Stolen Valor

by Kal Spriggs

  “Where's the third?” Someone asked.

  “We need everyone,” another of the Flight noted. “Where's number three?”

  We moved as a group, backing away from the other Flight's wounded, who came to drag them away. Other groups were doing the same, I saw. I wondered if they'd hit us with quick heal again or if Jerral was done. That kick to the knee had been calculated and deliberate. Kiyu had known exactly what she was doing.

  Not that I could blame her. She was almost as tall as me and well-muscled, but she lacked the upper body strength of me or someone like Jerral. For that matter, if I knew how to fight a little better, I would have gone for an attack like that. Everything I’d learned of hand to hand fighting had been on the streets and most of that was just aggression, with little or no form to it.

  “Here!” Someone shouted. We hurried over and someone pulled the last of our flight out from under a tangle of moaning and unconscious entrants, right near the doors of the bays, where the fighting had been the most chaotic.

  We hurried inside, forming up, the wounded managing to stand mostly on their own, all but our last, who hung between two of us.

  “Your lesson for the day,” Richardson told us, “You are only as strong as the weakest among you.” He pointed at the boxes of rations. “You need to work together and stay together. Trust is your ally. Teamwork is what will win you your goals.”

  There were two boxes of rations there. I could do the math easily enough. Twelve meals per -box, two boxes. There were twenty-four meals for thirty-six of us... and the instructors had put out two meals per entrant. We had come away from this with less than half of the supplies we should have.

  “Your first class with me begins here in ten minutes,” he told us. “I expect you to eat, clean up, and dispose of your trash in that time. If any of you goes without food, then all of you will go without food. That includes your injured.”

  His gaze was harsh as he stared at us, “Dismissed, Entrants.”

  ***

  Chapter 5: That’s Me, Mister Popularity

  Ten minutes later, we were formed up. We had split the meals off between us, dividing the partial meals as evenly as we could. I'd ended up with some dried biscuits and some kind of meat gravy with rice. I'd only eaten the biscuits, seeing as I'd have to make the food last until the next day. Some of our flight had devoured all their food right away, though. I wasn't sure if that was because they were that hungry, if they weren't thinking ahead, or if they knew something that I didn't.

  “Jade Flight,” Richardson began, “our course of instruction for the remainder of the morning is going to be on the nature of the role of officers.” He looked around at us. “Officers are planners. Officers are leaders. Officers enable the people under them to execute orders with speed, violence, and disciplined initiative.” He paced back and forth as he spoke, looking at us, standing at ease in a formation in front of him.

  I listened, not really sure where he was going with this. I didn't know how the Drakkus Empire's military worked. I had initially assumed that they were some kind of conscript-heavy force, but I'd learned that they only took volunteers and that service was the only way to get into the nicer parts of their cities and presumably better jobs and lives as well.

  I had never before heard the term “disciplined initiative.” It seemed like a contradiction of terms. Part of what really worried me was how much it felt like Century's Planetary Militia had underestimated the Drakkus Empire. I mean, we thought of them as a haven for pirates, drug smugglers, and slavers. The idea that their military could really be all that capable seemed backwards.

  “You will learn that here, you must be able to adapt,” Richardson went on. “More than that, you must be willing to adapt your plans on the fly. War is a constant state of flux. Some other military traditions adopt plans and counter-plans, actions taken to interrupt the enemy's decisions.” He looked around, “The Drakkus Imperial Space Korps does not follow that tradition. Combat, ground and space, is too chaotic to fully control. It happens too fast and decisions need to be made by commanders and leaders and sometimes even lower enlisted, at the lower levels. Commanding officers get their forces into position to do their jobs and then, they too, must adapt to the chaos, all within the structure of the engagement.”

  That didn't sound like a military strategy to me, it sounded like a mob or something. I knew that bigger ships utilized engagement formations. Destroyers and corvettes massed their firepower to take down larger ships. Cruisers, battlecruisers, and battleships varied positions in a formation to minimize engagement time by enemy weapons, in theory alternating what ships took hits on their warp drive fields. Granted, Century only had the one cruiser and we didn't have anything larger than that. Nor, for that matter, did we have all that many destroyers.

  “What you will learn here is to give directives and intent which are as important as the orders themselves. Do not be restrictive. Not unless there are things which you desire to constrain your personnel,” Richardson looked around at all of us. “When you do constrain your personnel, expect total obedience. The consequences for violating orders are severe. Battles have been lost because important details were overlooked. You will learn to monitor these important details as well. War is not a place for a brute who lacks understanding of subtlety.” He had heavy derision in his voice as he said that and I couldn't fight the impression that he thought very little of some of us.

  “Whether you are ordered to capture a particular set of prisoners alive,” I didn't miss how he looked over at me, no doubt knowing the details of Vars' mission on Century to capture my parents, “or you are told to retrieve particular information from an informant,” his gaze went over to Princess Kiyu. “Achieving the details of your assignment is the key. Failure can be catastrophic to the Empire. Failure will not be tolerated.”

  He looked around at the entire group, “That is not to say that you will lack latitude to act. Most often we are given orders and intent, the methods of achieving those orders are left to us. Never forget that brute force and violence should be the last resort.” He gave a slight smile, “Perhaps if you and your fellow flights had considered that, you all might have two meals presently.”

  Well... hock, I thought to myself. That sure would have been easier than fighting everyone. Could we trust the other Flights? At least, initially, I didn't see why not. Maybe that was something to think about.

  “When you do resort to violence, make it swift, make it sudden, and use all that is necessary to achieve your mission,” Richardson went on. “It is better to crush an opponent utterly than to give them sufficient ability to recover and oppose you in the future.”

  “Never forget, however, that we serve the Emperor and the Empire,” he paused. “It is a heavy duty to bear. At times, you may feel you are doing terrible things or allied with horrible people. We do allow pirates and slavers to base out of our world.” His gaze came back to me. “Some of them may even come to serve among you.” I felt others in my Flight darting looks at me.

  “But remember that humanity is weak. Flawed. They need strong leadership and guidance. The pirates and other scum that terrorize our enemies are but another tool. They weaken our foes so that the Drakkus Imperial Space Korps can dominate them. They are the dagger in the gut while we are the sword that takes their head. The quicker their system defenses fall, the sooner their people can be brought under our Empire. The misery and suffering now is a path to their redemption and growth. Drakkus is a strong world. The Heart of Drakkus is the greatest city in human space. The cities and colonies we have built in the Oberon, Tenure, and Regency systems rise up to the skies. Their people are joining with ours, strengthening the Space Korps, strengthening our Empire. The worlds that join under the Empire are wealthier, their citizens will live longer and more productive lives.”

  “Greatness awaits our people. The Drakkus Empire is only going to grow stronger and we will be that strength,” He finished the last on a rising note. “We serve Empe
ror Drakkan, we serve the Empire, we serve Drakkus. Long live the Emperor!”

  We snapped to attention, “Long live the Emperor!”

  A part of me wanted to mutter something derogatory, just to fight the message, but I didn't dare. They had to be monitoring our every move. Still, as I looked around at the bright-eyed enthusiasm, possibly even fanaticism from my companions, I had a very nervous feeling about where this was all headed. Not just at the school, but throughout human space.

  At least, I told myself, if they get too aggressive, maybe the Guard will get involved. But that feeling didn't bring me as much peace of mind as I might have hoped.

  ***

  “Alright you gutter scum,” A drill instructor snarled at us. “We're going to begin training on use of your exosuits.”

  I'd gathered that much just from the fact that they'd had us form up wearing them, but I kept my mouth shut.

  “The Kavacha Mark Five is the most advanced exosuit you're going to find in use anywhere,” he snapped. “The suits you're in can shrug off normal rifle hits up to twenty-five millimeter rounds from GMARs in use by the Guard Marine Corps.” He gave us a smile, “That's not to say you are invulnerable. Enough firepower or enough accurate firepower can still hit weak points in your armor. Antivehicular weapons in use by some of the insurgents on Oberon can crack the carapace. High explosives can pulp your fragile little bodies inside the suits. I've seen them open one of these and nothing but a red sludge pours out.”

  He let that sink in. “You're not invulnerable. The Kavacha Mark Five is just a tool. Just as your TBA-2's are tools. But if you learn to use it properly, it will guard and protect you far better than anything anyone else wears.” He grimaced, “Not that you lot show much potential in that department. Our first task will be walking. Then we'll learn to run. Then, entrants, things will start to get fun.”

  I was somehow certain I'd have a different idea of the word fun, but far be it for me to argue with him.

  “The thing to remember is the Kavacha Mark Five amplifies your movement. So… every step you take, every move you make, the suit will be there. So, entrants, let us take our first steps.”

  He spread us out and then we began with simple steps. It was remarkably easy to walk. As he had told us, the suits amplified our movements, so each stride was there, but a single stride in the tall suit also took me much further than expected. Also, the Kavacha Mark V had a lot more mass behind it than a normal person. Three strides at a relatively slow walk covered five meters and stopping at three strides threw off my balance. The first thing I did was fling out my arms to catch myself and I wasn't the only one.

  Only the exosuit's arms weighed over forty kilos each, so when I swung them, it didn't help correct me, it just threw off my balance even more.

  Imagine the sound of five hundred kilos of armor slamming into the ground at a slow-motion fall. Now be inside that armor. I rattled my brain a bit as I fell back. I wasn't the only one.

  Smooth, Shadow whispered in my ear.

  Do you want to do this? I demanded of her.

  Sure, can I take over?

  I didn't answer her.

  “On your feet, entrants!” Our drill instructor bellowed. I wasn't the only one to have fallen, not by a long shot. Of the thirty of us, well over half had fallen.

  I slowly, carefully, climbed to my feet. He looked around at us with disdain. “Now, turn around and walk three steps forward, again.”

  We did so. This time the speed of the three steps didn't throw me off as much and I only swayed instead of falling. About half the group still fell and the rattle and clang of the big heavy suits striking the hard, concrete floor echoed around the training room.

  “And again!” He bellowed.

  Three steps, I told myself.

  We kept at it. After the first few minutes, we progressed to a jog. Moving in the armor was easy, but it was deceptively easy. Our legs were still working, our bodies were still going through the efforts. When we jogged, the armor might help our stride to cover a longer distance, that didn't change the fact that we jogged.

  And jogging along at thirty kilometers an hour wearing five hundred kilograms of armor meant we really had to be mindful of our path and looking ahead. The exosuits provided some sensory equivalents through our implants. It told me where my “feet” were in relation to the ground, where my “hands” were. The sensors fed me information on the world around me, too, but starting out, I immediately felt disconnected from everything... and getting even the slightest thing wrong often meant breaking something, crashing into something, or generally looking like an incompetent idiot.

  “Entrant Vars, if you slam into one more wall, I'm going to pull you out of that suit and start beating you!” A drill instructor bellowed as I bounced off the edge of a doorway, careened off the wall of the corridor, and then bounced along the floor for a dozen meters or so. He won't have to, I thought dully as I picked myself up. I felt the impacts of those hits. They weren't individually that bad, but they added up and after four or five collisions, I was more than a little rattled.

  I climbed to my feet and jogged on, falling in with my Flight. Princess Kiyu was just ahead of me now, jogging along as if this were something she did every day. She probably has had the opportunity to practice before coming here, Shadow reminded me, the spoiled brat.

  I couldn't argue with the logic of the first part. She's not spoiled, she--

  Duck, Shadow interrupted me.

  I barely ducked in time as I bounced a bit too high and nearly clipped the top part of a doorway. Behind me, I heard someone else slam into it. “Osmund! Are you blind, entrant!” A drill instructor shouted.

  I heard a rumble and clatter as Osmund's Kavacha tumbled and bounced in the corridor behind me, but I didn't have time to look back. I'd just come out on the parade ground and now we weren't just running by ourselves. Other Flights were there already and more were coming out of other passages.

  Some of those groups were doing far more acrobatic things than jogging. Shadow spun off part of my attention so I could watch a Flight as they did leaping flips, starting at the front of their line and going all the way to the back as they jogged along. Another group had begun doing some kind of leapfrog maneuver, each suit bounding over the one in front of it, starting at the back and moving all the way to the front.

  Other groups seemed to be having more issues, with one entire Flight taking single steps, numerous entrants falling in the attempt.

  Our drill instructors jogged us right through and then into another set of tunnels. “Stairs ahead!” Someone shouted. I bit back a curse.

  Going up stairs sized for normal people was more than a pain. We basically had one or two options, either trying to hit a couple of the stair treads on the way up or bounding up an entire flight. But on curving spiral staircases, that wasn't an option, and even when it was, landing the footing without skidding out or losing my balance was the hardest part. Even just leaping in a straight line was hard enough. Every little bit that I was off in my jump, the suit amplified, meaning if I didn't jump exactly straight, the error was enough to slam me into the wall mid-air. Interfacing with my implant, I could counteract that a bit.

  It wasn't enough, though, not all the time.

  I was almost at the top of the third flight of stairs when I misjudged the distance to the next landing and bounced off the ceiling above me, slammed into the stairs, and then started a rolling slide backwards. I heard shouting as entrants behind me tried to avoid my tumbling body.

  Many of them were successful. Some were not. A pile of us tumbled all the way down, a rolling pile of powered armor, all collecting at the bottom of the long staircase.

  “Vars!” A drill instructor bellowed, “You are failing. You are failing your flight, do you know what that means?!”

  “Sir, no sir!” I bellowed as I clambered to my feet, trying to stop the world from spinning.

  “That means you're at the back! So next time you screw up, it will only
be yourself that pays the price. Everyone else, move!”

  I waited as the rest of my flight ran up the stairs. Most of them were making it on the first try. Some of them, like me, were not.

  As I waited, Jonna ended up paused next to me, her armor's green paint far less scuffed than mine. She was waiting for Bahn, who had managed almost as impressive a fall as me, to get untangled from two other entrants. “You're going to get yourself killed, Vars, if you keep muscling this. Use your implant, look ahead. Stop stumbling around like a drunken vross.”

  “Thanks,” I told her. Then I remembered I was supposed to be Vars, the back-stabbing pirate. “If I wanted your help, I'd have asked.” I snapped that out in a perfunctory manner, with the clipped tone and harsh accent that Vars would have used.

  “You need to work with us, we're all in this together,” she snapped back. I hoped she realized I'd done that for the sake of any monitors. “Second Screening, we all live or we all die.”

  She bounded up the stairs before I had to respond to that.

  ***

  Shooting was an entirely different experience, at least.

  I didn't know if Vars had been familiar with the TBA-2's or not, but I picked up the shooting pretty quickly. In part, that was because the things were simply a delight to use. The grip and stock adjusted to my body. Even the sights automatically adjusted, meaning that the zero process took all of a few seconds. It was a heavy weapon, designed for use in powered armor, but shooting out of the armor was still remarkably easy. It had enough mass that even the depleted uranium rounds had relatively little recoil. It had a built-in flash and noise suppressor, which, while it didn't mask the supersonic crack of the bullet itself, it did make it easier on the ears and harder for sophisticated sensors or human ears to determine the origin of the weapons fire.