Starfist: Firestorm (35 page)

Chang-Sturdevant laughed. “Okay, Mr. Minister, let’s do it! Damn, you beat me to it! But Marcus, isn’t a proposal supposed to be more romantic? Nice of you to pop the question just before I go down the shitter. Give me
something
to be happy about as I slide down the razor blade of political disaster.”

“We’ll hold hands and go down together. Ah, well.” Berentus chuckled. “We’ve known each other too long for any romantic stuff. But going back to the crisis of the moment, Suelee, sure you don’t want one friendly face out there to back you up?”

“No, I got us into this and I’m going to have to get us out or take the well-deserved consequences.” She smiled briefly. “I can always count on you, can’t I?” she added. Her expression had become serious. What she was about to do would be the turning point in her career. She’d had so many turning points recently she was getting dizzy.

“You bet.”

“Well, when they throw me out will you still love me, Marcus?”

“You bet, Suelee! Hell, you goddamned better count on it, Madam President,” he replied with feeling and kissed her back. “I wish we would get tossed out, then I’d have you all to myself. Damn, Suelee, Mary Baker Eddy’s toenails, we sure gummed things up this time, didn’t we?”

“What’s this ‘we,’ Marcus? You got a kwangduk in your pocket?” She laughed.

Berentus grinned. She was beginning to talk like a warrior now. He knew nobody in that Congress could handle
this
president. “Little girl, want me to walk you to the hall, carry your books, buy you an ice cream?”

“Nope. Just give me a hug.” He did, and a long one too. “See you later?” She smiled and hummed the words from an old, old song they both knew so well:

Will you come and plant some flowers

Round my cold eternal grave?

Will you come and sit beside me

Where the lilies nod and wave?

Cynthia Chang-Sturdevant waved nonchalantly and walked out into the Great Hall of the Confederation Congress.

When the sergeant at arms announced President Chang-Sturdevant’s entry into the Great Hall, half of the members did not even bother to get out of their seats; the other half were already up, shouting and arguing with one another. After a long call to order, a restive silence finally engulfed the assembled legislators. In fact, most of the members of both houses of the Confederation Congress were present since it had been announced earlier that President Chang-Sturdevant would deliver an important address that day. The media were there also, covering the entire session, happily recording the antics of their elected representatives.

“Madam Chang-Sturdevant, President of the Confederation of Human Worlds, will now address this Congress,” the old sergeant at arms announced in a stentorian voice. Bowing to the dais, he took his own seat beside the President of the Senate.

Chang-Sturdevant had never looked better. Her blazing white tunic perfectly offset her black hair with its single strand of white and the Order of Military Merit glittered brilliantly in the lights. She was very proud of her Merit award and, besides, it intimidated other politicians, most of whom had never worn a uniform in peace or war.

“Madam President! Madam President!” It was Haggle Kutmoi, the Senator from Bulon, an early and vigorous supporter of the war against the Coalition. “Madam President!” His voice thundered without amplification. Chang-Sturdevant wondered how such a little man could have such a powerful voice.

“Be seated, Senator! The president is about to address this Congress!” the sergeant at arms thundered, half rising out of his seat.

Kutmoi ignored him, a dangerous thing to do, and kept on anyway. He advanced toward the podium, one hand held high. “Madam President, I do not need to tell you and the august members of this legislative body that the hearings I am presently conducting into the scandalous, nay,
mutinous
events on Ravenette in which you, Madam President, are complicit, are now a matter of public knowledge and comment. They will reveal how you have let the Ravenette traitors off the hook! When all the facts are in I shall demand,
demand
legislation limiting your War Powers authority as well as commence impeachment proceedings against you and Minister of War Marcus Berentus!”

“Senator,” Chang-Sturdevant replied calmly, “I have nothing further to say about Ravenette. That matter is closed so far as I am concerned. Let your hearings proceed as they may, Senator, but you can expect no cooperation from anyone in my government. As to your committee’s recommendations, whatever they shall be, well, Senator, you can take them and shove them straight up your—” What she said was drowned out in the cheers, howls, and laughter that engulfed the Great Hall.

The settlers in the far-flung reaches of Human Space did not receive vids of Chang-Sturdevant’s momentous speech for many days after it was delivered and what she said to Senator Haggle Kutmoi, although old news by then, still made them laugh and cheer and pound one another’s backs, and swear they’d vote for this woman in the next election; they’d already seen vids of both Billie’s and Cazombi’s testimony before Kutmoi’s panel and opinion was running high on the side of the plainspoken Cazombi.

Chang-Sturdevant did not need a high-priced lawyer to tell her about the advantages of being honest with the voters, of admitting mistakes openly. That is what she was about to do, and after she was done, Haggle Kutmoi’s hearings would collapse like a pricked balloon. But what she told them made their blood run cold.

Chang-Sturdevant told them about the Skinks.

Several days later, sitting disconsolately in his hotel room, Jason Fosdick Billie put the muzzle of his antique pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

EPILOGUE

The Marines of 34th FIST weren’t bedraggled when the Essays landed them at Boynton Field, the combination airfield, Essay field at Camp Major Pete Ellis, and 34th FIST’s home on Thorsfinni’s World. Two and a half weeks on board the CNSS
Lance Corporal Keith Lopez
, where they’d been able to clean their weapons, their bodies, their uniforms, and their equipment, and heal their wounds, had seen to that. Still, aside from isolated whoops of joy, they were a somber band as they dismounted from the Dragons that rolled out of the Essays that had borne them from the orbiting starship and formed up by platoons to board lorries for transport to the barracks.

When the lorries dropped off Company L, the Marines formed up behind the barracks. Captain Conorado didn’t make his Marines wait for him to come out of the company office; he went directly from his lorry to stand in front of his assembled Marines. The Marines didn’t move fast, but it didn’t take them long to assemble and straighten their ranks. They stood at attention, waiting patiently for their company commander to say what he had to say.

Conorado looked over his company. In garrison utilities, all were visible. Remarkably, considering the severity of the action they’d so recently seen, there were no holes in the formation. Even First Sergeant Myer, who rarely attended formations, was present. The lack of holes in the formation wasn’t because the casualties were light on Ravenette; it was because of the replacements they had gotten from the Whiskey Company that Commandant Aguinaldo had provided for 34th FIST well before the war. Conorado had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, each hole in the formation would have been a reminder of a member of Conorado’s Marine family who was dead or severely injured. On the other hand, there were too many faces he didn’t recognize, or barely recognized, men who’d already replaced the company’s dead or severely wounded.

“Marines of Company L,” Conorado finally said. He didn’t speak as loudly as he normally did when addressing his company, but his voice carried well enough for every man to hear. “You did an outstanding job, one in the highest tradition of Company L, 34th FIST, the Confederation Marine Corps, and the Naval Services. I want you to know that I am proud to be associated with men such as you.

“I don’t know yet how long we have before a new training cycle, or what we will be training for. When I dismiss you from this formation, you are to retrieve your belongings from the company supply room and take them to secure in your squad bays. You have one hour to do that, and then the company will reassemble here to march to the battalion mess hall, where base personnel are preparing a meal to welcome us home. I will have information about liberty when we reassemble after that.”

Conorado stood tall, looking over his company again. He hadn’t indulged in hyperbole—he really was proud to command these Marines. He filled his chest, then bellowed, “COMP-ny, dis-MISSED!”

The Marines broke ranks and headed to the company supply room. Even though they weren’t in formation, they lined up by platoons and squads to get their belongings.

Brigadier Sturgeon declared five days liberty for the entire FIST, effective immediately. Not everybody took off immediately.

Ensign Charlie Bass was one who didn’t. He went to the officers’ club for a drink, then returned to the barracks and made the rounds of third platoon. Most of the Marines were in their fire team’s room, sleeping, watching trids, reading, studying, or simply staring into places only they could see. One room was occupied by only one man.

“Lance Corporal Ymenez,” Bass said. “How ya doing?”

“Sir!” Ymenez said, jumping to his feet to stand at attention.

“As you were, Lance Corporal.” Bass patted the air and indicated Ymenez should sit down again. He pulled a chair out from one of the minuscule desks in the room and sat himself. “As I said, how ya doing?”

“I-I’m good, sir.”

Bass cocked a disbelieving eye at him, but let it ride. “That’s good, Ymenez.” He looked around the small room, and listened for sounds from the adjoining head that second squad’s second fire team shared with the third fire team. “Where are Corporal Claypoole and Lance Corporal Schultz?”

“They went out on liberty, sir.”

“And they didn’t take you with them?”

“N-No, sir. C-Corporal Claypoole said something about personal business.”

Bass nodded. He had a good idea what the personal business was.

“Are you going on liberty?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, I think so. Later. With some other men from the squad. Or the platoon.”

“Very good. You
should
get out and blow off some steam.” Bass stood to leave.

“Sir?” Ymenez stood and returned to attention. Bass looked at him. “Sir, what’s going to happen to me? I mean, if Lance Corporal”—he tried to remember the name he’d heard, couldn’t, and used the nickname he’d heard instead—“Lance Corporal Wolfman comes back?”

Bass looked at him soberly for a moment. “I don’t know. First I have to find out if Lance Corporal MacIlargie—and Lance Corporal Longfellow—are coming back at all. Once we know that, then a decision will be made. Why do you ask?”

“Sir, I know I haven’t been with third platoon very long, but I think this is a good platoon. I’d rather stay here than be sent back to Whiskey Company.”

Bass studied Ymenez for a few seconds, then nodded. “Thank you, Lance Corporal. I accept that as a compliment to me and to the Marines of third platoon. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’ll find out as soon as I can—and I’ll do what I can to keep you in third platoon.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Bass reached out a hand and shook Ymenez’s. “Don’t forget to get out of here,” he said as he left the room.

His next stop after the barracks was the base hospital, where he visited MacIlargie and Longfellow. Staff Sergeant Hyakowa had already been there, as had Top Myer and Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher. Both were doing well and looking forward to returning to the platoon. The other platoon commanders were there about the same time Bass was. Captain Conorado arrived as Bass was leaving.

After he left the hospital, Bass checked on the location of a couple of his men who’d already left for liberty—the ID bracelets each Marine wore transmitted his location. As Bass had suspected, Corporal Claypoole was at a small farm in Brystholde. Bass knew that’s where Claypoole’s girlfriend, Jente—what was that young woman’s last name? He’d have to find out—lived. Bass had to look up the address of Schultz’s location. He grinned when he found it; it was the home of the new cook at Big Barb’s, Einna Orafem.

“Speaking of women,” Bass told himself, it was time he took off himself. Katie would be getting anxious.

Ravenette wasn’t a small campaign like so many that 34th FIST embarked on; it had been a full-fledged war. For the vast majority of the Marines and sailors in the FIST, Ravenette was the biggest campaign they had ever been on—even those who had been in the Diamundian War. The Marines, sailors, and soldiers who’d been deployed to Ravenette weren’t going to get another campaign star for their Marine, Navy, or Army Campaign Medals. No, Ravenette rated its own campaign medal, which would be issued as soon as one was designed and struck.

Brigadier Sturgeon finally made good on a promise that had been implied when Charlie Bass had been shanghaied into finally accepting a commission: Sturgeon promoted Bass to lieutenant. But he left him in command of third platoon rather than moving him into a proper lieutenant’s billet.

Oh yes, one more detail. The Marines of 34th Fleet Initial Strike Team didn’t know it yet, but the Skinks were back and had to be dealt with. But that’s another story.