Feral Recruit (Calm Act Book 5)

by Ginger Booth

  Gever looked dubious. “Did you have a bad day somehow, Panic?”

  Ava’s legs thumped to the floor and she sat bolt upright, to glare at Gever. She took a moment, breathing out, holding Gever’s eye. Breathe out. Your lungs breathe in by themselves. Her heart rate slowed a bit.

  “I heard from my ex,” Ava allowed.

  Gever winced. “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Ava blew out. Gever isn’t the enemy. “Sorry. I will if I have to. I’d rather not.”

  Gever nodded.

  “Are they going to kick me out?” Ava asked.

  Gever answered more slowly than Ava liked. “I don’t think so. But Burton and Lupescu want you out. I’m not sure how to fix this, Panic. I mean, can you obey Burton after this? And the timing is terrible. Basic begins tomorrow morning. Your entire platoon is in mutiny.”

  Good. “Burton’s no good, Gever. Despises us.”

  “It’s common in the Army for drill sergeants to insult new recruits, Panic. Cliché, even.”

  “Won’t work, Gever. He has no respect for us. We won’t respect him. You know that.”

  Gever sighed. “Yes. We planned to explain that to them this evening. The new sergeants.”

  “Burton is unfit to lead us. He’s too fat. I demand he face the weight test.”

  Gever snickered.

  Ava shook her head. I’m not joking. “I need to mesh my Coco, Guzman.”

  Gever hesitated. “One of Burton’s gripes against you was that you were a ‘tattler.’ He never had that conversation with you?”

  “Nope. But as I understand it, until I take some kind of oath, I’m under Resco authority. I have the right to contact my Coco.” Not that she knew what to say. I screwed up, Guzman. New asshole sergeant invited me to fight him, so I did. Now I’m in the brig.

  “Who’s your Coco?” Gever asked, pulling out her phone.

  Ava supplied name, ville, and mesh id. Then she said, “Please, Gever. Give me your phone. Three minutes.”

  With clear reservations, Gever handed it over. Ava tapped quickly. Her mesh text wasn’t to Guzman, though. It was to Daneel, the LI meshnet guru.

  From Panic in brig. Hunger strike, target Sgt Lard-Belly Burton. He is above weight guideline. Pass the word.

  Ava trusted Daneel would consult Sauce and Fox – known to him from GED prep class – if he didn’t know what this was about. He’d shown Ava how to wipe a sent mesh text from the phone record. She did so.

  “I’ll contact Guzman, too,” Gever promised when Ava handed the phone back. “For tonight, I think you’re stuck here. I’ll come back to see you tomorrow. Good chance to practice your meditation.” She smiled wanly.

  Ava nodded. She lay back to stare at the ceiling as the MP let Gever out.

  28

  Interesting fact: The U.S. military academies abolished hazing in 1990, because officer cadets should learn to lead, not bully. Basic training instructors continued to use in-your-face bullying, because soldiers needed to learn to cope with hostility and stress. Hudson chose to discontinue the practice, on the grounds that Hudson infantry often deployed against its own citizens.

  The first official day of Boot Camp – bearing the puzzling designation of day 1, week 0 – dawned clear and bitterly cold. The morning found Cookie – Matthew Ryan – safely cramped in his loft bed, a few feet from Doc on the top bunk.

  Cookie maintained steadfastly from the start yesterday that he didn’t want to transfer. He liked his room-mates. He liked his squad-mates. He was proud they beat Hauppauge. He was sure this was all a misunderstanding. He’d never met Sergeant Burton until Platoon Sergeant Lupescu dragged him into the office. But the big affable lug even got along with the sergeants.

  Captain Deluca, and the head of resource aides from LI, Lieutenant Harper, both separately managed to reach the Ryan parents well after lights-out. They had to stop off for a few hours to recharge the truck battery on the way home. Ordinarily their electric truck had the range to make a round trip from Otisville to West Point. But it was so cold out that the batteries drained. The back roads were none too well plowed, either. They were used to that, but the snow took a further toll on their battery mileage.

  The Ryans corroborated Cookie’s theory, that his parents were just concerned and asking questions. There were no other parents around. They felt they should compensate on behalf of the orphans. Nobody demanded Cookie be transferred. Yes, they were a little shocked that their son was rooming with a girl. But Panic seemed very nice. Bright girl. Pity the epidemic took her family. She must be very brave.

  Worried about what she’d do to him? What? Our son is 6’8”. Our concern was that they might develop romantic feelings, and, you know, fool around. We were surprised, that’s all.

  Captain Deluca himself came in around midnight. He woke Cookie and assured him that his parents agreed. He would remain with his squad.

  The lower bunk remained empty. Panic hadn’t returned from the brig.

  Doc showed Cookie the morning ropes. Get your muscles well-stretched, before someone orders you to do something stupid. Brush teeth, take a shower if you want. Yes, the girls shower in there too. Look all you want, but some of them kick just as hard as Panic, and you know where they’re aiming. They don’t miss. Don your full day’s wardrobe, so you can strip for exercise instead of run up the stairs. If someone offers you a haircut, take it. If someone orders you to climb the stairs, dawdle and don’t wear out your legs. Make your bed and square everything away without fail in the morning. Sergeant Burton was sure to do inspection.

  He did. To his every comment, the recruits replied, “Yes, sergeant, no sergeant, I don’t understand, sergeant.” Technically, they had not been instructed in anything whatsoever at this point, especially the new recruits from Upstate and South Jersey.

  Burton ordered Yoda to “Get down and give me 20.” By the skin of his teeth, Yoda had managed, exactly once, to perform 17.

  “Twenty what, sergeant?”

  “Twenty push-ups, you fool.”

  “Excuse me, sergeant,” Marquis butted in. “But the 1-1-1 entry standard is seventeen push-ups for male recruits. The female standard is three. And our muscles are not properly warmed up. Sergeant.”

  Meanwhile Daneel nabbed Fox and pulled her into the stairwell. Her squad made out much better in the new drill instructor lottery. Her sergeant was walking on eggshells this morning. He knew full well his charges were primed for a blow-up after last night’s spectacular failure in leadership on Burton’s part. Fox gave Daneel the blow-by-blow details, so far as she knew them. As soon as the coast was clear of Burton, she fetched Doc and Sauce, Marquis and Puño and Cookie, to the stairwell, to fill Daneel in the rest of the way.

  “Hunger strike?” Marquis repeated in dark glee, when Daneel showed him the message from Panic. “I’m all in.”

  “You sure?” Daneel said, eyeing Fox skeptically. “I mean, I already passed the weight guideline. I’m in. But I hate to pressure people like Fox. I hate that Panic is starving herself.”

  “I’m in,” Fox insisted. “Lard-Belly gotta pay. Panic’s right. This’ll work.”

  “You know, I’ve never gone a whole day without eating before,” Cookie said. He nodded emphatically. “I should.”

  Puño snorted. “We’ll teach you how. Send it, Daneel. Up to each of us, whether to go along.” He knew full well it wasn’t, especially not in his squad. Anyone who ate a bite before Panic was freed, would get hurt.

  Daneel grinned. “Alright!”

  Every recruit on the meshnet – which included everyone whose phone was powered on, though most newbies didn’t know how to use it yet – received a mesh text before breakfast, from no one. It was a system announcement.

  URGENT, TO ALL RECRUITS: Hunger strike to demand Sergeant Lard-Belly Burton be weighed, and Recruit Panic be released from brig. Effective immediately.

  All recruits reported to breakfast. Some sat. Ava’s home table, proudly including Cookie, chose to stand a
t attention. When Burton ordered them to eat, they recited, “Yes, sergeant, no sergeant, I don’t understand, sergeant.”

  Captain Deluca, fully expecting a rough morning, was standing right behind Burton. The sergeant only had time to turn red, not purple, yelling at them, before his commanding officer ordered him to go eat his breakfast. The recruits were saddened that Deluca’s further comments to Burton were not in their hearing. Deluca directed Corporal Icenogle to guide the squad through their morning orientation activities, if Burton was unavailable.

  Deluca prudently left without ordering the students to sit and eat breakfast. One of the cardinal rules of leadership is not to give an order you know won’t be obeyed. It accomplished nothing except to diminish your authority.

  Corporal Icenogle didn’t have much leadership training, and failed to take the hint. He wasn’t a bad sort. But he didn’t have nearly the street savvy and style of Sergeant Calderon. And he was only 23. Marquis and Puño, especially, rather intimidated him. Icenogle ordered and implored the students to sit and eat breakfast.

  “Yes, corporal, no, corporal, I don’t understand, corporal.”

  It was to be the popular mantra of the day, spreading like wildfire through the camp. And a number of other days, scattered throughout the 10 long weeks of basic training.

  It was a shame Ava missed that morning. Marquis and Puño, who easily read that Icenogle was physically intimidated by them, cornered him against the table, and spoke in a friendly way.

  “This whole mess,” Marquis explained, “is easy to solve. Our demands are simple. We demand that Panic be returned to us. And put Sergeant Burton on the scale.”

  “You see, corporal,” Puño said, “we just spent six weeks gaining weight, to earn our way into boot camp. Because we didn’t meet the Army weight guidelines. That pile of cowardly lard you work for? No way he meets the guidelines.” Puño drew subtly closer. Icenogle swallowed. “I’m insulted, corporal. I’m mortally offended.”

  “And Panic, in the brig?” Marquis said, arms crossed. “Burton asked her to take her best shot. You heard it.”

  “I don’t –” Icenogle attempted.

  “You heard it,” Puño said, lips inches from Icenogle’s face. “You were standing right here.”

  “Look, guys –”

  “Invite me to hit you, like Burton invited Panic,” Marquis suggested. “Insult my dead parents. Call me a moron. And then invite me to hit you.”

  “Dare ya,” Puño added.

  “Look, guys, what do you want from me? Burton’s my boss.”

  “Tell Deluca, what Burton did,” said Puño.

  “Captain Deluca is my boss’s boss’s boss.”

  “Tell Deluca our demands,” said Marquis. “Let’s review. One. Release Panic. Two. Weigh Lard-Belly Burton. Easy to remember, right?”

  “I remember,” Puño assured him, and repeated it word for word. “Do you remember, Corporal Icenogle?”

  This corporal was prey if ever there was one. The rabbit cringed and said nothing, eyes darting for someone to bail him out from the youths he was supposedly supervising.

  Marquis patiently repeated the demands for him. Puño did, too. While Icenogle still cowered, they peaceably returned to stand at attention before their gleaming clean plates. The family-style food serving bowls and platters lay unmolested.

  Icenogle, defeated, went off to deliver their message to Lieutenant Mattey. She was less intimidating than the Captain. And she was company executive officer. He could pretend he was bringing her an operational issue, rather than going over his sergeants’ heads. Mattey of course promptly dragged him to Deluca, who dragged him to Major Thurston.

  “You’re telling me that the camp is in a state of mutiny. At breakfast. On day one. Is that correct?” Major Thurston inquired. He thoughtfully wiped his lips on his cloth napkin.

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Deluca agreed. “But, is it mutiny? They haven’t taken oath yet.”

  “There’s that.” The major took out his phone and put it on speaker. “Command Sergeant Major? Captain Deluca here reports we have a mutiny in the dining hall.”

  “Yes, sir. But I believe it’s entire brigade, not just the battalion. Word is, they want the girl released from the brig, and her sergeant weighed. He’s too fat.”

  “Too fat?”

  “Extra forty, fifty pounds, sir. A disgrace. Really pissed off the skinny students. Also an asshole.”

  “Mm, yes. This sergeant is ours?”

  “Afraid so. Arrived Saturday. Shall I weigh him after breakfast, sir?”

  “By all means. Make him perform the full 2-2-2 test as well.” This was the performance standard the recruits were expected to pass at the end of Basic. “If he doesn’t meet fitness standards, get rid of him. Can’t having him teaching them something he hasn’t mastered. Send me his scores, CSM.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And recruit Panic, sir?” Captain Deluca prompted.

  Major Thurston shrugged. “Her platoon sergeant has the authority to spring her.”

  “He refuses to do so, sir.”

  Major Thurston looked at him, head tilted. “Your sergeants are also refusing to obey orders, Captain? Might be a pattern there.”

  “Yes, sir. But Sergeant Lupescu insists she is insubordinate, unrepentant, and destructive of morale. And she incited a mutiny. And, Colonel Newsome thinks she rats us out to the Rescos.”

  “Define ‘us,’ Captain.”

  “I suspect he meant the West Point training camp command staff, sir. I don’t personally have a problem with recruits talking to their Rescos.”

  “The recruit is in the brig for insubordination?”

  Captain Deluca summarized the nonsense of the night before.

  Major Thurston considered that. “So she’s innocent. To make this go away, we would need to restore a trouble-maker to service, and replace two sergeants?”

  “Yes, sir. Colonel Newsome might also have an opinion. Sir.”

  “That’s why I was hoping we could lean on the platoon sergeant, captain.”

  “Understood, sir. Shall I lean harder?”

  “Yes, keep trying that angle.” Thurston sighed. “I’ll let you know how I get on with the colonel. Dismissed.”

  By phone, Lt. Col. Newsome offered Major Thurston an appointment after morning parade. Thurston tried, and failed, to get him to reconsider.

  “You have to eat,” the MP demanded of Ava.

  “No, thank you, corporal,” she replied. She continued her morning workout.

  “You cannot work out and not eat, recruit.”

  “Hunger strike, corporal.” Ava continued her sit-ups.

  “Did you eat last night, recruit?”

  “No, corporal. Sergeant Lard-Belly Barton interrupted our holiday meal before we were served.”

  “Look, Panic, you’re not going to like what happens next with a hunger strike.”

  Ava shot him a level inquiring gaze. He went away.

  He had a point, though. If she was going on a long hunger strike, she probably ought to conserve her energy. She’d just sit here on the floor and resume her workout when someone came to bother her. She leaned back against the bed and wondered yet again what she’d do, if this was it, if she was kicked out. From the brig, she might get a dishonorable discharge.

  She might see Frosty sooner if she left Basic. Maybe he could get her a job Upstate with him. Did I just get myself cashiered from the Army so I could see Frosty again? If so, that wouldn’t work any time soon. Frosty vanished offline for weeks last time. Who knew when she’d hear from him again, if ever. Frosty would never have abandoned her to go seek a new life. But she left him, and set him free.

  She could easily imagine Guzman saying, I’m disappointed in you, Ava. You let your temper get the best of you.

  Deda would have been slightly less humiliating. Ha! You break his balls! Nurse or doctor better pay anyway. Maybe engineer.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything about the hunger
strike. She wondered if she went too far on that one. Her pulse rose. Her hands started to sweat. She breathed out, into her thighs. She did inventory, from toes to nose, checking in with how each muscle felt.

  And for the first time in a long time, Ava Panic found peace. She basically liked herself. She’d get by. She did what she’d done, and that was that. She wanted to stay in the Army with her friends. But she’d be OK, either way.

  Major Thurston was carefully alone in his office before he tried his next phone call, to the lead Resco of Long Island, Lt. Colonel Cam Cameron.

  “Cam? Thirsty, at West Point. Got a problem.”

  “Yeah?”

  Thurston explained his predicament, and the recruit still in the brig, for an infraction that was technically not an infraction. The sergeant invited her to fight him. “But now it’s a camp-wide mutiny.”

  “She’s one of mine?”

  “No. She’s from Manhattan. But I don’t know Colonel Margolis, the Manhattan lead Resco. I was hoping to ask you as an old friend. Any ideas on how I can make this come out right?”

  “Well, first take a breath. I mean, these recruits have been through far worse than this. I’m sure the kid is fine. She’ll survive discharge, if it comes to that.”

  “Doesn’t deserve it.”

  “No, but you can clear your conscience with Margolis and her Coco. They’ll find her another job. The real problem here is fixing boot camp. Are we worried that won’t survive this?”

  “A mutiny on day one is not a good sign.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a mutiny over stupidity. Shouldn’t have gotten this far. Why did Newsome let this evolve?”

  “So far as I can tell, he believes he’s protecting the Army from crappy recruits.”

  “Are they? Crappy recruits. At this point.”

  Thurston paused to consider that. “They’re different. I’m not sure the Army’s ready for them. But their unit cohesion is amazing. You should have seen them last week. Pulled together to get everyone to pass the 1-1-1 test. Less than two percent failure rate. I was impressed. Practically launched a national movement for high school equivalency diplomas. They’re still underweight.”