John Ringo - Claws That Catch

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir,” Brooke said, looking him up and down. “You don’t look like… what I expected.”

The CAO barked a laugh at that and shook his head.

“People tend to say that,” Bill replied. “They generally expect someone older and with less hair. And, please, call me Bill.”

“Actually, I was wondering that you’re not ten feet tall and breathing fire,” Brooke corrected, grinning. “Bill.”

“In that case, Eric has been exaggerating,” Weaver said. “I have to add my compliments to the admiral’s. You are truly stunning. Eric is a very lucky guy.”

“That I am, sir,” Berg said.

“What are your plans?” the CAO asked. “And to be clear, I’m referring to after the honeymoon.”

“I’ve secured off-post quarters, sir,” Eric replied. “Brooke will be occupying those and intends to apply for college.”

“Well, it’ll be easier to survive on lieutenant’s pay, that’s for sure,” Townsend said. His aide whispered in his ear for a moment, then handed over a message form. The admiral read it, his expression unchanging, then looked up and smiled. “I hope you both do well. The captain and I, however, have a previous appointment.”

“Yes, sir, I understand,” Berg said, tugging at Brooke’s arm. “Thank you for coming.”

“Get Admiral Blankemeier and General Holberg,” Townsend said to his aide. “I’ll take Captain Weaver in lieu of Captain Prael. Is transportation laid on?”

“Yes, sir,” the Navy captain said.

“Let’s do this.”

“May I ask what my previously scheduled event is, sir?” Bill asked quietly.

“We have to go to Camp David,” the CAO said. “There’s a meeting there in the morning. It seems the Russians and the Chinese are aware of the Blade .”

“Who is the girl with the blue hair?” Brooke asked, gesturing with her chin to a girl in a skimpy black dress dancing with a tall, incredibly stiff Marine. The girl looked to be in her early twenties and had bright red hair with a shock of blue dye at the front. “Is that a girlfriend I should know about?”

“We went out clubbing, once,” Eric replied. “But girlfriend would be stretching it. She’s a linguist, a really good one. Sort of a savant.”

“I’m not sure what that means,” Brooke admitted.

Eric thought of the linguist in the Cavern of the Dragons, stretching out her hand and directing the opening of the gates. Nobody had been able to figure out the puzzle, but it was as if the linguist was God-touched in some way. She certainly was strange enough.

“I’m not sure I can explain it, either,” Eric admitted. “But she’s special. Not retarded special, the other way. Gifted. Almost scary sometimes. We work with a lot of top-flight people but Miriam’s…”

“I can see you like her,” Brooke said, tightly.

“Not that way,” Berg replied, grinning at her. “She’s way too weird for me. But, yeah, I like her and admire her. Same deal with the guy she’s dancing with. Sergeant Lyle. We call him Lurch cause he’s so messed up. And tall.”

“That’s not very nice,” Brooke said.

“Worse than you think,” Eric said. “He got that way in a roll-over. Spent most of a year in therapy then nearly as much time convincing the Marines to let him back on active. Then he went back through Force Recon Qual and operator training to get in the line units. Gotta admire that much determination. Good operator.”

“And that means what?” Brooke asked. “For that matter, what are quarters? You said something about ‘securing quarters.’ I figure you don’t mean the coins…”

“Quarters are where you live,” Berg said, pulling Brooke towards the twosome. “Securing off-post quarters meant I got us an apartment.”

“Why not just say you got an apartment?” Brooke asked curiously.

“It was the CAO,” Berg replied. “That’s how we talk. You’ll get used to it.”

“Two-Gun,” the tall sergeant said. “And his lovely wife. Do I get a kiss?”

“Of course,” Brooke said, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. He still had to bend over. The sergeant was tall and thin as a rail but with a wiry toughness that was apparent even in formal attire. “You’re Mr. Lyle?”

“Sergeant Lyle,” the sergeant said. “But you can call me Lurch.”

“And this is Miss Moon,” Berg continued, gesturing to Miriam.

“Miriam,” the linguist said, shaking Brooke’s hand then giving her a hug. “I’m so glad you two are together. You seem so right for each other. You’re staying in Newport?”

“Norfolk,” Berg corrected. “Housing in Newport is impossible. I was looking at a small house, but an apartment made more sense.”

“I haven’t even seen it, yet,” Brooke admitted.

“Not how it’s supposed to go, Two-Gun,” Lyle said. “Wives are in charge of quarters.”

“I’m letting her get her feet on the ground,” Berg admitted.

“I wonder what sort of officers’ wives club the new CO’s going to run,” Lyle said. “I heard it was pretty good under Mrs. Spectre.”

“Just have to find out,” Berg said. “But, again, I’m going to let Brooke get used to the whole idea first.”

“What is an officers’ wives’ club?” Brooke asked. “I’m getting a bit lost here.”

“The military is a specialized culture with a tremendous number of traditions,” Miriam said, looking at her almost sorrowfully. “As with any subculture, it has its own language and customs. Some of them are unnecessary holdovers from days when it was often physically separated from civilization or at least its home civilization. Think of Army officers and their families stationed in cavalry outposts on the Great Plains or the Naval officers stationed in the Phillipines or even Hawaii before it became fully developed. Surrounded by strangers, many of them hostile and all of them from societies that were alien. The only social life they had was their own kind.

“Then there is the fact that military families face stresses unfamiliar to the culture that produces them. Police officers and firefighters face as many risks and during times of peace even more than the military. But if a firefighter or policeman is injured or killed in the line of duty, the families find it out almost immediately. And the officer’s commander is there to bring the bad news.

“With the military, death or injury can occur so far away that it takes time for information to reach the families. And there is the unknowing. The waiting for news, good or bad, and so often convincing yourself that it’s going to be bad.”

“That I know about,” Brooke said, finally really getting it. “I met Eric just before his last mission. And I was on pins and needles waiting for word.”

“Quick work, buddy,” Lyle said, doing the math.

“I asked her to marry me as soon as we got back,” Berg said, grinning. “She made the mistake of saying yes. And almost the whole time, since, I’ve been in OCS.”

“That sort of separation is normal in the military, unfortunately,” Miriam continued. “Civilians don’t have to put up with it, normally, and find it very strange. They don’t understand the stresses even if they try to be nice about them. Often, they don’t understand why the spouse puts up with them. So the military tries to help, often doing the opposite, with spouse support groups. They’re generally organized by the commanding officer’s wife, one of the duties that you’ll have to take over if Eric ever reaches that lofty state. Sometimes there are severe generational clashes, but those are fading. There are always societal clashes, especially with newlyweds. Newly wed spouses often don’t understand the point. That is, until they need the support of people like them. And, of course, as with anything bad leadership can make something like that truly horrible. In which case, they’re generally voluntary.”