by Tripp Ellis
“You think you can slack when I’m not looking? Do you?”
“No, Chief.”
“Start over!” Norfolk squatted down to the deck. “I got my eyes on you, Clark. Don’t let me catch you slacking again.”
There were multiple instructors, and they were all getting in the candidates faces, yelling and screaming. It wasn’t long before they pulled out the hoses and started spraying the candidates down as they were doing their PT.
After 30 minutes of PT, Ryan’s pecs and shoulders were burning. His arms were like rubber. It happened faster than he thought. He had done so many push-ups he could barely hold himself up. But he made sure not to loose his form. Come hell or high water, he wasn’t going to give Norfolk anything to find fault with.
Finally Norfolk had the class move to abs. They lay on their backs doing flutter kicks until their abs and hip flexors were on fire. Instructors continued to spray them down.
Getting a mouthful of water while doing push-ups sucks. Getting a mouthful of water and having it run down the back of your nose while doing flutter kicks is even worse.
“Don’t give into the pain,” Norfolk shouted. “Push through it.”
Ryan’s heart was pounding. His face was beet red, and he grimaced in agony as he kept kicking his legs up and down. How long can this possibly go on, he wondered? The PT in Indoc was nothing compared to this.
After the flutter kicks, they did jumping jacks. Then they ran through the whole routine several more times. The evolution lasted about an hour. Thousands of pushups and flutter kicks.
Norfolk had a look of disgust on his face. "You are the sorriest class I've seen yet. I can tell you right now, ain’t a one of you going to make it. You don't have any guts. The first sign of pain and you want to quit. You're going to have to get out of your tiny little heads and suck it up. Most of you have decided to quit before you even started."
Norfolk threw his hands in the air. "I wonder why I'm even here. I feel like I'm just wasting my time." His heartless eyes surveyed the class. "Fassbender you look like you're about to cry. Do you want to go home to mommy?"
"No, chief!"
"Are you sure?”
"Positive, chief."
Norfolk sighed. "I was going to PT your sorry asses for another hour, but you don't even deserve to train on my Pulverizer. Instead, you're going to learn the joys of Surf Appreciation."
What the instructors called Surf Appreciation was really Surf Torture. There were a lot of things that sucked at BSCT, and it was hard to say what sucked the most. But if Surf Torture wasn't the worst of the evolutions, it was a close second.
20
Emma
Emma caught sight of the mechanic’s UFMC tattoo—the eagle, globe and anchor. “You serve in the Corps?”
“’56 through ’76.”
“Semper Fi.”
“You a Devil Dog?”
“Enlisted in ’76. Infantry. Went to MCRD at Omaha Island.”
The mechanics face softened. “Gunnery Sergeant Robert McKay. Why didn't you say you were a leatherneck? I'll get your ship looked at today.”
“Thanks, Gunny."
“Anything for a Marine.”
Emma smiled.
“You say you got a Vantage?”
“Yes, bay 34,” Emma said.
Bob wrote up a work order and made a few notes. Let me get your mobile number. I'll call you after I see what's going on. In the meantime you can grab something to eat, hit the bar, whatever.”
They exchanged information, and Emma and Chloe left the MRO to find some chow. There were a plethora of dining options to choose from. Various styles of cuisine from all over the galaxy. But it all came from food processors. None of it was fresh. But then again, only the finest restaurants served real food. When in doubt, stick with the basics. Chloe and Emma both scarfed down a burger and fries. It wasn’t earth shattering, but it wasn't bad.
The restaurant was packed. Silverware clinked against plates. The air was filled with constant chatter. The diners were mostly interstellar freight crews, miners, or contractors working on interstellar construction projects.
Emma sat back with a full belly and tried to relax. Every second that she sat on the station was a second that Ragza could plot, plan, and execute terrorist activity. And she was always painfully aware that her own clock was ticking. She had always taken the attitude that her entire life was ahead of her. That she had plenty of time. But now, in her mid-20s, the majority of her life was probably behind her. It was a tough pill to swallow. The reality of it hadn't fully sunk in yet.
The rumble of an explosion somewhere in the station jolted her back into reality. The restaurant shook violently. Plates, glasses, and silverware clattered to the ground. People scattered, trying to take cover. Alarms blared through klaxons. Emergency hatches sealed. It was chaos.
Emma leapt from her chair. The deck felt like it was wobbling. It was hard to stay upright. The shockwave rippled through the structure, then subsided.
“What the hell was that?” Chloe asked.
Emma had a grim look in her eyes. “Let's find out."
Emma weaved her way through the sea of people to the main entrance hatch. A station security guard tried to calm the frantic denizens of the station. Emma displayed her credentials. “I need to speak with the head of security.”
"I'm sorry, ma'am. The station is on lockdown until the threat has been assessed, and the structural integrity confirmed.”
“Get on comms with your supervisor now.”
“Ma’am, it's a station-wide lockdown. I can't open that hatch, even if I wanted to.”
“I'll say it again. Get me in touch with your supervisor. If you don't comply with my request, you will be in violation of Federation law. And I will seek the maximum penalty."
The security officer grimaced. He tapped his earbud. “Uh, command… this is Pearlman. I’ve got a UIA agent here that needs to speak with Ferguson.”
A moment later, Emma was patched into the security network. The head of security filtered through her earbud. “This is Ferguson. Go ahead.”
“This is Emma Castle, UIA Counter Terrorism Unit. I’m gonna need access to all of your surveillance footage. And I need you to keep the station on lockdown until I give the okay. I also need to get out of the chow hall and into the security office.”
“I can assure you, we are following strict emergency protocol, and we have the situation under control. You are just going to have to stay put until we determine it’s safe and reset the system.”
“I’m going to tell you what I told your officer. This station is under Federation jurisdiction. If you don’t comply, I’ll charge you with obstructing a Federation investigation. I’m assuming command of the investigation. Now give me the override code for the hatch, and send a schematic of the station and damage to my PDU.”
Emma could hear Ferguson grumble under his breath. No local official ever liked to give up command to a Federation agency. But there wasn't much he could do. He gave the override code to Emma. A few moments later, the schematics of the station appeared on her PDU. She studied the layout and examined the structural integrity of the station. Then she plotted a route to the security command headquarters.
“You’re going to have to keep the crowd at bay while we slip out of here.”
The guard nodded and brought his assault rifle into the firing position.
Emma drew her pistol and punched in the 6 digit code into the keypad, and the hatch slid open. The crowd rushed for the opening.
“Stay where you are," the guard shouted. "It's not safe for you to leave this area."
Emma slipped into the hallway and closed the hatch before the mob could storm out. The poor guard was going to have a hard time keeping the restaurant patrons under control if they had to stay confined in the area much longer.
Each section of hallway contained people restricted to the area. They all wanted their mobility restored. It was a challenge to move through the hatches w
ithout getting rushed, but she managed to keep the denizens at bay—with the help of her Bösch-Hauer P229. She navigated the maze of passageways, moving from compartment to compartment until she and Chloe reached the security office.
Ferguson greeted them with a less than enthusiastic look on his face. He led them to a control terminal with multiple displays. Chloe viewed the footage leading up to the explosion from multiple angles. A civilian Spacemaster™ CV120, small cargo vehicle approached bay 64. As the landing skids touched down, the vehicle exploded. The display screen went white from the bloom of the explosion, then turned to static.
“What do we know about this vehicle?" Emma asked.
“Supposedly in route from Proxima Hydra 5. Looking to charge their power cell and stretch their legs.”
“What about the pilot?”
Ferguson pulled up an image of a man in his early 30s. He had long brown hair that fell into his eyes and a goatee. “Pilot’s name is Max Blomberg.”
Emma ran Blomberg through the UIA database. “No priors. No convictions. He's got a wife and kid back on Beta Pegasi 3. Doesn't fit the profile of a suicide bomber."
“Maybe he had a malfunction within his fuel cell that caused the explosion?" Ferguson said.
“That explosion was far too big for a fuel-cell. You’re going to find explosive residue in the exposed structure. My guess is that ship was loaded with blutrovium nitrate.”
“It doesn’t add up,” Ferguson said.
“Yes it does.” Emma had a troubled look on her face.
21
Ryan
Another wave came crashing over him. Ryan got a mouthful of seawater. It flooded his nostrils. His lungs filled with fluid. He coughed, trying to hack out the liquid. Salt and sand filled his eyes, scratching his cornea with every blink. They burned like fire.
Norfolk had marched the class out into the ocean until they were waist deep. They were instructed to interlock arms, sit down, and lay back against the sand while the surf crashed upon them. Over and over again they were pummeled by the waves.
Their feet were facing the open ocean. At least in this position, Ryan could see when the waves were coming, and could time his breath holds.
This was Surf Torture.
This was the part where many recruits said I’m done. It was bad. It sucked. It had no discernible point, other than to make recruits quit. Who in their right mind would want to spend the next six months freezing their ass off, getting abused like this? It was evolutions like this that filled some recruits’ minds with the dread of Hell Week. If day one is this bad, how much worse is it going to get?
It wasn’t even 0700 hours on Day 1 of First Phase, and the bell had rung 10 times. Every time Ryan heard the bell ring it was an affirmation—he was that much tougher than the guy who quit.
The sun was cresting the horizon on Black Rock Island. Norfolk finally ended the Surf Torture. Ryan’s teeth were chattering, and his whole body felt numb from the cold.
“I can make things hard, or I can make things impossible,” Norfolk said. “Keep slacking off, keep putting out less than your best, and you’re going to find your time here unbearable.” His narrow eyes surveyed the soggy class. “Our next evolution will be a 4 mile timed run. Those who cannot complete the run within 32 minutes will be performance dropped.”
“Is he for real?” Silva muttered under his breath.
There was no way that Norfolk could have heard the comment. The surf was crashing, the seagulls were chirping. Silva had barely vocalized the words, yet Norfolk was on top of him. “Yes, Silva. I’m for real. DROP!”
“Drop!”
“Push’em out. Give me fifty.”
Silva pushed out a little more than 10. His belly sagged, and his arms quivered.
“You’re not going anywhere until you knock out these push-ups,” Norfolk grumbled. He pulled a stopwatch from his pocket and clicked the starter. “Time starts now. Get running.”
The class took off while Silva struggled to push out more reps. Norfolk began shoveling heaps of sand on his back with an ore to make it harder. Silva could barely handle the added weight. Somewhere around the 20th rep, he stood up and staggered over the berm toward the Pulverizer.
Norfolk laughed. “That’s it. Go ring the bell. Pussy!”
Exactly two miles down the beach, Instructor Finnegan waited in a white hover-truck. As recruits reached the halfway mark, they tossed their white T-shirts into the truck bed. With the candidate’s name stenciled across the front of the shirt, it made it impossible to cheat the run.
Watching Ensign Parkes peel off her shirt and finish the run in a sports bra was the highlight of the day for many recruits. It almost made the Surf Torture worth it. She was definitely motivation to increase your pace.
Ryan finished the run in 31:29. He came in second, 10 paces behind Ensign Parkes.
“Congratulations,” Norfolk said. “You’re the only two that finished in time. “Catch some rest on the berm. You earned it.” Norfolk wasn’t going to performance drop the entire class. Not yet, anyway. But he was going to give them a thorough ass-chewing.
The two sat in the soft sand and watched the others trail in. Ryan didn’t pay her any attention. He stared at the ocean, watching the blue waves crash against the white sand. The waves were big and would make any surfer’s heart race. But Ryan dreaded them. He knew what was coming next.
Surf Passage.
They were going to have to race the boats against the crashing waves. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but paddling a seven man boat against towering swells was anything but easy. It took coordination, timing, and teamwork.
Ryan’s brief rest ended all too soon when Norfolk yelled, “Prep your boat crews. Rig for sea.”
Boat crews were organized by height, and changed frequently as recruits dropped from the program.
The class scrambled to don their lifejackets and grab their paddles. The boat crews rushed into the surf, paddling out to sea. The small waves foaming against the shore were easy to overcome. But it didn’t take long for a 7 foot swell to topple one of the boat crews, scattering red lifejackets everywhere. Soon, the surf was filled with chaos. Some boats were upside down, some were sideways. Crews struggled to right their boats and get back on track.
Ryan’s crew was in the lead and they were paddling strong. But their boat began to list to the port side. One of the recruits wasn’t pulling as hard. A wave slammed the boat, toppling it over. It felt like a brick wall. Ryan felt a sharp crack against his skull—an ore gashed his head.
Blood flowed, mixing with the saltwater. You could see all the way down to the white bone of his cranium. His vision faded as he blacked out. The power of the wave forced him below the water, even with a life-vest. The chaos of the surface faded way.
Parkes and Freeman dragged Ryan to shore. Corpsman Lambert attended to him.
“Parkes, Freeman… Get back to your boat crews,” Norfolk shouted.
The two recruits headed back to the surf.
Lambert administered CPR, pumping Ryan’s chest repeatedly. Ryan coughed up a mouthful of water. Lambert checked Ryan’s pupils. They were responding properly. Lambert cleaned and disinfected the gash in Ryan’s scalp, then applied a liquid suture gel and sealed the wound.
“What’s your name?” Corpsman Lambert asked.
“Dingleberry,” Ryan said groggily.
The corpsman chuckled. “Where are you at?”
“Hell.”
Lambert laughed again. “Not yet, recruit. That comes in a few weeks.”
Ryan managed a weak grin.
“Can you stand?”
Ryan nodded. He quickly found out it hurt to do that. Lambert helped him to his feet. He swayed initially, but regained his footing. His head was throbbing. His neck was stiff and sore, and the pain radiated into his cheek. The impact had forced his neck back and pinched a nerve.
“How do you feel?” Lambert asked.
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
> “Do you want me to take you in to see the doc, or do you want to finish the evolution?”
“I want to finish the evolution,” Ryan said without hesitation. He jogged back out to the surf to regroup with his boat crew.
Norfolk watched with approval. Ryan had scored some points. He was exactly the kind of candidate the Reaper Teams were looking for.
22
Emma
"I need you to send someone to check on Max Blomberg's family," Emma said. "His ship was either hijacked, or his family was threatened. He doesn't fit the profile of a terrorist.”
"I'll put agents on it immediately," Graham said. "How long are you stuck on the station?"
“As soon as we get repaired, we're heading out. I don't think there's much to do here. You might want to beef up security on the shipping lanes. I think we’re going to see more hijackings.”
“Security is as tight as it can get at the moment. Everyone is short on manpower and resources." Graham frowned. “We’ve been picking up chatter… something about a Project Starshine. Does that mean anything to you?"
Emma looked perplexed. "No."
“It's something big, but I have no idea what. Could be a target… could be something else.” Graham paused. “Contact me as soon as you reach Aldebaran Minor.”
“Yes, sir.”
The transmission ended. Emma addressed Ferguson. "A Federation Criminal Investigative team is in route. No one leaves the station without an exit interview. Are we clear?"
"We’re clear. If it's all right with you, I'm going to take the station off lockdown and allow movement between compartments that have maintained their structural integrity." It was clear to see that he hated to ask for permission regarding policy on his own station.