towed them through the weightlessness of a navy starship in orbit to the cabin that would be their quarters for the duration of their voyage to Silvasia. When they reached the cabin the third class slapped a diagram on the bulkhead just inside the hatch and said, “This schematic shows you where the galley, the gym, and the library are. You read it—”
“Thanks, petty officer,” Daly interrupted him. “I’ve sailed on Homdale class ships before, I know how to find my way around. Is our use schedule posted there?” He nodded at a blank screen next to the schematic.
“Whatever you say, Sergeant,” the third class said in a tone that made clear he meant anything but. “You know how to access it?”
Daly kicked into a gentle cross-cabin movement in the starship’s orbital null-G and stopped himself with one hand next to the control panel alongside the screen. He touched the controls and the panel sprang to life, displaying the Force Recon squad’s schedule for using the troop mess, crew’s gym, and ship’s library.
“If the jacks work, we won’t need to visit the library unless we want the exercise of getting there and back,” he said.
“I guess you know where the jacks are?”
“Wazzen, show the man.”
Lance Corporal Wazzen, the squad’s most junior man, grinned crookedly and reached over one of the wall-mounted bunks. He slid a small panel to the side, exposing the plug-in jacks for the ship’s library.
“Anything else we need to know?” Daly asked. The third class slowly shook his head. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control. Unless you need to know when we break orbit.”
Daly tapped his wrist comp and looked at its display. “Scheduled for twelve hours, seventeen minutes standard from now,” he said. “And the most junior of us has made more than a dozen jumps, so we all know that routine, too.”
“Happy sailing, then,” the third class said, backing out of the cabin. He closed the hatch, but not quickly enough to keep the Marines from seeing the disgusted expression that washed over his face—he’d been looking forward to making the Marines feel dumb by showing them things they didn’t know about. The Marines laughed at the closed hatch.
“Ah, sailors,” chortled Sergeant Kindy, the assistant squad leader. “I guess they don’t teach them anymore that one of the major functions of early Marines was keeping sailors in line aboard ship.”
“That meant we had to know our way around their ships better than they did,” added the senior reconman, Corporal Nomonon.
“They probably do remember,” said Lance Corporal Wazzen, “and that’s why they keep trying to make us look dumb.”
The trip to Silvasia was uneventful. The four Marines spent several hours a day in the crew’s gym, working out to maintain their physical edge. When they weren’t otherwise occupied, they were plugged into the ship’s library, refreshing their knowledge of the various Silvasian wars, learning everything they could about the current peacekeeping operation, the history of the 104th Mobile Infantry Division, and reading the bios and records of Major General Fitzter and Lieutenant Colonel Kevelys—Daly and his men wanted to hit the ground running, and they wanted to make an immediate and lasting impression on the army officers for whom they’d be working.
Receiving Barracks, Confederation Navy Base (Planetside), Silvasia
“So how are we going to convince that doggie light colonel?” Corporal Nomonon asked.
“ We aren’t, I am,” Sergeant Daly replied. A wolfish smile flickered across his face as he looked at his men. “You know what a midnight requisition is. So does the army. But the army doesn’t have a clue how we do it. I’m going to show him.”
“Shit,” Lance Corporal Wazzen muttered. “You do that once the army knows how we do it; how are we going to get any supplies we need that Mother Corps didn’t have to give to us?”
Daly laughed. “Come on, he’s a
“Thanks, petty officer,” Daly interrupted him. “I’ve sailed on Homdale class ships before, I know how to find my way around. Is our use schedule posted there?” He nodded at a blank screen next to the schematic.
“Whatever you say, Sergeant,” the third class said in a tone that made clear he meant anything but. “You know how to access it?”
Daly kicked into a gentle cross-cabin movement in the starship’s orbital null-G and stopped himself with one hand next to the control panel alongside the screen. He touched the controls and the panel sprang to life, displaying the Force Recon squad’s schedule for using the troop mess, crew’s gym, and ship’s library.
“If the jacks work, we won’t need to visit the library unless we want the exercise of getting there and back,” he said.
“I guess you know where the jacks are?”
“Wazzen, show the man.”
Lance Corporal Wazzen, the squad’s most junior man, grinned crookedly and reached over one of the wall-mounted bunks. He slid a small panel to the side, exposing the plug-in jacks for the ship’s library.
“Anything else we need to know?” Daly asked. The third class slowly shook his head. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control. Unless you need to know when we break orbit.”
Daly tapped his wrist comp and looked at its display. “Scheduled for twelve hours, seventeen minutes standard from now,” he said. “And the most junior of us has made more than a dozen jumps, so we all know that routine, too.”
“Happy sailing, then,” the third class said, backing out of the cabin. He closed the hatch, but not quickly enough to keep the Marines from seeing the disgusted expression that washed over his face—he’d been looking forward to making the Marines feel dumb by showing them things they didn’t know about. The Marines laughed at the closed hatch.
“Ah, sailors,” chortled Sergeant Kindy, the assistant squad leader. “I guess they don’t teach them anymore that one of the major functions of early Marines was keeping sailors in line aboard ship.”
“That meant we had to know our way around their ships better than they did,” added the senior reconman, Corporal Nomonon.
“They probably do remember,” said Lance Corporal Wazzen, “and that’s why they keep trying to make us look dumb.”
The trip to Silvasia was uneventful. The four Marines spent several hours a day in the crew’s gym, working out to maintain their physical edge. When they weren’t otherwise occupied, they were plugged into the ship’s library, refreshing their knowledge of the various Silvasian wars, learning everything they could about the current peacekeeping operation, the history of the 104th Mobile Infantry Division, and reading the bios and records of Major General Fitzter and Lieutenant Colonel Kevelys—Daly and his men wanted to hit the ground running, and they wanted to make an immediate and lasting impression on the army officers for whom they’d be working.
Receiving Barracks, Confederation Navy Base (Planetside), Silvasia
“So how are we going to convince that doggie light colonel?” Corporal Nomonon asked.
“ We aren’t, I am,” Sergeant Daly replied. A wolfish smile flickered across his face as he looked at his men. “You know what a midnight requisition is. So does the army. But the army doesn’t have a clue how we do it. I’m going to show him.”
“Shit,” Lance Corporal Wazzen muttered. “You do that once the army knows how we do it; how are we going to get any supplies we need that Mother Corps didn’t have to give to us?”
Daly laughed. “Come on, he’s a
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