Valor's Trial Read Free

staff sergeant. We’ll move the new staff sergeant in under Jarret, since he’s got a whole year of experience . . .” Pale eyes rolled, although for the most part he kept the sarcasm from his voice. “. . . but that’s going to leave the company scrambling for experience among the officers and senior NCOs. We need you to be a kind of utility player, coming in off the bench where needed both at the platoon level and keeping the company connected to Battalion.”
    â€œOff the bench is a sports metaphor,” Tutone offered. “Baseball.”
    His tone was dry enough that Torin couldn’t quite tell if he was being helpful or facetious, so she settled for a neutral, “Thank you, First Sergeant.” The league on Paradise had teams on all three major continents, and the year she left to join the Corps, New Alland—a minor continent or large island depending on who was speaking—had petitioned to have their teams recognized as well. According to the news download in the most recent packet from her younger brother, they still hadn’t managed it.
    â€œUntil we ship out,” Captain Rose continued, “you’ll base at a desk by First Sergeant Tutone’s, your primary duty to liaise with the rest of the GCT as we attempt to get ready for whatever’s coming down the fukking pike. Eventually, I expect you’ll be at the first sergeant’s desk.”
    New gunnery sergeants were expected to indicate which way they intended their careers to go—to the combat position of first sergeant or to the staff position of master sergeant. After the incident on Crucible, where both the system and the officer in charge had been taken over by unknown alien forces and Torin had led the training platoon of one-twenty recruits while they fought both the system and the aliens to a standstill, Command had made it quite clear which choice they’d prefer Torin to make. Fortunately, it was the choice she wanted to make. Tutone’s desk had been her goal since she’d received her corporal’s hooks.
    â€œI wasn’t planning on going anywhere, sir.”
    For an instant, Torin thought the first sergeant had been reading her mind, and then she realized he’d been responding to the captain’s statement.
    â€œGlad to hear that, First. I was just starting to get used to you. So, Gunny, is it true what Command says, that there’s nothing we can do about the microscopic bits of a big yellow alien scattered throughout known space?”
    â€œThat’s the gist of it, sir.”
    â€œSince the search teams haven’t found anything, any chance they’ve buggered off back where they came from?”
    â€œThe bit I spoke to told me they didn’t have enough information, sir. I expect they’re still collecting data.”
    â€œWhy can’t the search teams find them, then?” Before she could answer, Tutone raised a massive hand. “Never mind. The answer is probably that they can’t find their anus with both hands and a map, so . . .” He waved off the end of the sentence.
    â€œAny chance that when they spoke to you, they were messing with your head?” the captain wondered.
    Given that some of them had just emerged from Major Svensson’s head, Torin sure as hell hoped not. “I don’t think so, sir.”
    Captain Rose sat and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Specifically stared at the ring of gray plastic around the recessed light over his desk. Tutone followed the captain’s gaze, but Torin refused to look. “It’s like discovering the enemy is an inanimate object,” he muttered, dropping his gaze. “Any inanimate object.” Then he shook his head and double tapped his desk, blows ringing against the plastic. “All right. Let’s get going on a job we can do.”
    Both NCOs recognized the dismissal, coming to attention and snapping out a “Sir!” in