“Each of you was sent an email last night listing your training platoon and company,” Rowe said. “What I’d like you to do now is head outside to the front of the auditorium. Your training platoon sergeant will be holding up a sign with your unit designation. Introduce yourself to him or her, then line up behind them. Once we’re organized by platoons, we’ll start issuing equipment.”
Nobody moved. Rowe softly said, “That meant now, folks.” At that, people started moving.
Once outside, the four roommates made their way over to a burly Asian HDF soldier holding the sign for their platoon. Bill saw that he was a sergeant from the three stripes visible on his collar tabs. Like Captain Rowe, the sergeant was wearing cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his elbows. Bill could see what looked like a nasty scar on his left forearm. As they approached, the sergeant said, “Fall in behind me if you’re Company A, Third Platoon.”
They did. The sergeant repeated his litany several more times until there were twenty-four Probies lined up behind them, most chatting amongst themselves. It was a mixed gender group, with a few more men than women.
After a few more minutes, nobody else was standing between the auditorium doors and the platoons, other than Captain Rowe and Commander Lewis. The two shook hands, then Lewis walked away while Rowe faced the large crowd.
In a voice that was surprisingly loud and carried well, Rowe yelled out, “Platoon leaders. Take charge of your platoons.”
The platoon leaders saluted her, holding their salutes until she returned them. Then Bill’s platoon leader turned to his charges and announced, “Good morning Probies. I’m Sergeant Renard, and I’ll be your platoon leader for the next eight weeks.”
Renard pulled a tablet from a cargo pocket of his pants, tapped it, and looked up at the attentive faces. “Call out when you hear your name. If you don’t hear it, let me know, ‘cause you’re probably in the wrong place.” He began calling off names until everyone had been accounted for.
“Great. Looks like we’ve got everyone. Okay, first thing we’re gonna do is get through logistics and get your uniforms and most of your equipment. After you get all your uniform items, I’ll want you to change, have lunch, then meet me back at the Logistics Center at one o’clock. Any questions?” He looked around at the men and women surrounding him. Nobody asked him anything. Bill wondered if they were either unsure what to ask or what to expect, or too afraid to look stupid by asking a question worthy of getting their head ripped off, despite being told BMT wasn’t like military induction.
“Well, let’s go, then,” Renard said, turning and walking down the street. Bill saw that the other platoons were doing the same. Great, he thought. We’ll all be trying to get the same thing at the same time. Like this won’t take forever.
Equipment issue didn’t take too long, however. Everyone was given a duffel bag. When it was Bill’s turn, he wasn’t surprised by all the equipment he was issued, having grown up in a military family.
In just a few minutes Bill received just about everything he needed. He was issued five pairs of used uniforms (at least, he hoped they had been used before because they were certainly stained). His equipment consisted of a pistol belt and ammo pouches, a poncho, an entrenching tool (which was nothing more than a small folding shovel), a helmet, backpack, canteens, and other militaria. Basically, all the equipment one needed for war. The only things missing were boots and a rifle. Bill asked about those and was told they’d be issued later.
The clerk said, “You’ll get to keep everything except the uniforms. Those get turned in at the end of training and you’ll be issued two sets to keep. Okay, head outside and wait for the rest.”
Bill grabbed the duffel and slung its strap over his shoulder. He was surprised at the weight and felt somewhat awkward walking out of the building, apologizing to the fellow Probies he accidentally bumped into with it.
His roommates were waiting outside, in the shade of a large tree. The four sat there for about thirty minutes, when the last two Probies in their platoon finally came, trailed by Sergeant Renard.
Renard told them they would now be fitted for boots, but before that, they would assemble their equipment on their bodies. “After getting your boots, take your gear home, get in uniform, and break for lunch.”
Renard had all the Probies extract their pistol belts, suspenders, butt packs, rifle ammo pouches, and canteens with cups and covers, and showed them how to assemble them into what was called the load-bearing equipment, or LBE. The platoon promptly assembled their LBEs, and soon everyone was wearing one. It took a few minutes but wasn’t too difficult. The setup was similar to the US military’s, which Bill was familiar with, thanks to “the Colonel.”
Renard then led them into another room on the other side of the building. Pads were on the floor in front of the manned counter, with small dumbbells on either side of the pads.
Renard said to the first person in line, “Drop your gear, go stand on that pad, grab the two dumbbells, and hold them until told to put them down.” As she did, Bill could see a glow emitting from where her feet were.
A clerk behind the counter looked at the computer screen in front of him. He briefly disappeared into the back room and returned with a pair of brown leather boots.
“Try these on.” He indicated a bench on the wall adjacent to the door. “They’re gonna feel a little wide, but that’s okay. They’re designed so your feet can spread while carrying forty pounds of equipment.”
The Probie headed to the bench. Renard said, “Okay. Spread out. One on a pad, and line up behind them.”
When it was Bill’s turn, he held onto the two dumbbells and felt a warm glow on his feet. He thought it resembled a scanner and mentioned that to the civilian.
“Exactly what it is,” the chubby, gray-haired woman said. “You can put the dumbbells down now,” she said, walking back to the shelves. She was shortly back, handed Bill a pair of boots, and instructed him to try them on.
Once everyone had been issued boots, Renard repeated the instructions to take their equipment home, change into a uniform, and then go have lunch. “Your uniform of the day consists of boots, pants, underwear, belt, shirt, boonie cap, and LBE. We’ll meet back here at one o’clock.”
“Welcome back, boys. Ready for some real fun now?” Renard asked the roommates as they arrived after lunch.
“I was born ready,” Jordan said, again using his best John Wayne accent. The others groaned; Matt asking if this was going to be a common saying from Jordan from now on.
“I reckon so,” replied Jordan, sticking his thumbs in his belt.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Bill asked Renard.
“Weapons issue. As soon as everyone’s here, or it’s thirteen hundred, we’ll head in.”
Precisely at one o’clock, Renard faced the group and said, “Okay. Looks like everyone’s here, so first, we’ll draw your weapons, and then we’ll head over to the training building where we’ll be spending the rest of today and the next several weeks.”
Bill was issued two firearms, a rifle and short sub-machine gun-looking weapon that was identical to what Captain Rowe had been carrying. When he asked the lady behind the counter about it, he was told it was a Personal Defense Weapon, or PDW, colloquially called a “peeder.” Each weapon came with a sling and seven magazines.
After signing for the two weapons, he took them, in their cases, outside where he was told to wait for the rest of the platoon.
As he was waiting, Bill asked Renard if this was a permanent duty or something the professionals took turns at.
“Naw, it’s a two-year stint. I’ll spend another year training new migrants, and when that’s up, it’s either to my old unit or a new posting.”
Bill wondered how often Renard trained a new platoon and was surprised to hear he went through six training cycles a year. Renard went on to explain that sometimes he would split a training cycle so he could get time off.
“Do m
any fail?” Bill asked.
“Not often. Most people who migrate to Hayek want to be here, so we do what we can to make sure they make it. Heck, even the Corps occasionally has a Probie or two who can’t quite make it the first time, but we usually get them through with remedial training.”
As they were talking, they were joined by more Probies laden with cased firearms, all interested in hearing what Renard had to say about the Militia and his role in the HDF.
One of them, less diplomatic than the others, asked Renard about the scar on his arm.
“Oh, that thing. Got it in the action in Iran during the war.”
Bill thought about that for a second. It didn’t seem to jive with all that he had learned about Hayek. Particularly since the Iran War was one initiated by Iran’s attempt to destroy the US and Europe with high-altitude nuclear attacks. The attacks were designed to create electromagnetic pulses that would destroy the electrical infrastructure and all electronics on the two continents, but fortunately for Americans, Canadians, and Europeans, the detonations were more fizzles than explosions. That didn’t stop the US and the Europeans from responding with their own conventional attacks. Thus, the War on Terror continued more than thirty years after it started with the collapse of the Twin Towers in New York City.
“Wait a minute,” Bill said. “How is that possible if the HDF isn’t allowed to fight off Hayek?”
“Excellent question,” Renard said with a smile. “That’s because I was on leave from the HDF to fight in a merc battalion.”
“Merc battalion?” one of the other Probies asked.
“Mercenary battalion. A private military force that fights for those who pay them. We just happened to fight for the French under their Foreign Legion banner during the Iran War. The HDF usually wants us career types to get some combat experience, so we take leave and go fight on Earth occasionally.”
Bill and the others had never heard about any merc battalions, but that wasn’t surprising. Only embedded journalists were allowed to go with the troops, and only with specific units.
Bill asked Renard if volunteering for a mercenary unit violated Hayek’s non-aggression principle.
“Not really. It would if we were the ones who initiated the aggression, but since Iran started the war, those who were attacked were allowed to respond with a like force. Hell, the Allies could’ve nuked Iran and it would’ve been acceptable, but they didn’t want to turn all that oil into radioactive sludge, hence the conventional war.”
Soon, all the Probies were outside, and Renard led them to a training building to learn more about their weapons. The afternoon was spent in weapons familiarization and firearms safety. Bill noticed that not everyone had been issued a PDW and, at the end of the day, asked Renard about it.
“Well, if you’ve got a skill that could possibly be something used in a headquarters or support role, they issue you a PDW. What’s your specialty in the Corps?”
“Aerial survey specialist,” Bill replied.
“So, you might be working in a Military Intelligence role. It makes sense for you to have a PDW.”
“But why issue me a rifle?”
“Everyone gets a rifle. Don’t matter who you are or what you do, everyone needs to be familiar with them,” Renard said.
Bill was fascinated by the PDW. Of course, Bill was fascinated by just about any firearm, so it wasn’t too difficult for him to be interested in the afternoon’s lecture.
The PDW was the HDF’s response to a personal weapon that was better than a pistol, but lighter than a rifle. Usually issued to noncombatants, it was carried on a sling over the shoulder or back. It had a short barrel, barely a foot long with a composite foregrip, a sliding stock, and a magazine well in the grip. The magazine held 20 rounds. The sights were iron, more circular than the traditional post and blade that Bill was used to. There was also a picatinny rail on the top, a means of attaching a rifle scope or aiming device. The design made for a compact weapon with few protrusions.
Bill learned that the PDW had only a safety function and a three-shot burst function. There was no single shot or fully automatic function as he expected.
Renard explained this, telling the platoon that experience showed that a single shot was usually ineffective (but not always) and that people tended to burn through a full magazine on full auto with a single burst. As the idea was to stop the enemy, the PDW-3 was designed to function with only a three-shot burst, which most people could control.
“Recoil’s pretty negligible, so basically anyone, no matter how small, can handle it.”
The sights, Bill learned, were designed as “ghost ring” sights, a design suitable for rapid target acquisition, not for distance shooting.
“The purpose of the sights is to get on target and get rounds downrange as fast as possible. They don’t take a lot of getting used to, and besides, we’re not talking long distance. Most shots with a peeder are expected to be within 100 meters. My experience has been that most shots are less than fifty meters.”
An afternoon spent learning about the PDW-3, tearing it apart and reassembling it, gave the platoon a solid foundation in the fundamentals of its operation.
That evening, the four roommates went out after supper. Once again, their destination was the Cave Bear Cave. They were joined by Nicole and her roommate, Bridgette. Again, they elected to sit in the outdoor beer garden, where they were waited on by the same waitress as before.
The talk soon turned to the first day of BMT. All agreed that it was far different than what they had expected, with no screaming, yelling, or general abuse thrown their way. They speculated as to whether this would change as the training progressed.
“I hope not,” said Bridgette. “I’m all for learning, but I don’t see the need for stressing people out.”
A debate then developed between the men and the women as to the need for stress in military training. As with most debates like this, nobody changed their view on the matter.
Deciding that one more beer wouldn’t hurt them, the group proceeded to have a second, but it was agreed that there’d be no more. Nobody wanted to be even slightly hungover when dealing with firearms.
Discussions ranged from the politics of Earth to the types of music each enjoyed. Bill was into the classics, like One Republic, Imagine Dragons, and Jack Johnson, while Kim was into real classical music, and Thep was into techno-pop. Jordan, surprising everyone, was a country music type. “Yep,” he declared, “I like both types, country AND western.” Matt enjoyed similar music to Bill, but went a step further, enjoying classic rock from the 70s and 80s, with a bent toward folk rock.
Matt spied a guitar in the corner of the beer garden, went and picked it up, and plucked a few strings. He adjusted a couple of tuning pegs, played a quick warm-up, and then walked back to the table.
Sitting down, he faced Nicole and began playing John Denver’s Follow Me.
Damn, thought Bill. He’s already proposing. It must have looked like that to the rest of the group, too.
“Hey, why don’t you get down on your knee and propose properly?” Jordan joked.
Matt stopped playing in mid-strum, looked at Jordan, and said with a smile, “I will, just not right yet. Gotta have the right ambiance.”
That caused Nicole to blush a bright red. “Well, I’m sure we’ll see the right ‘ambiance’ one of these days,” she stated with a demure smile.
Bill had heard of people falling in love at first sight, but he had never seen it before now. That wasn’t the case with him and Jessica, at least on her part. I swear, if he asked her to marry him right now I’m betting she’d say yes.
After that song, Matt played several more, mostly older tunes from John Denver, Jim Croce, and Gordon Lightfoot. Despite his accent, he had quite a good singing voice, clear and able to carry a tune.
Soon it was time to head back to their cabins, so the group settled with the waitress. Bill was glad to have enough money to afford a couple of beers, and even paid for Brid
gette’s.
Bill headed back to his cabin with Jordan and Thep while Matt walked Nicole and Bridgette back to theirs.
The day’s heat was dissipating quite nicely, so it was a pleasant walk back, though it was even nicer to step into the air-conditioned comfort. Each grabbed their devices and gathered in the living room to surf the net.
As promised, the email from Renard was waiting, instructing the Probies what uniform to wear. Bill noticed that it was more detailed than just a simple uniform, which consisted of pants, long-sleeved shirt, and the boonie cap: rather, they were required to wear more of their issued equipment: their PDW, as well as their LBE. They were also supposed to report with their PDW with the issued magazines. Renard wanted the platoon assembled outside the training building by eight o’clock, ready to go.
The three roommates were still in the living room when Matt got home, but not for long. Six o’clock comes pretty early, especially if you’re straight out of your senior year of college, where most don’t crawl out of bed until after ten.
For the rest of the week, the Probies were taught how to construct fighting positions (or “foxholes” as most of them had learned in their youth), hasty and deliberate ambushes, basic squad maneuvers, and basic field hygiene. Shaving in the field was interesting, especially since water was rationed, and seldom heated. Bill was glad, for once, that he didn’t have much facial hair.
The second week kicked off the part of training that Bill enjoyed: firearms.
For the first week of firearms training, the Probies learned the basics of shooting—how to load and fire their weapons (and keep them safe), how to sight in and get on target, and how to shoot from various positions. The most difficult for Bill, and many others, was the standing position. It was a bit easier with the lighter PDW, and fortunately, the targets were closer, too.
Bill managed to qualify as an expert with both weapons, and was happy to see that Matt did, too. Bill became particularly fond of the PDW. With its three-shot burst and minimal recoil, he found it easy to consistently stay on target. Of course, the combined weight of gun and ammunition were far less than that of the R-1; the lesser weight was one of the many things about it that Bill found pleasurable.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 9