One by one we relieved our partners, releasing them from their exercise. We stood, jogging on the spot to keep our muscles moving and prevent them from seizing up, it kept the PTI happy too. I was chuffed with myself - I had been one of the first to get back - so my partner couldn’t say I’d jacked on him. In the military, ‘jack’ is a very dirty word. If you’re jack it means you’re not a team player, you let people down and only look out for yourself. People who were jack got other people killed and were hated more than anything. You could call somebody all sorts of words and he might not bat an eyelid, but call a man jack, and he would never take it well, especially if it was true.
‘You got a problem, boy?’ A harsh voice asked, and I jumped. The man who moved to stand in front of me was dressed in PT kit identical to mine, but it was easy to see he had some kind of rank, though what it was I was unsure. He was a broad-shouldered man in his late twenties with piercing blue eyes and severe acne scarring to his face. He had an additional scar that formed a near perfectly round, albeit broken, circle on his cheek, obviously the result of being stabbed by a broken bottle in one of England’s notoriously classy drinking establishments. His eyes stabbed at mine as he leaned close to my face, his unpleasantly odorous breath burning against my cheeks.
I chose to go with the safe option, mid-way in the rank structure.
No….um….Corporal.’
‘I’m not a Corporal,’ he spat the word as though he found it distasteful, ‘Try again.’
‘No, Sergeant,’ I cursed inwardly, and my cheeks flushed with blood as I felt the eyes of the entire platoon upon me. Even the PTI had stopped to look. During PT the PTI was in charge, but ultimately the platoon sergeant was God; the terrifying disciplinarian who ruled the platoon with an iron fist and I had somehow already managed to annoy him.
‘That’s right, I’m your platoon sergeant. So if you haven’t got a problem, why are you shaking your head at one of my lance corporals?’
‘I didn’t, I…’
‘I watched you do it,’ the sergeant jabbed a massive finger at my chest, ‘Are you calling me a liar, boy?’ He was from Southampton, I recognised the accent. Being from Portsmouth I was never going to be in his good books, as the two cities despised each other since time began.
I gulped - I couldn’t argue - not with the platoon sergeant of all people. Within a dropship platoon the only man higher than the platoon sergeant was the platoon commander, but even that was up for debate!
‘No, Sergeant,’ I focused my eyes on the wall behind him, not daring to look him in the eye.
‘So now you’re the liar, then?’
There was no response I could give that wouldn’t be wrong. I chose not to say a word and instead tried to look as scared and stupid as I could for the sympathy card. In retrospect, I probably didn’t need to try; I was probably scared and stupid enough.
The platoon sergeant drew closer, his teeth bared, ‘Mess with me, boy, and you won’t even make it to New Earth, understand?’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
He looked across to the PTI, ‘Carry on, mate.’
‘Roger! Number one’s in position!’
I dropped to the press-up position, my hands cold against the metal. Bruised abdominal muscles screamed as I fought to keep my back straight.
‘Number two’s, one lap, stand by………GO!’
As I pushed the world away a familiar voice taunted me from my right, ‘You ain’t gonna last five minutes here, crow bag.’
I looked over and saw Woody performing press-ups two down the line from me, grinning from ear-to-ear. It was probably his idea to get us in the ablutions and attack us, I thought. The sick bastard was enjoying seeing me suffer. I decided there and then that I had never hated anybody as much as Woody.
I realised my eyes were wet and looked to the ground and blinked it off.
What had I done to deserve this? I hadn’t done anything wrong! As I exercised in my own little world of pain I finally realised that I had made a terrible mistake joining the dropship infantry - and I was going to pay for it.
The PT session went on for another fifty minutes, going up to two laps and even three at times as the PTI pushed us to our limits. I kept my mouth shut throughout - well, not to talk anyway - not even daring to look at anyone.
After PT the platoon were sent back to the accommodation to shower and change, while me and the other new lads were kept behind by the platoon commander. We lined the wall of the circumference corridor, which had become silent in the absence of the platoon’s heavy breathing. I listened to the strange and ghostly sounds of the ship echoing through the superstructure whilst the lieutenant shared a whispered conversation with the platoon sergeant.
‘Well,’ the platoon commander began, walking out in front of the five of us. He was a slight man who appeared a little younger than the platoon sergeant. It was normal for a platoon commander to be younger than his platoon sergeant, the latter of whom had climbed up through the ranks from being a private like me. Platoon commanders came into command directly from their training, but that was because their training lasted several years and was far more selective than ours was. ‘I don’t know if I’m the first to say ‘welcome on board’ but…..welcome on board.’
He wasn’t the first to welcome us, I thought, and I had the bruises to prove it. I remained still, my hands clasped firmly behind my back.
‘My name is Lieutenant Barkley and I am your new platoon commander. I apologize for not greeting you immediately upon arrival, but it was early in the morning, plus it gives you a chance to settle in and get your heads around it. This platoon and this ship are your new home.’
Like all officers I had met during my short time in the army, the platoon commander was extremely well-spoken, with an accent that I had never encountered until being conscripted into the Union army. He wasn’t necessarily from a particularly affluent background, the dropship infantry was one of the few places in the Union where money and background didn’t count for anything. Officers did, however, have to be of a certain intellectual calibre, most notably in language, since they were expected to be able to communicate with unit commanders from any one of the Union states who might not speak English. He had undoubtedly been to college, and perhaps even university, a privilege reserved for the gifted - or the rich.
‘I take it you all have an inkling of what might be coming?’
We nodded as one, ‘Yes, Sir.’
The platoon commander returned the nod, everyone knew that the Union would return to New Earth and that the time for battle would be very soon indeed, ‘We’re waiting for an announcement within the next couple of days, and potentially we might leave the Hope system very soon. Therefore I appreciate that this is a difficult time for any trooper to arrive from training. You have a great deal more to learn - and very quickly. No doubt you’re feeling very homesick, lonely and scared right now, especially with this daunting task laid out before you.
Despite what you may have heard, at least two thirds of the platoon have never seen combat operations, neither have they seen New Earth or Eden. That includes me and several NCOs. Everybody is a little scared, if they say they aren’t then they’re probably lying. The platoon have been on voyage for four months and although I know you have spent just over a year away from Earth training, they too are homesick.
What I’m getting at is that we are all in the same boat together, metaphorically as well as literally. Talk to the lads in your sections, from the junior privates to the senior troopers. Share your burden with them and you will find you become part of the family very quickly, and you will forge a bond that will give you the courage and the strength to see the job through to the end.
You’re going to be busy settling in, I urge you to use the next few days to do so before, potentially, we go to war. I will try to find the time to chat to you each in turn very soon. Until then, though, I will leave you in the very capable hands of Sergeant James.’
The boss glanced to Sergeant
James, who stood off to a flank like a ferocious monster held back on a leash, waiting impatiently to be released, ‘Sergeant.’
Sergeant James made an attempt to smile sweetly at the platoon commander, but instead it looked more like a grimace. He wasn’t accustomed to smiling, as I would learn over the time I knew him, ‘Permission to carry on, Boss.’
The boss nodded, almost surprised by Sergeant James’s politeness, ‘Of course, Sergeant.’
The stocky platoon sergeant stared expectantly at the boss, but it took a couple of awkward seconds for the message to sink in, ‘Oh. Of course, well I’ll be seeing you all around then.’
We waited as the platoon commander’s footsteps slowly receded around the corridor and our new platoon sergeant paced in front of us, looking down to the floor as if he were examining his shoes.
I had been the ward of three separate platoon sergeants, one on Earth, one on the Fantasque, and then one on Uralis, and they had all been quite something in their own way. Sergeant Cooper on Earth had been a bully who could barely keep up with us on runs, a fat man who it was safe to say we all despised. Sergeant Talon on Fantasque was quiet as platoon sergeants go, but had a temper that could suddenly and without warning explode in our faces. Sergeant Jacob on Uralis was an amazing man, fit as any of us, and appeared to genuinely care for us, at least so long as we didn’t wind him up too much. Sergeant James was by far the meanest looking platoon sergeant that I had ever come across, and that really was saying something.
The platoon sergeant was many things. He was first and foremost the platoon second in command, ready to step up to assume the role of the platoon commander if he was injured or killed. He managed the sections not being used by the platoon commander during the battle, using them to protect the platoon’s flanks and assist in the movement of spare ammunition and casualties. He co-ordinated the smart launchers - rocket launchers that fired robotic missiles at threats in the air and on the ground with pinpoint accuracy. He managed the triage and extraction of casualties and managed the platoon’s supply of ammunition, water and food, calling for more if required. He also dealt with discipline within the platoon, enforcing it either by sheer force of character, or sheer force, whatever came best to him. The platoon sergeant was more than just a high-ranking NCO, he was the heart and soul of the platoon, the platoon commander was its brain. You never, absolutely never, got on the wrong side of him, because if you did - you mark my words - you would regret it.
The sound of a bulkhead sliding open somewhere around the circumference corridor told us the platoon commander was gone. Sergeant James finished his pacing and eyeballed each of us in turn, as if sizing us up for a fight. I doubted any of us could take him, for he was a monster of a man. His eyes lingered on me and I felt my cheeks burning under his hateful glare.
‘I ain’t scared, and if any of you lot are, I seriously suggest you snap out of it,’ he resumed his pacing, slower now as he continued to watch us. I didn’t move a millimetre.
‘I am Sergeant James,’ he said, ‘And whoever you thought was the big man in your world, then you can forget him. I am your daddy now, and your mummy. I am the ruler of your little world.’
That wasn’t the first platoon sergeant ‘Don’t mess with me’ brief that I had ever had, but in our vacuum surrounded prison his words still carried great menace.
‘You will respect your junior NCOs in my platoon. Lance Corporals are still Corporals here, and you will address them as such,’ his eyes returned to me, ‘You will obey their orders as if they came from me. They are my enforcers, and don’t think for a second they won’t resort to a swift back hand if you mess about. Complain if you want, but remember this, what goes on ship, stays on ship. Your complaints won’t go far. Screw the nut, do what you’re told, that’s all I’m after. Go against me and I’ll ruin you, and if you wanna go home tell me, so I can drag your disgusting body to the airlock and chuck you in the right direction. Understand?’
‘Yes, Sergeant.’
‘Welcome to Challenger, enjoy it while it lasts. Now get your awful bodies out of my sight.’
We ran back to the accommodation to whatever was in store for us next.
#
When I arrived back, half of the platoon were already queuing for their only shower for the day, chatting amongst themselves and thankfully uninterested in me and the other new lads. Steam escaped from the open ablutions bulkhead and was sucked up into the many air vents.
I paused as I entered my room and my jaw dropped. My sausage bag had been opened and tipped to the floor at the foot of my bed, the contents scattered across the floor like rubbish. For a moment I stood there, shocked by the complete lack of respect for my personal possessions.
Calm down, I told myself, they just want to get a rise out of you. Don’t give that bastard Woody the satisfaction - it had to be his doing.
I bit my lip, and then began to gently pick up my things and place them neatly onto my bed. A picture of my mother smiled at me from my personal tablet, a happy smile from years gone by. I missed her so much, never before had I felt as far from home as I did that moment, even after all that I had been through up until then.
‘Eventually you will be accepted,’ Corporal Thomson’s words echoed through my mind. How long was eventually? And after that I only had New Earth to look forward to.
I hadn’t noticed the blonde-haired lad who had got me in trouble during PT enter the room, a towel about his waist.
‘You need to get all the new blokes and go to the galley for a brief at zero-nine-thirty,’ he said, then made as if to begin getting dressed and hesitated. I was more interested in scrolling through all of my family pictures, making sure none of them had been deleted or messed with. I swore to myself I would start swinging if one was missing and to hell with the consequences, but they were all there.
‘He didn’t do anything to it,’ the blonde lad said finally.
I didn’t look up.
‘This crow thing, it doesn’t last forever. Everyone gets it, believe me,’ he started getting dressed into ship’s fatigues whilst I finished gathering my things, ‘I’m Climo, by the way.’
‘Moralee.’
‘Nice to meet you, Moralee.’
That was probably the only proper welcome I would ever receive aboard Challenger.
I went for my shower.
5: The Tour
Our introductory brief took the best part of the day, where all of us fresh recruits were taught everything we needed to know to get by on board Challenger. It was delivered by several different officers, each covering a different subject and using the galley as a makeshift lecture hall. It was long and at times extremely boring, but I wasn’t bothered. It was a welcome relief from the platoon and I was reunited with my comrades from Uralis, including my friend Peters. We couldn’t talk much, but I found his presence comforting.
You couldn’t possibly expect to explain to us mere privates exactly how something as incredible as Challenger actually worked. Supposedly there was once a time when it was believed that soldiers of our time would have to be the most intelligent of individuals, hand-picked from the very top of the higher classes. The truth was that although we were required to be much smarter than regular conscripted troops, we were pretty below average as far as intelligence went. The average drop trooper was from a poor background, most likely living within the city slums which sprawled across much of England, and he probably had a very poor education, any of the smarter lads were kept for more specialized roles within the Union war machine, or became officers. We drop troopers didn’t need to understand why things worked, or how things actually happened, what we needed to know was what they did and how they affected us. A trooper trying to comprehend how the magnets in his rifle worked wouldn’t be putting all of his concentration into the task at hand - using it to kill the enemy. Or as one of the lads in training had said; if we were smart we wouldn’t be stupid enough to ask to join the dropship infantry instead of the regulars in the first place!
Challenger was a troopship, or a ‘stellar assault ship’ to use her proper designation. She was designed to transport a company of troopers between star systems with a complete complement of sixteen dropships and eight gravtanks and then provide orbital ‘top cover’ whilst they made their landing. She was completely incapable of entering a planet’s atmosphere. That would simply tear her apart.
Challenger was capable of travelling faster than the speed of light on a technicality, a loophole that she exploited in the laws of physics, and that was about all I was really expected to understand. I knew that when she accelerated or slowed she didn’t experience G-forces as we might expect, which was just as well or we would all become a red, congealed mush at the back of the ship!
Challenger was armed with an array of weapons to aid her in her task, including banks of lasers for engaging enemy ships in vacuum, four vulcan cannons as a last defence against missiles, and then an array of missile tubes and orbital artillery pieces designed to pound the ground beneath her with molten metal. But despite her impressive arsenal she was not designed to operate independently. A dropship battalion required a total of five identical troop carriers, three carrying the fighting companies and the remaining two carrying a fire support company armed with the more sophisticated, specialised weaponry - and a further headquarter company charged with the management and co-ordination of the others on the ground - as well as tasked to fight the unseen electronic battle. Typically a planetary assault force might consist of as many as fifty ships, and then at least half that number again would be the frigates and destroyers that escorted them.
‘Challenger has been in operation since 2349 when she was commissioned in a New Earth shipyard,’ a young naval lieutenant with a nasal voice told us all, ‘Since then she joined the 1st Fleet and has been the home of A Company of the 3rd Battalion ever since. During those fifteen years most notably she has been involved in the Eden campaign, as well as the New Earth Betrayal three years ago.’
C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) Page 5
