Europa Strike(83)

Superstition. But the business of war—and the ongoing uncertainty of survival—tended to feed superstition like gasoline feeding a fire.

“No, sir,” Tom replied. “It’s not like that at all. It’s…I guess it’s just that this place is so, so alien.”

“My point exactly.”

“But, well, sir…I’ve been on Mars. I was stationed there for six months after Space School. You have to wear a suit, but most places, anyway, you can squint your eyes and just about imagine you’re standing in a desert back in New Mexico. Sometimes the sky’s even blue. And on the Moon, well, that’s about as different as a place can be, but on the Near Side, anyway, Earth is right there. All you have to do is look up. If there’s trouble, Earth and blue skies are three or four days away—a few hours if it’s an emergency and you can grab an A-M shuttle.

“But the view here…my God. It’s as strange as the Moon, but more so, with ice instead of gray dust and Jupiter so big and, and—top-heavy in the sky, you swear it’s gonna fall right off its hook and land in your lap. A day that’s three and a half days long, and the only time it’s really dark is when the sun is in eclipse behind Jupiter. And then you can still see the dark side of the planet, kind of dim and ghostly like, with the aurora and lightning and stuff. The other moons, shuttling back and forth like beads on a string. And you know that Earth is an ungodly long way away—a week at a steady one G, three or more weeks with a coast phase in the middle.”

“All of which is exactly why I came down on you, on them so hard. This is not a human environment.”

“But you know how it is in the Corps, Major. Marines stick up for one another. They pull together, gung ho. They’ll endure the most godawful hardships and assignments you care to dump on ’em. Privation. Hardship. Crowding. Combat. All of that just makes ’em closer, y’know what I mean?

“I guess what I’m trying to say, sir, is that they need to relax with each other sometimes. Cut loose. Skylark. Losing this many people shook ’em pretty bad, especially right after that first battle, when we lost so many. Giving ’em some time to unwind, especially without gold braid breathing down their necks—it helps morale. Sir.”

“I see.”

“The company…they’re good people, sir. But they’re facing a strange kind of lonely desperation out here. Seven hundred million klicks from home, in an alien environment that will kill them in an instant if they get careless, yeah…and an enemy that’s whittling them down now a few at a time. I think they’re just trying to hang on to their sanity, sir, whatever is left of it, by importing a little bit of home. For Marines, that means some down time away from supervision, a chance to play.”

“We’re in one hell of a playground.”

“That we are, sir. But by making it a playground, they’re humanizing it, making it home. You see my point, sir?”

“I think maybe I do.”

“You know, we’ve been talking about intelligence a lot. Bull sessions after taps and on watch, that sort of thing. You know that Singer everyone’s talking about?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the word in the squad bay, sir, is that that thing can’t be intelligent. All it does is sit in the deep ocean…singing. It doesn’t play. And play may be the one thing that differentiates intelligent life from every other kind of critter in the universe.”

“A profound thought, Tom. But we still have the problem of maintaining good order and discipline. What do you recommend?”

“Sir?”

“I’ve got a problem here, Gunnery Sergeant. Ten men and women skylarking while on a work detail, risking their lives, no less, playing games on the ice. And a platoon leader who should have known better and put a stop to it. What do you recommend I do about it?”

Tom pressed his lips together for a moment. “Sir, the Marines involved aren’t to blame. I am. As you say, I should have stopped it. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to squelch any behavior that smacked of high spirits.”

“I agree. But I can’t let it slide with a warning.”

“No, sir. But you could put all the blame on me. That…might have one unfortunate side effect. The Marines involved might think you’re a damned son of a bitch. Sir. On the other hand, I can’t think of a better way to pull them together.”

Jeff sighed. “Sometimes I think half of leadership is making the men hate you enough to pull together and get the job done.”

“I also suggest that you keep them busy. Too much time to just sit and think makes men brood.”