Part 11 (2/2)
Gruber placed his hands palm down on the table. ”Mister Sheridan, I would like to thank you for efforts in keeping your people alive and in persevering against the odds to warn us of a threat none of us had the slightest inkling of.”
”Thank you, sir,” replied Sheridan.
”Now, if my staff is right, and I think they are, we're going to be attacked in the next few hours. I could use an officer like you on the front lines. Report right away to the Forty-Fourth Marine Regiment for your next duty a.s.signment. My staff will let them know you are coming.”
Sheridan stood and saluted. ”Sir, could I please take Staff Sergeant Cole and the other survivors with me?”
”You got b.a.l.l.s, kid. Not too many second lieutenants would ever dream of asking their commanding general for a favor.” Gruber grinned. ”Permission granted.”
”Good luck,” said the sergeant major to Cole as he shook his hand goodbye.
Outside the room, Sheridan looked at Cole. ”I hope that's ok with you, Sergeant.”
Cole smiled. ”I gotta serve somewhere. Besides I'd rather not have to break in a new platoon leader. You'll do ok for now.”
”I guess we had best find Agnar, Garcia, and Obermman and tell them the good news.”
”Come on, sir, they're bound to be sitting around the mess hall waiting to find out what's going on.”
With that, they picked up their weapons from the MP's guarding the hallway and headed straight for the mess hall. As expected, the Marines were sitting at a table by themselves. Agnar was busy helping himself to as much food as he could. Sheridan sat down and broke the news to them.
”A job is a job,” Garcia noted philosophically.
”Say, sir, what's the name of this outfit?” asked Obermman.
”Since it's a mishmash of regiments and units thrown together to defend the planet, it's called the Capital Division,” replied Sheridan.
Cole said, ”Come on Marines, we've got a bit of a hike, so let's get moving.”
”Why not,” Agnar responded while he jammed a couple of apples into his pockets.
With Sheridan leading, they made their way through the warren maze of trenches that led from the headquarters to the frontlines. Walking out in the open would have invited a Kurgan drone missile strike. They pa.s.sed other soldiers and civilians using the trenches for safety. What bothered Sheridan was the despondent look on the faces of many of the people they saw. It was as if they had already resigned themselves to defeat. He prayed that the soldiers manning the frontlines weren't infected with the same malaise, or they and the city didn't stand a chance against the coming storm.
Chapter 16.
Cole told Sheridan that arriving at a new unit was like going through a sausage machine. A person gets jammed in at one end and after a time he pa.s.sed out the other end ready to go, or at least, that was the theory. After being met by the regiment's personnel officer, a tired-looking man who chain-smoked several cigarettes while he filled out the necessary paperwork, Sheridan was told that they were to report to the unit's second battalion. Moving through the rubble of a destroyed warehouse, Sheridan led his people to the battalion's tactical operations center located in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the burnt out building. Here they were greeted by the battalion's executive officer, a harried and disheveled major, who was devastated to see that there were only five people reporting in. He had asked for thirty replacements to make up for those killed or wounded during last night's bombardment.
After a cursory glance at his files, the major told them to report to Alpha Company. Sheridan asked for directions and then saluted the major, who disinterestedly returned the compliment. Five minutes later, Sheridan and Cole stood at attention in front of their new company commander's desk.
Captain Rolleston was a broad-chested Maori, who had thick black hair and powerful arms that strained at the fabric of his uniform s.h.i.+rt. Intricate tattoos covered his face. ”So Mister Sheridan, I hear that you and your people made it through the Kurgan lines. Tell me, is it true that they are using humans against us?”
”Yes, sir, it is true,” replied Sheridan.
”I'd hoped the rumors were just that. It seems unbelievable that humans would fight for the Kurgs.”
”Sir, these people are Kurgan citizens. They don't see us as equals; in fact they look down on you and I as being below them.”
A gunnery sergeant walked into the room and grinned. ”Well, look what the cat just dragged in. If it ain't Staff Sergeant Alan Cole. I thought you were back home.”
”I was for a while, Gunny, but I asked for a new a.s.signment,” replied Cole.
”You two know each other?” asked Rolleston.
”Yes, sir, we served in the First Division a couple of years back. Staff Sergeant Cole is a solid NCO, if he keeps away from the bottle,” said the gunnery sergeant.
”Gunny, I'm clean and sober going on two years now,” responded Cole uncomfortably.
Rolleston eyed Cole for a few seconds before reading their transfer orders. ”Ok gents, you have Three Platoon. Their officer and platoon sergeant were killed two days ago by a Kurgan drone. Sergeant James has been commanding the platoon ever since. Gunny Wilson will take you there so you can get settled in. I'll be around later today to see how things are going.”
”Yes, sir,” answered Sheridan, coming to attention to salute his superior officer.
”Mister Sheridan, no more saluting. I don't want to end up with my brains spread all over the wall like strawberry jam because some Kurg sniper saw you saluting me. You're not at the academy anymore.”
Sheridan instantly felt like an amateur. He remembered his first introduction to Cole back on the Churchill where he said saluting was for the parade grounds and not a war zone.
”Come on, I'll show you to your new home,” announced Gunny Wilson.
With Garcia, Obermman, and Agnar trailing behind, they made their way through row after row of demolished buildings. With one eye on the sky looking for drones, they rarely stepped outside for more than a couple of seconds.
Gunny Wilson explained that Alpha Company was set out like a triangle with two platoons up and one back. Platoon strongpoints had been established with clear fields of fire that dominated the open ground and the approaches into the city. Sheridan's platoon was the left forward platoon. On his right flank was Two Platoon, commanded by a dour looking officer who seemed to have a two-word vocabulary. Gunny Wilson said that the man didn't say much, but seemed to know his job. Sheridan's left was anch.o.r.ed by a platoon from the regiment's first battalion.
A lone dog barked at something on the street. Sheridan watched as a Marine sprinted out from cover, grabbed the dog by the collar and then ran back under cover. A split second later a missile struck the ground in front of the house, sending wood and rock flying up into the air.
”d.a.m.ned fool,” muttered Gunny Wilson. ”Every platoon has one. Yours is a kid named Roberts. That was him rus.h.i.+ng out into the street to save his dog.”
”I'll have words with him,” replied Cole.
The smell of burnt wood filled Sheridan's nostrils as he stepped inside a half-demolished home. Dust covered everything. Papers and empty ration boxes littered the ground. A couple of disinterested Marines sat there looking up at the new arrivals. Before the gunnery sergeant could open his mouth, Cole launched into the two soldiers. Swearing up a blue streak, he gave them two minutes to get the platoon headquarters cleaned up and the squad leaders a.s.sembled or they would live to regret it.
Gunny Wilson shook Cole's hand and wished them luck before leaving.
A couple of seconds later, Sergeant James ran into the room. He was a short, slender man who looked like he had been on his feet for the past week. ”Sorry for the mess,” said James, his accent Irish. ”I've been too busy doing the platoon leader's job to keep an eye on the little things.”
”That's alright, Sergeant, Second Lieutenant Sheridan and I are here to take that burden off your back,” Cole said, feeling somewhat sorry for the man. ”Do you have a platoon nominal roll? Mister Sheridan and I would like to review it before making any decisions where to place the three Marines we brought with us?”
”Only three,” muttered James.
”Is that a problem, Sergeant?” queried Sheridan.
”Sir, we were hit pretty hard the day we lost Mister Folly and Sergeant O'Neal. You should have a full platoon of forty-six men. Instead, you only have twenty-eight healthy Marines. This morning four soldiers reported that they were sick and were sent back to the unit aid station. They're combat stress casualties. I doubt they'll ever come back to us. Another two were pulled from us this afternoon to top up One Platoon. They got it worse than us last night.”
<script>