The Stallion tanks were not faring much better. There was one tank missing its turret but it was still drivable, being used to provide power to another tank through an electrical cable connected between them. The drivers were cautions. And a wheeled wrecker, it pulled two flak panzers behind it. All the tanks and assorted vehicles bristled with Capellan Marines hitching rides on top. It was slow going, withdrawing in such a state. No more than forty kilometers an hour, and slower at other times. Just as well, that was the top speed of the Ajax tanks anyway. The Ajax were 95 ton monsters, lumbering dinosaurs without their lifters installed. Galen was grateful for the paved roads. Cross-country travel was not an option for that mess, even if it had not been raining.
The Interceptors circled high above and the helos patrolled up and down the line, providing cover for the task force. Last in line was the Mechanized infantry battalion, ready to block any enemy attack from the rear. Their vehicles, too, were overloaded, Marines riding on top, APCs pulling trailers or other APCs. The only vehicles left ‘naked’ were the four flak panzers near the very end, charged with stopping any artillery or air attacks that might threaten the convoy. Galen rode in his Lion tank, the very last vehicle. Turret to the rear, he stood in the cupola looking back.
The convoy rode like that for eighteen hours, all the way back to the Jasmine Panzer Brigade compound. As they entered the main gate, Galen noticed that the area was eerily unscathed by the war; except for some overgrown landscaping, everything was just as he’d left it. The capitol of Mandarin, Mandarin City, was to the west. Galen noticed that a couple of its taller buildings were missing from the skyline.
He told Trooper Bier, “Back it up to the building’s main entrance, just like before.”
Bier backed up and parked the tank two meters from the main entrance doors of the Brigade HQ building, facing out across the parking lot. Galen then said, “Power down and get some rest.”
Bier and Wine dismounted, walked toward their barracks with their bags slung over their shoulders. It was 0936 hours. Galen put out the word that command and staff call would be at 0700 in the conference room, climbed down off his tank, entered the building and made his way to his office. He removed his war gear and his boots, stretched out on the couch on the left and fell right to sleep.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, Galen used the facilities in the HQ building’s mini-gym to clean himself up. On the way back to his office he saw Tad padding along the hallway in a bath robe and shower shoes. Tad said, “Morning boss.”
Galen said, “Ready for command and staff?”
Tad nodded. “Spike’s all over it. Breakfast?”
Galen checked the time: 0544 hours. “Sure. Six?”
“I’ll stop by your office.”
Galen had his towel wrapped around his waist and was barefoot. He made a mental note to get himself a robe and some shower shoes. He went into his office and opened his duffle bag and dumped its contents out on the floor. He found a dry set of combat coveralls sealed in a zip lock bag, complete with undergarments. He looked but didn’t see dry boots, looked at his boots from the day before and brushed them off. Presentable. He dressed and sat at his desk and fired up the terminal and re-engaged its access. Nothing much, no comms beyond Mandarin space. The Mosh had it locked down pretty tight.
Tad knocked. Galen stood and stepped into the hallway and walked with Tad to the chow hall. It was serving field rations but Galen didn’t complain. Four walls and a roof, that was luxury compared to the field. A sign stated that class-A chow would commence tomorrow.
Tad said, “Feels good to be back in garrison.”
Galen flexed his fingers. They felt a little rubbery. “I’m adjusting back to civilization one step at a time.”
“Sleep in your office?”
“Yep.” Galen sipped his milk.
“Me too.” Tad got up and returned with creamer for his coffee.
Galen said, “I got nowhere else to stay. Quarters stuffed full of Marines.”
Tad said, “Fine with me. I like my office.”
Galen looked up from his feed tray. “Lake house!”
Tad said, “That’s off-base.”
Galen said, “When things slow down we’ll gather up about fifty of the most senior leaders from the Marines and the Brigade and have a barbeque, at my lake house. Blow off some steam.”
“Couple of weeks maybe. Lots of work to do.” Tad picked the last few crumbs of scrambled egg from his tray.
Galen said, “That’s good, keep these guys busy so they don’t have time to wonder what a gun tastes like.”
Tad said, “Two weeks of hard labor, that’ll suppress their whacko urges long enough for their minds to get right.”
Galen stood, picked up his tray. Tad followed him out of the chow hall and back to the HQ building. Tad split off to step into the conference room to help Spike set up. Galen went back to his office and changed his socks. His boots were drying out slowly. He found Spike’s tentative agenda for the meeting and looked it over, printed hard copy on a single page. Then he dug around in his desk drawer for an ink stick. They were all non-functional, dried out from lack of use, so he grabbed a pencil and sharpened it with his bayonet. Prepared, he stood and went to the conference room.
He strode in and said, “Keep your seats,” and sat at the head of the table. He looked around and saw sixteen battalion commanders and seven leaders of specialized units. Twenty three field grade officers. Some leaders were alert, fresh. Others…
He stared at a battalion commander halfway down the left side of the table. The commander was hunched forward, hands balled into fists one above the other, resting on the table’s surface. His chin rested on his fists and his beard was unkempt. A scraggly five-day beard. Dirt smudged the tip of his nose. His eyes were closed tightly.
Galen said, “Lieutenant Colonel Halverson, am I boring you?”
“Nosir.” He leaned back in his chair.
Galen saw another head down on the table, planted on crossed forearms. Galen leaned over to Colonel Baek and said in a low voice, “Be the last one out, and stay behind the formation to police up stragglers.” Baek nodded.
Galen stood and said, “On your feet! Stand up! Follow me outside, to the quadrangle!”
The leaders followed Galen outside. He stood at attention and bellowed, “Fall in!”
The leaders formed up in four ranks to make a platoon-sized formation. Colonel Baek stood behind them, giving directions in a sharp voice to those who seemed confused.
Galen said, “Some of my vocal commands may be unfamiliar to you but you’ll figure it out. Colonel Baek will echo my commands, translated into Marine talk. The rest of you should have no problem. Although you didn’t all attend the same military academies, you all did take a pre-commissioning course with the Brigade. Open ranks, march!”
The formation opened up, the interval between ranks doubled.
“Half right, face! Front leaning rest position, move! Do some pushups!”
Colonel Baek stepped into the group and singled out leaders who seemed to lack motivation, knelt next to them and made corrections.
Galen paced the length of the group as he spoke, “What we need is discipline and teamwork. We spent less than a month down range and you think that’s an excuse to kick it and act like a band of pirates or something. Wrong answer! Roll over onto your backs, do some flutter kicks!”
Galen stopped, stared. Colonel Baek was doing a good job of encouraging the leaders to participate. Galen said, “You think combat experience makes you a professional? Training, discipline and teamwork makes you a professional, and that is what wins battles. Until now, half of you had never been in a real gunfight before and you did just fine. Combat experience should not be a training event. If you learned anything in combat it just means you weren’t trained well enough. We will not rely on the enemy to serve as our primary trainer. Recover! That means stand up. Good. Half-left, face!”