by Tripp Ellis
Ryan’s boat crew consisted of Parkes, Kirby, Matthews, Alvarez, Cimo, and Burns. While the thought of paddling around the island sucked, they quickly realized they were going to be spending large swaths of time away from the watchful eyes of the instructors. There were checkpoints at various locations around the island where they would have to stop and get harassed by an instructor. But in between the checkpoints, they were on their own.
They paddled past luxury mansions and high-rise condos. Ocean Avenue ran along the beach and circled the island. From 6th to 18th Street was known as the Strip, and there were dozens of nightclubs on the beach. Music echoed onto the water. Girls were drinking and dancing. Revelers watched trainees paddle by from the various piers.
It seemed unreal. Here were all these people partying and having a good time, and the trainees were going through hell. All the boat crew would have to do was pull onto the shore, stroll into a bar, and grab a beer. Ryan figured the primary purpose of the Island Cruise was another PSY-OP to get you to quit.
But it wasn’t all bad. As they passed one of the piers, revelers tossed them bottled water, candy bars, and somebody even tossed a couple bottles of beer. Ryan and the rest of the crew knew better than to drink alcohol during Hell Week. They were already fighting dehydration. Alcohol would make it worse.
A few of the girls pulled off their tops and jiggled for motivation. But it was probably counterproductive. All it did was inspire thoughts of quitting.
“I say we stop here,” Gavin Kirby said with wide eyes, almost breaking his neck as the boat drifted past the pier. The two scantily clad blondes were enticing. “This is a checkpoint, right?”
“No, Kirby, this is not a checkpoint,” Parkes said. “Keep paddling.”
The instructors knew civilians often assisted the trainees, and as long as it didn't cross the line they let it slide. If someone had pulled up in a speedboat and tossed out at towline, that would have been a different story.
Matthews was passed out in the center of the boat. The crew had been taking turns catching cat naps.
Ryan's boat crew was the first to arrive at the first checkpoint. Like everything else during Hell Week, the Island Cruise was a race. Instructor Hanson ordered them out of their boat for a little Gravity Log PT.
Ryan shoulders were aching from paddling the boat. The overhead presses with the gravity log wasn't helping anything. Instructor Hanson set the weight so high on the log that the seven recruits could barely lift it. Their faces were red, and their veins bulged as they pumped out reps.
Another boat crew reached the checkpoint, and Instructor Hanson let them pass without any PT. It didn't seem fair, but nothing during Hell Week was.
30
Emma
Rocco didn’t last a minute into the second pain setting. “Okay. Okay. I will set up a meeting with Aknar.”
“I knew you were a reasonable individual,” Anderson said. He looked down at the pathetic hunk of meat Rocco had become. He was curled into a ball on the floor. He was drooling from the pain. His face was flush, and his skin was dripping with sweat.
“Hey, don’t I get medical attention now?”
“After you setup the meeting,” Anderson said.
“I’m supposed to meet with him Friday.”
"You're going to call him, and set something up now,” Emma said. She knelt down beside him and pulled the phone she had taken from him out of her pocket. She scrolled through the contact list until she found Aknar's information.
"If I change the details of our meeting, he'll get suspicious."
Emma’s eyes flicked to Anderson. She could see he didn't like the idea of waiting until Friday, but Rocco had a point.
"If you’re lying to us, it's not going to end well for you," Anderson said.
"I'm not lying. I swear."
Emma pulled out her mobile device and tabbed through a few screens and launched a voice stress analyzer app. ”I’m going to ask you several baseline questions. What's your name?”
“Eddie Rocco."
The application recorded his voice, and the digital waveform appeared across the screen like a mountain range. It was bright orange in color. Emma marked the answer as truthful, and the waveform turned green. “What city are we currently in?"
"Mosaav.”
Again, she marked the answer as truthful.
"Did you kill, or cause any police officers to be killed today?"
"I'm going to need to consult with my attorney before I answer that question." He was partly being a smart ass.
"If you want to keep breathing, you’ll answer the question."
"Yes." His cold eyes glared at her.
“I want you to tell me again when you’re meeting with Aknar.”
"Like I told you. I meeting with him Friday. Noon. At the Plaza Drakuur.”
The program analyzed his speech. After a moment, the peaks and valleys of the digital waveform turned green.
“Looks like he's telling the truth,” Emma said. “Probably a first for him."
“I’m an honest guy,” Rocco said with a smile. But his eyes told a different story.
“What is Project Starshine?”
Rocco’s face went blank. “I don’t know.”
The waveform on Emma’s mobile stayed orange, and the display flashed inconclusive.
“What do you know about Project Starshine?”
“I don’t know anything,” Rocco forced another innocent smile.
The waveform turned red. The display flashed probable false statement.
Emma glanced to Anderson.
“Do you want to try out level 3?” Anderson threatened.
Rocco’s face was slick with sweat. Fear was creeping into his eyes. “I’m telling you, I don’t know anything about it.”
Emma saw the red waveform on her mobile and nodded to Anderson. He activated the neural ring. Rocco squealed in agony. His body contorted, and his hands seized up like a decrepit old witch.
“Alright, alright,” Rocco gasped.
Anderson deactivated the device.
Rocco tried to catch his breath. Then stammered, “I don’t know details. It has something to do with the scientist.”
Emma looked at the green waveform on her mobile. Rocco was telling the truth. “Metzger?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s your involvement?”
Rocco hesitated.
Emma glanced to Anderson again.
“Okay, okay,” Rocco yelled, trying to avoid more pain. “Suspa wants me to find weapons grade Urontium.”
“Dirty bomb?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not in the loop.”
The waveform was green.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Anderson said. “There are easier ways to make a dirty bomb. And I can guarantee Saav Krava doesn’t have the capability to fully utilize Urontium. That’s high level shit.”
“Maybe that’s what Metzger is for?”
“The yield on a Urontium bomb would be incredible. But still, there are better weapons available.”
Anderson reached down and grabbed Rocco. He pulled the terrorist into a holding cell. He backed out of the room and pressed a button on the wall, activating the force shield. A glowing blue beam sealed the chamber.
Anderson’s eyes glanced to Emma. “You hungry? I’m starving.”
Emma shrugged.
“I know a great little Bosatrian restaurant in the financial district.”
“What about him?”
“He’ll be fine,” Anderson said without a trace of concern.
“I’m hungry,” Rocco said.
“I’ll leave you with a bowl of dog food.”
Eddie’s face twisted up. “Oh, hell no. You can’t leave me in here like this with no food or water.”
“Get water out of the tap.” Anderson pointed to the small sink next to the toilet.
“This is inhumane.”
“So is blowing up civilian buildings.”
“I didn’t d
o shit, man.”
“Right.”
“I ain’t never killed no one who didn’t deserve it.”
Emma arched an eyebrow. “Really? I suppose those cops today got what they deserved?”
“It was their fault for hassling me,” Rocco said casually.
Emma scoffed, then looked to Anderson. “Let’s go eat.”
Rocco continued to moan and complain as Anderson and Emma left the building.
“Are we really just going to leave him in there until Friday?” Emma asked as she opened the passenger door.
“If you’ve got a better place to keep him, let me know.”
Emma slid into the passenger seat, and Anderson cranked up the engine.
“Don’t worry,” Anderson said. “I’ll bring him some takeout and send Hudson and Dixon to look after him.”
Anderson pulled out of the compound and drove to the financial district. The restaurant was a small little sidewalk café, and judging by the way the hostess greeted Anderson, Emma could tell he was a regular. She led them to his usual table. Anderson didn't even look at the menu, he already knew what he wanted.
"What's good here?"
"Everything," Anderson said. "Best restaurant in the city, in my humble opinion."
"You order for me. I trust your judgment."
"You must be feeling mighty brave today."
"Well, you know, chasing bad guys emboldens me."
Anderson ordered for both of them, and the waitress returned momentarily with their drinks.
The restaurant was crowded and had a constant inflow of patrons. Light chatter filled the air, and the sounds of the city filtered in through the open air patio. It was hot and dusty, but that was just something you learned to live with in Mosaav. But Emma hadn't quite gotten used to it just yet.
"How long have you lived here?"
"Little over a year," Anderson said. "I'm not going to say you'll grow to like it, but you'll learn to tolerate it.”
"It's certainly an adjustment." Emma kept scanning the restaurant, as well as the sidewalk. She made sure to make note of the entrances and exits. She kept an eye on the front door. She was formulating a contingency plan in case something went wrong. It was what all good field agents did on a constant basis. Anderson was probably doing the same thing. She knew exactly where she was going to go, and what she was going to do, if bullets started flying. She wondered if she would ever be able to sit in a public space and not automatically go through those defensive contingencies.
“Why were Rodgers and Wilson killed?"
"They were targeted when Saav Krava discovered they were UIA."
"And you think coming to the same restaurant on a regular basis is a good idea?”
"Okay. You got me. Maybe this isn’t the most brilliant of ideas. But most of the food in this town sucks. And I get tired of what they try to pass off as a meal in the embassy.”
"So the food here is worth dying for?"
Anderson shrugged. “It's pretty damn good."
31
Ryan
Another boat crew came and went, and now Ryan and his crew were doing sit ups with the gravity log in the surf. It was hard to tell if instructor Hanson had a personal vendetta against someone in the boat crew, or if he was just trying to see if he could break their spirit for good measure.
After what seemed like an eternity, Hanson yelled, “Recover!"
Ryan and his crew secured the gravity log on the beach, then paddled back into the surf. They had a lot of ground to make up. They were in last place now and the threat of being forced to paddle around the island again, or worse, loomed large.
Ryan wasn't sure what time it was. He guessed somewhere around 0400 hours. The wind had picked up and thunder was rolling among the clouds. It wasn't long before the rain was coming down hard, filling the boat. The water was increasingly choppy, and the crew was pulling with all their might. Ryan figured the instructors were probably grinning. The only thing worse would've been to go through Hell Week during a hurricane. If the instructors could have figured out a way to control the weather, they would have.
At the second checkpoint, Davidson and his crew were doing PT on the beach. Instructor Erickson gave Ryan’s crew a pass, and they were able to regain some ground. Perhaps the random harassment was all part of the plan.
Ryan's crew pulled up to the lead boat. They were in some kind of trouble. One of the recruits had fallen overboard, due to exhaustion. He was flailing about in the surf, and the rest of the crew was trying to pull him back on board.
"You need a hand," Ensign Parkes said.
"We've got it under control," Yarborough responded. "But you can slow down if you feel like it."
"Not a chance."
Ryan’s crew kept paddling, re-taking the lead. There was still one more checkpoint, and Ryan was hoping they weren't going to get tripped up there. But the instructor made them do 15 minutes of Surf Torture. Fortunately, none of the other crews were able to avoid it either.
It was miserable. The rain was pouring down. And the water seemed even colder, although it probably wasn’t. Three more recruits quit. Ensign Busby, Petty Officer Kavanagh, Spaceman Whittaker. All solid guys. All of them had achieved passing scores on their timed evolutions. They weren’t at risk of being performance dropped. They didn’t have any obvious medical issues. It didn’t make any sense, they were so close to the end of Hell Week. It demoralized the rest of the recruits. If they were quitting, it meant anybody was at risk of quitting. But they were cold, wet, tired, sick, sore, and sandy. The realization finally hit home that this was what it was going to be like for the rest of their time in the Teams.
Unpleasant.
The situations here on Black Rock Island were tame compared to what a Reaper might encounter in the far reaches of the galaxy. Frozen ice planets. Scorching desert wastelands. Deep space operations that took place so far from a star that temperatures dropped to -455 degrees. It wasn’t always going to be like the recruitment commercials. You couldn’t just quit when you were out on a mission. That’s why the instructors did everything they could to push you past your breaking point. Quitting in the middle of the mission could cost lives.
Ryan’s crew was paddling out to sea while the other crews were still suffering in the surf. They arrived back at base a little after sunrise. It had been a grueling paddle around the island, but the crew was invigorated. It was Friday. All they had to do was make it until 5 PM, and Hell Week would be over.
Norfolk waited for them on the beach with a devious grin. He was drinking a cup of coffee and chewing on a jelly donut. “Impressive. I hear the class is down to 18 now. I don’t have any quitters in this crew, do I?”
“Hell no,” they shouted.
“Hit the chow hall and fill up. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.”
Ryan and the rest of his boat crew raced toward the chow hall. He could smell the aroma of bacon as he hit the Pulverizer. The chow hall was like an oasis in the middle of the desert. A sanctuary filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, toast, butter, and strawberry jelly. All of it real. The instructors may have abused the recruits during BSCT, but they fed them well. Ryan had regained his appetite and dished up a little bit of everything, then went back for two more rounds.
Ensign Parkes took a seat next to him. She shoveled a few bites into her mouth and forced them down. She looked terrible. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her hands were blistered and swollen, like most of the recruits. Her voice was raspy. “You hanging in there?”
Ryan had a surprised look on his face. It was the first time she had spoken to him in a civil tone throughout the entire First Phase. Ryan grinned.“Piece of cake.”
Parkes smiled back at him. “Yup. Piece of cake.”
The two ate the rest of their meal in silence. But Ryan was happy to get a smile out of her.
They had been given a half hour for breakfast, but it seemed like 30 seconds. It was difficult to stand. Ryan's feet were achy
and swollen. His legs and hip flexors were stiff. His low back was sore. There wasn't a part of his body that wasn't in pain. All of his nerves were screaming. He felt like a 90-year-old man.
He hobbled out of the chow hall, each step getting a little easier. Sitting still caused everything to stiffen up. The best thing to do was to keep moving. He did his best impression of a sprint down to the beach. The boat crew regrouped, and Instructor Norfolk made them do push-ups again with their feet on the boat. After he was satisfied, he ordered them into the surf for more torture. He paced up and down the row of recruits as the surf pounded them. The crashing waves nearly drowned the exhausted candidates.
"You all will be excited to know that since you’ve done so well, we've decided to extend Hell Week by one more day."
There was a collective groan among the recruits.
"He's full of shit, isn't he?" Matthews said.
"Have you ever known Instructor Norfolk to be full of shit?" Ryan said. He could see that Matthews was crushed. His eyes were filled with doubt. He was pretty sure he couldn't make it another day.
“They can't do that," Matthew’s said. "I mean, they can't just change the rules."
"There are no rules in war," Ryan said.
“What's the big deal?" Gavin said. "I could do two more days if we had to." He wasn't lying either. He was eating this shit up.
"You hang in there, Matthews.” Ryan said. "Don't you fucking quit. Don't you fucking quit on me now."
His teeth were chattering and his whole body was shaking from the cold. "I'm not quitting. No matter what, I'm not quitting. I might die out here, but I'm not quitting."
Ryan grinned. “I think we all feel the same way."
32
Emma
Emma's cautious eyes kept flicking to the side mirror during the ride back to the embassy. Something had gotten her attention. There was a hover-car following behind them. It was just far enough away not to be obvious, but close enough to be suspicious—zigging and zagging through traffic, trying to keep up.
