Feral Recruit (Calm Act Book 5)

by Ginger Booth

  Cam laughed. “So they chose a hunger strike. Perfect. God, to have teenage hormones again, and no brain. The whole camp, huh? Impressive esprit de corps. I wonder how the non-apple recruits feel. Probably delighted. Got in on the ground floor of the revolution.”

  Thurston chuckled along. “Looks that way so far.”

  “You want commandant, Thirsty?”

  “I’m not trying to play politics, Cam. You know I’m not as gung-ho about this scheme as you are. But I want it to succeed.”

  “Wasn’t accusing you, Thirsty. It’s an honest question. You’ve got three battalion commanders. If I figure out a way to topple Newsome, one of you needs to step up to brigade. At least as acting commandant. Are you the best of those three? The other two deferred to you, while I was there. But we’re old friends.”

  “I’m the best choice. Of the three.”

  “OK. Is that the best solution?”

  “Seems extreme.”

  Cam waited him out. Thurston never did like to go out on a limb. But if Cam had to push him out there, Thurston wasn’t the right man to lead the Army training program. He wasn’t even fit for promotion to light colonel in that case, in Cam’s not-so-humble opinion. He’d retire as a major.

  Thurston decided. “You’re right, Cam. These kids are the future of Hudson. I believe in the mission. Newsome doesn’t. Yeah. I want it.”

  That sounded a bit limp to Cameron. “It’ll be a mess, stepping up in the midst of a mutiny.”

  “Trivial to put down the mutiny,” Thurston assured him. “Goes against the grain, but I’ll make some concessions. Free the girl, sack the sergeant, is all they’re asking. So far. Morale was sky-high Saturday.”

  Cam sifted through his email to kill time.

  “Dammit, this camp needs to work, for the future of the nation,” Thurston declared. “I’m willing and able. I’m a good administrator, Cam. I can inspire the troops.”

  “You’re not inspiring me, buddy. You’re the commander on the ground. Why are you asking me?”

  “You’re more devious than I am.”

  “True enough.” Cam preferred the term ‘resourceful.’

  “What I want you to do is help me remove Colonel Newsome, if necessary, to end a state of mutiny at the Hudson training camp.”

  Cam wobbled his head so-so. “Your next move is to call the Lieutenant Governor. Good luck, Thirsty.”

  “Wait – the Lieutenant Governor?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel Ash Margolis is first in line of succession, after Governor-General Cullen. He also happens to be lead Resco over this recruit. He just won a lawsuit to say he has authority over his citizens in fitness camp. You feel he would want be informed.”

  “Would he?”

  “Grow a pair, Thirsty,” Cam growled, and hung up. He jotted a reminder onto his calendar, attention his fellow lead Rescos Emmett MacLaren and Ash Margolis, to check back on the status of the mutiny, noting ‘Major Thurston has the ball.’

  His peers were amused, and accepted Cam’s prescription.

  When Thurston called the martial ruler of the Apple Core, Ash Margolis listened in disbelief to this foolish tale of woe. “Thank you for keeping me in the loop, major. The Apple Rescos look forward to your resolution. No later than Tuesday, eleven hundred hours.”

  29

  Interesting fact: The U.S. Department of Defense was the single largest fossil fuel consumer in the world. Though they understood the risks of climate change and wanted to cut their carbon footprint, Congress specifically forbade it.

  With Corporal Icenogle dragged off to Captain Deluca, Marquis and Puño naturally took command of the squad. Sergeant yet-another-Washington, called Gonzo, led the platoon’s other squad. He was willing to mesh text them the morning’s schedule, and suggested they follow it near him.

  Puño collected up their squad by home table.

  “Listen up! Puño and I are leading the squad this morning,” Marquis announced. “There’s an unused dining hall wing, over there.” He pointed. “Go there now.”

  “Point to Stupid Statue along the way,” Puño added, striking the wind vane pose. “Always know where you are, relative to Stupid Statue.”

  Sergeant Gonzo watched them go, shaking his head. He led his own squad out into the sub-zero weather of the paved Central Area between the barracks buildings, with all the other squads. There the recruits stood still, hugging themselves in the bitter cold, while a sergeant explained the art of marching from the podium. Gonzo belatedly noticed that some of his recruits were not wearing coats or gloves. He ran the squad up the stairs. Where he found that they weren’t wearing these things because they didn’t have them. Turning the barracks upside-down, with liberal loans of gloves and sweaters, they still weren’t really dressed warmly enough for the weather.

  “Point to our barracks,” Puño demanded in the empty wing. “Stupid Statue. Our dining table. Well done.”

  It became clear Puño was better at choreography than Marquis. He was inspired by Resco Dwayne Perard’s dance leadership before the big sex talk. Puño taught physical moves by first exaggerating them to the absurd.

  “Lift your right leg, by an invisible string from your right arm. Yeah! Higher. Now lunge forward onto that right leg. Yeah! Left!” Within ten minutes everyone had the knack of walking with arms synchronized to legs, instead of anti-synchronized.

  “Now we master the salute! Hold your hands out! Yeah! Look at all those thumbs! Bring your hand to your face that way. Notice you stick your thumb in your eye! Better! Now crank that elbow up to shoulder height, with sound effects. Eh, eh, eh. Rotate the forearm up from the elbow, er, er, er. Aim for your nose. Swipe over your head. Eyebrows! Chin! Mid-forehead!”

  “Mid-forehead is the right one,” Marquis advised.

  “Now you don’t want to just slump your arm down,” Puño continued. “That lacks self-respect. I want you to swoop those arms down. Swing your hips. I’m hot. I’m gorgeous. Yeah!”

  By the time Gonzo’s squad escaped the icy Central Area to check up on them in the warm dining hall wing, Puño and Marquis had the squad marching perfectly, stopping on a dime, turning in unison, saluting perfectly, and doing can-can kicks, at whatever pace Puño called out.

  Gonzo took Marquis aside and warned him that they’d have to march in review in Central Area. Marquis assured him that their squad was dressed warmly before they left barracks. Nobody was climbing stairs on his watch. “Want us to teach your squad to march? The buddy system reinforces the lesson.”

  “Be my guest,” Gonzo invited.

  Puño shuffled the two squads together by height, to look pretty, and led them through the moves from the top. Once Gonzo’s squad caught up to Puño’s in dexterity, the sergeant supplied marching music at several different paces, played from his phone.

  “Cut the music!” Puño called out. “Take a knee! Not like that. Let’s learn to take a knee! Notice how I do this with machismo! All moves, done with sex appeal, and dignity! Toppling over like that is ghetto. Try it again! Remember, you are hot stuff! You are Hudson Army! You cool, you rule!”

  Next item on the syllabus was Army ranks. They let Gonzo explain it the first time, but he was dull as dishwater. So Marquis and Puño argued with him about it, especially the mystifying list of ranks that all included the word ‘sergeant,’ until everyone was laughing.

  “Quiz time!” Puño called out. “Who’s bigger, a sergeant first class? Or a first sergeant?” FIRST SERGEANT! “Right! Who’s bigger, a sergeant, or a staff sergeant?” STAFF SERGEANT! “Who’s bigger, a lieutenant, or a corporal?” LIEUTENANT!

  “What’s Gonzo?” SERGEANT! “What’s Lupescu?” STAFF SERGEANT! “What’s Sergeant Walker?”

  “Who’s Sergeant Walker?”

  Puño pointed at the recruit in triumph. “Great question! Sergeant Walker is Captain Deluca’s sergeant. So he’d be Sergeant Lupescu’s boss. That makes him a?” SERGEANT FIRST CLASS!

  “Actually, Walker’s a first sergeant,” Gon
zo corrected. “But you’re right, the next rank above staff sergeant is a sergeant first class. You see, training camp isn’t like a real unit –”

  “They make this crap up,” Puño interrupted him, addressing the recruits. “There is no such thing as an ideal unit. Every unit will have some different chain of command. What rank is higher than another rank is always true. But what you’ve got, is what you’ve got.”

  “Well, yeah,” Gonzo conceded.

  “Now repeat after me, our chain of command!” Puño called. “Nanny Corporal Icenogle, or whoever the other squad has!” ICENOGLE! “Lard-Belly Burton, or Cool Sergeant Gonzo!” LARD-BELLY BURTON! “Cold fish Platoon Staff Sergeant Lupescu! Smooth Company Captain Deluca! Boss battalion Major Thurston! Brigade Lieutenant Colonel Newsome, Dumbledore of Camp Hogwarts!” DUMBLEDORE!

  Puño grinned. “I was looking for Colonel Newsome there.” COLONEL NEWSOME!

  Marquis and Gonzo stepped in with a lengthy digression about colonels and lieutenant colonels, generals and lieutenant generals, and that mess about captains being a full three ranks higher if water was involved, and how land captains got a social promotion to major at sea, because the Navy only allowed the boss of the boat to be called a captain. Worse, the Navy called people captains, even if they were only lieutenant commanders, if they commanded the boat.

  “We’re supposed to keep all this straight?” Cookie asked.

  “Not really,” Gonzo admitted. “You have to pass a quiz, but then you’ll forget. Eventually you just get used to it.”

  Puño dismissed that with a shrug. “To review! What do you say to a sergeant?”

  YES, SERGEANT, NO, SERGEANT, I DON’T UNDERSTAND, SERGEANT!

  “Very good. And to an officer?”

  YES, SIR, NO, SIR, I DON’T UNDERSTAND, SIR!

  “Perfect! In practice, that’s all that matters. Next on the syllabus. Oath.” Puño read it aloud, slowly and dubiously. “Well, I guess we just repeat after them. We don’t have to memorize it.”

  “We talk about what it means now,” Gonzo said.

  “Doesn’t mean squat to me,” Marquis said. “Platoon! Contemplate what that oath means to you! Personally! Deep in your hearts! Meanwhile! Let’s review marching again! From the top, maestro!”

  Fresh and polished and warm, with terrific esprit de corps, their platoon gave the best performance of the whole camp out on Central Area, when the time came to brave the cold. Sergeant Lupescu expected to be congratulated on a job well done. Captain Deluca and Sergeant Walker snubbed him. They congratulated Gonzo, Puño, and Marquis later.

  Properly primed, the platoon took Colonel Newsome’s speech with several grams of salt. (Puño helpfully reminded them that Newsome was their Dumbledore, in rank if not any cool fashion.) Newsome noticed it was cold out, and kept his remarks brief so he could go back indoors.

  Newsome mentioned nothing about the students’ hunger strike. He said nothing about Lard-Belly Burton, though the sergeant was already packing to leave, having failed the physical standards on all counts – weight, push-ups, sit-ups, and running time. Newsome said nothing about recruit Panic, still in the brig on false charges.

  Then Newsome tried to administer the oath.

  Having enjoyably clowned the morning away in the dining hall, Puño and Marquis weren’t plugged into the grapevine for what happened at this juncture. Their happy platoon would have recited the oath meaninglessly, with good enough will.

  The recruits risking frostbite on Central Area came to a different conclusion.

  YES SIR, NO SIR, I DON’T UNDERSTAND, SIR!

  Whatever Newsome said in response was drowned out. The recruits kept up the chant until he fled the stage. Major Thurston stepped up and attempted to address them, but they kept chanting. He gave up and pointed to the dining hall. The frozen drill sergeants on the quadrangle snapped to execute that order. They added only enough direction to ensure one column at a time filed through the doors. The wing at hand belonged to Thurston’s battalion. Troops of the other two majors flowed around to the main entrance by Washington Statue.

  Once inside, the recruits dropped the chant. They collapsed into their assigned seats to defrost their fingers.

  At first, Major Thurston bounced on the balls of his feet, impatient to take the stage in the rotunda between the dining hall’s six wings. He was on a time limit here. At any moment, Lt. Colonel Newsome might issue an order they’d all regret. For the moment, the commandant was probably on the phone and consulting with his staff. If Thurston waited too long, he might have to disobey a direct order, which he’d prefer to avoid adding to this mess.

  Then Thurston remembered his own preparation was at least as important as the chores he’d dispatched others to accomplish. He got busy planning his speech.

  Gever fetched Ava from the brig. Gever thoughtfully brought along the girl’s winter outerwear from the dining hall the night before, and left it with the MP. Arriving at the dining hall, they stopped by home table to say hi.

  The cheering preceded Ava through Major Thurston’s wing. Ava laughingly climbed onto Cookie’s shoulders to wave at everyone. Cookie took a victory lap through the tables. Recruits ducked in to investigate the ruckus, and brought word back to Major Carella and Major Smith’s wings. Ava could hear their cheers when word hit.

  “This is over the top!” Ava complained laughingly, after she slid off her Cookie mount back at home table. “Sorry I missed first morning, guys.”

  “Panic’s really restored?” Marquis demanded of Gever. “No further punishment?”

  Gever shrugged. “They probably haven’t worked out the details yet. Panic, I’m supposed to bring you to Major Thurston. He’s setting up for a speech.”

  “OK. Thank you, guys!” Ava said in farewell. “I can’t believe you did all this!”

  Ava set off with Gever, her heart full. Puño and Marquis, still without effective supervision, tagged along. Cookie decided he had as much right as they did. And the entire platoon trooped along behind them, minus Sergeant Lupescu, who was unhappily occupied in private discussion with Captain Deluca and Sergeant Walker.

  Major Thurston was still focused on jotting notes for his speech, using the stage as a standing desk. After a minute or two, Gever cleared her throat. Thurston held up a hand, jotted down one last idea, and turned.

  Ava hurriedly stood at attention and saluted. Having missed the mutiny in the brig, she was out of step with this morning’s recruit manners, or lack thereof. The rest of her platoon simply stood around and watched, Puño with arms crossed, Marquis slouched with hands thrust into his pants pockets.

  “Recruit Panic,” Thurston acknowledged, returning the salute. “At ease.” He took in her companions with a brief glance and no expression. “I’d like you to join me on the stage, to facilitate my remarks this morning. To be clear, there are no charges against you. It’s my understanding that Sergeant Burton invited you to hit him, and you did. Got him good, in fact.” He let a smile escape.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Ava said.

  Thurston nodded. “Sometimes the Army is slow, Panic. But as they say, if you’re guilty, you’re better off in civilian court. If you’re innocent, you’re safer in a court martial. The Army is strict, but fair.”

  Ava’s eyes glanced away, and back to meet Thurston’s squarely. On balance, she decided to let his statement pass without comment. Thurston’s eyes narrowed slightly. It was a small thing, but Thurston recognized that he faced a woman and fellow voter, not a ‘kid.’ He glanced around her platoon, and really saw them that way. All of them were men and women ready and able to fight for their country, in all the different ways that might require. Not kids.

  “Captain Deluca,” Major Thurston greeted the latecomer. “If you’re all squared away?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thurston nodded, and led captain and recruit onto the stage. Puño and Marquis stuck with Ava, and climbed up uninvited. Cookie didn’t dare go that far. But the Lower Manhattan gang leaders
knew that Thurston couldn’t start his address looking like an idiot, by trying to shoo them off the stage. The major shot them a neutral glance, Captain Deluca an aggrieved one. But they didn’t argue.

  “Attention!” Major Thurston boomed out over the loudspeaker.

  YES SIR, NO SIR, I DON’T UNDERSTAND, SIR! boomed the response.

  He waited. The recruits didn’t repeat the chant. They were simply declaring their opening position. When that was clear, Thurston resumed. “My name is Major Thurston, commanding first battalion.” Rather than give any further meaningless army unit coordinates, proper brigade and regiment identifiers that the green recruits wouldn’t understand, Thurston simply pointed down his wing of the dining hall.

  “It is my understanding there are two conditions on your hunger strike. As it happens, we agree, on both counts.” Thurston chose not to clarify which ‘we’ he meant. Major Carella consented, anyway. Maybe not Major Smith. Definitely not Colonel Newsome. “Recruit Panic is restored –”

  PANIC! PANIC! PANIC! PANIC!

  Ava let them chant a bit, grinning, then raised her arms hands out, asking them to stop. The recruits raised hands to match and chanted more. Ava laughed, and drifted her arms down. She stepped in to speak to Thurston’s mike.“Thank you!” The chanting fell off.

  “Thank you, recruit Panic,” Thurston acknowledged. “Secondly, Sergeant Burton, Panic’s squad leader, was weighed, and given a fitness test. You were correct. He did not meet the fitness standards required of you. He has been remanded to physical training. We agree. He was not fit to command you. Captain Deluca?”

  Deluca replaced Thurston at the standing microphone. Unlike Thurston, he actually had authority for the next bit. “In addition, I am not satisfied with Sergeant Lupescu’s handling of this matter. Panic was not guilty of anything. She should not have been in the brig. Lupescu should have freed her. He insisted it was him, or her. I choose Panic. Lupescu is relieved. Sergeant Clarke?”