Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga) (19 page)

“
Where are you sending them, Candidate?”

“
Wha —
oh!”

Chagrined, Steve collected himself and transferred his gaze to his platoon, only to realize that it was heading further to the right than he’d expected. He opened his mouth to call a command, but it was too late. He watched dumbfounded as the platoon disappeared down the stairs at the rear of the parade–ground, which led to a sports oval below.

“Now you’ve done it, Candidate! They’ve dropped off the edge of the bloody world! If you don’t do something quickly, they’ll go on marching in that general direction until the Last Trump! You’d better get them back in time for graduation. It’s only eleven weeks from now!”

They hurried over to the stairs, and looked down to see the platoon marching across the oval, still in perfect formation, to the dumbfounded amazement of other candidates engaged in athletic training. From the shaking shoulders of his platoon–mates, Steve could tell they were thoroughly enjoying the situation.

Nolens took charge with a few bellowed commands, turning the platoon around, marching it back up the steps, then returning it to the position from which it had started. Steve trailed disconsolately behind him, knowing he’d earned a demerit for his incompetence.

The Staff Sergeant halted the platoon, then marched stiffly up to the right marker, a candidate named Aswegen. He stared straight into his face as Aswegen tried desperately to keep his eyes focused on the distant horizon. Nolens said, softly but clearly, “I saw you make that little dog–leg to the right, to take the platoon down those stairs. Tell me, funny man, how are you going to feel when you’re in charge of the platoon, and someone does the same thing to you?”

“Er… I… ah…”

The instructor leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to the candidate’s ear, and bellowed,
“DON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

Aswegen jumped, then recovered himself. “Aye aye, Staff Sergeant!”

“Candidate Maxwell will pick up a demerit for this; but to keep things fair, I’m going to give you one as well. Any objections?”

“
N–no, Staff Sergeant!”

“
Good.” He turned to Steve. “Now’s your chance to redeem yourself, Candidate. Think you can get it right this time?”

“
I’ll do my best, Staff Sergeant.”

“
Then let’s see how good your best is. Over to you.”

~ ~ ~

Candidates were required to rate the other members of their eight–person teams informally every week, and formally during the third and sixth week of OCS. They would have to rate everyone in their entire platoon during the ninth week. The formal evaluations were comprehensive and detailed, seeking numeric ratings of many aspects of professional conduct, leadership skills, and related areas. Space was provided for comments to justify the ratings — and they were expected. Any candidate providing only a numeric rating would have the evaluation returned with a demand for supporting information.

Gunnery Sergeant Dixon warned her students about the importance of proper assessments. “Part of an officer’s job is to evaluate the performance of others, honestly and objectively,” she pointed out. “We know most people don’t like to be negative about colleagues. That’s a normal human reaction, but combat leaders can’t afford it. What if you fail to honestly evaluate an under–performing subordinate? If they’re not corrected now, they may screw up monumentally further down the line. They may even get someone killed — and that someone may be you!

“There’s no room for sentimentality in an evaluation. It’s vital that you assess your people honestly, rationally and completely. You’ll start with your peers on this course. If someone doesn’t have what it takes to make a good officer, you won’t fix that by covering up for them. You’ll simply inflict their problems on others, and on the Fleet as a whole.

“
We’ll assess your evaluation by comparing it, first to other candidates’ evaluations of that person, then to the instructors’ evaluations of them. If yours differs too greatly from the others, it will demonstrate one or more of three things. You may have identified something all the rest of us have missed, which is unlikely. Much more likely is that you aren’t taking this seriously — in which case, why are you wasting your time and ours at OCS? Finally, you may genuinely be unable to conduct an objective evaluation. Both of the latter cases will call into question your fitness for a commission — so be honest in your evaluations, for your own sake.”

Steve initially found it difficult to submit detailed evaluations of his peers, particularly when they were negative. It felt almost as if he was stabbing them in the back. However, he knew others were evaluating him in the same way, so he tried to be as objective as possible. He was unsure about two of his fellow students in particular, and submitted negative assessments of them with some trepidation. Nevertheless, he was confident he had good reasons for his rating of them. He was therefore not surprised when, over time, one withdrew from the course and the other was dropped.

~ ~ ~

In the candidates’ nightmares the obstacle courses seemed to morph into primeval fossilized monsters, taunting them, mocking them silently as they threw their aching bodies at the obstacles’ unyielding, uncaring, cadaverous skeletons. More than a few candidates were heard to mutter darkly that the course designers had unquestionably been sadists, and the instructors were clearly their all–too–willing acolytes.

The four obstacle courses were designed as tests of tactical leadership as much as fitness. Each candidate in turn took charge of a team, leading them through a course, motivating and directing them, and solving a tactical problem at the same time. Each would repeat the process at least three times during OCS under the gimlet eyes of the instructors. To be asked to lead a team through an obstacle course more than four or five times was, rightly or wrongly, considered bad news by the candidates, who assumed it meant the instructors were still unsure about the leader’s ability.

The tactical problem might be to transport a ‘wounded’ comrade, strapped into a stretcher, to an ‘ambulance’ on the far side of the course — preferably without half–drowning the victim by dropping the stretcher into a water obstacle. This happened to more than a few candidates, who, when fished out, were vociferous in their displeasure. It might be to convey boxes of ammunition, crates of food and water–bottles through the obstacles to ‘a patrol needing resupply’. It might be to carry building materials through the course, then construct a field–expedient structure of one sort or another — all while ‘under fire’ in the middle of a ‘predator–infested swamp’. Other candidates would act as ‘predators’ or simulate enemy ‘fire’ using paintballs. The team tackling the course would have to defend themselves while completing the mission. The team leader was responsible for maintaining discipline, making sure everyone was pulling their weight, deciding how to deal with the problems confronting the team, and exercising what the instructors called ‘command presence’.

The most aggravating aspect was that the instructors never gave any indication of how the leader was doing. They watched everyone, of course, but always one or more of them would be staring straight at the team leader, unblinking, seeming to peer into his or her very soul. If mistakes were made, they didn’t shout or scream; they merely made notes on their ever–present electronic clipboards. When things went well, they didn’t praise, either — just made more notes. Team leaders soon learned never to ask the instructors for advice on how to accomplish something. Their inquiries would be met only with an impassive basilisk stare. They had to consult their team members — which was the whole point, of course.

To make matters more interesting, as Steve had seen from the air, each team of candidates had to prepare a design for an obstacle course, including a tactical problem that it would test, and elect a leader for the exercise. After Master Chief Dumisane approved their design they would build it on one of the empty sites, using whatever tools and materials they could obtain locally at short notice — another test of leadership and initiative. Their construction had to be sufficiently sturdy to withstand at least six teams climbing over, around and through it, testing their strength and skills to the limit, but without being impossibly difficult.

Steve drew on his experience at Radetski when his team’s turn came around. He rapidly sketched the layout of
Leona’
s hold and described the firefight there to an appreciative audience, demonstrating how Spacers had taken cover behind stacks of crates and containers. Some had put down suppressive fire on the smugglers. Others had built a bulletproof bulwark of crates to shield the wounded from the enemy, then evacuated the injured by building stacks of crates behind which to move them.

“
You slid the crates along the floor to provide cover to your wounded?” Brooks inquired. “That was unusually tactical thinking for a bunch of Spacers. Sure you don’t want to transfer to the Marine Corps?” The other Marines on the team grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

Steve retorted with a grin, “No way! You couldn’t afford to keep me in the style to which Spacers are accustomed!” He ducked as Brooks cheerfully hurled a clod at him, while the rest chortled.

The team agreed to use Steve’s scenario as the basis for their obstacle course, and elected him as their ‘commander’ for the duration of the exercise. The Master Chief looked over their design, asked on what incident it had been based, made a few notes, then approved it. They built it using empty crates obtained from nearby field workshops, erecting an imitation bulkhead and hatch made from posts and planks. To make the exercise more realistic, Steve approached his former comrades at the Small Craft School, who provided several roller deck panels from a scrapped cargo shuttle’s load bed. Crates could be dragged over the roller bearings with greater ease than trying to tug them through the soft sand of the exercise terrain. They mounted the panels on cross–beams, leveling and bracing them to form a broad surface, simulating the hold deck aboard
Leona
.

The Chief Instructor observed impassively while six teams of students tried to master the course. As the exercise progressed, Steve noticed him making comm calls. Other instructors joined him, including Lieutenant–Commander Baudouin, their Training Company Commanding Officer. They stood as a group, watching, conversing quietly among themselves, taking notes.

Only two teams thought to build a line of crates in front of their ‘wounded’ to provide cover for them, and only one slid crates alongside their casualties as they moved them, to protect them from ‘enemy fire’ (enthusiastically simulated by Steve’s team with a plethora of paintballs). The others tried to maneuver around the crates, often exposing themselves to ‘incoming fire’ as they did so. Some hoisted their ‘wounded’ comrades over the crates in full view of the ‘enemy’ marksmen, who gleefully took advantage of their mistake. A few unfortunate individuals even lost their heads and tried to run across the cargo rollers, which brought them crashing to the deck in spectacular and painful fashion under a hail of paintballs.

The last team surprised Steve and everyone else by coming up with an ingenious solution to the problem. Rather than try to evacuate their wounded, they hid them behind a wall of crates, then pushed the entire wall bodily forward over the cargo rollers. It served as moving cover against incoming fire while they charged the hatch behind its shelter. Once they got close enough, they launched a shower of paintball grenades through the hatch, then erupted from behind their crate wall and dived through the opening
en masse
. The exercise disintegrated into a mass of heaving bodies, from which arms, legs, profanity and paintballs emerged at frequent intervals and unpredictable velocities and angles.

Laughing, Lieutenant–Commander Baudouin and the instructors untangled the two teams and sorted out the mess. The attackers were commended for their initiative, and the defenders consoled by pointing out that only one team out of six had managed to find a way to defeat them.

Baudouin pleased them by observing, “Those aren’t particularly difficult obstacles, but the course is very challenging from a tactical perspective. Don’t dismantle this yet. I’m going to run more teams through it tomorrow, and invite other Training Company Commanders to observe. For bonus points, I want you to work as a syndicate to prepare a report about the tactical lessons to be learned from the fight aboard
Leona
. Let me have it by zero–eight–hundred tomorrow. We’ll have to consider adding this scenario to the permanent curriculum.”

He didn’t add, “Well done”, but he didn’t have to. That was a very satisfying day for Steve and his team.

~ ~ ~

The candidates were introduced to the Tactical Simulator — TacSim for short — during the second week of the course. From then on they had two sessions there every week, conducting simulated operations in space and on planetary surfaces. They learned how others had employed ships and spacers, and troops and equipment, in combat in the past; analyzed their mistakes; tried to come up with better solutions; and applied them against an ‘enemy’ — the TacSim staff — who seemed intent on frustrating their every move with diabolical cunning.

Candidates took turns to command teams of their comrades. Their leadership was closely monitored by eagle–eyed assessors. Things became even more interesting when Marine candidates were put in command of simulated spaceships, and Spacer candidates were ordered to lead simulated Marine patrols. Chaos ensued… but members of each Corps developed a deeper and more profound respect for the abilities of those from the other, and a greater understanding of the challenges they faced.