GroPo Life: Not for Everyone Buck Privates

[Crash Calestorm 0]

Wearing workout shorts and a tank top, Crash methodically worked through her usual kickboxing routine, pounding away at a sand bag in the main gym. Officers, enlisted, Starfleet Navy and Starfleet Marines were making use of the facilities; it showed just how diverse the crew of the Little Destroyer That Could was.

 

It felt good to be underway and heading back to New Topeka; her request for shore leave had been cleared, and it would be effective as soon as they made dock at Topeka Orbital. She’d already made an announcement to the crew, and most spirits seemed to lift at the prospect of some real time off.

 

“Hey, Captain Calestorm. You got a minute?”

 

She turned towards the voice.

 

Cale had served with men – and women – like Private Hudson throughout her career. Hudson was a goofball, but he was the type off goofball you wanted beside you during a skirmish; when the plasma (or bullets) started slinging, there was no better man in a fight as your buddy.

 

While she understood the need for a certain separation from command staff to crew ratio…distant captains did no one any good and had a tendency to get good crew real dead in her experiences. She would always be figuratively and physically alone by virtue of her rank stripes, so why complicate matters if you didn’t need to? And, she was off duty last she checked…

 

“Hey, back at you. What’s up Private?” She reworked the protective tape on one hand.

 

Hudson continued. “Captain, is it true you went for the marines before enlisting as a fighter pilot? And you were asked to leave Parris Island?”

 

Not expecting that, but she rolled with the proverbial punches. “What, do you and your buddies have a bet or something as to why I left the Marines?”

 

His poker face left much to be desired. Mental note: Hudson’d never be able to go undercover as a Vulcan… “Oh my God…you do have a bet going on, don’t you?”

 

“Um, yeah. Yes Sir.”

 

The older woman glanced around the gym as her gaze lit on possible targets. “And what are the current reasons as to why I might have left?”

 

“Well Ma’am, they range from making a pass at then-Colonel West’s son and dog napping then-Commodore Archers beagle on a dare.”

 

Cale barked out laughter. “Uh, no. Not me; your intelligence info is slightly off.”

 

Seeing as she was open to the discussion, Hudson waved over his cohorts who had been ‘tactically deployed’ (ie, loitering) on the far side of the gym. She noted the group was mostly buck privates taken on at the last layover…Damn, they’re just kids…

 

That was Hudson for you; he always went for the proverbial Mother Hen role to the newbies, transitioning them to MARDET life.

 

One of them spoke up. “Hey, nice tatts Captain. That work on the two skulls is pretty damn awesome.”

 

She considered her response and gave the young private a look; he was referring to the ‘24^th Archmages’ flight wing on her calf and the ‘Death from Above’ on one shoulder, both of which showed nasty looking skulls. The other shoulder had a tame ‘Starfighter Corps’ division tattoo on it. Oh, to be young again…

 

She couldn’t recall his name off hand. “What’s your name son?”

 

“Hecht Sir. Private Hecht.”

 

“You got ink?” I’ll show you mine if you show me yours…

 

Hecht smiled and shrugged out of his BDU sleeve; the tattoo on his upper arm showcased the classic canine symbol of the marines for hundreds of years – the Bulldog. Now extinct, the breed had been bred into oblivion. The ‘Devil Dogs’ tatt showed the typical ugly mug of the canine wearing a drill sergeant’s brimmed hat and chomping on a cigar.

 

“Nice. Not too crazy. Keep it that way, eh? What you like now might look pretty drunken dumbass later.”

 

“Gotcha Captain.”

 

Crash continued with her explanation. “My family always had both Navy and Marines serving at any one time. My generation and the generation before is no exception. My parents are vacuum riders; I have an aunt who is a retired jarhead. I was in a 'I want to take on the universe' rebellious phase, and got the bright idea to follow in my aunts combat booted footsteps instead of Mom and Dad. And, I went for enlisted. ”

 

A pause. Then, a tall female spoke up. “Wow Sir. You went all out didn’t ya?”

 

That got a laugh from the group.

 

Even though the air and conversation was jovial, Crash chose her next words carefully. “I admire what y’all do. It ain’t easy being a ground pounder. With that said, the GroPo life wasn’t for me. The DI on site recognized that, after trying to knock the hell out of me…”

 

A collective snicker from the marines.

 

“But, it worked out. He pretty much told me to jump over to the Starfleet Naval Academy and go for piloting and helm, my skills and my attitude were more suited for that line of work as an officer. He was right.”

 

The tall girl spoke again. “Who was the DI?”

 

“Career Sergeant Zimm.”

 

The group all spoke at once, “He trained us!”

 

Cale stared. “He’s still there? What is he, like, 90 years old?”

 

Hudson put in, “Uh, yeah, about that Sir..."