Читать книгу Battlespace - Ian Douglas, Matthew Taylor - Страница 19

“Comp’ny … atten … hut!”

Sharply dressed in newly issued green utilities, Garroway and his five fellow Marines came to attention. They were standing in Captain Warhurst’s office at Twentynine Palms, a fairly Spartan compartment made warm by the desert sunlight streaming through the transparent overhead. Staff Sergeant Dunne had marched them in; Warhurst himself was behind his low, kidney-shaped desktop, hand on a palm reader as he downloaded a report in his noumenal space.

After a moment, his glazed expression cleared, and he looked up. “Staff Sergeant?” he said.

“Sir!” Dunne rasped. “Corporals Garcia, Lobowski, Vinton, Lance Corporals Womicki, Garroway, and Eagleton, reporting for captain’s nonjudicial punishment, sir!”

“Very well, Staff Sergeant.” Warhurst folded his hands and looked at the six, studying each of them in turn. “Will all of you accept nonjudicial punishment? You all have the option of requesting formal courts-martial, at which time you would be entitled to legal representation.”

“Sir,” Garroway said. They’d agreed earlier on that he would be their spokesperson. They’d been invited to the party by his friend, after all. “We accept the NJP.”

“Very well. We’ll keep this short and simple then.” He leaned back in his swivel chair. “What the hell were you young idiots thinking, getting into a brawl ashore? Were you, each of you, aware of the delicate nature of the relationship between Marines and civilians here just now?”

“Yes, sir,” Garroway replied.

“What about the rest of you? You all downloaded the spiel before you went on liberty? The one about being good ambassadors for the Corps while ashore?”

All of them nodded, with a few mumbled “Yes, sirs” mixed in.

“I didn’t hear that.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Right now, ladies and gentlemen, the Marines can not afford a major firefight with the civilian sector. Brawling in a bar in downtown San Diego is one thing. Smashing up a condecology in the high-rent district of East Side LA is something else entirely.”

As Warhurst spoke, Garroway wondered what was in store for them. Warhurst had told them they were on report when he’d bailed them out of that police holding tank. “Captain’s nonjudicial punishment” was an old tradition within both the Navy and the Marines, a means of noting and punishing minor infractions short of the far more serious proceedings of an actual court-martial. It was more commonly called “captain’s mast,” from the ancient practice of holding these proceedings in front of the mast on board old-time sailing ships at sea.

But when Warhurst had said they were going up “before the man,” they hadn’t realized that “the man” would be Warhurst himself. Captain Warhurst must know what had really happened that night. …

“Liberty, as you all have heard many times since you enlisted, is a privilege, not a right. I know that was the first liberty in some years subjective, but that is no excuse! Do you read me?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“What happened?”

“Sir,” Garroway said. “First of all, we didn’t smash up anything. And besides, they started it. …”

“Excuses are like assholes, Marine. Everyone has one, and they all stink.”

“But someone grabbed Anna … I mean, Corporal Garcia. All she did was break the hold. Some guy started to rush her, then, and I took him down … pretty gently, I thought.”

“Pretty gently? Martial arts as adapted for close-quarters battle tactics are not gentle. You dislocated his knee cap and tore some tendons. The medical report says he is not seriously injured. He’ll be walking again after a few days of medinano treatment. But you are very fortunate, Marine, that that man is not pressing charges. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You said they started it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“Well, they were on about Garcia being Aztlanista.”

“Start from the beginning. What were you doing at a private party in the first place, Garroway?”

And so he began describing that evening, starting with his calling up Tegan and getting her invitation to the sensethete … or was that the name of the room, rather than the party? He wasn’t sure.

Warhurst heard him out, asking questions from time to time to flesh out the picture. When he was done, Warhurst leaned back again in his chair. “Very well. There are extenuating circumstances—including one hell of a high-voltage bit of culture shock. That, however, is no excuse for attacking civilians … even if you thought it to be in self-defense.

“Lobowski, Womicki, Vinton, and Eagleton. I’m dropping all charges against you. You went to the aid of your fellow Marines, but you did not strike or assault civilian personnel in any way. Downloads from your implant recorders supports this assessment. A record will be sent to the civilian authorities, with my recommendation that no further action be taken against you.

“Garcia, you struck a civilian, but both Garroway’s testimony and implant recordings show that you did so only to break her hold on your uniform. Fourteen days’ restriction to base.

“Garroway. Your testimony and the download record show that you kicked a civilian in the knee, injuring him. It is clear you did so because you felt he was about to attack a fellow Marine. The next time you find yourself in a similar situation, I recommend that you consider tripping him, rather than crippling him with CQB tactics. Thirty days’ restriction to base, and five hundred newdollars’ fine, to be deducted from your pay in equal installments over the next five months. A record of these proceedings will be uploaded to the civilian authority with jurisdiction in this case. Should further civilian complaints be filed, you will be subject to further charges, but I have been given to understand that this disciplinary hearing should end the matter here and now. Understood? Any of you have problems with my decision?”

There were none.

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

Thirty days’ restriction and five hundred newdollars? A bit steep, Garroway reflected … but not a serious hit. There was no way he was going to mingle with civilians ashore any longer … so the restriction and even the fine didn’t hurt him that much.

The principle of the thing still burned. He and his friends had been insulted and attacked. Worse, the damned watchdog nano had then incapacitated them, rendering them helpless.

At least they hadn’t also been fined for the loss of their uniforms. Those were cheap enough—they were grown right on the spot from raw synthewool to spec—but they’d expected to be gigged for the thefts as well.

Mostly, he kept remembering his conversations at that party … his difficulty even understanding what was being discussed. Oh, sure, there were translation programs that could be run in his implant, but the attitudes he’d seen seemed as alien as the language, or more so.

It was a bit disconcerting to know that he’d come home … and not to feel at home after all. …