Introductions were made, and now Wen was looking over them all. His eyes drifted to the new members, who were the current unknowns.
“Reclaimer is unlike any carrier group before it, for two simple reasons. Here we compete to be the best. There is no doing the Bare Minimum here. If I catch you trying to pass BM, then I will let Warrant Haas have the pleasure of re-educating you. Some of you are fresh to the troopers. This is good. You have less of the issues that some of the more veteran stuck in the mud might have. This is Alpha company, Major Nerva’s favourite company in the entire fucking Division. We are the tip of the fucking spear here. I will not have anyone dulling our point. For the next four months we will train, will knock out the cobwebs and teach you skills you never knew were important. They will save your damned life in Masoul.” His eyes swept the crowd. There was a fire in them.
“We will begin with weapons draw and physical training to get those last cryo kinks out of your bones. Then, we’re going to train until we can’t think about anything but fighting. Here we will sweat, and then we will bleed in order to survive Masoul. They are unlike an enemy seen in generations. They are well organized and smart. They will bring the entire system into war, innocents and believers alike. We are going to make them see the errors of their ways. You will not underestimate them. To do so is to die.” Mark felt the people around the briefing straighten. Their faces were grim, and focused on their leader.
“Now, since we’re not going to fight anyone in our damned smart clothes,” he started, with his voice decidedly lighter and something humorous behind his eyes now, “we’re going to draw our armor and combat load to train in.” There were noises in the ranks, and a soft fuuuuuuuck that made Mark look to Dashtund. He got a ‘it wasn’t me’ shrug in response. Mark held his sigh as Wen continued.
“Major Nerva has accepted my request to use our equipment everywhere. We will deactivate our rifles, except for when on the range or training. There will be gear racks in your barracks by the end of the week. It seems that the entire Division will be doing the same, so the techs and engineers are having to fabricate a few extra,” Wen said with a certain amount of glee.
Mark knew it would be good to train in what they would fight in. But damn, he thought about the chafing and stank that would become his daily life.
“So, let’s be off to the Armories to collect our gear,” Wen said, as he turned and moved away.
“First section, to weapons detachment two ranks!” Haas barked. People already moved into position behind Wen. Two lines flowed back as they marched through the corridors. They were built to fit five people, side by side.
They got to their racks, and put their armor on. Mark watched how the new members of his section came together. There were three of them. Domo was a Southern girl, with a tanned-olive complexion. Bale was a big looking western lad. Repulsor gunner, Mark automatically thought. He looked at his size, as well as his armor and gear that were laid out to support more repulsor ammo boxes. Then there was the Easterner Sun, who had to be the geekiest trooper Mark ever met. The guy loved screwing around with tech, though he wanted to blow shit up instead of sit back like the rest of the techs in the EMF.
Mark just had to make sure that they understood how Reclaimer worked. Sun looked like he had the idea. Bale and Domo, he wasn’t so sure of.
Time will show.
Once suited and booted, they moved out of the armories and got glances and smirks from others as they moved through the halls to the training areas. They did physical training with their gear on, and cleared the mock-station.
The experience wound down a few hours later, as they piled out of the training area and into the mess hall. They shovelled down food.
“The damn chafing in these things is unreal,” Ko complained, and he rolled his shoulders and piled food into his mouth.
The salty buildup of sweat, and the armor that rubbed together, was rather unpleasant. The smart clothes would get rid of the salt, but it took a bit to time.
“Hopefully we won’t be soft as babies when we get in these for Masoul,” Dominguez pointed out.
Mark winced, and thought about the first time he wore armor for longer than a few weeks. It was damned uncomfortable to have straps where there were no callouses. Skin that wasn’t roughed up constantly chafed, and rubbed painfully.
“There any word from higher about where we’re going to be headed to first?” Ishida asked, and looked to Mark.
“The asteroid belt it looks like, moving inward would be my guess,” he said, and shrugged before he continued to eat.
“Yay, low gee environment, then so much gas that a spark would turn it into a second sun. Onto an enemy controlled shipping station and a hell-planet, that is so fucked up that people buried themselves in it,” Dashtund said, as he used his spork as a pointing tool at all of them. “Sometimes, I just wonder what the hell people were thinking when they settled into these systems.” He shook his head and went back to eating. It was one of the rare times he shut up.
They finished off their meals and headed to the sparing rooms. They still wore all their gear, though other groups also wore armor and looked mildly annoyed.
“Sergeants, get them sorted out,” Haas said. He and Wen moved to a sparring circle themselves. The EMF was no place to let one’s skills get rusty.
Marcus got his people sorted into groups for training, and they proceeded to fight.
Sergeant Zukic crossed his arms. Jerome, Tyler and Mark gathered around him. He was a man of few words, and weapons detachment kept to themselves. They got to know one another more during their training, but there was still a bit of distance.
“You three have done well. Don’t fuck it up, and Mark, be sure to watch that Domo. She’s too cocky. You’re going to have to get that broom handle planted in Dalhousie’s spine out Tyler. Jerome, you’re going to have to make sure that you show you are the leader of your section. Having half of your section being new, means you’re going to need to hammer that into their skulls,” Zukic said, as his eyes lingered on Jerome. The rest of them looked over their sections, and thoughts moved behind their eyes.
“Thanks Sergeant,” Jerome said, as he nodded to Zukic seriously. He had two more drops than them under his belt. His advice was damned gold.
“No worries,” Zukic said, as he looked away.
Domo clapped Ishida in the ear, and drove a knee into her face. Ishida jumped away, and her combat senses kicked in. She was looking to warm up and spar, but Domo was looking to cause her pain.
Mark moved without thought, and his face was already like granite.
He walked onto the mat, and went right for Domo. She looked stunned for a second. She expected a reaction, but not this.
“Want to spar sergeant?” she asked, as he kept walking.
“Sure,” Mark said. Anger radiated through his muscles. He cut control to his augments, but he didn’t want to kill her. He never stopped walking. She walked up and tried to hit him. He used a hand, and batted away her movements. His pace slowed slightly, but he kept pushing her back.
A kick came for his head. He grabbed her leg with his left hand, and stabbed his forefinger and middle finger into the back of her knee.
She screamed out and dropped. A punch would have hurt, but he applied all of his strength into one tiny unarmored spot. Her tendons screamed in pain now.
He didn’t release her leg. Instead he turned, and his right hand also grabbed her leg. He promptly threw her, as if he was playing discus.
“Heads!” Tyler barked. People moved out of the way of a flailing Domo, who hit the next sparring matt and rolled over.
Mark moved as soon as she left his hands.
She lay on the floor, with fire in her eyes as he walked up.
“Don’t do that again,” he said simply. His eyes locked onto hers. She looked away first, and Mark looked to the two on the mat. “Dash, Tal, could you get these two to the medics?” Mark asked. He glanced at Ishida, who had blood coming from her ear and
pain on her face.
“Sure,” Tal said, as he moved to Ishida.
Dashtund went to Domo.
“And this is why we can’t have nice things,” Dashtund said in a low voice that only he, Mark and Domo could hear. It didn’t seem to get to Domo. “You hit me, and I’ll let him put you in the ground. Who knows, he might even have to use two hands.”
“No fighting,” Mark said, as he looked to Dashtund. He was not going to have his people hit on one another for anything other than training.
As a Sergeant, he was out of their sphere slightly. Hopefully, they saw that he was giving a lesson.
A whistled pierced through the room. Zukic had two fingers in his mouth.
“No one said stop! Get to it, or do you need us to make sure you know how to fight again?” Zukic said. He indicated the Sergeants but didn’t say their name.
People got back to their fights.
Mark went back over to the Sergeants.
“We’ll have them moved to another unit by the end of the day,” Zukic said, as he looked at Domo.
Mark looked over to Wen and Haas who fought. They paused for a moment, and caught their breath. A look in their eyes told Mark they were watching. The nod showed they approved. Mark turned and joined his fellow Sergeants, who looked over the rest of the platoon.
Issues usually got a physical response. In the slums, that was the best educator. It showed that you were the best by hurting someone. It became part of the troopers’ lives.
The sparring went on, and people shifted around to new partners. They moved to fake knives, until dinner rolled around.
Then they got the night off.
Mark pulled off his armor, and put it under his bunk. Tal dumped his head in the corner between the bunk and the wall.
Tal sported a new Master Corporal dot and line as Mark’s second. He slept on the bunk above Mark.
“Want to go to the mess?” he asked.
“Going to see the Major,” Mark said. He asked the Major if they could talk a few days ago, and he agreed.
“Alright, well I think a bunch of us will be in the mess if you want to come and hangout,” Tal said, as he grabbed a towel from his locker and headed for the shower.
“Alright,” Mark said. Tal disappeared into the shower.
Mark moved through the others in the room. They talked excitedly, lazed about, and debated what to do with their free time.
It was a quick walk into officer territory, and to the Major’s door. His knock earned him an open door. Mark was about to salute, but Nerva waved it away.
“Come on in. Want a drink?” Nerva asked, as he moved to the cabinet next to his desk. Its contents were some of his only personal affects.
“Sure,” Mark said, as he walked into the room and let the door close behind him.
‘Cigar?”
“Well if you insist,” Mark said, as he relaxed and took a seat. Nerva passed him two cigars and a lighter, as he filled two glasses and put some ice in the cups.
Mark flicked a blade into his right hand. He trimmed the cigar, and exchanged it for a drink.
“Cheers,” Mark said, as he put the glass down. He lit his cigar, puffed it into life, exhaled smoke, and handed the cigar over to Nerva.
He took a sip of the drink. Its warmth spread through his body as he swallowed.
Nerva put down the lighter. His own cigar added to the room’s smoke.
“So, why are you here instead of using your free time to have a few drinks or get some sleep?” Nerva asked, as he sunk into his chair. His attention was focused on Mark.
“I thought you might have a better idea than me of what we’re going up against. I thought that information might be useful to my people,” Mark said, as he puffed on his cigar.
Nerva gave a rare smile. Lines that were usually flat appeared on his face. Mark could see that Nerva endured sleepless nights, as he made sure his people were ready to go.
“You’re learning, my boy,” Nerva said.
Mark grinned, and swelled with pride.
“So, it looks like Harmony is indeed some sort of religious group. They’ve made sure no one can escape the oncoming war and they’ve been given twenty-two years to prepare. Hopefully they’ll think we’ll take longer, and we’ll catch them with their pants down,” Nerva said. His previous smile fell away with his words, as he reclined more into his seat. His eyes were distant. He was either using his implants, or remembering it all. He took a sip of his drink.
“But plan for the worst, hope for the best,” Mark said, as he was rewarded with a snort.
“Seems you had a good teacher,” Nerva said dryly. “Yes, it looks that way. It also looks like the people in the asteroid belt and those on the gas planet aren’t going to come under Harmony’s control unless they force the issue. My money is on Harmony inflicting much violence to take those points.” He took a puff of his cigar, and Mark joined him.
“It’s kind of like the church and the revolution,” Nerva surmised.
“Revolution?” Mark asked, confused.
“The Industrial Revolution. People wanted to make things, great things and they found the freedom to do that. They found wealth in doing that. The church tried to regain control from them, but it was too little too late, at least in some areas. Those that had gained freedom from the system, gained a modicum of freedom. There was no pulling them back,” Nerva said. His eyes looked to Mark, whose brain whirred with that information.
“So the gas planet and the asteroids have been given a large degree of freedom from the corporations to do as they want, and they are not about to submit to having some religion tell them what to do,” Mark said, as he nodded his head. A new image of the tensions across Masoul filled the map of the system that he memorized.
“Bingo,” Nerva said, as he pointed his cigar at Mark.
“By the same logic, the people that are on Masoul actual aren’t all going to want to be part of Harmony,” Mark said.
“Not everyone likes how the majority are doing things. Here it looks like a minority are doing the shoving and pushing, but they have a plan and the ability to carry it out,” Nerva’s voice was dark, as he slugged the rest of the drink back.
Mark sensed something more behind that statement than just the basic reports he was given.
Nerva looked to him, as if he wondered whether to tell him what he knew or not. A decision was made, and he took a puff of his cigar.
“One of the freighters that they captured, it was carrying supplies for the EMF,” Nerva said. The room came into sharp focus for Mark, as his heartbeat climbed into his throat.
“They got a carrier’s worth of E-12 rifles and fifty million rounds,” Nerva said.
“Fuck,” Mark said. This mission had just got a whole lot harder.
Nerva simply nodded and drew in the cigar’s smoke, rolled it around and let it out in a rush.
“So we’re going to be fighting at least a carrier worth of Harmony assholes with our guns. Do they have grenade mags?” Mark asked, as the question rose from his mind.
“No,” Nerva said.
“Thank fuck, so a hundred and twenty-thousand-ish E-12-armed people, dug into defensive positions on a planet that has the worst weather possible, and the kind of tunnel system that would make a damn mole confused,” Mark surmised. He hoped Nerva would tell him that it wouldn’t be that bad. Now, dawned on him just how messy this whole thing was going to be.
Sacremon was a bitch, but there was only a million or so people that were part of the rebellion. Masoul’s population numbered fifty million - seven million on Masoul actual.
“That’s about right,” Nerva said.
“Well, this is going to fucking suck,” Mark said, as he threw back the rest of his drink. Nerva pulled out the bottle, and poured himself another drink. He pushed it over to Mark. He took it, and gave himself another measure.
“Now, what if I told you that only about five percent of both the gas planet and the asteroid miners were in cryo? The r
est are active,” Nerva said, as he puffed on his cigar and watched Mark’s brain work.
“Then, I would say it gives us a place to start,” Mark said, confused. He got a head shake of disapproval from Nerva.
“It gives us reinforcements, and intel, never forget intel,” Nerva said, ever the teacher. “We’re it for the immediate future, one-hundred-and-seventy-three-thousand souls. We need to end this fight and quick. That means getting them on the planet, cutting off their escape and buttoning them up like we did with Sacremon,” Nerva said.
Mark nodded. It was a solid plan, but he just hoped that the people of Masoul didn’t act faster than the people of Sacremon. The thought of possibly millions, maybe even a billion or so, rushing towards the nearly two hundred thousand troopers didn’t instill him with confidence.
“Now what battles does this remind you of?” Nerva asked. His impromptu lecture started.
Lectures like this continued over the next three weeks. Others occasionally sat in on the mini-lectures that Nerva hosted, and then he started to host them in the briefing room. They dissected the religion of Harmony, how the structure worked, and how that might relate to military options. They went through possible tactics, and opened up gaming nights where Divisions worked on massive interactive tables to take or defend the system Masoul.
Over the days, they trained for everything they thought they might need. And at night, they learned and planned.
***
“Shooting is not the act of hitting your target, it’s about putting a round where they will be, anticipating their movements, knowing the environment around you and making that connection that will lead to a kill. Yes, I know that most of our fights are going to be fast and heavy with the close quarters of Masoul. That said I do not want anyone getting sloppy. Say we get into a shopping centre or food court. A sniper might try to pick us off; you need to get accurate fire on them as quickly as possible. Knowing what the shooter knows will help you to kick their ass,” Tyler said as he looked at everyone before they went on the range for their marked shoot.
Masoul (Harmony War Series Book 2) Page 10
