by T. R. Harris
The man returned the salute and then reached out to shake each of their hands.
“Welcome to Camp Slater, gentlemen. We’ve been anxious for your arrival.”
As the default leader of the REVs, Zac simply replied: “Thank you, sir.” He would reserve further comment until he had more information.
“I’m Major Ryan Elliot. I will be your division commander while you’re here.” He motioned toward the angry-looking senior enlisted man. “This is Master Sergeant Darius Bullock.” The officer smiled. “His friends call him Bull. He will be your lead instructor during the training phase.”
The man made no greeting, nor did he offer to shake their hands. He continued to stare at the three REVs like he wanted to rip their heads off. Zac didn’t take it personally. If he was indeed a drill instructor, this was all part of the persona.
The officer turned toward the row of buildings off in the distance.
“Let me give you a brief rundown as to the layout of the camp. The tall canvas building in the center is the hospital.” Zac thought the large red cross above the door was a dead giveaway. “The huts to either side are numbered one to eight, starting on the left. Number one is supply, followed by barracks in two through four. You will be in Hut Four, next to the hospital. There you will meet the other two members of your team.”
“Other two?” Zac asked.
“Yes, Gunnery-Sergeants Donovan Ross and Kyle Johnson.”
Zac knew one personally, the other by name. “No shit…sir? I thought it was just the three of us.”
“So far there are five. I’m told others may qualify in the future, but so far this seems to be it.”
Zac thought the word qualify seemed strange. He wondered just how much the officer knew?
Major Elliot returned to his narration. “Hut Five on the right side of the hospital contains the mess hall, number six admin, and the other two are training facilities.” He turned more to his right. “There’s the firing range, along with a variety of tactical courses and assault buildings.”
He turned back to the REVs. “You’ll get more details later, but the general routine calls for you to begin each day with a visit to the hospital where baselines will be checked and recorded. After that you can have breakfast. The mess hall is open from oh-six-hundred to twenty-hundred. Your barracks hut was designed to hold twenty senior enlisted, so you’ll each have your own rooms, with no regard to rank. They’re all the same. And speaking of that….”
Major Elliot reached into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a small ring box. He handed it to Zac.
Inside was a single gold metal bar.
“What’s this, sir?”
“It’s your promotion to second lieutenant, Mister Murphy. Command figures they’ll need someone to blame if things go wrong.” The officer smiled, having no idea how sensitive the subject was. Angus and Mike looked at Zac, half expecting a blow-up. Instead, Zac remained calm, if resistant.
“Sir…I don’t know.”
“Relax, Lt. Murphy. If you think about it it’s actually a pay cut. But it will require your team to salute you.”
“We’ll see about that,” Mike said into his hand.
“Very good then,” said Elliot. “I will now leave you in the capable hands of Master Sergeant Bullock. Sergeant….”
Major Elliot returned to the transport and was driven away, leaving the rest of them standing at the edge of the spaceport, about a half mile from the buildings. Bullock stepped closer.
“So you’re REVs?” he said as sarcastically as possible. He eyed them up and down, with Angus being the only one even close to the man’s size and height. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen here,” Bullock growled. “I’m responsible for turning you into Marines. I know you consider yourself to be Marines already, but you’re wrong, dead wrong. Sure, you skated through basic about a century ago, but all that did was prepare you to become Marines. And then the three of you took the easy way out. You volunteered to become REVs. Since then all you’ve known how to do is one thing…run. Well real Marines don’t run…we charge!”
He turned and pointed to the nearby firing range. “There you will learn how to fire real weapons, and not simply point your arm and pull a trigger. In the other compounds you’ll learn assault tactics, squad maneuvers and sniper skills. In the gym you’ll be taught hand-to-hand combat, both defensive and offensive. Until now, all you’ve done is kill in mass. It doesn’t take a lot of skill to hit a target when there’s a hundred Qwin standing in front of you. Now you’ll be taught how to kill, selectively and with deadly efficiency.”
He stepped up to Zac, looking down at him, noses only inches apart. “And rank don’t mean shit to me, lieutenant. If you screw up—any of you—you’ll answer to me.” He stepped away. “And believe me, I’m no pussy Qwin.”
He spun on heal to face the buildings. “Now double-time it to Hut Four.”
Bullock took off at a fast trot. Zac and the others followed.
A few feet into the run, Mike sprinted ahead, reveling in the freedom of the open space and fresh air. Angus caught up to him and kept going. Zac accepted the challenge and ran ahead of both of them. Soon it was an all-out sprint between the three REVs, their bodies already stronger than a normal man’s, but now experiencing a slight cascading effect, making them even stronger.
They reached the barracks—a distance of half a mile—forty seconds later. It would be a world record on just about any world, if anyone was taking notice.
Master-Sergeant Bull Bullock stopped his quick jog and stood in awe of what he just saw. He turned to his right, toward the admin building. He had to talk to someone. This was not what he was expecting.
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17
With hardly a deep breath, the three REVs reached Hut Four and barreled through the west side entrance. They were laughing, enjoying the physical exercise of the run.
The hut was of typical Quonset design; a long, half-round structure made of corrugated metal. Inside was a general purpose room, with a spine corridor leading back to the head and showers. Along the corridor were doors to the twenty individual rooms.
Two men in black and gray utilities jumped up from the couches, startled by the sudden arrival of Zac and the others.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Gunnery Sergeant Donovan Ross cried out. “You could give a man a heart attack.”
The moment passed, and soon the five REVs were shaking hands and man-hugging. Zac couldn’t remember the last time this many REVs were in one room. It was certainly a sign that things were changing.
After things settled down, they sat on the couches, clutching beers drawn from the refrigerator along the wall.
“How long have you been here?” Mike Brickey asked the two new members of the team.
“Three days,” answered Kyle Johnson. He was the youngest of the group; a twenty-nine-year-old staff sergeant from Green Bay, Wisconsin. He had gone over ten years in the REV program only a couple of months before. The fact that he was here told Zac that the production of natural NT-4 was determined by the individual, and not so much by how long they were on the drug. That was interesting. It meant there may be more than the 351-Cs producing their own version of NT-4. He was sure Dr. Cross was already salivating over the possibilities.
“Did they tell you anything else?” Zac asked.
The faces of the two new REVs turned serious. “Yeah, Patel told us.”
“Arnie’s here?” Zac asked.
“Yeah; he’s running the hospital.”
Zac was glad to hear his
friend was in the camp, but it was the possibility that Olivia was with him that excited him most. That would be almost too much to expect.
“Is it true, gunny? Are we really producing our own NT-4?” asked Donovan Ross.
“It’s true,” Angus Price answered for him. “And it’s not Gunnery Sergeant Murphy anymore, but Second Louie Murphy.”
All eyes turned to the newly-minted officer. “I didn’t ask for this,” Zac pleaded.
“But you didn’t turn it down, either.”
Zac waved his hand, as if dismissing the subject. “Listen up guys. I think we need to face reality. We’re a new breed of REV that no one knows what to do with. At this point they say they want to turn us into a team of super REVs—”
“For what missions…sir?” Kyle interrupted, followed by a wide grin.
“Unknown, but it can’t be what we’ve been used to. We’re unique, but I don’t think the brass know how much at this point.”
“What do you mean?”
Zac had already discussed this with Angus and Mike during the trip to the Camp Slater. Now he told the others about his experiences on Eliza-3 and the discovery of on-call cascading to boost even his naturally-superior abilities. It was like a surge of adrenalin, but with more than just the energy. Along with it came, strength, awareness and even mental capacity. The others—including Angus and Mike—hadn’t experienced the cascading before, and if they had, they didn’t see it for what it was. Zac was convinced it was something he could control, at least in times of stress or physical activity. But like anything, it took practice. Camp Slater—Zac believed—was designed to explore the limits of their natural abilities. After that, the missions would be tailored to their unique talents.
After a little more discussion and reminiscing, Zac dismissed the team so they could claim rooms in the barracks and get some chow. A schedule was posted by the front door of the barracks, starting the next day. Today was reserved for settling in.
Zac went next door to the hospital hoping to run into an old friend.
The hospital was essentially a large tent with dozens of sectioned off compartments. There wasn’t much going on inside, not yet. The bulk of the REVs had only just arrived. Tomorrow the work of the medical staff would begin.
He asked if Dr. Patel was in the building and told he wasn’t. He asked about Olivia next.
“I believed she and a couple of the nurses headed over to the mess hall a few minutes ago.”
He walked next door.
The mess hall took up half of Hut Five; the other half was the galley. The compliment of the base was small, so the mess was too, with only a dozen tables with bench seating. Zac spotted Olivia the moment he entered.
She noticed him, too, and rose from the table to rush to him. They shared a respectable familiarity hug, which still evoked a series of giggles and catcalls from the table of females.
“Let’s go outside,” she said to Zac.
When the door swung close, the greeting was much more passionate.
“I knew this time was coming,” Olivia said between sniffles. “We’ve been preparing for your arrival for three weeks.”
“Really? I was still on Eliza-3.”
“I know, they told us.”
“I want to thank you by the way,” Zac said with feeling. “The gift you smuggled to me saved my life.”
“Oh you got it! Thank god, I wasn’t sure.”
The Marine survival kit had been a godsend.
Zac’s mod turned sour. “So Cross is here, too?”
“He comes and goes; It’s mainly me and Arnie.” Then she smiled. “Along with some of the cutest nurses and therapists I’ve ever seen. You guys should have a lot of fun while you’re here, if you’re allowed fraternize.”
Zac pulled her tight. “I’ve got your frantanization right here.”
“And impressive it is…Lieutenant Murphy. Yes, I heard. Congratulations.”
“We’ll see how it goes. Congratulations may not be in order.” He looked past her to the door of the hut. “Let’s go back inside and make your friends jealous. I’m starving.”
“So am I.” She grabbed his ass. “But for something I can’t get in the mess hall.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
An interesting development. We’ve been observing a marked increase in our subject’s physical strength and other functions even when not activated. David and I agree this is a side effect of the residual NT-4 in the system. I understand the need for the residual for the survivability of the subject at their heightened metabolic levels, but could this mean the REVs, as they’re calling themselves, can remain in control and with added abilities? That was the original goal of the NT program. My fingers are crossed.
Journal Entry, June 6, 2073, Dr. Clifford Slater
18
At oh-six-thirty the next morning, Zac and his men were dressed in sweats and tennis shoes, ready to begin the first day of becoming real Marines, according to Bull Bullock.
They went to the hospital before eating and had monitors hooked up to them and blood drawn. This was how every day was to begin. Zac caught up briefly with Arnie Patel. Neither spoke about the incident back on the Olympus. Zac was ready to put it behind him. He was beginning a new chapter in his life. It was better to move on…if people would let him. Patel was more than willing.
After breakfast, the team met in the farthest hut along the line, number eight. It was a small gym, with weight equipment, ropes dangling from the ceiling and thick mats on the floor. Bullock was there, along with a fit-looking man in bare feet, stretching and practicing spin kicks.
“Welcome to the first day of the rest of your miserable lives,” said Bull. He already had a thin sheen of sweat on his skin from an early-morning workout. “Here’s where we begin to teach you how to defend yourself. I don’t know your individual level of physical conditioning, but I’m going to find out. Any slackers are going to get extra duty until you can stand with the rest of your team. Now let’s get started. Mister Murphy, front and center.”
Zac stepped onto the mat.
“This is Sergeant Andy Copeland, two-time All-Marine Martial Arts Champion. He will be your combat instructor. Pay attention. If you don’t, you’ll get a cracked skull or broken ribs. Command will be pissed if that happens and I’ll get my ass chewed out. You don’t want command to chew my ass. Sergeant….”
“Mister Murphy,” Copeland began. “I want to start slow, and with just enough to prove my credentials. In any form of training, respect for your instructor is important. Now, I’m going to slip around you, using some basic foot movements designed to evade an attacker’s blows. See if you can hit me.”
“You want me to hit you?”
Copeland smiled. “I want you to try to hit me.”
Zac looked at his fellow REVs. They didn’t look amused. They knew what was coming.
The martial arts expert began bobbing and weaving, while tracing a circle around Zac with balanced and practiced steps. Zac watched the man, turning slowly with the movements. REVs brains operated on a different level than other people. The drug of their namesake also gave them the instincts of a chase animal, complete with intense concentration and an ability to follow movements with unnatural focus. It wasn’t that they saw the enemy movements in slow motion, it was that their brains were working at a faster pace. They reacted quicker, which also translated into faster response times for their own movements.
In a flash, Zac lashed out with a left fist, striking Copeland square on the nose. From Zac’s superior strength, the man fell flat on his back unconscious, his nose broken and bleeding.
Bull dropped down to him, cradling his head, checking his pulse. There were two other assistants standing nearby. The master sergeant told them to get a medic.
“What the fuck was that?” he yelled up at Zac.
“He told me to hit him.”
“Not to nearly kill him!”
“Sorry. I didn’t know how hard it would be. I’ve never hit an
yone other than a Qwin before, and that was always to kill.” Zac didn’t tell the instructor that he also didn’t know how it felt to hit a Qwin. He had no recollection, just the photographic memory of it happening.
Copeland was coming to, struggling to sit up as one of the assistants placed a rag over his bleeding nose and mouth. He was too dazed to hold the rag himself.
“What…what happened?” he asked.
“A REV happened,” Mike Brickey said. “That’s what.”
After the self-defense fiasco, Bull set the REVs to a weightlifting exhibition, not so much for conditioning but to get some idea just how strong the REVs were. He began with himself, pressing two-hundred eight-five pounds with relative ease.
Zac told him his men didn’t need weight training, but Bull insisted. Angus was the first up. He lifted the two-eighty-five without even a groan. The sergeant moved it up to three-twenty-five. Again, not even a grunt.
“Here, let’s get this over with,” said Donovan. He set the weight at six hundred pounds. These weren’t free weights, but set on a machine, so Bull didn’t protest the impossible lift.
Angus struggled but lifted the weight. Bull stood with his mouth open, stunned into silence. Angus sat up for a moment, a look of shock on his face, as well. But his was different. It was a look of revelation. He lay back down and pushed on the bar again. It rose up, taking the impossible load with it. Then he lifted again…and again. After a five lift set, he sat up on the bench.
“I felt it!”
Zac frowned.
“Felt what?” Bull asked, recovering from his stupor.
Angus had caught Zac warning. “You know…the rush. This is fun. Let’s do some more.”
Bull looked at the rest of the team. “Can all of you do that?”
Shy grins and nods answered him.
The sergeant major shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Let’s do something that requires skill and not just brute force. I guess what they say about you guys is right; brawn and no brains.”