by Tripp Ellis
Ryan matched her.
“Don’t burn yourself out too early trying to keep up,” Piper said.
“I won’t. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried.”
Ryan could hear Dugan in the distance, shouting. “Pick’em up and set’em down, Spencer. One foot in front of the other. I’ve seen turds run faster than you.”
Spencer was the last of the class. Not even a mile in, and he was easily trailing the next man by a hundred yards.
Dugan was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Are you ready to quit? I’ll give you a ride back to the Pulverizer. You can take a hot shower, wash off that gritty sand. You can be on your way back to blowing junior officers in the fleet in no time.”
Spencer had done okay in the pool, but he was falling flat here. Some of the guys just didn’t take the preconditioning seriously. Ryan couldn’t figure what they were thinking. Every candidate coming into Biscuit knew what was expected of them. Still, it seemed some of them didn’t prepare adequately.
They were almost two miles into the run, and Ryan was still keeping pace with Piper. She was too hot not to try and talk to. He had no intention of doing anything to get kicked out of Biscuit, but he could at least talk to her. Flirting wasn’t against regulations. “So, are the rumors true?”
She furrowed her brow and gave him a sideways look. “What rumors?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Probably just talk.” He was making it up. He hadn’t heard any rumors. But it certainly piqued her interest. Ryan paced up.
Piper matched him.
“What rumors?”
“I don’t think we’re really supposed to be talking during runs. Maybe I’ll tell you later.” He pulled away again.
Piper’s face tightened with frustration. She ran faster. “Don’t make me pull rank on you, Spaceman… Hunter,” She said, reading his name stenciled on his shirt.”
“If you two have enough energy to jabber, then you’ve got enough energy to run this twice,” Dugan shouted through his megaphone.
Piper clenched her jaw, furious.
Ryan was amused by the whole situation, but he didn’t let Dugan see his smirk.
“I’m actually impressed, Dingleberry. I didn’t think you liked girls. If you can call Booby McBooberson here a girl.”
Piper’s face flushed.
“What’s the matter, McBooberson. Have I offended you?”
“No, Chief.”
“You can file a formal complaint, if you’d like. I’m sure the board would be amused.”
“Negative, Chief.”
Dugan laughed and fell back to harass someone else.
Piper glared at Ryan and ran faster.
Ryan finished the run not far behind her.
Dugan called out the time, “33:20.”
Ryan’s brow crinkled. It didn’t make sense. He knew his pace was good. It wasn’t the fastest he’d ever run 4 miles, but he was absolutely sure he did it in under 32 minutes.
“You’re going to have to work harder than that around here, Dingleberry.”
Piper’s hateful gaze found Ryan again. He had definitely gotten off on the wrong foot with her. Any hopes he had of hooking up after BSCT were out the window.
Dugan made Ryan and Parkes do push-ups until the rest of the class straggled in. Then he made them run the 4 miles again with Spencer, who had come in last.
“This time I want it in under 30 minutes,” Dugan shouted. And if you can’t do that, you’ll run it again. Maybe you’ll learn to keep your mind on task.”
Ryan sprinted down the beach.
Piper ran past him. “Listen jackass. I worked hard to get here. I’m going to become a Reaper, and I’m not going to let anything derail me. You stay away from me. You got that?”
Ryan wasn’t quite as amused anymore.
Piper ran faster, leaving him in the sand.
18
Emma
“I take it that’s not a good sign?” Emma said.
The alarm continued to buzz. The flashing orange light on the display, and the blinking word malfunction, made it clear this wasn’t going to be a routine trip.
Chloe gritted her teeth. “He told me he fixed it.”
“Is it something serious?” Emma asked.
Chloe pulled up a navigational chart on the display. “Alexandria Station isn’t too far away. I think it’s best if we change course.”
“My mission is priority one. We don’t change course.”
“I can’t guarantee this malfunction won’t result in a catastrophic failure. If you want to complete your mission, I recommend we stop and seek repairs.”
Emma pondered this a moment, then exhaled. “Okay. Fine. But keep in mind, this is a top-secret mission. Where we're coming from, and where we are going is not to be discussed. Understood?"
Chloe nodded. She plotted in new jump coordinates for Alexandria Station. The Vantage had to drop out of slide-space for a moment before altering course. They emerged in the middle of nowhere. The inky blackness of the infinite expanse was dotted by the flickering lights of distant stars. There were no nearby planetary systems.
“It's so calm and peaceful out here,” Chloe said as she prepared to make the next jump. “That is, until someone comes along and shoots at you.”
“You get shot at a lot on these missions?”
“It’s mostly pretty quiet, but you do find insurgents out here looking to ambush a transport. And there are always scavengers looking for a ship to raid. They monitor the shipping routes and look for quantum distortions, distress calls, etc. They target supply ships mostly. They tend to stay away from gunships.” Chloe grinned. “We shoot back.”
Chloe engaged the slide-space drive and the Vantage left the empty abyss behind. It was a short jump to Alexandria station. No more than 15 minutes. It hovered in orbit around Kronos 7—a desolate moon that contained a surprising wealth of ore.
The station was dotted with lights and viewports. There were multiple levels and docking bays. Multiple antennas and subspace receiving dishes lined the roof deck of the main structure. The station rotated gently on its axis. About the size of a small city, it was essentially a truck stop in space. There were repair facilities, recreational activities, a large selection of restaurants and hotels, and they even had their own sports teams that played in the intergalactic league.
Chloe opened a comm channel. “Alexandria Station, this is Ensign Chloe Johnson of the United Navy, flying a VXR-7 Vantage. Request permission to make emergency landing.”
“Roger that, Vantage. Proceed to docking bay 34. Do you need emergency medical technicians standing by, over?"
“Negative. But we will need mechanical assistance.”
“Copy that. Look for docking bay 34 on tier 2, 025, your vector. Please confirm when you have a visual, over."
Chloe banked the Vantage around, aiming for bay 34. The bay doors were sliding open. She could see the brilliant lights of the Optical Landing System. “Alexandria, Vantage. Roger ball.”
The Vantage floated toward the landing bay. Chloe gripped the controls, making subtle adjustments. She was on a perfect glide to the flight deck. She managed the transition from Zero G to full gravity flawlessly as she crested the edge of the bay. The skids of the Vantage touched down on the flight deck almost imperceptibly. It was a perfect landing. A far cry from her wobbly, erratic first landing on the Revenant. She had come a long way in less than a year.
“Okay. I'll admit it. You're not bad at this.”
Chloe grinned.
“You can judge a lot about a pilot from their takeoffs and landings.”
Emma unbuckled her safety harness, and Chloe activated the loading ramp. As they exited the vehicle, they were greeted by a station liaison.
“Welcome to Alexandria station. I’m Fritz Müller. I'm told you are experiencing mechanical troubles? I'm sorry to hear that. Have you been to the station before?”
Chloe nodded.
“Excellent. Then you know your
way around.” He handed Chloe his card—a thin piece of smart glass. “If I can be of any assistance during your stay, do not hesitate to contact me. We here at Alexandria Station appreciate your service, and will do anything to support the military.”
“Thank you."
Fritz slipped away into the corridor.
“Let's get to the MRO and see if they have a spare thermal exchanger handy.” Chloe strolled out of the bay and Emma followed behind her. They marched down the corridor to the maintenance repair office.
Behind the counter was a gruff, round faced man who hadn't shaved in a few days. His matted brown hair curled from underneath his baseball cap. His jumpsuit was smeared with grease stains. Chloe could smell his coffee breath. Despite the caffeine, his eyes were droopy, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. "Can I help you?”
"I need someone to take a look at my Vantage. I think I've got a bad thermal exchanger, but it was just replaced."
"I can take a look at it, but I can tell you right now I don't have a part.”
“You can’t be serious?"
“Look, butter bar, if I had a part to sell you, I would."
Chloe clenched her jaw. Butter bar was a pejorative term used to denote new ensigns. The term was derived from the single gold bar of their rank device. It was clear the mechanic had prior military service, and had a disdain for authority.
”When can you take a look at it?"
"I could probably get to it in a few days.”
Emma’s eyes went wide. "A few days?"
“Did I stutter, lady?"
Emma dug into her pocket and flashed her UIA credentials. "This is a matter of Federation security.”
"I've got 23 other ships in the queue before you that I have to take a look at and repair. It's first-come, first served around here.”
“Perhaps you didn't understand me…” Emma’s eyes glanced to his name tag, “…Bob. People's lives are at stake. We need to get that bird back in the air as soon as possible."
The man's eyes narrowed. He didn't like being pushed around. “Maybe you didn't understand me. I’ll get to your bird in three days. If you don't like it, feel free to take it to the next station."
19
Ryan
Dugan was a tough instructor. But he looked like an angel compared to Instructor Norfolk. The candidates would be leaving Dugan behind as they classed up. Norfolk was just a tyrant. Or, so Ryan had heard from some of the rollbacks. He even remembered stories Colton had told him.
Norfolk was pure hard-ass. He wore the standard blue shirt that all the instructors wore and camouflage pants. Dark hair poked out from underneath the blue Reaper ball cap on his head. Black sunglasses covered his eyes, and a dark mustache filled his upper lip. He seemed like he had a deep-seated hatred for the candidates. As far as he was concerned, Class 276 was just a bunch of losers trying to weasel in on his elite fraternity. And for the most part, he wasn’t wrong. Every Reaper had worked hard to earn their status, and they didn’t want just anybody joining the Teams. Norfolk was desperately fighting to protect the Teams from unworthy outsiders. A slacker in BSCT is one thing. A slacker in combat gets Reapers killed. There was only one way onto Norfolk's good side, and that was through effort. Give it your best. All the time.
It was almost 0500 hours and Ryan was marching with Class 276 to the Pulverizer for Day 1 of First Phase. They had moved into new barracks closer to the First Phase offices. They were going to be under the microscope now. Indoc was for conditioning. First Phase was for making Reapers.
There was an air of apprehension among the candidates. The class had already been whittled down to 75 during Indoc. Lieutenant Parnell was gone, and so was LPO Griffen. Ensign Parkes was still hanging tough. Though Ryan had kept his distance. The two hadn’t spoken since they exchanged words on day 1 of Indoc. It was probably for the best. He didn’t need any distractions. But he did steal the occasional glance, and she seemed to work her way into his dreams from time to time. But the notion of real sleep was about to be a thing of the past. Fantasies of Piper Parkes served as inspiration and motivation for many of the male candidates. A little something to get them through the torturous evolutions.
Day 1 of First Phase had one purpose, and one purpose only. To make as many candidates quit as possible. The class knew they were going to get hammered, and that was messing with some of their heads already.
Ryan stayed calm. He tried to embrace the challenge. Other men had survived BSCT—he could too. Whatever pain and hardship he would endure, it would only be temporary. Once you became a Reaper, no one could ever take that away from you.
Three weeks of Indoc had taught the candidates a multitude of necessary skills. It seemed hard to fathom that keeping your boots polished to perfection with parade gloss had anything to do with military competency. Or covering the seams in your uniform with clear nail polish to keep the threads from coming loose. Or keeping your barracks spotless and free from the smallest grain of sand (which seemed to get everywhere). But it was all part of the exacting attention to detail that the Reapers demanded. It was the little things that could mean the difference between life and death in the field.
Ryan kept two sets of inspection uniforms just in case one got unexpectedly wet and sandy. It was preparation like this that was going to make First Phase a lot easier—relatively speaking, of course.
Over the past three weeks, the candidates had become intimately acquainted with the O-course—a grueling, high risk challenge course that had injured many trainees and even killed a few over the years. It wasn’t just a confidence course. It was specifically designed to build muscle, endurance, and the athletic ability needed to complete missions. Many Reapers who had earned their pin frequently returned to use the course to keep in the proper condition.
The recruits had gotten a glimpse of the Combat Space Simulator. It was a state-of-the-art facility where they would spend more time during Second Phase, if they made it that far. If there was any part of Indoc that you could call fun, it was the CSS. A massive anti-gravity chamber that simulated the weightlessness of space. It was every bit as dangerous. With no oxygen or air pressure, an equipment malfunction, or operator error, could and often did result in death. Ryan was looking forward to spending a lot more time in there.
Bay swims in freezing water had become routine. Water so indescribably cold, you couldn’t feel your arms and legs, and your whole body would lock up. Four mile beach runs had become familiar. Candidates almost got used to feeling like wet sandpaper. They had formed boat crews, been assigned swim buddies, and were learning to function as a team. They had been introduced to the joys of Land Portage—carrying an IBS (Inflatable Boat - Small) on your head. Running up and down berms with a rubber boat filled with water and sand on your head inspired more than a few quitters. McPherson herniated a disk in his neck and got rolled back. Many recruits couldn’t see the connection—how was this relevant to space combat? The Reapers were never going to use amphibious insertion techniques. But they were learning teamwork. Almost every evolution in BSCT fostered teamwork.
You couldn’t make it through BSCT alone.
Recruits also learned that it sucks to be last. It pays to be a winner.
One of the rollbacks yelled, “Instructor Norfolk.”
The rest of the class responded, “Hooyah, Instructor Norfolk.”
Ryan hoped that with a new instructor he might lose the old nickname and get a new one. Or at least go back to being Ryan Hunter again instead of Dingleberry.
The bell rang 3 times, followed by a second round of 3 rings.
Ensign Parkes was now the OIC, and she gave the class muster to Norfolk. “Chief, Class 276 is formed. I've got 75 assigned, and 73 present. Two unauthorized absences.”
The class had lost two candidates on the way to the Pulverizer from the barracks. Metcalfe and Rogers had dropped.
Norfolk's angry eyes scanned the class. He could smell weakness. He was going to root it out and eliminate it. He steppe
d to Ryan, hovering inches from his face. Ryan could smell the coffee and donuts on his breath. “Well, if it isn’t Dipshit and Dingleberry.”
Ryan cringed inside, but didn’t let it show.
“I’ve heard about you two. I’m going to make it my personal mission to see both of you ring the bell. I never fail my missions. So why don’t you two do yourself a favor now, step out of formation, and go ring out.” He pointed across the Pulverizer to the First Phase offices and the shiny bell.
“Negative, Chief,” Ryan and Gavin said in unison.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive, Chief!”
“There’s no shame in admitting to being a pussy.”
“I’ll never quit, Chief.”
“It’s inevitable. Just save yourself a lot of pain and do it now.”
“No, Chief.”
Norfolk smirked. “You’re gonna wish you had.”
Ryan clenched his jaw, steeling his resolve.
Norfolk stepped to the front of the class. “You’ve got ten seconds to get wet and sandy!”
The class sprinted toward the surf. There was no feasible way to make it to the beach, role in the berm, and get back to the Pulverizer in 10 seconds. Norfolk knew this. It was indicative of everything that was going to follow during this block of training. Impossible tasks with unrealistic time frames.
The class made it back to the Pulverizer looking like wet sand monsters. The class stood in formation on the white footprints.
“Drop!” Norfolk yelled.
“Drop,” the class repeated. They hit the deck and waited in the leaning rest position, arms extended, ready to do a push-up.
“Push’em out.”
The class began to count off the reps.
“Give me 50.” Norfolk stalked through the class like a tiger waiting to pounce. He honed in right away on the slackers. “You’re sagging, Clark. Straighten up.”
“Hooyah, Chief.” Clark sucked in his gut and tried to keep his back straight. He pushed out another 10 reps while Norfolk hovered over him. He seemed satisfied with Clark’s form and moved on to another candidate. But a few moments later, Clark was sagging again, and Norfolk was up his ass.
