by Kal Spriggs
“Is that a bad thing?” I asked.
“Not at all, it just takes some getting used to. I'm more of the opinion that good enough in time is better than a perfect solution that's late, but it isn't like you guys are slow at making a decision, you just spend a few extra seconds thinking about the consequences.”
“I didn't realize we were that different,” I admitted. I hadn't really dealt with the other companies that much. Well, not besides having Ogre trying to beat up on me. “Maybe we should spend some more time together learning how we think.”
I hadn't really thought about what I said until he winked at me, “I'd like that... Jiden.”
I suddenly lost any ability to string words together. Thankfully, at that moment I heard the shouting down the corridor redouble and candidates started racing in our direction towards the parade ground. Our break was over. Time to get back to work.
Saved by the candidates, I thought to myself.
***
A couple days later, we'd just finished up our evening run and I was leading the jog down one of the ramps. I'd found I liked running at the front of the formation. I didn't have time to feel tired, if I stumbled, they'd run me over. It kept me moving, even when all I wanted to do was collapse and curl into a ball.
Dawson slowed them to a jog and then a walk. After he walked them for a bit to cool them down, he started leading them through stretching exercises. I saw Salter cock her head, a clear sign she was getting a call on her implant. Normally that would have made me uncomfortable. After the hectic past few days, I could only think of how convenient it would be not to have to have a datapad or comm unit on hand to send messages.
I saw Salter's expression change. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. She waved me over. “Escort Candidate Beckman to the Company Training Officer's quarters and then back here when she's done.”
“What's going on?” I asked.
“She has a call she needs to answer,” Salter's expression was hard.
Candidates didn't get calls. I knew that. It was Academy policy. They could send messages after they got back from the Grinder. Generally those were monitored. In part it was a security measure, after all, we were a military installation. But mostly it was because candidates were unhappy, we didn't want them sending the wrong impression to their parents, at least, not until they had a chance to adapt to their circumstances.
Beckman's aunt, I realized. I turned to the candidates. “Candidate Beckman, front and center!” I snapped. She bounded up and ran over to me. I saw wariness on her face. “Follow me,” I snapped. I led her off at a jog. I could tell she wanted to ask what was going on. Either she'd learned to keep her mouth shut or else she was too short of breath to manage. Just in case, I sped up the pace.
“Sir,” I knocked on Webster's door, “Cadet Instructor Armstrong and Candidate Beckman reporting as ordered.”
Webster opened the door, behind him, I saw Commander Scarpitti standing next to his desk display, a woman's face on the display next to her. Webster gestured at Beckman to enter and he stood to the side. “Cadet Instructor Armstrong, please standby. We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression.” He said it in a cutting fashion, clearly aimed at Beckman, but I got his meaning. Academy policy was that upperclassmen weren't supposed to be alone with candidates in private.
I stepped in the room and left the door open.
“Candidate Beckman, you have a phone call. Against Academy policy, I have been instructed to allow you to take this call. Before you do so, I must instruct you that candidates are not normally authorized to make or receive calls during the Prep Course.”
“I would like to speak to my niece in private,” the woman on the display snapped.
“Our policy, ma'am,” Cadet Lieutenant Webster said, “is that we do not leave a candidate unattended.”
The woman's eyes narrowed and she glared at him. Despite the dislike that I'd had for him, I had to admit that he didn't back down. The Charterers were massively powerful. The twelve of them ran most of the planet's government. She had to own or represent at least one twelfth of the planet to have a charter seat. I didn't even want to be in the room... and Webster didn't as much as flinch.
“Fine,” Charterer Beckman snapped. “Katherine, dear, how are you doing? Are they treating you well?” Candidate Beckman shot us a look. “Don't worry, you can speak up. If they're treating you unfairly...”
“It's not good, Aunt Theresa,” she stumbled over the words. “It's all so hard. And they don't give us the chance to explain things. They're just so mean,” she shot me another glance, “especially Cadet Instructor Armstrong...”
My stomach dropped as I listened to her. She rattled off a dozen complaints, everything from the food quality to her treatment. Charterer Beckman, meanwhile, adopted a broader smile as her niece went on. She wanted this, I realized. I didn't know why. I didn't see how one girl's complaints would be important, but I didn't need to understand it to know it wouldn't be good.
“Well, Katherine,” Charterer Beckman said after a moment. “I'll be sure to place a complaint on your behalf. Believe me, there will be some changes taking place...”
“No,” a calm voice interrupted from the doorway, “there will not.”
All of us looked over and I did my best to melt into the wall behind me as I recognized the Admiral. She wore a calm expression, but her blue eyes glittered in a dangerous fashion. She stepped forward and stood over the display. I couldn't help but notice that Charterer Beckman seemed to hunch on herself. “Charterer, you're violating Militia and Academy policy by conducting this conversation.”
“It's a health and welfare check,” Charterer Beckman protested. “I hadn't heard anything from my niece. My sister's family hadn't even received a message--”
“I have a log of receipt, acknowledged by Patricia Beckman, two days ago, for a letter from your niece. Perhaps you should confirm that they hadn't received anything from her?”
Charterer Beckman's expression soured. “That doesn't change the fact that she has legitimate complaints...”
“About food quality and instructors being 'mean' and 'rude' to her, yes,” the Admiral said dryly. “I'm sure that all of the other Charterers will be very concerned. They'll have to hold an inquiry about it... whereupon I'll have to show seven direct violations of Militia policy conducted by your office... including a direct call to an officer by a political figure in a fashion that could be construed as conspiracy.”
I didn't understand what that meant, but I heard Charterer Beckman hiss in anger. “This isn't one of your games, Admiral. I'll not be threatened...”
“It's not a threat. If you involve yourself any further with my Academy, I will request a formal inquiry and I will make certain that all of this is made available to the rest of the Charter Council.” The Admiral's face could have been carved from marble. The room seemed to shrink, or maybe she grew, I wasn't sure. It was like she filled the space.
“This isn't over,” Charterer Beckman spat. “But I won't press for a formal investigation... at this time. But I will remember this.” She cut the call.
“Add it to your list,” the Admiral muttered, so low that I barely heard her, even though I was standing almost right next to her. Clearly the two of them had plenty of bad blood. Good to know, I thought. Apparently my family had another enemy.
“Candidate Beckman, I believe you need to get back to your section,” the Admiral said. She looked at me, “Cadet Instructor Armstrong, please see to it... and Cadet Lieutenant Webster, accompany them and please make certain that Candidate Beckman's complaints are made known to her Cadet Instructors. I'm certain they'll want to address them.”
I didn't miss how Beckman's shoulders hunched. Her litany of complaints had just backfired rather badly. I no longer felt any sympathy for her. Part of me hoped that she'd quit.
I started for the door. Behind me I heard the Admiral say, “Commander Scarpitti... a word, if you would. Please join me in my office.”
> I would have wanted to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. I didn't know how things had unfolded, or who had given the order for Webster to send for Beckman... but part of me wondered if Commander Scarpitti had done it. Surely not, I thought, or if she did, maybe she did it so the Admiral could trap the Charterer...
I didn't want to think about all that. Instead, I focused on my job. As we got back to the section, I saw Webster go over and speak with Salter while Beckman went back into formation.
A moment later, Salter stepped in front of the candidates. “Well,” she said, “it seems that some of you are under the impression that we don't care about you.” The entire group went still. I think they stopped breathing. “Well, that couldn't be further from the truth. We care very much about all of you. We want you to be stronger, better, and to prove that, we're going to take you all on a motivational run! Everyone, you have one minute to go get your full combat load from your rooms and return here. After that, we're going to go for a nice run through the evening! Doesn't that sound fun!”
The candidates didn't respond.
“I said, doesn't that sound fun!?” Salter bellowed.
“Ma'am, yes, ma'am!” they shouted back.
“Great!” Salter said. “Fall out! Sixty seconds, fifty-nine, fifty-eight...”
***
Chapter Eighteen: Grinding To A Halt
“Second squad is back at their bunker and Regan and Dawson have them for the next few hours,” I reported as I came into the Cadet Instructor bunker. Senior Cadet Instructor Salter gave me a nod of acknowledgement and went back to her discussion with Cadet Lieutenant Webster.
I flopped to the ground next to Ashiri, “Thank God there's only a couple more days.” The Grinder was every bit as bad as I'd remembered. I had thought that keeping track of my squad was bad as a candidate. I hadn't seen hard until I tried to track and watch them across four hundred square kilometers of training area. The rugged terrain was a mix of rocks, jagged hills, and clusters of ruined buildings, all of it designed to be as confusing as possible.
We'd initially split duty between the three squads, with two Cadet Instructors per squad. In theory, that meant we'd work in twelve hour shifts. But what happened was that as a each squad took casualties and those casualties were evacuated to the medical facility, someone had to cover down on them. Since that happened every few hours, I think I'd managed two or three hours of sleep per day over the past five week.
Ashiri didn't answer me. I looked over and saw that her head had rolled back. She was snoring faintly. Figures. I thought. I should sleep while I could, too... but I'd hit a point of exhaustion where I didn't think that I could sleep. I pulled out my datapad and checked over the notes on upcoming missions for the squads.
It had surprised me at just how much planning went into the Grinder. During my time as a candidate, it had purely been chaos. I hadn't had any idea that it all tied together. There were Militia units conducting their yearly training. There were basic training units doing their initial combat training. All of our missions had to be coordinated with them. Training rounds, food, water, all of that had to be positioned. It was a huge endeavor and I had a new-found respect for Salter and Webster for managing it all.
In our training we'd had a crash course on how to handle everything. Our datapads had a software update that let us pass messages on missions and supplies, to call for evacuation of candidates struck by the incapacitating training rounds, and in case of emergency, to request actual medical support. We also had an emergency override where we could shut down training in case of some real life emergency. They'd cautioned us against using unless it was something really important, because it would shut down the entire Grinder. Needless to say, I had no intention of ever pushing that button.
I went through the upcoming missions and saw that Second Squad had an upcoming mission out to the north-west. They were supposed to raid one of the militia units out there and I winced in sympathy. That was the ruined town and generally our candidates didn't do well against the defenses that the regular Militia units would have. I'd been hit by one of the heavier training rounds they had for their larger weapon systems in a similar attack last year.
Out of curiosity, I switched over to the rating system. Sand Dragon was doing well, I saw. Our candidates as a whole were pretty close to Ogre, Dust, and Tiger. Ogre's overall section score was a bit better than ours, but that was because we had some special candidates. Most of the other candidates were several points behind, with Reaver being the closest after Tiger.
I frowned as I considered that. Beckman had refused to give up, I'd give her that, but she'd been the cause a few issues. It was all the more maddening for the fact that I understood her viewpoint. She didn't like the rough treatment, she didn't like the unfairness of it all. What she didn't seem to realize was that was the point of all of this. Life isn't fair, I thought to myself.
The thing was, her rating was the lowest of any of our candidates. In fact, it was low enough that most of the other Cadet Instructors had begun to grumble. She didn't seem to understand that her actions had greater consequences... and she was having an impact, not just on herself and her squad, but also on her whole section and even the Cadet Instructors. We would be rated on the performance of our candidates... and Beckman was one of mine.
As if on that cue, I got a message on my comm unit, “Armstrong, this is Regan, we've got an issue with second squad. I need you down here.”
“On my way,” I replied and climbed to my feet. I saw Cadet Lieutenant Webster look over and note my departure. I wondered if he tracked all of us Cadet Instructors, like we tracked our candidates. The Cadet Instructor bunker was just over the ridge from our section. The close proximity had led to a bit of humor when a couple of exhausted candidates had mistakenly walked inside. It also meant that I was able to get to Regan in less than a minute. The intense sun made me squint, even with the auto-adjusting visor on my helmet. “What's up?” I asked.
“Beckman is refusing to go on this next mission,” Kyle Regan said in a low voice.
“She's what?” I stared at him in shock.
“She says that she's not moving until she gets some rest,” Kyle Regan said. “I was so angry I nearly jerked her to her feet, but I ordered the rest of the squad outside and briefed their squad leader. They roll out in a couple of minutes.” He let out a tense breath, “I'm at my wits end about what to do about her. Can you talk to her? You might have better luck than me.”
She hates my guts, I thought to myself. But I nodded. Regan was in a hard position. If the candidates saw one of their number rebel, they were tired enough that others might. I'd never even considered it a possibility. It was an unspoken rule that everyone seemed to get.
We weren't supposed to get physical with candidates. There were a host of reasons for that. But if faced with complete passive resistance, I knew we didn't have many options. The main one was that Beckman would be cut from the course. She'd get her rest, alright, but she'd take it at home.
I walked into the bunker. It was cool after the intense heat of the sun. I found Candidate Beckman just inside, she glared up at me sullenly, “I'm not going. You can't make me.”
My first impulse was to grab her by her shoulders and jerk her to her feet, but I restrained the anger and tried to see things her way. She was tired. She thought she was being treated unfairly. I squatted in front of her, “You're right, I can't make you.”
She stared at me warily and didn't respond.
“If you sit here, you'll get your rest. And in a couple hours, someone will come to fly you out of here. You'll get time to get showered, get cleaned up, and turn in all your gear. Then they'll put you on a skimmer and you'll go home,” I said it all in a calm voice. “You'll be done... and everything you went through so far will have been for nothing.”
She scowled at me, “You can't threaten me. I've done everything I've been told to do.”
“No, you haven't,” I replied. “You think we want
to do this? Do you think I enjoy it?” I shook my head, “We're doing this to train you. This has nothing to do with you personally, we treat every candidate the same way. Every one of those candidates in your squad are just as tired, just as sore, as you.”
“Yeah, right,” she spat. “I've heard all about the high and mighty Armstrongs from my aunt. I'm supposed to think it's coincidence that you're my Cadet Instructor? I bet your grandmother gave you orders to make sure I quit.”
I stood up, “If that was the case, I wouldn't have given you that warning, would I have?” I asked. “Now, you can keep thinking of yourself as a victim, or you can get out there and do your job. And before you refuse again, let me put it this way... if you stay here, it won't be anyone making you quit, it'll be you quitting, do you understand me?”
Beckman looked down at the ground and didn't answer me. I turned and walked out of the bunker. I wasn't even really sure why I'd tried so hard to talk her into doing the right thing. It would have been better for me if she'd just quit. Maybe I still saw some of myself in her. Maybe I just didn't like giving up on someone.
A moment later, I heard her come out of the tunnel. I watched as she jogged to catch up to her squad. Good choice.
“Thanks,” Kyle said as he came up. “Though part of me wishes she'd quit.”
“Yeah, well,” I shrugged, “she's a pain, but she's our pain, right?” I looked over at him, “You get any rest?”
He snorted, “No, I had to help sheepdog some lost candidates back to where they were supposed to be.”
“I'll take this patrol,” I said.
“You sure?” He asked. “You just got back.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I got it, get some rest.”
He headed off without another word. Clearly he wasn't going to argue. I jogged to catch up to the candidates and kept just to their side and rear as they moved. Now and then I'd pause to check my datapad and see where the other units in the area were. I frowned, though, as a message came up. Apparently there were changes afoot.