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"Yes," Shari said, stacking up the cleaned corn. "He's been that way since Fredericksburg. He's listening; he learns. He's not unintelligent and he'll even communicate through sign language, occasionally. But he never, ever, talks." She sighed. "I don't know what to do about it."
"Make him a monk," Papa O'Neal said with a grim chuckle. "There's groups of them that are sworn to a vow of silence. Then he'll be right at home."
"I suppose that is one choice," Shari said tartly.
"Sorry," O'Neal said, stacking the beef. "Me and my big mouth. But if you decide to take that route, I know a few of them. They're good people." He frowned and looked at the pile of meat. "How much do you think the little kids will eat? I've got a steak for all the adults, Cally and Billy. You think one steak for all the others?"
"That should work," Shari said. "Where do you get all this food?"
"It's a farm," O'Neal said with a grin. "What, you don't think we give it all up, do you? Besides, it's harvest time. We just slaughtered some cows and the pigs were going to be tomorrow. I'll probably harvest one for a pig roast in the morning then roast it all day. That's if you guys are willing to spend another night."
"We'll see," Shari said with a grin. "Ask me in the morning."
CHAPTER 17
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints . . .
–Rudyard Kipling
"Tommy"
Newry Cantonment, Newry, PA, United States, Sol III
1928 EDT Thursday September 24, 2009 ad
"It's a real cantonment," Gu
Moving ACS had been a problem from the begi
Finally, standard forty-five passenger school buses had been converted to carry the units. The seats, basically bars of raw steel welded into benches, were intensely uncomfortable for anyone not in a suit. But they had the benefit of being able to survive even a long bus trip with ACS enlisted infantry onboard.
The sole concession to comfort in the buses was an adjustable headrest. The first thing ACS troopers tended to do once they were out of combat was remove their helmets and that habit had been recognized in the design. It was a well understood action; ACS sometimes spent weeks in continuous contact with the Posleen; after that long in a virtual environment the need to breathe unca
Stewart picked his head up from the rest and looked at the approaching gates. "Well, with any luck we won't have to E&E our way across this one."
"Long time," Pappas answered with a sigh. The sergeant major had brought a platoon of new recruits with him to their former base at Fort Indiantown Gap, back when he was Gu
"Roanoke?" Pappas asked.
"Harrisburg," Stewart corrected. "I was the second platoon leader."
"Harrisburg," Pappas agreed after a moment. He remembered the shattered armor of Lieutenant Arnold well, but while his recollection of battles was often too clear, inessential details like where they occurred had started to fall by the wayside. "HVM."
"Yep," Stewart agreed.
"Quit weirding each other out," Duncan said from the next row. He leaned forward and pointed at the barracks and the neatly trimmed parade grounds. "Garrison time. Time to get drunk and laid, not necessarily in that order."
"If everything's ship-shape, sir," Pappas pointed out. "I'll believe it when I see it. I mean, these are garrison troopers forwarded from GroundForces. How good are they going to be? There's probably a foot of dirt on the barracks floor."
* * *
Mike heard the challenge of the MP at the gate distantly and the response of the driver sounded like it was at the bottom of a well. But he swiveled his vision sideways to watch the exchange.
The MP could not have known he was being watched by the battalion commander; the suit did not move and the helmet remained facing forward. But he was punctiliously correct anyway, checking the driver's orders and receiving a confirmation download from Mike's AID. When he was sure everything was correct he stepped back and saluted, undoubtedly waiting for the vehicle to move on before dropping it.
Mike touched the driver on the arm to keep him from pulling out and inspected the MP's turnout minutely. Most of his gear was clearly designed to look good and stay that way. The holster for his service pistol was patent leather as was his brassard and his battle dress uniform, a pattern still called Mar-Cam, was tailored and pressed.
But he was also well shaven with a fresh haircut and in good physical condition. The fact that they were coming was well known, but up until today Mike had not been sure of their ETA. So the soldier had either cleaned up quickly or maintained good grooming even when "the cat was away." On reflection Mike decided that it was probably the latter. After a moment, during which it must have been like looking at a statue, he returned the salute and waved for his Humvee to move on.
The MP must have called ahead because by the time the convoy reached the battalion area there was a small group of officers and NCOs gathered on the front lawn.
Mike clambered carefully out of the seat and walked over to the group, casually returning the salute of the slightly overweight captain who appeared to be in charge.
"Major O'Neal," the captain said with a nod. "I'm Captain Gray, your adjutant; we've never met, but we have exchanged e-mails."
"Captain," O'Neal said, taking off his helmet and looking around. Besides the captain there was a single second lieutenant. Other than that there were no officers. And the few senior NCOs did not seem to have been rejuved. However, the perso
"Not a ceremony, sir," the captain said. "But I thought you might want to get familiar with a few of the faces." He gestured at a sergeant first class in the first rank. "Sergeant McCo
"But since there's not a regiment to be NCOIC of . . ." Mike continued. "Good afternoon, Sergeant. And do you have a boss?"
"I think you're it, sir," the sergeant said. He was short and also overweight, but he gave the impression of being an india rubber leprechaun: hard, mischievous and very elastic. He had bright eyes that regarded O'Neal warily.
"We don't have an S-4 at the moment, sir," Captain Gray said. "We've been promised one a time or two but . . ."