Chapter 5

Danny was already waiting in the refectory when I arrived, but it looked like he'd only just got there as his cup of coffee was still full and steaming.

"Hi Danny, thanks for coming," I held my hand out.

Danny gripped it tightly. "That's okay son, glad to help. Get a coffee then we'll sit and talk."

I nodded and a few minutes later we were sat off to one side of the refectory, away from where the few people were coming in and out.

We chatted generally for a few minutes, just talking about life on board, before Danny asked a question that for a moment had me gasping.

"How did Roger lose his leg? Do you know?" asked Danny.

I looked at him. "Don't," I said, shaking my finger at him, "for god's sake, ask him about it. He may not be quite as angry now he's got it back again, but don't bet on it. A few months ago he might have ripped your heart out."

Danny looked shocked. "Why?"

"He doesn't talk about it much, so I can't now remember whether it was in Iraq or Afghanistan. He was a Lieutenant in the Royal Artillery, and they were stationed in one or the other sometime in the early two thousands. Oh three or oh four I think. He was in a small convoy of British Army vehicles, all of which had huge Union Jacks painted on the roof. You can probably imagine his surprise and anger when he was attacked by an A10 flown by a US pilot of your Air National Guard. Two of his men were killed, and three were wounded. Dad lost his leg yet was the least wounded. The US military refused to identify the pilot, and it was the British press that finally embarrassed the US military into admitting that maybe their procedures were inadequate. He's never forgiven the US military in general, though he has no animosity towards that pilot, just thinks he's a coward for not coming forward and admitting his mistake. Roger's always accepted that mistakes happen, especially in war. Errors happen, and the only way to reduce the chances of them happening again is to admit those mistakes and learn from them. His issue was that no one in the US was prepared to stand up and say that. Even just to say sorry. I don't know how, but they blamed the UK troops for the fault." I waved my hands in frustration. "There's pictures taken at the time. You can't miss the fucking flag. It was too fucking big to miss. How the fucking hell they can blame the ground troops fuck knows."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry."

I interrupted him. "Don't be. It's not your fault, nor your problem, and never was. That man is probably long since retired, and it's the political and military hierarchy above him Dad really has issues with. Or had, anyway." I took a deep breath and calmed myself down.

"It's not really a good excuse," added Danny, "but the Air Force has never been happy doing air-to-mud operations. They hate it that the Navy and the Marine Corps have their own fixed wing aircraft. They think they should all belong to them, but are more interested in air to air combat ops anyway. Marine pilots on the other hand, as well as, though to a lesser extent, Navy pilots are very good at air to mud ops. If it had been a Marine pilot, it wouldn't have happened."

I just shrugged. "Well, whatever. It's old history now."

Danny nodded and we changed subject.

"I've not really had chance to do much sleep training on the military set up yet, and what I have done has confused me slightly. I could ask Roger, because he used to be in the Royal Artillery, but I'm guessing that the Confederacy would be different anyway. Can you give me some idea of how many people are in a platoon or troop, or whatever you call them."

Danny frowned. "Depending upon the various units, there's both troops and platoons, and squads and sections and fire teams, and other size units as well. What exactly is it you want?"

"I suppose just a general idea of how many men or women are in each unit, and who they're commanded by. Just the lower level of the command structure anyway. From captain or major downwards."

"Hmm. Well first thing to understand is that there is no such rank as captain any more. It is a title not a rank, and the only people allowed to use it are those in command of a star-ship. There's also the problem that at the moment we are still ironing out the command structure. What you need to understand is that it was the US Marine Corps who were the first to be directly approached by the Confederacy, by the Darjee or at least their AI's, so initially everything was based on that command structure. Unfortunately it wasn't very useful when we started getting troops from other branches of the military, and other militaries such as the Brits, the Canadians, even the Spanish, Germans, Ruskies and Chinks. At the moment there is no uniform command structure, and it's unclear how long that might remain so."

"Is it likely to change? Or likely to become standardised?"

"We hope so. Navy ranks are the most settled at the moment, but that's partly because the three top navy admirals are refusing to have anything to do with what the marines want, and instead have managed to stream-line the Navy ranks slightly, combining it with a little bit of Royal Navy. Substantially all they've done is something your Navy has been talking about for years, but never actually got around to doing, and that's dropping the rank of captain and turning it into a title. The Marines don't want to get rid of that rank, but it looks like they might have to. After that it's anyone's guess."

"So what does it look like now?"

Danny laughed. "A mess." I smiled and he continued. "The unit I belong to currently does have someone with a rank of captain, but he's likely to have to change, whether to lieutenant or to major I'm not certain."

"Do you currently have a major?"

"I think so, yeah."

"In that case I suspect that the captain may end up moving down to a lieutenant."

Danny grinned. "He's not gonna like that. An' I'm not sure we will either."

"Oh?"

Danny just shook his head. "Also, 'cause he's ex Bundeswehr: German army, and worked closely with both the Brits and the Danes, I think it was, or maybe the Poles?" Danny frowned in thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Whatever. But he's changed things in ways I'm not keen on. Maybe it's how the Bundeswehr worked, but it's not how we worked."

"Oh?" I asked again.

"I'll explain as I go through the basic structure."

"Oh, okay. So go on, give me some numbers."

"Well, you've gotta understand, it varies a hell of a lot." He sighed for a moment. "I'm a corporal. I'm in charge of a squad of ten men, split into two fire-teams of five, a Lance-Corporal and four privates. That's unusual in and of itself. A fire team in the US military is normally four men, not five, and I as corporal would have been in charge of one of them. Here I have two lance-corporals and eight privates, whereas I'm used to having one lance and six privates. I hate it. I don't think it works in combat, though I have to say that in the pickup role it seems to work." He shrugged. "In our platoon there's normally four sections, three infantry sections like mine, plus a heavy weapons section. A platoon is commanded by a lieutenant or second lieutenant, with a sergeant as his second in command, and a couple of other men." Danny shook his head, a hint of irritation on his face. "This is where our captain has made yet more changes I don't like. Our platoon sergeant was a staff sergeant E-6, which basically means between a sergeant E-5 and a gunnery sergeant E-7. Above that there is, or rather was, a master sergeant E-8 and a sergeant major E-9. The Captain's got rid of the staff sergeant, E-6, and the master sergeant E-8, in both cases he's reduced them by one step to E-5 and E-7. He wanted to get rid of the Gunnery Sergeant as well, but you'd be surprised just how much opposition he got to that. From all ranks. So he's officially kept it, he just doesn't have one, or in fact any of the other sergeant ranks. They're all just 'sergeants'."

"E-8? What do you mean E-8 and E-9 and the others?"

"Ohhh. That's just the pay grade basically. The 'E' means enlisted, the number then is the actual grade. E-1 is a private, E-2 is a PFC, up to E-9 which would be a sergeant major."

"Oh. I see. I think." I gave a wry smile. "Is there some reason for that?"

"Not really, no. But it does mean that a seaman or airman who is on the equivalent grade or rate would also be on the same pay scale."

"Ah. Okay. So I guess there's an equivalent grading system for officers?"

Danny shrugged. "I would imagine so. And because it was a NATO designation, a Brit. brigadier general and an American brigadier general will basically be the same, because the grades are common across most of the old NATO countries."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Yeah?" Then I remembered something my father had told me a few years earlier. I grinned. "Not quite right," I laughed. "You've managed to pick the one rank where that's not necessarily true."

Danny looked surprised. "Oh?"

"We don't have brigadier generals in the British Army, they are brigadiers."

"Oh that's just names," Danny waved his hand dismissively.

"Ahh but," I said with a grin. "In your military, a brigadier is a one star general, yes?"

He nodded warily.

"That would make the colonel the most senior of the field ranks?"

"Yeah?"

"In the British army a brigadier is classed as a field officer rather than a general officer."

"It is?" He shook his head slightly. "He is?"

I nodded. "I remember Dad telling me about it a few years ago. He was telling me about some US brigadier general who didn't know there was no difference in actual rank between him and a British brigadier, telling off some new British second lieutenant who didn't know that the American officer should have been addressed as brigadier general not just brigadier." I grinned. "I can't remember the details now. Roger'll know them if you're interested."

"Not really, no," said Danny slowly.

"No, probably not." I grinned. "Anyway back to what we were talking about. How does a squad relate to a section?"

"Same thing. Just different names."

"Ahhhh," I said. "In that case, by my calculation that means forty-six people in a platoon?"

"Er," Danny thought for a moment. "Yeah, probably. Can vary. In most platoons a fire team will be only four people, a lance corporal and three. There's usually four squads, sometimes called sections, but there may also be three or five. Depends on the role of the company or battalion as a whole, and to a certain extent the officers in charge."

"Ah. Okay. What about your sergeants? I'm fascinated by this change your captain has made."

Danny just shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands.

"So how does anyone know the difference?" I asked, "if they're all just sergeant's."

"Huh," Danny grumped. "The people that need to know do. He's kept the rank insignia, and on the paperwork the various sergeants are E-5's, E-7's and E-9's, with the original rank insignia and responsibilities, they're just all referred to as sergeant."

He paused again. "Here's something else he's changed. I used to have privates, and PFC's, now I just have privates."

"Oh. You mentioned a PFC earlier. What's a PFC?"

"Private First Class. It's a time-in-service promotion from private, but our captain doesn't like all these extra ranks. He sees them as unnecessary, I see them as a way of rewarding the troops for doing dangerous work, or for doing specific tasks or having specific responsibilities." He waved his hand dismissively. "However. I'm calling them all PFC's. I know it irritates him, but because they're all the same rank, he leaves me alone."

"I'm pretty certain there never was such thing as a PFC in the British army."

Danny shrugged. "So anyway, that's how this platoon is nominally organised, however for pickups we're organised slightly different. The two fire teams are treated as a single squad, with one of the lance corporals left onboard the ship to coordinate this end, along with the platoon sergeant and the second luey. For a small pickup, the corporal is then in sole charge, with his remaining lance corporal as his deputy. For a larger pickup all three squads will go together, along with the sergeant in overall charge. In a combat situation we'll usually have a fourth squad with us as a heavy weapons squad, but for pickups we don't."

"What happens to them?"

"The heavy-weapons squad?"

I nodded.

"Depends. They may be detached to become just another pickup squad, maybe specialising in the more awkward pickups, or they may by subsumed into the existing squads to make up for injuries or other casualties. In our case, the heavy weapons squad got detached to another platoon that was going back to the front line."

"That's a bit unfair," I exclaimed. "Don't they get a chance to have a rest?"

Danny gave a snort of derision. "Rest!" He exclaimed. "Most of us would rather be on the front line than doing pickups. At least we know what the Dickheads are gonna do. They're pretty single-minded killing machines. Fuck knows what some ass is gonna do if we do a pick-up and we're not paying attention. This is only my third tour of extractions. I've not lost anyone yet, but there's been a couple of nasty injuries. I think we've been lucky this time simply 'cause you Brits don't carry guns. You seem to carry more knives than is usually found in the States, but half the time you don't know how to use them either." He rubbed his left forearm ruefully. "Unfortunately, sometimes you do know how to use them."

I smiled. "Okay. Is that organisation pretty average?"

"Pretty much so. The exact ranks of the person in charge of each fire team or squad may be different. Going upwards, there's generally three platoons in a company, plus an HQ section. A company is currently commanded by a captain or lieutenant, though that's looking like it's gonna hafta change. The sergeant in charge of the HQ section is the senior sergeant in the company, he or in our case she, should be a master sergeant, but instead she's just another sergeant, but with different rank insignia." Suddenly his eyes moved to look behind me and he smiled broadly.

I turned to see a stunningly beautiful black woman striding towards us.

The two touched fists briefly, the limit of their public show of affection. This was obviously his wife.

"News," she said, just as I leaned my chin on my hands and gazed at her.

"Ah," I said. "It all makes sense now."

"Sense? What does?" asked Danny.

"You and your missus. I think I'm in love." I turned my eyes to his and grinned.

He just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Idiot," muttered the new arrival, but with a half smile. Most women, in my admittedly limited experience, like to be thought of as beautiful.

"Joan, Lew, Lew, Joan," Danny introduced us. I stood and shook hands with her, as she stood, smiling at me.

"Lew, that's not your actual name is it," said Joan, asking the question as a statement.

I grinned and sat back down again. "Actually Llewelyn, but if you're not Welsh, you'll probably have some difficulty pronouncing it. I'll live with Lew."

She returned my grin and sat, before repeating my name, pronouncing it perfectly. "Ten minutes in the sleep pod," she laughed at my startled expression.

"Ah. Shoulda thought o' that meself," groaned Danny, leaning forwards and tapping his forehead lightly on the table.

I laughed with them. "Hey," I said, "I didn't think of it either."

"You said news?" asked Danny.

"The captain. His rank's just been changed."

"Up or down?"

"Neither. He's now a commander."

"But that's a navy rank," I burst out.

Joan looked at me and nodded. "Captain's gone. It's a title now, not a rank. So in the navy you could be a lieutenant, a lieutenant commander, or a commander, or even a," she paused and frowned for a moment before continuing, "commodore, and if you're in charge of the ship, you are a captain as well as your other rank."

"And if you were already a captain?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I'm not navy, and I'm not high enough to worry."

"But that's just changed the problem, not removed it. Before hand it was the rank of captain that was inconsistent, now it's the commander," I protested, "how are they going the square that one?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Joan told me, "but I believe the Navy are having to amend their lower rank structures anyway. As I understand it, someone has taken the point that these are space-craft, not space-ships, and that logically they are closer to aircraft than surface ships. Maybe they are going to use airforce rankings."

I laughed. "Royal Air Force ranks and insignia are based on the Royal Navy anyway. So even if they go airforce, if they went RAF they'd still end up with closer to Navy than Army or Marines."

Joan looked at me in surprise. "They are? Oh well, you live and learn."

I had a sudden thought. Looking at Danny, I indicated Joan. "Your master sergeant?"

Danny looked startled, then grinned, shaking his head. "Corporal, like me."

Joan also smiled. "What he won't tell you," she chuckled, "is that I was his corporal for a while, until he got a promotion. He was ribbed a bit, weren't you poppet."

Danny ground his teeth. "Don't call me 'poppet'," he grunted.

Joan and I both smiled at his irritation.

"Anything else?" asked Danny stiffly.

"There's strong talk the second luey rank looks like it might be changed to ensign."

"Uh huh," nodded Danny. "That was signalled a couple of months ago, and sort of expected."

Joan nodded and briefly glanced sideways at me.

"Jimmy's got CAP'ed. He's now a sponsor."

Danny gaped for a moment and then grinned. "Oh that's wonderful. And Janie?"

Joan shook her head. "I think you're the only one who didn't know she never would get CAP'ed up."

"Ah," Danny frowned, obviously disappointed.

"On the other hand," said Joan with a slight smile, "it would appear that by now both Janie and Susie are ten weeks pregnant, and Ali is four weeks pregnant." She paused for a moment. "Ah, add three weeks to that, this note is three weeks old."

"Jimmy's got em all pregnant?"

"Accordin' to the note, two are yours. He did get my sister Ali pregnant though. She will be seven weeks gone now."

Danny gave a short laugh, and then his eyes went wide with realisation, quickly followed by a gasp, his smile fading somewhat.