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Arrival
by Marcus Taylor |
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E/r to Barracks block T17, Phoenix Gamma, Centarus April 30 3058, 1450h
The five soldiers sped past block after block of barracks, vehicle laagers, and repair bays. 'Looks like quite a sizable city, rather than a base,' Olly thought. "How many more miles is it?" he asked their driver amusedly.
"Not far now," Hopkins' back replied. Her voice took the tone of a bored tour guide as she continued. "Gamma is only one of five sattelite bases the Phoenix Lancers use when its troops are on Centarus; this base merely handles the 3rd battalion of Alpha regiment, the 1st Bn of Beta regiment and the 2nd Bn of Gamma regiment - as you already know. If you look to your left," she said as she gestured lazily in that direction, "you will see the laager of A company, 3rd Bn, Alpha Rgt. The local construction industry isn't fully aware of our plans, but they ARE grateful for the arrival of all these additional mercenary units - we've had them assembling temporary barracks and offices like dervishes, and they welcome the business."
"You have to remember that the Hauptmann here has lived his whole life in a mercenary company - the biggest compound he's seen was the campus at the Blackjack School of Conflict!" Steve Coleman said as he regarded his hostess. Her attention was mostly on threading their way past a line of Bradley APCs, but her mind was on something other than 'The Grand Tour' - you didn't need Olly's /empathy/ to notice this. Behind him, his superior was faintly awed by the expanse of the base, and his neighbour, Olt. Rogers was already engrossed in straightening out a schedule of 'warm-up' exercises for the Kommando's infantry with Lt.Col. McEnroe. Coleman just sat back and recalled his days back in the 9th Lyran Regulars, and his three years holding the Regimental Wrestling Championship.
Olly had seen the TO&E of the Phoenix Lancers and *thought* he'd managed to comprehend the numbers in his head, but when confronted with how much space was required to house just a portion of Rolyat's command...wow. He was drawn back to the jeep-ride by the statement "but we'll have to okay that with you, sir."
"Of course, Rogers," he assented, showing he'd been listening even if his focus was elsewhere. "We can afford to ease off on the Mech company's training for now, as our Shadows will need to be ready to leave sooner than everyone else, so you are free to take full use of the Colonel's OPFOR for the next couple of weeks."
"And here we enter Temporary block seventeen - your new home." Hopkins declared as they passed into the new barracks.
The buildings were newer, and slightly smaller and lighter than the permanent barracks of the Lancers, but Kavanagh was still impressed; the number of buildings showed that they'd be able to 'spread out' to a squad per barracks - previously the Kommando was sleeping with an entire platoon and their dependents in each building. "Well, plenty of living space! Yes, I'm sure these facilities will do *perfectly*," was Olly's comment as they passed a repair bay. Hopkins brought their conveyance to a stop at a large, low office. "Your headquarters; we've got most of the communications hook-ups ready for you. I hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all, we already trust you with our families...and you trust us to clear your Landing Zones, so I'm sure we'll have no qualms about you hearing what we say to ourselves," Kavanagh thanked her.
"But - but...I'm sure we won't-"
"Come now. I'd be surprised if your security chief, Nakamura, *didn't* 'put an ear to the wall' - I'd be offended if he thought we were so little threat that we didn't warrant even a cursory examination!" Olly grinned to show he wasn't the slightest bit offended.
"Oh, well. I wouldn't know what he gets up to, anyway. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to get to work on bringing you and your unit up to speed right away, Hauptmann. I've got plenty of paperwork for you to go over."
"Not at all - let's 'break in' the conference room - mind if Coleman takes this jeep back to the pad to direct my people here?"
"Be my guest."
And with that, the four disappeared into the building. Steve just shifted over the gearshift into the driver's seat and started the engine.
'Yep, there's *something* there; I wonder what Olly thinks of her?' he mused.
* * * *
Conference Room, Kommando HQ, Centarus April 30 3058, 1638h
"Right, then; that should be everything involving my people 'settling in'. Kym took those maps and schedules to distribute, we've got the mess stocked, the billets arranged for *everyone*, the gear stored, the communications up and running, the Mechs in their bays, and my staff busy trying to drive me nuts with more paperwork. Have we forgotten anything?" Olly asked wearily, and kneaded his shoulders and neck.
Eva Hopkins rubbed her face, and sighed deeply. "Ugh, well there's your troops' training assignments - and the distribution of their simulation gear..."
"Oh-MAN, that's gonna be a headache! Tell you what; I've got to speak with one of my men, and we both need to get away from *this table* for a while, Colonel," Kavanagh announced with a certain amount of dislike for the embodiment of their administrative hassles. "How about you meet me at our Officer's Mess for seventeen hundred, and we can check on what the cooking staff has made of the foodstuffs you had delivered?"
"That sounds perfect - I *think* I missed lunch, but I was too busy getting everything ready to be sure. I really need to take a stroll and stretch out more than anything else." Hopkins said, standing and arching her back.
"Fine, then - I'll meetcha at the Mess, and if you bring ANY of this stuff," Olly asserted, gesturing to the piles of invoices, reports, and sundry paperwork, "I'll have you escorted off the compound!"
"AH-GREED!" was Eva's reply, and she walked stiffly out the door, twisting her head around in an attempt to relieve the tension that had accumulated in her neck and shoulders.
Olly watched her leave, shaking his head. 'Can't even remember when she last ate; doesn't look like she's been sleeping enough, either. The *best* thing for her would be a long, hot bath to relax those bowstrings in her neck, and then about ten hours uninterrupted sleep!' he thought. 'But then "Not my job, not my fault - not my problem!"...um, but it IS my fault, in part...' Olly frowned as he rose, and made his way to Foxtrot platoon's buildings.
* * * *
Barracks F2, Kavanagh Compound April 30 3058, 1641h
Feldwebel Tomas Greerson sat on his cot, cleaning his sidearm. Normally he could do this mechanically, without thinking, but now he wanted to perform the chore more attentively. He wasn't sure what it was, but he'd felt more comfortable than he had in years. He delighted in the swift but steady way his fingers manipulated the antique Glock, and he lovingly oiled each part. The old pistol was over three hundred years old, and the only heirloom he had to remember his father by. But it also held less pleasant memories as well...
"Yep, good and bad deeds have been done with that assembly of metal pieces, but the device may take neither credit nor blame. We must remember that the tools of our trade are just that, inanimate objects that are neither good nor evil."
Greerson glanced up into the eyes of his commanding officer, and realized the two of them were alone in the room. "Yessir, but I dunno - this is more to me than just a tool. It's...well-"
"A symbol? Does it personify something -that- important to you that you keep it around, despite the bad memories it embodies?" Kavanagh pulled up a chair and straddled it, leaning on the back to regard his subordinate.
"Yessir-"
"And lose the 'sir' - right now we're just two men talking."
"Okay...well, there are dreadful things I've done with this gun, but it's an heirloom, the only one I've got." Greerson admitted. He appeared to remember something and looked in Olly's face. "But how did YOU know?"
"Well, Greerson, I'm gonna tell you something that only a handful of people know - I'm psychic."
The other man looked with surprise, then smiled, remembering the CO's sense of humour. "G'wan!" he sneered.
"Honestly, Tomas; I can read a person's feelings, and so better understand what they're thinking. I can see you're still not convinced, so I'll tell you that you're feeling disbelief, confusion and, deeper down, guilt and remorse, presumably over these 'dreadful things' that happened with the pistol in your lap. And besides, how do you think I knew that you were distressed back at Outreach's Nadir point? I *felt* the worry coming from your team's berth before I ever entered. I didn't know WHO was feeling this, but it was so intense I didn't need the usual eye-contact to 'read' it. I told you then that I wanted to help you get over this problem later, and I've got news for you Greerson - it's later."
The non-com regarded his commander in a different light, and Olly began to feel acceptance radiate from him like a wind dropping. "If that's true, Hauptmann Kavanagh, then what am I feeling right now?"
The stout officer inhaled deeply, and closed his eyes.
"Nostalgia...wistful reminiscence...bittersweet memories, and love for...a girl. Whoa, I can SEE her in your mind - she's not even a teenager. Who is she, Tomas, a daughter?"
"She's my sister, sir. But it's an old memory I have of her; I haven't seen her for a long, long time," Greerson whispered.
"This is what you've been moping about, isn't it? Family troubles?"
"In a way, Hauptmann. It goes back to when I was just a kid - fifteen." He lay back on the cot, and wandered through the dustier corners of his memory. "My father worked in a factory on Regulus. We were a fairly happy family. Winnie and I were doing well in school, and Dad was recently promoted. We Greersons had a family history of military service, but an accident in Basic left Dad hamstrung, and so he took to automated fabrication plants - you didn't need to walk around much. And I was planning to enlist when I graduated, so the family tradition wouldn't die.
"But two weeks after his promotion to a senior position on the factory floor, he was dead. After quitting time, Dad was run down in the parking lot - hit-and-run. No one was ever arrested, let alone charged or convicted.
"I dunno how much you know of Regulan business regulations, but the employer isn't required to cover its employees for ANY sort of occupational hazard, and this was only indirectly related to the company. Dad hadn't taken much insurance out, and pretty soon, Mom and the two of us were scraping to survive.
"And then Mom re-married. He was a shift supervisor at the same factory, but a much different person. Where Charles Greerson was fair and just, Basil Scrope was prejudiced and intolerant. Where Dad was kind and loving, Basil was cruel and cold. He was so unlike my father, I hated him beyond the typical feeling of resentment to this man trying to take Dad's place in the family. And he had no love lost for me.
"He was rough on my mother, finding fault with most everything she did and made his animosity to me clear in no uncertain terms. I kept my feelings back - we needed him more than he needed us, and if he left we'd be starving again.
"After about a year of living under Scrope's roof, I woke up in the middle of the night. I hadn't had a nightmare, and it was too dark to be near dawn, so rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.
"And then I heard it. A painful moaning coming from Winnie's room. Ever since Dad's death, my little sister had leaned on me, and I was worried he was ill or something.
"I made my way across the hall, and was about to open the door when she groaned louder than before and I heard a slap and Scrope's voice. I didn't know exactly what he was doing, but I was old enough to come to a conclusion. This is the part that I still find hard to accept - I remember it clearly, but it's more like I was watching a vid.
"I snuck back to my room, and got a box I hadn't opened before in my life. It held this gun," Greerson stated, hefting the Glock from the sheet on his lap. "It was handed down from father to son for longer than we could remember, and Dad always kept it in my room because Mom didn't like guns. He was going to give it to me on my completion of Basic Training, but never got the chance. When we moved, I just put it in with the rest of my stuff. Despite never handling a pistol before, I loaded the clip, slipped the safety catch, and made my third trip across the hall. When I pushed open Winnie's door, I saw Scrope on the bed. He was a big man, maybe as tall as Coleman, but where the Oberleutnant is broad and muscled, Basil was just fat, maybe three hundred pounds. I couldn't see Winnie, but heard her somewhere under that corpulent bastard. I raised the gun and fired.
"The shot was deafening, and the recoil pushed me back into the door. I'd aimed for his side - the ribcage, but the bullet tore a red path across his back. All that did was get his attention. He got up and he towered over me, growling something about taking this family for his own, and moved toward me. I fired again, and again. I emptied the whole clip into him, something like a dozen bullets, and every shot put a hole in his chest or abdomen. He sank to his knees, blood flecking his lips, and he was STILL taller than me. His last act was to sneer at me and spit in my face, before falling forward and pinning me to the door.
"I don't know how long I just stood there. Winnie was sobbing on the bed, and to this day I'm not sure who frightened her more; her step-father the rapist or her brother the murderer. Mom managed to push the door open, and the first thing she did was drag me to the bathroom and wash Basil's blood off me. She got me to dress while she packed my bag and put this gun in on top. She kissed me, handed me a bundle of money and told me to go to the Starport.
"I grabbed the first ship out of Regulus, and managed to hook up with a mercenary infantry company as an Astech. I was with Merkov's Militia ever since, and after a disastrous civil insurrection contract, you hired me and the other four survivors on Outreach."
Neither man talked for a time. Greerson had rolled onto his side, drawing his legs up into a fetal position. Olly reached out and squeezed Tomas' shoulder. "You're not a killer, Greerson."
"Heh - the Regulan courts, Basil Scrope, and another twenty-two people would have to disagree with you on that, sir!"
"No, I mean you're not psychologically cut out to deal with the trauma of taking another person's life - you started much sooner than many inductees into Armed Service, and without *any* preparation at all. You've become skilled at your profession, but I can see it in you - every death you've caused gnaws at you. Don't bother trying to lie; it's the reason you take sedatives before jumps, isn't it?"
"Yes. Two years ago, I started seeing my victims in 'the great beyond'. Not just their faces, but I'd actually meet them and talk with them; after a while the 'jumpmare' had enough effect on me that the Militia's Surgeon prescribed sleeping pills. But relax, sir; that's the *only* time that I feel remorse over what I've done, and even then only for SOME of my victims. I look back at the events that night, and I can't think of anything I'd do differently. Well, apart from shooting one-handed!" Greerson smiled.
Kavanagh stared at his soldier's face for a minute, and looked relieved. "Well Tomas, I won't give you any platitudes about Just Wars, and The Right Thing, but I will say that you're a capable soldier, and a good NCO. The men in your team respect you and trust your wisdom, which you've got in abundance for someone who's only thirty-two. I like you, Tomas - you're a friendly, easy-going man, and I think your father would be proud of how you've turned out. How have your family been?"
Greerson sighed. "I don't know - after I turned 18 and joined Merkov's unit officially - I tried to send some of my pay to Mom and Winnie. The whole subdivision had been demolished the year before, and there was no one by the name of Scrope, Greerson OR Alverez - Mom's maiden name - on the entire planet, and nothing in the travel records. Winne would be twenty-eight now, and probably married. I still wonder how well she got over the trauma she suffered that night."
"If she's anything like you, I'm sure Winnie's doing fine, Greerson."
The hand that was holding his shoulder shifted down to grasp Tomas' hand.
"I'm glad you're not as troubled with this as I thought; when I felt the worry in you just before the jump, I got scared that..."
"That you'd lose a capable squad leader and your ability to fulfill your commitments would be hindered!" Greerson's smile had a cynical quality to it, and was matched by a wan one on Olly's face.
"Yes, there is that; I'd be lying if it didn't worry me. But I was also concerned for the welfare of one of my troops. I'll admit it; I care about all of you - you depend on me to take you to the gates of hell *AND BACK*, and I don't want to abuse that trust. I've come to realize that my 'economical' facade wasn't fooling -anyone-, so I've stopped trying to beard the lion." Kavanagh's face set into a grim frown. "In short, I don't like it when my people die, and not all of that has to with balance sheets and success/loss ratios."
"Sorry, sir; I didn't mean to bring up-"
"Careful, Tomas! I already asked you to stop thinking of me as your superior, AND there's still that threat of KP for the first person to avoid Ellie's or Matt's deaths in conversation with me!" the sitting man chuckled, diffusing the tension in both of them.
"Okay, *Olly* - you wanna go out for a couple brewskis?"
"I'd love to, except: a) I haven't eaten since lunch, and I wouldn't be able to take as much alcohol into my system as I would want, and 2) I'm up to my neck in paperwork - after a quick sample of the mess staff's new menu, I'm back to grinding through training schedules," Olly concluded with a sigh. "But feel free to take your section out on me," and handed the Feldwebel a creditcard. "The P-I-C is "MCGREG". Just don't cause trouble; we're guests, remember."
"Thanks a lot...Olly."
"Oh, and one last thing..."
"Yes?"
"If you find a nice 'un...see if she's got a sister," Kavanagh uttered from his wolfish grin. |
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