Clad in Steel

by Kevin McLaughlin

  “Yeah,” Owen replied. No problems there.

  “Try to remember everything you can about the moment. How it felt. Not in your head, but in your body,” James said. “If it helps, I know you were mad at me a minute ago. How did that feel?”

  Owen tried to think back. It was difficult. He wasn’t used to sensing how his body was reacting to things. What James was talking about sounded like hokey nonsense to him. He felt the tension rising in his belly and jaw as he grew more frustrated.

  Oh — that was the sort of thing James was asking him to spot! Once he knew what he was looking for it became easier for Owen to find them. “Tension. In my chest, belly really. In my jaw.”

  “Do you think it feels that way every time you get mad?” James asked.

  “I don’t know,” Owen replied.

  “Well, it’s a start. Watch for those sensations. If you feel them coming on, it might be that your anger is coming into play,” James said. “Make a note of anything you feel. We’ll meet again in two days, and you can let me know.”

  Owen glanced up at the clock. He was five minutes over on the session! That had never happened before. Usually, he was out of there as soon as the required hour was over. He turned back at the doorway, wanting to say something. “Thanks, James.”

  It sounded like a weak statement to Owen, especially after the hard time he’d given the man who was clearly doing his best to help him.

  But James seemed to sense his sincerity. He nodded and said simply, “You’re welcome.”

  Thirteen

  Owen knew before he even set out on the field exercise that it was going to be the worst one he’d ever experienced. All the signs were there. For one, the forecast was calling for rain and thunderstorms, which meant the clay ground was going to get churned into red mud. Never a good time.

  Then there was Thompson. Owen was still trying to get him to take training seriously. Hell, the whole squad was about ready to give him a blanket party, and probably already would have if they thought it would have knocked some sense into him.

  Thompson was one of those guys whose proverbial mental lightbulb was stuck on dim. He could follow directions well enough and outlast almost anyone in PT, but just try to get him to use a little initiative to figure something out. Or stay focused on whatever it was he was supposed to be doing. Still, he always had a smile on his face, even at the crappiest times, and lent a hand to anyone who needed one. If you were about ready to fall out from exhaustion, without fail Thompson would show up like a big Saint Bernard dog, ready to help.

  It’s hard not to like a guy like that, and Owen still smiled whenever he saw the man.

  If it had just been the weather and one rock-headed recruit they had to worry about, it would have been OK. But the latest arrivals had all but ensured this next mission would be a train wreck.

  Cadets were always stuck up snobs whose self-importance was only beaten out by their incompetence. Owen would know; he’d been one, after all. But no cadet wanted to be shipped off to a training camp for their OJT. Only the worst cadets from each class pulled that duty. The enlisted trainees got stuck with the least capable of an already dubious lot.

  The drill instructors were still in charge, of course. The drill cadets worked under their supervision, in theory. But even DIs couldn’t be everywhere. There was always time for a random drill cadet to catch someone alone and inflict a little of the pain they were feeling for being stuck in this job.

  One of the drill instructors spotted Owen packing up a little slower than he wanted. “Mac! Get your butt moving!”

  “Yes, sir!” Owen shouted back. There wasn’t any other acceptable response.

  Owen spared a quick glance back over at the nearest drill cadet, then looked down again quickly. None of them had recognized him yet. Why would they? It wasn’t like they expected to see a disgraced former classmate out there. Owen knew them, though. Worse, he was pretty sure it was only a matter of time until one of them did realize who he was. He dreaded the idea.

  Everything he was supposed to be carrying out into the woods with him was finally packed inside his rucksack or strapped to his combat vest. Owen shook his head as he hefted the heavy load onto his shoulders. It wasn’t like anyone in the Armor unit was going to see combat on foot, anyway. They were called Armor for a reason: they’d be fighting inside the robot armor suits that Space Force had developed. All of this carrying crap and movement to contact drills with personal weapons felt a waste of time.

  Owen knew the theory behind it. Train as infantry first, with basic gear and rifles. Then upgrade to the more complex warfare Armor was capable of engaging in. Crawl, walk, run, they called it. His platoon was in the crawl phase. That was a slower pace than he’d have preferred. Owen had always favored jumping straight in and figuring it out as he went along.

  “Move out, recruits!” That was Drill Cadet Harper. He wasn’t the biggest asshole of the bunch, more of a follower. He’d be quick to pile on if given half a chance, but Owen didn’t read him as an instigator. “Long road to the bivouac site.”

  Watching Harper heft his own pack made Owen grin, although he looked down so no one would see. Yeah, these field packs were a bit heavier than the ones at the Academy, weren’t they? Harper would get used to it just fine in a few days. But this first long march was going to be a killer for all the drill cadets.

  Owen turned his feet toward the road and took a place in the middle of the line, where he’d be less likely to be noticed. Training would be over soon. Better to just get through it so he could kick Earth’s dust off his feet for good. The sooner he could leave his past behind him, the better. Keeping his head down seemed the surest route to success.

  The hike took the rest of the afternoon, taking the platoon off to another corner of the base Owen hadn’t seen before. It was almost dark before they finally stopped. By that time the rain had already been pounding the ground for several hours. He was sore, wet, and ready to get some rest. The next day would come early, and they’d all be asked to do even more.

  They broke up into squads and set up camp. Roberts was doing a good job keeping the team in order. He checked in on Owen, briefly, but with the sort of you-already-know-what-you’re-doing attitude that Owen appreciated. Not everyone treated him well. They all knew his past, thanks to Captain Pahwel. But Roberts was turning into an exception.

  Owen pulled out stakes and a tarp to make a small tent for himself. It wasn’t much of a shelter, but it would keep the rain off and trap a little body heat. Once he was set up, he nestled down inside the tent and pulled ration packets from his rucksack. It had gotten so Owen barely noticed how bad the food was. He was too hungry to complain.

  Roberts went around letting everyone know their spot in the guard roster. There wasn’t much to guard against out there except for the drill instructors themselves, who might pop in with a drill at any time. Owen didn’t think that would happen that night. Just looking at the cadre told him they were as tired and wet as he was. They moved with the resolute steadiness of men who’d done things that sucked more, but we’re still feeling the suck. One could never tell for sure, but he thought they’d be more focused on getting some rest than running surprise drills.

  Which was just as well. He was utterly spent. Finishing off his meal, Owen gave Roberts a nod. He nodded back. That was all the communication they needed. He knew Owen was squared away, and Owen knew Roberts would make sure whoever was supposed to wake him for his guard shift did so.

  Owen slid inside his tent, unrolled his sleeping bag, and rolled up some spare clothing as a pillow. Despite the ongoing patter of rain against the plastic overhead, he was asleep almost as soon as he set his head down.

  A light touch on Owen’s arm roused him to instant alertness. He’d been sleeping with one arm tangled in his rifle sling. One quick motion later and the weapon was cradled against his chest, aimed toward whatever had disturbed him. The gun was unloaded, but the action felt natural and right, anyway.

 
“Shh. It’s just me!” The soft words came from a shadowed silhouette crouched at the door of his lean-to. It took Owen a few moments to place the voice.

  “Roberts?” Owen asked, pitching his voice low. “Is it my guard shift?”

  It felt too early, but that wasn’t strange. Their short sleep periods were often more like naps. Enough to keep all the recruits functional, but never enough to feel fully rested.

  “No. There’s trouble. Come with me,” Roberts said.

  Well, shit. So much for a nice, quiet night. Owen rolled to his feet and slid out of the tent. Roberts wouldn’t have woke him if it wasn’t serious. That still didn’t explain why he’d come to Owen about it instead of grabbing a drill instructor, but he was curious.

  He’d slept with his boots on. Owen was pretty sure the whole platoon had taken up that practice. Since they never knew when someone would wake them all up, it was a smart move. He glanced over at the pile of gear in his tent, then decided he probably wouldn’t need it. The rifle went with him, though. They were under orders to carry the weapons everywhere. No recruit wanted to be the asshole caught leaving their weapon unguarded.

  The rain had stopped while he slept. It was still cool, but not uncomfortable. The croaking of tree frogs from the woods nearby was the only sound Owen heard at first as he followed Roberts along the row of tents. He was still left wondering what the hell was so important he had to wake someone up for it but didn’t warrant a drill instructor, but he hadn’t had time to ask.

  Then Owen heard voices from up ahead.

  The site they’d camped at had a hard shelter nearby. It had a concrete floor and a regular roof, but all four sides of the rectangle were open to the air. No walls. Inside were a bunch of tables and benches, all bolted to the floor. The space was in theory supposed to be used for classes or eating chow when inclement weather hit. This run, the drill cadets laid claim to the shelter right away. None of the recruits bothered trying to enter.

  A single light shone from the ceiling in the middle of the building. Even from this distance, Owen could hear voices and saw a few people milling around. Was it the drill cadets? What were they doing up at this hour?

  Roberts crouched down and beckoned Owen to do the same. Once they were both out of view, he finally had a chance to ask the question that had been burning away in him ever since Roberts woke him. “Mind telling me what the hell is going on?”

  “It’s Thompson. They’ve got him,” Roberts whispered back.

  Great, he should have figured whatever was going on involved the platoon screwball. What had he done this time? “Who has him?”

  “The drill cadets,” Roberts answered.

  Fourteen

  Owen waited for Roberts to elaborate, but that statement had already sent a chill down his spine. He knew the cadets were trouble. He just wasn’t sure how much of a problem they were going to be. Owen nodded for Roberts to go on.

  “He and I were on guard duty together. Opposite ends of the camp,” Roberts said. “I put him on the same shift as me so I could keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn’t fuck things up.”

  That was a good, even generous thing to do. Which is why Roberts was a good squad leader, and why Owen was glad he had the thankless job. Better Roberts than him. “I take it things didn’t work out that way?”

  Roberts shook his head. “No. I was checking on him every ten minutes, but I guess one patch was just too long for him. He fell asleep. They found him before I did.”

  Owen glanced back at the shelter. That explained what was happening pretty well. Thompson was in the wrong, and there wasn’t much any of us could do for him. The cadets would PT him until he was even more exhausted, but they’d get bored eventually. Maybe a little midnight PT and the loss of some sleep would shake sense into the man. Owen doubted it, but anything was possible.

  “What do you want me to do about it?” Owen asked, feeling cross at being woken for something so irrelevant.

  “We need to get him out of there,” Roberts insisted.

  “Why? What are they doing?” Owen asked. His eyes tracked back to the shelter. He could see movement, but couldn’t make out what they were up to. The voices he heard sounded stern, but there were no agonized screams, so whatever they were doing couldn’t be too bad. Could it?

  “It’s bad,” Roberts said. His voice was flat. Owen glanced over at him in time to catch the haunted look in his eyes. He wasn’t a man to spook easily. “I didn’t want to wake the DIs. What would they say? I figured maybe you could talk to the cadets? Since you were…you know.”

  There it was. The real reason he’d come to Owen rather than someone else. He’d been one of them, so maybe Roberts figured maybe Owen could get through to them in a way he couldn’t. The trouble was, his past at the Academy wasn’t a bonus when it came to these cadets. Once they knew who he was, it would be easy for them to come up with endless reasons to torment him. In their eyes, Owen was a failure, even a disgrace. He couldn’t even say they were entirely wrong.

  None of the cadets had recognized him yet. If they did, it might be the end of his second chance. Owen wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his temper in check if they started ripping into him like he was sure they would. Hell, he could already feel his anger stirring up over Thompson. The poor guy was a lunkhead, but there wasn’t a bad bone in his body. He didn’t deserve what they were dishing out.

  “Show me,” Owen said.

  Roberts nodded and started off again. He went off at an angle, keeping first a row of tents and then a copse of trees between him and the shelter, but drifting ever closer. Owen tried to place himself. Where were the drill instructors camped? If he needed to go get them, he was pretty sure they were just over the crest of the hill. Far enough away that they could do their own thing overnight and not have recruit eyes prying at their business and close enough that they could get back to the platoon quickly in the case of any real problems. Did this count as a real problem?

  The voices from the shelter were becoming more clear as they drew closer. Owen could easily pick out Cadets Merrick and Harper. Both of them were speaking loud enough that he could even make out a few words. That hulking form off on the side had to be Cadet Adams. He would be the ringleader of this crew. He looked the type to enjoy casual cruelty.

  Where was Thompson, though? Owen didn’t hear his voice. He had to be in there somewhere, right? Roberts kept leading the way closer. They slipped between some trees and stopped short just outside the range of the light. Still cloaked in shadow, they were nevertheless near enough that Owen could better see what was going on. Roberts was right. It wasn’t good.

  Thompson wasn’t visible at first because he was seated. More to the point, he was tied to a chair, his arms and legs strapped down with rope. He had a gag in his mouth and was mumbling something incoherent. Tears streaked his face, streaming from his eyes. He had a bruise on his left cheek but otherwise seemed more or less unharmed.

  Owen felt the anger that had been kindling before rising up into a full-fledged fury. This went way beyond anything he could consider acceptable. Trainees got the crap kicked out of them by physical training and other similar activities. That was expected. But the cadre of drill instructors and drill cadets were supposed to keep their trainees safe. That was their job, their mission, their role. To train and improve, but also to monitor safety. He’d never even heard of a trainee being tied to a chair before.

  “Still won’t say you’re sorry, Thompson?” Merrick said. He leaned the chair back, tipping it almost far enough that it fell over. He made motions like he would drop it a few times, each eliciting a frightened squeak from Thompson, but he never actually let go of the chair.

  “Guess he doesn’t think he needs to talk,” Adams said with a low growl. He stalked closer, hauling something along with him. “Luckily, we have training in making people talk, don’t we, boys? And we’ve got all night.”

  Adams tossed a pillowcase over Thompson’s head. The recruit thrashed against his bond
s, but he wasn’t going anywhere. They’d done too good a job tying him down. Adams let him struggle a few moments and then lifted a fist. With careful aim, he fired off a left uppercut into Thompson’s abdomen, just under the ribs.

  This wasn’t discipline. This was torture.

  Owen felt the fury build inside him like an old friend returning. He even smiled, thinking about landing his fists on Adams’ face. The cadet was bigger than him, but Owen was confident he could take him down. He half-rose to rush in and do just that.

  Then he remembered what James had said. Something about being mindful of that anger. That it might feel like a friend, but it had gotten him into trouble more than once already. That thought reminded Owen what was on the line if he was caught fighting again. He froze in place, then sank slowly back to the ground.

  What had he been thinking? If he rushed in there and beat Adams up, he might get a little short-term satisfaction, but he’d lose his place in the Armor training. That was way too high a price to pay. Owen started shaking, realizing how close he’d come to throwing everything he wanted away for the sake of a moment’s release from holding back his rage.

  He had to get the DIs right away. They’d put a stop to this in half a heartbeat. Those cadets would never see graduation, either. They’d end up out on their asses, same as Owen had. The thought gave him some satisfaction.

  “Ready for another?” Adams asked. He pulled back his arm to strike again, but Harper laid a hand on it to block him.

  Owen raised his eyebrows. That had taken balls he didn’t know Harper had.

  “Hey, man. I think he’s had enough. This was all a game before, but it’s getting real here,” Harper said.

  “You want to take his place in the chair?” Adams growled.

  Harper shook his head, backing away. “No.”

  “Then mind your own business. If you can’t stomach what being an officer requires, go find someplace else to hang out. I don’t want to see you,” Adams said.