When Not to Salute

This is a work of fiction set in the future of an alternate but similar universe. No kooks were harmed in the making of this story. BE WARNED: this story does NOT include sex. It does include the use of fictional weapons, fictional imagination, the conjuration of alcohol and the mixing thereof, the possible knowing elimination of useless superior officers, sniper foo, rum foo, seeker missile foo, hitting the dirt foo. There is no use of Kung Foo. No persons mentioned in this fictional story are meant to resemble any living, dead, or future humans or aliens. No officers or NCOs in this fictional story resemble in any way actual officers or NCOs that the writer may or may not have had contact with.

The author used a popular on-line translation feature to come up with three names used in this story.

Copyright Gary Royce 2020.

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I hated being stuck on this rock, I was an Imperial Marine Commando and should have been on board an assault carrier or on a contested planet fighting 'The Collective'. Instead I was on this poorly terraformed rock, assigned to a C-A (Colonial Army) firebase in a disputed sector of some local rebellion.

The damn Combined Fundamental Movement didn't want Imperials on what they claimed as their planet. They ignored that it was the Imperial Engineers who Terraformed it, and the Imperial Navy who brought their ancestors out here free of charge, and the Imperials who supplied the damned rock for the three centuries it took for them to be self sufficient. And the Imperial Armed Forces that kept them safe from all alien and human raiders.

Our firebase, 'Rosebud', called informally 'The R-butt', housed a battalion of three infantry companies, plus an artillery battery, a medical post, three combat Lifters, and me. I was supposed to impart to these so-called infantry soldiers, fresh from their training, some real world combat experience. It should have been some C-A puke doing this, not me.

Maybe they wanted some Marine style cross training? Hah.

Why me? Before they sent me here I was told by my old CO that I was a discipline problem. All I did was give a dressing down to a new Lieutenant for giving away our position and ruining an ambush and incidentally getting three marines killed. I guess that L-T I dressed down had some connections.

Up till then I had been part of the cutting edge in the war with the Collective - an alien and human alliance set on destroying the Empire. And now I was a baby sitter in a police action against some misguided kooks in an out of the way sector on a forgettable planet.

With a Battalion CO that didn't know his anal cavity from a hole in the ground.

So, there I was, on the way back from the latrine/shower room after an all night recon patrol. I was tired, my brain fuzzy, when I saw the glint from the side of a mountain several klicks away. It took a while to register. I was getting soft.

I was carrying my weapon in my right hand, at the balance point at the base of the handguard, a round in the chamber and a full forty round triple stacked magazine of caseless six point five millimeter ammo. The under barrel launcher was also loaded. I pays to be ready, although I did have the weapon on 'safe'. After my shower I had put my helmet and body armor back on. I was tired and already the sweat had started. I was way overdue for some rack time.

And then the idiot appeared. A Colonial Army Major here get some combat time into his 'record'. He had it in for me for some reason. On top of that he wanted everyone to display the same spit and polish that he spent perfecting at their academy, and for many subsequent years in some Very Rear Area where he manned a desk. Where he no doubt leered at the female soldiers, and impersonated a soldier for the daughters of rich merchants.

Putting him out here was good way to get men killed. On top of that he thought knew everything and wouldn't listen to experience. Politics and status seemed to be all important to his kind.

I nodded in greeting as was the norm in a combat area. He had, after all, been in the briefing about this, had been warned that the enemy had several smuggled long range fourteen point five millimeter sniping rifles. We were in a mountainous region with uncountable hiding places.

"You! Marine!" he called out.

The proper salutation should have been 'Color Sergeant' or even 'Sergeant'. But he was C-A so what did he know.

"Sir," I said, straightening.

"Aren't you going to salute a superior officer! Don't the Marines subscribe to military courtesy?" he called out.

That's when the evil in me came awake. I put it all together, the glint, the asshole, the soldiers that had been killed by his stupidity the ones in the future that same stupidity would kill, the low moral because of him, everything.

"Sir! YES SIR!" I called out.

I stamped to attention, smartly slung my weapon on my right shoulder, smartly grasped the sling near my right shoulder with my left hand, keeping my forearm exactly level with the ground, smartly brought my right hand up in smart Imperial Marine salute, my hand quivering at the apex waiting for his return salute, then smartly brought my hand down.

Inwardly I was cringing and ready to hit the dirt, but no worries. As the Major's hand made it down from his sloppy return salute, his head exploded as the fourteen point five millimeter round tore through it at supersonic speed.

I heard the report as I slid into a trench, my weapon up and pointing at the area I had seen the glint coming from. I saw movement through my optic sight, pushed the red 'track' button, saw a green 'confirm' signal in my sight, and fired a twenty-one millimeter seeker mini-missile from the secondary barrel of my weapon.

A half second later I saw the explosion. Half a minute later the duty combat Lifter rose off the pad, the scream of its thrusters filling my ears. I loaded another missile into the weapon and kept scanning the area, and watched as the rapid deployment squad dropped out of the machine onto the mountain. Corporal Spencer was also covering the action from just outside the shower room that he also came from.

Later that afternoon I was standing at attention in front of Sub Colonel Grossein's desk. She was the fire base commander, an artillery officer and an old hand that I had come to respect.

"So, to sum it up, Major Hurensohn insisted on you saluting, after he had been repeatedly warned it was against SOP in a combat area."

"Yes Ma'am."

"And the hidden sniper took him out."

"Yes ma'am."

"And didn't hit you?"

"I hit the dirt when the Major's head exploded."

She winced at that comment.

"Yet you were able to return fire with a seeker missile?"

"I saw movement as I went down. I was on autopilot from there on ma'am."

"The rapid response squad confirmed that your shot took him out as he was changing positions. They didn't find evidence of any other rebels, so he was apparently a lone infiltrator. But what I want to know is, why did you salute the Major, couldn't you just explain to him, one more time, that it was dangerous for an officer to receive a salute, especially when snipers were in the area?"

"Ma'am the Major had been riding me quite hard, maybe he didn't approve of Marines. I had a black mark on my record for insubordination already, that's why I was sent here. I didn't want him to write me up. I'd never get back to the Commandos then."

"Alright Sergeant. I'll note everything in my report. I've already talked to the company commanders and platoon leaders. They and the lone witness, Corporal Spencer, confirm your statement about the incident. Dismissed."

According to the Battalion Sergeant Major I was off duty for the next few days, so I slept the night through. The Army pukes pretty much left me alone. At the end of the next day I found myself in the 'off duty' bunker where the Sub Colonel allowed all ranks to mix in for a drink and snack.

I was alone at a table in the back corner when Captain Trucs-Chauds, the ranking captain and temporary battalion commander, until Hurensohn's replacement came, sat down beside me.

"How're you doing Sarge?"

"I'm fine ma'am, what brings you here?"

"In here, you can call me April, Sarge. I just wanted to relax, pretend that this drink was alcoholic, and give you some news."

I wanted to call her April-Sarge, but knew not to push things too far.

"News?"

"You're heading back to your Commandos. Day after tomorrow you take the supply Lifter back once it's unloaded. You'll ride with the Major's body. Once you're at the supply base you wait around for a ride to the space port and get off this rock."

"That's great news Cap, uh, April. Let me buy you another, Coke?"

"Yeah, they claim it's Coke anyway. Thanks."

I brought both our drinks back, and being a resourceful Sergeant, I was able to sneak a little rum to both our cokes. And being a trained Commando, nobody saw me do it. I gave her the drink. Sipped my own.

She took a sip. Cocked her head slightly. Took another. Turned to me with a smile.

"This 'Coke' seems to taste a little better."

"When an Imperial Marine NCO delivers a drink, you get a drink," I said with wink.

She grinned and reached for some spiced nuts, a local specialty.

We chatted about this and that, skirting around the subject of the recent death of the Major. She came across, well, nice. No beauty queen, the scar across her cheek saw to that. Plus that long nose was crooked, another scar ran through one ear. But she was graceful. I'd noticed that a long time ago. Slim, but her hips and butt still made an appearance through her PT uniform. As did her twins higher up. Nice, smallish, but nice. If things were different I could go for her.

I started to think of her as a woman all of a sudden, instead as an officer, and for a few seconds I had an imaginary family, us together back home, two kids, white picket fence, a cat in the window. Then I got my shit together and got back to reality. Yeah, I'm a real romantic. Don't tell anyone.

I'd also seen her in dress uniform once, and noticed that she had the qualification badge from the Army's elite 'Twenty-Two Green-Force" Regiment. Which meant that she was tough. They were the Army's version of the Marine Commandos. My unit had trained with one of their Squadrons once. They were good. Nobody was as good as the IMCs, but they were close.

Maybe I'm a tad prejudiced.

Besides all that, she was the only soldier on the firebase who came close to matching me in hand to hand combat drills. I'd seen several of her soldiers placing bets whenever we had a match. Those match ups had been challenging, and tiring.

I respected her leadership abilities in the field when we went out on patrols or raids. It helped that we were from the same planet - New Albion, although from far different social strata, but the same continent. Her accent sounded like home. Our conversation died off.

She was quiet for a long time. It had been a pleasant evening. Then she spoke.

"So, what's your take away from the Major being, um, shot?"

I knew the question was deeper than it seemed. I knew the Major might have connections, and that might be why I was being sent back to the Marines. The army would have a hard time finding me once I was back where I belonged.

There were bound to be questions further up the food chain, and it was best if I wasn't here to answer them.

"He never should have been sent into a combat billet," I said.

"You can say things like that, I can't."

"Your career going to get rocky over this?" I asked.

"No, don't imagine so. Except for the new recruits everyone on this rock pissed someone off, somewhere. We're all here for some kind of penance," she said.

"That's good. I mean for your career, vis-a-vis his death."

"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" she said.

I gave a big sigh.

"Well, I don't suppose anyone can prove it."

She was silent for a while, staring at her drink. She picked up the glass and downed what was left. She stood up to leave, then turned and looked down at me. That's when she spoke.

"I learned pretty quick in the military that there are always fair weather officers. They make it through the training, even squirm their way up the ranks. But they never realize that there's more to the military than politics, influential families, and polished boots. Out on the edge, even on this gods forsaken rock you actually need substance. Some just can't dig deep enough to get it," she said.

"So what do you do with them?" I asked.

She just looked at me, blank faced. Then smiled and answered my question.

"Let the herd be thinned."