Recruit by Jonathan Brazee (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📖

“He’s awake!  About fucking time,” Sams said as he came in with Hu, Sparta, Smitty, and another Marine Ryck didn’t recognize.

“Eat me,” Ryck said automatically.  “And who’s that?” he asked, pointing with his chin at the new Marine.

“That’s our new boot.  Private Hamburger.  Came in to take your place while you fuck off,” Sams replied.

“I keep telling you, it’s Helmesburgen, not Hamburger,” the private objected.

“Shut up, boot!” the other Marines said in unison.

“You OK?” Corporal Pallas asked.

“Hungry as shit.  You got anything there?” Ryck asked, looking at the burger Hu was munching.

“Yeah, don’t I know it.  I thought I would die of starvation when I regened my foot, but you got to eat their puke-slop to make your arm grow nice and strong.  Just be glad you’re not Lieutenant Badalato.  He lost all his guts, everything from the belly button down. Cut in frigging half.  When they let him wake up, it’s IVs in the arm for at least a year before his new stomach can take real food.”

“You’re quite the talk of the town, you know,” Sams said.  “Burning pirate ass with a toad.  That’s some freakin’ shit.  Most copacetic!”

“Well, he burned out his neck, at least,” Hu corrected.

“No, I was there, and I saw the body.  Sams has it right.  Burned his ass.  The armor that bad boy was wearing kept his stinking corpse upright enough for the toad to burn all the way down to his ass, then out the armor again.  It looked like he farted fire! Unbelievable!” the fire team leader said.

“How did you decide to use the toad?” Hamburger asked.

“Shut up, boot!” the others chorused again.

“That was pretty bitchin’. No fucking arm, and you decide to play catch with him,” Sams said.

“You didn’t do too bad yourself, PFC Samuelson,” Sparta said.

“PFC?  You just got busted down to private.” Ryck said.

“Ah, no big deal,” he said before Hu cut in.

“Our esteemed dickwad here led the charge into the galley just at the pirates started to execute the captives.  He took out two of them with his M77, then tackled the third, I mean bam!” Hu said, getting excited.  “He’s going all psycho on the guy.  And this guy, he’s got some of that new Alliance combat armor, but he can’t do nothing, ‘cause this beserker’s all over him.  Sams here, he saved a bunch of the passengers, and the captain, when he comes in and we show him the vid, he promotes him on the spot.  Takes away his brig time, too.”

“No shit?” asked Ryck in wonderment.

“It wasn’t quite like that,” Sams protested.

“I’ll show you the vid next time I come,” Hu said.

“OK, OK.  We’ve got to get going.  Someone will come back to check on you after evening chow, but you need anything now?” Sparta asked Ryck.

“Uh, yeah, but this is sorta weird.  I can’t move my arms now, and my nose is really getting to me.  It’s itching up pretty good.  Could one of you, you know, give it a scratch?”

The other Marines broke out laughing, but the corporal moved forward, reaching up to gently scratch Ryck’s nose.

“None of you’ve been through regen, so you don’t know what it’s like,” he said.

“Just make sure that’s all you do, there, corporal.  Ryck never got to get that ho in Vegas, and it’s been a long time, so don’t you go getting any ideas on getting him off, what with his hands out of action like that,” Sams shouted.

“Oh, man, he can’t even jack off!” Hu joined in.  “I bet that nurse out there, he’ll do it for you, Ryck, so don’t you worry.  I’ll go ask him now, to make sure he takes good care of you!”

That brought out howls of laughter, even Ryck joining in.  He hadn’t yet really thought about life without his arms for a good amount of time, but leave it to Marines to bring it up and then take it down in the gutter.

“Something funny in here?” a voice broke through the din.

“Attention on deck” Hu shouted as the battalion commanding officer and sergeant major stepped into the room.

Despite himself, Ryck struggled to get up.

“At ease,” the colonel said as he walked up to Ryck before turning around to face the others.  “Sergeant Major, I think these men want that nurse out there to come in.  Did we hear that right?” he asked the Marines.

There was a heavy silence as the men seemed afraid to catch anyone else’s eyes.

The sergeant major glowered at them for a moment before breaking out in a laugh.

“Sorry, sir, I couldn’t hold it in any longer.  You had them shitting in their pants,” he said to the CO.

“Just Marines looking out for each other, as it should be, Sergeant Major, as it should be.  PFC Samuelson, though, seems to have a thing with the ladies, so maybe he could do better than that fat nurse out there.”

There was more dead silence, and Sams snuck a look at Sparta.

“The colonel told a joke, men.  Laugh!” the sergeant major said.

There was a ragged volley of forced laughter.

That elicited a hearty laugh from the colonel himself.

“OK, sergeant major, you’ve had your fun, so enough yanking on their chains.  We’re here to check on Lysander, after all,” he said, turning back toward Ryck.  “You’ve just been brought out of your coma, right?  Still a bit murky, I bet, and you’re probably starving.”

“Yes, sir,” Ryck answered. 

“I’ve been through it myself, three times, so I know what it’s like.”

Everyone knew the colonel’s history.  He was a mustang, up from the ranks, from private to first sergeant, then to lieutenant and on up to lieutenant colonel.  He wore the Navy Cross, the second-highest award for valor.  Earning that medal had cost him both arms and legs as well as a good portion of his torso.  That the Navy docs had saved his life was something of a miracle, and he had spent a full two years in regen and therapy, so yes, Ryck was well aware that the colonel “knew what it was like.”

“You’ll get fed after we leave, but it won’t be good.  These Navy docs must think that decent taste ruins the process.  Before that starts, though, the sergeant major has something for you.

“Sergeant Major, if you will, and let’s bring in these reprobates here, too.”

The sergeant major pulled a stack of paper cups from his cargo pocket and passed them around to the Marines.  He took a tube from under his sleeve and poured something out of it into each cup.  He gave another to the colonel and took one for himself before moving to Ryck and offering him the end of the tube.  Just before Ryck put it in his mouth, he pulled it back a fraction of a centimeter and waited.

“Gentlemen, needless to say, this does not go beyond this room.

“Lift your glasses for a toast.  To Private First Class Ryck Lysander, Audaces Fortuna Iuvat.”

“Here, here!” they all chorused as the sergeant major slid the tube into Ryck’s mouth. 

Ryck took a long swallow, the cold beer feeling wonderful as it slid past his tongue and down his throat.  Alcohol was explicitly prohibited throughout the regen process, but if the colonel, with all his regen, thought it was OK, Ryck was not going to argue.

The colonel leaned forward and quietly said, “You’re going to be OK, Ryck.  Semper fi.”

And Ryck knew it was true.  He was going to be OK.