Poor Man's Fight (43 page)

***

Presumably, some manual somewhere dictated the etiquette for large-scale awards ceremonies. It wasn’t the sort of thing that Tanner would hunt down; even his bibliophilia had limits. Neither pageantry nor stage management ranked highly among his interests. Yet on that windy day on Port Augustine’s parade ground, with bright lights shining everywhere to hold back the planet’s perpetual night, and with the assembled ships’ crews and support personnel lined in disciplined ranks and with their families seated on bleachers facing a well-lit stage, Tanner wished he had known what to expect and when.

The day
celebrated much more than
St. Jude’s
moment of glory. Port Augustine’s ships and personnel had been through quite a year, even before Tanner had arrived, and there was plenty of recognition to go around.
St. Martin
made record-breaking contraband seizures.
Resolute
outshined all other destroyers in joint maneuvers with the Union fleet.
St. Patrick
had saved a freighter from a cascading fuel core meltdown. They all received outstanding unit citations, as did several support divisions on the base.

Though Leone’s funeral had been over a week ago, his bio was still read, and the base observed a moment of silence for his passing. Then the emcee returned to business.

Tanner soon realized that units had been arranged in alphabetical order. He expected
St. Jude
would get a unit citation for her refugee rescues. But then the CO of the base moved on to individual awards. Standing at the back of
St. Jude
’s two rows of men, Tanner glanced over toward Stevens up at the front. If his captain felt slighted, his body language didn’t show it.

Later, he would
regret not paying more attention to the rest of the ceremony. Somebody received a medal for saving two lives in a fire. Someone else was recognized for logistical feats to aid newly-arriving Hashemite refugees. Tanner considered this all to be more laudable than what he had done, but what he really remembered from most of the ceremony was the awful kink in his left shoulder blade from standing at parade rest for over two hours.

His feet
hurt. His collar itched. The wind, the fabric of his pants, and the hair on his legs combined to create a field of static electricity that probably could’ve powered every light on the parade field. Why anyone would want to make a career of this life was beyond him.

“Junior Lieutenant John Gagne, front and center,” said the base CO on the stage, snapping Tanner from his disgruntled daydreams. He watched Gagne fall out of the front row of
St. Jude
’s crew, do a right face and then march steadily toward the stage. Tanner made a note of his path, wishing there’d been a rehearsal or something. Barely nine months after graduating basic training, Tanner had all but forgotten how to march.

Nine
months since basic. Fifteen months in total since his enlistment began. Tanner’s memory drifted to the sign above the exit to Squad Bay Oscar: “Time Passes.” Just the same, he didn’t enjoy thinking about how much longer he’d be at his first duty station.

“…directed pursuit from
St. Jude
’s main cannons, personally firing them to destroy the bridge of the
Yaomo
,” said the voice on the speakers. Tanner presumed this was still the base CO, but he was too far away to see for himself. So many people stood on that platform. One of them was Gagne. The others were just nameless, faceless dress uniforms.

“With pursuit ended and having eliminated the pirates’ command structure, Lt. Gagne made contact with
Yaomo’s
surviving crewmembers. Leveraging the achievements of
St. Jude’s
boarding team, Lt. Gagne forced the unconditional surrender of the remaining crew. Despite battle casualties, all of Lt. Gagne’s men continued to perform throughout the incident. Lt. Gagne’s leadership, composure and expert ship handling serve as outstanding examples of the finest traditions of the Archangel Navy. He is hereby awarded the Silver Cross.”

Applau
ding offered the only break from Tanner’s stance. It was his sole opportunity to move his hands from behind his back, and he made as much use of it as he could. He rolled his shoulder all the while. Then he resumed parade rest as Lt. Gagne returned and Reed was called forward.

Several of Tanner’s shipmates were decorated that day.
Awards were announced by rank, meaning he’d be dead last. Reed won a Bronze Cross for his performance at the helm. Flores and Freeman were called up together for their Purple Hearts. Stumpy was named for a minor citation, but no medal and no moment on stage. Then he heard, “Crewman Tanner Malone, front and center.”

Despite knowing all along he’d have to go up there, his heart stopped. He hesitated.
Tanner took a step back, put the wrong foot behind the other for an about face, corrected, turned, and then led off with his right foot instead of his left like he was supposed to, silently calling himself an idiot the entire time.

The CO, or appointed emcee or whoever—
he’d never actually met anyone from base command—spoke as Tanner approached the stage. He repeated the same opening narrative about the date of the incident,
St. Jude’s
call-out and shorthanded crew. Tanner focused on not tripping over his feet.

“Though technically not yet qualified as a boarding team member on
St. Jude’s
roster,” the high-ranking officer read from his script, “Crewman Malone volunteered to go across in order to address gaps at critical ship’s stations.”

He makes it sound like I planned it all out
, Tanner thought. He got a good look at the speaker. The older man wore a single admiral’s star.
Must be the base CO
, he figured. Yet there were two other admirals present. One was a man, the other a woman. The man had two stars. The woman had
five
.

Tanner stopped and blinked. He had no idea who all these other officers were, but he immediately recognized
Fleet Admiral Yeoh.

The CO said something about Tanner fighting off the pirate ambush,
including something about hand-to-hand struggles. It sounded official and dignified. Not much of it registered. He stood face to face with the highest-ranking officer of the Archangel military and a genuine war hero.

She gave a subtle smirk, tilted her head ever so slightly to her left, and then seemed to gesture with her eyes. Tanner remembered where he was again. He made a right face, turning toward the assembled crews.

He heard that he provided first aid to his team leader despite his own wounds. Something about drawing on training from weapons and tactics school. Something about assessing the situation. Rallying his comrades. Leadership. Initiative. Something something finest traditions. Bloodstripes, Purple Heart, Silver Cross.

Oh
my God. That’s Admiral Yeoh
.

She stepped in front of him
, offering a tight smile that seemed professional and genuine. Yeoh clipped two little medals onto his chest, then offered her hand. “Congratulations, Crewman Malone,” she said.

He shook her hand. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Her smile remained. “Don’t forget to salute,” she murmured helpfully.

He blinked. Oh God. He absolutely would’ve forgotten. Instead, he saluted. The other admirals stepped up and shook his hand in turn, and he saluted each of them, and later wondered if he was supposed to do that or if he’d been a moron.

Tanner moved to return to his crew. His nice, safe, utterly unfriendly but predictable crew. “Crewman Malone,” Yeoh said, “wait a moment.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” he replied, grateful to at least step back out of the way as the CO brought the ceremony to a close and instructed commanders to take charge of their personnel.

“At ease, Crewman,” she said. Tanner closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders. Out beyond the stage, the formal rows broke up and family members left the bleachers to join their loved ones.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“More nervous than you were in combat?”

“I didn’t have time to think about it then, ma’am. I had plenty of time here.”

She nodded, still smiling. “Lengthy
ceremonies like this can do that to you. When I was at the Academy, I stood through inspections with my knees locked and passed out. Twice.”

Tanner smiled back a little. He appreciated her attempt at sounding like an ordinary mortal.

Yeoh turned to an aide to retrieve from him a set of envelopes. “I have a couple of things I’d like you to give your XO,” she said, handing them to him. “He’ll know what to do with them. These, however, are for you.”

He looked down at the envelopes. They were made of rich paper, embossed all along the corners with geometric designs. All were sealed with wax. Tanner’s
bore his name in gold script. They didn’t look remotely military. “What are they, ma’am?”

“They’re letters,” the admiral said, “from Prince Khalil of the Kingdom of Hashem, and from his father, the King. I understand they both wanted to express
their thanks for having brought some of the pirates who attacked the Kingdom to justice.”

Tanner looked up at her with wide eyes. The admiral gave a small shrug. “I imagine the letter from the King was written by an aide, but I’m sure he signed it personally. The prince’s is probably a bit more personal in nature.”

When he found his voice again, Tanner mumbled, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“I understand you had some trepidation about being decorated today?”

He glanced around nervously, spotting Chaplain Corleissen not too far away. “I’m sorry, ma’am? I don’t know what you mean. I’m just… I’m standing way above my pay grade here, ma’am.”

“Don’t blame the chaplain, Crewman,” she said. “Archangel hasn’t awarded a Silver Cross in thirteen years. Certainly not one during my tenure as CNO. I took more than a little personal interest in this. So
again,” she said, tilting her head just a bit, “I understand you’re uncomfortable.”

“A little,” Tanner admitted. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You should be. I was.”

He couldn’t help but notice just how many ribbons she wore, denoting medal after medal. “Every time, ma’am?”

“They don’t pull some of these things out of the boxes unless people have died,” she noted soberly. “Do you know why we do this? Why we hand out medals and such?”

There was no venom or sarcasm in his voice as he answered, “I imagine it’s something to do with recognition or
espirit de corps
, ma’am.”

“There’s a more practical side. The uniform is meant to tell a story, Crewman Malone. It tells the observer who the serviceman is and where he stands in the chain of command, but more importantly, it tells what he can
do
. This is why we wear the bloodstripe, even on vac suits. It’s to let those around you know that you can be depended on. That regardless of your rank, you know what you’re doing.

“And yes,” she added, “there is recognition. You had a terrible day, Crewman Malone. An awful lot went wrong on your ship and on that mission, but you and Lieutenant Gagne did the right things to get through it. You damn sure do deserve to be recognized.”

Tanner didn’t know what to say. He opted for the obvious: “Thank you, ma’am.”

Again, she offered that quiet, professional smile. “Report back to your crew. You’re dismissed,” she said, and sharply returned his salute before he left.

He was stopped and congratulated more than once on his way across the parade field. Tanner found that he had to keep the bundle of letters in his left hand so he’d have his right free for salutes and handshakes. It was a bit bewildering; he was used to being anonymous on the base, and suspected that after today he’d go right back to it. Ultimately the biggest challenge of life on
St. Jude
and at Port Augustine was the lack of friends and social acceptance. He wondered how much of that would change.

He wondered, considering what he’d done to “earn” this day, if he could accept that without resenting himself.

Tanner found his shipmates milling around in their spot on the parade ground. None had been dismissed to meet family members or get changed out of their dress uniforms. “There he is, sir,” Freeman noted to the captain, nodding Tanner’s way.

Tanner saluted the captain and XO as they turned. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “you weren’t holding anything up for me, were you?”

“We held up for Admiral Yeoh,” the captain grunted. “Don’t worry about it.” He gestured for Tanner to join the others in a conversational circle. “So now that this is over with, I wanted to say again that I’m sorry this all happened when I wasn’t around to see it through with you, but I’m very proud of you all. I think we’ve all learned some things from this incident about what we could do better. We need to tighten things up on this ship.

“And on that note,” he said, “Miller, your captain’s mast is on Monday. Dismissed.”