Parker's Folly Read Online Free

Marine Lieutenant who would be in-charge of what was basically a PR mission.
    The squad Rodriguez had assembled was a sorry bunch: a Corporal, three Lance Corporals, and three Privates First Class. The number of PFCs was an indication of her charges' underachiever status. In the Corps all ranks below Corporal (E-4) were promoted at the company level. In theory, unit commanders decided who got promoted and who didn't. In practice, because there are no quotas for promotion to PFC (E-2) and LCpl (E-3), commanders pretty much promoted everyone after they meet the “promotion criteria,” essentially time in grade without screwing up.
    This meant that a newly minted Private should be a PFC six months after boot camp, and a LCpl after an additional nine. In fact, there were twice as many LCpls in the Corps as there were PFCs. This implied that these PFCs either screwed up or did not perform their duties in a satisfactory manner. Of course, the Gunny herself had not managed to qualify for one of the few open, highly competitive, E-8 slots.
    “Hey Gunny,” PFC Sanchez shouted from the rear of the compartment, interrupting the Gunny's train of thought. “How come we got rifles but no ammo on board?”
    “Because the Corps doesn't want one of you maggots shooting any civilians by mistake.” The thought of this squad of misfits running around with live ammo near a crowd of civilians gave her the willies.
    “Then why do we have to lug the rifles around?”
    Rodriguez gave him “the eye,” but the PFC continued to stare back with a puzzled look on his face. No wonder Sanchez was getting the boot, a Marine was expected to be a rifleman regardless of his MOS, military occupational specialty. As such, he was expected to grab his rifle, say “aye aye” and get on with it—not play 20 questions with his Sergeant.
    The Osprey's attitude shifted, signaling the beginning of their descent into Goodfellow, where they were to pick up one Lt. Ernest Merryweather. Merryweather was to command the non-aviation personnel for the duration of the airshow assignment. Rodriguez wondered what he had done wrong to be shanghaied into airshow duty. “All right, Marines. Listen up.”
    “We are about to land at Goodfellow Air Force Base. We will not be dismounting. I will exit the aircraft to report our status to Lt. Merryweather, who will be assuming command of this detachment for the duration of the operation. You will sit here until I return. Do not play with your weapons or yourselves. As soon as the LT is on board we will take off for Mathis Field.
    “Do not talk to the Lieutenant unless spoken to. When we get to the airshow we will exit the aircraft by the aft cargo ramp, fan out and form a perimeter. You will keep your weapons pointed at the ground. Do not under any circumstances point your weapon at the civilians or anyone else for that matter. Look sharp and remember that you are Marines. The Lieutenant is in command but your asses belong to me until we are back in Corpus Christie. Do you understand me?”
    The weak chorus of mumbled replies could barely be heard over the background noise.
    “I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”
    “YES, GUNNY!” came the reply, as the Marines sat up, eyes forward, as close to “attention” as they could come and remain seated.
    At least they still have Marine reflexes Rodriguez thought, when an NCO shouts at them they straighten up and sound off. Not that it mattered, in less than a week both she and her squad of misfits would be civilians. Oh well, one last goatfuck for the Corps—Oorah!
     

Parker Ranch, Upton County, Texas
    TK Parker was getting a status report from his Captain and First Officer, John “Jack” Sutton and Gretchen Curtis. Which is to say, he was leading them around the old converted airship hanger that housed his pride and joy, haranguing them to get things ready faster. It was difficult for Capt. Sutton and Lt. Curtis to keep up because Parker was riding in his custom electric