“Given that you are slated for a test today, all of you could use this time to review.” Silent stares met her searching eyes.
“Anyone?” Sneezy Farmer’s head nodded an inch.
“Recruit Farmer, thank you for volunteering.” His head shot up, his eyes clearly wondering how it had happened. He stumbled to the front of the room as Miranda and Farmer took their seats. He stood there, his gaze going back and forth between the room and their drill sergeant.
“Any day, recruit.”
“Sir?” he asked. Only between the rolls of gauze filling up his mouth it came out a slur.
“I said...”
“Sir,” Sick Farmer raised his hand, ready to defend his battle buddy.
“Yes, Recruit Farmer?” Sergeant Dan did not look happy at being interrupted.
“Sir, Recruit Farmer had his wisdom teeth pulled this morning.”
“And?”
“And they gave him two shots of morph nanos and gassed him.”
“If you remember so much about his procedure, why don’t you come up here and translate what he says for us?” she crooned.
Sick Farmer gulped.
“Yes sir.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
He scrambled from behind his desk and ran for the front of the room, only stopping when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with Sneezy Farmer.
The wall was pock marked with scrapes from all the fingers touching the old vid screen. It gave it a green tint. Third generation at best. Both recruits were visibly shaking in their boots.
Sneezy Farmer started talking.
“Ver branm ichin wav della terza gra con il. Sistema induriano pooro de Emper.” Between the gause and the drugs and his home planet dialect, no one could understand a word coming out of his mouth. So Miranda was surprised when Sick Farmer started saying stuff that made sense.
“The start of the third war with the Indurian System brought about the golden era of the Empire.”
“Lace dura da momento.”
“The peace has lasted since that time.”
“Sochi sistem hano sco diromper Empero.”
“Only a few systems have chosen to break from the Empire. Some revert to colonial agreement, others voting themselves out of the union entirely.” Miranda could tell that Sick Farmer was making it up. There was no way that what was coming out of Sneezy Farmer’s mouth was the same as what Sick Farmer translated.
“Alcuni tornano agli accordi coloniali. Alaani doo da du. Thas stuff.”
“This has been offset by the continued expansion of the outer reaches. Of which now eighty percent is considered Imperial territory. With more than fifty percent third generation terraformed planet systems.” Sick paused to give Sneezy Farmer a chance to continue. Sneezy swayed on his feet, rocking from one side to the other. Sick reached out a hand to steady his battle buddy. Sneezy spoke something into Sick’s ear.
“It is our job as soldiers to be the boots on the ground. Defending against hostile torafors. Maintaining peace with the living metallics and droid systems, and maintaining server longevity in the unified realms,” Sick continued. Everyone was rolling in their seats, but a pin could have dropped in the silence between his words.
“Dui ormai ottanta per cenconside territorio imperia farmer imperia espansione .” The words came out barely above a whisper.
“The major threat to the system are rabid AIs, and the rebel alliance that seeks to stop the Imperial Expansion.”
Everyone chorused, “God bless the Empire!”
“God bless the Empire,” Sick Farmer said. He looked relieved and a little green himself.
Miranda thought about it. If that’s all she’d missed, she was in good shape. It was the normal stuff every Imperial person knew. But then Sergeant Dan began to slow clap.
“Excel, excel. Given that the test will be on proper cleaning, dismantling, and remodeling of your issued weapons, I believe the review you just received will be ever so helpful.” There was a long pause as she looked around the room and back up to the clock that hung slightly off center over the door.
“Your test will take place right after lunch. Fall out.”
Miranda's stomach growled as she stood in line to receive her chow. It had become a regular thing. No matter how much they fed her, she could always eat more. She didn’t know where it was going, either. She’d never been fat. No self respecting Farmer was fat. They didn’t go hungry, but it was hard to gain weight when you walked everywhere, sewed your own clothes, and milked cows first thing in the morning. Plus there was harvest. Talk about a workout. Somehow BASIC was worse. She had more muscle and less softness now.
It had to be the food. Miranda looked down at her tray. It was well balanced, with a roll on one side, something green that jiggled on the other, and unidentifiable slop in-between. She grimaced.
“At least it tastes good,” Recruit Happy Farmer said, stealing the roll off her tray.
“That’s hers,” Recruit Farmer said. He made to swipe it back. Happy Farmer leaned back out of Farmer’s reach.
“Dibs,” he said before shoving it into his mouth.
Miranda kept marching until she was at her assigned seat. Let the two of them fight over her roll. She didn’t care. Soon enough they would graduate, and then they would never see each other again. The squad sat down at the same time. Forks out, they all dug in.
Miranda was halfway through her slop when she heard it.
She looked to her left. Happy Farmer was bent over, his fork and knife on the floor.
“You okay?” she asked, putting a hand on his back. He looked up at her, holding his throat.
“Are you choking?” They’d taken a CPR class their second week. It included the regurgitation method, which he looked to be trying to do on himself and failing.
Miranda stood up, put her hands into position and pushed.
Happy Farmer wheezed, but nothing came out.
Miranda did the move again. By now, others at the table had stopped eating. Grumpy Farmer was finished. She’d inhaled her food as per her norm and was now looking at the two of them.
“If you wanted some of that back, you could have asked me,” Grumpy Farmer said. Miranda ignored her.
“Breathe, Farmer! Lander’s take it, breathe!” She pushed her fist into his stomach again and again.
The piece of meat blocking his airway was out, but he remained wheezing. Miranda fell back a step, her breath labored from the hard work of trying to get him breathing. Happy Farmer’s body collapsed to the floor.
“Stand back, Recruit.” Miranda did what she was ordered. Sergeant Wing bent down over him. He checked for breath. Nothing.
“Striker! Call them!” he yelled.
“They’re already here!” Sergeant Striker responded, clearing space for the medics. Sergeant Wing stood up; two medics took his place and began scanning Happy Farmer.
“Clear!” A med droid touched Happy Farmer’s chest with a yellow light. His body convulsed. The medics went back to scanning him. His normal happy face was frozen in pain. Miranda wiped away tears she didn’t know she’d been crying.
Seconds ticked by as the medics worked, blending into minutes. Eventually a gurney arrived, but by that point Happy Farmer’s lips were blue.
“One, two, three, lift,” came the order. Two medics loaded Happy onto the gurney.
“Pulse?” The voice came from over her shoulder. Miranda turned and recognized the PA who had treated her. A soldier at the gurney shook her head. He took a long breath as Happy was wheeled out. He put a hand on Miranda’s shoulder.
“You did what you could.” She nodded, having no words to express her feelings of failure.
“Will he...?” she tried to ask.
The medic shook his head. Happy Farmer was dead.
Chapter 8
Sergeant Dan held her hair back from her forehead, letting out a long whistle. She turned around in a circle, taking in the upturned table f
rom where Happy Farmer had fallen. The scattered food trays. The ring of recruits awaiting for her orders. She kicked the upturned table. The screech of metal on tile echoed off the walls as it slid half a foot from the impact. No one in the cook house made a sound. She set her foot down as they all watched. She glared back.
“Fall out,” she ordered. They all ran for the door.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dan like that,” someone whispered to Miranda. She didn’t move to respond. She just ran with the others, out and away from it all. The only thought in her head was she’d failed.
There was no funeral. The medics took the body to the med ward and nothing else was said. Sergeant Dan gave them a speech that Seventh day during share circle. It boiled down to accidents happen. No one cried. No one even asked about the body. They all knew the answer. Miranda spent the next few days on autopilot. That lasted through the end of the phase and halfway through the second phase.
“Attention!” Sergeant Wing stood almost a foot taller than anyone in the troop. Without Dan there, there was always Wing. He was Dan’s backup. He had this habit of pacing the length of the line as he stared them down before giving any instructions. Not that they needed much instruction. The obstacle course was there for one reason, and one reason only: teamwork building. Mostly because you couldn’t finish it without help. No one could.
“You are here,” he said, taking three paces. Then he stared them all down before taking another three steps. “To train.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they chorused.
“This course is set up for impact, for interference. It is here to teach you how to overcome any obstacle.” He stopped and took three more steps.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they all said. He turned and stared them down. Miranda couldn't meet his eyes, so she tried to stay looking forward, but her curiosity got the better of her and she glanced to see what he was waiting for. His eyes were still scanning their line. Like he could see right through them.
“You will go through two at a time. Remember, this is a race. You will be timed. Your scores matter. And no one leaves until everyone has crossed this finish line.” He pointed at two posts ahead of them. They all nodded.
“I can't hear you!” Sergeant Wing shouted.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” they chorused back.
“Who would like to volunteer first?” He scanned them all again. Miranda felt the soreness from her recent visit to the med unit. She wanted to groan but stopped herself. It wasn’t worth the pushups. A fellow soldier two rows back wasn’t so lucky.
“Farmer, drop and give me twenty,” Sergeant Wing said. The groaner burpeed to the ground and started doing push ups.
“Now, which two want to race first?”
No one stepped forward. Seconds ticked by. Sleepy Farmer finished his set of pushups and burpeed back into formation.
“I’m waiting, pansies,” Sergeant Wing said. He looked down at his watch and then back up at all of them.
“We already got one volunteer.” Sergeant Wing pointed to Sleepy Farmer, who looked less than thrilled.
Miranda felt the push from behind just as he finished his second lap past them.
“And here’s our second,” said Sergeant Wing. Miranda cursed under her breath. Who ever the stupid sod of a lander pushed her was going to feel the wrath of her fists if she lived through this.
“As our volunteers, you will scale the tower, retrieve the flag, and take your dainty self back here as fast as those two,” he pointed down at their legs, “will carry you.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Sleepy Farmer and Miranda yelled back at the top of their lungs.
“I can’t hear you,” he replied.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” they yelled again. Miranda put as much force into the words as she could.
“Go, go, go!” Sergeant Wing yelled. Miranda shot off the line, heading for the first obstacle.
By the time she made it to the edge of the practice field she was already sweating from the pain and the sun. This exercise was called the Race. It was designed centuries ago to test men beyond their endurance. It looked simple enough. A sand pit, three sets of hanging ropes, all of which lead to a tall tower surrounded by an electric shield fence and ended in a mud pit.
“This is hard,” she whispered to herself as she sunk into the sand up to her knees. “It's going to be hard. But you can do it.” Her foot screamed with every step. She didn't know if it was sprained from her fall in the med bay, or just giving her trouble because she wore boots 24/7 now. Either way, it hurt.
“Push through it,” she told herself. If the drill instructors caught her talking to herself, they didn’t say anything. If they didn’t care, she wasn’t going to start.
It would be ok if she failed this miserably. They expected her to fail. This whole course was designed for team work. No person could finish it on their own. Deep down inside she knew that. She also knew that if she didn't give it her all, they would hang her out to dry tomorrow.
Her breath was heavy with all the energy it took to run through the sand. If you can call sinking up to your knees in shifting sand, lifting your foot, and taking another step just to sink down to your knees again running. Sleepy Farmer was already on the next exercise. He was going to win for sure.
“Any day now, recruits,” Sergeant Wing yelled from his post back by the troop.
His tone spoke of books that he could be reading, steaks that he could be eating, and all the wonderfulness that she was keeping him from because she couldn’t break free from a little dirt.
“One thing at a time. That’s all I need to complete. One obstacle at a time,” she repeated softly to herself. She couldn’t think about anyone else.
She got through the sand pit. That left the rope swing and the wall climb. She grabbed the first rope. “And the mud crawl,” she reminded herself. Her shoulder slumped and she almost lost her grip. She couldn’t forget about the mud crawl.
“You aren’t racing them, you are racing yourself,” she said, and pushed harder. It didn’t matter that Sleepy Farmer was halfway through the rope swing. They would both be at the mud crawl soon enough.
“One at a time,” she said, placing a second hand on the rope.. She didn't have much air to give to her mantra. Her breath was coming in short gasps, no matter how hard she tried to take deep ones.
Her grip slipped and she fell. She grabbed for the rope, hands sliding down the surface. The rough fibers sliced open her palms. Her butt landed in the dirt.
She got up, went back to the start of the ropes, and tried again. She hesitated before picking up the first rope. It stung to wrap her fingers around it.
“Do I need to repeat myself? Get moving!” Sergeant Wing barked. Slowly, ever so slowly she shook her foot free of the sand. It let go with a ‘pop.’
She used the momentum to swing the rope. This time she was able to grab the next one, then the one after. Her hand burned and her arms ached, but she was across. She took large gasps of air on the other side, willing her muscles to work again.
“Just two more.” She took one more deep breath and sprinted for the wall. She pushed, increasing her speed as she hit the edge using it to propel herself up and over the structure. She grappled with the top, willing her arms to take her weight and not slide back down. If she couldn’t make it over the first time, she didn’t know if she would have the energy to try again. Her arms wobbling against the strain of holding on, she forced herself forward.
“I’m not a puddle,” she told her elbows, hooking the first one over the top of the climbing wall. She could hear Oscar’s beeps from where he stood on the other side of the obstacle course. He’d set himself up at the finish line so he could cheer for her without being caught.
“I will not stop here.” She hooked the second one. She’d lost track of where Sleepy Farmer was, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was her finishing this without dying.
“I’m going to make it.” She paused long enough to catch her br
eath. Then she pulled and swung her leg at the same time. The momentum took her up and over so she could roll off the back side.
“You got this!” Oscar beeped. She smiled at him before dropping to the ground. The earth was hard packed from hundreds, if not thousands, of similar landings before hers, jarring her legs. She bent her knees to lessen the impact. Crouched like that, she dusted her hands off to give her time to catch her breath and looked at the last task. Wire crossed the top of an eight foot by twenty foot pit of mud.
“You are almost there,” Oscar beeped. No one else was cheering when she looked back at the line. All of them were at attention.
“Any time today,” Drill Sergeant Wing yelled. He brushed his nails off on his shirt.
“Now or never.” She threw herself down and forward, using the momentum to slide across the top of the mud as far as she could before sinking in. She got maybe a foot out of the initial push. From there it was a matter of digging her knees in and pushing forward on her belly. Like a slip and slide from the well at home, just without the hill. If she rose too far she’d catch herself on the barbed wire. If she stayed too low she’d get stuck, losing her momentum.
Every inch hard won, she kept pushing until her hands touched hard ground. There was Sleepy Farmer caked in mud reaching out a hand to help her up. She latched onto it. With his help she dug in, pulling herself free of the mud. A smile crossed their faces. She was out. She’d done it. All she had to do was stand up, and they could tackle the tower together.
Then the noise struck her ears. The long hollow cry. Miranda watched as Oscar turned towards the sound. She fell back under the pressure of it. When it stopped pounding she tried to finish rising from the pit. Sleepy Famer let go of her hand.
He’d seen that her boot was caught on one of the wires. He reached down to help her. She’d misjudged the depth between where the barbed wire ended and where she’d scooted out of the mud. He lifted the barb wire, careful not to grasp a barb while freeing her foot. That’s when she felt it.
Electric shock coursed through her, her body alight with pain. She shot forward, blown out of her boots. She couldn’t feel her legs. She lay there, twitching uncontrollably.
Imperial Hilt (Imperial War Saga Book 2) Page 5
