Our time in the NCO school seemed to pass slowly after the visit from Colonel Smith. Each of us was lost in our own secret thoughts about what we had seen and heard. Most of us had known the broad outlines of how humanity had become embroiled in war, but never had our current position been tied together so neatly. I would see my fellow students staring off into to space, not paying attention to text scrolling by on their computers, or ignoring the books open in their laps. Mistakes in the physical component of our training began to be more frequent, prompting frequent tirades from Sergeant Abrams. It became common for my fellow students to come to class unprepared, only to stand sullen and defiant as instructors berated them for their poor performance. I wondered why they didn’t just quit. They could go back to being a PFC with none the wiser.
O’Leary was one of the worst. She became pale and withdrawn. She avoided attention in the classroom by volunteering a single tidbit of information near the beginning of class before sinking into a funk. The only reason she studied at all was at my insistence, and only her raw athleticism and coordination kept her from screwing up under Sergeant Abrams’ watchful eye. We spent our evenings together, reading scrolling text from the same terminal, with me forcing her attention on the screen with subtle nudges or coughs.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” O’Leary said to one night. “I just don’t feel like studying tonight.”
I sighed. “When do you ever?” I asked, and forced a smile. I blanked the terminal screen and took both of her hands in mine.
“What would you have done if you were in Samuels’ position?” She asked.
It took me a moment to remember the bridge officer of the Mojave Sunrise. Her change of subject was abrupt, but it didn’t surprise me. Most of the my fellow potential NCOs talked about nothing else in their spare time. “Do you mean: Would I have killed myself?”
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Hmm,” I said, thinking for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
“No? Why not?”
“Look at it this way. If I were captured by the Rak’Lan, they would certainly gather some intelligence from me, but the knowledge that I have is pretty limited. It makes much more sense for me to allow myself to be captured and gather intelligence on them, hoping that one day I could either escape or be rescued.”
“So you wouldn’t even fight? You’d just surrender?”
I shook my head. “I would kill the captain so that they were forced to depend on me for a prisoner.”
“What?” Her tone was incredulous.
“Sure. He was wounded. Their knowledge of human physiology may not have been sufficient to save him. By killing him, I become the most valuable person on the ship. I would be a whole, unwounded human with a reasonable chance of survival.”
“I don’t believe what I’m hearing. You’d shoot your own wounded captain before surrendering to a group of aliens who just murdered your entire crew?”
“I’m dead either way, eventually. This way, there is the possibility that I might, might eventually be able to get some valuable intelligence back to Earth.”
“What if it were me?”
“Huh?”
“What if it were me who was wounded, being towed in free fall behind some soldiers? Would you shoot me because I was a liability?”
“Don’t ask me that question, Shannon.”
“Why not? We’re going to be serving in the same unit. It might come down to that.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You might have to make that choice, Michael.”
I closed my right fist and placed it on top of her hand. “We’ll go out together, Shannon. That, I can promise.”
She placed her hand on top of mine, a tremulous smile the first I had seen in days.
There was an awkward moment of silence. “Shannon,” I began. “You’ve become more withdrawn as we’ve neared the end of the course. There’s no shame in admitting that you’re not cut out for this. It wouldn’t be that you failed…you just realized that command wasn’t for you.”
“I get enough of that from Abrams. I don’t need it from you.” She buried her face in her hands.
I was frustrated. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. I put a hand tentatively on her head and stroked her hair. “Then what’s your problem, Shannon? I can’t help you if I don’t know what it is.”
She looked up at me, spearing me with her green eyed gaze. “You’re my problem! You always have the right answer! You always have the combat moves down perfectly. You’re the perfect model of a perfect Marine and I…”
“And you what?” I prompted.
“I’m not perfect. I just can’t deal with it anymore, Michael. Nothing fazes you.” She stood up to leave. “I have to go. I’ll let you study.”
I sighed. “So you’re just going to fail all your classes tomorrow?”
“What’s it to you?” She moved toward the door. For a moment, I sat there and thought about her attitude. Was this the same saucy redhead who had helped me make the retrieval on a wounded Marine in the face of enemy fire? Was this the same girl who asked me to dinner as bullets and particle beams were harvesting our comrades in arms? What had happened to her? I knew that she was cut out to be a soldier, but I didn’t know how to help her.
She had to want it. She had to know deep down inside that she was capable of doing the job. She had to believe that she was worthy of leading men and women into combat, and getting them safely out again. I think that in the chaos of our training, the difficult physical requirements, and the strains placed on us academically, she was nearing her breaking point. All of us had one, certainly, but they came at different times and under different stimuli.
I looked at Shannon not as a friend or a lover, but as a superior would see a subordinate. I saw in her the potential to be the quintessential NCO. Men and women like her were the glue that held the Marines together. She could inspire those in her immediate unit, solve simple field problems, and defend her people against the callousness of senior NCOs and junior officers. Despite this, I knew that she wasn’t quite there yet. There were some flaws in her attitude and her outlook that I could still see. I could make her face them. She needed to overcome the block that she had erected over the past several weeks. If she didn’t, she still might pass her courses, but she wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind to lead. In her current condition, she was likely to get men and women killed.
As her hand neared the palm plate that would open the door I jumped to my feet, grabbed her by the shoulders, and shoved her into the center of my tiny room. “Stand at attention, Corporal,” I said.
“Michael? What the fuck are you—”
I backhanded her. I can’t say to this day which of us was more surprised at the action. “I said stand at attention, you worthless excuse for a Marine.”
Anger and shock clouded her face. There was a growing, hot red mark on her jaw that was slowly turning blue. I could see her fist balling up at her side. “If you strike me, Corporal O’Leary, consider yourself on report. Do I make myself clear?”
“Michael—”
Crack. I backhanded her again. “This isn’t a game, Corporal. Right now, you are headed down a path that we can’t afford to send our fellow Marines down. You are listless, melancholy, and whiny. What’s the matter? Did you lose your nerve?”
“I didn’t lose my—”
Crack. “When we are on official business, Marine, the first and last words out of your mouth will be ‘Sir.’ Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir, yes sir!” She was a mask of rage. I was suddenly reminded of the old wives’ tales about the ferocity of red-headed women.
“Let me tell you something, Corporal. You have the potential to be one of the best NCOs in the Marines, and yet, you sit around here whining about how homesick you are, or about how you’re tired of studying. Instead of trying to make yourself better, you’re complaining that people around you are naturals.” I took a deep breath. “No one is a natural at this, Corporal. Those of us who try to succeed work our asses off to be the best we can be.
“Honor the memory of those we left behind on that Rak’Lan station. Make yourself into a soldier that they’d be proud of. If fighting for the EU, or fighting for Ireland, or fighting for humanity isn’t your cup of tea, then buck up and fight for your friends. We’re the ones whose lives are going to be on line if you fuck up out there. We’re the ones who’ll pay for a fit of pique in the middle of a combat situation.” I took her shoulders in my hands. Although I could see that she was still angry, tears were leaking down her face. Her body was shaking with emotion, but she still managed to stand at attention.
“Permission to speak, sir?” Her voice was a barely audible rasp. I nodded. “It’s not as easy as you make it out to be. I am trying.”
I shook my head. “No. You’re not. You’re half-assing your way through this because you’ve lost your focus. Have you already forgotten the briefing that Colonel Smith gave us?”
“Of course not…sir.”
“Then you know what we’re up against. The Rak’Lan are alien in every sense of the word. They brutally murdered the crew of an unarmed survey ship before annihilating two of Earth’s most populous cities. If we don’t step up to the plate and stop this, there are going to be more cities just like San Francisco and Shanghai.” I clasped my hands behind my back and stared at her for a second, letting the silence build. She was definitely going to be bruised on one side of her face. Tears still streamed down her cheeks, but her body had ceased to quake. I judged that she had reasserted at least some modicum of control. “If you can’t do this, then quit destroying yourself. Serve your hitch and go home. Otherwise, pull yourself together and act like a Marine and a leader.”
She said nothing for several moments. Finally, her red, bloodshot eyes found mine. “Permission to leave, sir?”
“Granted,” I replied.
She walked toward the door, palming the latch. “Michael…”
“Yes?” I asked, as she stood in the open doorway. I hoped she couldn’t hear the pain in my voice.
“You can be my superior, or you can be my lover, but not both.” She turned her tear-stained countenance toward me. “I guess you’ve made your choice.”
Such a powerful section! I had to read it twice, even the second time around I still feel the surprise as I imagine Shannon might…