Recruit (6 page)

Chapter 4

No Initial huffed alongside Ryck, his mouth open as he gasped for air.  Up ahead, just outside the Liberty gate, Ryck could see Drill Instructor
Despri waiting for them.

“Come on, No Initial, another 500 meters and we’
re done,” he got out between his own breathing.  “Cold water, aircon; think of it.”

Moreau just nodded, too winded to speak.  “No Initial” Moreau was a big guy, almost two meters tall, and a solid 120 kg.  He looked the part, but he’d struggled during the
heavy
PT
the recruits had been put through th
e first four days of training, particularly during the runs.  This run had “only” been six kilometers, two loops between the gate and The Lost Lady, a rock formation south of the camp wall, but it was with a 35 kg ruck full of sand.  The training rucks weren’t like the nice commercial rucks available to any civilian.  This was basically a synthetic fiber sack with two thin straps that dug into the recruits’ shoulders as they ran.

Moreau was from
Tai ‘pao, and like most of the residents there, he had only one name.  That didn’t fit the Marine standard, so his name tag read “Moreau, N.I..”  The “N.I.” quickly turned into “No Initial.”

Ryck didn’t know if No Initial was going to make it.  Platoon 1044 had already lost five recruits:  one was whisked away less than an hour after they’d been sworn in for reasons that
still fueled the rumor mill four days later.  The other four recruits had simply quit.  No one knew what had become of them.  Technically, most recruits could not just give up their obligations once sworn in, but as the DIs kept drilling into their heads, the Marine Corps did not want anyone less than the best in its ranks.  The Navy might snag a few depending on the reasons a recruit quit, his capabilities, and his enlistment contract, but the general consensus was that most who quit during training would just be sent home.

If No Initial was having so many problems with th
e PT now, Ryck wondered how he would cope when the tempo was increased.  One of the required events during the Crucible just before graduation was a 25 km run with 50 kg on their backs.  If you couldn’t keep up or quit, it was either get out or get recycled.

The PT was kicking Ryck’s ass, too, but he managed to struggle through it.  It was kicking everyone’s ass except for
Clary Won and Born Brilliant.  Clary was just a stud, but Born Brilliant seemed to escape to some other plane and breeze through when the going got rough.

“Tighten it up, ladies,” Drill Instructor Lor
enz said as he ran beside the loose formation.  He was carrying the same ruck as the recruits, and it looked like it was loaded with twice as much sand as any of them had.  “Look good coming in.”

Ryck hated him at the moment.  How could he look so good, so at ease, when most of them were dying?

Ryck knew the heavy PT was part of the indoctrination, but still, why the rucks?  As Marines, they would be in PICS battle suits, or at least with exoskeleton assists embedded into their uniforms.  When would they have to carry loads like this without assistance, with only their God-given bodies?  He tried to put that thought out of his mind.  His was not to reason why, after all.

Moreau started to fall back.

“Grab my ruck,” Ryck told him, hoping against hope that Moreau wouldn’t hear the offer or wouldn’t take it.

The sudden pull against him threw that hope out the window.  He sighed and leaned into the run, pulling No Initial along.  It was only 300 meters, then 200, then 100.  The platoon started to slow down, over
75 pairs of feet preparing to come to a halt at the gate.  Drill Instructor Despiri watch them approach, then motioned his arm around, pointing back out along the trail.

“Not together,” he said in his usual clipped manner. 
“Again.”

The moans were not suppressed as
Drill Instructor Lorenz swung the platoon around and back on the trail to The Lost Lady.

“
Do it right the first time, ladies, and we won’t have to go at it again,” he told them.

Ryck wasn’t sure how
75 men could make the run and stay in formation.  There were others besides No Initial who were struggling, some straggling behind.  As far as Ryck was concerned, let those guys run another loop.  Let the ones who kept up stop and rest.  At least No Initial had let go of him as they had approached the gate.

He tried to adjust the ruck on his back to a more comfortable position, but that was hopeless.
  Three more kilometers, and they’d better all be in formation when they got back or someone might be facing a blanket party.  

Chapter 5

Ryck slid into the seat, grateful to be off his feet.  This was their first history class, and one of the few training events in which there were no DIs.  Drill Instructor Lorenz, looking refreshed and as if he hadn’t just been with them on the nine kilometer ruck run, had marched the platoon to the classroom, then left after each rank had filed in.

The platoon
already had a number of classes in subjects such as rank structure, military etiquette, Marine Corps organization, and the
UCMJ
.  Some of the other platoons had already started history classes, but with only one instructor, classes had to be juggled.  They were scheduled for 20 hours in the class
room before graduation.  Ryck wasn’t sure just why recruits needed that much time, but any time without the DIs was welcome.

Dr. Berber stood at the front of the classroom, watching each file of recruits march in and
take a seat.  When the last recruit sat down, he started right in.

“When was the first Marine Corps formed?” he asked without any attempt at an introduction.

Not that an introduction was really needed.  Everyone knew about Dr. Berber.  He’d been a Marine, but he was a fixture at Camp Charles and had been teaching there for over 40 years.  He was a lean, almost skeletal figure, and he spoke with a sharp staccato. 

Several hand shot up.  Ryck kept his face neutral, hiding the distaste he had
for the springbutts.  Recruit training was not a place to put yourself in the limelight where you could draw attention to yourself.

“You,”
Dr. Berber said, pointing a long arm at Doggie Jenkins. 

“Doggie” was an appropriate name for a guy who kept seeking approval.  Ryck could almost imagine a tail under his trou, wagging in excitement.

“The
Infantería de Marina,
established on February 27, 1537, by Charles the First, for whom this camp was named,” Doggie recited.

“Wrong!” shouted Dr. Berber.

That caught Ryck’s attention.  Doggie was not any sort of history buff.  What he’d just said was right out of our Marine Corps Handbook, the printed book that recruits were required to carry at all times.  The book was filled with all sorts of Marine Corps knowledge, not the least being the origins of the Corps.

“The
Infantería de Marina
was the oldest extant Marine Corps when the Federation Marine Corps was formed.  But there were many different naval infantry, or marine units formed before that.  During the Chinese Warring States of 481-221 BC, soldiers armed with dagger-halbreds were put on ships to ward off boarders.  The ancient Greeks used hoplites as naval infantry.  Mighty Imperial Rome, though, in the year 68 AD, might have been the first government to form specific marine units, the First and Second Adiutrix.  The point I am making is two-fold.  The first is listen to the question, not just in history, but in life.  I asked one thing, and our volunteer there, Mr. Jenkins,” he said after peering at Doggie’s nametag, “answered what he thought I asked instead of what I asked.  Doing that in combat could have drastic consequences.  The second point is that from the time of navies, there had to be soldiers to protect them.  These soldiers of the seas are your direct forebears.  We didn’t need Chuck the First to suddenly come up with the idea.  All he did was put into a decree what was already a proven need.  That need has not changed from the time of war galleys to our newest Prion Class carrier today.

“I hope you will take the advantage of not only listening, but
also learning from this class.  Yes, I know that you miss your drill instructors,” he said to the laughter breaking out in the classroom, “and you need them to tell you how to fart,” as even louder laughter broke out.  “But this is your heritage.  This is what makes you what you are.  I’m not going to be ratting out any of you if you fall asleep, but I hope you have the pride and discipline to listen and learn.”

The “falling asleep” comment hit home.  Ryck had it in the back of his mind to do just that if he could get away with it.  But Dr. Berber’s comment and appeal to
their own sense of discipline instilled something more in him.  He was going to be a Marine, and he should know its history, what would soon be his history. 

“Settle back and relax.  I will let you know,”
Dr. Berber said, stomping his foot in an exaggerated manner, “what you will have to know for the test.  What you think the Corps doesn’t test everything here at Camp Charles?” he said to the groans that had come at the word “test.”  “The Corps tests everything, so get used to it.  Anyway, I’ll let you know what will be tested,” he said, once again making the exaggerated stomp.  “But what I want you to absorb is the makings of the Marines and how our own culture has been developed.  We work closely with the Navy, but we are different animals. 

“
Over our twenty classes together, we will examine the birth of dedicated naval infantry units, of the proliferation and periodic demise of marine units, of the 43 national and three planetary Marine Corps that were combined to form the Federation Marines, and of our own Federation Marine Corps history, our greatest battles and heroes.  Much of this will directly affect you, from why we celebrate both February 27 and November 10 as our Marine Corps birthday, why NCOs wear the red stripe on their blues, and why a drummer in the Marine band wears a leopard skin over his uniform.

“Today, we will go over the foundation of how naval infantry was developed.”

A vid of some sort of war gallery appeared over his arena.

“I won’t be foot-stomping anything
during this class.  There won’t be anything on the test from today, so just listen and let it sink in. 

“
The first recorded naval battle was the Battle of the Delta, between the Egyptians under Ramses III and a group known as the Sea Peoples.  In this battle, which took place around 1175 BC, the ships were used as platforms from which archers could fire towards shore-based troops, so in a way, the naval infantry preceded the use of a navy ship as a weapon in and of itself.  Ships continued to be more of floating transports, and it wasn’t until the rise of the Greeks and Phoenicians around 1000 BC that the war galley was developed.  This is what is called a
triaconter
, or ‘thirty-oared ship.’  Not only could it transport troops, but also it could attack and destroy other ships, quite often through ramming” he said, pointing to the image above his desk arena.  Another image of a galley appeared, and the first one turned to face it before oars started it forward towards the new ship.

Ryck leaned forward in his seat.  He had a feeling that the 20 hours he was scheduled to be in class with the good doctor were going to be interesting.

Chapter 6

Rec
ruit Squad Leader Ryck Lysander took a few steps to his left and yelled “Hodges, get your grubbing team up in position!”

This was the first training evolution in his new recruit billet, and he was bound and determined to keep it all the way through graduation.  He didn’t need Hodges to get him fired before he’
d even had a chance to show the DIs what he was capable of.

They were outside the camp walls, in TA103,
“Training Area 103,” a good-sized expanse of open ground.  It wasn’t as clear as a parade deck, but it was as close to being clear as any other training area.  There were a few gentles rises and one gully, but a DI could pretty much view the entire area.  Ryck couldn’t afford to focus on any of the other squads in sight, though.  He had to watch his four fire teams as they walked through the various formations they’d just learned. 

As he’d wondered before, he wasn’t sure why they were walking around, their M99s in hand, but nothing else.  No comm
s, no armor, nothing.  Ryck knew they’d never be without their comms, and trying to control four fire teams by shouting was not the most efficient way of getting the job done.  Why not just give them a club and animal skins, and let them grunt out their commands?

Not that the M99s they carried were anything more than clubs, and not very effective
cubs at that.  Ryck had been thrilled when he’d been issued his, but that thrill faded when he realized the weapon was a liability to a recruit.  Not only did it have the bright pink safety tie that kept the chamber from closing, showing the world that he wasn’t trusted yet to have a live weapon, but also even dropping it, much less getting separated from it, resulted in a punishment that was better blocked out of the mind.  One recruit
DOR’d
right in the middle of his pushups he’d been assigned for dropping his.  The DIs had been in his face, screaming, and the guy just stopped.  Leaving his weapon on the deck, he’d just stood up,
then walked back toward the barracks. 

“Are you DOR’ing?” the top hat had screamed.

“Yep,” had been the reply.

As if a switch had been thrown, the DIs quit their tirade.  Drill Instructor Lorenz picked up the recruit’s M99 and slung it on his back as the other DIs turned their attention back to the rest of the platoon.

Ryck had already forgotten the recruit’s name.  He was only one of six recruits who were gone.

“Damn it Hodges, get your team up!” he shouted again, running a few steps toward him until he stumbled over a rock and almost went to his knees. 

He risked a glance back to the bleachers where they had been given their lesson.  Not only were his DIs there watching, but also the series commander and senior were there as well, all observing the training.  Ryck hoped no one had noticed him stumbling.

Recruit Hodges slowly moved his fire team up in position.  The DI field instructor
had told them that formations like this had been the mainstay of military operations since warfare began, but Ryck thought that had no bearing on modern warfare.  Marines were not going to be trudging into battle in nice little squad V’s, Wedges, or Echelons.  Even the most ill-equipped enemy would be able to hold off a company of Marines if this was all they did.  They might just as well line up in three ranks and conduct volley fire at the enemy.

They finally made it to the yellow flag that indicated they had to shift to the next formation.  This changing
formations was called “Battle Drill.”  Ryck looked down at his instruction sheet. 

“OK, listen up!  We’re going to a Squad
V,” he shouted, holding up both arms at an angle above his head.

At least the fire teams didn’t have to change formations at the same time, something for which Ryck was grateful.  That would be a royal clusterfuck.
He shifted to his own position as he watched the fire teams slowly make the change.

“Hodges!  Where are you supposed to be in a Squad V
?  To the right of the formation!  No, to your other right!  You see Fourth Fire Team there?  You think you both are going to march together?” Ryck shouted as he sprinted towards his wayward team.

Observers
be damned, Ryck was going to grab that grubbing idiot by the collar and drag him into position if he had to.