Title: "Rico's Roughnecks"
Fandom: Starship Troopers - General Series
Characters: Lieutenant Johnny Rico, UCF Mobile Infantry
Prompt: 001. Beginnings
Word Count: Approx. 2,213
Rating: PG-13, adult language
Author's Notes: "Starship Troopers" was originally created by Robert Heinlein (science fiction novel). My Starship Troopers fan fictions are either based on the CGI cartoon series or the two movies "Starship Troopers" and "Starship Troopers 2: Hero of the Federation". Obviously other people own the rights to all this good stuff. I'm just keeping the story going for the public enjoyment.
"Rico's Roughnecks"
Hanging like a misshapen silver disk in space, the Fleet Battle Station Ticonderoga rotated on its axis at the edge of a massive asteroid field several parsecs across. Her strategic position was juxtaposed between the region of charted space that was occupied by the strange colonies of intelligent, extraterrestrial "bugs" and the expanse of human-colonized worlds all the way back to Earth, the home of the United Citizens' Federation.
As a forward command center for human military operations against further expansion of the bugs, Ticonderoga saw hundreds of arrivals and departures daily, as ships of the UCF astrofleet came and went according to their duties and missions. Massive warships and fighter carriers occupied the largest of repair and refitting berths along the equator of the station's main habitation sphere, while long add-on modules supported the smaller transports, cruisers, destroyers and escort frigates that buzzed around the fleet's capital ships.
Numerous UCF military personnel called Ticonderoga home, some of them having never seen their home world in their entire lives. Many of the UCF fleet personnel and soldiers of the Mobile Infantry had been born on Earth colonies, enlisting directly into the armed forces as soon as they were of legal age to apply for citizenship. Even more personnel used the Fleet Station as a transit point, to rest and recover in between combat operations, or to absorb replacements from the military training bases in human space.
One hundred thousand kilometers from the station's defense perimeter, a section of space shimmered as if distorted by an invisible energy field. When the strange visual effects subsided, a sleek UCF transport ship burst into normal space, propelled forward by the electric blue glow of its hyperspace jump drive. As soon as the ship began its approach to Ticonderoga, streams of smoke and condensed fluids vented into space from a number of breaches in the ship's outer pressure hull.
"Ticonderoga Approach Control, this is UCF transport Alpha Papa Uniform One-six-oh-five," the radio officer on APU-1605 broadcast. "Request arrival vector for an available repair berth. We're coming in with light battle damage from Klendathu."
"This is Ticonderoga Approach Control, APU-1605," the duty controller in the fleet station's Combat Information Center replied. "Your approach vector is two-one-eight, zee-plus thirty-five. Do you require a rescue pod, tug shuttle or medical support upon docking?"
"APU-1605 to Ticonderoga. No special support needed. Damage is light to our pressure hull. We just need berthing space for a company of really angry Mobile Infantry."
"We can handle that request, APU-1605. Proceed on your arrival vector. Welcome back."
***
In one of Ticonderoga's massive reception bays, clusters of Mobile Infantry soldiers in their field gray "feldgrau" utility uniforms mingled with the variety of Fleet personnel, who wore jumpsuits in the color of their general specialty or officer's dress with colored piping. The reception bay echoed with loud clanking of machinery, as the adjacent cargo offloading spaces and their automated articulation arms moved damaged battlesuits and re-entry pods off docked transports, or loaded ordnance and combat-ready equipment back into the warships' holds and flight decks.
At one end of the reception bay, a docking tunnel hatch opened with a hydraulic hiss, allowing a haggard bunch of new arrivals into the large arrivals area. Medical and security personnel instantly scrambled to meet the arrivals, with medkits, scanners and truncheons in hand, the medicos ready to help the inevitable wounded soldiers coming in from the combat zones, and the security men standing by to keep the peace. The pressures of the bug war on the average human trooper were enormous - from the unexpected psychological problems that confinement in the cramped pilot's space of an MI battlesuit caused, to the obvious reactions of shock and trauma from the leg infantry's clashes with the carnivorous and destructive soldier bugs they engaged in the field.
The first man out of the docking tunnel raised his black-gloved hand to halt the approach of the fleet medicos and the alert security guards. He stepped into the sterile white light of the reception bay and raised his M-3 tactical combat helmet to unshield his eyes. His skin was tanned, but not from harsh solar light on a barren enemy world - it was splotched with black char from close-in fighting. A scar followed its jagged course from below his right eye, along his cheek and chin, almost to his Adam's apple. He nodded without a word to the Mobile Infantrymen behind him, and they stepped out of the tunnel one by one, smiling at finally being away from the front lines.
A Fleet administration officer from the Ticonderoga's Personnel and Movements Office stepped up to the Mobile Infantrymen with a clipboard in hand, ignoring the hesitation of the other personnel who were staying back. The raven-haired woman, originally from one of the UCF's farm worlds, got right into the soldier's faces, demanding who they were and what unit they were assigned with.
The leader, who stepped out of the tunnel first, inserted himself between the demanding admin officer and his soldiers, clearing his throat and making sure the officer could see his lightning-flash rank insignia. "These soldiers are with me," he said curtly.
"That's all well and good, Lieutenant," the admin officer said. "Now, who the hell are you and what unit is this?"
Lieutenant John Rico stood at his tallest height and gazed coldly into the admin officer's eyes. "The name's Rico. We're the Roughnecks. Force Reconnaissance Company of the Sixth Mobile Infantry Division."
"RICO'S ROUGHNECKS!" the disembarking soldiers chanted loudly. "HOOAH!"
"Ma'am," the admin officer said, locking her unrelenting gaze into the tired soldier's.
"I'm a male," Rico said in reply.
"No. Your name's Rico, ma'am. I am a superior officer."
"You'd be my superior if you were out with us getting your ass shot off, Lieutenant Commander. My people need rest, not harassment." Rico turned on his heel and waved for his surviving soldiers to follow him as the admin officer seethed at the soldier's apparent disrespect.
First Sergeant Ace Levy, one of Rico's classmates from his original recruit platoon, snugged the chinstrap of his M-3 helmet into a snap link on his combat gear and ran a hand through his dirty blond hair while he caught up to his company commander. "You're sure making friends fast around here, Johnny."
"Service may guarantee citizenship around here," Rico said quietly. "But some of us guarantee it more than others. The rear echelon tight-asses don't deserve our respect. They didn't see Dizzy Flores sliced into pieces by a bug attack, or Sugar Watkins being blown sky high to keep our entire company from getting turned into bug breakfast."
Ace cracked a smile, wiping some black carbon scoring from a cheek and only succeeding in smudging it more in a streak across his face. "Well, sir. The bitterness is rather unhealthy, I think. We oughta kick back, knock down some of that government soy beer that the fleet serves, and finally take a decent shower to get this combat grime from Klendathu cleaned off."
He leaned closer to his commander's ear and whispered, "Not to mention, we can always party with the Supply storekeepers. They always know what ships the good contraband liquor from Earth is coming in on."
"You can take care of that stuff, Ace," Rico said, as the soldiers made their way to a quartermaster's desk in the reception bay to gather the company's billet assignments. "I need to be alone to think for a while, okay?"
Ace snapped his commander a quick salute. "Yes, sir. You just come find us when you're ready, fearless leader."
"Yeah, right. Fearless leader..."
***
After a few hours of freshening up in his assigned billet aboard Ticonderoga, and refusing two attempts by First Sergeant Levy to drag him out to a drinking party with the rest of the company's troopers as they blew off steam, Lieutenant Rico stood before the entry doors of the Army Personnel Command's detachment office. He wore a set of field gray utilities, topped with a black beret on his head, adorned with the silver lightning-bolt and mailed fist flash of the Mobile Infantry Corps. He was about to press a button on the wall to ring the intercom, when a female soldier paused on the other side of the frosted plexiglass door to get it to open.
"Good day, Lieutenant," the young, fresh-faced redhead said with a salute and a smile, looking over the toned and muscled form standing before her. "Are you here for orders?"
"Yes, Sergeant," Rico replied, returning the salute. "Lieutenant John Rico, Force Recon Company Alfa, of the Sixth Mobile Infantry Division."
"Come on in, Lieutenant," the sergeant said, beckoning Rico to follow her. "Colonel Henry will speak with you."
Colonel Jonathan Henry looked up from his desk when the sergeant escorted Lt. Rico into his office. He let his hand replacement, a clunky, mechanical prosthetic applied when the real thing had been chewed off by a bug years back, slam onto his desk with a metallic thwack. Henry was slow to get onto his feet to greet the lieutenant, because his right leg was also fitted with a bionic replacement.
Rico stood stiffly at attention and saluted his superior, relaxing when Henry nodded at him and offered the prosthetic hand to shake. The officers traded an awkward handshake before both sat down.
Colonel Henry brought up Rico's unit information and personnel file on his desktop workstation, smiling lopsidedly as he read the notations in his record. After a few moments of reading, the colonel nodded and looked at Rico, who sat patiently across from him.
"Well, well, your company was the infamous Roughnecks, Mister Rico," Henry said. "The boys who went tear-assing into Bug City and somehow chased the first captured brain bug into our patrols."
"We were rescuing a pair of fleet pilots whose life pod went down in enemy territory," Rico said as if to correct Henry's record.
"Yes, which was going off mission, and a punishable offense doing so without permission. So was splitting your company to accomplish the rescue. But, Mister Rico, there is such a thing as serendipity in warfare. You did what you did because you are human. You went to help your fellow man... er... woman, as it were. You also had the dumb luck to stumble on the brain, nuke the hell out of its escorts, and get away clean. The end justified the means, and your friend in Games & Theory made sure that you weren't set up for a court-martial for it."
"Yes, sir," Rico agreed.
"The Army really likes go-getters like you, Rico. You and your company are what help us win wars. It's my pleasure to advise you that you and your people have earned their citizenship through their heroism and self-sacrifice. You could all ship back to Tereshkova Station on a supply vessel and go back to your homes on Earth, or wherever. You could call this war a vague memory, if you want."
"We could, until the bugs invade again. Until they launch more meteors at Earth and lay waste to another city like Buenos Aires," Rico mumbled.
"That's right. And that's why most of us stay. We'd rather keep going out here, where we can stop the bugs before they kill our families and friends."
"I can't speak for the rest of my company, but I don't think I'll go back just yet," Rico said.
Colonel Henry rapped his mechanical fingers on the desk. "That's good to hear. You're still a whole man, and the files say you're a good leader. We can use you. If enough of your company's veterans would like to stay on, then I have something here that just might interest you."
"We're part of the Sixth Division's Recon Battalion," Rico said. "Wouldn't they be expecting us back on Klendathu soon?"
"Says here your Alfa Force Recon Company was relieved from the Sixth Division when you boarded the APU," Henry replied. "What our proposal is, is to put you and your key leaders back through OCS, to train you to lead according to UCF's way. We'll feed you the choice replacements, mainly cadre veterans from other units, until your company is up to TO&E strength. Then, we'll train you as a unit to work even better together. We'll train you to take on missions and kick bug ass without having a whole Mobile Infantry division behind you."
"Are you talking Special Forces?" Rico asked.
"That's what I'm saying, Lieutenant. You will be promoted to Brevet Captain, since you'll stay in charge of Roughneck Company, and you'll get to pick your XO, staff and platoon leaders. Then, it's off to get your people trained in everything from battlesuit operations to commando tactics. Are you game?"
"As I said, I can't speak for my people," Rico said, getting to his feet. "But, I'll put it to them. We'll get back to you, sir."
The two officers traded salutes once more. "Don't take too long to think about it, Lieutenant Rico. The war effort needs you, if you're willing to stay."
***
To be continued...
Fleet Battle Station Ticonderoga
Five days after the Battle of Bug City