Deceit on Panchala: Stories of the Orphan Corps, #2

By Earl T. Roske

VetTech Pagnotto is about to find out if he has what it takes to be a Hospitaller.

 

Oulu is Pagnotto's first mission off Hephaestia as a Wutenigel handler. He and the Wutenigel he's named Thumb have come with Ascalon company to Oulu as a supernumerary. Thumb can identify and name every scent it encounters. With Pagnotto and Thumb as part of Ascalon company, the Hospitallers hope to find the source of recent terrorist-style bombings.

 

An attack on a Texarkanian community pulls the Hospitallers deeper into the global conflict. Uncovering secrets puts the entire company at risk of total annihilation.

Can Pagnotto and Thumb survive long enough to do their part in the mission? Can they survive a world seemingly hell-bent on their destruction?

 

Standoff on Oulu is the third book in the Stories of the Orphan Corps series. Just like Rescue on Gimhae and Deceit on Panchala, Standoff on Oulu is a self-contained story full of martial adventure, political intrigue, moral dilemma, and an abundance of destruction.

 

Get Standoff on Oulu now and be part of the Stories of the Orphan Corps universe.

 

It's the next best thing to being there. (And less dangerous.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Earl Roske
• Release date: Feb 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224570492

Earl T. Roske

Earl T. Roske is a San Francisco Bay area writer. He lives with his wife, daughter, a silly poodle, and two neurotic cats.

Book preview

Thank You:

Nicole, Andrew, Tim & Wendy

––––––––

For my wife and daughter.

And my mom.

01

There were a few parts of her job as platoon master sergeant that Shayma Hamdi did not like. This was one of them. However, she had no choice as discipline had to be maintained. And though other staff NCOs might have reported the incident to the CO and left, MSgt Hamdi couldn’t. They were her people and she would stand with them.

From the looks on privates first class Rice and Newman’s faces, they weren’t sure what was going to happen. Truth was, MSgt Hamdi didn’t know either.

She was having trouble with that lately, not being sure what to do. She’d been a Hospitaller for two contracts, twelve standardized years. Upping for another six years was supposed to be a no-brainer. So simple a 2nd Radial Marine could figure it out, as the joke went.

But she, the Pfcs sitting across from her, and Major Burge in his office, were Hospitallers. While that was much like a Marine, it was also nothing like a Marine. Most Marines had family, for instance. Every Hospitaller was, is, and would always be an orphan, raised in the Hospitaller-run orphanages.

It meant that for as long as she could remember, Hamdi had been a Hospitaller. She’d chosen the field aid and combat arm of the organization. She’d been involved in tens of operations, delivering aid, comfort, and providing defense when needed. Things she’d played at in elementary school, practiced in high school, and trained for in her first years as a Hospitaller.

Like Rice and Newman, she’d been a Pfc at one time.

Hamdi smiled and shook her head. They knew what they wanted. Maybe a little too much.

The handle on the hatch to Hamdi’s right clicked and scraped. She looked over as the hatch swung inward. Corporal Sutton stepped into the open, one foot on either side of the hatchway.

MSgt Hamdi, said the corporal.

Cpl Sutton. Major ready?

Cpl Sutton nodded but her face wasn’t registering anything positive. Yeah, she said. But you know he doesn’t like this kind of thing.

I know. She stood. Gentlemen, report in to the major.

Rice and Newman stood. They gave each other a quick glance and then did a proper left face before marching over the hatchway and into the next room. They had to cross the small office that was Cpl Sutton’s to reach the major’s office. Hamdi often thought of it as stepping into the jaws of the jaws.

You coming, too? asked Cpl Sutton.

Don’t I always? MSgt Hamdi stepped into the smaller office just as the two Pfcs stepped into Maj Burge’s office.

Yes, you always, said Cpl Sutton.

Hamdi paused in the middle of the room. In the office beyond, she could hear Pfc Newman reporting in as ordered. You ever have something like this come through the office?

Cpl Sutton shrugged as she returned to her desk and sat down. Couple of times in the last few  years. But, hey, it’s a big ol’ spaceship. It’s gonna happen.

In the shower?

You got me there, said Cpl Sutton. She followed her concession with a laugh. Major’s waiting.

Right. Thanks. Hamdi hurried into the major’s office. They were three levels below the loading deck of the drop-ship carrier Arnaud, back just past midway from the fore. She had to focus to feel the thrum of the engines she’d grown accustomed to. If she had the time.

Inside the small office, Hamdi took the position to the right of Pfc Rice. She stepped to attention. MSgt Hamdi reporting, sir.

Took you long enough, Hamdi, the major said.

Sorry, sir.

Right. He paused and Hamdi could see the major sizing up each of them, her and the two Hospitallers in her charge. At ease.

While the three Hospitallers snapped to the at-ease position, Maj Burge glanced at a tablet, using his ring finger to slide the digital page upward. Hamdi doubted he was reading the report she’d submitted. Likely he’d read it several times and was now only refreshing himself on the salient points.

Finally, Maj Burge set the tablet aside and layered his hands left over right. He rocked back in his chair. There are three kinds of rules that we have here aboard the Arnaud. We have rules of safety. Rules of discipline. Rules of tradition. Let me ask you, Pfc Rice. Did the two of you have shower shoes on while taking advantage of your platoon’s empty shower room?

There was a short pause before Pfc Rice spoke. No, sir.

He’d spoken so softly that MSgt Hamdi had to pull herself back to straight position. She’d been unconsciously leaning in, trying to hear Pfc Rice.

So you broke three types of rules, Rice. Newman. Maj Burge leaned forward, his elbows now resting on the arms of his chair. All of them concern me, but one concerns me most: rules of tradition. Mostly because those are the ones that protect our butts when we’re in dangerous situations. Which, if you agree with me, MSgt Hamdi, seems to be happening a lot more often than it used to?

It didn’t even take a moment’s contemplation. Hamdi answered, saying, Yes, sir, it does seem that way.

When things get ugly down on some tertiary world, the absolute last thing I need is someone hesitating because their romantic partner might be in harm’s way. Is this a romantic partnership? Or just a one-time rub fest?

Hamdi took the opportunity to look over at her people. Rice had looked to Newman. Newman’s face showed the flicker of a smile. Hamdi could see the side of Rice’s face and his cheek bunched, a soft smile likely forming on his face.

Newman turned back to Maj Burge. Romantic partnership, sir.

Well, that makes things easy and complicated at the same time. Maj Burge pulled the tablet back, front and center on his desktop, and again used the tip of his ring finger to flick sideways to expose other documents. I would have been okay with demotions and barracks restrictions. However, if you’re going to be involved on a deeper level, there’s really only one thing to do.

Maj Burge flicked two fingers across the tablet screen.

You’ve both just received a blank transfer request. I’m not saying you both have to transfer out, but one of you must. I’d suggest a different battalion, but at least another company. There’s three on the Arnaud. You can try that, see how it flies. But if either one of you lets your relationship get in the way of doing your job, I’ll ship you both off to a ground barracks someplace uncomfortable. Clear?

Yes, Major, both men said in unison.

Good. You have until the end of the official ship day. If I don’t have one or two transfers in my tablet by then, I’ll arrange the transfer myself. Like I said: ground, uncomfortable. Dismissed.

Hamdi and the two Pfcs snapped to attention, saluted and did a hard right face.

Not you, Master Sergeant.

Surprised, Hamdi stepped aside and watched as the other two marched through the hatch, and then ran for the corridor beyond the outer office. She caught a glimpse of Cpl Sutton who only shrugged her own ignorance to the current situation. With no clue as to what the major wanted, Hamdi returned to her at-ease position, facing the desk.

Now, MSgt Hamdi. The major leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk, his forearms parallel to each other with the tablet resting between them. What about you?

It took Hamdi a moment to catch up. She’d been focused on Rice and Newman. They were both excellent at working with locals in a crisis. They were both dependable in a firefight. Maj Burge knew that, too. The point of his question caught up to her quickly enough, though.

My decision, Major?

Yes, your decision, Master Sergeant. He pointed at a chair. Sit down, please.

Hamdi knew better than to argue. She pulled a chair to the center of the room and sat, hands on knees.

You comfortable, Hamdi? You don’t look comfortable.

Sorry, Maj Burge. I’m trying.

You work on it. He pushed himself back from the desk, leaned in his chair, and thumped his booted feet onto the desk’s surface. I, however, don’t need to try. Now, tell me what you’re going to do about your career.

She took a few seconds before speaking. She pushed her palms along the tops of her thighs, feeling the rough material of her gray ship uniform against them. Finally, I still don’t know, sir.

Sixteen years, Master Sergeant. Sixteen. He tapped his left shoulder where a braided cord of gold and red looped from the epaulet, under his armpit, and back up to the other side of the epaulet. You know how hard it is to get master sergeant braids?

Most of the Hospitallers from her year at the orphanage were still sergeants and staff sergeants. Rarely did people move out of the Hospitaller military service. There was only up, and she was told that the best Hospitallers were tapped for promotions, some even tapped for officer candidate training. She’d turned down OCT. Never regretted it.

Yes, Major. It’s difficult.

You’re darn right it is. I have friends who are still staff sergeants, still captains. Any of them would have been colonels or sergeant majors in any other military system. But we aren’t any other military system.

That, Hamdi knew from being taught and from teaching, was because of the orphanage system. No one in the Hospitallers had been raised by their own family. Some, like Hamdi, had never known her biological family. Her earliest memories were of dorm parents and the twenty-nine other kids she shared the company dorm with.

That was how the Hospitallers began, looking after the orphans left behind by