Starfist - Flashfire. Part 4

With Ratliff no longer looming over him, G.o.denov jumped to his feet and made final adjustments to his liberty clothes before joining everybody else.

"Not so fast, Izzy," Ratliff barked. He slammed the cargo belt into G.o.denov's chest. "You don't leave on liberty until you see Sergeant Souavi and replace this belt."

"But, Sergeant Ratliff, liberty call's been sounded, he's probably already gone."

"Maybe not; you had best get down there and find out if you want to go on liberty this weekend. And clean up this s.h.i.thole when you get back!"

"Aye aye, Sergeant!" Clutching the cargo belt, G.o.denov twisted past Ratliff and bolted through the door.

"And you make sure he's got that cargo belt replaced and this room is shipshape before he goes on liberty," Ratliff added to Corporal Dean. He turned and stalked out of the room. His footsteps thudded loudly in the corridor as he headed for the squad leaders' quarters.

There was a moment's silence in the room before PFC Quick softly asked, "You think he's p.i.s.sed off about having to stand an IG?"

"I think he's p.i.s.sed off about having to stand an IG," Dean said, then added, "And I believe you better get out of here before he comes back with a reason to keep you you from getting out of the barracks." from getting out of the barracks."

G.o.denov and Dean weren't the only members of first squad Sergeant Ratliff found cause to keep in the barracks. Nor was he the only squad leader who took out his displeasure about the pending Inspector General inspection on his men. Fully a third of the platoon was effectively confined to the barracks- everybody who wasn't fast enough to get out of the barracks in the first couple of minutes after Staff Sergeant Hyakowa sounded liberty call was stuck. The three squad leaders also stayed in, taking the rare opportunity to prepare their own gear for the IG.

At 17 hours, Sergeant Kelly stepped into the quiet corridor and called out, "Third herd, fall in outside the barracks. NOW!" He stalked to the stairway and out back of the barracks. In a minute or so, a dozen members of the platoon were lined up in front of him.

"Chow call," Kelly snarled. "Form in two ranks. Right FACE! Fo-art HARCH!" He marched them to the chow hall, and marched them back when they finished eating.

On their return, the squad leaders saw to it that their Marines were working for the coming First Day's round in the pre-IG inspection cycle. Over the course of the weekend, most of the other Marines of third platoon filtered back in and were also put to work getting ready for the inspection.

"We aced it!" Lance Corporal "Wolfman" MacIlargie crowed. He collapsed back onto his rack, arms flung out to the sides, his face wreathed in a happy, self-satisfied grin.

Corporal Rachman Claypoole, MacIlargie's fire team leader, straightened up from stowing the contents of his shaving kit back into their normal place in his locker and turned an annoyed look on MacIlargie.

"We didn't 'ace' nothing," Claypoole snarled. "That was just the platoon commander's inspection." One long stride brought him into MacIlargie's part of the three-man room where the two of them lived with "Hammer" Schultz, the most experienced man in the fire team. He jerked a half-open drawer in MacIlargie's chest and poked a finger at it. His voice rose. "Didn't you hear the boss? Your skivvies are ten millimeters out of alignment! Tomorrow, the skipper will point out the same infraction in his inspection. Then there's the battalion inspection. Then the brigadier's inspection. If your skivvies aren't straightened out by the time the IG gets here, you'll flunk the inspection so bad you'll get busted back down to private!"

Claypoole reached full roar. "And I'm your fire team leader, so it'll be my responsibility." He jammed his fists into his hips and leaned over MacIlargie. "I'll be lucky if I only get busted to Lance Corporal!"

MacIlargie's grin vanished at Claypoole's first snarl. His posture wilted as his fire team leader's voice rose. By the time Claypoole reached full roar MacIlargie was drawing his limbs in and beginning to curl into a protective ball. He cast an anguished, silent appeal for help toward Schultz.

Schultz, who had had aced the inspection, finished restowing his gear and sat at his miniscule desk, where he turned on his reader and opened it to the page he'd left off in Phonton's aced the inspection, finished restowing his gear and sat at his miniscule desk, where he turned on his reader and opened it to the page he'd left off in Phonton's Confederation Marines in the Second Silvasian War Confederation Marines in the Second Silvasian War. Without lifting his eyes from the screen, he growled, "You flunked, Wolfman."

MacIlargie slid onto his side and pulled his arms and legs in. "But . . ." he said weakly.

"No buts!" Claypoole snapped. "You'll get your s.h.i.t together before the Skipper's inspection tomorrow and ace that inspection, or I'm going to know the reason why."

Before MacIlargie could say anything else, Staff Sergeant Hyakowa's voice boomed out in the squadbay corridor, "Base-liberty call for everyone who pa.s.sed inspection. And the G.o.ds help any swinging d.i.c.k in this platoon who doesn't pa.s.s tomorrow."

MacIlargie bolted to his feet and began stripping off his garrison utilities, to change into his liberty clothes.

"Not so fast, Wolfman," Claypoole shouted. "You flunked, you don't get liberty."

"What?" MacIlargie squawked. "But . . ."

"I said, 'no buts'!" Claypoole roared, jamming his face close to MacIlargie's. "You've got to get ready for tomorrow!"

"But . . ."

Claypoole cut him off with a raised hand and turned to Schultz. "Hammer, you pulling liberty tonight?"

Schultz didn't look away from his reading, his head shake was so slight it was almost imperceptible.

"I'm taking base liberty; get some chow, take in a flik," Claypoole said. "Do me a favor? Keep an eye on the problem child for me while I'm gone."

Schultz slowly turned his head to look blandly at MacIlargie for a moment before his voice rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest, "I hate babysitting." He turned back to his reader.

MacIlargie's eyes and mouth formed a triangle of "O"s as he stared at Schultz. "No-o-o," he mewed, then jerked toward Claypoole. "You can't do that to me!" he pleaded. "Don't leave me here with Schultz. Not with the Hammer in charge."

Claypoole smiled at him sweetly. "Hammer's not in charge," he said in a jaunty tone. "He's a professional lance corporal, he's never in command of anyone."

Schultz grunted, Claypoole decided to accept the noise as agreement with his statement-he was probably right.

"You can leave this room only to go to the head, or to go to chow," Claypoole told MacIlargie as he began to change into his liberty uniform. "You better pa.s.s tomorrow."

Corporal Joe Dean poked his head into the room just then. "Rock, I'm taking base liberty tonight. Want to grab some chow? Hammer, Wolfman," he added, politely acknowledging the two junior men.

"I'll be with you as soon as I finish changing."

"Right. I'll see who wants to join us," Dean said. He barely glanced at Schultz, but paused to give MacIlargie a speculative once-over before leaving.

Claypoole followed a minute later with, "See you before taps," to Schultz and MacIlargie.

Schultz merely grunted. MacIlargie looked pained.

An hour later, Schultz abruptly stood and stretched. "Chow," he announced, and crooked a finger at MacIlargie.

MacIlargie stood shakily and followed the big Marine to the mess hall.

Corporals Claypoole, Dean, Kerr, Pasquin, and Chan, along with HM3 Hough, one of the navy medical corpsmen a.s.signed to Company L, sat at a round table in the main dining room of the 45 Club, the on-base club for junior noncommissioned officers. A huge serving bowl that had contained reindeer stew still sat in the middle of the table, surrounded by the pushed-aside serving bowls at each Marine's place and crumbs of the loaves of pumpernickel and rye bread with which they'd sopped up the stew. Kerr, Pasquin, and Hough were nursing steins of Reindeer Ale, the others sipped from steaming mugs of kafe -real coffee was generally beyond the budgets of mere corporals.

Pasquin leaned back, rubbed his belly, and belched loudly. "You know," he said ponderously, "a body could get tired of reindeer after a while. Reindeer steaks in Big Barb's, reindeer stew here in the 45 Club. All that reindeer s.h.i.t the new cook at Big Barb's fed us that first time." He hoisted his stein. "Reindeer Ale," and took a quaff.

Kerr snorted. "Raoul, the way you slurped down that stew, I think it'll be a long, long time before you you get tired of reindeer." get tired of reindeer."

Chan chuckled. "Kerr's right. You inhaled three bowls, the rest of us only had two apiece."

"Four," Pasquin said. He saw the others looking at him. "I had four four bowls of stew. Hey, I never said bowls of stew. Hey, I never said I I was getting tired of reindeer. 'Sides, I'm a growing boy, I need to stoke the furnace." was getting tired of reindeer. 'Sides, I'm a growing boy, I need to stoke the furnace."

"Growing sideways," Dean snorted.

"Hey!" Pasquin objected heatedly.

Hough decided to defuse any potential fight by changing the subject. "I see the way you're looking at the beer, Rock," he said to Claypoole. "Like it's your girlfriend holding hands with someone else. Go ahead, have a few. I can give you a hangover pill, you'll be fine for the Skipper's inspection in the morning.

Claypoole shook his head. "Thanks, Doc. I would, but I've got more work to do tonight." He looked at his timepiece.

"Wolfman?" Dean asked. "He didn't look real happy when liberty call sounded."

Claypoole nodded. "Ensign Ba.s.s noticed that his skivvies were ten millimeters out of alignment on the rack display. I made him stay in the barracks to prepare for the Skipper's inspection."

Kerr, who'd been with the platoon the longest, even though he'd been away for almost two years after being nearly killed on an operation, chuckled. "I still have trouble thinking of Charlie Ba.s.s as 'Ensign Ba.s.s.' "

"You and me both," Hough said. He'd been with Company L almost as long as Kerr.

Dean returned to his earlier comment. "Missing a night's base liberty doesn't seem like enough to get Wolfman as upset as he looked." "Well, it is." Claypoole grinned wickedly. "That and the fact that I left Hammer in charge." "You what!" "You left Schultz Schultz in charge?" "No way you left Schultz in charge! He wouldn't stand for it." "Were you holding your blaster on him when you told him he was in charge?" "Well, I didn't exactly tell him he was in in charge?" "No way you left Schultz in charge! He wouldn't stand for it." "Were you holding your blaster on him when you told him he was in charge?" "Well, I didn't exactly tell him he was in charge. charge. I just asked him to keep an eye on the problem child I just asked him to keep an eye on the problem child for me." Kerr hooted. He leaned forward and stretched out an arm to clap Claypoole on the shoulder. "Corporal Claypoole, you just earned your stripes. You figured out how to make the most intransigent lance corporal in the Marine Corps do something he flat refuses to do." "Schultz really didn't put up a fight when you put him in charge of MacIlargie?" Chan asked. Claypoole blew on his fingernails and buffed them against his shirt front. They could almost see the canary feather sticking out of his grin when he nodded and said, "I surely did. And, no."

"I do believe MacIlargie's skivvies will be in perfect alignment tomorrow," Dean said, giving Claypoole's back a slap that almost shoved his face into his stew bowl. Mustering what dignity he could after the near miss with the remains of his dinner, Claypoole asked the table at large, "How did your people do?" "Just the usual minor gigs," Chan replied. "Nothing more serious than skivvies out of alignment." "When I was in recon, I never understood how come we had to stand Mickey Mouse inspections,"

Pasquin said. "We weren't show Marines and junk-on-the-bunk inspections didn't have a d.a.m.n thing to do with what we did. And now . . . We're on constant standby for Skinks. An IG doesn't make sense." The others ignored him, there was a lot the Marine Corps made them do that didn't make sense to them.

"How come you didn't let Wolfman take base liberty if all he had wrong was a minor misalignment of his skivvies?" Dean asked.

"Because he thought we aced the inspection. I wanted to impress on him how tough an IG can be." Kerr leaned forward. "You did the right thing. The rest of you should have done the same with any of your people who weren't perfect. I've stood an IG before, they're tougher than any of you realize. Matter of fact," he looked at each of the other fire team leaders, "if any of your people weren't outstanding you should have stayed in yourselves and worked with them." He leaned back and took another swig of his ale.

"Your people aced?" Hough asked. Kerr nodded. "You know it." "Bulls.h.i.t!" Claypoole snorted. "You've got Doyle. No way Doyle aced the inspection."

"Right," Pasquin agreed. "Tell Doyle to screw something together and he'll go looking for a hammer." Kerr shook his head. "Wrong. Doyle made corporal and senior company clerk because he was good at the Mickey Mouse of keeping records. He's also stood an IG before. The IG gave his office an 'outstanding' rating. He knows what he's doing here." He paused to let the others absorb what he'd said, then added, "Doyle told me the junk-on-the-bunk is a piece of cake compared to what his office had to go through preparing for that IG. He had his s.h.i.t so together that he had time to help Summers get ready." "No," the others said in disbelief. "Fact. Doyle was ready before I was." Kerr checked the time. "I told Doyle and Summers to be back in the barracks by twenty-one hours. I better be back before them." He stood to leave.

"Where is is Doyle?" Hough asked, looking around. "He's a corporal, he can come to the 45 Club. h.e.l.l, he could even sit with us if he wanted to." He returned a bland look to the glare Pasquin gave him. "He took Summers to Pete's Place. Said he wanted to give him the straight scoop on IGs from the Doyle?" Hough asked, looking around. "He's a corporal, he can come to the 45 Club. h.e.l.l, he could even sit with us if he wanted to." He returned a bland look to the glare Pasquin gave him. "He took Summers to Pete's Place. Said he wanted to give him the straight scoop on IGs from the perspective of a junior man who's stood one." Everybody looked at him with shock. "If I didn't know better, I'd think he was bucking for the next fire team leader opening. I'll see you back at the barracks." With that, Kerr left. The others looked at each other. "Doyle, a fire team leader?" "No way!" "Never happen!"

"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Staff Sergeant Hyakowa bellowed. "FALL IN!"

Thudding feet echoed off the walls of the corridor that ran the length of third platoon's squadbay, followed seconds later by the loud clicks of room doors latching open. Less than fifteen seconds after the platoon sergeant's orders, the Marines of third platoon were standing at attention against the walls of the corridor, facing across it, each fire team outside its room.

Hyakowa hit the lights; the morning light that filtered into the corridor wasn't bright enough for an inspection. "Squad leaders, REPORT!" he ordered.

The squad leaders could see their men from where they stood together outside their room at one end of the corridor.

"First squad, all present and accounted for!" Sergeant Ratliff reported.

"Second squad, all present and accounted for!" Sergeant Linsman called out.

"Guns, all present and accounted for!" Sergeant Kelly cried.

Hyakowa turned to face the head of the stairs that entered the corridor and stepped back from it. "Sir, third platoon all present and accounted for!" he said loudly as Ensign Charlie Ba.s.s stepped into the corridor.

"Very good, Platoon Sergeant," Ba.s.s said loudly enough for everyone to hear as he stopped in front of Hyakowa. He briefly stood at attention, then relaxed into a modified parade rest-feet at shoulder width, hands clasped behind his back-and swiveled side to side to look down the corridor in both

directions.

"Today is the company commander's inspection," he said looking in one direction. "I hope you are better prepared for inspection than you were yesterday," he said looking the other way. He returned to attention and said to Hyakowa, "Platoon Sergeant, have the men get their weapons and fall in behind the barracks."

"Aye aye, sir!" Hyakowa replied as Ba.s.s about-faced and left the squadbay. As soon as Ba.s.s reached the foot of the stairs Hyakowa broke his stance and looked at the Marines. "You heard the man, grab your weapons and fall in behind the barracks. Go! Move-move-MOVE!" The Marines of third platoon got their weapons so quickly he barely had time to back against the wall to avoid being buffeted by them as they scrambled past to the stairs.

"What's up?" someone asked nervously. "We were inside for yesterday's junk-on-the-bunk."

"We won't be inside when the IG comes through," Linsman answered. "What's the matter, did you forget to store your skin-trids in the supply room and you're afraid the Skipper will find them? Now move it!"

In a minute, third platoon was in position behind the barracks along with the rest of the company. No officers, no one from the company command element, only the hundred and eleven enlisted Marines from the three blaster platoons and the a.s.sault platoon.

Hyakowa, standing in front of third platoon's three ranks, looked to his left and right at the other platoon sergeants and shrugged a question. They all shrugged back; none of them knew just what was going on either.

He about-faced and said just loud enough for his men to hear, "Stand easy."

The Marines of third platoon relaxed from their positions of attention. To their flanks, the other platoons also fell into "at ease" at the commands of their platoon sergeants. They waited. The platoon sergeants stood facing their platoons, and casting frequent glances over their shoulders at the rear door to the barracks, waiting for someone to come out and tell them what to do.

After about five minutes, Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher, Company L's second ranking enlisted man, exited the barracks and marched to a spot midway along the company's front. At his approach, the platoon sergeants called their platoons to attention.

Thatcher came to attention at his spot and bellowed, "Platoon sergeants, REPORT!"

"First platoon, all present and accounted for!" Staff Sergeant DaCosta reported, followed by the other platoon sergeants in order.

"COMP-ny, at EASE!" Thatcher commanded. He stood feet spread, hands clasped behind his back, leaning forward slightly as he looked over the company from one end to the other. Most of the Marines stood at an easy parade rest rather than slouching into a full "at ease." All eyes were on him. Satisfied that he had the Marines' attention, he announced, "The Skipper, the rest of the officers, and First Sergeant Myer are inspecting the squadbays. When they finish the barracks inspection, they'll come outside and inspect you. you." He ignored the muted protests and expressions of dismay. "The inside inspection will take as long as it takes. In the meanwhile, we will wait out here." There were more vocalizations in the ranks, less muted than before. "Keep it down to a low roar, people."

When the voices lowered, Thatcher made a slight head movement, and the platoon sergeants left their positions to gather in front of him.

Thatcher looked at Hyakowa and shook his head. "w.a.n.g, I wish we still had Doyle as chief clerk. Palmer's a good clerk and he tries hard, but he doesn't have the experience Doyle has, and he's not as meticulous. When Lieutenant Humphrey," the company executive officer, "inspected the records yesterday, he found so many minor gigs he d.a.m.n near flunked the clerks. The Top had them working all night correcting errors." He paused to heave a sigh. "The records might might be in proper shape by the time battalion conducts its inspection." be in proper shape by the time battalion conducts its inspection."

The platoon sergeants grimaced. "Was there anything serious?" DaCosta asked.

Thatcher shook his head. "Nothing major. Just piddling little things, like file names out of sequence by a character so it looked like things were missing. The biggest thing was an incomplete inoculation record in one man's file." He smiled wryly. "Fortunately, it was my file, and I was able to get it corrected right away."

The platoon sergeants murmured unkind words about pogues who couldn't get things right.

Hyakowa shook his head and asked, "Does the Top still want Doyle's a.s.s?" On Company L's still-secret deployment to the quarantined world called Avionia, then-chief company clerk Corporal Doyle had forced an issue, making the first sergeant do something he didn't want to do. Top Myer called it insubordination and wanted Doyle court-martialed. However, the army general, a Major General Cazombi, in command of the operation thought Doyle deserved a medal. They compromised; no medal, no court martial, and Doyle was transferred out of 34th FIST. Only to be returned, in the strongest hint that 34th FIST had been secretly removed from the Confederation Marine Corps's normal personnel rotation. There were no billets open for a corporal clerk in the FIST, so then-Gunnery Sergeant Charlie Ba.s.s said he'd take Doyle as a blasterman in his platoon. Doyle had once inadvertently been on a patrol deep behind hostile lines with Ba.s.s, who believed the corporal could function well enough as an infantryman. So Doyle was kept away from Myer.

"I do believe so, w.a.n.g," Thatcher replied disgustedly. "So you've got to keep him."

Hyakowa shrugged one shoulder. "He's not nearly as good a blasterman as he was a clerk, but he'll do."

"How are they doing it in there?" second platoon's Staff Sergeant Chway asked with a nod toward the barracks, changing the subject.

"The Skipper's got yesterday's gig list from the platoon commanders. He's looking to make sure all the deficiencies have been corrected."