Free In Every Clime and Place by Patrick LeClerc

have been too big for that.”
    “It was. They used a UBM shuttle as a patch and sealed it into the breach. We could maybe sue them for the cost to free the ship, if you want even worse press.”
    Rodman silently considered his situation, his white hair and beard throwing his angry flush into even starker contrast. “How many senators do we still own?”
    “James and Donovan are solid. Peters can be bullied. We have plenty of dirt on his little addictions.”
    “Let’s get in touch with them. I need that damn station shut down. I need the insurance, and I need to clear the facility if we’re going to work this deal. Have our friends in high places lean on the cost of the patrols and lean on the unions.”
    “Got it,” said O’Leary. Then, almost as an afterthought, “There is something else we can work on...”

Chapter 8
14 NOV 2075
    USS TRIPOLI
    Once the pressure stabilized, we had a long, uneventful wait for the assault craft. Now that the crisis seemed less imminent, the crowds weren’t willing to face our rifles to get to the shuttles.
    When the boat arrived, we filed on. It was a tight squeeze, with the embassy Marines and diplomatic personnel, but we made it. I was covered in sweat, cramped and shaking with spent adrenalin. I was also worried about Terry. If the docs could get his arm patched up, I would see if I could get him promoted to Lcpl O’Rourke.
    “Hey boss,” Sabatini asked, “how come they screwed up the ambush that bad? At that range, why aren’t we all dead?”
    I paused for a moment. Come to think of it, why weren’t we all dead? “Gunny! You got any theories?”
    The more experienced Marine’s lip curled in a sneer of contempt. “Because they were undisciplined shitbags. Specifically, they were firing downhill, and didn’t train to account for that, and they probably never thought about the lower G. Add close range to that equation and they were shooting high. They didn’t hold fire long enough to let us all in the kill zone, and they bunched up around their heavy weapon. If they’d spread out and made a longer ambush, extended the killing ground, and learned to shoot, we might’ve been in trouble.”
    “Good thing they don’t train them better than they do.”
    “If my platoon ever screws up an ambush that bad, they better hope the enemy kill ’em before I get the chance,” Gunny Taylor growled.
    We made it back to the Tripoli without any trouble. I actually welcomed the drag of my equipment in the full G of the ship’s artificial gravity. We climbed the ladders out through the hatches into the main vessel.
    Lieutenant Mitchell dismissed us, allowing everybody two hours’ free time before we resumed normal duties. The Navy could run the ship for now.
    I tossed my helmet on my rack and unzipped the heavy body armor. I hated stewing in my own sweat. My faded olive drab blouse was dark with it.
    “I’ll meet you back here in a few,” I told Sabatini and Johnson, securing my ACR to my rack. “Get cleaned up. I’m gonna check on O’Rourke.”
    “Tell him we aren’t gonna let him rest his lazy ass in sickbay too long while we carry the load,” Sabatini said, removing her helmet. Her dark hair was matted with perspiration.
    “Give him my love, too, Corp,” said Johnson.
    Wow. His first smartass remark. He was going to be a good Marine.
    “Call me Mick. You just joined the Brotherhood of the Damned. No titles between us.”
    I hiked over to the sickbay. It was overrun with refugee children. The Navy medical personnel were running around doing tests and writing out instructions for care. I caught the attention of the doctor, a Navy lieutenant. “Excuse me, sir.”
    He looked up at me in a distracted fashion. “Hm? One of the Corpsmen can put some antiseptic on that knee, Marine.”
    “Wh—?” I looked down. I hadn’t noticed in the excitement, but the knee of my uniform trousers was torn and bloody. I must have skinned my knee on the rubble at the ambush and not