Marko Kloos - Terms of Enlistment

“I’d ask for a slot in a space-going service. Navy, Marines, whatever, as long as I get to go into space.”

“No shit? Sergeant Fallon raises an eyebrow.

“No shit.”

“Well, that’s the only way people like us are ever going to get off this shitty rock. I should give you a speech about how the other services suck, but truth be told, I don’t blame you one fucking bit.”

When Corporal Miller takes me back to my room, I feel a little better. My recently fused internals are processing the solid food without complaint, and I’ve picked up a few spare donuts to carry back to the room, a reminder of Basic that’s almost making me nostalgic. All things considered, I’d gladly be back at NACRD Orem right now, trading jokes with Halley, and listening to Sergeant Burke drone on about the structure of the different military branches. We had to hit the quarterdeck several times a day, and I racked up a lot of miles on my running shoes, but things were decidedly simpler back then. Nobody was shooting at me, and I didn’t have the threat of a jail term and subsequent dishonorable discharge hanging over my head.

“Friend of yours?” Corporal Miller asks on the elevator ride up.

“She’s my squad leader,” I say. “Do you know where they quartered her?”

“Same floor, unit 3022. Hey, you guys can get together and play cards or something. You know how to work that chair now, and you don’t need me to baby-sit you, I suppose.”

“Am I allowed out?”

“Sure,” Corporal Miller shrugs. “This is not a jail, you know. You need to stay in this building, but you can go out for a stroll in the hallways any time you want. There’s a rec room on the top floor, and the chow lounge is open twenty-four hours.”

“Excellent,” I say. “So much luxury. I won’t want to leave, you know.”

“Hey, that’s just part of the Army’s generous benefits package. Every day a holiday, and all that.”

I laugh out loud.

“Yeah, and last Saturday was fucking Commonwealth Day, fireworks and all.”

My PDP still won’t let me onto MilNet, but the document reader still works. Most troopers in my platoon only use the reader for field manuals and military reference materials, but I figured out a while ago that it works with any form of electronic text. There are plenty of public repositories for literature out there, and it takes me all of two hours to shovel a small library worth of classic books onto my PDP.

I’m a third of the way through “Heart of Darkness”, and halfway through my second donut, when the door opens, and Major Unwerth walks into my room.

“As you were, Private,” he says as I wipe my mouth and dump donut, napkin, and PDP onto my night stand. I hate the fact that he’s in full Class A uniform, and I’m in flimsy hospital garb. The difference in dress makes me feel vulnerable, and the fact that I’m in bed only makes it worse. The only way I could feel more uncomfortable would be if he walked in on me in the bathroom while I’m taking a dump.

“Major,” I say. “Did you go all the way to Shughart and back since breakfast?”

“Yes,” he says. “I had a meeting with the battalion commander over lunch. I see they’re feeding you okay in here.”

“Yes, sir. All the luxuries of home.”

“Well, good. Do you feel up to a debriefing? I need to get your version of events on the official record.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m entitled to having a Legal Corps officer in the room, if you’re going to do that, sir.”

Major Unwerth makes a face as if he just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. His amiable demeanor evaporates in a blink.

“You’re entitled to nothing, Private. You’re about three nanometers away from a court-martial, and you can be damn glad I didn’t bring a pair of MPs with me to park outside your room and escort you every time you leave to take a piss. I’d keep a low profile if I were you. Now, you can give me your version of the events to record, or I can write down that you refused to give a statement. Come to think of it, I’d appreciate it if you just did that and saved me a bunch of paperwork. I’m getting a bit tired of your attitude.”

I’ve changed my mind about the disciplinary offense. I reach out to grab the major by the lapels of his Class A smock, but before I can get a hold of him, someone yanks him backward violently. I see the look of grim satisfaction on his face replaced by one of shocked surprise.

The major left the door open, and neither of us heard Sergeant Fallon come in. She is out of her powered chair, and even with a missing lower leg, she has the strength and leverage to haul Major Unwerth away from my bed as if he’s merely a moderately stuffed combat pack. He falls on his ass in a rather ungraceful fashion, and Sergeant Fallon is on top of him in a blink. She seizes him by the collar with one hand, and pins him to the floor. With the other hand, she snatches one of the pens the major carries in the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. She uncaps the pen with a flick of her thumb, and presses the pointy end right against the major’s throat. Then she brings her face close to Major Unwerth’s, until their noses almost touch.

“Listen up, fuckhead,” she says. Her voice is so infused with anger that it comes out as a hoarse growl.

“That man over there is one of mine . He dragged me through half a mile of hostile territory. If I ever hear you talking to him again like he’s some green recruit who overstayed his weekend leave, I will tear out your trachea and piss down your neck. Is that understood?”

I can see Major Unwerth’s throat move under the tip of the pen as he swallows. There’s naked fear in his eyes now, and the sight of it gives me intense satisfaction. Part of me wants Sergeant Fallon to drive the barrel of that pen right through his throat.

Finally, he gives an almost imperceptible nod. Sergeant Fallon releases him and drops the pen in front of him. Her face is contorted with disgust, as if she has just cleaned out a latrine with her bare hands.

“You are out of control, Sergeant,” Major Unwerth says. He tries to sound assertive, but his voice is unsteady. “Assaulting a superior officer, again . That’ll get you drummed out, Medal of Honor or not.”

“You can go back and report me,” Sergeant Fallon says. “They may even manage to lock me up before I get a hold of you again. In fact, you better hope they do. I’ll tell you one thing, though. Every last grunt in the battalion is going to know about the stunt you’re trying to pull with Grayson, and then your life won’t be worth a bucket of warm piss. Have fun checking the shitter for frag grenades.”

“You are out of your mind, Fallon,” Major Unwerth says. He stands up and straightens his jacket collar and tie. “You can’t threaten me like that. The CO is going to throw you into a cell and throw away the access code.”

“Yeah,” Sergeant Fallon says. “He might. And think about what lovely headlines that would make for the fucking Army Times. ‘Medal of Honor Winner Tries To Kill Officer’. There’s a morale booster for you. I’m sure the civilian press is going to be all over that one.”

She steps in front of him again, and he recoils.

“I don’t give a shit, Major. You want to turn me in? Fine. We’ll see if the CO is willing to deal with the bad press. But you let Grayson take the fall for Saturday, and I’ll make sure your ass is in a body bag before the end of the month.”

The major straightens out his tie and jacket. He shoots me a scowl, and then makes eye contact with Sergeant Fallon again. I can almost smell his fear, but he’s trying to maintain poise in front of a lowly private and his squad leader.