“Me, too, Sergeant. In any case, we’re only a full company on paper right now. You and I are it at the moment, until the rest trickles in. I’m supposed to get two SI recon platoons, two Spaceborne Rescue guys, and a team of SEALs.”
“How many more combat controllers, sir?”
“They promised me two more, but so far, you’re your own team.”
“I’ll need all new gear, sir. My junk burned up with the carrier we lost at Sirius Ad. Bug suit, uniforms, everything.”
“Sirius Ad?” the captain repeats, and leans forward with sudden interest in his eyes. “Holy shit. You were one of the ones who got out of there?”
“Yes, sir. Me and about a hundred mudlegs from SI. Four drop ships’ full.”
“They just put the news on MilNet three days ago, just before all the movement orders got canceled. It seems they’re reshuffling the whole damn fleet. I was Earthside for an instructor tour at Coronado. Hadn’t even sorted my shit into the locker when my new orders came through. So much for six months on Earth.” He leans back in his chair and puts his feet on the desk. His boots are well worn, but spotless. “You are one lucky son of a bitch, Sergeant. If I end up going dirtside on this deployment, I’m going to stay close to you.”
“I wouldn’t, sir,” I reply with a smile. “I’ve used up all my luck last week. Things go to shit, I’ll probably be the first to buy it.”
He rasps a laugh.
“Go find your berth and get settled, Sergeant. We’ll have a company powwow once the rest of the crew gets in. I’d direct you to the supply group, but I just got here myself, and I’ve never been on a Pacific-class before. Just ask one of the yard monkeys.”
The Midway is a relic, but her berthing spaces are roomy. I have nothing to put away, since all I have with me is the uniform set I borrowed from the supply sergeant on the Nassau, so claiming my berth is just a matter of walking in and punching my name and rank into the security panel at the hatch.
When I finally locate the Midway’s supply-and-logistics group, the sergeant sitting behind the clothes-and kit-issue counter looks familiar. We both look at each other in dawning recognition, and then the supply sergeant snaps his fingers and points at me.
“Fleet School,” he says. “You were in my platoon. Grayson, right?”
I read his name tag, and my brain finally sorts him into the right spot.
“Simer. You were at the other end of the platoon bay. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” he says, and shakes my hand. He looks a bit soft around the edges, evidence of a career mostly spent sitting at a desk or folding laundry. “Ship-hopping every six months, just like everyone else. Although I have no clue what I fucked up to get posted to this bucket. What can I do for you?”
“I lost all my kit when my last ship went down,” I say. “I need the basic set again, the whole sheet.”
“I’ll see what we have in the back. What’s your MOS?”
“One Charlie Two Five One.”
“Combat controller? Holy crap. I thought you were off to Neural Networks School after Great Lakes.”
“I was. It’s a long story. I sort of switched tracks along the way.”
“Yeah, I guess you did.” He picks up a data pad and consults the screen. “Truth be told, I don’t know half the shit I have right now. Things have been a bit nuts. They’re all trying to do three weeks of pre-deployment work in three days.”
He flicks through a few screens on his pad.
“You guys have a ton of specialized shit I’ve never even seen. I have all the standard gear for sure, but I don’t have any HEBAs. They don’t issue those in the regular supply chain.”
“Yeah, they fit those at the issue point.”
“I’ll put a request into the system anyway. Maybe they’ll get one ready for you Earthside before we leave Gateway.”
“Any idea where we’re going? I haven’t heard anything from the brass yet.”
“They’re all mum about it. But I will tell you one thing.” Sergeant Simer looks around, and then leans toward me and lowers his voice. “There’s some weird shit going on. I see the stuff popping up in the supply logs, and I’ve never seen that kind of pre-dep loadout.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for starters, we got three times as much food as we need for a six-month cruise. And they’re filling all the missile tubes with nukes. I’ve never seen so many nuke supply codes come through the system at once. Someone upstairs must have cracked open a big-ass warehouse full of megatons.”
I grimace at this revelation. The fleet only goes heavy on nukes when we go up against the Lankies, and just a week after Sirius Ad, I don’t want to go near Lanky-controlled space again already, especially not with all my good gear missing.
“Food stockpiles, nukes in the tubes…sounds like we’re in for a shit sandwich.”