“Loose droids are unacceptable!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled, pointing at Oscar.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they all chorused.
“I can’t hear you!” she yelled.
“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!”
Drill Sergeant Dan gave Miranda one last look and moved on.
‘I am a statue,’ Miranda repeated in her mind. ‘I am a statue.’
“How you find your area today is how your area should be twenty-four-seven. I don’t care if you were not here, I don’t care if you were asleep. This is how it should look at all times.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they yelled. Miranda’s voice was growing hoarse.
“Fall out.” The order came none too soon. Miranda’s strength gone, she placed all her things in the way they’d been instructed and went for the bottom bunk, only to find it occupied.
“That’s my bunk,” she said. Her anger rose through her sleep deprived haze.
“You can take the top.” The person occupying her bunk flashed her a smile, his head already on the pillow. He had jet black hair that was cut the longest allowable length. Almond eyes matched his arched eyebrows. Even with his head on her pillow, his toes stuck out over the end of the bed. He had to be at least six feet standing. She tried to debate what to do in her mind. He was on her assigned bunk. It was going to come back on both if he didn’t get into his own sleeping area, but Miranda was too tired to argue. Better to face the punishment than start a fight when she couldn’t raise her arms.
“Beep, beep beep,” Oscar asked. Miranda shook her head. This was not the time nor the place to have her droid fighting for her. She would have to fight her own battles, but not tonight. Tonight she was going to milk as much sleep out of the time allotted as possible. She looked down at his name tag. Farmer. Just like her. Just like half of the sixty or so men and women quartered in this barrack.
She placed her boots in their designated spot and climbed into Farmer’s bunk. Exhaustion overtook her the moment her head touched the sheet. At least she hadn’t thrown up.
“Lights, lights, lights,” came the call. By the third ‘lights’ Miranda was up and on her feet in front of her bunk.
“One, two, three,” Drill Sergeant Dan shouted. Miranda fought to dress herself in the three seconds counted off to her.
“Ready.”
“Yes sir.”
“Ready.”
“Yes sir.”
“Ready!”
“Yes sir!”
Miranda turned and readied her bunk just as she’d been instructed. She was tired. Her body cramping for sitting so long yesterday only to be so forcefully awakened before she could finish a sleep rotation. Her movements were sloppy. But she worked mindlessly, trying to do everything she remembered. Farmer stood there in his clothes at the end of the bed. He stretched; the image of time to waste.
That was fast, Miranda thought. She looked down at the bunk he’d slept in. It was unmade. He hadn’t done a thing to it. Miranda scowled, but let it go. He was going to get them all in trouble, but there was little she could do about it.
“Nine, eight, seven, six,” Drill Sergeant Dan counted down, “five, four, three, two and one!” She started to inspect bunks.
“Tight racks! I want to see tight racks.” she ran her hand over the top bunk.
“Acceptable, Farmer,” she said. Miranda felt like smiling, only Sergeant Dan wasn’t looking at her, she was looking at her bunk mate.
“You, Farmer, do it again.” Miranda looked puzzled. The drill instructor had just praised her work. If acceptable in your first week was to be considered praise. Why was she... Her eyes widened with realization. Farmer had slept on her assigned bunk. He’d purposely not made her assigned bunk. He’d been praised because she’d done his work for him. Anger radiated through the fog of lack of sleep. She was fully awake now.
“I said do it again!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. Miranda got to work righting her bunk. She caught the smug smile on recruit Farmer’s face before he turned attention forward.
“Fall out!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled. She caught her finger on the bunk tucked in the edges of the scratchy brown blanket. An ouch escaped her.
“Fall out!” Drill Sergeant Dan yelled directly at her. Finished with the bed she obeyed. All the recruits marched out into the pre-first sunrise.
“This is your hard light holo trainer,” Sergeant Dan explained. They were sitting on the sand in front of the training field, having completed morning exercise. The temperature was rising. Miranda pulled on her collar. Sweat ran down her back and it wasn’t even breakfast time yet.
“You will treat it like a real weapon,” Sergeant Dan continued. “It goes where you go. You will dress with it. You will walk with it. You will eat with it. You will sleep with it. You will take it to the latrine, the chapel, and, if necessary, the medic tent.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they yelled back. Miranda’s voice was almost gone from all the yelling they’d been doing. She wondered if she would have any left by the end of this first cycle or if it even mattered. Did she need a voice in this place?
“Drill Sergeant Wing will explain how to use it.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
Drill Sergeant Wing stepped up, a holo rifle in his hands.
“When we are here on the practice field, you will see a green light.” He demonstrated on his rifle. “That means the weapon is active and ready to fire. Press this button,” he demonstrated, “to deploy the bayonet.” A green blade suddenly appeared at the end of the rifle. “The hard light holo only responds to other hard light wave links for penetration and destruction. That means only hard light targets will be ‘hit.’ Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“You will be able to fire the rifle. You will be able to hold the bayonet in your hand. The programmed safety negates its impact on human skin. It will push against you, but it will not kill you. Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“That does not mean you can treat it with less respect than a standard blaster! Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Get up, get on your feet right now!” Drill Sergeant Wing yelled. The group rose. They made their way over to a training range.
“Line up!” They all got into a single line.
“On my order, you will deploy your bayonet. You will step up to the line. You will then charge the targets and deliver one solid thrust. Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“I don’t believe you! I wanna see it in your eyes that you wanna kill these landers. Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Imagine those dummies are the Lander stunts, and they’ve just killed some of your mates. You wanna stuntin’ kill them. Understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Show me your war face!”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Recruit Farmer!” Miranda and six other soldiers looked up at Drill Sergeant Wing. With seven Farmers in the same platoon, it was hard to keep them all straight. Eventually they would be told apart by a nickname. In the meantime, planets were used to distinguish, but only after BASIC. There were too many enlisted Farmers for the empire to stick to its last-name rule outside of these first eight cycles. But until they graduated, Farmer was all they got.
Miranda had decided to give them first names so she could tell them apart. She’d met Sleepy on her first day. He’d slept in so they ended up being chewed out together, even though her lateness wasn’t due to a bad alarm clock. There was Happy Farmer, who looked like a puppy with a new chew toy even when the drill sergeants screamed in his face. Next was Grumpy Farmer. She had what was known in the battalion as Resting Ors Face. Miranda had yet to see the other woman smile; not that there was much to smile about.
Then there were the twins. They weren’t real twins, but they could have been for the way they looked. It was more than the matching haircuts everyone got on
arrival, or the fact they were both six feet tall. Even their muscles looked the same. Not knowing how to tell them apart she’d named them as a pair: Sneezy and Sick; because if one of them wasn’t wiping snot from his nose, then the other was running for the bathroom. Both had somehow managed to be sick all over Drill Sergeant Dan’s shoes within the first morning of training. Miranda didn’t know how they did it, but she’d named them accordingly. Last was her battle buddy. He was the only one she had trouble figuring out a nickname for. Miranda couldn’t decide whether or not to call him Sly, Slimy, or Sick the Second, so she just called him Farmer. He was anything but shy, and she hated him and his hazel green eyes.
“Go!”
Grumpy Farmer screamed. Miranda didn’t know a human being could sound like that. It was a mix of nails on a vid screen and the cry of an ors in heat. She shook her head to clear the memory so it wouldn’t stick.
“You need some stunting more aggression!” Drill Sergeant Wing cried. “Show me your war face!”
Grumpy Farmer yowled again, put her bayonet down and ran at the dummy target. The reds of her eyes glowed with the intensity of her attack. Her weapon hit the target dead on. The dummy collapsed, his blood running out of his body to pool on the ground as he fell.
Grumpy Farmer stood back into position, waiting for orders.
“Next,” Sergeant Wing said. Miranda stepped up to the line. The hard light holo reset. There was the rebel with his blaster gun, getting ready to fire on innocent colonialists again.
Miranda set her weapon to the angle she’d been taught, sucked in a big breath, and let her war cry loose as she ran towards her target. She could see the whites of her target's eyes, the wind blowing hair that had escaped from under a tin helmet, and the dull green of the rebel’s uniform as she ran forward. She plunged her blade into his chest. His own weapon lay at his side. Blood spurted out, drenching her as she waited for the next command.
“Next,” Drill Instructor Wing called from the start line. The dummy reset. All the blood disappeared from her clothes as Miranda got back in line to do it again.
Chapter 3
They were in the pit again, and it was all Farmer’s fault. Miranda couldn’t help but hate him. That smug, satisfied grin that crossed his face each time she was called out on an infraction made her grit her teeth harder. It wasn’t enough that she was suffering; no, he had to go and smile like she was his own recruit joke. She imagined that her fists were connecting with his face every time she pushed her body into the earth.
“Fifty,” the drill sergeant called out. “Up and back in formation.”
Miranda called up the last of her strength to comply, falling back in line next to her battle buddy. It had been his fault she got punished in the first place. She was beginning to wonder how many of her ‘accidents’ had been his design. Since arriving at boot camp twenty two days ago, Miranda had come to hate two things: pushups, and Recruit Farmer’s smug smile. The two were the same thing as far as she was concerned.
Miranda schooled her face; a trick she’d been learning the hard way. Any sign of emotion and it would be back to pushups. She didn’t have another set in her today. As it was, she would be rubbing her arms if she could. That, however, would be a mistake. She’d made a lot of those her first week, and she wasn’t about to make them again.
“Left face!” Drill Sergeant Dan ordered. The platoon moved as one. Step step step, turn. Step step step, turn. Around in a box they went, their legs knots of muscle melting into jello.
Miranda didn’t know how her body did it. The pain of her knotted legs cramped her while the same muscles would give out and melt beneath her to the floor the minute they stopped. Only will power and determination kept her standing.
“I will do this,” she said in her head. “I can, I will, it is happening.”
The double sun of the training planet beat down on them. This area would turn to marsh from the rains at night and dry to hard earth before noon the next morning. It was no wonder they used this planet to train troops. The terraforming had gone seriously wrong. The ground was unable to support crops. Yet the empire wasted nothing. The air was still breathable. Food could be shipped in. And there was one thing a planet like this could provide new recruits that no other planet in the solar system could: multiple terrains.
“Halt.” Miranda thanked God, but knew better than to relax her posture even if her leg screamed.
“You.” Drill Sergeant Dan pointed past Miranda to Farmer. Good; it was his turn for some pushups. Miranda would have cracked a smile, but she knew better. Whatever was in store for him was something she did not want to be a part of, and if she smiled, even if she could match his smirk, it would land her right next to him on whatever torture the Drill Sergeant had in store.
“You were off cadence. Drop and give me twenty,” Drill Sergeant Dan said. She turned on her heels, kicking up the red dust that covered this place by mid morning.
Miranda ground her teeth. Why was it that when this Farmer of all the Farmers had an infraction, Drill Sergeant Dan went easy on him? There was nothing fair about this place. When Miranda had pointed that out on her second day she’d been told the galaxy wasn’t fair, and to drop and give her forty. Double what Farmer had got. It was her first in a long list of lessons she did not intend to repeat, regardless of how she felt.
“Keep your cool,” Miranda told herself in her mind. Miranda chanced a quick glance at the sky. The two sun were crossing each other. That meant they were at least three quarters of the way through their day.
“Recruit Farmer!” Drill Sergeant Dan said, looking straight at Miranda.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Miranda barked in the needed loud tone.
“Step forward, Recruit.” A slight look of surprise crossed Miranda’s face before she schooled it. Had the drill sergeant heard her thoughts? Miranda stopped herself from kicking up dust as she stepped up to the drill sergeant. The red grit was hard to work out of the polish at the end of the day. Working it out was a requirement before lights out, so Miranda did her best to get as little of it on her person as she could. Still, by the end of the day it covered everything anyway.
The drill sergeant placed a hand on the gap between her tee shirt and her neck. Miranda winced. The light pressure sent pain shooting down her spine. For a moment Miranda could see the hand print Drill Sergeant Dan had left on her skin white in a sea of red. Then it was gone. It wasn’t dust that had turned her the color of cooked sea meat. Miranda stared into the distance to see the outline of the barracks far to the other side of the parade field to keep the tears threatening to spill from her eyes at bay.
“Go see a med nurse,” Drill Sergeant Dan said. Miranda’s eyes went a little wider than she would have liked. It took a lot to control one's face. She was learning, but not fast enough. She turned her face back to Drill Sergeant Dan only after she felt in control. If the other woman saw it she didn’t say anything.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Miranda said, quieter than the normal. For some reason, her voice stuck in her throat, not wanting to project forward. Drill Sergeant Dan looked like she was going to call her on it. Then she stopped.
“That’s twenty five,” Drill Sergeant Dan said. “Trying to be an overachiever, Farmer?” she turned her attention back to the recruit on the ground. He held himself in a plank position, waiting for her command. Miranda started to leave the field as Sergeant Dan had requested.
“Halt, Farmer!” she said. Both Miranda and Recruit Farmer stopped mid-step.
“Droids are not battle buddies,” Drill Sergeant Dan said. Oscar sat on the edge of the parade field, waiting patiently for this set of drills to be done. Miranda was proud of him. He hadn’t beeped once today. “Farmer!”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” he said.
“Take Ms. Farmer to the med unit,” Drill Sergeant Dan ordered Recruit Farmer.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” he said, rising in one swift motion to stand in front of them. Miranda felt her cheeks redden. She thanked
the Lord for her sunburn. It hid her hot cheeks.
“The rest of you, do it again,” ordered Drill Sergeant Dan. Their squad went back to drills.
Miranda took a large breath and then let it out again. Just enough to steady her legs. Then she began marching in the direction of the med unit, her fellow Farmer recruit falling into step beside her.
It took three passes around the main square to find the med unit. Sure, there were signs pointing the way, the way that there was always a line at the cook house. That didn’t mean that it was a great way to judge when you were getting fed. The med unit was in the middle of the square that made up the bulk of the base. Miranda had found that if you followed its edges in a spiral pattern you could find anything here. Hair cuts, barracks, breeding pods, it didn’t matter. Everything fit into the pattern with a kind of mathematical precision. Given that no one ever gave directions and you were punished if you asked, she’d found this trick saved her butt all the time.
The brown-red building had wide windows of glass. Like most of the buildings it was made from the stone from a nearby quarry that did not melt in the midnight rains like the mud under their boots.
It was a happening place. Between the broken bones from falling off towers to the minor scrapes and lacerations that happened during training, every bed was full with some kind of injury. Miranda’s stomach turned. The sight of torn flesh and gaping wounds mixed with the smell of alcohol didn’t set well with her.
She’d been sent to this place her first week for a cut. It required two stitches. If she’d had nanos like some of the recruits, she wouldn’t have to be here at all. None of them would, but nanos were becoming more and more rare. Only the oldest or richest families in the galaxies could afford to inoculate their kids these days. Farming-planet families like hers were not among that number.
“Over here,” a man in a red apron with white gloves waved them over.
Imperial Hilt (Imperial War Saga Book 2) Page 2
