Ride The Rising Tide (The Maxwell Saga) (3 page)

The hapless Kumar jumped nervously, gulped, and lunged awkwardly at the instructor. Corporal Shabab side–stepped the onrushing recruit, reached out almost negligently, and tossed him over his shoulder. Kumar landed on the soft sand like a sack of potatoes, arms and legs flailing, breath driven from his lungs with an agonized ‘
Whumpf!’

Steve couldn’t help frowning at the inept display, shaking his head — and the instructor noticed. “
You!
Recruit Maxwell! Why are you shaking your head?”

Uh
–
oh
, Steve thought to himself as he snapped to attention. “Sir, no excuse, Sir!”

“
Front and center, Recruit Maxwell! Recruit Kumar, on your feet! Rejoin the platoon.”

Steve stepped forward and came to rigid attention as Kumar hobbled back into the ranks, gasping for breath.

“Did you think that was pitiful, Recruit Maxwell? Do you think you can do better?”

Steve hesitated for a moment, aware that anything he said was likely to backfire on him. Shabab frowned and stepped closer, thrusting his face into Steve’s.
“Answer me, recruit!
Do you think you can do better?”

Oh, what the hell!,
Steve thought, suddenly reckless. “Sir,
yes,
SIR!” The last word was a defiant shout.

Shabab stepped back, affecting a look of surprise. “Did I hear you correctly, recruit?” He glanced over at Robinson. “Would the Platoon Instructor please confirm that my ears didn’t deceive me? Do we actually have a recruit who thinks he can take me?”

Robinson stood impassively at Parade Rest, arms behind him. “It would appear so, Corporal. I suggest we find out whether he’s right, or just bluffing.”

“
Aye aye, Platoon Instructor! Awright, Recruit Maxwell, show me what you got. I’m going to attack you with this training knife,” and he plucked the rubber blade from his belt. “Stop me any way you like before I stick it in your gut — but you’d
better
stop me, because I’m going to stick it in hard, and it’s going to hurt! Got it?”

“
Sir, aye aye, Sir! This recruit requests permission to ask a question, Sir!”

“
What is it, recruit?”

“
Sir, this recruit wishes to know whether there are any rules to this fight, Sir!”

Shabab goggled at him for a moment, then laughed scornfully. He clearly thought Steve was grandstanding. “No gouged eyes and no broken teeth or bones, recruit. Other than that, anything goes! Stand ready. Here I come!”

He moved even as he spoke, gliding in with a swift, sinuous motion, knife extended forward in his upturned hand, thrusting fiercely straight at Steve’s navel. Steve didn’t have time to think or prepare; but he didn’t need it. His opponent’s guard was down, probably through over–confidence. He chopped outward, his left hand making a
tegatana
hand–sword strike to the Corporal’s forearm and knocking his knife out of line. As he struck he twisted to his right, thrust his right hand beneath the instructor’s right armpit, extended his right leg, and catapulted him over his hip in a
seoi nagi
throw. Even as the Corporal fell, Steve pivoted with him and came down with a knee on his chest, left hand securing his opponent’s knife hand, right hand lashing out in a fist–strike to the joint of his opponent’s jaw–bone, shouting aloud, “
Kiai!”
, the sound welling up in a hoarse coughing grunt from the base of his diaphragm. He halted his blow just as it touched Shabab’s skin.

The Corporal stared up at him, eyes wide with astonishment, but a growing grin on his face. “So you weren’t just full of it! Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Steve came to his feet, offering his hand to Shabab, who took it and rose with him. Snapping to attention once more, he replied, “Sir, this recruit is ranked
nidan
in karate, Sir.”

“
Aw–
right!
We have a second
dan
black belt among us! Well done, recruit!”

Robinson stepped forward. “Recruit, why is your karate qualification not listed in your personnel file?” he asked briskly — almost suspiciously, Steve thought.

“Sir, this recruit respectfully submits that his recruiter was provided with copies of all his qualifications, including karate. He doesn’t know why it’s not recorded in his file, Sir.”

Robinson glanced at Shabab, and they shared a rueful nod. “It won’t be the first time there’s been a foul–up in the records. I’ll look into that. Meanwhile, Corporal, would you agree that we’ve found our unarmed combat team leader?”

“Aye aye, Platoon Instructor!”

Robinson transferred his attention back to Steve. “Recruit Maxwell, during the last week of Boot Camp, after Exercise Grindstone, all the training platoons compete against each other for the unarmed combat championship of this intake. There’s a team prize and an individual prize. Each platoon will enter six fighters. You’ve just been selected from a host of applicants to lead and help train our team.”

“Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

“
One more thing, recruit. As of right now, you’re an assistant instructor during the platoon’s unarmed combat classes. The instructor will demonstrate each evolution on you, so you’ll get your lumps before everyone else in the platoon!” Laughter from the other recruits. “You’ll perform each evolution with him until he’s satisfied you understand it. With your background, that should take no time at all. Thereafter you’ll assist him in teaching it to the rest of the platoon.”

“
Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

“
Carry on, Corporal.”

“
Aye aye, Platoon Instructor! Recruit Maxwell, stand fast. The rest of you, pay attention while this recruit and I demonstrate a few basic blocks. You’ll use them to stop an opponent’s blow from reaching you. Watch closely!”

~ ~ ~

The platoon filed down a long counter, each recruit pressing his thumb on a reader to certify receipt of a bead carbine, a power pack and a cleaning kit. Corporal Shabab marched them to a row of tables beneath a canopy, facing a berm on the firing range. He spaced them out, checking to ensure that tins of solvent stood ready, one between every two recruits, then climbed onto a raised platform.

“
Awright, listen up!” He gestured to half–a–dozen grinning Marine privates standing to one side. “These Marines will assist me in supervising you as you clean your carbines for the first time. You address them as ‘Sir’ and obey their orders, just as you do mine! You’ve all taken the hypno–study class on how to disassemble and clean a carbine, so get to work.
Keep your muzzles pointed in a safe direction at all times!
If you point your carbine at anyone else, you WILL suffer for it! If you get stuck, raise your hand and wait for one of us to help you.”

Steve removed the power pack, and confirmed that there was no magazine in the well and no round in the chamber. He unlatched the dust–cover and laid it to one side, then tried to slide the electromagnetic firing mechanism from its socket; but it wouldn’t budge. He angled the carbine to and fro, peering at the mechanism, trying to figure out what was wrong, but could see nothing obviously out of place. Finally, reluctantly, he raised his hand.

It took some time for a Marine to reach him, as they were all busy with other trainees. At last one of them came over. “All right, recruit, what’s the problem?”

“
Sir, this recruit is unable to remove the firing mechanism from its socket, Sir.”

“
Let me see.” The Marine took the carbine, examined it intently, and nodded. “Whoever last cleaned this carbine didn’t get all the solvent off the rails before adding dry lube. The solvent congealed the powdered lubricant into a sort of glue. Some of it leaked into the socket, and it’s holding the mechanism in place. Look here. You can see traces of it at the edge of the socket.”

Steve looked closely. “Sir, yes, Sir. How is this recruit to remove the mechanism from the gun, Sir?”

“WHAT DID YOU CALL THIS WEAPON, RECRUIT?”

Oh, hell! Now I’m in for it!
, Steve thought miserably to himself as he braced to attention. “Sir, this recruit meant to ask, ‘How is he to remove the mechanism from the
carbine’
, Sir!”

Corporal Shabab appeared at the Marine’s elbow as if teleported. “What’s the problem, Private?”

“Corporal, this recruit just called his carbine a ‘gun’.”

“
Oh, he did, did he? Recruit Maxwell, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Steve knew very well what to say. “Sir, no excuse, Sir!”

“Were you present when I taught the class about weapon nomenclature, recruit?”

“
Sir, yes, Sir!”

“
Do you recall what I said about this type of weapon, recruit?”

“
Sir, yes, Sir!”

“
Repeat it, recruit.”

“
Sir, aye aye, Sir! The instructor warned that this type of weapon was always to be referred to as a ‘carbine’ or ‘bead carbine’, so as not to confuse it with a ‘rifle’ or ‘beam rifle’, the standard weapon of armored Marines. He also warned that under no circumstances was any issue weapon ever to be referred to as a ‘gun’ or a ‘firearm’, because those terms describe chemical–powered weapons of a bygone era which are no longer used by the Fleet, Sir.”

“
And why didn’t you remember that a moment ago, recruit?”

“
Sir, no excuse, Sir!”

“
Good. If you’d tried to weasel your way out of this, I’d have given you double punishment. As it is, drop and give me fifty, right now!”

“
Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

Steve dropped to his hands and toes, and began pumping out pushups. However, the corporal wasn’t finished with him yet.

“Hold in place, recruit!”

Steve froze at the top of a pushup. Shabab slid his carbine beneath his body, positioning the stock carefully beneath his face.

“Now, recruit, every time you go down, I want you to kiss that stock. Every time you come up, I want you to shout, ‘I love my carbine!’, then count off the pushup. Got that?”

“
Sir, aye aye, Sir!”

“
Then go to it. The count starts at one.”

Steve sank, kissed his carbine, pushed up, and shouted, “I love my carbine! One!”

“NOT LOUD ENOUGH, RECRUIT! I CAN’T HEAR YOU! THE COUNT STARTS AT ONE AGAIN!”

He repeated the movement, this time yelling at the top of his lungs. He could hear snickers from the nearest members of the platoon. He knew some of them were jealous over his appointment as an assistant instructor during unarmed combat class. They’d be happy to see him being taken down a peg or two now.

“That’s better, recruit. Carry on!”

He ended up doing almost a hundred pushups, because the Marine who’d come to his assistance stayed next to him, loudly rebuking him whenever the volume of his shouts sank too low for his liking, and resetting the count downwards every time as a punishment. By the time he finished he was dripping with sweat, his arms and shoulders were shaking from exertion, his lungs were on fire, his lips were bruised from contact with the stock, and his throat was hoarse from shouting. However, he wasn’t alone by then. Several other recruits were also pounding out pushups for infractions of their own.

He used copious quantities of solvent to loosen the firing mechanism, then managed to clean and reassemble his carbine without any further problems, hands and arms still trembling in reaction to the pushups. He waited while Corporal Shabab inspected it closely.

“
That’ll do, recruit. Tie your carbine along your leg tonight and sleep with it. That’ll help you remember what it’s called.”

Seven of them slept with their carbines that night, to the jeers of their platoon–mates. One of the seven, Desjardin, retorted cheerfully, “Just you wait! Who wants to bet he won’t be doing this at least once before Boot Camp is over?”

No one dared to take his bet.

~ ~ ~

The lectures on Fleet structure, discipline, unit cohesion and leadership were eye–openers for the recruits.

“
For a start, forget all the nonsense you see in the holovids about officers making all the decisions, leading everything of importance and getting all the credit,” PO Robinson informed them briskly. “If you don’t believe me, look behind you.”

The platoon did so, to find Junior Lieutenant Evans, their Platoon Training Officer, standing at the rear of the classroom. They began to brace to attention in their seats, but he held up his hand. “As you were, recruits. PO Robinson’s right. No officer can accomplish anything without a really solid group of NCO’s to support him, and an equally solid core of Spacers or Marines to carry out their instructions. If the Fleet isn’t a team, it’s nothing at all. Carry on, please, PO.”

Robinson waited until they were all looking at him again. “It’s a statistical fact that, averaged across all six years of the Second Global War on Old Home Earth, any German
Wehrmacht
combat unit would inflict up to fifty per cent more casualties on an enemy formation of similar type and size than it would suffer, and win up to fifty per cent more encounters with such formations than it would suffer defeats.
Waffen SS
units were even more effective. During the first half of the war, before their enemies fully mobilized their forces and mass–produced equipment of acceptable quality, the ratio was better than three to one in favor of the Germans.