Dean met Orvil two days after his passionate exchange with Captain Parker. His superior officer never mentioned the kiss, and she certainly didn't take it easy on him. Her combat training was relentless, and the PID pushed Dean as hard as it could, but searching for a friend on the space base gave the young ensign just the escape he was looking for.
Orvil was in his forties, a Navy petty officer who had spent the better part of two decades on fleet vessels cooking for officers and grunts alike. He had deep lines around his eyes, and liked to talk. When he discovered Dean prowling around in the kitchens he knew immediately what was going on.
"What are you doing skulking around my kitchens?" the petty officer said.
"Just exploring a little," Dean said, hoping he didn't sound as frightened as he felt. If the petty officer sent word to the major that Dean was in the kitchens, he didn't know what his punishment might be.
"Going a little stir crazy in this tin can, eh?" the wily cook said. "I remember my first tour. That was a real bitch. Thought I would go crazy, but you get used to it. Aren't you supposed to be eating?"
"I needed a little diversion," Dean said honestly.
"Well, I don't mind to shoot the shit, but I won't have anyone not eat."
Orvil shook hands with Dean and left him in the tidy little prep station. There was a stool against one wall, and large mixing vats on the stainless steel table in the center of the room. Orvil returned with a tray. It had two sandwiches and a tall glass of the familiar punch Dean was accustomed to drinking since he had joined EsDef.
"What path are you?" Orvil asked.
"Force Recon," Dean replied.
"I knew it. I can spot you crazy bastards from a mile away. Why the hell you want to fight for?"
"It's always been my dream, since I was a kid."
"No, you've been dreaming of being the star of a movie. No one dreams about actual combat. I seen men with ghosts in their eyes. That shit will change you, Dean. Knock the fantasy right out of your mind the first time you set foot on a contested world. I was running the kitchen on the EsDef Arcadia when the Force Recon platoon was sent down dirtside. Half of 'em didn't come back from that op. Those that did weren't the same."
"I've seen some awful stuff in training," Dean agreed.
"You got to have a shield around your heart if you don't want the madness to ruin you. That why you're here? Looking for something that feels normal?"
"Yes, in a way. The training is intense."
"And it should be. You won't be sitting at a console somewhere, piloting a drone. You'll be in the mud and blood, doing the real work of defending the planets. That's serious business, you mark my words."
"How did you adapt to life on a ship, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Well, at first it was really hard. But then I learned to take control of my life, even on tour. We don't get a say over how we spend the watches we're assigned, but we aren't left without choices altogether. Most ships have REC centers - Recreation, Education, and Community. Take advantage of those of course, and then carve out a routine for yourself. Not just the standard duty watches, but I mean finding the things, and the people, that you enjoy. Don't fall into the trap of segregation that so many people selected for service get caught in. Find the people who see you as more than just a rank and engage them on a deeper level. That will keep you sane on the long tours."
Dean sat on the stool eating, while Orvil mixed protein powder and spices together with a practiced hand. He never stopped talking. Telling stories, sometimes about his work, other times about adventures he had on various worlds. To Dean, it seemed like someone had pressed a release valve and his tension just slipped away. Dean began taking his lunch and dinner with Orvil in the prep room that the petty officer preferred to work in, and over the next two weeks Dean adapted to life in the EsDef Officer Academy.
He worked hard, honing his body and his mind. The Force Recon platoons deployed in different formations depending on the threat, terrain, and mission objectives. He learned the difference between a contact mission, exploratory deployment, and human defensive engagements. He memorized the deployment formations, learned how to study the threat assessment plot that gave him an overview of his surroundings as well as each member of his platoon, and learned how to cycle through the Autonomous Air Support Vehicles capable of being called into action from his fire controls built into his Tactics and Combat helmet.
The training was vigorous and lengthy. The PID used video, simulations, and role play to prepare him for his job. Some of the scenarios he worked through were actual Force Recon deployments against known extraterrestrial life forms. Others were created to illustrate tactics or the virtues of a particular deployment formation. With his PID on, and the unit fully active, Dean couldn't tell that he wasn't in an actual combat situation. The only flaw to the device was the precision and speed of the soldiers under Dean's command. Captain Parker made it clear that constant drilling was a necessity for a platoon to come together and function the way it should. Even then, she warned, a good lieutenant knows the capabilities of each soldier under their command, conforming the deployment formations to the specific skills of each member of their platoon.
It wasn't until the final week of Dean's training that he was able to keep up with Captain Parker in their sparring sessions. They spent hours each week building speed in his striking, footwork, and grappling take downs. He became stronger and more flexible at the same time. His morning workouts seemed like leisurely strolls compared to training with his superior officer in the afternoons.
He was taught how to maintain discipline with unruly soldiers. Unlike the other branches of service that didn't actually see combat, Dean was taught to recognize and diagnose traumatic stress disorders. Everything was theory in the academy, but when it was finally time to transition down to Coronado, Dean would have the foundation he needed to lead his troops.
The morning of his deployment back to Earth, Captain Parker met him outside his small cabin and offered him her hand, which he shook. She was just as beautiful as always, but his desire for her had dimmed over the four week academy rotation.
"Damn good work, Ensign," she said. "Enjoy your time down on Earth. It may be the last you see home for a while."
"I will," Dean said. "And thanks for all your help."
"The system works if you trust it to. Take care of yourself and your troopers, Dean. If you don't, I'll find you and kick your ass."
"I believe you really would," Dean said with a smile.
The captain turned and marched back down the corridor. Dean realized that while he couldn't wait to get off the space base affectionately known as Grooms Lake, he would miss Captain Parker and Orvil. They had gotten him through the month-long training session that was more intense than anything he had ever imagined before. On his way to the shuttle bay he stopped at the kitchen.
"You checking off this resort in the sky?" Orvil asked.
"Yes, sir," Dean replied. "I'm going to get a real cheeseburger soon."
"Ah, animal protein is overrated. But I wouldn't mind a snort or two of sour mash whiskey. Now that stuff is worth staying dirtside for."
The two men shook hands. Dean wanted to say more to his friend, but he couldn't find the words he needed to really express how much the older soldier's friendship had helped him survive his training.
"You send a message over the net every once in a while. Let me know you're still kicking around somewhere," Orvil said.
"You too," Dean replied.
Then he set off for his next phase of training, hoping against hope that working with the different specialties earthside wouldn't be as difficult as life on board a space station had been.
Chapter 12
Growing up, Dean had seen movies where ships of various kinds flew up into space and reentered atmosphere in smooth, simple, almost graceful flights. The reality was much different. His flight up to the space base had been taxing, but reentering atmosphere was like trying to break into a gi
ant rubber ball. The small ship he was riding on bounced around like a bumble bee trying to land on a rose petal. Waves of super-heated air engulfed the ship as it essentially fell thousands of feet per second toward the ground far, far below.
When they finally leveled off and slowed their descent, they were forced to fly through a bank of storm clouds that cut off their visibility. Whenever they could see, it reminded Dean of being in a fantasy world, with gray clouds on every side, and thick bolts of lightning popping around them.
"Don't worry, the electronics are shielded from lightning strikes," the pilot said. "And this baby can land itself."
Dean nodded, trying not to look terrified but failing. When they finally escaped the storm clouds they popped out over the Southern California coastline. Dean craned his neck to see the sprawling metropolis of San Diego, with mountains to the east and nothing but dark, blue ocean to the west.
“Beautiful girls in bikinis, hot damn!” the pilot said with such enthusiasm it reminded Dean of a child. “I love SoCal, baby!"
Dean thought that being on the coast, prowling for girls and having fun, sounded like heaven, but he wasn't going there. He was headed for the EsDef training grounds at Coronado, home of the elite Force Recon academy. If training there was anything like the officers’ training at Grooms Lake, Dean didn't expect to have much time for sun bathing or sightseeing.
The shuttle landed gently on a long air strip and when the canopy popped open Dean could smell the briny scent of the ocean. The air was warm and humid, with an ocean breeze keeping it comfortable, although the heat radiating up from the blacktop of the landing strip seemed to roast Dean's feet and legs.
He carried his rucksack to the nearest building and reported. A corporal in baggy utility fatigues drove Dean to the officers’ training building and dropped him off. The facility looked like an old-fashioned aluminum can of soda that had been chopped in half lengthwise. The arched roofline was stainless steel and reflected the bright sunlight back into Dean's face. He hurried inside and found a rather casual-looking reception room.
"I'm Ensign Dean Blaze. Reporting for training."
The operator manning the desk hit a few keys on a keyboard and read the instructions on the screen.
"Have a seat," the man said in a bored voice. "Captain Anderson will be with you shortly."
Shortly turned into an hour before the captain arrived. He took Dean to a small room on the second floor of the Quonset hut.
"Personal quarters," Anderson said. "You can drop your gear and we'll head over to the officers’ mess."
Dean set his pack on the narrow bed and followed his superior officer out of the small room. They went downstairs and the captain showed Dean various meeting and debrief rooms. The officers who oversaw every phase of Force Recon training were housed in the building, which would be the base of operations for Dean's training for the next ten weeks. They walked across the base to a much smaller building that Anderson described as both the officers' mess and after-hours club.
"You probably won't have much time for drinking, but ensigns are allowed in the officers club. We'll get evening chow, then stick around for a drink so I can introduce you to Major Jons. He oversees the base and all training."
Dean's stomach rumbled. The last month aboard the space base had left him with a strong craving for actual meat. The evening meal was grilled fish fillets, sautéed vegetables, sweet potato hash, and strawberry shortcake with real cream. Captain Anderson chuckled as he watched Dean eat.
"You may want to take it easy, ensign, you'll have an early morning and a lot of long days ahead."
"It's just so good to get actual food again," Dean said.
"Shipboard chow takes some getting used to, but nutritionally it’s better than what we get earthside."
"I'll take taste over nutrition," Dean said with his mouth full.
After dinner the mess hall was quickly converted into a fully stocked bar. Dean was too young to drink, but the other officers didn't seem to notice or care. Dean had tried beer at a high school party, but didn't really like the taste. His father had always favored vodka, and Dean had stolen a nip once or twice, but he was too nervous to drink in front of the other officers. They laughed and told stories, most were strong, athletic men and women. They all had dark tans, their short, regulation hair was streaked with sun-bleached highlights. Dean felt like a foreign exchange student suddenly invited to the cool kids’ party.
But not all the officers looked as if they could eat bullets for breakfast and fight space aliens with their bare hands. A few looked almost scholarly. They rounded out the front of their uniforms and didn't join in with the others. They mostly sat at small tables, huddled together, whispering. Dean took in the entire scene, wondering how he had managed to get included it what amounted to the most exclusive club in the galaxy. He wasn't just in EsDef, he was in Force Recon. And not merely a recruit, but an officer to boot. It was almost too unbelievable to be real.
"Ensign," Captain Anderson called from the bar when a tall man with a thick mustache and a completely bald head entered the room. He was by far the oldest man in the club, but he had a powerful build and a stillness in his eyes that made Dean think he was more than capable of taking the life of anyone who threatened him.
"This is Major Jons," Anderson went on. "Ensign Blaze is on rotation from the Officers Academy."
Dean saluted and stood at attention before the major, who was the highest-ranking officer in EsDef that Dean had met in his short career.
"At ease, Ensign," the major said. "Are you drinking?"
"No, sir. I'm not old enough."
"If you're old enough to fight and die, you're old enough for a drink. Just don't make a habit of it. Fletcher, get the ensign a peach schnapps, on the rocks. Consider it a night cap. We keep short evenings here at Coronado."
Dean took the drink and looked around self-consciously. The other officers had fallen back into their previous conversations as Major Jons sipped from a martini glass.
"You'll be here for ten weeks. It's a tough run, but I'm sure you're up to it."
"Yes, sir," Dean said, after taking a tiny sip of his drink.
"Life at Coronado is unlike any other base in EsDef. We train the meanest grunts into elite warriors. My officers will not show you any deference as you join each specialty. Do the work, Ensign. Learn as much as you can about each specialty. Don't worry about making friends or being liked. This training will mean the difference between life and death, for you and for your troopers."
"Yes, sir," Dean said. "I'll give it everything I've got."
"Then we won't have any trouble. Now finish that drink and Captain Anderson will see you back to your quarters. Your first training station is Heavy Armor at 0500. Be prepared to sweat, Ensign."
Chapter 13
At 0500 hours Dean was up, dressed, and ready for his first day of training. Captain Anderson met him just outside the officers’ quarters and they jogged to what looked like a warehouse or hangar. Inside they went immediately to a set of metal stairs and climbed into a loft that gave them an unobstructed view of the building interior. There were various stations where men were already at work. Dean noticed the strength training equipment immediately, along with the size of the men working out. They looked like body builders, their frames packed with dense muscle that was well beyond normal.
At another station, troops were chugging protein drinks and getting injected by operators in long white coats. Another area looked almost like a garage, with pieces of battle armor in various states of maintenance, and in yet another space there were soldiers using machines to work through combat simulations. But what stood out the most was how much fun the Heavy Armor specialists seemed to be having.
"Ensign Blaze," Anderson said. "Let me introduce you to Staff Sergeant Burl Hoskins, commander of Heavy Armor training here at Coronado."
Dean turned and saluted. The officer looking down at him was taller than Dean, and so large through the shoulders and ch
est that Dean actually felt afraid. The staff sergeant had a stern look on his face as he gazed down, but it wasn't quite a frown.
"Blaze," the hulking officer said, "strong name. I like that. Today you'll follow me on inspection and get fitted for training armor. Ask questions. I don't want LTs leaving my training center without a full knowledge of the scope and purpose of Heavy Armor training. You will be in the field over the next two weeks. It will be extremely physical, but we don't give officers training with us any slack. So I expect you to carry your weight. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant," Dean said.
"Excellent, let's get started."
Captain Anderson left and Sergeant Hoskins took Dean back to the overlook, explaining exactly what the men were doing at each station.
"We train heavy," Hoskins said. "Each of our troops carries twice the weight of every other specialty. That training begins here, along with a large course of growth hormones. When you are on tour, the Heavy Armor troopers will ingest twice the standard amount of protein, along with a regimen of oral supplements. You need your men strong and mean. We don't fight from a distance. We are face to face with the enemy and every trooper needs to be in top shape to perform. If we fail, the platoon fails, the mission fails, and ultimately, humanity fails. Failure is not an option."
"Doesn't the growth hormone have side effects?"
"In rare cases," Hoskins admitted. "Almost all troops that react negatively to the hormones are caught here. The last thing we want is a raging trooper on board a space vessel. Fully armored, our troops are hard to bring down. The synthetic growth hormones are essential to Heavy Armor specialists, so we monitor each recruit. The side effects are well documented and our troops know what to look for, in themselves and in their squad mates.
"You'll find our men aggressive about their training. They know what's at stake and how much each platoon depends on them. We are the foundation of Force Recon, and by far the largest specialty."
We Are The Wolf (Wolf Pack Book 1) Page 6
