rodge, Corporal’.” Seevan corrected.
“Check rodge, Corporal.” Balachenko sighed defeated. Rand felt mostly the same way, he’d just learned not to voice his displeasure. It never really helped.
For anyone mechanized, there was and never would be a more painful experience than breaking track. The pieces were heavy, the bolts were always seized on despite supposedly being coated in stop-lock, it was dirty and the fucking vehicle always, ALWAYS fought back.
Cpl. Seevan went around looking for more idle Rifleman. Normally it would’ve been 2nd Squad’s problem, but they were so short handed it didn’t make sense for them to do it alone. Not to mention, most of them were on Guard right now anyways. Sgt. Dygalo joined the working party in place of Svertson. Rand never understood why they called it a ‘party’. They were never fun. Rand buttoned up his blouse and headed outside. Sgt. Rybeck passed them at the entrance looking tired as ever, but at least the razor bumps on his face had cleared up some.
They’d all been here too long. It was one thing to be in a foreign land for months on end, it was another to know just about everyone had left already and was back home while you were stuck out here for god knows how much longer.
Mills and Carlini were still hard at work. Though, Mostly it was Carlini yelling at Mills from under the vehicle while Mills frantically handed him tools. Rifleman Priveda, Red 2’s driver, stood by with her hands buried in her pockets, watching with amusement while Carlini continued to berate his assistant.
“If it doesn’t run how are we supposed to spool the track back on?” Balachenko questioned rhetorically.
“It fucking runs alright!” Carlini shouted, the sound of his voice echoing out of the open powerplant bay. Carlini wiggled down from his sitting position under the vehicle, his torso awkwardly squeezed through the open belly port for better access to the drive and then slid out from under it.
“Final drive’s shot. That’s why it doesn’t roll good.” He explained while standing up and motioning for Priveda to get into the open Driver’s hatch.
“Y’ didn’t answer the question.” Sgt. Dygalo cut in.
“It’s shot Sergeant, but it’ll turn. If we break it all the way who fuckin’ cares we gotta install a new one anyways,” Carlini shrugged while whistling for Priveda to start up the vehicle. Sgt. Dygalo shook his head while waving at the rest of the idle hands to lift the end of the uncoupled track back around the drive sprocket. Just the six or so track links were nearly a hundred kilos. Even if they weren’t fighting as much gravity, no one wanted that much mass to land on their foot or leg.
Priveda put on her helmet and completed the start-up. The familiar ear-piercing whine slowly increased in volume to a modest and stealthy only half-deafening drone. They were all probably doing incredible amounts of damage to their hearing right now. This was made doubly obvious by the placard on the inside of the powerplant access hatch warning them not to operate the powerplant with it open for that exact reason. Sure, there was a ‘right’ way to do things, but there was also a ‘right now’ way.
Carlini cupped his hands and leaned onto the glacis to shout into Priveda’s ear while she lifted a headphone off slightly.
“Now slow on the take up! That gear might go at any second!” Carlini jumped off to the side to get a good angle to watch the track roll up and give ground guide commands. Sgt. Dygalo and Balachenko stood by with a tanker bar to guide the track over its return rollers while Seevan and Rand stood off to the side to help guide the slack.
Carlini signaled ‘reverse’ and as soon as Priveda gave any power a hideous screaming grinding noise emanated from the left final-drive. Carlini just emphasized his signal. Priveda returned a shrug and continued. The drive sprocket shook and jolted before the gear suddenly caught and slowly started feeding the track backwards.
No one was really watching what Mills was doing. He had his head poking into the powerplant bay. The gear slipped with a grinding shriek sending the vehicle suddenly lurching to its right in the terrifying way only an uncontrolled 30 ton armored vehicle could. Carlini instantly signaled halt and Priveda let off the power. They all took a slight pause to consider courses of action.
“Fucking tempermental piece of shit!” Carlini shouted, voicing all of their frustrations.
“I think it’s fine, display’s only flashing a caution, it'll catch again!” Priveda shouted. As the technical expert, all heads turned to Carlini for guidance. He kicked at the pavement for a moment while thinking.
“Forward like half a meter!” Carlini shouted and signaled. There was more grinding and squealing noises of metal chips being turned but the drive sprocket started to move again. “Alright, reverse and slow!” he shouted and signaled.
Priveda shifted it back into reverse and despite the machine’s cries for mercy the drive sprocket shuddered and jolted backwards at a steady rate until the track was almost to the rear idler. The drive sprocket suddenly seized again.
“Come on you hunk of shit! Don’t you want to go home!?” Carlini hammered the side skirt with a socket wrench.
Mills still had his head inside the power plant bay, trying to figure out which one of the many reduction gears was causing the problem. His stupid viewer couldn’t get the density setting right so he was having trouble distinguishing between the gears and the growing number of pieces bouncing around the inside of the final drive. He kept fiddling with the settings while chips occasionally spat out of the gaping entrance wound on the drive’s housing and onto the bottom of the powerplant bay. He almost had it. He leaned just a bit closer.
“Power!” Carlini signaled. The Lioness spooled the track another few centimeters and jolted to a halt rocking the entire vehicle backwards again.
Carlini changed his approach and signaled to neutral the right and just give power to the left. Priveda once again obliged, except this time the drive sprocket didn’t move at all. The gears were struggling to turn, blocked by something. Carlini emphasized his signal and the powerplant whirred to higher output.
The gears shattered with a nearly explosive crack. A few tiny shard-like projectiles bounced out of the open powerplant bay. The drive sprocket suddenly turned freely, spitting half of the spooled track back onto the ground. Mills fell onto his ass clutching at his face with a scream.
Before Carlini had even signaled stop, Rand was already rushing over. Everyone else was still trying to figure out what was wrong.
Priveda cut the power plant off, threw on the mountain break and climbed out of the driver’s hatch to see what was happening. Rand had seized Mills by his shoulders and drug him a few meters away and was now prying his hands away from his face.
Rand’s heart was racing. Blood was just pouring from Mill’s face and he wouldn’t stop struggling and moaning with pain. Sgt. Dygalo walked over and took a knee next to Rand, ripping Mills’ eye protection off while the victim let out a weak crying whimper.
“Shut the fuck up you wrong-bred retard. You can fucking see.” Dygalo announced as he held Mills’ Eyepro up to the sunlight. He took a moment to examine the centimeter long shard that most certainly would be embedded into Mills’ eye if he hadn’t been wearing them.
Rand was still frantically triaging while Mills continued to squeal about his eyes, ripping open his jumpsuit to look for more wounds.
“Hey, he’s alright.” Sgt. Dygalo put his hand on Rand’s shoulder, the motion finally seemed to stop Rand’s frantic ministrations. Dygalo wasn’t sure who was worse off, the kid with metal chunks stuck in his face, or the deathly pale one trying to treat him while sweating like a Cimmerian in an unattended electronics shop.
“He’s alright; he’s alright.” Dygalo reassured. Mills whimpered again and Dygalo snapped his attention back. “And you would be totally fine if you weren’t such a fucking half-wit! Mongoloid! lab-experiment! and used even the tiniest bit of fucking common sense!”
Dygalo ripped a section off Mills' now exposed skivvy shirt and mopped most of the blood off his face and held it onto his head. “Seevan, go get a fucking Doc. Priveda, take over.”
“Check rodge, Sergeant.” Priveda acknowledged while Seevan jogged off. Dygalo stood up and passed the rag to Priveda then guided Rand by the shoulders a few steps away from the scene while Mills continued to groan.
“And get that fucking reject to shut up!” Dygalo shouted over his shoulder while guiding Rand away. “Listen, are YOU alright, Rifleman?” Dygalo asked, turning back to Rand.
Rand was still panting but he nodded. “Y-yeah, I just. I need a second. Sorry, I…”
Dygalo patted his shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong, alright? Good reaction. Just take a moment; catch your breath.”
Rand nodded again and took a deep breath. “I’m fine Sergeant… I’m fine.”
Dygalo slapped him on the back. “Alright then Rifleman, get this idiot to BAS.” Dygalo ordered while pointing over his shoulder at Mills.
“Now hold it there and press,” Priveda forced Mills hand onto the rag on his face and took a step back. Rand hauled Mills up to his feet while Dygalo surveyed the scene.
Carlini already had his head in the engine bay and was cursing up a storm. “Fuck!” Carlini took a step back glancing at Mills. “You fuckin’ goon. Why’d you have your fuckin’ face in there, huh?”
“I ‘s tryinna see which gear was causing the problem.” Mills explained weakly.
“Did it ever occur to you that fuckin’ thing might go any second? You’d be missing a fucking eye if you weren’t wearing the safeties I had to tell you to put on! At least have some sense of self-preservation!” Carlini motioned for Rand to take him away while rubbing his temples trying to formulate a new plan.
“Man, Senior’s definitely gonna chew my ass about this.” Dygalo observed indifferently.
“Yeah and Jhuva’s gonna be up mine for letting that reject private hurt himself; stupid kid.” Carlini spit.
“New plan? We gotta do this shit one way or another.” Cpl. Seevan inserted himself while trotting back over with a Hospitalman in tow.
“I’ll bring our Oli around. Maybe just as sketch, but we can try winching the track back on. Priveda, come ground-guide me,” Carlini motioned for her to come with him.
Lt. Petrova stared blankly into the text document for another moment. Her fine summary was red marked all over. Tiny minutia like line spacing and specific verbiage that was required per some stupid admin manual was missing. Captain Eckartt silently scrolled through an endless stream of digital correspondence at the desk next to her. Something to pass the time. No one wanted to be here anymore.
There still was plenty of busy work which could probably wait, but they needed something to stave off boredom during the day. Most of the Company’s remaining leadership had gathered in this tent. The four of them were sharing the last two workstations in a now mostly deserted COC tent. Master Sergeant Knute was paging through maintenance logs across from her while Lt. Steiner did his best to square the circle of his own platoon’s equipment. Everyone else, including First Sergeant, The XO and the other half of the Company were already back home. They weren’t exactly being that productive, but this was away to stay occupied until they could play Spades in good conscience in the evening. Top and Captain Eckartt were the team to beat for now.
“Lucy, you finish that fuckin’ thing yet?” Capt. Eckartt asked while observing her steady typing out of the corner of his eye.
“Not yet, Sir. Adj red-penned the shit out of it. I don’t know why; I used the template on the share drive.” Lt. Petrova explained while making a correction.
“Just have it finished by 1600, I need it for the Commander’s Legal brief.” Capt. Eckarrt paused to rub his eyes. “Why is killing people the easy part of this job.”
“Smoke, Fritz?” Lt. Steiner asked while motioning with his fingers.
“Yeah…” Capt. Eckartt sighed and stood up.
“Coming Lucy?” Steiner turned toward her while moving towards the tent’s door.
“I’m good Vo,” Lucy shook her head.
“Suit yourself,” He shrugged while opening the flap for Capt. Eckartt.
“Good afternoon, Gentlemen.” SSgt Karoff gruffly announced while hobbling through the door as the other two Officers exited. Top only gave Karoff a quick glance before deciding to leave himself out of what came next and resumed paging.
“Good or bad?” Lt. Petrova questioned. SSgt Karoff took a moment to settle himself in the chair across from her, adjusting his still braced leg with his hands.
“That mechanic, Mills, gear blew up right next to him. One of the Docs is picking pieces of it out of his face right now.” Karoff spit out matter of factly. Lt. Petrova instantly slumped backwards while pulling on her bangs.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” she groaned. “Who was out there?”
Karoff just shook his head. “Dygalo, Seevan, Rand, Priveda, Balachenko and that Carlini kid from Battalion Maintenance.” Karoff listed.
“You already scream at ‘em already?” She asked while sitting back up. Karoff nodded.
Lt. Petrova sighed again, “I want to see Seevan and Dygalo. Everyone’s getting a little too sloppy. They at least get that track back on?”
Karoff nodded again, “‘Course they did. They did that before they even told me fuckstick got a plasteel facial. They wanna go home, but if they keep half-assing shit like this someone’s gonna end up with their feet sticking out from under a Quadconn like the wicked witch of the west.” Karoff replied.
“We’re in agreement there. Send them over in a few minutes. I’ll deal with it.” Lt. Petrova directed while turning back to her workstation.
“Check rodge, ma’am.” Karoff acknowledged while standing up and hobbling back out the door.
She sat silently for a moment staring into her display. Why did these fucking idiots do this shit? Was she not there enough? Did she not provide enough supervision or direction? When they were in combat or really in the field at all doing their actual jobs, there were no issues. They just did as directed, but as soon as they were in garrison again or something like it it was always this shit.
0300 Comm link because Svertson was arrested for drunk and disorderly and she needed to be present to escort him out of the PMO station. Explaining to Captain Eckartt why Rapier was missing 2 Lioness’s worth of tools and hers just so happened to have every single associated item, freshly repainted at that. 2000 Company recall formation because someone put the First Sergeant’s cycle on top of the Battalion Headquarters. Standing in front of Lt. Col. Balalaika explaining why Nikolaev and Muchen thought it was okay to destroy a cabbage patch in order to take a 600 meter shortcut in Red 4. Having to call the Marshall’s while Officer of the Day because her Platoon got in a random barracks brawl with a Platoon from Falchion on a Friday night. How hard was it to be attentive and stay out of trouble?
The tent flap opened again and she felt an unmistakable tinge of dread that someone would bring her more bad news.
“Lucy why ‘re you looking all fuckin’ Morb’d?” Steiner questioned with a raised eyebrow as he sauntered back over to his chair.
“Every second we’re still here I age at least a month.” She stated flatly while resuming corrections on the document in front of her while Capt. Eckart walked towards her holding a stack of white folios.
“Sir, please. Don’t.” she pleaded.
“Man, did that old fucker Karoff tell you Sanna Klaus isn’t real or something, it’s just awards Lucy.” Capt. Eckartt announced while dropping them. “Adj dropped these off. Lt. Col. Balalika put yours and Rand’s names up for VS’s, guess they got approved.”
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Lucy sifted through the rest of the stack opening one. “Shoulda told me that chump was out there so I could give her a piece of my mind. What’re the rest of these?”
“Army Central sent down a blanket Order of Merit for your whole platoon. You should see some of the messages I’m getting from back home. They’re showing off footage from your Platoon’s sitawares on the news.” Capt. Eckartt relayed and then paused glancing at the document open on her workstation. “You finished with that yet?”
“Fritz you’re really insufferable sometimes.” Lt. Petrova frowned. He just smiled and chuckled to himself while sitting down.
“There’s one more thing before we leave too. There’s a change of responsibility and reconciliation ceremony right before we deuce out of here and really, I’d do it myself but…” She felt moments being shaved off her lifespan that she'd never get back.
“The Regent and a bunch of other dignitaries are gonna be there. It’s a big dog and pony show. Some cats from 4MIB are gonna be there too. You’re the only one in the Battalion that speaks Cydonian like, not shittily so Col. Mallock thought it’d be good for you to go,” He finished.
“And what’s dickless over there doing in the meantime?” Lt. Petrova motioned toward Steiner who looked positively offended by the implication.
“I’ll have you know, Lucy, I have a counter parts working group with the 3/17th Brigade Staff.” Steiner gloated.
“I made the slides for that you slime. Does Blue 3 even have a turret on yet?” She growled.
Steiner just kept cheesing with that toothy, supremely punchable, smile. She didn’t miss this, her peers just loved to rile her up. It may have come from a place of camaraderie, but it didn’t dull the effect.
“It drives. Certainly didn’t claim anyone’s parts either while getting fixed.” Steiner replied.
He was just trying to get to her. Calm down, collect your thoughts. She took a deep breath and glanced around the room. Recaff, that’s what she needed. She stood up and made her way over to the machine and touched the back of her hand to the pot to gauge the temperature. Hot but not boiling. Perfect.
She instantly played out her next course of action in her mind. Take the pot, offer Vo a cup politely. Laugh at his shitty little ‘joke’ just to get his guard down slightly and then dump it on his lap. When he inevitably stood up and swung on her, slip to the left inside his reach, check-hook right. KO.
She poured herself a cup and set the pot back, marched back over to the desk and sat back down. Decorum needed to be upheld.
“I just sent you the working CONOP for that reconciliation event. Probably should look it over at least once before then,” Capt. Eckartt suggested while waving the Company’s ceremonial cutlass and his ultimate badge of authority in her general direction.
The attached document populated a moment later. She ignored it for the moment and resumed making the final corrections to her Fine Summary Report. Just as she actually got to work again, there was another interruption in the form of pounding on the metal plate mounted outside the door.
“Good afternoon Ma’am, Good afternoon Gentlemen! Rifleman Sergeant Dygalo and Rifleman Corporal Seevan, reporting as ordered!” bounced muffled through the cloth tent flap.
Captain Eckartt kicked his feet onto the desk in front of him and laid the cutlass across his lap. He must’ve been positively dying to watch what transpired next from her estimation despite the composed ‘mask of command’ he was wearing. Master Sergeant Knute looked perhaps more annoyed than she was by the interruption but rose from his seat, joints practically squeaking with age, and locked himself at attention next to the door.
“Enter!” Captain Eckartt commanded. The flap lifted open. On cue Top Knute began screaming commands.
“Quicktime, March! Left, right, left, right!” he belted off in a frighteningly fast cadence while the two offenders blitzed in step right past Captain Eckartt and in front of her desk. “Mark Time!” They marched in place for another few beats before Knute finally relented, “Party, Halt!” Dygalo and Seevan’s heels smacked into the flooring with a final unified and thunderous report. “Right, face!”
Dygalo and Seevan pivoted at attention to face her. Dygalo was holding his bearing but Seevan barely concealed a scowl. Senior’s screaming apparently still had something of an effect on him.
“Well,” she offered. “Anything to say for yourselves?”
Dygalo side-eyed Seevan while remaining locked at the position of attention and then flicked his gaze back to her. “No ma’am.”
“Ma’am, really I don’t think this was anyone’s fault. Just an accident, he really should’ve known better.” Seevan started while Dygalo continued to glare at Seevan, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Really? That's all you have to say. It was just an accident and Mills should’ve known better? Rifleman Sergeant Dygalo, did Mills know better?” She asked pointedly.
“No, ma’am.” Dygalo dutifully responded.
“And he fucked himself up right?” She questioned further.
“Yes, ma’am.” Dygalo added.
“Rifleman-Corporal Seevan, who’s fault is it that Mills didn’t know any better?”
“...ours, Ma’am.” Seevan replied with a sigh.
“Then tell me: who is ultimately responsible for Mills having pieces of my Lioness in his face.”
“We are, ma’am.” Cpl. Seevan replied.
“Wrong. I am.” Lt. Petrova pointed her thumb at her chest and then thrust her finger at the two of them. “You two execute responsibilities that I have chosen to delegate to you. That’s the difference; I am accountable for every Soldier and piece of equipment under my command. You supervise and execute the tasks I and Senior assign you. So why don’t you two quit it with the fucking cavaleir attitude. Stop making Me, Senior and this entire platoon look undisciplined and careless. Use that fucking lawful authority the BC saw fit to endow you with to execute your assigned mission, the right way. I can’t be everywhere at once. Keep these fucking Soldiers from killing themselves doing dumbshit.”
“Check rodge, ma’am.” they replied in unison.
“Seevan, if you want to stay Acting Squad Leader until Sergeant Weiss comes back I suggest you get your shit together. I don’t know why only one of your Rifleman was out there maintaining the vehicle that was a sub-hand receipt to them. Nor do I know why you didn’t have enough situational awareness to stop a Private from doing something that was clearly dangerous. Really, I’m not interested in an explanation. Fix yourself. If you can’t do the job, I’ll find someone who will.” Lt. Petrova said.
“Check rodge, ma’am.” Seevan replied.
“And you, Dygalo.” She announced while shifting fire onto him. ”I expect better from my Sergeants. You’re not a fucking Corporal anymore, stop acting like one. 2nd Stanza of the Sergeant’s creed: ‘My two basic responsibilities will always be at the forefront of my mind: the accomplishment of my assigned missions and the welfare of my soldiers’. It’s your job to tell a Corporal and fucking pissant Able-Mechanic ‘this is a dumb fucking idea’, and that there’s a right way to put track on a disabled vehicle. The same rules have always applied. The acceptable number of casualties of any priority in a non-combat environment is how many Sergeant Dygalo?”
“Zero, ma’am,” Dygalo responded.
“Then pull your head out of your ass and enforce the standard.” Lt. Petrova directed.
“Check rodge, ma’am. I’ll do better.” Dygalo replied.
“You will do better; I’m not asking. Everyone wants to go fucking home, I know. Keep everyone's mind on the task at hand, we’re not over the finish line yet.”
“Check rodge, ma’am,” they replied in unison.
“Both of you, 7 days extra punitive duty. One more thing, Platoon formation outside the tent at…” Lt. Petrova took a moment to glance at the cracked face of her chrono. “1630. Dismissed.”
“Post, March! Left, Right, Left, Right!” MSgt. Knute belted out as they right faced and sped out the door. Top trudged over to the flap and closed it all the way while grumbling and shaking his head.
“Not gonna tell them what that formation is for?” Capt. Eckartt asked while continuing to play with his cutlass.
“No, I want them to stew for another hour at least,” Lt. Petrova replied.
“You’ve got a real vindictive streak, Lucy,” Steiner whistled.
“It’s the Cydonian in me,” she replied while taking a sip of her recaff and returning to work.
“Man, you know, it’s great she looks out for us and stuff. But damn, she can be a real fucking bitch sometimes. What the fuck was she even mad about? Mills may be a fucking retard but he’s fine.” Seevan complained while they walked back to the tent. Dygalo stopped suddenly.
“Listen, Seevo, I know you think you been around the block a time or two, but really I’ll take a fuckin’ informal nibbling like that from an Officer over paperwork or a Number 31 anyday. We got off alright. Lt. Petrova didn’t do us any wrong and coulda done a lot worse,” Dygalo explained.
“Man, quit it with the Sergeant act. We were the same rank a week ago, I know you’re tryna show out for fucking Senior and the Princess in there, but c’mon!” Seevan snapped back while resuming his walk back to the tent.
Seevan had been picking at his nerves for the past week already. Dygalo shot a quick glance at his surroundings and seized Seevan by the shoulder, balling up the fabric of Seevan’s blouse in his fist and yanking him into a narrow alcove between two tents.
“If you got a fucking problem with me or how I do things that’s fine e-fuckin-nough we can settle that like Men. But don’t dare suggest Senior and Lt. Petrova ain’t earned a god damn measure of your respect for getting your sorry ass through that fire alive.”
“Ars, let me fuckin go.” Seevan protested grabbing Dygalo’s wrist and jerking away from him but couldn’t break his grip for the moment
“Who fucking went to go get Doc and Maude? Huh?” Dygalo held him fast for another beat. “You? Course not, you fucking sat there on the first floor thankin’ your lucky stars that you made it through the hail unscathed. Hardly turnin’ back to count your Section.” Dygalo whipped him around with his blouse again. Seevan’s face was turning a beat red with rage.
“You know who fucking did go out there?” Dygalo finally relented, jerking Seevan towards him to get him off balance and then throwing him down. “Rand and Lt. Petrova and I’m sure if she didn’t go Rand’d be dead too.”
At this point it didn’t matter if Dygalo was right or not. Seevan was insulted, attacked. Pride demanded he fight and Dygalo wanted it that way.
“C’mon drop blouse then if you got a problem w’ me and anger you ain’t use on the Feds.” Dygalo egged him on while unbuttoning his own blouse and stripping off his rank for the moment. Seevan obliged, ripped his own blouse and cover off, and threw them on the ground in a fury.
Angry though Seevan was, unskilled he was not. Seevan launched himself at Dygalo with a lunging lead hook. A feint. Seevan ducked low, ramming his shoulder into Dygalo’s abdomen and wrapped his arms around Dygalo’s legs and lifted the shorter stockier man into a double-leg slam, half against the tent and half against the ground. The aggression stunned Dygalo for a moment, but as soon as he had his wits about him he recovered a quick guard and hammered Seevan’s scalp with an elbow while his opponent tried to get a better position. The repeated hammering drew blood and Seevan broke contact, giving enough space for a scramble.
Dygalo turned away and turtled on all fours as Seevan popped out of his guard, hoping to get to his feet, but Seevan was on him again a moment later. One arm circled around Dygalo’s waist for control, dragging him back down as he tried to stand, the other hammering the side of his head with punches. Dygalo ducked his head and shoulder down both to shell out and to initiate a Granby roll escape. Seevan lost control while Dygalo rolled across his shoulders, reversing the position for a moment. Dygalo pushed Seevan away and off-balance just to make enough space to get up on three points. He then slapped his hands down on Seevans back, using his shirt as a handle and launched an explosive knee into his exposed ribs. Seevan grunted and pulled his elbow in over the exposed area while twisting and darting away. Dygalo knew that one did damage as Seevan struggled back upwards and raised his guard again.
They circled for a moment just out of each other's range. Snotnosed wiry fuck. Dygalo sized him up carefully. Seevan was hurt, just from the way he was slightly hunched and had his injured side bladed away from him it was obvious. Seevan had hands though, he had to give him that. Seevan took the initiative and extended his arm in front of Dygalo’s face while splaying his fingers to obscure his next move. He switched stances suddenly while Dygalo was blinded and popped him on the nose with a lead hand jab on the switch. Dygalo had to get closer. Dygalo moved in with a feint and a lateral and Seevan popped him with another clean jab while dancing backwards, maintaining the distance.
Dygalo was maybe a little more tricky than Seevan though. Dygalo eyed his surroundings, circled again slightly and then blitzed forward. Seevan shot another jab out which Dygalo parried with his face. Seevan’s fist glanced against his brow and tore a nasty cut at the corner of his eye. Dygalo’s plan however was already in motion. Seevan danced backwards again to maintain the distance and he tripped over one of the tent’s exposed guy ropes falling flat on his back.
Dygalo was on him in a flash launching himself into full mount while Seevan rolled onto his side and tried to shrimp away. Dygalo unleashed a violent ground and pound. All Seevan could manage for the moment was to shell up and eat the punishment while trying to off balance him with panicked bucking.
Seevan’s epileptic and panicked kicking knocked a guy rope loose and the tent next to them partially collapsed.
“What in the god damn child-murdering fuck is going on out there!” Someone screamed from inside the tent while storming out.
Oh shit. They both stopped fighting instantly as a Republican Guard Major appeared above them. Dygalo and Seevan scrambled off of each other and quickly snatched up their blouses and covers and then sprinted away as fast as they could,
“Stop! Stop right there scum!” The Major snatched the whistle hanging around his neck and let out a few piercing blasts to summon his troops to battle.
They continued to speed away, tearing through the camp and making random turns through the maze of tents while confused Republican Guards wandered out of tents. If they were caught fighting, here on a camp loaded with RG’s and TCO’s they’d be in way more trouble than they both were before, chevron disappearing trouble.
They replayed their escape and evasion training for another few minutes while RG soldiers and a pair of Marshalls stalked around looking for them, eventually hiding out in a stack of boxes behind the DFAC.
“Ars, I-. It wasn’t like that-” Seevan started “Don’t call me a fuckin’ coward.” Seevan exhaled while still catching his breath and staring right into Dygalo’s eyes.
Dygalo let his head get to him a bit too much. Seevan could fight, it wasn’t his fault nothing he could’ve done would have changed anything.
“You’re right, it wasn’t like that. I’m sorry,.” Admitting he was completely wrong was a little too much, especially because as far as he was concerned, he was winning. Though it’d probably gone too far. Seevan sat down against the boxes.
“And you’re right about the Princess and Senior. Dunno why I said that, I dunno this shit.. this shit’s really getting to me,” Seevan exhaled dabbing at the blood oozing down from the top of his head. “Man, we’re really in fuckin’ trouble now.”
“Ah ah ah, we’re in trouble if we get caught.” Dygalo suggested.
“Really Ars? Which other two chumps in the Battalion look beat the fuck up?” Seevan gestured to the cut on his head and then rubbing his abdomen. “Man that knee really fucking hurt.”
“We’ll figure it out. Sides, they might not’ve seen who we are.” Dygalo motioned to the name tape on the center of his skivvy shirt. Enough dirt and sweat was on it to make it generally illegible. “Senior will understand, I promise… Look, Seevo. We good?” Dygalo suggested extending his hand.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re good.” Seevan took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “For the record, I was winning, I was gonna reverse that.”
“Uh-huh, yeah.” Dygalo dismissed playfully while rubbing some loose dirt into the cut on his eyebrow.
Senior Sergeant Karoff sat on an unoccupied rack with his K10 Infantry Rifle fully disassembled and neatly arrayed on the cot next to him. After being cooped up inside Shock-trauma and then run ragged with all these minor taskings he’d finally found some time to clean it.
Karoff took the polymer upper-receiver in hand and carefully inspected the outside before chasing out some dirt from a crevice in the handguard with a small brush. Seevan and Dygalo should’ve been back by now. Was that girl really giving them that much of an asschewing? Maybe Skipper and Top Knute had inserted themselves into it; they did occupy the same workspace and most definitely had jurisdiction. Though that seemed a bit out of character for Eckartt, he was more hands-off than that. Lt. Petrova wasn’t the type to unleash her frustrations on her subordinates either. Top might’ve had a few things to say, but there was a reason he wasn’t a First Sergeant.
Seevan and Dygalo reappeared through the tent flap, both looking beat to hell though they were acting like nothing was wrong. Fucking goons.
“You two miscreants, come here.” Karoff announced, motioning them over with the brush. Dygalo and Seevan approached him and both instinctively went to parade rest. He didn’t feel like yelling anymore today. Karoff glanced to his left where Rand was sitting, cleaning his rifle as well.
“Rand, take a smoke break.” Karoff instructed. Rand stared at him wearing that trademark junior enlisted confusion.
“Senior, I don’t smoke.” Rand replied.
“Rand, take a smoke break” Karoff motioned towards the door. Rand looked around and then up at Seevan and Dygalo, both still locked at parade rest.
“Oh, um. Check rodge, Senior.” Rand replied while picking up the disassembled pieces of his rifle and then quickly giving them some space and heading outside.
“Relax you two; sit down.” Karoff slid his disassembled rifle to one side to make room and motioned for them to sit again. They complied but Seevan was still somewhat locked, back straight, left hand left knee, right hand right knee.
“I said relax. What happened?” Karoff questioned while resuming his brushing.
Dygalo and Seevan glanced at each other before Seevan started.
“We had a Gentleman's disagreement, Senior”
“That all? You sort it out?” Karoff asked while inserting his little finger into the Rifle’s chamber and then inspecting the residue on it.
“We did, but-” Seevan started.
“But?” Karoff paused his ministrations for the moment. Maybe there was another reason they looked nervous.
“We’r goin’ at it and got fuckin’ busted by some RG Officer, fucker blew his whistle when we tore off. We had to hide out by the DFAC for a good twenty to dodge Guardsmen and a pair a’ Marshalls.” Dygalo continued. Leave it to Rifleman....
“Go get cleaned up. Ma’am doesn’t hear a word of this, understand?” Karoff instructed. Lt. Petrova was a good Officer, as good as they came anyways, but there were and always had been things she was required to do something about. Officers had a mandate in their commission to report all violations of the Orders they were instructed to enforce. The FOS had a Standing Order about physical altercations. This could easily get way out of hand, he needed to quash it here and now to both protect the two goons sitting in front of him and his boss.
“Ma’am said Platoon formation outside the tent in an hour by the way Senior.” Dygalo added.
“Well then hurry the fuck up,” Karoff motioned them up with speed. “And tell Rand he can come back in on your way out, he’ll sit out there all day if y’ don’t.”
“It’s on your box, Fritz.” Lt. Petrova announced.
Capt. Eckartt opened the new file and gave it a cursory look and when satisfied, transferred it to his inknote with a tap. “Looks fine, thanks Lucy. Maybe Legal will get out of our hair now. I’ll pass the notes along from that sync, if you really do wanna write a rebuttal.” Eckartt replied while standing and putting his blouse back on. “You should probably take a break; go to the gym or something.”
“I appreciate the concern sir, but I’ll go later. I still have some things I want to take care of.” She replied while glancing toward Steiner who was similarly getting up to take care of some ‘business’ with his troops.
His Platoon Sergeant, Senior Willcox had come in a few minutes ago to inform them that there was an RG Major, the Company Commander for Sierra Co. 5-233rd Guards Infantry on the hunt for two male White Army soldiers of indeterminate Grade or Corps. Apparently the only identifying feature he managed to pick up before they ran away was they were both smashed up.
No fighting, what a stupid fucking rule. This wasn’t the White Army’s FOS anymore, the Western Coalition Army even no longer made the rules. The Guard was even more constrained with insane regulations than she was. Sanctimonious and politically conscious Officers charged with weekend-warrior rabble. Draconian discipline was the only thing that could keep them under any kind of control.
She could hardly imagine the situation they were charged with anyways. One day you’re taking the tram to work in Central Sanitation, wearing that stupid little red armband to let everyone know you’ve got the Guard and a Canton Officer at your back if the tenement manager keeps refusing to fix your ceiling. Counting down the time until your next four day Drill where you’ll do some paperwork, maybe drive around your early model Lynx and then shoot some pop-up targets. The next, that same Canton Officer is your Company Commander and handing you summons. Then whisked away to the FRR to help secure a bombed out ruin filled with angry foreigners. It worked, but it still seemed mental. All in, or all out. That’s the only way it made sense to her.
She dismissed the thought and opened the working CONOP while she still had a few minutes to spare. UNCLASS / DRAFT / OPERATION ARES SWORD RECONCILIATION EVENT CONCEPT OF OPERATIONS / POC: ENS YARBROUGH, 2/1RFL ADJ was marked on the cover slide. Great, she had another reason to yell at that fucker when she inevitably found something wrong with it. She flipped through a few slides, taking note of time scales, personnel involved, sequence of events, and how the formations would be arrayed around Tyrant Square in the Government District.
Flipping to the roster slide she found her first correction. In a show of unnecessarily confusing cultural sensitivity everyone’s name had been written in their native script. There were seven different Martian nations involved and consequently seven different written languages all over this slide. She scribbled all over the slide furiously circling Granat she could barely parse and totally incomprehensible Hanzi and Elomite characters. This dumb Ensign even wrote in her name over Capt. Eckartt’s as (R) Lt. Петрова. She circled the Cydonian even though she could read it just fine and linked all of the bubbles together with a big red ‘MARTIAN STANDARD ANGLISH ONLY’ on the center of the slide. The tiny revenge she felt as the corrections transferred through the network brought a disproportionate amount of satisfaction.
Something did catch her eye glancing through the list of Third Country Observer representatives. Hespos used word-characters for most things, but they did have a sound-character script for foreign and technical words. A name. B-tr-v? It looked familiar. She recognized the Group-Captain symbol, the rough equivalent of a White Army Major. She wracked her brain for a moment trying to remember which combination of symbols inferred which vowel sounds. Did the break in the V symbol mean a ‘va’ or a ‘vu’ sound? Sam spoke Hensho. Maybe she’d ask him about it tonight when he called. She had another thing scheduled now however, and locked the work station with a wave of her bond chip’d wrist.
Taking the stack of white folios with freshly minted medals tucked inside, she made her way to the door.
“THE REGENT OF THARSIS TAKES GREAT PLEASURE IN AWARDING THE VICTORY STAR, 1ST CLASS, TO RIFLEMAN BALMETRIO T. RAND, COMMUNICATIONS OPERATOR, 2ND PLATOON, G COMPANY, 2ND BATTALION, 1ST RIFLE REGIMENT, WHITE ARMY OF THARSIS, FOR CONSPICUOUS GALLANTRY ABOVE AND BEYOND THE CALL OF DUTY IN ACTION AGAINST THE ENEMY ON 22 APRIL, 42 MIC IN THE VICINITY OF LIBERTALIA STATION MEMORIAL PARK, GREENDOME, FEDERAL RIFT REPUBLIC.
During intense fighting near the park, then PFC Rand numerous times exposed himself to enemy fire to move friendly casualties to cover and render life saving aid.
Under extreme pressure from attacking enemy forces, 2nd Platoon’s subordinate Squads began to retrograde to alternate fighting positions. While covering the movement of members of 2nd Squad, PFC Rand observed the Platoon’s Hospitalman and 2nd Squad’s already wounded Squad Leader being struck by enemy 30mm cannon fire, leaving them wounded in a dangerously open stretch of terrain. With complete disregard for his own life, and against the direct order of a Commissioned Officer, PFC Rand moved swiftly down from his position in the 2nd Story of a fortified building and sprinted across more than 200 meters of open ground under intense enemy fire to reach the friendly wounded.
Once having reached the position PFC Rand rendered life saving care to the wounded Squad Leader, and with the help of another Soldier who had followed his bold example, and again under intense enemy fire, carried the wounded Soldier back safely to a friendly position.
PFC Rand’s boldness, extreme bravery, total dedication to duty, and complete disregard for his own life over that of his comrades was in keeping with the highest traditions of military virtue reflecting great credit upon himself and the White Army of Tharsis.
—Signed, IBHRAM KANE, REGENT PROTECTOR OF THARSIS”
SSgt. Karoff snapped the white folio close and passed the medal to Lt. Petrova, a brilliant silver-white four pointed star with white suspension split by narrow red, blue and black stripes. Lt. Petrova studied Rand’s expression carefully. He’d asked that it just be the platoon. He said he didn’t want any recognition. It should be the damn Regent of Tharsis pinning this on him to a cheering crowd as far as she was concerned.
Though she almost hated having to do this, seeing the way his lip was quivering. She hoped one day that this memory wouldn’t hurt him the way it hurt now. She hoped he would eventually recognize that he had done a great and very bold thing. Based on the letter Weiss had managed to scribble with her left hand through a haze of drugs, she was thankful. She was very thankful; even though she’d lost Tony too.
Lt. Petrova pinned the device on his pocket flap and gave a quick nod. “There’s one more Soldier still alive because of you. Be proud.”
Rand just nodded, vigorously blinking some moisture away. She offered him the folio and a handshake simultaneously. Rand took both and giving her hand a swift shake, almost rehearsed in its formality, and let go to give her a sharp salute. She returned it in kind.
“Post!” SSgt. Karoff ordered. Rand took one step back and right faced. “March!” Rand stepped off and marched around to the rear of the formation and fell back in.
“When you receive the command, congratulate the newly decorated Rifleman. Fall out!” SSgt. Karoff bellowed. The entire platoon turned and practically assaulted Rand with words of congratulations and encouragement.
Balachenko pulled Rand into a vice-like embrace, announcing loudly “Man, you are gonna get so much pussy when we get back.”
Rand was somewhat unsure of how to respond to the thought while Balachenko slapped his back. He had never really had much success with women. Sure he’d been more confident after he’d joined, it’d shaped him in ways into a ‘man’. He certainly felt like he’d aged a thousand years since he’d come in, especially after everything that’d just happened, but there was still this gap. There was a gap in the way he saw himself and what others saw in him. It felt alienating in a strange way. He wished that he could exude the effortless confidence that Lt. Petrova or Senior did. They didn’t seem like imposters in their own skin. Everyone was still crowding when Senior called them back to another quick huddle.
“Listen Ladies and Gents. We’re going home at 1300 the day after tomorrow.” Karoff began.
A jubilant burst of Ahee-a! And cheers broke out which Senior immediately silenced again with a motion of his arms.
“That means pre-manifest with all equipment that’s getting hand carried at the same time tomorrow. Squad Leaders: full PCC, PCI, and weapons count by 1230. We’ll form up and march over there together, alright?” Rybeck, Krieger, Seevan and Dygalo all gave quick nods of acknowledgement before Senior continued.
“Lt. Petrova is staying back another few days to handle a change of responsibility ceremony and final equipment load on rail. She needs FIVE, I say again, FIVE brave Rifleman to stay back with her to stand in the formation. Any volunteers?”
Sgt. Rybeck immediately stepped forward. “Senior, why don’t we let the NCO’s handle this, let’s let the Juniors go home on time.” He suggested while Krieger’s eyes bored into the back of his skull in silent protest.
“Absolutely not.” Senior retorted. “She told me specifically, you were to leave on the next ride out. You gotta wife and kid at home to worry about, Rybeck.”
Rybeck lifted his hands in defeat and got back into the gaggle. Sgt. Dygalo and Cpl. Seevan, both looking slightly better than earlier, raised their hands.
“We’re on EPD anyways, might as well spend it here.” Seevan announced.
Karoff scribbled their names down into his inknote. “That makes two, who else?”
“Uh, Senior. I want to stay.” Rand offered.
“Go home Rand. Enjoy your leave, go see your family.” Karoff rejected.
“C’mon Senior. What’s a few more days?” Rand protested. Karoff raised an eyebrow and took a moment of pause. “Suit yourself, Hero.” Karoff scribbled his name down.
“If big shot’s staying, I wanna stay.” Svertson pushed forward.
“I’ll do it too.” Balachenko added with a flair of performative compassion for his peers. Obviously he just didn’t want to leave his friends.
Karoff snorted. “I guess Weapons just loves extra duty today, huh?”
“Senior we gotta look out for our Battle. Can’t leave little ole Balmi here by himself with that much chevron power. Who’d take out the trash?” Svertson joked to a few mild chuckles.
Karoff shook his head again. “Y’all are free to go.” he ordered, motioning for dispersal with his hands. The Squads made quick huddles around their leaders to divy up the minor taskings of police call, trash party, and guard for the evening.
“I sort of expected a little more teeth pulling.” Lt. Petrova mentioned while SSgt. Karoff rambled back over to her.
“Look, they like you alright? Rare thing for a Lieutenant. So cherish it for now. You pin Captain and you’re gonna have to win an entire company over. Got anything else for them?” Karoff replied while motioning back over to the Platoon.
She shook her head. “They’re all yours; I’m gonna take a run and then I’ve got a planning sync later tonight I need to remote into from company TOC.”
“A sync huh? Sure you’re not planning to link that man of yours on the Company’s comm?” Karoff mused.
“I don’t know who gave you that idea. I have a lot of work to do,” Lt. Petrova dismissed while hiding her fluster in a sudden new interest in her inknote.
“Relax, ma’am. I swear, you’re just like my oldest sometimes.” Karoff added, only the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
As Karoff walked out of line of sight she scribbled random lines on a blank document with increasing vigor. Who didn’t know at this point? When were people going to stop inserting themselves into her private life? Did everyone just have to know every tiny detail? Why was she so angry about it? Was she really angry even, or just… embarrassed? She couldn’t stand the thought of people looking at her differently because she’d developed this… attachment.
Always work the hardest, always do the most, always be the best. Honor and Duty. Never discredit the name. She had to stop herself from leaving a crease on the inknote’s semi-flexible display with her stylus. She shoved the inknote into her back pocket. Exercise would cure this ailment.