John Ringo - Claws That Catch

“So you’re denying that we have a spaceship capable of faster-than-light travel,” the reporter asked doggedly.

“And your hearing is going, too,” Bill said. “Neither confirm nor deny. Just suggesting you need to find the right market. Have you considered writing science fiction?”

“You’ve been a real buddy there, Bill,” Zenikki said. “Let’s do lunch. You buy.”

“If I’m in town,” Bill said then winced.

“So you’re doing a lot of traveling?” the reporter pounced. “Off-planet?”

“Robin, do you know how many gates there are on earth to other planets?” Bill said, deciding to lay a red-herring. It was dangerous, but potentially worth it if it threw Robin off for as much as a week. “Forty-seven. Do you know how many we have research colonies on? One less than we did six months ago. I’d suggest you look for some of your answers elsewhere.”

“You’re saying that you’re mixed up with that research station that disappeared?” Robin asked hurriedly.

“Who is the military’s number one expert on Looking Glass bosons, Robin?” Weaver said. “And that’s all I’m going to say. Good night, Robin.”

“Filling Two-Gun in on his Dog Duties, XO?” Captain Zanella said as he walked through the office.

Captain James Zanella was tall, lean and fit with a sharply pointed jaw, high cheekbones, green eyes, black hair and an olive complexion. Any casting director would throw him out as being far too heroic looking to be a real Marine CO. The fact that he was also a capable one was the amazing thing.

His good looks were slightly marred from a mottling on his face, the only remaining indications that he’d been partially freeze-dried when his space suit was holed during the battle at HD 37355. Only quick thinking on the part of his RTO and a handy roll of space tape had saved his life. In that case, space tape really had been a life-saver.

Space tape, for the Vorpal Blade and the Marines that infested her, filled the venerable role of duct tape, hundred-mile-an-hour tape, rigger tape, what have you. The problem with using duct tape or its numerous brethren was that it simply did not work in space. The glue that worked so well in atmosphere just boiled away and in the incredible changes of temperature found in space the base material either froze and cracked or melted or sometimes both in quick succession.

Space tape, however, was the more wealthy and stylish child of the tape beloved of soldiers, sailors, Marines, airmen and anyone who has ever had to repair a ’67 Chevy without the aid of baling wire. Space tape, Item 117-398-7494560413 in the Uniform Federal Logistics Database, or Item 413 for short, worked perfectly well in any conditions including under water. The just-short-of-miraculous glue of the tape would stick to anything , left no residue no matter how long it had been applied, worked in vacuum and had a temperature range from just above one degree Kelvin to just short of that of the surface of the sun.

And it was expensive. Oh My God was it ever expensive. Nearly one hundred thousand dollars per roll expensive. And the Marines and sailors of the Vorpal Blade still tended to use it very much like duct tape, up to and including keeping partial rolls tucked away in odd places “just in case.”

When Captain Zanella had signed off on his first inventory in the unit and seen the prohibitive cost of the material, he nearly had a heart attack. For a few dozen rolls of space tape he could buy a Wyvern suit. He had blanched every time he saw the stuff and nearly screamed when he saw Marines using it to attach bits of equipment to their combat harness. He’d prohibited it from use under all but the most dire and fully official circumstances and ordered all rolls turned in on pain of pain.

Then his RTO had pulled out one of the many contraband rolls the Marines managed to retain and saved his life with it.

After that, he was a believer in space tape. If the Marines wanted to keep rolls, that was fine by him. As long as he had the budget, he’d buy all the space tape he could get his hands on. He still, however, prohibited using it to make hackysack balls.

“Just about done, sir,” Lieutenant Ross said, looking up from the paperwork he was explaining.

“You’re looking a bit fried, Two-Gun,” Captain Zanella said.

“Just trying to figure out when I can see my new bride, sir,” Eric replied, shaking his head. “There’s… a lot of paperwork here.”

“Every bit of which Lieutenant Ross has to review and I have to review and sign,” the CO said. “Paperwork is what officers were created for, Lieutenant Bergstresser. It is our lot in life. Get used to it.”

“I will, sir,” Berg said. “Not complaining, just contemplating.”

“Well, come on in and we’ll get this over with,” the CO continued, heading for the door of his office.

“Grab a seat, Eric,” the captain said, sitting down behind his desk and contemplating his Inbox. “See this?” he continued, gesturing at the overflowing pile. “That’s just what I haven’t caught up with, yet, today. Because I had to go over to Quantico. I’ll be here until at least nine catching up. Lieutenant Ross will be here nearly as long. For the first few days, you’re going to have much the same schedule and you’ll probably take what you can home. Not all of that stuff is classified, fortunately. Honestly, though, even as much as I like and respect you, I could wish that the President hadn’t stuck his nose in. If he hadn’t, or if he’d just said ‘Send him to OCS,’ then we’d have done this the normal way. You’d have spent at least a year in one of the MEUs getting used to being an officer, then come back here.”

“I think I’m going to be able to maintain a separation from my former teammates, sir,” Eric replied.

“I don’t,” Zanella said. “And it’s the least of my worries, frankly. Force Recon officers are generally closer to their troops than officers in regular units. We spend too much time separated from large groups of other officers. If your platoon is in Thailand, it’s hang out with the troops or be by yourself. And you never fly without a wingman in Thailand. That’s not the problem. Problems. Comments?”

“Still waiting to find out what I’m going to do wrong, sir,” Eric said.

“Good one, Two-Gun,” Zanella replied, grinning. “Okay, if you’d been in an MEU, the stuff that just got dumped on you would have been spread more. Some of that in an MEU is MEU specific. The motorcycle thing would have an officer, a JO admittedly, in charge of it for the whole MEU. Ditto the MWR inventory, but a different officer. So JOs would spread the load and have time to adjust to it. Then, when an officer got to Force Recon and got handed the same shit all over again, just more of it, he’d have already developed the habits that would help him shift the load faster. You don’t have that experience because you didn’t spend time in the MEU.”

“I guess I’ll just have to learn fast,” Eric said.

“And so many things,” the CO said. “Among other things, that Direction of the President missed sending you to Officer Basic Course and Force Recon Officer Training. In both of those you would have learned more details of how to handle your troops in a combat environment and in garrison. OCS, necessarily, covers the broad spectrum. You were supposed to really be taught how to be an infantry officer, and then a Force Recon Officer, in those two courses. You’ve had neither. I’ve been reviewing the lesson plans of both and realizing just how much you missed. Including introduction to the CMS. You also haven’t had any experience running troops. I know that you’ve had experience being a troop and think you know what it’s all about. But from this side of the desk, things are different. Priorities, especially. So you’re going to have to learn. Much of this I’m going to throw on Gunnery Sergeant Juda.”