Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1)

by Bruno Goncalves

  An outburst of coughing among the cadets brought him back to the present. The sergeant frowned at the noise. Lieutenant Templeton liked to exercise his personnel vigorously, but Abner was going to need the cadets´ full attention. He made a mental note to have a conversation with the lieutenant about that.

  “So, what did we do for exercise this morning?” He asked.

  There were a few smiles, some of them more akin to grimaces, but only one cadet chose to answer the question. He was a big lad whose elbows angled out from his torso by virtue of his overdeveloped muscles. He even seemed to sit a little taller than all he others.

  “It was only a run, sir,” he replied simply.

  “It´s never just a run with Lieutenant Templeton, is it, Cadet, uh, Winters? Must be tricky to take a jog in the midst of the Winds, eh?” The sergeant retorted.

  The group rewarded his attempt at humor with wan smiles, but quickly returned to their neutral expressions. There didn´t seem to be any clown in the group to complicate future lessons. He looked at the two empty seats in his classroom and wondered if maybe that was the reason why.

  “Very well, then,” he said, returning to his introduction. “I am First-sergeant Tolerance Abner and I work in the Armored Suit Company’s Repair and Maintenance Section. I have held the position of assistant-chief there for the last eight years, although I´ve since been temporarily transferred to the SIC for the duration of your training. I trust you all know why?”

  There were a lot of nods across the room.

  Of course they know, he thought in amusement. It was certainly in their best interests to know.

  Aside from a two week interruption for rest and recuperation, the rest of their time would be spent learning to drive armored Suits proficiently as well as fight in them. In late November the platoon would be subjected to a very rigorous evaluation, and only its most able members would be selected to carry on with training over the following year, bearing from that moment onwards the rank of officer-cadet. The rest would be enrolled into the ASC as sergeants-at-arms.

  The youngsters before him were thus competing for the privilege of officer status, as all were by now fully aware. In fact, if the cadets were unable to achieve minimum proficiency requirements by the end of their training, they would not be enrolled in the ASC at all.

  “In your desk compartments you’ll find two items we’ve seen fit to assign to you,” he continued. “The first is a paper-support Instruction Manual for the MoCa-TRI Training Suit. The second is a pen-key specifically coded for each cadet. However, before you remove them you are first required to access your military accounts, where you’ve already received a message containing your pass-code. Do so now.”

  As the cadets raised their display screens and began to tap at the options present there, Abner paced along the aisles, looking about to ensure they were not having trouble with the system. Before long, however, a beefy hand shot into the air.

  “Yes, Cadet Winters. What is the problem?”

  “Sir, my code isn’t here, sir,” the cadet replied.

  Speaking loudly so the entire class could hear, Abner pressed him. “Cadet Winters, can you read what is written at the top of the message?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Could you please read it aloud?”

  The cadet hesitated for a moment before reciting the message.

  “Sir, it says ‘Place eyes directly before screen and approximate’.”

  “Yes, Cadet Winters, that sounds about right. And why didn’t you do that?”

  “Uh, sir, there’s nothing below the message’s heading. It’s blank, sir,” he added, checking again to make sure that it hadn’t popped up while he was speaking.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Abner began, speaking to the ceiling as he paced steadily among them, “for security reasons, only a reader facing this particular monitor directly and at a distance of fifteen centimeters or less will be able to observe the pass-code. This is so the person sitting next to him won’t be able to access his user profile. Had you accessed the message on any other type of monitor, you would not have been able to do this. Please do as the message says.”

  Fourteen cadets craned their necks forwards at the same time, trying to memorize the eight digit pass-code that had magically appeared before their eyes. Abner didn’t care to smile; the scene had long ago ceased to have any entertainment value for him. Moments later all leaned back in their chairs with concentrating looks on their faces.

  “All memorized?” He asked. There was a general yessir in reply.

  “Good. Close the message and logout. Once you’ve done so, I want you to close your display screens and raise the top of your desks. Touch nothing in there until I say otherwise,” he added.

  Before long the cadets were awaiting further instructions, the desks’ interiors exposed before them. Not saying a word, Abner began to pace along the aisles again. To the upper left side of their interiors, each desk contained a detachable turnkey jacked into its keyway. Twisting each to the side and pulling upwards, he removed them one-by-one and stashed the lot inside a pouch. Just to be certain, he removed the turnkeys from the vacant desks as well.

  Anything worth doing is worth doing right, he thought. Depositing the pouch inside a small built-in safe behind his desk, he turned to his class once more. To his dismay, the silence was no longer complete. A lanky youth with an irreverent air and hair a little too long and wild to be allowed was whispering to the cadet seated beside him. Abner glowered at the pair, earning only a cheeky look from the youth in return. His partner looked far too tired to care about the consequences. He decided to ignore them and addressed the class instead.

  “What I just did was physically cut each work-station off from the General Military Network. As it happens, this room is the only location outside MEWAC’s Suit installations where one is permitted to handle the information contained in your pen-keys. These terminals are also used for other purposes, however, and so they possess a physical cutoff option. If any of you are wondering what would happen if you accidentally leaked information about the Suits to the civil web, it’s my pleasure to fill you in. At best, you’d be subjected to basic disciplinary action, and at worst, you’d be court-martialed. And, as you know, in a state of war, a deliberate leak carries the possibility of the death-penalty with it.

  “You may now remove your manual and pen-key,” Abner instructed with a grim smile. He then fell into a brief explanation of how the pen-key worked and how it connected to their work-stations.

  “He does, doesn’t he?” Ray insisted, sparing a spiteful look for the instructor as he carried on obliviously with his explanation. “Sounds like a real pussy, doesn’t he? Preachy pedantic prick, isn’t –”

  “Keep talking and you’re gonna get us both in trouble. I’ve had enough of that lately, don’t you think?”

  Ray’s eyebrows twitched at the rebuke but his recovery was lightning quick. He was soon scrawling a message on a piece of paper no doubt addressed to the back of Gordie’s head.

  Toni returned to his manual and flipped through its first few pages, taking the moment in which Sergeant Abner was explaining something to Sueli to satisfy his curiosity. He felt a bump on his shoulder and turned to find Ray mouthing Porker repeatedly while gesticulating at the instructor. The look on his face was equal parts maliciousness and delight and his gesticulations were as descriptive as they were crude. Toni peered at the source of Ray’s excitement and was forced to cover his mouth. The sergeant did seem to be a little too interested in Sueli’s neck and cleavage; the crotch of his pants had begun to bulge noticeably just below his paunch. Toni recovered quickly from his moment of mirth and returned his attention to the manual before him.

  It was a thick book, despite the very thin pages, and he found it strange that the sergeant had called it a paper-support; its pages were tear-resistant plastic. The manual’s hard-cover had MOCA-TRI TRAINING SUIT INSTRUCTION MANUAL, EXTEC written over its front. The only thing Toni discovered b
efore having to return his attention to Sergeant Abner was the meaning of the abbreviations, printed on the inside page: MOtion CApture – Transmission/Reception Interface.

  “The Moca Training Suit was the final product of the now defunct Experimental Technologies Bureau, before its privatization fifteen years ago,” the sergeant continued. “This weapons platform applied tried-and-tested physical-motion capture and ocular-motion capture technologies, and came with a state-of-the-art software program we will be calling the OS, aka Operating System. With the development of the superior Hammerhead design, the Moca was relegated to trainer status six years ago. The Suit possesses many important systems, most of which will be studied in depth over the next fifty two days, particularly the Power Distribution Pyramid and its associated pneumatic, hydraulic and electrical systems.

  “This theory will be complemented by practical lessons at the MEWAC’s Suit Installations, we call them the Stables around here. If you manage passing grades in both theoretical and practical studies, after a mid-course interruption you will be qualified to drive the Moca in tactical exercises, and you will also commence training for the Hammerhead. Your first excursion to the stables begins today at fourteen hundred hours, so let us waste no more time and get into the material. Ah, excuse me, but your paper-support manual is to be used for after-hours study only, Cadet Templeton. Set it aside.”

  As the sergeant began to instruct them on how to access the data stored in their pen-keys, Toni turned his attention to the Special One. The cadet’s injuries had healed well, he saw, just as his own had. The more recent lashes that crisscrossed their backs, however, gave both cadets no option except to sit up straight. The wounds stung mercilessly from even indirect contact with the backs of their chairs.

  Ian had been unable to discourage Lieutenant Rose from filing disciplinary charges against him. His claim of having been assaulted by Toni first had only served to outrage the officer even further, and soon afterwards the SIT’s most senior recruit was being led away to MEWAC’s detention block.

  Toni’s injuries had been serious enough to warrant a ride to Medical, where the orderlies spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting and treating his lacerations. After six o’clock a stiff-faced Baylen had shown up to interrogate him in the company of a corporal Toni had occasionally seen alongside the base’s Justice and Discipline Officer. Baylen had read out several questions from a notepad and jotted down summaries of the recruit’s answers, only to leave shortly afterwards with his silent sidekick in tow.

  Toni had replied honestly, mostly because he respected Baylen too much to lie to his face, but also because he wasn’t altogether sure that embellishing his story would have benefitted him in any way.

  Baylen eventually told him that Ian was claiming the apprehended marker had been assigned to him, and that he had been forcefully retrieving the device after Toni had stolen it.

  Toni had objected fiercely, convinced that analysis of the marker’s data would prove that its owner had initiated the course in sixth place, not only due to the beginning time but also because the first three objectives had been reserved solely for him. Two days after that conversation, however, a sullen Baylen had informed him that the apprehended GPS marker was void of data. It had apparently been out of battery before the course had even begun.

  “And you’re actually telling me they weren’t checked first? You think I’m going to believe that?!”

  “I’m not an idiot,” Baylen had coldly replied. “I’m not telling you to believe it, I’m telling you there’s no evidence to support your claim or his. Which means from now on it’ll be up to testimony, which means it’ll be up to who you know, your family name, blind luck or all of the above. Mason lifted the markers from depot without checking them first, that’s his story. It might even be true, for all we know ...”

  “What about the other markers?”

  Baylen had closed his eyes as if in pain.

  “Every one of them worked fine. Except for the missing one, of course. That one hasn’t been located yet ...”

  At the disciplinary proceedings’ conclusion, Captain Damien had glowered at the recruits for a long while before convicting them of conduct unbecoming and sentencing both to be lashed the following day. What all had hoped to see quickly resolved ended up being delayed for the better part of a week, until MEWAC Command finally confirmed the sentence and set the date of punishment for the 18th of April.

  At noon on that day Ian had withered under the maximum sentence of twenty lashes by the rod to his upper buttocks and lower back. Toni had received a more lenient ten.

  The weals were still fresh and tender, and Toni had since been having difficulty focusing on even the simplest of tasks; the pharmacopeia of nootropics no longer seemed able to exert the same effect on him as it had before Friday.

  He shook the thought out of his mind and tried to focus.

  Sergeant Abner was already deep into his lesson and wading in deeper, and he kept pointing at a large inscribed triangle on the display-screen that dominated the wall. At the triangle’s pinnacle he could read PRINCIPAL POWER UNIT (GAS TURBINE), and it was at that inscription that the sergeant pointed next.

  “We’ll begin with the PPU which, aside from the fuel supply itself, is the greatest single contribution to the Suit’s chassis. The power unit is the beating heart of our Suits, and most operational parameters stem from its capabilities. There were several initial power plant proposals, but a gas turbine was ultimately chosen for having the most favorable power-to-weight ratio of any hydrocarbon fuel-fed engine, as well as the lowest vibration, fewest moving parts and lowest lubricating-oil consumption. The Moca’s PPU burns almost any kerosene-type or naphtha-type gasoline, but diesel-oil and biofuels can be used in a pinch.

  “The power unit’s main function as a compressor is to supply the adiabatic compressed air tank, aka ACAT, with highly compressed and dehumidified air. This air will then be used to engage the braided pneumatic artificial muscles, aka air muscles or PAMs, which will in turn move the Suit itself.

  “The power unit also produces electricity to charge a lithium iron phosphate battery, aka LIP battery, which will power the OS, life-support systems, instrumentation and hydraulic interface, as well as control actuation of the air muscles themselves. And so we get to the bottom of the power distribution pyramid where, as you can see on the bottom-left corner, the PAMs will be consuming significant amounts of compressed air and electricity.

  “This is necessary, of course. The air muscles require low compliancy to be able to carry heavy loads, and this implies moderately high pressure within the PAM sleeves. For that effect air is decompressed from a maximum of five hundred Atmospheres down to ten or so, or about three times higher than ambient pressure at sea-level. This gives us the 6.8 bar of overpressure which will provide lifting and moving power for a chassis with a loaded weight of over three tons. Do you have a question, Mr. Miura?” The old sergeant asked in irritation.

  “Well, sir, on my father’s farm we have an air compressor. Every time he got it working, the engine made so much noise we’d have to keep clear of the shed. I was wondering, sir, just how noisy is the Suit?”

  The sergeant clapped his hands together with glee and Toni realized that he was about to be stepped on.

  “Well, as our friendly farmhand here tells us, compressors sure make a helluva lot of noise, don’t they?” He drawled, deliberately exaggerating Toni’s rural accent to the amusement of his classmates.

  “Sir, sir, I think Cassel has a question too!” Ray suddenly said.

  The statement caught Toni by surprise; he hadn’t noticed any raised hands from her side of the room. If anything, Sueli seemed even more surprised than he was. Abner, on the other hand, appeared quite delighted by the news.

  She gave Ray an ugly look; the Leibenese grinned widely back as the sergeant marched purposefully towards her. The noise level in the classroom soon began to climb. Gordie made it clear to his groaning neighbors that, besides bein
g hungry, he was in the imminence of passing some gas. Grimm and Yamato pored over the manual, trading technical observations without concern as Hannah traded observations of a very different sort with Rakaia. Ian consulted the manual in absolute silence, making occasional notes as he leafed through the pages. By the time the sergeant had thoroughly answered Sueli’s improvised questions and returned to Toni, he no longer had that malicious expression on his face. Ray grinned at Toni and gave him a confident thumbs-up.

  “All right, Mr. Miura, I’ll answer your question now. The Moca’s PPU is quite noisy when it’s working; noisy enough, in fact, to compromise some tactical actions. As a result, the designer was forced to find a solution. The Suit’s ACAT can store four cubic meters of highly compressed air. That is enough to provide near-silent locomotion for over 10 minutes before the PPU needs to be reactivated. The ACAT is part of a closed system, meaning the high-pressure tank is fitted within a low-pressure tank that receives spent air from the PAMs for recycling. The ACAT then taps air directly from the low pressure tank, you see? This does away with the tell-tale hissing sound inherent to pneumatic systems, not to mention that there’s no need for the compressor to dehumidify the air since it’s already devoid of moisture. There is one last advantage to this layout: for a direct hit on the ACAT to succeed, the projectile would need to penetrate not only the exterior armor, but also the low-pressure tank before confronting the HP tank within.”

  “But won’t damaging the outer tank just leave the Suit inoperable anyway, sir?”

  “No, son, it won’t. What it means is that spent air will then bleed out noisily from the system, not to mention that the PPU will take nearly twice as long to charge the ACAT due to the added need to dehumidify air. So your Suit’s combat radius is effectively halved after such a hit. Understood?”

  There was a general affirmative. Sergeant Abner then promptly returned to his lesson and the morning began to drag along at an alarmingly slow rate.