Echo of Tomorrow: Book One (Drake chronicles)

by Rob Buckman

“Yes, and answer if she feels it’s necessary, or appropriate.” She smiled.

  "Lady Jane, do you know, or are you familiar with the new destroyer spaceships we are building?"

  "Yes my General. I am fully familiar with the design, and capabilities of that craft.” She said, having picked up Kat’s habit of calling him my General.

  "Kat, do the ship pilots, or helmsmen have the same type of unit as this?” He asked, pointing to the crystal block.

  "Yes sir, they do."

  "Is there a way to completely interlink these units, so that one, or all three can control some basic maneuvering?"

  "I don't see why not, why?"

  "I found out last night that the simulation crews are having a hard time coordinating a combined attack. They keep crashing into one another at critical times."

  "I see,” she murmured, looking thoughtful, “I hadn't heard that."

  "It's not for general publication."

  "No, of course not, but I see your point. You are saying that if we inter-link all three units, they can keep the three ships on whatever line of attack the Captain... which Captain?"

  "Hadn't thought of that." It was something he’d overlooked.

  "One of them will have to be the senior, or the three units will be fighting one another if the other ships Captain decides to do something different, say an avoidance maneuver."

  "You've got it. They must each have a range they can maneuver in, yet still remain interlocked. It’s the shield regeneration time that is critical, they must overlap, and stay overlapped or its fatal."

  "Lady Jane, can you see any problem with this idea?"

  "No Katrina, as long as I, or another unit like me knows who the lead ship is, there should be no trouble at all." Scott held his hand up, and Kat gave him a high five.

  "Got it!” He exclaimed. “What’s needed?"

  "Nothing much in the way of programming. Any maneuver can be set up with a code phrase to execute it. If all three know what it is and who the lead ship is your home free."

  "Kat, I could kiss you, but you'd probably slug me, thanks!” He said, turning away and heading for the simulator hanger.

  "Shut up Lady Jane!” Kat snapped before the CI had time to say anything.

  "I wasn't going to say anything.” The block responded indignantly.

  "No, but you were thinking it."

  "I never did.” Kat said a rude word and slid the block back into the patch pocket as she watched Scott walk away. Just being in the same vicinity made her stomach flutter and her heart rate climb. She growled to herself under her breath and headed back to the hanger. Work was the only solution she could think of.

  Scott talked to the Captains of the three ships, and they agreed to try the solution. Each would take turns acting as the lead ship so that if one was taken out, one of the other two could take over. It worked even better than he'd hoped, and finally Brock and Pete had smiles on their faces, as well as their wives. When he returned to his office, another surprise was waiting for him, a call from the President.

  "Yes Sir, what can I do for you?” He asked.

  "Well, I'm not sure how to brooch this with you."

  "I always start from the beginning to work my way to the end.” Scott commented, but the irony was lost.

  "Yes, I supposed that is the best way. Well, anyway. Word of the ship construction has spread, plus the fact you are building a space navy to fight the aliens. For the pasted two weeks, my office has been flooded with requests for permission to join your navy, and I was wondering what to do about it." That was a surprise.

  "What do you feel about it Mr. President?"

  "I'm not sure. To discover that much feeling of aggression in so many people is quite a shock."

  "Mr. President, I will admit that we could use more people very soon, but on the other hand, how many of them will really fight when it comes down to it."

  "That I can't answer, is there a way you can find out?"

  "Yes there is, but even those we reject will be exposed to a certain degree of violence. How will you fit them back into your society after that?" Scott could see that it was inevitable that these people would relearn the way of war again.

  "We have ways of handling that, but you are telling me that you are willing to accept anyone who wishes to join?"

  "No, I’m saying that anyone is welcome to come and try out. If they passed all of our requirements, then they can join." In one way, even though he didn’t like this society, it saddened him to think that he would be the one to bring back war.

  "I see. I will pass that along. How soon could you be ready to accept the first contingent?"

  "Give me a week to work out the details, then send the first batch."

  "Very good, very good indeed." The President‘s voice said one thing, his body language and expression another.

  "It might not be as good as you imagine. Here they will be under my command; my rules will be enforced with no exceptions."

  "Meaning?"

  "I know your society’s current views on woman, here they do not apply. If one of the men you sent, tries to abuse, or molest any female here, the least he could expect is a broken arm, the worse, death."

  "Oh! I see.” The President looked pained for a moment. "Is there any way you could relax that rule while they are in training?"

  "No sir, not one bit, especially for trainees. The rules stand, take it, or leave it."

  “You don’t give me much choice, General Drake.” The President pursed his lips, looking as if he’d bit into something sour.

  “No, sir, I don’t and can’t. The men and women who come here will be completely exposed to our form of society. If I relax the rules for them, and one of them slapped, or beat one of the women here for saying or doing something he didn’t like, what would that say about our value of them as a person?” The President nodded, seeing the argument. At last, he sighed.

  "Very well, I will make sure that piece of information is passed along and have it fully explained to prospective applicants. That should cut down on the number who might wish to join."

  "I would think so. Nor do we want anyone who thinks the rules don’t apply to them, like being related to a council member, or someone in power."

  “Yes, I agree. Like you said, it could be hazardous to their health.” He said with a slight smile. They chattered for a few minutes longer before signing off.

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Camp Pendleton

  A week later, after some rushed arrangements, the first shuttle with applicants, or recruits as he thought of them, landed. Much to Brock’s surprise, when the shuttle ramp thumped to the ground, over five hundred people emerged, all of them men. Scott arranged for them to be immediately taken to an empty hanger, and the doors closed. He ordered the shuttle to wait to take those back his people immediately rejected, or who wished to go back after they saw what they were in for. He was betting he could thin this lot down in a hurry. With a squad of training NCO's he’d put together, they herded them gently into the hanger, and got them into some semblance of order. He was grinning from ear to ear. It was just like old time at the Marine Corps training depot when a fresh batch of greenies arrived on the bus.

  "Your attention please.” He called; the comm system picked up his voice so he could be heard without raising his voice. "In a few moments the Commander, General Scott Drake will be here to address you. This will all be new to you, so I will go thought it slowly. Any military organization like the Army, Navy, Marines, or Air Force is run on what is known as a discipline. That means when someone of a superior rank gives you an order, or instruction, you obey. Does anyone not understand this rule? If so please put your hand up." One or two did, looking puzzled.

  "How do we know who has a superior rank, and how do we get it." Brock forces down a smile.

  "At the moment, everyone on this base is superior to you, and when I say everyone, I mean precisely that. You were told before you came that many of the people in our organization are women. Here, even they
are of a higher rank than you.” He beamed. “Is that understood?" He asked, looking around the group. What he saw didn’t give him a lot of confidence that his words were being heeded.

  A few nodded, and a few had smug smiles on their faces, as if to say 'let some female give me an order and see what happens'. It was just about what he, and Scott predicted. The door open, and in walked ten women, Janet Blake in the lead. They all wore tiger stripe combat dress and black berets, but it didn't hide their shape. Janet marched them down the center of the hanger in a line, coming to a ground-shaking halt in front of the raised platform Brock was standing on. The looks, catcalls, and whistles followed them down the runway but they did nothing, as if waiting. Gradually, silence returned.

  "These will be your instructors for the initial phase of your training, and you will do everything they tell you, is that clear?" Brock announced, vainly trying to suppress a smile of anticipation.

  "And what if we don't do it, or they don’t ask the right way?” A large muscular looking young man put his hand up. Brock could have kissed him.

  "One of these ladies is now going to come over, and give you an order, not a request mind you, but an order, why don't you see for yourself what happens if you don't obey."

  "All right, send the slit tail slut over and I’ll show you!” He smirked. Brock was the only one that could see the twinkling in Janet’s eye. Brock couldn’t help but ham it up a bit.

  "Sergeant Blake, would you be ever so kind as to walk over there, and ask that nice young man to please sit down, nicely." Brock purred in a voice as sweet as honey, giving her a slight bow.

  "Why, by all means, Captain Brock, I'd be delighted to do as you ask. Thank you for your kind invitation.” She said, returning the bow with a curtsy.

  "You are more than welcome."

  "Polite aren’t they.” The young man commented, mimicking Brock's bow. Janet walked up to him, and everybody could see the kid was at least a head taller, and twice the mass of the woman. She walked up until she was face to face with him.

  "Shut the fuck up, and sit your fat ass down!” She snapped, suppressing a smile.

  "Make me, slit tail!” He challenged, standing with his hands on his hips, legs spread apart. The poor kid just didn’t get it, and in a way, Janet felt a little sorry for him as she slammed her knee into his crotch, doubling him over, eyes bugging out of his head. The pain bent him over, and the moment his head came level with her waist she spun on her heel, catching the side of the young man face with the outside of her right foot. The young man dropped like a pole-axed steer, unconscious.

  "Would someone else like to question this young ladies authority?” Brock offered. No one took it.

  "One picture worth a thousand words Captain Brock Sama.” A Japanese sergeant behind him muttered softly.

  "You're got that right, Kim. It's drastic, and not the proper way of doing things. However, we don’t have the time to fuck around. We need to get past their BS attitude as quickly as possible." He answered in a sotto voice.

  "As I was saying, if anyone of a higher rank than you gives you an order, you will obey it, without question, is that clear?" This time there was an immediate response. It was ragged but it was enough for the moment. The unfortunate young man was carried out on a hover stretcher and taken to the medical center for treatment under the tender loving care of Doc Chase.

  "Now then, when I say officer on deck, you will stand and come to attention, as Sergeant Kim will demonstrate, and you will stay in this position until I give you permission to stand at ease. That doesn’t mean you sit, smoke, eat, drink, fart, or talk. You are here to listen, and I strongly suggest you listen very carefully to what General Drake has to say." That was Scott cue, and counting thirty, he nodded to his honor guard and Sergeant Reilly opened the door.

  "Give then hell, General."

  "I will, by the way, how is your little girl getting on?” He asked.

  "Great sir. Thanks for asking."

  "Got to get over and see her soon.” He whispered and he walked passed.

  "She'd love that sir.” She replied, dropping into step behind him.

  "Commanding Officer on deck!” The door Guard shouted, giving Scott a wink.

  Straight-faced Scott marched across the hanger as the new recruits came to a poor imitation of attention. That would change, as he knew from experience. The six guards behind him marched in perfect step, coming to a ground shaking halt in front of the podium. Scott continued up the steps, returning Brock salute as he did.

  "All present and correct Sir!” He snapped.

  "Thank you Captain Brock. Stand them at ease."

  "Company, stand at ease." It was more the sound of shuffling feet than anything.

  Scott walked back and forth across the podium, looking out at the faces of the young men before him, waiting for the right moment. At last it came.

  "You men have volunteered to come here and be tested to see if you are fit to join our ranks. In the next six weeks, most, if not all of you will be sent home to your mothers, crying, I suspect.” He said, pausing to let that sink in. "That is not what we want, but only a few of you will be able to pass though the rigors of this phases of your training, and pass on to the next." Even with the no talking rule, he could see people muttering to the person next to them.

  "The key word here is discipline, and obedience to orders, orders given to you by people you consider inferior. Orders that you will come to hate, and loath as much as you will come to hate, and loath your training instructors. You will be told to do things you never in your life imagined you would be ordered to do, but that is all part of what being a soldier, sailor, or airman is all about.” The foot shuffling got louder, as did the muttering. This was not what they expected to hear.

  “Silence on deck!” Brock snapped.

  “If any of you, at any time feel that you wish to go home to mummy, you only have to tell your training officer, sergeant, or NCO, and you will be sent back on the next available transport, no questions asked.” Scott let that sink in a moment. “But! You will never again be permitted to join this, or any other unit, so think hard and long before you make that request." That brought a new round of talking, slightly louder this time.

  "Quiet on deck, the Commanding officer is talking!" Brock yelled. Silence fell.

  "After this meeting, you will be given fifteen minutes in which to get back on the shuttle, if you think this is not for you. However, if you survive this stage of your training, and accepted into the unit for additional training, you can expect promotion, special assignment to flight school, and many other benefits, that all regular members of this unit presently enjoy. So, good luck, and I hope to see at least some of you at graduation." With that, he turned the parade over to Brock, returned his salute, and left with the honor guard.

  "What a drippy looking lot!” Was Pam's first comment when the door was closed? "They look like a bunch of overdressed poufs."

  "Be nice Pam, remember when you joined up?"

  "I hope to hell we didn't look as bad as that lot."

  "You'd be surprised how you looked.” He said with a smile, seeing her nod.

  "You are probably right Skipper.” She said. “Boy, will I be glad to get home and out of this monkey suit."

  "That makes two of us. Home James!” He said to the driver as he climbed into the hover car.

  With the help of all the Marines, Captain Brock had pieced together a decent Marine Corps training manual from what everyone could remember. Of the five hundred people who came off the shuttle, twenty got back on and went home immediately. They were the lucky ones, as from the moment the time limit was up the rest thought they had gone to hell. Brock had to admit, that due to their present circumstances, they had to modify the manual. It probably wouldn’t have passed muster with the REMF in the Pentagon, but there again, they didn’t exist anymore, so they could rewrite it pretty much any way they wanted to. With input from their Japanese contingent, they added a few things, and subtracted
others no longer applicable, or important. Nine copies were in Japanese, and appreciated by those members of the training staff, but some of the items included did get a few laughs. They understood the philosophy behind the document, although a few commented that they thought it was a little light on disciplinary action. Brock talked to them beforehand, and knew their training was rough, coming down to the survival of the fittest in this case. He did, at their suggestion add a section on meditation, seeing the benefits and participating in meditation exercised under their tutelage.

  If a Marine from the twentieth century were to wake up in this training camp, he’d probably feel right at home, as the familiar shouted commend, and tramp of booted feet echoed across the parade ground. Scott took time out to visit the camp at least twice a week, running the assault course himself on many occasions, mainly for the exercise and partly to show the recruits that he could do it as well. He'd instructed them not to introduce them to weapons yet, nor any unarmed combat or martial arts training. This part of their training was a strictly weeding out process, and each week saw many of them return home, demoralized and defeated by the rigors of training, as they hit the wall. The company numbers rose and fell, as each week a fresh group arrived. There wasn't such a rush now, and the shuttle brought in the people by twenties and thirties instead of hundreds. This made life easier for the training staff. At the end of the first six weeks, only fifty-four of the original five hundred remained. This time when the door guard shouted "Commanding officer on deck!” The crash of boots hitting the floor vibrated thought the ground.