by Black, Alan
In a calmer voice he said, "Everybody got that? Everybody fights. Ramirez, you are a med tech second and an APE first. Everyone in this bunch is a rookie, a newbie. And you will be a rookie until and if you survive your first combat dirt drop. We will seal you into your armor, strap you to your skid plate and drop you out the ass end of a cargo pod into the atmosphere of a hostile planet. Upon hitting the surface you will engage the enemy and you will kill it. That is what we do. Are there any questions?"
Without waiting for a response he continued. "Deuce Portland has taken all the veterans from Easy and Foxtrot. I got the rare privilege of showing you the ins and outs of the skid plate. Pay attention to what is going on around you. You are not mindless robots. If the government wanted robots, they would have built robots. Instead, they wanted you. You're cheaper to build and replace, I guess."
Ramirez said, "Yeah, and easier to fix. I oughta know." A smattering of nervous laughter died quickly under Jackson's glare.
"True enough," Jackson said, "But our suits are designed to take damage our bodies can't. And what damage our bodies do sustain, Ramirez will fix. Ain't that right, trooper?"
"Right, Deuce. If you break it, I will fix it. I am good at it," she replied.
Jackson nodded. "That is fair enough. Look, people, Third McPherson took you rookies from your normal squad structure for one reason. That is training on your skid plates. We are a mobile force. Our bodies may be conditioned to run fifty kilometers in a day and fight at the end. Our suits let us run five hundred kilometers in a day and fight at the end. But, our skid plates let us ride five thousand kilometers in a day and fight at the end, plus they give us air superiority. They give us high ground. So, we gotta learn to use them and use them right. I know every one of you has had tri wave simulator direct feed education in the operation and handling of the skid plate, everyone except maybe Sergeant Forrester. You have the control operations embedded in your muscle memory. Plus, everyone in this group, including Sergeant Forrester has spent time in the sims practicing operation of the skid plates. You have all spent time in the saddle, as it were."
Jackson continued, "My job this afternoon is to show you some tricks. There isn't much we can do in this squad bay, due to space limitations. We are going climb aboard, so be careful. Pay attention to what is going on around you."
Jackson frowned at the group. "This is a serious exercise. It may seem like a kindergarten recess game, but in about a week or so we are going to follow Third McPherson onto some unprocessed mud ball. We are going to get our payback from those Binder bastards for what they did to our brothers on Guinjundst. If we aren't at our best, if we can't do our best, then the Third can't use us to kill those frakking weed eaters. Nothing and nobody is going to get in my way, understand? So, you will get good from the ground up. Are there any questions yet?"
There was a determined silence from the group.
Jackson nodded. "All right, APES. Your skid plates are grounded in place. Get on them."
Suddenly, he shouted, "Keep them grounded and powered off!" In a normal tone of voice he continued, "Good. We are going to play Simon Sez. Follow my movements and do exactly as I say when I say it. The key to skid plate operations is control."
For forty-eight minutes Jackson called out command after command. The group before him swayed and twisted with him, some catching on faster than others. With their skid plates off and grounded it looked like a modern jazz dance group practicing some weird aboriginal mating dance. Each movement they practiced could send a skid plate racing, dipping and swirling around the sky.
Much to Jackson's surprise, he was unable to shake Sergeant Forrester from the routine. The marshal met every one of Jackson's moves, even down to the irregular finger twitches. "Damn," Jackson thought. "Taks said he was good, but I didn't bite. He doesn't look like much, but he is a tougher nut to crack than I thought."
"Take five, APES," Jackson finally shouted. "Hydrate or die! Water up, APES."
Jackson turned to watch the activity around the squad bay. Second Portland was working the veterans of Easy and Foxtrot Squads though a series of vigorous exercises. He did a quick check on his veterans in the group. Trooper Four Dashell had a tendency to slack off if he wasn't being pushed, but Portland had his number and was riding him hard.
All around the training bay there were groups of veterans and groups of rookies. The seconds were pushing everyone hard. He spotted Third McPherson in a far corner with the veterans from Able Squad and Vark's Joker Squad. A small rush raced through his system when he saw McPherson. He was surprised to find he was getting sexually excited just watching her. Jackson shook his head to clear it. He knew she wasn't the prettiest thing around, far from it. Sexually, he knew he would rather be with Deuce Vark. He looked around until he spotted the tall blonde woman with a group of rookies. "That is one fine looking babe," he thought. He looked back at Third McPherson. "No comparison. And DeLaPax is with her. Man, I would kill for a piece of that action." He looked over his shoulder to check on his group of rookies. "Hellfire," he thought. "I think even Ramirez would be a better lay than the boss." He turned back to watch McPherson. He wondered if her being the boss must be what was yanking his crank. Other women might give him sexual pleasure, but Third McPherson was going to give him revenge on the Binders and the thought of that was what was giving him a woody.
He continued watching McPherson as she put her group of veterans into a circle. She put Trooper Beaudry from Joker Squad and Trooper Juarez from Able Squad in the middle. At some signal he couldn't see from his vantage point, the circled APES attacked the two troopers. Beaudry and Juarez were quickly overwhelmed and went down. He could see McPherson nodding and patting the two men on the back. Beaudry gestured wildly with his hands, obviously showing her what he had done wrong. McPherson grabbed Beaudry in a headlock. She laughed and rubbed his hair with her knuckles. She then spun him around and a well-placed boot pushed him back into the outer ring as the circle reformed.
Jackson said to himself, "Nuggies! I haven't seen someone getting nuggies since I was twelve."
"What was that, Deuce?" Jackson turned to see Forrester standing next to him.
"Nuggies, Sergeant Forrester.” He pointed into the direction of McPherson. "The boss just gave Beaudry a nuggie and then kicked him in the butt."
Forrester smiled, "I take it that is not usual conduct for APES?"
Jackson smiled back. "I should say not. I don't know how she knows, but the big sister act is the perfect approach for Beaudry. He is kind of the loner type, you know. Doesn't seem to fit in, even after, what, maybe forty years in the APES. He has got four times as much time in service as Vark. But, Vark got the promotion to Joker Squad second, not him. For that matter, Spakney's got a ton more time than Vark, but who the hell would want that piece of shit for a commander? Hell, I'd follow Vark into combat just to watch her ass swing and sway."
Jackson pointed. "Hey! Check this out, I think she is going to take her time in the barrel."
As the two men watched Misha and Trooper Putinova stood in the center of the circle. Putinova was a petite blonde woman from Joker Squad. At the signal, the circle appeared to collapse as the veteran troopers rushed the two. Misha grabbed Putinova around the chest and whirled about. Putinova kicked with her feet, flailing at any unprotected head, arm, or chest. Two troopers were knocked off their feet and rolled out of the melee. Misha spun Putinova around so the two stood back to back. Misha spun sideways, slamming into two troopers trying to force an opening on Putinova's flank. The force of her drive knocked both troopers to the ground and out of the exercise. Putinova quickly leaped onto Misha's back and vaulted upward, coming down into a group of troopers. None hit the ground, but their planned assault was broken before it began. Misha grabbed Putinova by the uniform collar and yanked her into place so they again stood back to back. The circle of troopers hesitated and watched for an opening. Misha stood on the balls of her feet, arms outstretched, like a wrestler while Putinova slid back an
d forth from one foot to the next in a rhythm that only she could hear.
Jackson said, "Teamwork Sergeant Forrester. She is teaching them teamwork. If she and Putinova work together the others will have a rough time taking them down. They will have to work as a team to do it."
The two men watched. The attackers feigned a rush from the flanks and then a group drove into Putinova, overcoming her and swarming over Misha. Bodies were tossed and thrown about. No one, no matter how well trained could stand up to the mass rush of half a dozen APES. Misha went down momentarily. She jumped up laughing and slapped the back of Trooper Park of Able Squad who had put her down. Park shrugged it off, but Jackson could see that it hadn't settled well with the little man that he hadn't been able to do it alone.
Jackson saw Misha turn away quickly. Even from this distance her face flushed red. Almost anyone else would have thought it was the rush of activity that pushed the blood to her face, but he had been watching far too closely for that. Initially, he thought it was Park's silent rebuke of her compliment that embarrassed her, but he saw her eyes glance up. He looked up at the observation gallery overlooking the training bay. He could see Colonel Britaine smiling down at her.
"Damn," he thought. "What is that martinet doing down here with us working stiffs? Aw hell, he wouldn’t tell anyone why he was watching us even if he had a good reason for being here. That man plays it closer to the chest than industrial-strength pasties on a double-d stripper. Shit, those rumors about him and McPherson must be true. Well, I don't give a rat's patootie. She can play with fancy boy all she wants to, but she is mine when it's time to go to the dance." Jackson turned back to his lounging rookies, "Okay you lazy APES. Back up on your skid plates. We got too much work to do without you lollygagging around all afternoon."
Chapter Nineteen
Gan Forrester stepped back onto the skid plate shaking his head quietly. He saw Misha's reaction to Britaine and Jackson's reaction to the whole thing. Plus, he had mixed reactions of his own. It was true Misha was a young woman with needs; it shouldn't be anyone's business where she found comfort. Plus, it was Britaine's command. He could go anywhere on the spacecraft he wanted. But, didn't the man have enough sense than to show up here? He suddenly realized it would be up to Britaine's usual standards to deliberately start rumors about McPherson. Then when she failed at her first command, he would be justified in his previously stated opinion that she wasn't up to command standards.
Second Jackson shouted, "Get your mind on your job, Forrester."
"Roger that, Mr. Jackson. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. Be right," Jackson bellowed. "The next exercise is a bitch. We power on our skid plates, lift off and hover, I repeat, we will hover. No one is to go above one inch over the deck; one inch, no more no less with no side-to-side movement. I have manual override logged in through my glass-pack on everyone's skid plates. Excess movement and you fail. I will ground you. This calls for serious muscle control on your part. Lift off now."
Forrester tapped the up switch and rocked back slightly on his heels. The feeling was much the same as he had experienced in the tri wave sim earlier this morning. It wasn't so much feeling that the skid plate was moving, but that the skid plate was standing still and everything else was moving. He couldn't tell how high he was hovering. One inch was not very elevated and there were no shadows to give him a clue. He ducked his head quickly to see if he could gauge the distance. The skid plate slipped sideways with the movement. He banged into another trooper.
"Sorry. Sorry," Forrester apologized. He steadied himself and tried to calm every muscle, demanding nothing move. He was out of position from where he started. Even so, as he eyed the rest of the rookies, he noticed a number of them were already grounded. The rest of his group was no longer in neat little rows. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Second Jackson gesturing wildly at a trooper whose skip plate was hovering about four feet up. He could barely hear Jackson as the second tapped his glass-pack, dropping the trooper to the deck with a crash.
Jackson shouted, "One inch. Get 'em down, you APES."
Forrester thought he had been low. "Okay," he said to himself. "Lower. Ease it down until we are almost touching. Lower…lower…lower…" He felt a thump. He immediately thought he had gotten too low and bumped the deck, but then he realized he was laying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Ground 'em, now," Jackson yelled. "Sergeant Forrester, what the hell are you doing?"
"You know, Mr. Jackson, I am not sure. It seemed like a good time to take a break."
Trooper Ramirez's face appeared over his own. "I am sorry, Sergeant."
"About what, young lady?"
Jackson guffawed, "'About what?' he asked. Ramirez knocked you off your skid plate and then ran you over with hers. Get it back up, man. You've got to set an example for the rest of the children."
Ramirez stuck out her arm, "Hand up?"
"Well, thank you Trooper Ramirez," Forrester said. "But it seems that my arm isn't quite working up to normal parameters."
Ramirez knelt down next to him and ran her fingers down his arm. When he winced with pain, she said. "Sorry, Sergeant Forrester. Damn, I’m a medic; I am supposed to fix people, not break them."
Second Jackson said, "Come on, you two. Play time later. Let's get to it."
"I broke his arm, Deuce," Ramirez said.
"Damn, Ramirez. Okay. Get him up and fix him up. You’re a med tech, right?"
Forrester looked up to see Misha approach. He smiled up at her.
Smiling back at Forrester she said, "I see that you have found a new way to mess up my training schedule."
"Yep," Forrester said. "I thought maybe Trooper Ramirez needed additional time to practice her medical training."
Misha nodded. "Maybe so, but it looks to me like she needs more practice on her skid plate. Don't you agree, Mr. Jackson?"
"I do indeed, sir," Jackson replied.
"Gan, do you think you can survive a walk over to the Kiirkegaard's sick bay? Yes? Good. I will escort you myself. That would leave Deuce Jackson and Trooper Ramirez to their training. What do you say?"
Forrester found himself nodding. Ramirez helped him up by his other arm. He was surprised to find himself a bit dizzy.
"I am sorry, again, Sergeant Forrester. I don't know what happened," Ramirez said.
"Not to worry, Sheila. I'll heal, not as fast as you APES with your combat enhanced nanites, but I will heal." He turned to see Misha patting Jackson on the back and smiling.
"Good job, Jackson," she said. "At least, when you broke one, it wasn't one of ours." Before the man could protest, she smiled. "Kidding, Race. I am only kidding. You are doing a great job. We don't have much time left and I can see you are making good progress with the time we have. You've got no complaints from me."
She turned to Forrester. "Ready?"
Forrester followed along behind her, but when he caught up with her in the hallway just beyond the hatch to the training bay, he said, "I can make this trip myself. I do know where I am going."
"That's all right, Gan. You make a good excuse for me to take a break without huffing and puffing in front of my troops."
Forrester tried to think of another way he could make the trip to sick bay on his own, but he was unable to come up with an excuse. He needed to make a trip to sickbay to meet with someone, but it would be difficult for him to touch base with his undercover contact if Misha was with him. Nothing came to mind. He would have to deal with things as he could.
Someone called to them as they stepped into the sick bay, "Sergeant Forrester, looks like you got a bit banged up. Playing out of your league?"
Forrester smiled wanly, "Dr. Dimms, I believe you have met Third McPherson."
Dr. Dimms smiled, "Why yes, I believe we met when you first came aboard, didn't we?"
Misha nodded. "Yes, sir, and we met again at the Colonel's table."
"Well, McPherson. First, you take on an AMSF commander and then you physically ab
use a sergeant in the Allied Marshal Service. What's next, a full-scale assault on your own troops?" Dimms asked.
"Enough, Puke," Forrester said. "It wasn't her fault. I wasn't paying attention and got my arm broke. It is my own fault. Misha was just polite enough to escort me here. So, can you fix me or not?"
"Sure, sure. Don't get your skivvies in a twist. I'll get someone to fix you right up. Rezzi, front and center. Busted arm from the looks of it." Rezzi was a very small woman with large dark eyes, olive skin and black shiny hair.
"Come on, Puke," Forrester said. "You’re the doctor, can't you fix it? Nothing personal, young lady, no offense." He smiled at Rezzi.
"None taken, sir. Doctor, I do have all of those HQ reports that have to be re-initialized and encrypted," Rezzi replied.
"Nonsense," Dimms said. "Medical Technician Staff Sergeant Jèsusa Rezzi is one of the best we've got. There is nothing I can do for a broken arm that she can't." Dimms left before anyone else could get a word in.
Forrester smiled at Rezzi. "Well, I guess it is just you and me, doll."
Rezzi laughed, "Watch it, old man. I could always set this arm crooked." She turned to Misha. "Thanks for bringing me my patient, but I can take it from here."
To Forrester's dismay, Misha said, "I will stick around with Sergeant Forrester if you don’t mind. Just to make sure he is okay."
Rezzi said, "I can assure you that he is in good hands. I'll take care of him like he is one of my own."
"I can wait," Misha said with finality.
Forrester smiled, "Okay, ladies. Let's not get in a catfight over me. There is enough of me to go around."
Misha laughed, "The hell you say. There isn't enough muscle on you to make a decent meal for a petite woman like myself."
Forrester laughed back, "Ah, so I see that your tastes do run to larger men. Say AMSF officers?"