The day was spent going from city to city. Romeville, Cairotown, Beijing City. The last thing he saw was a reproduction of the Great Wall of China. After that they headed back to the capital, and another night in the hotel.
Sunday morning he spent in the city, going to church at the cathedral, praying for his wife and the people of the Empire. He felt it couldn’t hurt. Then it was to the Capitulum Mid Stadium, where he had an invitation to sit in the Emperor’s box.
“I really like the other kind of football better,” said Sean as they sat watching the Mid-Capital Sharks of the Capitulum Professional League take on their rivals, the Northeast Capitulum Bears.
Cornelius enjoyed the match, which the home team won with a goal in the eighty-fifth minute. “I have to admit, your Majesty, that though I like soccer, Northam football really fires me up. We had some big time leagues on New Detroit.”
“Whenever you are back in the Capital feel free to use any of my boxes,” said Sean. “I really feel like I’m slacking when I watch sports, or operas, or really anything else. But the people expect to see their Emperor out in public, normalizing things.” The Emperor was silent for a moment, then looked over at the PFC. “We really need men like you, Cornelius. And I know what this war can do to you. Even if you survive you may never be the same.”
“As long as my son doesn’t have to go through it,” said Walborski, holding the baby in his lap.
“I can’t guarantee that,” said Sean, patting the baby on the head. “But I will try my best. And anyone who wants to hurt your son will have to go through me.”
Cornelius nodded, knowing the Monarch meant what he said.
Saying goodbye was hard, harder than he thought it would be. He clung to the baby till the last minute, then handed him to Nanny with tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back when I can,” he told Junior, knowing that the baby didn’t understand what he was saying, but having to say it anyway.
The flight back to the Hexagon was cheerless. He was still in a funk when he was ushered through the wormhole and back to the Donut. From there he had to wait a half an hour for the traffic coming from New Terra to stop so they could continue through. Cornelius thought it bizarre that he had travelled many billions of kilometers to shortcut a trip to a planet that was only ninety thousand kilometers from the world he had just come from. From the military transport hub at Concordia he took an aircar to New Kiev, where he landed on a base fifty kilometers outside that city.
New Terra was the oldest of the terraformed worlds, almost nine hundred years old. It was a dominant Earth life world, and Cornelius was pleasantly surprised to look out over the grasslands from his temporary quarters and see the large forms of bison walking with the sun going down behind them. An hour later the sun was down, and Jewel, permanently in the sky in this hemisphere, lit the sky as the sun rose upon it. Cornelius had a little touch of spirituality at that point. He still wasn’t sure what God was, but thought that something must exist to fulfill that function.
Chapter Six
Sweat saves blood. Erwin Rommel.
IMPERIAL ARMY NCO ACADEMY, NEW TERRA, SEPT 25TH- OCT 12TH, 1000.
“Get the fuck out of those racks,” yelled the harsh voice of the instructor as introduction to the newest class.
Why am I not surprised, thought Cornelius, jumping out of his bunk and coming to attention. A short ugly looking man stalked down the center of the barracks, the stripes of an E-7 on his jumper collar, turning his glare left and right. That glare showed more than words his disdain and disgust for these people who were presumptuous enough to think they could enter the exalted ranks of the NCO corps.
“What a bunch of pussies,” said the NCO, shaking his head, then looking over at one of the female trainees. “Or in your case, dicks. You think you can lead soldiers? I doubt it, but you can try and prove me wrong. That should be quite a show.”
This guy’s good, thought Walborski, trying not to smile.
“You think you’re something special, trainee,” yelled another sergeant, this one female, getting right in Walborski’s face.
“No, Sergeant,” yelled Cornelius in his best trainee voice.
“Drop and give me a hundred,” yelled the Staff Sergeant, whose name tag said Zemba. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, indicating that she was accessing the datanet. “You want to be a Ranger, huh? So why not make it two hundred.”
Walborski stepped back into the space between his bunk and the one to the right and dropped into a pushup position. He started doing the pushups and calling out each one.
“Don’t count them out trainee,” said the Platoon Sergeant. “When I want to hear your shit I’ll squeeze your head.”
The E-7 walked back down the center of the barracks. “I am Sergeant First Class Chu. If you want to be an NCO in my Army you must get past me.” An evil smile split his face. “It is my job to break you, to make sure you bitches and bastards don’t pollute my NCO Corps.”
And so it went for the next fifteen minutes, while Cornelius did his pushups and others were dropped to do theirs. He was back on his feet well before the time was up. He wasn’t even out of breath, though a few of the others were after a lesser number of pushups.
“Get dressed in PT gear and fall out in two minutes,” yelled Sergeant Zemba. “And don’t be late, or you will pay.”
Walborski was ready in one minute. He had spent the money to get his face depilated, so he didn’t have to scrape the stubble off his cheeks and chin like so many others. He straightened up his bed, then ran from the barracks, not the first, but nowhere near the last.
They went through ten minutes of warm up calisthenics, then went for a ten mile run. To most of them a ten mile run, especially on a planet with slightly less than Earth normal gravity, was easy. Cornelius, who had been studying military history on his own time, knew that the thinking behind all the running was that soldiers could get from point A to B and arrive ready to fight. He had also read of many past militaries that hadn’t been marathon runners, and they had fought, and fought well.
After the run they headed for breakfast. They allowed them all they could eat, letting them pile up the calories, as there were no overweight people at this juncture of their military careers. Then they fell back out.
“We will have an inspection of the barracks in five minutes,” said Chu, turning his glare on the trainees once again. “You will have your areas squared away and be in a clean undress uniform. Fall out.”
Cornelius ran into the barracks, listening to the complaining of the other trainees. He felt what they were saying, but really thought it did no good to voice them. Sometimes they were counterproductive, as was proven moments later when the sergeants went through the barracks and threw what some of the trainees had said back in their faces.
Of course no one passed. Cornelius had fewer gigs than most, and some were assigned extra duty that night. Then they were shown the proper way to prepare their gear for inspection, where everything had to be in a certain place and time. After they were shown how they could wear their gear in a more individual manner for stand up inspections. Still as uniform as possible, but allowing the individual soldiers to choose the manner that made the most sense to them.
“Uniformity for the sake of uniformity in combat is bullshit,” said Sergeant Zemba, walking in front of the formation. “Equipment is made to be used when it is most necessary. Making your soldiers wear their gear in a manner that makes it difficult for them to use, that might have a negative effect on their health and safety, is stupid. You will run into officers, mostly high rankers, who have not been in the field for decades, who will insist that you follow the rule of uniformity. Your job as NCOs is to find a way around this nonsense, at least when you are out in the field.”
Most days had the same round of exercise and inspections, but in the afternoons they alternated between the range and tactical exercises. They switched between the position of soldier and team leader. On the range exercises they linked into a tactical com net
, and the team leader fired at targets while at the same time they designated targets for their team members. It was a real challenge to hit the moving targets while controlling the team. Cornelius had no problem seeing the reasoning behind this exercise. It was important to make sure some targets were not being serviced with overkill while others were allowed to take up a firing position and take the squad under direct fire. And it was important that the team leader continues to put fire onto the targets, since not firing would mean taking a fifth of the team’s firepower out of the equation.
Tactical exercises involved moving through the field and engaging hidden targets or Opfor forces with weapon’s simulators. Cornelius loved these exercises, moving with his superior woodcraft through the wild training areas, finding and fixing the enemy, avoiding ambushes. He was therefore surprised after one such exercise when he was taken aside by Sergeant First Class Chu.
“I’m going to have to fail you on that exercise, Walboski,” said Chu, looking the PFC straight in the eye. “Do you know why?”
“No, Sergeant Chu,” he said, feeling a combination of depression and anger coming over him. “I moved past those Opfor people like they were deaf and blind. And I took out the target.”
“But that wasn’t your job, PFC Walborski. Your job was to lead your squad into the area and utilize their firepower to take out the target. Instead, you went off on your own, and lost two squad members who moved up without direction and got caught in a crossfire.”
Walborski’s shoulders slumped as he thought back on the exercise and realized that the Sergeant was correct. He had known he could get through the perimeter, and so had put his squad in place and moved in himself. It was a no com exercise, meaning they weren’t in link, and when he hadn’t reported in to his assistant squad leader for ten minutes that woman moved the unit forward, right into an ambush. Her own quick thinking had got them out of it with only two casualties. It could have been worse, should have been worse, so Specialist Catherine Bennett was awarded a meritorious pass on that exercise, while Cornelius got a red mark.
“Look, Walborski, you are a fantastic soldier. You move like a shadow, you see everything, and everything you see you kill. I would take you into any unit I led in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, you would always be on point. But skill as a soldier is not what this course is about. This course is about leadership.”
Cornelius nodded his head with a quiet “yes, Sergeant.” He did see the point of the course. In fact, he was not sure he wanted to be a leader. The allure of being a free agent, on the hunt to take out the enemy, was great. He wasn’t sure the Army would allow him to do such. In fact, he was pretty sure they wouldn’t stand for him being a free agent.
As if reading his mind the Sergeant continued. “I know you’ve applied for Ranger training, and you’ve been accepted. Maybe you think you will just be allowed to go out and hunt the evil aliens on your own, once you get that tab on your sleeve. That may happen, if everything goes to shit. But in most situations you will be expected to play as part of a team, and that means taking care of your responsibilities first. I think you will make a fine NCO. Dare I say you might even, heaven forbid, become an officer. But you need to start thinking as a team leader to do either one.”
On another occasion Cornelius overheard a conversation between Zemba and another Specialist. The man was not in combat arms, if Cornelius remembered right he was in supply and logistics.
“So how is this combat stuff going to help me in my job,” said the E-4, an angry expression on his face. “I’m in supply. I’m not going to be leading troops into combat.”
“And how do you know that?” asked Zemba. “If it hits it, you might find yourself in combat, leading ill equipped troops who are not the caliber of trained infantry, or who might have forgotten all the lessons they were taught in basic concerning battlefield skills. And they will depend on you to lead them, to give them a chance to survive and win.”
“In that case I don’t think we will survive or win, Sergeant.”
“I don’t think you will either,” agreed Zemba, nodding her head. “But would you rather go down as sheep, or as wolves fighting with their last breath. Even if you die, you may help your fellows in the rest of the division achieve their goal, even if that’s only to live and fight another day.”
“I just think it would be more helpful to train us in things that help us in our day to day jobs.”
“So you would rather we had everyone inventory supplies for a day. Or pass them out from a simulated supply room. Sorry, Specialist, but that isn’t going to happen.”
By the second week they started having more classroom instruction into the theory and history and leadership. How to motivate people. How to lead from the front, and convince people to put their lives on the line for something that might not be that personally important to those soldiers. He noticed that the instructors were becoming more respectful of the people they were training, almost as if they were accepting them as colleagues.
On the third week they were taken up to a training station in orbit around New Terra. The station was an actual centrifugal type, one that had been made obsolete with the invention of artificial gravity. Cornelius really couldn’t understand why such a thing was still in existence until he was brought aboard in the central, nonspinning zero gravity section.
The class was brought up to the first ring, which simulated a half gravity. The ring was almost entirely a wide track, and someone commented on the rich mixture of the air. Cornelius took a deep breath and had to agree. The air was thick, which meant they were getting more oxygen per breath than otherwise.
“Start running,” yelled Sergeant First Class Chu, waving the soldiers forward. “I’ll tell you when to stop.”
The soldiers started running, around and around the ring, the artificial reverse horizon moving with them. Cornelius was breathing easy the whole time. It was an energizing experience running in low gravity within an oxygenated atmosphere. After ten kilometers they were stopped and herded toward the lift.
The next level was almost normal gravity with a slightly thicker than normal atmosphere. Again they ran, another ten kilometers, and again it was an easy run. Same with the next level up, one point one gravities with slightly thinner air. It was a bit more difficult, but still not a problem. They went through another level, and this time it was torture. But not as much as the last level.
This time it was one point five gravities with a very thin atmosphere. Cornelius felt like he was running through water because of the gravity, while at the same time pulling the thin air into his lungs. It wasn’t enough. After a kilometer he was gasping, his lungs hurt, and cramps were starting to work their way up his legs. At two kilometers almost a quarter of the class had fallen out into gasping piles to the side of the track. At four kilometers half the class was down. At six only Cornelius and one other person were still on their feet. Cornelius felt like he was going to fall down any moment, but he was determined that he was not going to be the first one to fall. The other guy, who was already a buck sergeant, looked back at him, and he saw the same determination on that face.
Well too bad, asshole, thought Cornelius, his lungs on fire. Because you’re the one who’s going to fall.
The instructors did not let it come to that. As they came back around to the start line Sergeant Zemba stepped in front of them and held up a hand. “OK, super troopers. Time to move on to something else.”
The class rode the lift down to the first level, and the lessening of gravity and increase in air pressure was a relief.
“Now when General China Gordon was under siege in the Sudan,” said Sergeant Chu, stepping in front of the class, “the British Government, under pressure from their people, sent a relief expedition from the cool wet climate of England to the hot dry desert of Egypt and Sudan. Gordon really needed these people to get a move on and break the siege. Instead, the British soldiers spent over a month getting acclimated to the climate. Can anyone guess why they did this?”
A hand went up quickly and the Sergeant pointed at the soldier, a young woman. “Because they knew that to send troops that were not used to that hot dry environment into combat would doom the expedition.”
“Correct,” said Chu, nodding. “Now imagine what it is like to land soldiers on a strange world with strange gravity and unusual atmospheres. The men may be helpless in certain environments. So it is best to acclimate them to that environment, preferably before they arrive. That should be the job of the unit commander, but sometimes that doesn’t happen. And when it doesn’t, it is up to you, the NCO, to make sure the men and women under you are physically ready to perform.”
Finally came the day of graduation. Cornelius knew that he didn’t make honor graduate this time around, but still graduated high in the class. With graduation came a promotion of one rank. Everyone appeared on the drill field in their dress uniforms with new stripes on their sleeves. There were two new staff sergeants, a dozen buck sergeants, and the balance new corporals. Cornelius felt a glow of pride when he looked down on the two new stripes on his own sleeve. I made it over another hurdle, he thought, realizing that he only had one more to jump, though it was also probably the highest. But right now he felt on top of the world, and reality was not going to intrude on this day.
After the pass in review there was a speech by the NCOIC of the school, Sergeant Major McCarty. The man had all the stripes and rockers of his rank on his sleeve, and over a dozen four year service hashes on his forearm covering.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 05 - Ranger Page 9
