merely meet his disapproving gaze with what I hope is a neutral expression.
“Here’s the deal,” he says. “I got you an inter-service transfer to the Navy.”
I feel a sudden buoyancy in my stomach, and it’s pretty clear that I can’t quite keep the sudden relief out of my face, because Major Unwerth gives me a grim smile.
“However, there are some things you won’t like. For starters, your time-in-service counter will reset. That means you’ll start with the Navy as if you had just finished Basic. Your service time with the 365th won’t count towards your sixty-two-month obligation, or promotion eligibility.”
He’s correct--I don’t like that part at all--but he’s setting the terms, and I have a strong feeling that those aren’t up for negotiation if I want to get out of TA and into space.
“Also, you’ll be going into Neural Networks. That specialty is marked Urgent Occupational Need, so once you finish tech school, you’ll be locked into that job for the duration of your first enlistment period.”
I try to recall my knowledge of the TA Neural Network guys, and all I can remember is that it involves sitting on a chair in front of a NN admin console. It doesn’t sound at all like exciting or challenging work, but I already know that this is my only way into the Navy right now, so I just nod my head.
“Finally,” Major Unwerth says, “you leave as soon as you get medical clearance, straight from here. You’ll report to Great Lakes for your slot in the next Navy Indoc training cycle, just like a recruit fresh out of Basic. Five weeks of Indoc, and then it’s off to your tech school. No going back to Shughart once you sign the paperwork.”
That condition is much harder to swallow than the previous two. I don’t care about losing the few months of service time I had built up in the battalion, and I don’t mind learning how to sit in a chair and hold down a computer console for the rest of my service time, but being excised from my squad with such speed and finality feels like I got shot in the gut all over again. Apparently, I can’t quite conceal my sudden dismay, because Major Unwerth frowns at me.
“It’s a bit too late for you to change your mind now. I called in a lot of favors for this. Don’t think I’ll go back and undo all the paperwork now.”
“I’ll sign whatever I need to sign.”
Major Unwerth puts his hat and briefcase down on my bed, all the way by the foot end, and extracts a neat stack of forms from his briefcase.
“Now, I can stand here and let you read all the fine print, if you want, or you can just go ahead and sign, so we can both get on with our lives. There’s no hidden clause that will have you smashing ore in a refinery ship, I promise.”
From what I know about the Major so far, I wouldn’t trust his promise further than I can pull a Hornet-class drop ship with my teeth, but I know that he’s afraid of Sergeant Fallon, and I also know that the Sarge would break Major Unwerth’s neck if he went back on his promise. I hold out my hand for the forms, and he hands them to me. I briefly skim the stack of paper--dense Legalese, just like our enlistment forms back at Orem--and turn to the last page. There’s a pen clipped to the document clasp that holds the forms together.
For the third time in my short military career, I sign a bunch of forms and change my status with the stroke of a pen.
“As of this moment, you’re no longer in the Territorial Army, Mister Grayson. Your status is Assigned Navy, as if you had just finished your Basic training. You’re still a member of the Armed Forces of the NAC, but you’re not in the Navy until you report to Great Lakes.”
I nod slowly as I hand the stack of forms back to the Major. He tucks them into his briefcase, and then looks at me expectantly.
“The PDP is TA property,” he says when I shrug in response. “You need to turn it in. They’ll issue you a new one in the Navy.”
I take my PDP, with the half-finished message to Halley still on it, and hand it to the Major with numb fingers. The PDP won’t reveal my personal files to anyone, and the data is stored on