by Britt Ringel
A different, muted voice offered indecipherable succor but was interrupted. “I won’t hear it! He needs to be where the opportunity is. My son won’t suffer because of a Republic screw-up and I won’t allow my legacy anything less than the chance to be a hero! You will fix this mess. I want him on the front lines. The Republic needs him on the front lines!”
Twist stood at the door, afraid to enter. Behind him, the secretary urged him forward. “Just knock.” Another round of invective leaked into the outer office, spurring the gentle woman to quietly add, “Please.”
Twist took a final, deep breath. Don’t let it be my mother. Don’t let it be my mother. He knocked loudly.
The shouting stopped midsentence. After a few moments, a man responded, “Come in.”
Twist opened the door to a greying man behind a large desk. He wore the standard duty uniform of the navy with a blouse littered with several rows of ribbons. Full captain epaulettes ran over his shoulders. Despite the armor granted to him by the prestige of his uniform, he looked thoroughly conquered.
Opposite the commandant stood Sabrina Twist.
Chapter 6
The intensity of Sabrina Twist’s stare gave Caden pause at the door. The light within her blue eyes seemed amplified by the rage directed toward the man behind the desk. Caden braced himself against the glare and marched into the room.
“Hello, Caden,” Sabrina greeted with a warm smile. White teeth flashed briefly under her upturned lips.
Caden tried to shake off the power of her gaze and focused on his reporting statement. He saluted smartly, holding the position, and said, “OT Twist reports as ordered, sir.”
Captain Altman returned the salute from behind his desk. The simple gesture seemed to restore some of the man’s poise. “Please be at ease.”
Caden dropped his own salute and tried to remain at attention but rocked slightly as Sabrina wrapped an arm around him in a gentle hug. “It’s good to see you, my son. We’re going to correct this error,” she assured him. He understood immediately which “error” she was addressing. In his message several weeks ago reporting his assignment to the logistics branch of the navy, he had intentionally avoided telling his mother that he had specifically requested the designation on his application. Unsure how to respond to his mother’s misunderstanding, a preternatural silence filled the room.
Altman broke the quiet. “OT Twist, there appears to be a mistake regarding your allocated designation.” He looked down at his desktop and entered commands on an inlaid keyboard. To the man’s left, a two-meter by two-meter wall screen switched from the serene setting of the campus to a copy of Caden’s application to Officer Training School. The captain flicked his finger over a screen on his desk, flipping the pages of Caden’s application to the proper place. “Here,” he stated while pointing on his desk screen. “You listed…” Altman trailed off as Sabrina cleared her throat menacingly.
“Here,” the captain started over. “It appears there’s been a translation error on the page where you selected your three choices for a designation.” He tapped on his screen and Caden’s first request became highlighted. “The form shows that your number one request was Logistics.” He took measure of the trainee standing before him. “Is that what you selected, OT?”
Caden felt heat rush to his cheeks and the office began to spin. He swallowed while glancing in the direction of his mother.
“Tell him,” Sabrina pressed.
“I… I know I chose… Weapons, sir.” The entire world seemed to be crashing down around him, taking his dreams with it.
“There. See?” Sabrina stated triumphantly. She took an aggressive step toward the captain. “It’s a simple computer error that you are more than capable of rectifying, Commandant. The Ministry of Public Relations and Information appreciates the Navy’s speedy resolution of this matter.” Her voice, formerly laced with venom, now dripped with honey. “Additionally, as one captain to another, I can assure you that your cooperation in this matter will not go overlooked.” Her smile grew as she looked back toward her son. “Service members take care of each other, isn’t that right, Commandant?”
Naval officers did not ascend to the rank of captain without an innate sense of the wind’s direction. Altman nodded compliantly. “Yes, Madam Assistant Secretary. I’ll make the necessary arrangements. In fact,” Altman added, “when I saw OT Twist’s designation come through the channels, I thought it must have been some kind of mistake.” The commandant’s eyes swept over Caden without seeing him. “He’s one of our brightest officer trainees. He’s aced both the academic exams and practical leadership tests… well on his way to DG.”
What? Caden stood stunned at the statement. Distinguished graduate? Maybe my exam scores have been good enough but when did I ace the reaction course? Does he have me confused with another OT? Caden immediately dismissed the thought. Sure, Caden, Captain Altman has you confused with another OT whose mother is not only a high-ranking government official but also one of the paragons of the Republic.
“OT Twist,” Altman stated, “consider yourself a weapons officer from this point on. I’ll make sure you receive confirmation within the week.” The captain glanced toward Sabrina for permission. Once tacitly attained, he ordered, “You are dismissed.”
Caden hesitated, wanting to ask if he would have a chance to visit with his mother. Maybe I can explain the truth.
The woman read his mind. “I have a shuttle to catch, dear. I’ll see you at graduation. Make me proud.”
Caden’s heart sank at the missed opportunity. Time with family was precious to him, even more so after Logan’s death. He saluted with regret, executed a perfect about face and marched from the room. When the lavish door closed behind him, he exhaled in both relief and remorse. He had not even had the chance to return his mother’s hug. Surely she appreciates the formality, he consoled himself. She retired as a captain. She knows I couldn’t break military protocol and embrace her while reporting in to the commandant.
His spirits sank further as his thoughts turned to his new designation. Weapons. Not what I wanted but what’s needed. “Make me proud,” she said. He felt the muscles along his jaw stiffen. I will, Mom. I promise.
* * *
Twist marched back to his flight’s classroom. Although it had been tempting to seize the opportunity Boslet offered and stop by his dorm, missing any more course instruction would just place him further behind. To his surprise, no one stopped him on his way back to the training facility despite marching alone.
Entering the academic building made Twist feel safe, or at least comfortable. In this building, he knew what to expect and what was expected of him. He traveled quickly down the carpeted hall toward 3-12’s classroom.
The door was open and a voice was coming from the room’s speakers, most likely the weekly status update of the escalating Brevic-Hollaran war. Twist quietly slipped into the room. All eyes were on the wall screen at its front. Even Boslet sat enraptured by the broadcast.
A star map on the screen was centered on the “Disputed Zone,” the portion of space between the Brevic Republic and Hollaran Commonwealth. The hotly contested sliver contained nine prime star systems and numerous ones of lesser value. Schoolchildren were taught the history of how Hollaran aggression had eroded this originally Republic space until the entire border between the two rivals had been transformed into a tenuous buffer.
Over the last year, the Commonwealth had begun to force Republic civilian shipping from star systems inside the zone. The culmination of those acts resulted in a blockade of Republic commerce in a central junction system, Anesidora. Republic news agencies had excitedly followed the peacekeeping task group sent inside the disputed zone to restore free trade. Twist’s mother had worked especially long hours during the buildup of that fleet to ensure that Republic citizens understood both the gravity and the virtue of its mission. The moral authority of free trade and natural Republic superiority would never succumb to naked Hollaran aggression. Sendi
ng an overwhelming fleet to Anesidora was widely agreed as the only way to safeguard Republic ideals throughout the galaxy.
Word of that same fleet’s annihilation had reached the heart of the Republic two months ago. Twist could still remember a misty-eyed Sabrina Twist informing Republic citizens of the heroic defense of Anesidora and the terrible consequences the Commonwealth would suffer for the massacre it had inflicted. A state of war between the two governments had been declared hours afterward.
The defeat at Anesidora was appalling enough, but even worse was the appearance of an operational Hollaran fleet carrier during the battle. The first warship of its kind, the Commonwealth had introduced humanity to spaceborne aviation with a lethal effectiveness. While the Republic had its own plans for carriers, it was scrambling to implement the program. The bastardization of combining OTS training with pilot training for the “concurrent” officer trainees demonstrated just how ad hoc the fledgling program was.
Twist took his seat and concentrated on the wall screen’s star chart. To his surprise, the map was not centered on Anesidora but a major star system two tunnel dives away, a system called Themisto. The scene switched from the featureless star map to stock footage of a Hollaran task force while the narrator spoke over the scene.
“Hollie brigands thought they’d launch another surprise attack like Anesidora.” The generic footage was replaced with parade shots of a Brevic command cruiser while the narrator spoke in a calculated mixture of confidence and sarcasm. “Not this time.” More stock footage of Brevic cruisers launching gravity warhead-tipped missiles by the hundreds filled the screen. “Our Brevic sailors not only bloodied the Hollie assault but bought precious time for a tactical withdrawal.”
The sterile star map returned and a cartoonish fleet symbol transited down the tunnel connecting Themisto to the next star system in the chain, Cyllene. “We’ll hold’em here, sailors,” the narrator predicted with heady optimism. “Another display of Republic heroism and just the first step toward total victory!”
The wall screen grew dark. Some of the OTs clapped while others talked excitedly to each other. Others sat back in wordless contemplation. All knew that soon they would have a chance to defend the Republic. Given his mother’s position in government, Twist evaluated the nature of the broadcast. The absence of specifics regarding the attack on Themisto was disconcerting.
“OTs, I’m flashing today’s lesson plan to your datapads.” Boslet’s voice silenced the trainees’ chatter almost instantly. “I want to finish the block before the group leadership course tomorrow afternoon.”
Chapter 7
It was not merely raining; it was pouring. Still, the final round of Leaders Reaction Course tests would proceed as scheduled. Training officers explained to each flight that the curtain of rain was just an added element to adapt to and that flexibility was the key to space dominance.
A drenched Caden Twist marched with his flight toward LRC Bravo while steady sheets pounded the brim of his cover. The noise threatened to drown out the sounds of Flight 3-12’s boots on the gravel. Gusting winds pushed the rain horizontally to strike the side of his face.
OT Bell screamed out the cadence to be heard over nature’s roar as Twist stole several glances to his right, at Course Alpha. Flights of concurrent trainees were already busily problem-solving their assigned obstacles. Nearest to Twist’s marching flight, an OT teetered dangerously on a log suspended five meters above the ground by several ropes. The woman— Twist thought the OT must be female as hair grazed the bottom of her uniform’s collar— was kneeling on the narrow log, steadying herself with one hand while reaching down for a pole lifted toward her by two OTs on the ground. The pole was just long enough to brush the woman’s fingertips.
Twist’s stomach lurched when he saw the OT remove her bracing hand to reach even lower. A second later, her right knee slipped off the slick log. For a heart-wrenching instant, Twist thought she might recover her balance but, instead, she toppled from the log and dropped like a stone. Twist heard her hit the gravel all the way from his formation. The trainees nearest her gaped at the crumpled, immobile form.
For once, Twist acted without thinking. He broke formation and sprinted the twenty meters to the face-down woman, skidding to a stop in the torrent of rain. He quickly knelt by her side but hesitated, hands reluctant to touch the stricken woman. “Ma’am, are you all right?” he asked impotently.
A groan escaped the woman as she rolled to her side. She was young, younger than anyone in Twist’s flight. “Don’t move,” he warned. “You’ve taken a horrible fall.”
The woman ignored Twist’s advice and rolled torturously back to her stomach. She slid her knees underneath her body and began to rise. As she knelt up, her face contorted in pain. “Damn,” she muttered, “please don’t tell me I have another concussion.” She brought a delicate hand up to her cheek. Bits of gravel had embedded themselves in her skin.
“I don’t think you should try to stand,” Twist cautioned. “You must have broken something after a fall like that. It’s not poss—”
“Gables!” barked a training officer. A full lieutenant began stalking in the woman’s direction as he shouted. “Get your butt over here!”
The aspiring aviator looked at Twist with a half-smile. She brushed the stones off her face. “Thanks for the help…,” Gables looked, bleary-eyed, down at his drenched uniform to his nametape, “OT Twist but it’s time for us both to get back in the game.” Without further word, the nimble trainee sprang to her feet and jogged toward the approaching training officer.
Dumbfounded by the miraculous recovery, Twist remained kneeling in the rain and watched her go. She skidded to a stop and assumed the position of attention as her training officer wagged a finger near her face. Twist glanced back, toward his own flight, still making its way to Course Bravo. With a shrug, he stood and quickly rejoined his formation.
Lieutenant Boslet was waiting for Flight 3-12. He had either not noticed Twist’s unorthodox departure from the formation or judged it an acceptable response to the situation. Either way, he made no mention of it and, instead, read from his datapad as raindrops bounced off its surface. “Good morning, Three-twelve. This is your final practical LRC test.”
Muted cheers and claps rippled through the flight. Boslet smiled slightly but continued, “I will brief you on the purpose, methodology and operation of the Leadership Reaction Course in order to answer any of your questions and provide an overview of the training exercises. The primary purposes of the course are, one, to improve the trainee’s leadership ability by affording the student an opportunity to apply the lessons learned in his or her formal leadership instruction. Two, to assess the trainee by measuring the degree to which the student possesses certain leadership traits and behaviors. Three, to provide the trainee with a means of making a self-evaluation to determine more accurately his or her leadership ability. Four, to provide trainees the opportunity to observe the effects of strengths and weaknesses of others during a team operation and five, to develop individuals as leaders.”
“The course operation is designed such that each individual will be a leader for a task one time and serve as a team member or observer the remainder of the time. For each task, there is a working team and two observing teams. The working team is responsible for completing the mission while the observing teams act as safety personnel. At the conclusion of each task, the working team and an observing team exchange responsibilities and the entire flight rotates to a new task. No obstacle is run twice so the leader’s skills in planning, organizing, decision making, supervising and communicating can be evaluated as they pertain to that leader. The leader will be evaluated on how well he or she does, not how well someone else has done.”
Boslet looked away from his datapad and pointed to an elevated position above the first obstacle. “I will monitor from there after I give the first OT his briefing.” He swiped several times at his datapad. “First up, OT Twist.”
Twist’s
heart rate spiked. In the navy, going first was never a good thing.
Boslet took a step toward Twist and announced, “Twist, Bell, Conrad, Kirkpatrick, Pagnosky and Sharp. You are the working team. The rest of you are the observing teams for this task.”
Boslet swiped a finger over his datapad. “Proceed to obstacle number three, everyone.”
The entire flight walked past the first two obstacles. When they arrived at the third, Twist immediately assessed his surroundings. The obstacle consisted of a ten-meter long by five-meter wide shallow pool of water. The raindrops splashing into the pool turned its surface into a roiling cauldron. At each end of the pool, three-meter metal poles rose from the quickcrete. Another metal beam had been welded atop each pole to span the length of the pool. Around the pool’s perimeter, a one-meter wide, red line had been painted as a narrow buffer between the pool’s edge and the remaining quickcrete. Similar red bands had been painted on the lowest meter of each of the vertical metal poles.
“Twist, you’re with me,” Boslet ordered.
Twist enthusiastically made his way toward the lieutenant. Really great leaders test several ideas, really great leaders test several ideas, he chanted to himself.
Boslet evaluated him for an instant before offering a slight smile. “You ready for this, OT?”
Does it matter? “Yes, sir. It’s a wonderful day to take a swim.”
Boslet’s smile widened. “Okay, here is your briefing.” The lieutenant began by pointing to a knee-high box resting next to the closest pole. “That box contains Dexitrox, which is a blood expander.” He pointed across the ten-meter long pool. “Your team must cross the river to take the box to a headquarters some distance beyond.” He made another gesture to the metal poles. “Both edges of the bridge spanning the river have been destroyed. All that remains are these two columns supporting the steel rail over it.” Boslet focused his gaze at the red-painted lower portions of the metal poles. “The bottoms of the twisted offshoots connected to the horizontal rail are razor sharp. Finally, the Dexitrox cannot be taken out of the box.” Boslett pointed at a ten-meter length of rope, coiled near the box. “Use that rope to help your team cross the river.” He paused a beat to emphasize his next words. “Take it with you for future use. Any questions, OT?”