in his arms. When they pulled apart, reality was a blur of emotion.
* * *
“I hope you don’t mind the breach in protocol, ma’am.” Khaine cleared his throat a couple of times and sniffed a liter of recycled air. “The last time I saw you, you were my subordinate. Now just look at you. It only took you what, two years to go from corporal to first jane? Congratulations. I couldn’t be more pleased. Took you long enough. How was Officer Candidate School?”
“For the most part, OCS was straightforward and uneventful.” It took Promise a moment to look him in the eye. “I enjoyed the history and command theory. Major Jeff Garaund’s course on pre-Diaspora wet navies was my favorite.” Promise grew thoughtful. “Did you know preindustrial sea powers used to press their sailors into service, often after they were captured from enemy vessels? No Hartford Accords or Terran Conventions or even a basic outline of what we consider commonsense, humane rules of warfare. Talk about barbaric.”
I know that smile. He’s humoring me. Fine, not everyone’s a history buff.
“The PT, on the other hand, left a lot to be desired.” The gunny’s expression changed immediately, the sort of look that said he knew what coming and was looking forward to the tale. “When I was your corporal, I ran a lot of klicks, uphill and downhill in utilities and boots with a pack strapped on my back, hugging my rifle, every day no matter the weather, and if I wasn’t running with my company I was at the range or humping my gear back from it.” Promise smiled. “At OCS, we almost ran buck naked—just PT uniforms—covering ground in shallow-treaded ‘civvies’ better suited for a morning stroll. I went into OCS conditioned. A lot of ninety-day wonders thought fifty push-ups were unreasonable. Seriously! They had a mental block they couldn’t see past. I’m embarrassed to say my time for the five-klick actually increased because I spent most of my waking hours in class, drafting reports, drawing up operational plans, and when I wasn’t in class my nose was in a book. I loved every minute of it—don’t get me wrong. Unfortunately, my muscles paid the price. Seems to me the bars have it a bit too easy.”
“That’s because us noncoms work for a living.”
Promise wagged a finger at him. “A fact I doubt you will ever let me forget, Gunny.”
“Not a chance.”
* * *
Khaine hadn’t expected such emotion to come out of him, and he certainly hadn’t planned to hug the lieutenant. What was that about? A substantial breach in protocol is what it was. Thank God we were sandwiched between two craft, in a relatively quiet part of the boatbay. The gunny thought back to the day Private Paen had reported to him for duty. The smartly pressed uniform that could have stood on its own, and a face like a still lake. Except for the eyes. He’d been pleased for Promise when she’d made private first class, and lance corporal, and then full-screw. Their relationship changed the night he overheard her cries, and found her in her rack in the throes of a nightmare. He almost woke her but stopped himself at the last moment. That battle had been hers to fight. When she finally woke, he’d handed her a drink with a sedative in it, and asked her if she needed to talk. The murder of her father was still fresh. Grit-on-discipline could push pain aside for only so long. She told him she couldn’t keep going like this. He assured her that she could.
The first lieutenant standing before him was just as neatly turned out. Smart-looking regular-dress uniform and polished bars. The same calm face, plus a noticeable scar above the left ear. The eyes were still weary. But they’d hardened with confidence.
“Well, Lieutenant, you have a meeting to keep with the colonel. I don’t want to make you late.”
“Yes, about that, Gunny…”
“Ma’am, may I offer you a bit of advice?”
“Always.”
Khaine searched her eyes a moment longer before speaking. “Colonel Halvorsen is a straight shooter. He can smell BS from a klick away. He dislikes being aboard ship even more. The colonel does his best to hide that fact. It still affects his mood when he’s operating in the drink. Most boots in the company don’t have a clue. You’re one of his company commanders and that puts you squarely in the need-to-know. Don’t ever let on to him that you do know, don’t take his