John Ringo: Claws That Catch

“Yeah, but if she decides she’s going to sit it out, a bad CO’s wife will go complaining to her husband,” Lyle pointed out. “Sometimes you can have a great CO and a horrible wife. Or the other way around. I knew one unit that wished its boss and his wife could change places. Nobody knew why she put up with the bastard.”

“Eric, do you want to be a career officer?” Miriam asked. “Do you want to do twenty years and retire as a colonel? Or do you want stars?”

“I got all of that but stars,” Brooke said.

“She’s asking if I want to be a general,” Berg said. “Sure, I mean I’ve thought about it. Who doesn’t? But I’m not sure if I’m going to even reup as an officer. I more or less have to do four years, but…”

“Brooke, would you prefer that he just do four years then get out?” Miriam asked, turning to the bride. “Or do you want him to be a general? Do you want him to wear stars?”

“I want him to do whatever will make him happiest,” Brooke said.

“I feel the same way about Brooke,” Berg interjected.

“Then, Brooke, you have to decide if you want to be Mrs. General Bergstresser,” Miriam said, gesturing to the commandant’s wife, who coincidentally was chatting with Brooke’s mom. “If you do, behind every successful person is a strong spouse. Officers are no different, be they male or female. You have to decide if you’re willing to play the political game and back your new husband, often at your own expense. There are tremendous sacrifices that military families make, long separations, bad housing, often a degree of hostility from the local community and lower pay than they can generally get in the civilian world. You’ll spend years raising your children on your own, knowing your husband often as a stranger who drags in a bag of dirty laundry and leaves as soon as it’s done. And if he continues in the vein he’s chosen so far, never knowing when you’ll get a call from his CO saying that he won’t be coming home. A casket filled with parts will be lucky; more likely it will just be weighed down with sandbags. And even if you have played the perfect wife, which will often be at the expense of whatever career you’ve chosen, you’ll have lost the game. And you’ll have little or no control of how that game’s been played.”

“This is a great conversation for a new bride to hear,” Lurch complained.

“Mrs. Commandant probably had something she was planning on doing today,” Miriam pointed out, shrugging. “Because her husband, for whatever reason, decided to attend this event, she had to give up her plans. It’s the sort of thing he had to bring his wife to. And she had to go. Or he’d never have made commandant. And now he’s leaving, without her.”

“What?” Berg said, looking over at the door. The senior brass were quietly filing out, followed by their aides but not their wives. Weaver was with them, as well. But not Miller who was holding up the bar and apparently telling war stories. But he caught the exit, Berg could tell.

“That bodes poorly for us,” Lurch said. “Because that looks like an emergency exit.”

“And an emergency for the Gods eventually becomes our emergency,” Berg said. “But I’m not even in-processed. So if you end up launching tomorrow, I won’t be there.”

“Be a shame to launch without our good-luck talisman,” Lurch said, grinning. “But if we gotta… Oh, hell, I haven’t had pre-mission, yet.”

“Pre-mission on the cruise again?” Berg said, wincing. “I know that’s going to be my lot. Just once I’d like to get pre-mission in in the normal timeframe.”

“I, however, have had pre-mission,” Miriam said, smiling. “I wheedled it out of Dr. Chet as soon as we knew a mission was coming up.”

“You’re supposed to be in lock-up,” Berg said, frowning.

“Different rules for technical specialists,” Miriam said. “Brooke, you look as if you’re still processing what I told you.”

“I am,” Brooke admitted. “And trying to catch up with the language.”

“I can give you a dictionary,” Miriam said, smiling. “I wrote it after the first mission. Nothing that violates operational security, but it might help.”

“If you would, please,” Brooke said, nodding.

“I’ll e-mail it to you,” Miriam replied. “Have you given any thought to it?”

“I sort of already did,” Brooke said. “Eric and I were… Well, we were sort of on a date when he got a call and had to go.”

“The term for which is ‘recalled,’ ” Miriam said. “I was supposed to be presenting a paper that day; I remember it well.”

“And then I didn’t know what was going to happen,” Brooke said, frowning. “I got one short message from him and sent him one.”

“And did you talk to your friends, to your mother, about it?”

“Yeah,” Brooke admitted. “And my friends…”

“Didn’t get it,” Miriam said. “And thus we’re back to the spouse association. The point of such an organization, a well run one anyway, is that they do get it. There’s a lot of claptrap associated with it, stupid parties that are sincerely lacking in men; dresses and hats and gloves, fortunately, have mostly gone the way of the dinosaur. But the point, under all the formality and the social overlay, is a group of people who are stuck in an unusual situation and have to adapt to it. A situation that the people outside that group, the friends they had back home for example, generally don’t ‘get.’ ”

“I get it,” Brooke said, grinning. “What does your spouse, who I presume isn’t military, think about it?”

“What spouse?” Miriam asked, holding up her left hand. Other than a ring in the shape of a spider on the middle finger it was unadorned.

“And, uh, you go on these… missions?” Brooke asked.

“I promise I won’t steal your husband, Brooke,” Miriam said softly. “He’s a very nice guy and you make a great couple. But, frankly, he’d bore me to tears in a month, no more.”

“Well thank you very much,” Berg said.

“Two-Gun, you’re a very nice young man, but you are very young and although you’re very smart you’re also very focused,” Miriam said. “And not in areas I find interesting. From where I stand, that adds up to booooring.”

“What about me?” Lurch asked when the group stopped laughing.

“Nice boy-toy, maybe,” Miriam said. “Less than a month. Weekend at most. No, three hours. Max.”

“You’re very… frank,” Brooke said.

“Only when it doesn’t hurt people,” Miriam replied. “Sergeant Lyle, were you hurt by that comment?”

“Not a bit,” Lurch said. “You’re pretty, but I’ve been around you when you’re bored. No thank you. Crazier than a ferret on catnip.”

“And the new ship doesn’t have any pipes to paint!” Miriam wailed.

“You guys are nothing but in jokes,” Brooke said. “Can you at least explain that one? And why people call him Two-Gun?”

“Gentlemen,” the President said, shaking the admirals’ and generals’ hands. “Thank you for coming. Some introductions are in order. Bob?”

“Gentlemen, General Wang Zhenou, Army of the People’s Republic of China,” the national security advisor said, gesturing to an Asian gentleman in a polo shirt and jeans. “General Anatoly Karmasov, Russian Army,” a short, heavyset man in country and western wear that looked a tad ludicrous, “and General Amjit Meennav,” a tall, slender and dark skinned man in Sikh dress.

“Admiral Townsend, Chief of Astronautic Operations, and Admiral Blankemeier, Director of Astronautic Operations. General Holberg, Commandant of the Marine Corps. Captain Weaver, Executive Officer of the Alliance Space Ship Vorpal Blade . And, of course, Colonel Fordham-Witherspoon, of Her Majesty’s British Government.”