Islands of Rage and Hope

CHAPTER 12

“Morning, Faith,” Hamilton said, waving to a chair. “Glad to be headed out?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, sitting down. She quirked an eyebrow at Staff Sergeant Barnard who didn’t respond at all. Uh, oh.

“Faith,” Hamilton said. “Staff Sergeant Barnard brought something up with me that I hadn’t really noticed…for various reasons. A habit that you’ve developed. It’s both a minor issue and a major issue, which will make sense in a moment. The habit is a minor issue that’s easily corrected. The reason for the habit is what’s the major issue and we’ll try to resolve that as well. First things first. This is a counseling session. There are various types in the Marines, verbal, written, etc. They’re generally thought of as punitive. In this case, it’s a counseling session in the same way as a psychological counseling session. Despite my promise not to psychoanalyze you, we’re going to delve into some of that at a certain point. However, this is not proscriptive. It is not punitive. We’ve got an issue and we’re going to resolve it. Do you understand?”

“Not really, sir,” Faith said, trying not to look at Barnard. She felt as if she’d been stabbed in the kidneys. “I’m not sure what the problem is, sir.”

“Staff Sergeant?”

“Ma’am,” Barnard said. “With due respect, are you aware that you end practically every sentence with a question?”

“No?” Faith said after a moment’s thought. “I do?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barnard said. “You just did. And, no offense intended, but it makes you sound…” She paused and looked at the colonel.

“What the staff sergeant is trying not to say is that a Marine officer should appear and sound confident,” Hamilton said. “After the issue was brought up I discussed it with Captain Wilkes and Lieutenant Volpe, both of whom expressed surprise at the question. They had never noticed it. They found you exceptionally confident, especially given your age and lack of experience. Which leads me to believe that the lack of confidence, if that is what this manifests, is recent. Any thoughts?”

“No, sir,” Faith said.

“Staff Sergeant,” Hamilton said, nodding. “You’ve expressed your issues, and quite tactfully I might add. I’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, sir,” Barnard said, getting up and leaving.

“She really was tactful,” Hamilton said, leaning back and steepling his fingers. “She is also, understandably, worried.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“That was a ‘yes, sir’ to fill in the pause, wasn’t it?” Hamilton asked.

Faith thought about it for a moment.

“Yes, sir.”

“Faith, you have two of the absolute requirements for being a Marine officer,” Hamilton said, grinning. “You have a font of physical courage and enormous stubborness. Let’s try to see if we can get past the latter, shall we? What’s your problem with Staff Sergeant Barnard?”

“I don’t have a problem, sir,” Faith said.

“Not even since she dropped the dime on you?” Hamilton asked. “Not feeling stabbed in the back?”

“Sir…” Faith said, frowning. “I’m not sure if it was what a staff sergeant is supposed to do. I think Jan would have just pulled me aside and said ‘Hey, LT, you’re saying everything with a question.’ I don’t think he would have gone running to…” She paused and shrugged.

“His buddy the colonel?” Colonel Hamilton said mildly.

“I didn’t say that, sir,” Faith said.

“But it was what you were thinking,” Hamilton said. “You know I frequently call her ‘Cindy.’ Not, by the way, the way that most Marine colonels referred to their subordinates. Perhaps I’ve spent too much time on joint ops. Or perhaps it’s, you know, being a research psychologist at heart. But let’s discuss the issue that Staff Sergeant Barnard brought up. Ending a sentence that is supposed to be declarative with a querying tone indicates lack of confidence. This is both well understood psychology and something that is consciously or unconsciously noted by those around you. Especially political enemies and subordinates. Again, there is evidence to suggest that that lack of confidence is recent. And it is an issue for the upcoming operations. Your Marines have to trust your orders. They will follow them anyway, the staff sergeant will ensure that. But they should trust them especially since you are, in fact, the expert in what we’re going to be doing. So let’s start with the ‘okay’ thing since there is a simple remedy.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“That would be ‘Oh, Colonel, great and wise leader, what is the remedy?’” Hamilton said.

Faith frowned for a moment.

“‘Oh, Colonel, great and…’”

She frowned again.

“Great and wise leader,” Hamilton said, smiling. “But that’s good enough. Faith, say ‘Oorah.’”

“Oorah?” Faith said.

“Now without the querying tone,” Hamilton said.

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said.

“Now, when you are speaking from now on, when you’re not quite sure where to go next and want to say ‘Um’ or ‘Okay,’ insert ‘Oorah,’” Hamilton said mildly. “It can be taken to extremes. I knew a Ranger officer who was horrible at public speaking and unfortunately in a position where he had to give multiple briefings who would give briefings which were seventy-five percent ‘hoowah?’ It got to where you wanted to strangle him. For that matter, my first first sergeant inserted the word ‘fuck’ when he didn’t know what to say. As an officer and a lady I’m sure we both prefer if you said ‘Oorah’ instead, oorah?”

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said, smiling slightly.

“You’re afraid you’re not going to live up to the standards of a Marine officer,” Hamilton said. “You think the local Marines think you’re just a mascot or a joke. Because your daddy gave you the job, which is true, and that you can’t really do it, which is not true. Do you not trust them?”

“I…” Faith said, her face working. “I don’t know how to answer the question, sir.”

“In your own time, as many oorahs as it takes,” Hamilton said.

“Then, yeah, sir,” Faith said. “I…Sir, sometimes I get parade rest and at ease mixed up. I don’t know how to march and I don’t know marching commands, sir. Not really solid, sir. I’ve mixed that stuff up around the Gitmo Marines, and I know they’re laughing at me. What kind of a Marine doesn’t know how to march? The kind that’s never been to Parris Island or Marine Officer Basic Course. They think I’m not a real Marine, sir, and maybe I’m not. It’s not that I don’t trust them, sir, sort of. It’s that they don’t trust me. They think I’m a joke, sir. I know they do. And…that’s a real problem, sir.”

“If it were true, and it may be, it would be a problem,” Hamilton said. “To an extent. But…let’s start with why it’s not, okay?”

“Okay,” Faith said tightly. “Yes, sir.”

“Did you get into a lot of military jokes…pre-Plague?” Hamilton asked.

“Not really, sir,” Faith said. “I was on some boards and had some friends who were military but…not a lot.”

“There’s a list, been around a long time,” Hamilton said. “It’s a list of ‘Things you don’t want to hear an officer say.’ Basically, when they say certain phrases, bad things tend to happen. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Is it second lieutenants saying ‘Okay?’”

“No,” Hamilton said with a chuckle. “But a few examples. If you ever hear a first lieutenant say ‘I have an idea,’ it’s best to run.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, smiling.

“A captain saying ‘I’ve been thinking…’ same thing,” Hamilton said.

“Yes, sir.”

“In the case of second lieutenants, the phrase you should generally fear is ‘In my experience,’” Hamilton said, smiling.

“But…” Faith said, holding up a finger.

“But that’s a very important point, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “Nobody in the military, not the Air Force or the Army or the Marines or Navy, where it’s ‘ensign,’ nobody trusts a second lieutenant.”

“But…sir…” Faith said worriedly.

“Yes, there is a but,” Hamilton said. “And we’ll discuss that in a moment. This comes first, Lieutenant. You don’t have to be panicked by the fact that your NCOs, some of them, do not fully trust you. That is normal and standard, Faith. It is. You Are A Second Lieutenant. The fact that you’re also thirteen, unable to drive, have a tracing case of acne and have never seen Parris Island are simple cherries on the cake. The jokes about second lieutenants are innumerable and as old as the military. Jokes about junior officers go back to the earliest armies. You can find them in cuneiform and scribbled on the walls of Roman toilets. ‘Tribune Marcus Aurelius could not find Gaul if he was in Alesia.’ Which was a city in Gaul, by the way. Normal standard and customary. It is not directed at one Faith Marie Smith particularly. It’s a function of that gold bar you bear, often referred to as the ‘baby shit bar’ in the Army for a reason. So chill out. It’s not about you. Okay?”

“O…kay?” Faith said. “But, sir…”

“Faith, there are no ‘buts’ on the chill out part,” Hamilton said. “That’s a requirement. Deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. You are not trying to clear a super-liner with no help. The world does not rest on your shoulders. There are others to help, Faith. You’re among friends. Okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Okay. And now you’re doing it, sir.”

“I’ve done it for a long time in similar circumstances,” Hamilton said. “You might have caught it from me. But I know when it’s appropriate. So I want you to really try to internalize that, Faith. Absent significant experience to the contrary, as in getting things right when it matters, troops don’t trust second lieutenants. They mostly act as not particularly bright messengers from higher, that being me, and impediments to getting the job done. Good ones, smart ones, follow their NCOs around like baby ducks and try to only whisper possible orders to them lest their ideas be awful. They’re not stupid. Most of them anyway. But they are inexperienced and suddenly dealing on a day-to-day basis with a Brave New World called the Marines or Army or Air Force which are filled with in-jokes, institutional knowledge and arcane terminology, most of which they have no clue about since you can’t cover it all in any reasonable training course, even West Point or Annapolis. And acronyms. My God, the acronyms. So they are, by and large, extremely useless. They exist solely as sort of larva of officers-that-may-be. Some day they may be of use. Some day they may be very good indeed. But not, generally, as second lieutenants. I’m aware that you have a similar lack of experience with the military. Do you get that is how the military views your rank?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Sort of.”

“There is one sort of second lieutenant that is somewhat more trusted by the troops,” Hamilton said. “That is a mustang. You know what I mean by that?”

“An officer with prior service, sir,” Faith said.

“In that case, the troops tend to trust them more,” Hamilton said. “Oddly, many officers are less enthusiastic even in this day and age. Or were in the pre-Plague military. So we get to your earlier ‘but.’ You are, in a way, a mustang. But your prior experience is not military. It is quite simply surviving and fighting in this environment and doing so splendidly. The problems with this being that you are, yes, thirteen, not prior military much less Marines, and last but not least, even in this age, you are a girl. It was only recently that women were approved for front line combat and none had made it through any of the Marine combat officers’ courses. Very few women have significant combat experience. If there was a woman in the pre-Plague military with as many combat hours as you already have amassed I would be very surprised. So while Marines may be aware of, and often admire, female Marines who have some combat experience, even those women’s experience tends to be limited. And thus they are not thought of as ‘real infantry fighters.’ So all of this causes…Sorry, Faith, get ready…”

“Sir?” Faith said.

“I’m about to pull out a psychobabble phrase,” Hamilton said, grinning. “The term is ‘cognitive dissonance.’ Can you say ‘cognitive dissonance,’ Lieutenant?”

“Cognitive dissonance?” Faith said. “Which means what, sir?”

“Let’s imagine for a moment that you grow up and the sky is always blue,” Hamilton said. “Then one day you’re taking a class in college and the professor quite seriously intones: ‘The sky is not blue.’ Which for certain values is true, by the way. It’s not blue. It’s clear.”

“Okay…sir?” Faith said, frowning. “Really?”

“Really,” Hamilton said, smiling. “That feeling you have, that sort of pulling in your brain, is cognitive dissonance. It’s when your knowledge set is suddenly challenged by new information. It can actually cause some slight discomfort. ‘Thinking about that gives me a headache.’ It’s because your brain is having to open up new areas to additional resources and the disused arteries swell causing a slight headache.”

“So that’s what causes it,” Faith said happily.

“I take it I’ve been giving you headaches,” Hamilton said, grinning. “Good. Proves you’re doing your job. Some people learn to shunt it aside into a sort of box. ‘I don’t like that thought so I’m not going to think about it.’ Those are the people that they joke about a new thought and a cold drink of water which has some truth…”

“Sorry, sir, lost me,” Faith said.

“You’ve never heard the expression ‘You could kill her with a new thought and a cold drink of water’?” Hamilton said, frowning.

“No, sir,” Faith said.

“Skip it then,” Hamilton said after a moment. “The point being that your Marines, the Gitmo ones at least, are dealing with cognitive dissonance. Our job is to get them past it as simply and rapidly as possible. Because the truth is that you really are the right person for this job. If you weren’t, you’d be doing something else in a jiff. I really don’t care who your daddy is.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“A lot of it will wash out when we get to the action phase,” Hamilton said. “That is where you are preeminent. Staff Sergeant Barnard will obey your orders. She’s not the sort of NCO to undermine her officer. And she will intelligently expand upon them. Just tell her what needs doing and she’ll get it done. Oorah?”

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said.

“Going to cover a few things I haven’t had time for before we get to the skill training,” Hamilton said. “Faith, have you ever really thought about what you’re planning in terms of career?”

“Not really, sir,” Faith said. “I sort of…I guess I sort of thought I’d found what I was going to do if I grow up.”

“If?” Hamilton said.

“No disrespect, sir, but have you taken a look around?” Faith said. “It’s not about being a Marine and getting in scrums, sir. It’s the world. I mean, Cody bought it by falling in a harbor and getting eaten by sharks, sir. If,” she concluded, shrugging.

“Well, let’s go with ‘when’ for the time being,” Hamilton said thoughtfully. “The promotion ladder for junior Marine officers since World War II has been fairly fixed. You spend six months as a second lieutenant, and absent truly screwing up, like getting caught dealing drugs, you get promoted to first lieutenant. And about two years later to captain if you’ve done an even reasonably decent job. But that was then. Right now, we’ve got, well, a zombie apocalypse. We’re actually rank heavy. For less than a company of ‘other ranks’ we have a colonel in charge. We have two other Marine officers and an overabundance of sergeants and staff sergeants. So even under normal circumstances, I don’t see you making captain any time soon. There’s not really any slot likely. It’s not you, it’s…reality?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “Sir, I’m not sure I’m qualified to be a lieutenant. I’m sure I’m not qualified to be a captain.”

“And so am I,” Hamilton said. “And that would be the case even if we had a crying need for one. That’s the second part. I think you’re qualified to be a lieutenant and you’ve shown that you can be a good one. You even do paperwork fairly well,” he added, smiling.

“Not…what’s that thing like an asteroid? Not my best thing, sir?” Faith said.

“Metier?” Hamilton said after a long thoughtful pause.

“Sorry, sir, words,” Faith said. “Not me.”

“Got that,” Hamilton said. “But you know, if I had a choice between some glib and glittering staff officer and ‘not words, me kill zombies,’ guess which I’d choose, Faith? Unfair question, that would be ‘me kill zombies good.’ Because, in case you haven’t noticed the world, Lieutenant…”

“Heh,” Faith said, grinning slightly.

“Back to the hallowed promotion ladder,” Hamilton said. “I agree with your assessment that you’d make a horrible captain. Now. You’re going to be a very good one. Some day. But absent strenuous objections, as long as I’m your commander, I’m going to keep you at your current rank for a looong time. You understand why?”

“I’m thirteen, sir?” Faith said, shrugging. “It really doesn’t bother me, sir.”

“That’s part of it,” Hamilton said. “Big part. But more than that, it will give you time. Time to get that confidence not just fake it. Time to do the jobs over and over again. Including, yes, paperwork. Probably some staff time. Which is, by the way, nothing but paper pushing.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said unhappily.

“Don’t look so grumpy,” Hamilton said. “If you do anything enough you get better at it. I never expect you to be a perfect glittering staffer. Or, maybe you will be. But if you do nothing but for a year or so you will get better.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“So to recap,” Hamilton said. “Nobody trusts a thirteen-year-old girl. Nobody trusts a second lieutenant. So none of it is personal. It’s just cognitive dissonance. And when you hit the beach a bunch of it will just go away. The Marines who have worked with you before trust you and that will be infectious. Especially since you’re not really at home unless you’re killing infected, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“In the meantime, we’re going to teach you how to fake it until you make it,” Hamilton said. “You’ve had the class from the gunnery sergeant in command voice. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“Why don’t you use it?” Hamilton said. “Skip the question. From now on, use it. Always.”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said.

“You must look up the definition of ‘always’ some time, Lieutenant,” Hamilton said. “When I say always, I mean All The Time, Lieutenant! When you’re talking to the staff sergeant! When you order dinner! When you’re talking to your mother! Every single word that comes out of your mouth from now until I tell you you can quit will be command voice! Do you understand, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said. “I mean, Yes! Sir!”

“There you go,” Hamilton said. “Now you sound like a Marine lieutenant! Oorah?”

“Oorah, sir,” Faith said.

“That was laid-back oorah,” Hamilton said. “I sort of like laid-back oorah, but Lieutenant Faith Smith is not permitted laid-back oorah. Try it again, oorah.”

“Oo-Rah!” Faith barked.

“If you’re not sure what to say, what do you say, Lieutenant?” Hamilton said.

“Oorah, sir!” Faith barked.

“You’re still unconfident about marching and drill commands,” Hamilton said. “You sort of like Staff Sergeant Decker, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Faith said, then frowned. “Sorry. Yes, sir!”

“Before we continue, words to eliminate from your vocabulary,” Hamilton said. “Sorry and okay. Possibly others but those are a start. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Faith barked. “S…s….Aye, aye, sir!”

“Marines are respectful,” Hamilton said. “They’re not exactly polite. They don’t apologize. Ever. They don’t say ‘excuse me could you pass the pepper, please?’ ‘Pass the pepper, please!’ You should also try to eschew contractions. ‘It is,’ not ‘it’s.’ ‘Do not’ as opposed to ‘don’t.’ Short, declarative sentences. Whenever possible, less than ten words. To the drill thing. Where there are no more pressing details, you will continue to drill PFC Condrey to Staff Sergeant Decker’s direction. Since you’ll be doing the training schedule on the float you’ll find the time. Decker—though, in my professional opinion, bat-shit insane—has all the Marine aspects that you lack. You can learn from his example. Roger?”

“Roger, sir!” Faith snapped.

“Onboard, you will march, ramrod straight, absolutely everywhere,” Hamilton said. “Eyes front and on parade.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Faith said.

“When you hit the beach, it’s up to you,” Hamilton said. “I don’t want anything interfering with your combat ability. However, I strongly suggest that you bark every order. Forget you’re thirteen, forget you think they don’t trust you. You are the mistress of this mission. Own it. You do this for a year, and that’s the minimum I’m going to require, and you’re never going to be able to do anything else. And then you will truly be the epitome of a Marine officer. Oorah? Now we both have a briefing to prepare for.”

“’Tention on deck!” Sergeant Smith snapped.

The Marines had berths but the ship had not been designed to carry Marines. So most of their combat gear was stored separately. It was also where the weapons were being sorted and cleaned for issue to “local militias” if they found survivors.

“Staff Sergeant!” Faith said without calling “at ease.”

“Ma’am?” Staff Sergeant Barnard said.

“Inspection in combat gear, quarter deck, ten minutes. All Marine landing personnel. Carry on.”

Faith spun in place and exited the compartment.

“What… the… hell…?” Smitty said.

“All of you fall in on your gear,” Staff Sergeant Barnard said, shaking her head. “You will be on the quarterdeck in five minutes.”