by Unknown
Unexpectedly, Ford cracked a wide grin.
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“Are you guys ready for some fun?”
Back to the Armory, but this time in a different section within it.
One at a time, the recruits were issued their rifles. The kids accepted them with reverence, holding them as if fragile, marveling at the design. Minerva stepped up in line, and reached out to take the one that the marine behind the counter was handing to her. She hefted it, feeling its weight, which was negligible, just enough to be reassuring. She remembered Ford’s words, about the history behind his old pistol. There was a power, responsibility, and a deadliness that came with holding a weapon. It was meant only for one thing, and that was to kill. She would be the one pulling the trigger. The thought of taking someone’s life from them made her shiver inside her armor.
Would I be able to do it? She thought to herself.
“Move along, recruit,” the armory sergeant told her.
Realizing that she had been holding up the line, Minerva did as she was told, cradling the rifle against her breastplate. She thought about the coming war that Ford had spoken of. There had been a hint of dread in his voice, perhaps even fear. There would be killing. An enemy whose face she might never see would be trying to kill her. To kill them all. She hugged her rifle a little tighter as she walked. That awful tool would be her saving grace, like it or not. Minerva remembered the headstone of the boy that had fallen from the tower.
Yes, she knew.
She would be able to pull that trigger.
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A little later, after everyone had received their issue, the D.I’s marched them out to the firing range. A brief lecture on how to safely handle the things. How to safety them, to keep them pointed away from one another when maneuvering, how to sight properly.
It was called an AR-44. The rifle was constructed of the same material as their armor, making them light-weight, and extremely durable. Few moving parts. Effective as a clubbing weapon for close-in fighting. Designed for easy handling with the slight bulk of armored gloves.
Ford was the only person with live loads. He stood before the company, his rifle balanced against his hip plate. With his free hand, he slapped a power clip home into the breach.
“The AR Forty-Four is a work of art,” he was saying. “Named so because the plasma round that it fires has the equivalent velocity of a .44 magnum. An unarmored body taking a hit from one of these will suffer damage that will render a combatant ineffective, if not dead.”
He turned, took a shooting stance, and squeezed off three rounds in quick succession. It was loud, and sharp. The muzzle flash and release of the plasma bolt resembled a purplish laser. Five hundred yards down-range, a wooden target in the shape of a man lost its head, and both arms.
“You will find that the recoil is minimal,” Ford explained. “Enough to let you know that you are firing, not so much as to be detrimental to your aim.”
He flipped his weapon upward, and slid a tube open that was mounted beneath the main housing. From his belt, he took a fist-sized metallic egg, and shoved it in. Afterward, he pumped the tube like a shotgun. Another stance, a moment of aim, and he pulled a secondary
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trigger just beneath the primary one. There was a shoomp! A moment later, the remainder of the wooden target went up in a profound blast that sent dirt flying.
“Anti-personnel grenades,” Ford stated. “Your power cell gives you five hundred rounds of plasma, reducing the need for frequent reload, and allowing for a protracted firefight. A grenade load gives you ten rounds of explosives. A single marine with an AR-44 is equivalent to a ten-man squad of the enemy, if they are armed with conventional weapons.”
Ford hung his rifle by its strap over a shoulder, and stood with hands on his hips.
“There are two of you from every ten-man squad who have not been issued a rifle. There is a reason for that. Those of you I just mentioned, step over here.”
Ecu and Lunk were among those without a rifle. They broke from the ranks, and reformed in a line before him at parade-rest.
Sergeant Bri had been standing off to one side, next to a stack of metal ammunition crates. He opened one, and lifted out a massive, bulky-looking weapon. It resembled a 44, but with much thicker properties. It was large enough to require a balancing strap.
He handed one to Ford, who then began to strap them one at a time to the recruits in front of him. Lastly, he took one for himself with little effort at all. The master sergeant took an ammunition clip the size of a loaf of bread from within another crate, and locked it into place.
“What you folks are wearing,” He began with a grin, “are the plasma cousins of sixty caliber machine guns. These are Sixty Watt M.G.’s. Observe.”
He turned down-range again, and let-fly. The din was deep, and throaty. The flash effect double that of a 44. Multiple targets
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disintegrated as he swept across them. An old, rusted-out car body that was already full of holes sprouted a few more with a dramatic display of sparks.
“Sixty watt rounds have light-armor penetrating capability. You can shoot through plated vehicles, or enemy machine gun nests that aren’t concrete fortified.”
Ford removed the machine gun, and popped the ammo clip free before replacing it to the crate. Slapping his hands together as if to wipe them free of dirt, he turned to one last group of kids that he had kept to the side. They were eight of the shorter, smaller kids in the company.
“That leaves you,” he told them.
Bri opened another set of crates, and took out a series of objects that at first made no sense. A heavy, square iron plate. A thick tube. A set of tri-pod legs.
“The eight of you will be the pair of four-man mortar teams for the company,” Ford announced. He knelt down, and taught them how to assemble the pieces, which snapped easily together. Bri handed him a fist-sized round that looked like a rocket with fins.
“Clear!” Ford yelled, dropping the round down the throat of the tube.
It fired it with a thumping sound. Again, a target disappeared with a fair amount of soil down-range.
“Another tool for clearing holes through an enemy line. Company Nineteen, you are now armed. You now stand within sight of graduating. Of becoming a part of the brotherhood tasked with standing before an enemy that is not to be underestimated.”
Ford nodded at Bri, who then ordered the company to assume firing positions at individual pits along the line. Ammunition was
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passed out, and the kids commenced becoming acquainted with their new, and dangerous toys.
Week 9, Training Day 65
Minerva and Ecu sat side by side on the edge of an impact crater created by a tank round, dangling their legs over the side. Ford had arranged for a display of power from the 83rd Armored, which was the tank, and artillery support division for the battalions.
It had been educational, to say the least. The behemoths had some clout. Their main guns fired 20mm plasma rounds, which could easily blow through a sandbag bunker. After watching them pound some jalopies back to their basic elements, the company was allowed to stroll among the destruction for a close-up look.
The sun was hanging low in the west, casting growing shadows as its light took on a golden hue. Those towering clouds over the coast grew larger, and nearer by the day as the humidity thickened.
“Won’t be long until the monsoons come,” Ecu observed casually.
Minerva studied the cloud bank, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
“Four more days until graduation, Ecu. We’re almost done.”
Her furry friend pulled off her helmet, rubbing at her ears, “Graduation. Two weeks of leave time, too. I can’t wait to see my folks.” Ecu winced, realizing what she had just said. “Sorry.”
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Minerva shook her head, “It’s okay.”
Transit to Earth had been restricted recently, because of growing concern over Storian star-subs
. The sneaky bastards had been torpedoing cargo ships, or any ship without an armed escort.
“Anyway, I’ll get to catch up with Mark.”
Ecu grinned, baring her fangs, “I forgot about your little romance with the corporal.”
Minerva gazed at the setting sun, “Do you think he’ll still like me? I mean, I’ve changed from before. Inside and out.”
The Attayan sighed, and admired the sunset herself, “If he’s worth it, girl, he’ll like you no matter what.”
The sound of a Zippo lighter clicking open caught them off-guard. From behind, Master Sergeant Ford had come up on them unnoticed, and fired up one of his signature cigars.
“Damn it, Master Sergeant,” Minerva complained good-naturedly, “make some noise when you come around. You keep scaring the crap out of me.”
Ford chuckled as smoke billowed around his face, “I’m a sneaky son-of-a-gun, ain’t I?”
The company was starting to gather, it being time to head back to the base. They had dined on field rations, which Minerva thought weren’t too bad. A bit dry, maybe. She liked the BBQ pork MRE’s the best. The girls got to their feet, smacking dust from their armor with the hands not holding their rifles.
“Get some sleep tonight, Ladies,” Ford told them. “The Crucible begins tomorrow.”
The last four days of basic, known as the Crucible, was the ultimate test for the recruits. It forced them to utilize every part of
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what they had learned, in what amounted to the most grueling time of all. A live-fire combat simulation that all had to enter, and only those who survived would exit. On the other side of it was the light of accomplishment. After that, they would become marines.
“What will it be like, Master Sergeant?” Ecu asked, following him back toward the formation.
Ford puffed, “About as close to the real thing as you can get, recruit. Take from it everything you can. Remember it.”
“Any advice you can offer, Sir?” Minerva probed.
The master sergeant paused, looking down at her with complete seriousness.
“Yeah. Don’t get dead.”
With much conditioning, the recruits had learned to fall asleep the moment their eyes closed. Slumber within the battle suit was as about as comfortable as one might expect, if that person enjoyed being wrapped in flexible plating. Out of habit, Minerva kept reaching for sheets that weren’t there, to pull them up around her face.
It had been her turn to stand watch, but she traded with someone else, bartering a pouch-full of snacks from the commissary in return for a few extra hours of sleep, which in itself was a precious commodity. Taps had sounded, the lights went down, and so did she.
The blare of the alert horn jolted her from that slumber, as it did everyone. It was sounding both within the barracks, and out across the depot. Minerva shot into full wakefulness on a rocket sled of fright, not expecting such a cacophony. Sitting up, she could see
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that the rest of the company was looking at one another with expressions of confusion, some sitting up on their bunks, others already standing, unsure of what to do.
Ford and Bri came thundering from their quarters, helmets and rifles in hand. Minerva noticed that they were also wearing their field gear. Combat harnesses, pouches, field packs, all of the assorted items from their web gear.
“On your feet, and gear-up!” Ford bellowed over the warbling of the alarm.
That spurred them into motion.
Minerva leapt from her rack, and tore her stand-up locker open, grabbing at the already assembled harness. All she needed to do was don it, and fasten the buckles. That done, all they needed was to take their helmets and weapons, and dash outside to assemble on their portion of Division Lane.
It was pandemonium out there.
Every light on the base was lit, and there were vehicles of every description zipping around, mostly in the direction of the main gate. Marines were running toward the motor pool, shouting, making motions. All were armed. Even the newer recruit companies were being formed up. Those lacking armor were clad in their fatigues.
“So, this is how the Crucible begins?” Ecu asked, leaning over to be heard.
Minerva shrugged. Something about what was taking place told her that wasn’t the case. The Crucible was intended for graduating companies, not the entire base. Other companies ahead of them had gone through it without all of this. She caught the expressions on a few of the sergeants in charge of other recruit companies, and had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
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They looked frightened.
Ford and Bri came out, and called them to attention before marching toward the parade grounds. The immaculately kept field was ringed by audience stands that were presently empty, eerily lit by the high-intensity lights that chased back the darkness. Minerva dropped her visor, and checked the heads-up display. It was barely past two in the morning.
The rest of the recruit division, a total of twenty-one other training companies in all stages of basic, marched behind them. They all assumed formation in a long row of companies, facing the command podium, where the commandant made his graduation speeches.
“At ease.”
Ford’s voice came easy and clearly over their helmet pick-ups.
The kids relaxed their posture while remaining where they stood, taking in the situation. A line of armored pickup trucks came roaring in, the drivers unmindful of the grass that their wheels were tearing up. They halted a short distance away, and the drivers hurried out to begin off-loading ammunition boxes. Other marines started lining those up, opening the lids to expose what was within. An armored lieutenant walked along them with an electronic clipboard, making notations.
Other officers were grouped together, their visors up, deep in a heated conversation about something. Senior NCO’s stood off to another side, doing the same.
“You know,” Minerva said to Ecu, who was gaping at a flight of Huey-shuttle gunships passing overhead, “I don’t think this has anything to do with the Crucible.”
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The blaring of the base alarm finally ceased, but it was really no quieter for it. The wavering rumble of voices, vehicle engines, and shuttle-choppers filled the gap. The smell of diesel/plasma fuel and dust began to waft across the field.
Nearly thirty minutes passed before some semblance of order came to the grounds, that when an older man in dress uniform arrived in a staff car. All of the officers and NCO’s came to attention as the driver opened the passenger door for him.
“Holy cow!” Lunk exclaimed. “That’s a full colonel!”
The officer strode purposefully toward the podium, and took position behind it. An aid fiddled with the microphone, turning it on, and getting it adjusted to the man’s height.
“I bid you an early good morning, Camp Madison,” he greeted, his voice echoing across the field. “I am Colonel Josta, your commandant.”
All eyes focused on him.
“There have been some developments, rather serious ones that prompted this alert. It is not an exercise. As of this moment, all companies that have reached week four in their training have been graduated, and the Crucible has been cancelled.”
Minerva felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. There were murmurs running wild through the ranks in hushed tones.
“At about oh-one-hundred our time,” the colonel continued, “the Storian Second Space Fleet entered the Denmoore Straits. They have achieved orbital dominance over Denmoore Prime, and appear to be in the process of preparing to launch a ground assault.”
Josta shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his voice grave, “The Denmoore System is only a nine hour jump from here at Anderson speed, Marines. That puts the Storians within striking
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distance, if they should be so inclined to turn their sights on Attaya.”
The colonel wet his lips, scanned the formations. To Minerva, he appeared to be holding in a great deal of pen
t up rage.
“The Attayan Prime Minister has ordered the deployment of a naval battle group to the Straits, and placed the planet on a full alert while the U.N. security councils meet for an emergency session. As you may or may not know, Denmoore is a territory of Attaya.
“As we are under the jurisdiction of Earth, the Corps has not yet received any mobilization orders, but we are preparing for such. United Earth President Reyes has cancelled all leaves, and recalled personnel to duty stations. Companies fifteen through twenty one will be transferred over to Fort Dixon, and integrated into the battalions there. It just became real, Marines. You’ve trained for this.”
The colonel left the podium, and joined the other group of officers to confer with them. The senior NCO’s divided up, and returned to their respective companies.
“Oh, boy.” Ecu breathed, looking at her friend.
Minerva nodded, “Yeah, that about sums it up.”
Ford arrived before them, holding a black baton with an electronic sensor glowing blue on its tip. Without delay, nor pomp and circumstance, he moved along the ranks, touching their sleeve plates with it. The nanos in their armor responded, forming the chevrons of private, and the UEMC symbol.
He paused for a moment when he reached the girls, and looked at them meaningfully as he tapped them. The chevrons of a corporal appeared for Minerva and Ecu.
“Good luck, you two,” he told them. “Do me proud.”
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Before either of them could say anything, he had turned away, striding off toward the gaggle of officers.
Sergeant Bri took over then, ordering them to fall out by squads to head for the supply line to receive their ammunition. From there, deuce-and-a-half troop trucks waited. An incredibly long line of them, idling, their headlights cutting into the night. The kids were loaded up, packed in twenty at a time, and convoyed out toward the highway.
In the back of one truck, Minerva and her squad mates endured the jostling and bouncing of heavy vehicles bouncing over country roads, boiling up dust in great clouds as they went. She closed her visor so that she could breathe filtered air, but left her tactical turned off, content to be alone with her thoughts.
