Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga)

by Peter Grant

  “Aye aye, Platoon Instructor!”

  Robinson transferred his attention back to Steve. “Recruit Maxwell, during the last week of Boot Camp, after Exercise Grindstone, all the training platoons compete against each other for the unarmed combat championship of this intake. There’s a team prize and an individual prize. Each platoon will enter six fighters. You’ve just been selected from a host of applicants to lead and help train our team.”

  “Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

  “One more thing, recruit. As of right now, you’re an assistant instructor during the platoon’s unarmed combat classes. The instructor will demonstrate each evolution on you, so you’ll get your lumps before everyone else in the platoon!” Laughter from the other recruits. “You’ll perform each evolution with him until he’s satisfied you understand it. With your background, that should take no time at all. Thereafter you’ll assist him in teaching it to the rest of the platoon.”

  “Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

  “Carry on, Corporal.”

  “Aye aye, Platoon Instructor! Recruit Maxwell, stand fast. The rest of you, pay attention while this recruit and I demonstrate a few basic blocks. You’ll use them to stop an opponent’s blow from reaching you. Watch closely!”

  ~ ~ ~

  The platoon filed down a long counter, each recruit pressing his thumb on a reader to certify receipt of a bead carbine, a power pack and a cleaning kit. Corporal Shabab marched them to a row of tables beneath a canopy, facing a berm on the firing range. He spaced them out, checking to ensure that tins of solvent stood ready, one between every two recruits, then climbed onto a raised platform.

  “Awright, listen up!” He gestured to half–a–dozen grinning Marine privates standing to one side. “These Marines will assist me in supervising you as you clean your carbines for the first time. You address them as ‘Sir’ and obey their orders, just as you do mine! You’ve all taken the hypno–study class on how to disassemble and clean a carbine, so get to work. Keep your muzzles pointed in a safe direction at all times! If you point your carbine at anyone else, you WILL suffer for it! If you get stuck, raise your hand and wait for one of us to help you.”

  Steve removed the power pack, and confirmed that there was no magazine in the well and no round in the chamber. He unlatched the dust–cover and laid it to one side, then tried to slide the electromagnetic firing mechanism from its socket; but it wouldn’t budge. He angled the carbine to and fro, peering at the mechanism, trying to figure out what was wrong, but could see nothing obviously out of place. Finally, reluctantly, he raised his hand.

  It took some time for a Marine to reach him, as they were all busy with other trainees. At last one of them came over. “All right, recruit, what’s the problem?”

  “Sir, this recruit is unable to remove the firing mechanism from its socket, Sir.”

  “Let me see.” The Marine took the carbine, examined it intently, and nodded. “Whoever last cleaned this carbine didn’t get all the solvent off the rails before adding dry lube. The solvent congealed the powdered lubricant into a sort of glue. Some of it leaked into the socket, and it’s holding the mechanism in place. Look here. You can see traces of it at the edge of the socket.”

  Steve looked closely. “Sir, yes, Sir. How is this recruit to remove the mechanism from the gun, Sir?”

  “WHAT DID YOU CALL THIS WEAPON, RECRUIT?”

  Oh, hell! Now I’m in for it!, Steve thought miserably to himself as he braced to attention. “Sir, this recruit meant to ask, ‘How is he to remove the mechanism from the carbine’, Sir!”

  Corporal Shabab appeared at the Marine’s elbow as if teleported. “What’s the problem, Private?”

  “Corporal, this recruit just called his carbine a ‘gun’.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Recruit Maxwell, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Steve knew very well what to say. “Sir, no excuse, Sir!”

  “Were you present when I taught the class about weapon nomenclature, recruit?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!”

  “Do you recall what I said about this type of weapon, recruit?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!”

  “Repeat it, recruit.”

  “Sir, aye aye, Sir! The instructor warned that this type of weapon was always to be referred to as a ‘carbine’ or ‘bead carbine’, so as not to confuse it with a ‘rifle’ or ‘beam rifle’, the standard weapon of armored Marines. He also warned that under no circumstances was any issue weapon ever to be referred to as a ‘gun’ or a ‘firearm’, because those terms describe chemical–powered weapons of a bygone era which are no longer used by the Fleet, Sir.”

  “And why didn’t you remember that a moment ago, recruit?”

  “Sir, no excuse, Sir!”

  “Good. If you’d tried to weasel your way out of this, I’d have given you double punishment. As it is, drop and give me fifty, right now!”

  “Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

  Steve dropped to his hands and toes, and began pumping out pushups. However, the corporal wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “Hold in place, recruit!”

  Steve froze at the top of a pushup. Shabab slid his carbine beneath his body, positioning the stock carefully beneath his face.

  “Now, recruit, every time you go down, I want you to kiss that stock. Every time you come up, I want you to shout, ‘I love my carbine!’, then count off the pushup. Got that?”

  “Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

  “Then go to it. The count starts at one.”

  Steve sank, kissed his carbine, pushed up, and shouted, “I love my carbine! One!”

  “NOT LOUD ENOUGH, RECRUIT! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! THE COUNT STARTS AT ONE AGAIN!”

  He repeated the movement, this time yelling at the top of his lungs. He could hear snickers from the nearest members of the platoon. He knew some of them were jealous over his appointment as an assistant instructor during unarmed combat class. They’d be happy to see him being taken down a peg or two now.

  “That’s better, recruit. Carry on!”

  He ended up doing almost a hundred pushups, because the Marine who’d come to his assistance stayed next to him, loudly rebuking him whenever the volume of his shouts sank too low for his liking, and resetting the count downwards every time as a punishment. By the time he finished he was dripping with sweat, his arms and shoulders were shaking from exertion, his lungs were on fire, his lips were bruised from contact with the stock, and his throat was hoarse from shouting. However, he wasn’t alone by then. Several other recruits were also pounding out pushups for infractions of their own.

  He used copious quantities of solvent to loosen the firing mechanism, then managed to clean and reassemble his carbine without any further problems, hands and arms still trembling in reaction to the pushups. He waited while Corporal Shabab inspected it closely.

  “That’ll do, recruit. Tie your carbine along your leg tonight and sleep with it. That’ll help you remember what it’s called.”

  Seven of them slept with their carbines that night, to the jeers of their platoon–mates. One of the seven, Desjardin, retorted cheerfully, “Just you wait! Who wants to bet he won’t be doing this at least once before Boot Camp is over?”

  No one dared to take his bet.

  ~ ~ ~

  The lectures on Fleet structure, discipline, unit cohesion and leadership were eye–openers for the recruits.

  “For a start, forget all the nonsense you see in the holovids about officers making all the decisions, leading everything of importance and getting all the credit,” PO Robinson informed them briskly. “If you don’t believe me, look behind you.”

  The platoon did so, to find Junior Lieutenant Evans, their Platoon Training Officer, standing at the rear of the classroom. They began to brace to attention in their seats, but he held up his hand. “As you were, recruits. PO Robinson’s right. No officer can accomplish anything without a really solid group of NCO’s to support him, and an equally solid core of Spacers or Marines to carr
y out their instructions. If the Fleet isn’t a team, it’s nothing at all. Carry on, please, PO.”

  Robinson waited until they were all looking at him again. “It’s a statistical fact that, averaged across all six years of the Second Global War on Old Home Earth, any German Wehrmacht combat unit would inflict up to fifty per cent more casualties on an enemy formation of similar type and size than it would suffer, and win up to fifty per cent more encounters with such formations than it would suffer defeats. Waffen SS units were even more effective. During the first half of the war, before their enemies fully mobilized their forces and mass–produced equipment of acceptable quality, the ratio was better than three to one in favor of the Germans.

  “It fought for a morally bankrupt cause, and in some cases committed atrocities and war crimes, but even so, the Wehrmacht was one of the most effective military organizations the settled galaxy has ever seen, before or since. There were many reasons for that, but intensive and thorough training, unit cohesion and quality of leadership stand out. We’ve learned from that, because we want to be at least as effective. Yes, Recruit Maxwell?”

  Steve had raised his hand. “Sir, Nazi Germany was responsible for genocide and other crimes against humanity. How can it possibly be a good example for the Fleet?”

  “Good question, recruit. Many wars have produced outstanding armed forces and leaders who served causes later found wanting, or tolerated — or even carried out — acts later deemed to be atrocities. That doesn’t mean we should ignore their positive aspects. Prepare a report for circulation to the class tomorrow, taking one page each to examine Robert Lee in the American Civil War of the nineteenth century, Georgy Zhukov in the Second Global War I’ve already mentioned, Vo Nguyen Giap in the Vietnam War two decades later, Jerzy Czernicki in Earth’s Asteroid Wars of the late twenty–first century, and Michael Creswell in the twenty–third century’s Marisa Cluster conflict. Look at the nature of the polities they served, as well as the standards and conduct of their armed forces and themselves. A brief summary will suffice.”

  Steve gulped. “Sir, aye aye, Sir!” Mentally he cursed. It’d take him at least a couple of hours tonight to do that, but he knew there were probably similar articles in the Boot Camp library upon which he could draw. He wouldn’t be the only one missing sleep. All the instructors were fond of responding to questions by imposing additional homework, to drive home important points. He had to admit, it worked.

  PO Robinson continued, “To return to the Fleet, we start by having every single member of our combat services go through Boot Camp. Spacer or Marine, enlisted, NCO or officer, we’ve all been there and done that. No one’s taken any shortcuts, and all our combat officers, without exception, have served in enlisted ranks before being commissioned. That’s a very strong unifying bond, right there. We provide ongoing technical and professional education through service schools and academies, hypno–study assignments while on active duty, and extensive electronic libraries to allow you to study in your own time. Fleet University offers courses and degrees up to Masters level through part–time distance education. They’re very good, by the way; their academic quality is vetted by Commonwealth University on Lancaster, so they’re held to the highest standards.

  “As far as unit cohesion goes, we try to make two–year assignments, give or take a few months to allow for the exigencies of the service. That gives our people stability. They have time to get to know those with whom they work, and build effective teams. It also allows us to structure their career path more effectively, with a period of active service followed by one in a support unit, with more opportunities for training and time with their families. Yes, Recruit Kumar?”

  “Sir, you said ‘opportunities for training’. What about extended training courses like Small Craft School, which lasts nine months, or Staff College for officers, which is a full academic year? Surely that takes a very big chunk out of a normal two–year assignment?”

  The instructor nodded. “You’re right. To get around that problem, extended professional training or education is treated as a career assignment in its own right. You’ll be posted to the school concerned, stay there for the duration of the course, then proceed to a normal two–year assignment. If your course includes ongoing part–time study, orders for your next assignment will include that, so your new unit can provide the time and facilities you need to complete it.”

  “Sir, thank you, Sir!”

  “Very well. We also follow the Wehrmacht’s example in another way, by giving much more responsibility and authority to our NCO’s than do many other armed forces. There were more than a few instances in the Second Global War where German lieutenants or even senior sergeants took command of battalions in combat, after all their other officers had been killed, wounded or put out of action. Sergeants sometimes led companies, corporals sometimes led platoons. The units usually performed as well under their command as they had under their officers — sometimes better. That’s the quality of NCO leadership to which we aspire.

  “On small warships such as light and heavy patrol craft, someone of my rank will usually be a department head. On destroyers, and on even the largest auxiliaries, a Warrant Officer may be a department head, with a Senior NCO as his deputy. At times the Senior NCO may act as temporary department head for extended periods. Also, we ask Senior NCO’s to evaluate every candidate for a regular commission with whom they’ve served. If more than a third of them issue a down–check, that person doesn’t even appear before the selection board, let alone go to OCS. So, it’s clear that to be an NCO in the Fleet is a big responsibility. Since most of you who decide to make a career in the Fleet will end up as at least NCO’s, we want you to take that to heart.

  “Your career will be structured to equip you to be a leader. As Spacers or Marines Third, Second and First Class, you’re given less responsibility and more supervision. In those ranks your training is very intensive, with ongoing hypno–study and simulator work even during active duty assignments. As junior NCO’s — Petty Officers Third and Second Class in the Spacer Corps, or Corporals and Sergeants in the Marine Corps — you’re considered sufficiently trained and experienced to command and teach others, and set an example of leadership to them. Your training continues, but your duties carry progressively greater responsibility and authority.

  “A PO First Class or Staff Sergeant is referred to as a Staff NCO, to designate them as on the cusp of Senior NCO rank. They may fill posts nominally reserved for Senior NCO’s if none are available. By the time you reach Senior NCO rank — Chief, Senior Chief or Master Chief Petty Officer in the Spacer Corps, or Gunnery, Master, or Master Gunnery Sergeant in the Marine Corps — you’re considered a professional leader, able to function as part of a unit’s command team, even take over command if necessary in certain situations. As part of that, the Fleet officially assigns to Senior NCO’s the responsibility to help train and form its junior officers. Also, by that time your cumulative training and military education will usually be sufficient to have earned a Bachelor’s degree in Military Science, over and above your professional qualifications. That’s why we insist on minimum educational standards and aptitudes for our recruits. You’re going to need them! You had a question, Recruit Mendez?”

  Alonzo Mendez was a Marine recruit. “Sir, yes, Sir. I’ve met several Marines and Spacers who’ve held Private or Spacer First Class rank for many years, never moving up to NCO rank. How do those standards of leadership apply to them, Sir?”

  “Some people just don’t want the responsibilities that go with higher rank. That’s OK — we have plenty of work for them. Provided they work hard and meet our standards, we won’t kick them out. However, we want as many of you as possible to develop your leadership potential.”

  “Sir, understood, Sir!”

  Robinson glanced at a clock on the rear wall of the classroom, then looked around. “Some of you probably think that the way we try to break you down in Boot Camp doesn’t bear that out. You’re wrong. Our f
irst priority is to inculcate unit cohesion by getting rid of the self–centered, me–first, ‘I’m special’ attitude held by so many civilians.” A subdued chuckle ran through the recruits. “You’ve already learned you’re not so special after all; that anyone in your platoon is your equal or better, if not in one area, then in another; and that you all have to work together as a team in order to overcome problems and obstacles. That’s the beginning of unit cohesion, right there.

  “Thereafter, we give each of you opportunities to lead your platoon in parade maneuvers, or field problems, or instruction. It’s not a big thing at this early stage of your career, but small beginnings lead to larger things later. We reward top performance right away. As you know, the Honor Graduate of each training platoon is promoted immediately to Spacer or Marine Second Class, bypassing Third Class rank. That’s an early start up the ladder. They’ll earn that promotion the hard way, as all of you will be able to attest from your own experience.

  “Boot Camp’s tough — deliberately so. Little, if anything, in your future Fleet career will seem as hard as this, even though some courses — for example, advanced NCO training or OCS — are actually more demanding. That’s because almost all of you came here as civilians, without any military background. You’re learning that here from the ground up. What you take away from Boot Camp will color the rest of your Fleet career. You’ll rise as far as your abilities and drive will take you. If you’ve got the potential, and work hard, and make the most of all the opportunities the Fleet offers, and have a little good luck here and there, and avoid career–killing mistakes, there’s nothing stopping you becoming a Fleet Admiral someday. It’s all up to you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  By the time eight weeks had passed, the recruits’ close–order drill had improved beyond all recognition. They marched in tight formation, moving as one through increasingly complex maneuvers and intricate evolutions. Heels cracked together in unison, heads turned and arms shot out in perfect alignment to dress the ranks, and they reacted swiftly and uniformly to the command of execution.