First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (12 page)

As soon as we had finished cleaning the range, we were marched back outside and back down to the barracks.  Somewhat to my disappointment, Viper was still with us, alone and isolated as always.  I might have felt sorry for him, if he’d tried; I wouldn’t have cared if he hadn't wanted to talk with us, if he had pulled his weight.  But he wasn't even trying ...

Professor was weak, when he started
, I thought, as we lined up in front of the Drill Instructors. 
But he worked hard and overcame his weaknesses
.

“You have all completed your exams,” Bainbridge said.  “I trust you enjoyed yourselves?”

“NO, SIR,” we shouted.

“Good,” Bainbridge said.  “You all passed the first set of tests.  We will be talking to some of you individually about your answers, over the next couple of days, but the important detail is that you passed.  You haven't managed to
quite
embarrass us.”

We cheered, loudly.  None of us would have dared
to
deliberately
embarrass the Drill Instructors.  We might have been the freshman platoon, the maggots who only just got off the shuttle, but we were trying.  Even
Viper
had passed ... my heart sank as I realised we were going to have to put up with him for at least another month or two.  Unless he quit, of course, but I had the impression that quitting (for him) was worse than being recycled.  I knew how he felt, yet surely he could put in more effort?

“You are expected to review the details of the
next
phase of training this evening, in your free hour,” Bainbridge continued.  “You will not be expected to make up any exercise routines this evening, unless you want to make your way to the shooting range and fire off some more rounds.  Guptill will be on duty until 2000; report to him, draw ammunition and blow some targets away.”

It was a tiny reward, by civilian standards, but it meant a hell of a lot to us.  If nothing else, it was a quiet acknowledgement that we'd proved ourselves competent to handle our weapons without three Drill Instructors looming over our shoulders at all times.  An hour of actual free time ...?  I agonised backwards and forwards over what I’d do with it, once I’d read through the details of phase two.  (I knew better than to think we hadn't been
ordered
to read the details.)  It wasn't as if I had anyone to write to ...

“One other thing,” Bainbridge said, softly.  I tensed.  A soft voice meant trouble.  “Next week, there will be a new intake platoon, a new set of maggots.  You will be expected to assist in training them, as your seniors assisted you.  Be professional or spend hours working it off in the pit.”

“I’m going to be writing to my family,” Joker said, as we relaxed.  “Tell them all about passing the first waypoint.”

I grinned, despite feeling alone.  We were one step closer to becoming marines - and, perhaps, we would never be civilians again.  Not really.  Even if I went back now, I wouldn’t be a true civilian.  The learned helplessness that had overshadowed my life on Earth was gone.

“I don’t have anyone to write to,” I confessed.  “You guys are my family now.”

“Then write to one of us,” Joker said.  “Dear Joker; today I did five hundred push-ups and thought myself lucky.  Your friend, Stalker.”

Professor leaned over.  “No friends or family at all?”

“My family is dead,” I said, tartly.  The idea of writing to anyone else back home was absurd, really.  I had never had any real friends, nor - unlike several of the recruits - had I left a girl behind, waiting for me.  (Most of those girls moved on before the recruits finished Boot Camp.)  “I have no one else at all.”

“Well, at least you have us,” Joker said.  He smirked.  “I suppose you could always write to my sister.  I’d have to beat the crap out of you for
daring
to write to my sister, of course, but you could write to her.”

“Oh, shut up,” I said.

Chapter Twelve

The sensation of being isolated from one’s family and friends is one of the most difficult problems to overcome at Boot Camp.  A recruit may write to his family, if he has time, but he will almost certainly not be able to call them in real-time or record video messages for them; he certainly won't be allowed to receive them.  This helps to break the links between civilian and military life - recruits are only expected to meet their families after they graduate, thus keeping their training firmly in place - but it also leads to homesickness, depression and other psychological problems.  It is quite rare for a recruit to not feel at least a flicker of homesickness during his first week, no matter what the Drill Instructors do.

-Professor Leo Caesius

I couldn't help a thrill of anticipation as we marched away from the maggot training grounds - where we had been training for the last month - and into the field training ground.  We might be wearing webbing that would sound the alert if we were hit, we might be slipping and sliding our way through the muddy ground, but I still felt excited.  And why not?  We were going to have a chance to put all of our training to the test for the first time.

“Welcome to Hellhole,” Bainbridge announced, as we marched past the border fence.  “You can go anywhere inside the border, but trying to cross the border without authorisation will be considered cheating.  And
no
, you’re
not
allowed to shove someone over the border.  This is a realistic combat training exercise, not an scaled-up version of Circle.”

He led us on a long march that took us right through Hellhole (actually, quite a few training grounds were called Hellhole, Shithole or some other less than pleasant designation).  It was a small village, just like the one discussed in the exams, surrounded by woodland and - thankfully - completely deserted.  We inspected some of the buildings and discovered that the engineers had made them look
very
realistic, even including clothes in the drawers and food in the fridges.  The surrounding landscape looked odd; there were small streams running through the village - and bridges allowing people to cross from the road to their homes - and plenty of hedges and bushes.  Birds flew through the air and small animals rustled through the undergrowth, disturbed by our presence.  I couldn't help feeling nervous when I saw them, even though I was sure they were harmless; rats and cockroaches infested some of the CityBlocks, spreading diseases throughout the complex.  They’d told us that small animals could be eaten - and we
would
be eating them, when we started to test our survival training on long overnight marches - but I wasn't looking forward to it.

Bainbridge kept up a running commentary as we crossed the wider river on one side of the village, pointing out details that seemed completely irrelevant to us.  It wasn't until we actually began that I realised the village had been carefully designed to provide plenty of training opportunities, if we were prepared to take advantage of them.  The river, for example, might make an ideal place to slow an enemy advance ... if, of course, the enemy didn't try to ford the river away from the village.  And we could hide in the canals, if we wished; our bodies would be largely invulnerable if the enemy couldn't see them to take aim.

“The only objective here is to eliminate your opponents,” Bainbridge said.  “Any hits will be considered lethal; your webbing will start to flash red as soon as it records a hit and your training packs will be disarmed.  The victors will be the squad that has even a
single
remaining member, as long as the other two squads have been eliminated.  Do you understand me?”

“YES, SIR,” we bellowed.

“Good,” Bainbridge said.  “As soon as you are hit, walk out of the training ground and cross the border.  Do not do
anything
to assist your comrades, as you are counted as dead; make your way around to the entrance and wait there.  Failure to follow these orders will result in intensive punishment.  You will
not
get the opportunity to cheat on a real battlefield.”

And I thought that if we weren't cheating, we weren't trying
, I thought, a little resentfully.  I wasn't fool enough to ask that out loud.  He had a point; in a real battle, a wounded or dead marine wouldn't be able to point to the enemy positions or anything else that might be helpful.  Stretching the rules was one thing, breaking them outright was quite another.

“Squad One will deploy from the north,” Bainbridge said.  “Squad Two will deploy from the west.  Squad Three will deploy from the east.  Remember, the objective is not to take and hold territory, but to eliminate one’s enemies.  Staying where you are in the hopes the enemy will come to you is just plain stupid.”

And might cost us the chance to win
, I thought.  We’d been taught, time and time again, to take the offensive. 
But if we stayed where we started, we might see One and Three eliminate each other before we intervened and wiped out the victor.

I kept those thoughts to myself as Bainbridge smirked.  “If the exercise is declared terminated, which is signalled through a red flare, return to the entrance at once,” he added, darkly.  “There isn't a time limit, I’m afraid, but you really don’t want to bore us.”

I winced, inwardly, as Johnston marched us around to the western flag, marking our start point.  We’d have to crawl through the forest to reach the village, like Squad Three, while Squad One would have to cross the river.  The Drill Instructor said nothing as we had a brief discussion about tactics; Three might make it to the village at the same time as us, while One would have very real problems.  They’d have to cross on the sole bridge, or swim, or find a place to ford the river.

“We could always ford the river ourselves and take One up the butt,” Posh offered.  “Everyone is going to try to go to the village, aren't they?”

“There’s too little cover,” I countered.  The trees wouldn't stop real bullets - I’d seen machine guns at work - but the lasers we used for training would be stopped.  We could get away with using
very
flimsy cover.  “We’d be caught out in the open.”

“So will One, if they try to get across the river,” Joker said.  “They practically
have
to get to the village faster than everyone else.”

I recalled what I’d seen of the village’s layout.  “If we try to secure the bridge, Three will take
us
in the back,” I pointed out.  “What if we sneak up to the edge of the treeline and wait there?”

“They might be able to take the village and turn it into a strongpoint,” Professor said.

“If the village is clear,” Posh said, “we advance forward and secure it for ourselves.  If not, we can pick around the edges and weaken them, piece by piece.”

I groaned inwardly as the last minutes ticked away.  If we’d had real weapons - rifles, machine guns, grenades - the village might become a liability, rather than an asset.  But with training lasers, whoever got to the village first would have a very definite advantage.  One might need to get across the river before anyone else could set up a defence line, but us - and Three - needed to get to the village.  Anything else risked certain defeat.

We hammered out a basic plan - Viper said nothing, of course - just before a flare burst over the foliage.  It was time to move.  I dropped low, as I had been trained, and took point, advancing towards and through the forest.  It didn't seem likely that someone had jumped the gun and started before the flare gave the signal, but it
was
possible.  Would Johnston have stopped us sneaking through the forest or would he have applauded us for showing cunning in the face of the enemy?  I pushed that thought to the back of my mind as I kept moving forward, peering through the trees.  Was that something moving ahead of me ...?

I almost pulled the trigger as a shape moved, right in front of me.  The small grey creature - I learned later it was called a squirrel - ran up the side of a tree and vanished, while I nearly had a heart attack.  I had never seen anything quite like it ... I somehow managed to calm my beating heart and continue the advance.  Suddenly, sooner than I’d expected, the first houses came into view.  They looked ... nice, and empty.  I'd honestly never seen anything like them on Earth.

Bracing myself, I dropped to the ground and peered towards the river.  There was no sign of movement, but that meant nothing.  One and Three had the same training we had, after all, and they’d know to keep low as they advanced.  It was much - much - easier to spot someone running forward, standing up.  I almost gave the go-ahead signal, then froze as I saw four shapes advancing towards the river.  Moments later, I heard the sound of shooting.

Joker crawled up next to me.  “One must have run into Three,” he said.

I nodded in agreement, then signalled the squad forward.  One, trapped on the wrong side of the river, had decided to gamble.  They’d surrendered stealth in favour of speed, running towards the bridge as if the devil himself was after them.  I suspected, from what I was seeing, that Three had intended to secure the village and run right into One.  It was a stroke of luck for us, I decided, as I passed orders using hand signals.  If we were lucky, One and Three would weaken themselves significantly before we took a hand.

And then Viper opened fire.  I saw two recruits - both from Three, I thought - flash red as his lasers struck them, but the remainder dropped to the ground and returned fire in our direction.  The laser beams were invisible - bullets are invisible in flight too, no matter what you see in the flicks - yet we knew they were there.  I returned fire myself, trying to take out as many of the enemy as possible, but it was stalemate.  We were unable to advance.

“You fucking idiot,” Joker swore at Viper.  “You ...”

“Take Professor and Thug and move to the right,” I said.  Maybe I wasn't formally in charge - Johnston hadn't designated anyone to serve as commander - but
someone
had to do it.  “Posh, Bandit and I will move to the left.  Everyone else stays here and lays down covering fire.”

“Gotcha,” Joker said. 

Another round of shooting broke out as one of the enemy took possession of a house and turned it into a makeshift strongpoint.  Smartass’s webbing flashed red as he copped a hit; he swore loudly, rose to his feet and stamped off towards the exit.  I half-hoped he’d find a way to signal to us, yet I knew not to expect it.  Greater love hath no man for his friends who lays down his life in their defence, but asking someone to endure a chewing out from the Drill Instructors and umpteen thousand push-ups is a bit much.  Besides, trying to cheat so openly would only get him a black mark on his record. 

“Go,” I said.

The stay-behind group, including Viper, laid down covering fire with enthusiasm as the two flanking parties set off, hoping to get better firing positions.  It was probably more intimidating to have real bullets cracking through the air, smashing into branches and trees, but for the moment we weren't allowed to use live ammunition in exercises.  I kept my head low as I crawled forward, somehow no longer concerned about the mud staining my uniform; I wondered, vaguely, if it blocked the webbing, then decided it wasn't worth the risk of trying to test it.  Maybe I could send Viper forward instead ...

I smirked as I saw a group of wet recruits sneaking forward - One must have had a back-up plan, either swimming or fording the river - then nodded to Posh and Bandit.  We opened fire as one, catching them in a deadly crossfire.  I heard a number of swearwords I’d never heard before as their webbing flashed red, forcing them to stand up and head towards the entrance; I smirked nastily, then turned to crawl into the nearest house.  Bandit followed me, but made the mistake of allowing himself to be seen inside the house; someone saw him through the window and took a shot at him before he could get down.  His webbing flashed red and he had to leave. 

Stalemate
, I thought, as we took up firing positions.  The house provided protection, but we couldn't hope to cover every angle of approach.  I’d made the mistake of losing track of the rest of the squad.  For all I knew, Posh and I were the last ones still active. 
Now what
?

“We can't stay here,” Posh muttered.  “They can get in from any angle ...”

He was rapidly proved correct.  One of the enemy recruits had a far more tactical brain than myself.  His comrades forced us to keep our heads down while he scaled the side of the house and sneaked in through one of the upper windows.  We didn’t hear a thing over the noise of the rifles before he opened fire from the rear and hit Posh in the back.  I rolled over, half-convinced that he’d been shot through the window, too late.  My webbing flashed red a moment later, taking me out of the game.