Last Full Measure - Michael A. Martin [107]
Not for the first time since the group had arrived at Hayes’s quarters, a hush fell across the room, and the MACO commanding officer’s eyes moved from one contemplative face to the next. He knew that everyone present had been intensely trained in the art of combat, and that many had seen death up close before; nevertheless, he could see that the company’s most recent loss had affected each trooper profoundly. Which is probably as it should be, he thought, though he wasn’t sure whether to thank or curse the fates that decreed that this be so.
McCammon looked haunted, and stared into his cup in uncharacteristic silence, his usually endless wellspring of stories, anecdotes, and braggadocio having dried up, at least for the moment.
Kemper, who was now every bit as taciturn as McCammon, seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders; Hayes couldn’t blame him, knowing what he already knew of the young sergeant’s personal life, whether he thought it was still a secret or not.
Chang had already surprised Hayes all day, and probably everyone in the MACO company as well, by failing to complain even once about the “hot-cotting” living arrangements circumstances had forced him to endure alongside Ensign Mayweather, who seemed to have become his personal nemesis, not to mention the living embodiment of disorder and entropy, more than two months ago.
But of all of Hayes’s subordinates, possibly including those not present in the room, Corporal Fiona McKenzie seemed to be holding up best of all. Though her face looked drawn and fatigued, she still seemed to radiate an indefatigable strength that Hayes felt certain had been keeping everyone here, himself included, from slipping even deeper into their cups.
If the members of a military unit were the stones of an arch, then the commander was the keystone, and recent events had forced Hayes to consider cultivating a spare keystone in order to keep that arch from toppling should something happen to him. Additionally, McKenzie’s emotional rock-steadiness and knowledge of the strengths and weaknesses of each member of the MACO company had bolstered Hayes’s growing certainty that the corporal was capable of handling significantly more responsibility than she shouldered already; he was becoming convinced that she was a better candidate for promotion onto the top of the command track than was Sergeant Kemper, whose personal peccadilloes might well have compromised his command objectivity beyond salvageability.
Chang was the first to break the protracted silence, extracting Hayes from his reverie. “Maybe I was wrong about them,” he said.
The odd non sequitur confused Hayes. “Wrong about whom, Corporal?”
“The squids,” Chang said, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed, as though realizing only belatedly that the liquor might have loosened his tongue a bit more than he’d intended. “I mean, the Starfleet people, sir. I used to think they were all soft. Undisciplined.”
Hayes nodded. “Because they don’t have MACO training.”
“Yes, sir,” Chang said, returning the nod.
Hayes refilled his mug, doing his best to keep from grinning. “Since your team included just one Starfleet officer, I assume that Ensign Mayweather is the reason for your change of heart.”
Kemper and McCammon exchanged vaguely surprised expressions, while McKenzie chortled quietly. “That’s pretty ironic, coming from you, Hideaki.”
Chang shrugged and allowed a smile to begin creeping slowly across his lean, angular face. “Because he maintains