“Well, my wife, are you ready to go down planet?”
“I am excited,” Illoia said. “And I think I am ready. I have almost nothing to pack, our data has been backed up, the transport seems all arranged.”
“Yes, I didn’t mean that. I meant emotionally. Up to now you have been on familiar territory. From now on you will be breaking new ground. Camp life, ground training, actual combat.”
“I feel like I have covered much of that in sims,” Illoia protested.
“Sims are one thing, ground life is quite another. The smells, for one thing.”
“The dorms seem to smell quite enough now.”
“That is on ship, with air scrubbers running full time. It will be much worse in a ground dorm. Well, it doesn’t matter, you will have to learn. Hurry and dress, we disembark in fifteen. We will be on the first shuttle.”
“I’m not surprised.” Illoia said, pulling on her uniform. She had only slowly gotten used to being shoved forward into the front of every line: meals, freshers, even WC. Only mothers with small children rated above her, and even they had tried to give her precedence but she had threatened to cite them for Article II violations and they had, with relief, agreed to keep their priority.
So they would be on the first shuttle. With the Commander, the Staff Majors, all of their families… whereas all of the other leaders and their wives would ride down with their unit.
—
She literally stared as she entered the shuttle. She had to bend down to get in it! Some of the men were bent practically double!! And simple benches with sky straps. She hurried forward after her husband… they had literally been the first one’s in, and quickly strapped herself in. She felt a bump from next to her and turned to see the commander’s wife supervising the strapping in of her oldest daughter, a pretty but shy lass of 14 standard.
“Why, hello! Are we to be seatmates?”
“Oh, yes, but I do hate combat shuttles,” the lass said.
“Is that what this is? I’ve never been in one.”
The lass and her brother, sitting next to her, stared at her wide eyed. She supposed they had been in combat shuttles since before they could walk. “They aren’t as nice as regular shuttles,” the lass explained. “You have to stay strapped in the whole trip, and they’re forever banking about. It almost seems like they turn upside down, sometimes.”
“Oh, my!” she said. Her family had a flitter and her brother often drove it like that. According to her brother, that was sort of what a flitter was for.
“But they get you down fast!” her brother said, speaking around his mother’s arm as she strapped him in. “And they’re real safe. We live in a combat zone, you know,” he added.
“Yes, I suppose you do.”
“You’re in fourth batallion, aren’t you?” the lass asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“That’s just down the road from headquarters… maybe we’ll see you sometimes?”
“I’m sure we will. I want to get some parties together. Maybe afternoon tea?”
“Oh, I love doing that,” the lass said, while the lad wrinkled his nose.
“And I am going have a birthday soon, perhaps we could get together for barbeque, cake, and ice cream?”
The lad's eyes widened at this. Apparently cake and ice cream were better than tea. Her brothers had always thought the same thing, although they had been obligated to participate in the ‘teas’ and her oldest brother and even started to enjoy the fact that she invited lasses, lasses his age, pretty eligible lasses his age, to her parties. He would get to have his pick of these lasses once he came of age, and they all competed for his attention: carefully. Young lasses knew that young lads were eager but easily intimidated. This lad was too young for that sort of thing to be interesting.
“Oooh!” Illoia said, and the lad laughed. The shuttle, with no warning at all, had suddenly swooped away from the ship and the viewscreen showed it descending rapidly toward the planet. She saw from the side screens that two fighters were accompanying it, and three destroyers surrounded the liner. Not that they could be exactly ‘seen’, but the view screen indicated their position.
“Why the fighters?” Illoia asked.
“In case the aliens try to attack us,” the lad said.
“Does that happen?”
“Not usually,” the lad admitted, sadly. “Sometimes, though!”
Illoia’s heart pounded as they made their rapid descent, getting thrown from side to side, front to back, and even up and down as the combat shuttle jinked and plunged. The two children next to her, indeed pretty much all of the children, seemed to be taking the ride in stride, the lads even enjoying it.
As the shuttle neared the ground Illioa saw huge scars. “What are those?” she asked the commander’s daughter.
“Crash scars,” she replied, calmly.
“Shuttle crashes?”
“Oh, not, not most of them. Enemy fighters, our fighters, supply ships…”
“Oh, my!” I said. I had known this was a war zone but… “Where are we going?” I asked, as the shuttle kept speeding toward the ground.
“Hangar,” the lad said and, to my relief, at the very last second, the ground opened up and swallowed us.
The jerk that followed was ten times worse than anything we had done before, and I felt like a stone in a baby rattle as I bounced back and forth inside my straps. “Ok, kids, unstrap,” the commander’s wife said, as if we had just set down in front of their house in an aircar.
“Oh, my,” Illoia said, clutching her husband as he unstrapped her. “I think I’m going to be ill.”
“Well, let’s get you outside into the bay, then, it will be easier to clean up.”
I had actually hoped for sympathy, not practicality and I didn’t heave when outside… but I did clutch on his arm, which he absentmindedly accepted. “Are you coming to our house?” the commander’s daughter asked me, and I looked at my husband.
“I have to get to my duty,” Tomirosh said to her. “Where is the shaft to fourth batallion?”
“Sir, the disembarkation lounge is over there,” she said, pointing around other side of the shuttle where, I saw, the other passengers were going. “They will be opening the shaft when the last shuttle is down. Blast protection, you understand.”
“Thank you, Miss,” he said, and pulled her off in that direction, the commander’s daughter waving a bit forlornly.
“Sir!” the ranker at the door said, snapping to attention and saluting, “Officer’s lounge to the left as you go in, Sir!”
“And when will we be able to get to our post, Son?”
“Sir! The last shuttle should land in thirty minutes, by schedule.”
“Thank you, Ranker,” Tom said.
The lounge was fairly empty when they arrived, with a few higher ranks and about four leaders. “You will have to redo our order of battle,” Tom said, leading her to a table.
“What? Why?”
“As soon as we landed we should have been given an update on our force. The ‘malingerers’ we were promised, remember? You will need to divide them up.”
Illoia pulled out her comp and her husband watched her intently as she began to organize the new data.
Suddenly she heard him say, “Well, Eukles, how is it going?”
She glanced up. Leader Eukles had been passing some feet away, but at Tom’s question he looked a bit startled and came over, “Fine. My wife found the shuttle ride shocking.”
“Mine almost hove onto the deck,” Tom said.
“Mine just clung to me like a tigger clam,” Eu said.
“So, where are you assigned?” Tom asked. “Did the commander change his mind?”
“No, we’re still in the Third battallion,” Eu said, “Fifth century,” he added, with a frown.
“Surely you can’t complain about the fifth century. Brand new leader. Do you have many recruits?”
“Not many. I couldn’t figure out who to choose. All naive, foolish, uneducated young lads… what’s to choose?”
“The act of choosing, itself, will change them,” Tom said. “When foolish, uneducated, young lad gets ‘chosen’, it makes him feel wanted. Have you sent your list to the commander yet?”
“No…”
“Want some advice?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“Let my wife choose you some recruits. They won’t know how they got picked, they’ll just think you waited till the last moment.”
“You think… I guess you know what you are doing. I kind of feel like I just served my time.”
“I know better than that,” Tom said. “I looked up your record. You didn’t win any great awards, but you survived some tough spots. You’ll do.”
“Illoia, choose our friend here the rest of his recruits, will you? And make him up an order of battle? We should have at least fifteen minutes before the last shuttle gets down.”
Illoia looked startled, and then got busy. She quickly pulled up the list of those traveling with them, assigned to their company. Subtracted those who were already chosen, organized by a combination of the three skills…
“What is she doing?” Eukles asked.
“She’s organizing your OOB for you. I assume you were going to let your Top Ranker do it for you, I know that’s the norm. But I think you will find this will impress your Top Ranker and our commander.”
Her eyes scanned down the list, noting special skills and things which had been listed in the right hand column, searching for extra skills that might be useful even if the lad concerened wasn’t as good at…
She arrived at the bottom and chuckled. The last two lads were Lassin and Charles, whose scores in shooting and running were all diminished due to the fact they had spent most of the trip buddy taped. She chose them first, assigning them, of course, to the same squad, then moved back up…
“But what quals is she using?”
“I guess the same ones I trained her to use: how well they run and how well they shoot. Oh, and I added how well they climb. Then she is balancing the dorms out per families, talents, etc.”
“She is so quick!!”
“Well, she’s been doing it every day for the last three months on ship, and I suppose it is kind of similar to what she did for her parties: who can sit next to who, who isn’t speaking to who, that kind of thing…”
Illoia giggled, “I never thought of that,” she admitted. “But this is easier!
She found various lads for chaplain, drone control, communications, then let the rest fill in automatically according to her programmed specs. A few seconds later she had chosen a few Middys and, after a little more thought, a Top Ranker.
There, will that do?”
“You filled seventy slots?? The commander will flip!”
“No, he authorized it for me. Just tell him you talked to me and thought that was the rule. You don’t really want fifty malingerers, do you?”
“Seventy recruits!! The other leaders will flip!!”
“I imagine they won’t be happy. Are you OK with this? Shall she send it in?”
“Yeah, I guess so, sure…” Eukles leaned forward and signed the form, and it zipped away electronically. “Wow. Oh, hey love,” he said, turning to his wife, who had come shyly up.
“Is this business or social?” she asked, and Illoia got up and kissed her.
“Oh, I think the business is done,” she said. “So, where are you assigned…?”
Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!
Being ‘restacked’ and mentioned in ‘notes’ is very important for lesser-known stacks so… feel free! I’m semi-retired and write as a ministry (and for fun) so you don’t need to feel guilty you aren’t paying for anything, but if you enjoy my writing (even if you dramatically disagree with it), then restack, please! Or mention me in one of your own posts.
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If you get lost, check out my ‘Table of Contents’ which I try to keep up to date.
Von also writes as ‘Arthur Yeomans’. Under that name he writes children’s, YA, and adult fiction from a Christian perspective. His books are published by Wise Path Books and include:
The Bobtails meet the Preacher’s Kid
and
Soon to be coming out is GK Chesterton’s wonderful book, “What’s Wrong with the World”, for which ‘Arthur’ wrote most of the annotations.
Arthur also has a substack, and a website.
Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,
Von
Links
Article 17 is a military science fiction story with aliens and romance. It is set in a future reminiscent of Napoleon era Britain. The war was going very poorly until the military installed a dictator. This story follows one of the dictator’s great men: Cladin Tomirosh, Leader, and thrice decorated hero.
Intro // Podcast Version
She was pretty, popular, snobby, and a planetary governor’s daughter. He was the son of shopkeepers, a social misfit, and a decorated hero. She thought she was there to dance. He had other ideas.
A Dance // Podcast Version
As a governor’s daughter, Illoia usually avoided such events, but when the captain made the announcement that there was to be an Article 17 dance, she, too, was forced to attend. If only the scum hadn’t been there too.
The Unbridgeable Chasm // Podcast Version
Eukles and Meriones, brave military leaders, quail at the idea of crossing the gulf between themselves and asking a lass to dance.
There He Is // Podcast Version
The young hero comes in, and Aleshia and Illoyia gossip about him.
Look at the Young Hero // Podcast Version
The young hero comes in, and greets Eukles and Meriones… and announces his intentions.
Target // Podcast Version
Tom, Leader Cladin Tomirosh, sets his sights on the governors daughter. She isn’t impressed.
Fuming // Podcast Version
Tom and Illoia dance, while she desperately tries to get him to go away!
Now’s Our Chance! // Podcast Version
Eukles and Meriones use Tom and Illoia as a distraction and stalk their own girls.
To Slap or Not to Slap // Podcast Version
Meriones introduces himself to his new wife with a slap on the backside.
No Sane Man // Podcast Version
Illoia insults the young hero, and he proposes.
Never You, Darling // Podcast Version
Illoia finds herself unable to turn down his proposal.
A Wild Dance // Podcast Version
Illoia finds being Tom’s Consented Wife hard… with wild New Irish dances and immodest ones.
Registered // Podcast Version
A new marriage is registered. All hail the dictator!
Middy’s Got a Lass! // Podcast Version
Medinia is deliriously happy… she got 17d!
A Duel to the Death // Podcast Version
Illoia wakes up next to her new husband.
A Dowry // Podcast Version
As it turns out, Illoia brings some money into the marraige.
Fitting // Podcast Version
Even soldiers wives have to wear the uniform.
Message // Podcast Version
So, about telling her father. It’s not going to be easy.
Training // Podcast Version
Even soldiers wives have to learn how to shoot aliens.
The Captain // Podcast Version
So, about telling the governor about the marriage you allowed on your ship, Sir…
Presentation // Podcast Version
The absolute last chance to get an Article 17 wife, with everyone all lined up and shaking hands and no real time to talk…
Ma, Pa, Squeakers // Podcast Version
Imagine sending a tick tock message to your family telling them you are married.
Yee Haw // Podcast Version
Illoia is shocked to find that Tom considers his social responsibilities at a weird eating joint.
New Ship // Podcast Version
Telling the Governor // Podcast Version
Aleshia rides down on a shuttle, takes an aircar to the governors mansion, and gets to face his temper.
Hardship // Podcast Version
Marja is finding marriage very hard. Not her husband, just… life.