by Jake Elwood
"I'll tell you what," Tom said. "When I've worked as hard as you have, then you can feel bad. Until then, just skip it." He started walking.
She hurried along beside him. "But I should carry my own pack."
"This thing must weigh, what? Twenty kilos? Twenty-five?" He looked her up and down. "Do you weigh fifty kilos? I doubt it."
She said, "But-"
"Do you see me carrying half my weight?" He snorted. "Not likely. I'd have washed out by now if I had to work as hard as you do." He was saying it to cheer her up, but he realized he meant it. "You're doing your share, Lily. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."
She didn't speak, but she gave him a guarded smile, and suddenly her pack didn't seem all that heavy.
They chatted as they walked. She did most of the talking, seeming to see it as her duty to keep him distracted from his labor. She was a dentist. She'd joined the Navy to see the galaxy, to put some variety in her CV, and because she was a patriot and wanted to help in the only way she could if the UW was pulled into the war. Basic Officer Training was much harder than she'd expected, but she was determined to get through it if she could.
"Thrush. Chan. Try to keep up." Carpenter glanced at the bracer on his wrist as Tom and Lily passed him to join the rest of the platoon on the hilltop. "Rest break is over in a minute and a half."
Tom, Oscar, and a couple of others spent the next ninety seconds furtively dividing half the contents of Lily's and Bruce's packs among them, while Carpenter pretended not to notice. When Tom hoisted the pack onto his shoulders his muscles howled in protest, but the next section of the trail was downhill and the sight of Lily, still struggling gamely but now managing to keep up, kept him from minding too much.
A training platoon held twenty recruits, and so far Tom's platoon still had nineteen. About one in four wouldn't make it through Basic Officer Training, according to the instructors. Some would wash out. Others would quit. They could do that, up until they were sworn in as officers.
Unless they had criminal convictions waiting for them, Tom thought sourly.
The platoon kept marching all through a long, hot spring day. Tom walked, and sweated, cursed the heat out loud and cursed Carpenter under his breath. Other platoons would do this same hike in the dead of a Canadian winter, and he found himself wondering what would be worse. Sure, the snow could be miserable, but at that moment a bit of arctic air sounded like heaven.
A ripple in the marching feet ahead of him caught his attention, and he looked down, scanning for an obstacle. A dead gopher lay in the middle of the trail, legs splayed out, sightless eyes staring into infinity. He stepped over the little rodent, thinking, At least you get to rest.
The sun hung low in the sky when they staggered into a clearing in a valley between hills. Tom, too tired to keep track of direction, had nurtured a quiet hope they'd end up back at the barracks. No such luck; they'd be repeating the hike in reverse tomorrow.
At least they wouldn’t have to sleep on the ground. The camp site held half a dozen long huts, each big enough for a platoon if no one wanted too much elbow room. One hut had a chimney. That one would be for officers and cadre trainers, who wouldn't want to catch a chill on winter hikes.
"All right, take a break," Carpenter said. "Catch your breath while I see what hut you're in." He set his pack on the ground and headed away at a brisk jog, as if he hadn't just spent the whole day not just keeping up with the recruits, but moving up and down the column and shouting insults.
"Unnatural, I tell you," Oscar muttered, and lowered his own pack to the ground.
Half a dozen men and women came around the corner of the nearest hut. They wore the same baggy uniforms as Tom and the others, but they carried themselves with the subtle arrogance of people who'd done more, faced greater challenges than their audience. They were from the previous intake of recruits. That put them four weeks ahead of the Goose Platoon.
"You guys look like you could use a break," said a tall sandy-haired man. The look he gave them was pure sympathy. "You don't want to sit, though. Your legs will stiffen up. Better if you stretch out." He pointed to a gap between huts. "There's only one good place to rest. The ball field."
Oscar said, "Ball field?"
"It's supposed to be for bocce ball or something," said a woman. "Like anybody ever has the energy for sports."
The sandy-haired man smiled. "There's no bocce balls. Just a lot of lush green grass perfect for lying down."
The woman nodded brightly. "It's right over there. It's not far at all."
"You'll love it," the sandy-haired man added.
Tom needed no more encouragement. He joined a stream of exhausted Geese, stumbling between the huts. Sure enough, at the edge of the camp was a lovely rectangle of new spring grass. It looked weirdly out of place in the parched foothills, but the military was full of absurdities. Above all, though, it looked like the perfect place to flake out with no danger of getting dirt on his uniform.
Oscar flopped down on his stomach, sighed happily, and said, "I think this might be heaven." Lily crashed beside him, closing her eyes and directing a blissful smile at the sky.
Tom found an empty spot and sat down, then let his body sag backward until his head rested on the grass. Cool blades tickled the back of his neck. "Oh, this is sweet," he said. "It was nice of those guys to tell us about this."
Oscar lifted his face from the grass and turned his head to look at Tom. He wore a worried frown. "Um …"
"What in the name of God's holy socks do you idiots think you're doing?"
Two weeks of bullying by cadre trainers had every member of the Goose Platoon conditioned to respond to that particular tone of voice. Tom sprang to his feet before he even looked around to see who was speaking. The rest of the platoon hopped up just as quickly. Tom turned, finally spotted the speaker, and felt horror wash over him. Cadre trainers were quite bad enough, but this was an officer.
She was short, but she positively bristled with authority and outrage, until Tom was sure she loomed over him. "By what wild stretch of the imagination do you half-wits think the flag field is an appropriate place for a nap? What platoon are you?" She looked around. "Where's your cadre trainer?"
Carpenter came hustling up, his face a blend of embarrassment and murderous rage. The officer gave him a good telling off that Tom would have enjoyed immensely if he hadn't known the abuse would flow on down to the rest of the platoon.
Behind Carpenter and the officer some of the recruits paused to watch the evolving train wreck. Tom spotted the sandy-haired man and his companions, all of them smirking. They set us up. They did this deliberately.
The officer stomped away, and Carpenter swept a withering gaze over the platoon. "Get off the flag field now."
All of them were off the grass before he finished speaking.
"And don't set foot on it again unless you're raising or lowering a flag." He was shaking, and Tom braced himself for the explosion to come. All Carpenter said, though, was, "Ten times around the perimeter of the camp. Double-time. Now! Let's go, recruits."
Tom started to run. Adrenaline sustained him for the first half-lap. After that he relied on grim determination. All in all, though, he figured the platoon was getting off easy.
Until he saw recruits from several other platoons setting up long tables, then sitting down to eat. It was chow time, and the Goose platoon was missing it.
The next morning they rose with the sun, weary and ravenous. They devoured a quick breakfast and hit the trail, beginning the long, weary plod back to the barracks. More people were sharing the load from Lily's and Bruce's packs, so Tom carried barely any extra weight.
He was marching half asleep, something he would have sworn was impossible before he came to Camp Wetaskiwin, when a minor commotion brought him fully awake. Another platoon was overtaking the Geese. He edged to one side and watched them pass, stiffening when he recognized the tall sandy-haired man. The man gave him a smirk and a mocking salute as he went by.
The flag bearer was next. The flag held an image of a hummingbird, and the woman who carried it held it with jaunty aplomb. Tom glared at her until she was out of sight, and then lapsed back into a walking doze.
"Now that's odd, Boss."
Tom looked up from his daze. "What's that?"
Oscar grinned at him. "I'm actually glad to see the barracks."
Tom followed the direction of his gaze and saw the scattered buildings of Wetaskiwin Base ahead of them. Relief flooded through him, and he chuckled. It was true. Impossible as it seemed, he was actually glad to see the place.
It meant his hike was almost over.
"Banner's drooping," Oscar murmured, and Tom lifted the flag a bit higher. It was his turn as color bearer.
"All right, straighten up," Carpenter barked. "Form a double line. Let's pretend we're a platoon and not a gaggle of ducklings."
"Goslings," Oscar said, keeping his voice low enough that Carpenter wouldn't hear.
"Color bearer to the front," Carpenter continued. "Let's try to look like actual soldiers, shall we?"
The platoon marched across the last stretch of prairie with their heads high, feet moving in time. Tom glanced back and was startled to realize they actually did look like soldiers.
Another platoon stood shoulder to shoulder on the parade ground, a couple of cadre trainers inspecting them, peering closely at uniforms and looking for infractions. Half a dozen recruits dropped to the ground to do push-ups while the rest broke apart and moved away.
The flag staff felt as heavy as an iron bar, and Tom's pack hadn't gotten any lighter either. He desperately wanted to head for his bunk, throw himself down, and not move for the next ten or twelve hours. That was impossible, of course. They would get a scant few minutes to clean up and put away their gear, and then they'd be back outside, lining up for inspection.
Even now, another platoon was lining up. Not just any platoon, Tom realized as he led the Geese past the parade ground. This was none other than the Hummingbirds. He shot them a glare, wondering if he could distract someone, make one of them laugh during the inspection and earn some extra push-ups.
Instead, he limped up to the front of the barrack building. He waited while the others dropped their packs in a line against the front wall, then handed the flag to Oscar and finally took off his own pack.
"Stow this gear properly," Carpenter said. "Inspection is in five minutes."
In that five minutes they would be expected to empty every pack, clean and stow the contents, wash their hands and faces and straighten their uniforms. In addition, Tom was responsible for putting away the flag staff and mounting the goose flag in its place of honor at the front of their barrack room.
There simply wasn't time to do it all. The cadre trainers knew as much, and might or might not look the other way as the recruits cut corners. Already, most of the platoon was hustling their packs toward a storage hut. They would heap the packs onto shelves, still loaded, and hope the CTs didn't inspect the hut until they had a chance to come back and stow everything properly. It was how the platoon would spend their "free time" after chow.
First, though, Tom had a chore to take care of. He took the goose flag from Oscar and headed inside.
Each platoon had its own barrack room. He passed a couple other barrack buildings, entered his own building, jogged upstairs, and headed into the Goose room. He would need a minute or so to get the flag unfastened from the staff and properly attached to the display bar that hung at the front of the room. The sound of familiar footsteps on the floor behind him made him smile. A helping hand from Oscar would make the job go faster.
"Drop that," Oscar said.
Tom turned and stared at him. Oscar's eyes danced with mischief. "Drop it," he said, and pointed at the floor. "We'll come back and put it up in a minute."
Tom said, "What-"
"Come on! This is our chance."
Tom dropped the goose flag and let Oscar drag him out through a side exit. Only when they headed downstairs did he realize where they were headed.
He started to grin.
"We don't have much time," Oscar said. "The CTs are inspecting them now." They slipped out of the building, across a narrow gap, and into the next building. Oscar stuck his head into one doorway, muttered, "No," and kept going. They came to another doorway, Oscar stuck his head inside, and said, "Bingo."
Tom followed him into a platoon barrack room almost identical to their own. The only difference was that the display bar at the front of the room already held a triangular banner.
With a hummingbird.
For a moment he stood, frozen with indecision. One cadre trainer would inspect the platoon outside – that was already happening – and another would come inside to inspect the barrack room. They only had moments. "What do we do? Mess up the beds?"
Oscar scoffed. "Are you kidding? You think I carried this thing for twenty kilometers for nothing?" He reached into his shirt, smirking, and drew out the stiff corpse of a gopher.
Tom laughed, then followed him to the front of the room, where Oscar started to fumble with the cords connecting the hummingbird banner to the display bar. "I think this little guy deserves a shroud."
"That's too slow." Tom reached past him, lifted the bar from its rack, and slid it out through the loops in the banner.
"Perfect." Oscar wrapped the gopher in the banner, leaving the little brown head sticking out. He laid the body on the floor in front of the display bar. "Beautiful," said Oscar. "I think it's the send-off Private Gopher deserves." He winked at Tom. "Now, let's get out of here."
The sound of marching feet in the corridor outside froze them in place. "A CT," Oscar hissed. "We are so screwed."
Tom grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him past rows of neatly-made bunks toward the back wall. He led the way into the bathroom.
"He'll inspect the bathroom in a minute," Oscar whispered.
"He'll do the showers first," Tom said. "We'll sneak out then."
Oscar didn't look convinced. He didn't protest, though, because at that moment they heard the approaching footsteps grow louder, then fall silent.
The CT was in the barrack room behind them.
"Oh, for God's sake." It was a woman's voice, thick with disgust, and Tom and Oscar looked at one another, grinning.
The inspection would be quick and cursory, unless the cadre trainer was in a particularly vindictive mood. She already had a juicy violation to punish the Hummingbird platoon with, so maybe she wouldn't bother looking too closely at the rest of the barrack. Tom crept across the bathroom, slipped into a stall, perched on the toilet, and drew his feet up. The door was ajar, but if the CT did no more than glance in, it would be enough.
A faint creak from the next stall told him Oscar was emulating him. The noise seemed horribly loud, and Tom held his breath, waiting to be discovered.
Feet clacked on the floorboards, then stopped. Was the CT in the bathroom? Or next door, in the shower room? There was no way to tell. When he could no longer hold his breath, Tom switched to taking quiet, shallow breaths. Incomprehensible noises came to him, creaks and taps that could have been footsteps or anything else. Once he heard the woman muttering to herself under her breath.
Then footsteps, brisk and precise, growing quieter as they receded with distance.
Tom wanted to wait. He wanted to stay frozen in the stall until he was sure the woman was a good long way away. However, he was just about out of time. Goose Platoon was due for inspection in a matter of moments, and he'd left his own banner lying on the floor. He stood, peeked cautiously around the door of his stall, then stepped out. Oscar came out of the stall beside him, and the two of them peered into the barrack room.
"Let's go," Oscar whispered. "We must be almost out of time."
Tom nodded, and the two of them hurried to the doorway. They peeked into the hall, saw no one, and broke into a run.
They made it out of the building undetected. As they approached their own building
, however, they almost collided with Carpenter. He was heading toward the parade ground, and he barked, "You two are almost late. Let's go."
Tom, his heart sinking, could do nothing but follow, Oscar glum and silent at his side. When the Goose banner was found lying ignominiously on the floor the entire platoon would be punished. Tom and Oscar would be pariahs.
His mood improved slightly when he came around the corner and saw the entire Hummingbird Platoon on their stomachs doing push-ups. The Goose platoon lined up beside the parade ground, patiently waiting their turn as the Hummingbirds panted and strained. At last the Hummingbirds rose to their feet and set off at a run, following a footpath that would take them around the entire base. Tom watched them go, wondering how many laps they would have to do. It gave him a deep sense of satisfaction that was only tempered by the knowledge the Goose platoon would shortly be doing the same thing.
"Platoon, form up!"
Tom joined the others, standing shoulder to shoulder on the parade ground. Carpenter, who looked as fresh and rested as if he'd spent the day loafing in an easy chair, paced up and down the line, peering at each recruit. He handed out his usual list of petty infractions, citing Bruce for an untied boot lace and another recruit for having one pant leg untucked from his boot top. Tom and Oscar both had dusty, unwashed faces, and they joined the other two on the ground, doing ten push-ups each.
It was fairly light duty as punishment went. That meant someone had carried their packs to the hut while they were on their mission, and no one had inspected the hut. That was one bullet dodged, but right now another cadre trainer would be walking into the Goose barrack room …
"I wouldn't go so far as to say you impressed me today," Carpenter said. "You have a lot of room for improvement. You covered a lot of ground, though, and your time was … Well, it was bad, but it wasn't awful."
For Carpenter, silence instead of his usual barrage of criticism was the equivalent of fulsome praise from a normal human being. This grudging compliment was enough to make Tom's chest swell. He cringed inside a moment later, though, as Carpenter's gaze shifted. The CT was looking at someone behind the platoon. It could only be the other CT, the one who'd gone in to inspect the barrack room.