by Kal Spriggs
She pulled up the message first and gave a whoop, “Yes! Cadet Instructor School selection, with Sand Dragon as the assigned company after completion!”
I scrolled through my message, feeling a goofy grin go across my face, “Me too!” I had no idea why I'd been selected. I had assumed that Webster hated me enough that I wouldn't make it, but it seemed I'd assumed incorrectly.
“Guys!” Alexander Karmazin stuck his head in the room, “I just got my assignment orders! Sand Dragon Cadet Instructor!”
“This is great!” I gushed. All my worries from before were forgotten.... but now I had a whole new set of worries. Would I do a good job? Would I succeed?
“Ash,” Karmazin grinned, “this is going to be awesome. We should call my mom and give her the news.”
“Yeah, I bet she'll be really excited...” Ashiri looked at me, “Uh, Jiden, if you want to stay...”
I found myself flushing. They wanted time alone together, I realized that quickly. “No, no, I'm good. Uh, you guys have fun...”
I found myself in the hallway, and I couldn't help but watch as the two of them moved close together, peering over their datapads as they talked. I envied them that... and no matter how much I told myself that it wasn't any of my business.
I moved down the corridor to the common area and pulled out my datapad. Maybe some kind of gaming or something would settle my nerves.
“Hey Armstrong,” I heard a female voice behind me. I turned quickly, and recognized Cadet Second Class Salter. The big woman gave me a smile, “I heard you're one of the Cadet Instructors selected for Sand Dragon.”
I nodded nervously, “Yes, ma'am.”
“Well, I'm glad to hear they took my recommendation,” she replied. “Especially since they selected me for Senior Cadet Instructor for Sand Dragon.”
I smiled in reply, “Congratulations, ma'am.”
“From what I hear, I'll have you, Takenata, Dawson, and Karmazin, plus some others from outside the company,” she replied.
I frowned at that, “Why outsiders, ma'am?”
She shrugged, “They like to keep us from getting too insular, I guess. Sometimes it helps identify plebes who need a different approach, sometimes it doesn't work out so well.”
“Like Hilton?” I asked on impulse.
Her eyes went narrow and I saw anger flash across her face. “Yeah... though I wouldn't normally talk about that, since he was senior to you, you should know some of the details since you'll be a Cadet Instructor.” She shook her head, “Definitely don't mention him or Rakewood, too much. The pair of them were pretty much nuked out of this school.” She shook her head, “Bad enough that he got Peterson injured, but that he and Rakewood were dating before, during, and after...” She shook her head. “Huge abuse of power and then an honor code violation on top of that...”
“What happened to them?” I asked, flashing back to my encounter with Mackenzie. It's not the same, I told myself. I kissed him, I reminded myself, I shouldn't have done that.
“Well, Rakewood got offered an administrative recycle, she may actually come back in this prep school class... though I doubt she'll show,” Salter said. “Hilton had a full administrative review and a discharge for conduct unbecoming. If Peterson had been hurt more seriously, then he could have faced jail time.”
I felt a bit sick as I remembered the sound of Peterson's arms breaking as he fell from the obstacle. I didn't know how I felt about the punishments, but the last thing I wanted to do was encounter Rakewood again.
“Well, I'm going to go check in with the others, see you later, Armstrong,” Salter said.
I was left staring at my datapad, feeling more than a little nervous. I was about to be in charge of training the next class of Sand Dragon. I really hope I don't screw up...
***
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to your first day of Cadet Instructor School,” Commander Bonnadonna's deep voice greeted us only a few days later. I hadn't realized that he would be one of the overall trainers. I felt a pit in my stomach as I stood in formation in front of him.
I was still certain that he was the one trying to kill me. It made me a bit better to see Commander Pannja and Commander Scarpitti standing behind him. At least there were other officers present.
I couldn't help a glance down the line at where the Ogre Cadet Instructors stood in the formation. Bolander, Thorpe, and Drien were there, along with a few more that I recognized but couldn't name. I just hoped I wouldn't have to deal with them.
“Now, some of you may look back at your time during Indoctrination with something less than enthusiasm,” Commander Bonnadonna smiled. “Some of you may ask yourselves whether you should be nicer than your Cadet Instructors. Some of you may even tell yourselves that you should help your candidates in small ways, to make their experience easier. After all, this whole experience is a shock, there's no need to cross the boundary into cruelty for cruelty's sake.”
Despite myself, I found myself nodding. I wasn't the only one, there were quite a few of us nodding at his words.
“Think about this, however... One day, these candidates, like all of you here, may find themselves in combat. They may face an enemy who will stop at nothing to kill them. An enemy where they may be the only obstacle in the path of slaughtering innocent civilians. Do you think they will thank you, then, for being less harsh than their enemies? Do you think they will look back at their indoctrination and be glad that it wasn't so harsh?” Commander Bonnadonna said the words in a thoughtful tone. “For that matter... how would you feel to learn that the men and women you trained failed in their charge? To learn that pirates, slavers, or a Culmor extermination force breached their defenses and civilians paid the price?”
My stomach sank. I thought about having to defend myself in the wreckage of the crashed skimmer. I thought about how easy it would have been to give up. Would I still be alive if I hadn't been put through the ringer as a candidate? I couldn't answer that question... but I could see Commander Bonnadonna's logic.
“Indoctrination and the rest of the Academy Prep School is hard in order to challenge our cadet candidates. It is difficult so that they will handle combat better, when they are faced with it. The harshness, the stress, we do this to make them stronger, not to break them,” Commander Bonnadonna waved at the two officers who stood behind him. “Commander Pannja and myself have both seen combat. Commander Scarpitti has worked search and rescue operations after a pirate attack. We know the value of intense training. The Senior Petty Officers and Sergeants First Class who stand behind you are here to act as your advisers. We want you to succeed, just as you want your candidates to succeed. Take heed, learn from us, do the best job that you can do... and never forget that everything we do is to produce the finest officers for the Century Planetary Militia.”
He stepped back and Commander Pannja stepped forward, “Drill NCO's,” he barked. “Show them how it's done!”
Before I knew what was happening, forty or more shouting men and women piled into the formation. They seemed to be everywhere, shouting at us, screaming in my ears, in my face. For one surreal moment, I thought that the past year had been some weird nightmare and I was back in Indoctrination on my first days as a candidate.
The feeling passed and I found myself reacting far more calmly than I could have on that first day. They formed us into smaller formations and bodily moved us where they wanted, but I simply rolled with it. I didn't feel the fear, the terror, that I'd once felt. I knew the purpose, I knew the intent.
Before it went on more than a few minutes, they put us at ease. A moment later, I recognized Senior Petty Officer Kennedy at the front of our formation. “Cadet Instructors,” he growled, “What we just went through is a basic sorting technique. You've experienced it before, during your first day. We'll put you through it again and again... and then you all will take turns doing it to each other. The task is to move your people where they need to be in the most efficient manner possible while impressing upon them
the importance of doing things properly.”
He gave us all a cold smile, “Understood?”
“Yes, Senior Petty Officer!” We all barked in response.
“Excellent... Now get on your faces and push!” He screamed at us. We rushed to obey going through pushup as he and the other Drill NCO's screamed at us. It was surreal, again, at how it both unnerved me and yet felt like the most natural thing in the world. There's something wrong with me.
“On your feet,” Senior Petty Officer Kennedy snapped. As we quickly rose, he put us at ease again. “There's a method to the madness,” he said calmly. “Your candidates need to come to fear you. Not because you enjoy it. In fact, if you do come to enjoy it too much, then you're doing it wrong. No, they need to fear you so that they pay attention to everything you do, everything you say. That attention to detail should cover every aspect of their lives. We are shaping them, molding them. We're taking young kids and we're turning them into killers.”
I shivered at his words. I was a killer. I knew that far more clearly than I had any purpose knowing at my age. Kennedy went on, “...it's for the good of our world, for the good of the boys and girls you'll be training. But make no bones about it, it's an ugly business.”
“We'll rehearse commands and the methods of instruction. Dawson, Regan, Connors, and Karmazin, out front and center.”
The four of them rushed out. “You five will be the Instructors. Get them formed up over there,” Kennedy waved at an empty patch of desert sand. “Execute.”
The next few days were more than a little crazy. One minute I'd have someone screaming orders in my face and the next I'd be in front of a formation doing the same thing. I lost my voice after a couple of hours. We practiced giving orders, we practiced demonstrating drill moves and exercises. We did a lot of running. I'd been working out on my own, but that wasn't nearly enough preparation. We had to be able to run our candidates into the ground. We had to be stronger, faster, and better in every way.
It led to some of the most ridiculous interactions I'd ever had in my life. At one point, I found myself screeching at Karmazin's chest while he tried to keep a serious expression... the next I was standing on his back while he did pushups and I shouted at the formation, “Who else thinks this is funny, huh?”
I think we all went a little insane. And then, as the course wrapped up, we had to get everything ready for our candidate's arrival. We'd already moved out of our old rooms. It was eerie to move one level upwards. I knew it was only temporary, that we'd move back downstairs when Academy Prep School wrapped up. But it was still strange to be living in the upperclassmen's rooms.
They were surprisingly similar. In fact, they were laid out the same way: a set of bunks, two desks, a sink, a pair of wardrobes, all in the same layout. But I still felt strange to be there.
Sand Dragons' Cadet Instructors gathered in the common area to plan. There was a lot to setup. “We assign their bus seats?” I asked, thinking back to how I'd been partnered up with Sashi Drien from the very beginning.
“Yes, indeed,” Salter grinned. “A little tip, putting the bigger and slower ones at the front of the bus is great for getting them bottlenecked at getting off the bus. It puts them in a panicked mindset from the first go.”
“Huh,” Ashiri muttered. “I didn't remember that.”
I shot her a look. I certainly remembered the experience. I'd nearly been trampled. In fact, if not for Alexander Karmazin, I might have been injured. He'd helped me off the ground... of course, at the time I hadn't been very grateful. “Isn't it a bit dangerous?” I asked.
“We can monitor the flow, generally we put one person at the bus doors and two of us get at the back of the bus. If there's any issues, we stop them and fix it.” She shot me a look and seemed to read my dubious expression. “Hilton was assigned to the doors for Sand Dragons' bus, last year.”
“Hilton?” Regan asked. The red-haired cadet from Dust Company raised an eyebrow.
“Admin discharge for misconduct,” Salter replied.
“Ah,” Regan nodded. He and Connors glanced at each other, then he spoke, “Just so you all know, we're not Sand Dragon, but we're still going to do our best. You won't have any complaints about us. I sure wouldn't want to make Biohazard angry, after all.”
I gave him a smile in reply. He’d been nice to me since the story had gotten out. It looked like we would have more time to get to know one another.
“Okay,” Salter rolled her eyes, “Back to business. Most of these are easy enough to match up, the system makes recommendations based off their psych-evals. But some of them are going to be tricky... and then there's the late additions.”
I didn't have to ask about that. I'd been a last-minute addition. So had Karmazin. “When do those come through?” I asked.
“As late as one of them getting on the bus,” Salter frowned. “But we should be able to match up most of them. Any last minute adds we can sort out at that point.”
Sashi Drien had hinted that last minute additions were the rare exception. I wasn’t exactly sure why… but I had the feeling that Sand Dragon received those kinds of candidates. Flexible, that’s what we’re supposed to be…
As I looked at my datapad, I wondered if we had anywhere near enough time to get everything ready. I’d celebrated my birthday only a few days before. I was fifteen years old… some part of me insisted that I should have had a party, some kind of celebration. Instead, Ashiri had woken me up early and given me a present, a hologram of me as coxswain in a grav-shell race that her older brother had done up a in a fancy frame. Alexander had clapped me on the shoulder and said happy birthday with one of his rare smiles. My parents had sent me a gift card and my grandmother had sent cookies, which I’d shared out among the other Cadet Instructors in my group. Some part of me felt a little cheated. I’ll do something special next year, maybe, when there’s more time, I told myself.
Salter went on, “Karmazin and Takenata, I want you two—”
“Senior Cadet Instructor Salter,” Webster stepped into the room, interrupting her and ignoring the rest of us. “Have you got the room lists complete, yet?”
I didn't miss a flash of anger on Salter's face. “No, Cadet Lieutenant Webster, I haven't. I was going through the details with my Cadet Instructors, sir.”
He looked around at us, impatiently. “Well, get me your draft list, soon. I've got to vet it and make sure we don't have any mistakes, not like last year.”
Salter's expression went hard, “Sir, normally final room arrangements are left at the Cadet Instructor level.”
“Not this year,” Cadet Lieutenant Webster waved a hand. “Now, I'll be in my office, bring it by in a couple hours.” He turned and left the room. No one spoke for a long moment.
Salter let out a tense breath. “Alright, I guess we need to knock it out now.” I was surprised she didn't say anything more about Webster's behavior. Then again, she was in charge of us, she shouldn't talk bad about her boss to her subordinates. It startled me a bit how quickly I realized that.
We worked out the room plan and Salter passed me the draft sheet. “Take that to the Company Training Officer, would you, Armstrong?”
“Aye, aye,” I replied. I couldn't entirely hide my lack of enthusiasm, but she didn't call me on it. I headed down the hall and paused outside of what had been the company commander's office. The door was closed and I felt oddly disconcerted by that. The door had almost always been open when it was Mackenzie's room.
I rapped on it, “Sir, Cadet Instructor Armstrong, reporting with the room assignments.”
A moment later, Webster pulled open the door. He glared at me and I passed over the papers. He scowled down at the hand-written names. “What?” he demanded. “This isn't even typed up.”
I fought down a spike of anger. “Sir, you said you wanted it as soon as possible.”
He scowled at me and stepped back from the doorway. Webster pointed at the chair in front of his desk, “Sit there. Type it up and
give it to me in a useful format.”
“Sir,” I didn't trust myself to say more than that. I took a seat and I couldn't help a flashback to the last time I'd been in this room. Apparently it wasn't good luck for me to be here.
I'd rather be kissing Mackenzie than sharing a desk with Webster, a rebellious thought popped up in my head.
Webster went back to work on his datapad. I couldn't help but sneak glances at him, wondering what he was doing. I thought I caught glimpses of some kind of maze or structure of some kind, but it was hard to tell from my angle. It looked oddly familiar, but I wasn't sure how.
I typed up the rooms and names and forwarded them to him quickly enough. “All done, sir.”
He looked up from his datapad, “Right, hold on.” He toggled his desk display and the image of the maze appeared again for a moment. He scowled at me as I stared at it and then quickly swiped it over to the room list. He scrolled through it quickly, pausing to look at a couple names. “You put Beckman and Shade in the same room?”
“Yes, sir, is that an issue?” I asked. I'd actually made the decision. Beckman didn't come from a military family while Shade had an older brother who had graduated last year. I'd been thinking of how Sashi Drien had helped me.
“Just an interesting decision,” he said after a long moment. When I didn't respond, he went on, “Candidate Kate Beckman is the niece of Charterer Theresa Beckman. Who isn't a big fan of the Planetary Militia. In fact, she was the deciding vote that prevented Candidate Alethea Shade's father from promotion to Rear-Admiral.”
I put that together after a moment, “They won't get along.”
“They might not. But maybe Beckman isn't her aunt and Shade isn't her father,” Webster shrugged. “Also, neither of them are quite as... volatile a combination as an Armstrong and a Drien.” There was a tone of bitterness in his voice. Something flashed across his face then and he shot me a look, like he realized he'd said too much.
