He was actually glad to see that the company was maintaining a Charge of Quarters. The NCO in question was half out of uniform, had obviously been asleep when Adams found him and was being a pain in the ass, but it was still good to find. Now if he could only get the CQ to enter some vague condition of reality.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” said the overweight NCO, mulishly. He waved the copy of their orders that Pappas had handed him. “This is not sufficient authority for me to allow your troops into the barracks. For all I know they might be forged.” He looked at the gathered squads standing in the darkness.
The discussion was being held under the pool of radiance from a yellow bug light on the porch of a trailer, one of many in the area. Each of the trailers held a platoon. They were gathered into five trailers to a company. There were, in turn, five company areas gathered in a battalion area with a battalion headquarters at one end and trailers for senior NCOs at the other. The battalions were separated from each other by a street on one side and a parade ground on the other. The lack of lighting turned the whole mass into just another maze of buildings.
Pappas turned purple and started to throttle the stupid jerk but stopped himself with difficulty. “You do realize, I hope,” he said with a dangerously quiet voice, “that you are dealing with your new first sergeant?” The naked threat dropped to the floor like an anvil.
“Well,” said the NCO in a priggish voice, “we’ll just have to see what First Sergeant Morales says about that.”
Pappas looked momentarily nonplussed. “You have another E-8 in the company?” he asked. It was not the information he had been given, but none of the conditions at Indiantown Gap matched any briefing he had received.
“Well,” said the CQ with a slightly flustered expression, “Sergeant Morales is a Sergeant First Class,” he admitted. “But he is the first sergeant of this company,” he ended confidently.
Pappas simply looked at the sergeant for a moment. Then he put his hand over his eyes. What did they do, dump a loony bin in here or something? he thought. He leaned into the NCO’s face then turned to the side. “I want you to look right here,” he snarled, pointing at his upper arm. “I want you to count these rockers! How many do you count?”
“Three,” whispered the NCO, all confidence fled.
“And how many does Morales have?”
“Two.”
“Do you know what that means, you fuckin’ pissant?” snarled Pappas, turning and putting his face right in that of the other NCO.
The sergeant’s mouth turned into a wide rubbery frown and his eyes started to tear up.
Pappas’ eyes widened. “Are you starting to cry?” he asked, incredulously.
A tear started to roll down the CQ’s face and he gave a sob.
Pappas stepped back and looked heavenward. “God in heaven, why me?” he asked. “Where the fuck is the SDNCO?” he snapped.
“I don’t know what that is,” said the chubby sergeant.
“How the hell could a sergeant not know what the battalion Staff Duty NCO is?” asked Pappas. Then a thought struck him. “How long have you been a sergeant?” he asked.
“A month.” The sergeant continued to snuffle, but the tears had stopped.
Pappas shook his head and continued the interrogation. “Is this the first unit you’ve been in?”
The sergeant nodded mutely.
“And how long have you been here?”
“Since April.”
“April! You’ve been in the fuckin’ Fleet six months and you made sergeant?!”
“Special circumstances, Top,” said a voice from the darkness. A tall soldier stepped into the puddle of yellow light.
“You’d better stay out of this, Lewis,” hissed the CQ. “Or you know what’ll happen.”
“Shut up,” said Pappas conversationally. “If I want any more shit out of you I’ll squeeze your head ’til it pops.” He examined the soldier in the yellow light. His gray silks were neat and trim and he had a fresh haircut. He wore the rank of a specialist, but there was clear indication that another rank, probably the chevrons of a sergeant, had been in place recently.
“What special circumstances?” he asked. He glanced at the roly-poly NCO. “I mean… ?” He gestured at the example.
“The company is a little short on NCOs right now,” the specialist answered wryly. “Shit, the only thing we’re not short on is trouble.”
“I’ve got a load of new troops for the company,” said Pappas, turning his attention fully away from the useless CQ. “I need quarters.”
“You can’t bring them in here,” said the CQ, nastily.
Pappas finally lost it. He reached out with one hand and picked the overweight sergeant up by his collar. Without looking he slammed him into the door of the trailer then pulled him up until they were eye to eye. “I will tell you this one more time,” he said icily. “If I hear one more word out of you that is not an answer to a direct question, I will personally frag your ass. Do-you-under-stand-me?”
The quivering NCO began blubbering but nodded his head in agreement. When Pappas let go of him he collapsed into a heap.
“I can take you to someone who can help,” said Lewis, calmly. “It’s not far.”
Pappas regarded him thoughtfully for a moment then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”
Lewis gestured with his chin at the quivering sergeant by the door. “Um, we might want to take him along.” He paused and considered what he was going to say carefully. “Let’s just say that there are people we don’t want him calling,” he concluded.
Pappas nodded at the logic. It was obvious that the situation in the company was substandard; surprising this Sergeant First Class Morales might be for the best. He did not even look around. “Adams. Handle it.”
As he led the platoon off into the maze of trailers he shook his head in disgust. “Lewis, or whatever your name is,” he said calmly, “maybe you could explain what the fuck is going on around here?” Does anybody in the Fleet have a clue? he wondered.
32
Andata Province, Diess IV
0714 GMT May 19th, 2002 ad
“First thing we do,” said Mike on the platoon push, “we kill all the lawyers. But shortly after that, we gotta power-up.”
“And we do that how, sir?” said Sergeant Green, immune by now to the vagaries of his abruptly imposed commander. It was bound to be harebrained, but on the other hand “it just might work!”
“Set the suits to search for power supplies in general; we’ll scavenge as we go. As we move upwards keep an eye out for mobile equipment. They all use the same energy sources, they’re usually on the righthand side in a green painted compartment and they look like large green gems. When they’re fully powered up they glow brightly then fade as the power falls off. They’ll fit in that secondary power receptacle on the rear right of your suit. When we find them, they get distributed to those with the lowest power levels.
“Also, look for very heavy machinery, like the stuff Captain Wright was trapped under. The power receptacles for those can be jury rigged to bleed off to the suits. The problem is that the suits will recharge with a heavier draw than all but the heaviest machinery. Now, give the pistols and their ammo to the scouts. Put them on point and we’ll move out.
“If we can’t avoid a group of Posleen, charge ’em, concentrating on the ones with the heavy railguns. The light guns can’t penetrate our armor so don’t bother with them. After we take down the ones with the heavy weapons, we can finish off the rest like killing fish in a barrel. If we can, we want to completely avoid them, though, so move fast but quiet. Once we power-up, crank up your compensators, it’ll cut down on that elephantlike thumping. We gotta be swift, silent and deadly. Okay, that pretty much covers it. Scouts out, follow the bouncing ball.”