Boots of Oppression

by M. J. Konkel

  I owed a big thanks to another Rivan, Spaceman Roberta Trinka, and I promised to find a way to repay her someday. I have no idea how she learned her shit, nor where she ended up. One day she was with us, and the next she was gone. Transferred before we left the naval base back at Spitnik. At least, that’s what we were told.

  I just would have liked to have at least been able to say good-bye, but I never got that chance. Or the chance to fulfill my promise. Seemed to be the story of my life.

  Roberta was special. She taught me things I can’t mention here without turning red, and she also showed me something else that just seemed like a lot of fun at the time but would later turn out to be so important. How to get into the ship’s databanks and simulators through the video feeds. We did that during our free time. Yeah, the Spitnik brass did give us free time. Not a lot - but some.

  I learned a lot about the Empire and its worlds while my superiors believed I had been watching the Spitnik propaganda videos. The trick was to always leave a Spitnik video window open and ready to pop up in case a Spitnik walked by. And keep clicking on options on the video window so it didn’t appear like you just brought up that window. Those Spitnik games and videos advertised to be trashy entertainment, but they were loaded with propaganda layered upon more propaganda, like a bad onion. Everyone saw it, but that didn’t mean those games and videos weren’t effective.

  I used my precious free time mostly on simulations instead, flying their fighter craft and corvettes, all while laying on my bunk. It was pretty much the only thing I did once Roberta was gone, and it was as close as I was ever going to get to being a pilot. Something I discovered I loved. If only I had been born of a different lot in life.

  The GATs were down there on the surface, putting an end to the resistance from this world. I was above the battles in the safety of low orbit. I couldn’t actually see the fighting below, and I didn’t really give a damn about it. Deep down, I think I knew how those people were like the people of my home world. The thing was I was part of the machinery tearing apart Bahram, and I couldn’t see how that was going to change. So I distanced myself from those below. Those below could just as well have been in some distant part of the galaxy as far as I was concerned. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  For now, I was safe in my position as a spaceman in the Navy, high above it all.

  Or so I had been thinking.

  That’s when the command came over the loudspeaker ordering me to see the captain.

  Chapter 4

  So you’re now all caught up and know how I got stuck on this dry dusty litter box called Bahram. About the only good thing I had to say about this world so far was that its gravity was only about 0.9 G. Riva Lontana was a 1.09 G world, so the double timing and push-ups were not quite as hard on me as maybe for some of the others.

  We all stood at attention just inside the barracks.

  “These bunks will be yours, Charlant, Triton, Longshore, Chen, Estevito.” The sergeant banged a different bunk with each name. “Those on the left side here are platoon 1 and those on the right are platoon 2.”

  I was pleased to see Estevito was in the same platoon as me. What can I say? She was cute, and I sort of took a liking to her.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed we don’t have separate rooms for you boys and girls. Well, I don’t frickin’ care how things were done on your world. You are a Spitnik GAT now, or at least pretending to be one, and that’s how things are done here. But there will be no fooling around in my barracks. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” we all shouted, but I wondered if that rule was enforced. Besides, he only said in his barracks, right?

  “Alright then. I want everyone in a fully armored suit and lined up out front in ten minutes. Times starts now. Go!”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” we all shouted and then jumped to the suits hanging off hooks next to the bunks.

  “Alright then. This ought to be good,” the sergeant muttered as he turned toward the exit.

  I sneaked a peek at Estevito as I stripped down to my boxers and liked what I saw. She had a good body; firm muscles and all the right curves. I turned and then struggled into the armored suit; pretty sure I had messed up putting the helmet on correctly. Probably other parts too. But I ran out into formation with the other four, not daring to be late.

  After five minutes the sergeant marched out and walked down the line in front of us, staring at each of us as he went by. Then he returned to front and center of us, shaking his head.

  “Every frickin’ last one of you totally messed up putting your suits on properly,” he uttered. I fully expected him to tell us to do more push-ups, but instead he told us to stand at ease and showed us with his armor the proper way each piece fit together and its features.

  A Spitnik armored suit is actually pretty cool. First off, they are not as heavy as they look – made of some composite material. There are no motors or powered artificial muscles in it, but the legs and arms are spring loaded, storing energy and adding it back to every step. That makes it a lot easier to run and jump. If the battery is running low, a small amount of the energy from movement is converted to electricity and transferred to the battery which powers the functions of the HUD and the screen on the back of the faceplate. But for a short time, the energy stays available for a strong leap or an arm swing.

  You might have guessed that it would take a while getting used to walking around in the suit, but natural movement only takes a couple of minutes. Of course, mastering movement while in the suit takes a lot longer.

  The armor can absorb ion plasma bolts up to point and small caliber bullets, unless high-velocity projectiles are fired at close range. It won’t stop flechettes or armor-piercing bullets though.

  The helmet automatically activates as soon as it detects a head inside. A dial button on the side activates the faceplate which slides down into place. Another dial on the side allows adjustments to the view, including different filters and wavelength ranges. This allows for night vision, polarization to eliminate glare, and contrasting filters. The view can also be magnified up to four times normal, although this decreases the field of view.

  Above the faceplate on the inside is the HUD. All kinds of information can be found on it. Most importantly, it displays the positions of the other members of your platoon. The sergeant said he couldn’t express how vital that can be when you’re in a firefight. The HUD even allows for text messages or short instruction videos to appear.

  Earphones and a mic allow for verbal messages to be received and given with the other members of your squad.

  The exterior color or pattern could also be easily changed with another dial. It was initially set to desert camo #1.

  “Hell, when your faceplate is closed, you could even survive the vacuum of space for fifteen minutes. But put up your faceplates up now because I want to see all your ugly faces,” Sergeant Runner barked and then continued once he spotted all our faces. “Listen up and listen good. Out there among the rocks and sand is the enemy. This base is off-limits to those native desert rats. So if you see one of ‘em, you take ‘em out ‘cause, otherwise, he’ll take you out. Make no mistake about it; you hesitate, I’ll have to bury you out there in the sand. These are tough sons of bitches on this moon. This is my third tour of duty, and the others were fluff runs compared. You’re down here because GATs, good GATs - unlike the lot of you, died down here. You’re their replacement.” The sergeant turned and spat out onto the sand before waving for someone behind us to come forward.

  “This is Corporal Zhou. He will hand you your weapon.”

  A broad-shouldered GAT with a round face appeared to our side and went down our line, handing each of us a rifle.

  “This a Racnoc rifle. It is not a gun. It is too small to be called a gun. Those mounted in the corner bunkers and what’s between my legs are guns. These are rifles. Does everyone got that?” Sergeant Runner demanded.

  “Yes, Sergeant,” we all yelled.

 
“Good. Now who here has handled one of these before?” he asked.

  We all raised our hands.

  “Good.” The sergeant nodded and smirked. “Now who thinks they know how to use one of these?”

  I was known for my sometimes smartass mouth, but I wasn’t quite that stupid. I lowered my hand. The question sounded like a trap to me. I noticed everyone else also lowered the arms as well, except for Estevito. She was the only woman among us new GATs.

  “Private Estevito.” The sergeant smiled. “I like your confidence. Tell me the max velocity of the tungsten flechettes.”

  “Well, umm, I’m not sure,” Estevito stuttered.

  “Address me as sergeant,” Sergeant runner shouted. “Now drop and give me twenty as a reminder.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Estevito shouted, laid her rifle down, and dropped down next to it.

  Sergeant Runner waited until Estevito popped back to her feet.

  “1700 Meters per second. Now, Private Estevito, how many mini-flechettes does your weapon hold?”

  “I … I think about fifty, Sergeant,” she stuttered.

  “Not a bad guess,” Sergeant Runner admitted. “It holds 48 in a standard magazine. Do you know why we use flechettes rather than bullets even though they are more expensive?”

  “No, Sergeant,” Estevito admitted.

  “Self-propelled flechettes have higher velocity, greater piercing ability, fly flatter, and don’t give as much recoil to the rifle for the same velocity. Less recoil means greater accuracy. These flechettes are designed with spiral vanes that pop out once they leave the muzzle. The thin needle profile of the flechette gives it penetrating power through armor. The vanes will shear off through armor. But they will cut through someone who is not wearing armor, producing a much larger wound,” Sergeant Runner explained. “In other words they can frick up your enemy real good. Estevito, come forward with your weapon.”

  Estevito stepped quickly in front of the sergeant.

  “You see that rock out there?” Sergeant Runner pointed at a small round boulder about two hundred meters out from us.

  Estevito squinted. “Yeah, I mean yes, Sergeant.”

  “I want you to shoot it.”

  Estevito appeared uncertain, but she spread her legs apart and pointed her rifle at the distant boulder. And she just stood there. Eventually she lowered her rifle and looked at it.

  “What’s the matter, Estevito?” Sergeant Runner asked.

  “Something’s wrong with my rifle, Sergeant. I have it on fire, but I can’t pull the trigger.”

  “Broken, huh?” The sergeant reached out, and Estevito handed over the rifle. He turned toward the boulder. Phit! The rifle held at his hip shot off a single flechette, and sparks flew off the boulder almost instantly. Then he turned toward us and the face plate that had been down flipped up.

  “The reason Private Estevito couldn’t fire it was because she was not keyed in yet. It didn’t recognize her fingerprint. It recognized mine though. Now let’s get you all keyed in. The corporal has a scanner that will read all your prints.”

  The corporal pulled out a box next to him and flipped open the lid.

  “Make a line behind Estevito and make it snappy,” the sergeant ordered. “Put one hand palm down on the scanner and then the other when it’s your turn. That way if you lose a finger or two or even your frickin whole hand out in an engagement, you can still use your rifle.” He grinned.

  After the last of us scanned our hands on the device, Sergeant Runner had each of us plug a jack from the scanner into a port in the stock of our rifles for a few seconds. He told us that we were now all able to use each other’s rifles. After our scans were downloaded into the base’s databank, we would be able to use anyone else’s on the base as well, assuming they plugged their rifles in to be updated.

  Then Sergeant Runner had us close our face plates and showed us a plug attached to a retractable cord that came out of the wrist of our suits. As soon as I plugged the jack into the port in the rifle stock, a crosshair appeared in my vision.

  “You’ll notice that the crosshair moves toward where you point your rifle. Be careful where you’re pointing it. And so help me cosmos, if you point your rifle close to my direction, I will drop you and bury you out in the sand. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” we yelled.

  “Your rifle has four settings on the switch on the side. L, F, R and A. Lock, fire, repeat, and auxiliary. You won’t be using that last function today. If you put the switch on repeat, then your rifle will fire three rapid bursts with each pull of the trigger. Accuracy is more important than randomly fire lots of shots, so I recommend in most cases that you use the fire mode. But there will be times when you want to use the repeat mode instead. In the fire mode, each pull of the trigger will fire off one flechette. Now I want all of you to set the switch to fire mode and aim at that same boulder out there.”

  Once I turned the switch to fire, the crosshair changed from black to red. I held the rifle against my shoulder since that was how I learned in the training for the Navy when I had used the sights instead.

  “Notice how the crosshair is red when you have your rifle in fire mode. That will change to green if you are pointing it at those radio-linked to you. Don’t shoot your buddies. Okay, when I say your name, fire at that rock out there,” barked the sergeant. “Estevito, Triton, Charlant, Longshore, Chen.”

  Phit! Phit! Phit! Phit! Phit! Five times sparks, dust and pebbles flew off the boulder.

  “Now that was easy. Wasn’t it?” Sergeant Runner chuckled.

  We all chuckled as well, feeling we had done well.

  “The hard part is when some vermin out there is shooting back at you.” The sergeant jabbed a finger out toward the desert and just stared at us for a moment before getting back to explaining the sighting mechanism. “The automatic sight on your screen will adjust for the type of ammunition you are using and the distance to the target. It will not adjust for any crosswind or for your target moving. If your target is close, those won’t matter much. If your target is 2000 meters away, they will. Any questions?”

  “Good,” the sergeant said after no one volunteered. “Keep your rifle with you at all times. Never farther than you can reach. If I or the corporal manage to steal your rifle because it is too far away from you, you will be in my shithouse for a long time. You do not want to be in my shithouse. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” we all yelled.

  “Listen up and listen good. Command has us spread thin with our forces. So if you are on guard duty, stay alert. You may not have much in the way of backup. If we’re out on a raid, the resistance might have as many guns as us. Maybe more. You have to be better than them. Stay disciplined, and maybe you’ll survive.” He pointed at one of the buildings. “The kitch is that way. Get yourself some chow and meet the other soldiers on our base. Charlant, Chen, you’re to report to Sergeant Smollniev for guard duty. You report to him from here on out. He’ll message you where you need to be.

  “Triton, Estevito, Longshore, our platoon has had a change in orders while you were putting on those suits. Be back here in exactly 30 minutes. You will all be going with the First Platoon on your first mission. Grab your bags ‘cause this is going to be an extended mission. Dismissed.”

  I glanced at the HUD to see what time it was. I had no intention of being late even though the thought of going out on a live mission scared the crap out of me. But getting on Sergeant Runner’s bad side scared me even more.

  The five of us found the kitch easily enough. We just had to follow our noses. We stared at the bins and trays full of food ready to be served. Estevito jumped into the serving line, and the rest of us followed.

  Other GATs appeared and jumped into line in front of us.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “the line starts back here.”

  The line jumpers turned toward me. “Spitniks eat before coots,” one of them snarled. He was not that big of a guy, but I wasn’t about to
fight back against a Spitnik on my first day in camp. I wondered how he knew we were not Spitnik. Did the whole camp know about us?

  More GATs appeared, and the Spitnik who yelled at me invited them to come in front of us “coots.”

  I looked at the time on the wall and tapped Estevito and Longshore on their shoulders. They stared back at me.

  “We don’t want to be late,” I grumbled and turned toward the exit. The odors of the chow were in the air. My stomach growled as I placed my helmet back over my head.

  Chapter 5

  “Everyone, in the back of the hauler, except Carmen and Kurtzoff. Carmen, you’re driving, and, Kurtzoff, you’re shotgun,” the sergeant yelled. “Chavez, take the gun in the back.”

  I turned and followed the others as they climbed aboard what was essentially a large eight-wheeled desert camo patterned truck with a large caliber gun mounted on top. There were five of us in the back, and it seemed mighty spacious to me, but I didn’t ask about that. I decided it best to keep my smart mouth shut around the Spitniks, at least until I got to know them.

  The sergeant, along with a driver and the corporal, hopped into a scout vehicle and pulled ahead out of my sight. Our vehicle lumbered along, presumably, behind them. After five minutes we came to a stop.

  It then became apparent why we were using such a large vehicle. We all grunted as we loaded the back of the truck with box after box of supplies. I didn’t know what was in them, but they were not light.

  “Listen up, GATs,” Sergeant Runner yelled. “This is going to be a long trip. We’re delivering these supplies, and we will be staying on for defense support of the site once we arrive.”

  “Sergeant, where are we headed?” I asked. “I assume this is not just a camping trip.”

  “That’s on a need to know basis, private, but it will be just as much fun as camping,” the sergeant replied. “Aw! You’ll know soon enough where we’re going. On the way, we’re going to stop and visit a bunch of the villages along the way. Make sure the locals know their place, know what’s expected of them if you know what I mean.” Some of the other regular GATs chuckled.