Author's Note: Hey, I'm back with chapter 4. I spent most of this past weekend and this week writing a bunch. Managed to get a lot of future chapters done (almost 8!) and made detailed outlines up to the story's end ;-) Anyway, hope you enjoy and please R&R. Thanks.
Chapter Four: When You're the New Kid on the Block
I shook off the awkward feeling and stood for a moment, looking out at the sand and small groups of soldiers beyond. Most of those soldiers were my men and women, the Marines of first platoon, Bravo Company. But where the hell was Beesner?
I shrugged to myself and began walking back to the line, thinking that that's where my so-called aide had gone. Private Beesner was a good kid with relatively good intentions, but sometimes he could be a pain in the rear.
As I neared the front, I slung my rifle down from my shoulder and kept an eye on what lay ahead. Just because we were moving out in five days didn't mean the Covenant wouldn't attack, perhaps even en masse.
"Lieutenant!" I turned to the sound of the voice, assuming it was directed at me. I saw Beesner jogging over from the medic's tent. "Sorry," he said once he'd gotten to me. "Didn't see you come out, ma'am."
"Where'd you go, Bee?" I asked him.
"To the latrine, Lieutenant." I was impressed; he'd managed to say it without turning the color of a fire engine.
"First platoon here?" I said, gesturing to the Marines lying in sandy foxholes and makeshift trenches. Some things about wars, even modern ones, never changed.
"Yes, ma'am."
"How many? Any holes in the roster?" I waited for Beesner to transmit the info to my datapad; I kind of wanted my helmet now.
"There's nineteen men and eleven women, ten…vacancies, ma'am."
"That's adequate, actually." The last platoon I'd commanded was at about half its normal strength and size. I shook my head; if our captain had authorized the stop we were supposed to have made for reinforcements, would it have made a difference? Would my former platoon members still be alive?
I dismissed the thought immediately. The idiotic captain had been killed, and I now had a new platoon to watch over, to make sure such a life-ending error never happened again.
I put my datapad back in my pocket and keyed a mike on my shirt, again wishing for my helmet for easier access. I opened a channel to first platoon's members. "First platoon, this is Lieutenant Cooper. Meet at this location for a short briefing." I sent the platoon a map of the area with my position just behind a tall bunker highlighted.
Within a few minutes, all thirty present soldiers of first platoon, including Beesner and Dandh, were formed up around me. Private Beesner stood beside me, trying to look as tall as possible; under different circumstances, I would have found it amusing. The rest of the troops stood a bit outside the imaginary circle of my space.
"First platoon, I am Lieutenant Natalie Cooper, your new commanding officer," I began. The faces around me were now looking with interest, probably sizing me up to make sure I was good enough for the job. Not that they had a say in it, but it was better to be on good terms with your troops, and I personally cared for every single one of them. After all, their lives were in my hands, and I had no doubt that I would get to know them all as well as the members of my former platoon.
"I've just arrived from the Heathan forest, over on Walter's Peak," I said, continuing. Judging by the look on their faces, the troops were beginning to notice the blood on my shirt now. "The fighting there was fierce, and we took sizable casualties. I was in the intensive care unit of the orbital hospital for thirty-three days, plus ten days of treatment and surgery to remove the burn scars from my back. The short of it is, you were in need of a lieutenant, and I was in need of a platoon. So here I am, and I look forward to serving with each of you. Questions?"
"Orders, Lieutenant?" one of the young soldiers asked.
"Maintain the lines for now," I answered. "Watch for activity, and be prepared for a briefing sometime later today. I've been informed from the higher-ups that we may have some good news shortly. Now, do we have any scouts and snipers?"
"Ma'am, Gunnery Sergeant Hills," another Marine said. "I'm the platoon sergeant. Currently, we have four scouts and six snipers."
"Ok, Gunny. I'll want their names and positions; there may be some shuffling going on. The rest of you may return to your places on the line, and make sure you get something to eat. Rotate watches and get sleep if you haven't gotten any yet. The quiet times are the most dangerous, people. That is all. Dismissed."
For the next several hours, I sat in a sandy foxhole on the frontline, looking over first platoon's service records, brief bios, and their current positions. Private James Beesner was eighteen years old from Duncan, Coral, and this was his first deployment; Petty Officer Michael Reynolds was twenty-six years old from Portland, Earth, and he'd been fighting Covenant for eight years. He'd saved many hundreds of lives, been decorated for bravery four times, and was presently in his sixth major campaign.
Focusing my mind on the important stuff, I made some minor adjustments to the soldiers on the lines, as well as the snipers. I had the platoon scouts set up an observation post about two klicks forward of the main line, and told them to keep silent and stay invisible. Eventually I got up from the hole, dusted the sand off me, and went back to the platoon tent to grab one of my field rations. It was two in the afternoon, and I hadn't eaten since the evening before; still, it was probably the shortest interval between meals I'd seen in my combat career.
Walking to the tent, I started getting light-headed; my datapad informed me it was 157 degrees in the sun. If the articles that made up my uniform, including my shirt, hadn't had special cooling mechanisms injected into the fabric, our whole company would have dropped dead from hyperthermia. As it was, I'd been hot, red-faced, and sticky and wet from sweat since dawn. I took a long drink from my canteen; Captain Kingston had kept an eye on Bravo Company all day, making sure they'd had enough water in the unbearable heat. Simply put, I'd been drinking alarming quantities of water without proportionate urination because of the amount of fluids I lost in perspiration. PO2 Reynolds, my platoon's medic, was under orders to check each soldier in first platoon twice daily for signs or symptoms of heat stroke, heat exhaustion, or dehydration.
When I finally reached the tent, I pulled up the flap and practically collapsed on the ground. In here it was nice and cool, in addition to being shaded from the blaring sun.
No, I reminded myself. Not sun. Suns, plural.
In the Heathan forest, where most of our battles and operations had been performed under the cover of darkness, I hadn't really noticed the fact that Heath was surrounded by two suns instead of one. I suppose it wasn't all that weird; I'd been born and raised on a planet with two moons, so why did two suns seem so different?
In any case, the fact that Heath had two suns suddenly made it clear why its deserts were so freaking hot.
Whatever, I thought to myself, getting off the ground and moving towards my pack. After rummaging in the bag for a few seconds, I pulled out one of my two field rations. I braced myself for the hike back to the lines in the suns, and jumped back into my hole in the sand. More often than not, soldiering was a miserable business.
But, hey, somebody had to stop bloodthirsty aliens from taking over colonized human space.
I had just ripped open the package of self-heating food and began eating when I heard my name.
"Cooper!"
The Covenant better be glassing the planet…I thought bitterly as I placed my food packet at my feet. I picked up my rifle, which was propped up against the edge of my foxhole, and jogged to the voice.
I saw Captain Kingston walking towards me and met him halfway.
"Sir?"
"Briefing, company CP, ten minutes. Get someone to cover you, Lieutenant," Kingston ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
I jogged back to my foxhole, and cursed when I saw what had happened to my late lunch: the package of chicken, potatoes, and vegetables now included a large helping of sand.
Stupid wind, sand, Covenant, briefing…The list in my head was endless.
I keyed the mike on my shirt and got a hold of my platoon sergeant. I told him to take care of first platoon for me while I was at the briefing, then went back to my package. I wouldn't have enough time to finish it and make it to the briefing on time, but I found something in my pockets to cover it up with.
Some minutes later, I was in the captain's tent once again, waiting for the other two lieutenants of Bravo Company to show up.
"This about the relief force, sir?" I asked Kingston.
"Yes," the captain replied. "And it's also an opportunity for you to meet the officers you'll be working with. Coordinated attacks---and defenses---are key."
"Yes, sir."
The first lieutenant to show up was, much to my surprise, wearing armor plates, helmet, and gloves; the only thing missing on him was the jacket. I had a feeling that his platoon's medic was probably checking on him four times a day rather than two. Once he took his helmet off, he was your standard blonde-haired, blue-eyed man with the classic Marine haircut. He looked to be a few years older than I was, and seemed to have the words "boring" and "bland" written all over him.
"Sir! Lieutenant Jon Smythe reporting, sir!"
Bland name, too.
"Cooper, this is third platoon's commander," Captain Kingston said. To Lieutenant Smythe, he added, "At ease, Lieutenant." Now that he was free to look, Smythe glanced at me with a look just short of distaste. I stood off to the side of the tent, arms folded across my chest, trying to avoid eye contact with the newcomer.
But, alas, it was not to be. Lieutenant Smythe came slightly closer and said gruffly, "Who're you?"
"Jon, this is Lieutenant Natalie Cooper. She's first platoon's commanding officer now. She's joined us from the Heathan forest, after recovering from wounds sustained in the battle there," Kingston explained.
"You're the one who left your platoon to die?" Smythe asked, disgusted.
"You son of a bitch," I hissed, and, without thinking, took a swing at him. I caught him square in the jaw, not minding the sting it left on my punching hand. The other lieutenant shook off his surprise at the blow and was getting ready to pound my face when Captain Kingston got between us.
"That's enough!" he bellowed. Glaring at both of us, Kingston added, "We are fighting the Covenant, not each other! If we attack ourselves then, hell, the Covies have nothing to do but wait it out! If we weren't short on good soldiers right now, you'd both be sent to the brig immediately! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir," Smythe spat, glowering at me.
"Crystal clear, Captain," I said, looking away from the lieutenant. I didn't want more trouble from him.
"Good. Now please, act like civilized men and women, or I'll have to reconsider pretending this never happened." The captain moved closer to the other lieutenant now and said quietly but fiercely, "And Smythe, that was way out of line."
Before things got more interesting, second platoon's lieutenant showed up. Like Smythe, second platoon's commander was older than I was, which probably meant I'd have to prove myself to both of them. Well, screw Smythe, at least.
"Hey, Graham, missed the performance," I heard Lieutenant Smythe whisper to the other lieutenant. He looked me in the eyes, making sure I heard but not Kingston.
"Sir! Lieutenant Tracey Graham reporting, sir!" the lieutenant said. After the formalities, Captain Kingston again introduced me, this time to Lieutenant Graham.
Graham smiled at me and stuck out her hand. "Welcome to Bravo, Lieutenant Cooper," she said.
"Thanks," I replied, shaking Graham's hand. I didn't realize that in the process of lifting my right arm, I exposed the bloodstains on my shirt to everyone. I had to field a couple of questions from Kingston and Graham; Smythe just scowled silently.
Captain Kingston started in on the briefing after that. He told the other two lieutenants about the relief force, and ordered us to hold the lines "without heroics---there's no reason why we should lose good Marines five days before our relief comes."
Having been dismissed shortly after the briefing began, I filed out of the tent behind Graham and Smythe. Before Smythe could return to third platoon, however, I made it a point to deliberately get in his way.
"Look," he growled, "I don't fancy a trial and the inside of a prison. Walk away, now."
I snorted. "All you'd see is the inside of a hospital."
Lieutenant Smythe looked as if he were about to react, but thought better of it. He settled for bumping my shoulder roughly as he walked past me.
"Those Marines were my family, Smythe," I called after him. "As long as I was conscious and able to fight, I never would have left their side."
Lieutenant Smythe kept on walking.