Pursuit of Valor (The Tarvaax War Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  “Finish him!" Stone yelled.

  “He's down, sir,” Zack mumbled over his protective mouthpiece.

  “I don't care. Get on the ground and beat him."

  Zack clenched his jaw and glared at Stone.

  “Don't make me tell you again, or you will end up in the brig, Private."

  Isaac staggered to his feet, and the two engaged each other once again.

  “Never give your opponent a second chance," Stone yelled.

  Isaac had a determined look in his eye. He didn't want to get his ass kicked. They may have been buddies, but Zack could see that Isaac wasn't going to hold back. The little guy charged him, and Zack did a front kick to his chest. It stopped Isaac in his tracks. He tumbled back a few steps, then regained his footing.

  The two circled each other for a moment.

  "Stop dancing with each other, and start beating the crap out of each other," Stone yelled.

  Isaac inched forward and threw a few jabs. The two exchanged a flurry of punches. If Isaac wasn't holding back, Zack wasn't going to hold back either. Suddenly, it turned into an all-out brawl.

  Isaac crouched down, then sprang with an uppercut. It connected perfectly to the bottom of Zack’s chin. It snapped his head back, and he tumbled to the ground.

  Isaac leapt on top of him, pummeling Zack to a pulp.

  "Kill him! Kill him!" Stone shouted.

  The platoon screamed and hollered.

  Zack pushed Isaac off of him and sprung to his feet. The two collided again, exchanging furious blows. This went on for a few minutes. They looked like boxers in the 12th round, throwing empty punches.

  Zack mustered all his strength and threw a right cross, trying to finish him. But Isaac sidestepped and clocked him with an elbow to the face.

  Zack crashed to the ground. He must have blacked out for moment, because when he came to, one of the drill instructors was pulling Isaac off of him.

  “You’re pathetic, Salvator. The smallest recruit in the platoon just kicked your ass. The worst part is that you could have finished this early on. You’d better get the killer instinct, son. Or you're not going to make it out there." Stone shook his head. "I'll say one thing about private Norton… He's got heart. This entire platoon could learn a thing or two from him.”

  It was a rare complement from Sergeant Stone, and Isaac couldn't help but grin.

  "Vasquez, Henderson… You're next," Stone yelled.

  Isaac walked to Zack and helped him to his feet. "No hard feelings?"

  Zack still looked dazed. "No. But I'm not going to go easy on you next time."

  Isaac laughed. "Me neither."

  They pulled off their head gear and gloves and stepped out of the arena.

  Zack wiped the sweat from his brow and blinked his eyes, trying to shake off the hit. His temples throbbed, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He spit a glob of slimy pink goo on the dirt. "Man, I didn't think you had it in you."

  “Neither did I."

  The recruits were heading into the final week of First Phase, and they were about to face one of their biggest challenges. It was the event that caused the highest percentage of recruits to fail MCRD.

  27

  If you wanted to quit the Space Corps, you could. The drill instructors didn't like to admit it, and they did everything to keep recruits from dropping. But Sergeant Stone’s assertion that there were only two ways off of his base wasn't exactly correct. The easiest way off the base was to fail the physical fitness test, or fail the gas chamber.

  The DIs knew that the longer you spent at boot camp, the less likely you were to quit. You had endured too much pain-and-suffering to let it go to waste. Private Perkins had turned himself around and gotten his ass squared away. A month into recruit training and he was turning out to be a good Marine. But the gas chamber was a critical point for many recruits.

  CN-X 40 was vile stuff. It was a skin, eye, and respiratory irritant. Within seconds of contact, mucous membranes would burn and swell. Eyes would water. Breathing would become painful and difficult. It would be hard to swallow. A brief exposure made you feel like you were dying. It made actual death seem like a pleasant relief.

  Recruits were required to enter the gas chamber, remove their gas mask, and perform several minutes of calisthenics in a chamber filled with thick, noxious CN-X 40. Then they were required to perform various tasks.

  The gas was technically non-toxic. But several chemicals contained within were known to be carcinogenic to humans. It was commonly used for crowd control, and its effects were temporary, lasting about 45 minutes. It was essential that the recruits remained calm during the exercise. The ability to perform complex tasks during a chemical or biological attack was essential. Invariably, some recruits would panic and try to escape the chamber before the evolution was complete.

  Today, Sergeant Stone had a particularly devious exercise planned. “Listen up, dirtbags. This is a G-120, standard issue gas mask.” He held up the black full-faced rubber gas mask. “This is your new best friend. Capable of filtering particles down to .02 microns. It will also monitor air quality within the mask. A heads up display will report to you vital statistics including heart rate, blood pressure, and oxygen saturation. The device will also let you know if the filtration system fails.”

  The recruits exchanged a wary glance.

  "But all of that is a moot point today, because you will be breathing in unfiltered air for two minutes once inside the gas chamber. Afterwards, you will place the mask over your face, making sure the seal over your nose and mouth is secure. At which time you will disassemble and reassemble your weapon.”

  The recruits’ eyes went wide. It seemed like an impossible task. The rumors of the gas chamber had been floating about since day one of receiving. Eyes swollen shut, and the inability to breathe. How could one ever begin to assemble a plasma rifle?

  "To make things even more challenging, you will be performing the task in a Zero G environment. This isn’t the Space Corps for nothing.” A nervous anxiety washed over Zack’s body. He felt his heart thud in his chest, and he was beginning to sweat.

  The recruits were issued their gas mask and a black satchel containing a rifle cleaning kit. They were ordered to march into the gas chamber in groups. Zack and Isaac waited outside as the first group began the evolution. 15 minutes later the group emerged from the chamber, hacking and coughing. Some pulled off their gas mask and puked. Others fell to the ground, dizzy and nauseous.

  Zack almost wished he had been in the first group. Seeing the repercussions of the gas made him even more anxious. By the time he stepped into the chamber, his heart was pounding. The remnants of the previous group’s gas was already stinging his eyes. The vents opened and white smoke billowed into the room. The space was only 30 x 30, but within seconds the air was thick with CN-X 40.

  Zack's eyes seared with pain. It felt like someone had splashed a scalding pot of water on his face.

  Stone’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker inside the chamber. "Take a deep breath, scumbags. Fill those lungs.”

  It was like breathing fire. It was as though a million ants had crawled down his throat and lungs, biting every inch of exposed tissue. His throat grew thick, and his eyes swelled. His airways narrowed. It was like drowning on dry land.

  “Drop and give me 20 push-ups," Stone commanded. “Count them off.”

  The recruits dropped to the deck and started to push them out. Their weak voices could barely choke out the numerals. “1… 2… 3…”

  By this point in training, 20 push-ups should have been nothing. The recruits had been banging those out multiple times per day. But with a chest full of CNX-40, it was damn near impossible.

  With each breath, Zack’s lungs and eyes burned more. By the time he reached 20, he could barely take in a breath.

  “Put on your masks," Stone shouted.

  Zack pulled the mask over his face and secured the strap behind his head. Within seconds, the noxious fumes cleared
from his mask and the heads up display indicated perfect air quality.

  The damage had already been done to Zack's mucous membranes. But at least the air was clean, and his body could start the recovery process. It wasn't quite as difficult to breathe, but his airways were still considerably narrowed.

  Zack felt himself float from the deck as the antigravity was activated.

  “You’ve got five minutes to disassemble and reassemble your weapon. Begin."

  Zack's eyes were narrow slits. He could barely see the weapon in front of him. He made sure the weapon was on safe, and removed the magazine. He surveyed the upper and lower receiver. He looked over the plasma generator assembly and the cooling shroud. There were dozens of small pins and machined parts that needed to be removed during disassembly. Trying to keep track of those in a weightless environment seemed like an impossible task.

  28

  The components of the M7 plasma rifle floated in the air—pins, coils, covers, assemblies. They were hovering mostly in one place, though some were drifting in various directions. Zack had to constantly reposition them to keep them from escaping his grasp.

  A milky haze still hung in the air. Recruits were coughing. Some had to lift their masks to retch, which only exposed them to more residual CN-X 40.

  Zack managed to reassemble his weapon and have it in working order before anyone else. He finished somewhere around the three minute mark. He floated in the antigravity chamber, relaxing as he watched the other recruits’ frenzied attempts to assemble their weapons. Machined parts drifted across the chamber in all directions. Milby and Garner were never going to get their rifles back together.

  “Time's up, dirtbags!” Stone's voice crackled over the loudspeaker.

  The antigravity switched off, and everyone and everything in the chamber crashed to the ground. Parts of plasma weapons pinged off the deck. Recruits scrambled to find all of the components of their weapons.

  Zack pulled himself from the ground, grabbed his rifle, and rushed out of the chamber. As soon as he was outside, he pulled the mask off for a breath of fresh air. His lungs were so raw, it still burned to take a deep breath. His eyes were red, puffy, and brimming with tears. Snot was dripping down his nose. He felt miserable, but elated to be out of the gas chamber.

  Stone was waiting to inspect their rifles. “Private Salvator, present arms."

  Zack glanced down to the receiver to make sure it was set on safety and that the plasma rifle wasn't armed. Then he handed the weapon to Sergeant Stone.

  The drill instructor’s steely eyes surveyed the weapon with sharp aggressive movements. Then he thrust it back to the beleaguered private. "Outstanding, Private Salvator."

  After the evolution, the recruits were checked by corpsmen to make sure they weren’t experiencing any serious reactions to the chemical gas.

  Henderson’s airways had narrowed so much, that he passed out. His body was covered in hives. The corpsman could barely get him breathing again. He was dropped from the program and ordered to the Recruit Separation Platoon. He was going home.

  First Phase was drawing to a close. By the end of the week they would hit the tower and learn to rappel. If you were afraid of heights, you had to get over it quickly.

  It was amazing to see the transformation in such a short period of time. The platoon looked tight and precise during close order drill, just like the platoon Zack had seen when he first arrived. Everyone was keeping up on the PT runs, and had improved on their physical fitness scores. They knew how to respond to orders, and most people were passing their tests.

  First Phase was definitely the weed out period. Zack was looking forward to getting on to the fun part, if you could call boot camp fun. Second Phase focused on weapons training. They would spend countless hours at the range, learning to shoot and qualify with their weapon. In order to continue training, and earn their marksmanship badge, recruits were required to qualify at 200, 300, and 500 yards. But they weren’t just shooting at paper targets.

  In the old days, Marines qualified against paper silhouettes of human targets. Now, holographic 3D shapes of various alien forms appeared on the range at multiple distances. They moved and took cover behind objects on the range. The recruits had a limited amount of time to make a kill shot. Each creature was anatomically correct. Recruits had two options to ensure a kill shot—the brain, or the heart. Since each of those organs were in different locations, depending upon the alien species, recruits had to be familiar with the anatomy of multiple intergalactic creatures.

  All that time in the classroom studying anatomy, which seemed ridiculous at the time, paid off on the range. Zack qualified as an expert rifleman.

  The platoon with the highest cumulative marksmanship scores won a trophy. Like everything else at boot camp, there was a competition. Winning was rewarded, and losing was punished. When the marksmanship trophy went to Foxtrot Platoon, Sergeant Stone had a conniption fit. They had edged out Echo Platoon by a few points. Stone stormed into the squad bay, spit flying from his lips, face as red as a tomato. He looked like a horned devil with fire blazing from his eyes as he screamed at the platoon. “You are the most pathetic bunch of losers I have ever seen. I've seen Girl Scouts shoot better than you. Hell, if you ask me, Foxtrot Platoon is a bunch of Girl Scouts. So what does that make you?"

  The recruits stood at attention in front of their footlockers. “We've definitely got way too many pussies in this platoon, sir,” someone said.

  “Who the fack said that?” Stone's eyes scanned the squad bay. They narrowed on Darrell Vaughn.

  Stone stomped toward him, stopping inches from his face. Darrell towered over the sergeant, but he still seemed small in Stone’s presence. “Was it you?"

  Darrell hesitated. "Yes, sir."

  "You're absolutely right, Private. And you're one of the biggest pussies here.”

  The platoon busted out with laughter.

  Darrell's face tensed and he clenched his jaw.

  "You had one of the worst marksmanship scores. Hell, you're probably the reason Echo platoon lost.” Stone proceeded to march up and down the squad bay. “Because of Private Vaughn’s inadequacy, you must all pay the price. You will field day the head. I want those toilets so clean, you could eat chow off the seat. And when you're done, you'll clean Foxtrot’s head. And guess what… That's exactly where you will be eating.”

  There were groans amongst the platoon. “When one of you fails, you all fail. Keep that in mind, ladies. There is no second place on the battlefield."

  29

  “Hey, how are you?" Honor’s gorgeous face appeared on Zack's PDU. She had a brilliant smile and her blue eyes were glowing. She looked excited to see him. Zack was thrilled.

  At the beginning of Third Phase, the recruits’ PDU became unrestricted. Previously, they had limited access to the mil-net, and were only able to browse materials related to the core curriculum of MCRD. Now they were able to send and receive video messages, electronic mail, and access a limited number of news sites.

  “I’m good. It’s tough. We don’t get a lot of sleep. Days are long and hard. But, we’re shaping up.”

  “You’ll be a Marine before too long.” Honor smiled.

  “Another month, if all goes well. Are you coming to graduation?”

  “Is that an invitation?” she asked, coyly.

  "That is most certainly an invitation."

  “Then I will most certainly be there." Honor's eyes sparkled.

  Zack grinned.

  “How are Matt and Isaac?”

  “Isaac’s good. Matt got bounced to the donut brigade, so I haven't seen him since we got here."

  “He and Evelyn have been exchanging messages. I think there might be something there.”

  Zack looked shocked. "Really?"

  "Yep."

  “Way to go Matt,” Zack said, impressed. "I miss him. It would've been so much cooler if we could have gone through this together."

  “You guys will catch up after graduation,
won’t you?”

  “I'll be off to Mech Pilot Training. I don't know where he'll end up."

  Honor frowned in sympathy.

  “Listen, I've gotta go. My personal time is almost over." Zack paused. "It was really great to see you.”

  She smiled. “It was really great—“

  Darrell snatched the PDU from Zack's hand. “Ooh, Salvator's got himself a girlfriend.”

  “Give it back, Vaughn!”

  Darrell ran across the squad bay with the device. He took one look at Honor, and his eyes widened. “Baby, if you ever want to talk to a real man, you give me a call.”

  Zack chased after him.

  Darrell tossed the PDU to Griffin. Zack leapt for the device, but it arced through the air just above his fingertips. Griffin caught the device and Zack lunged for him. Griffin tossed it back to Darrell. The two played keep-away, tossing the PDU back and forth. With each throw, they grew farther and farther apart, and the flight of the device became more precarious. Zack looked like he was caught in a hot box between second and third base, chasing after the device.

  The inevitable happened when Darrell fumbled a catch. The PDU tumbled to the deck and the screen shattered.

  Zack was furious. He clenched his jaw, and his face flushed red. He charged Darrell, and shoved him. It caught him off guard, and he took a few steps back to catch his balance.

  Darrell's face went from amusement to rage in the blink of an eye. He didn't like to be pushed. "You're a dead man, Salvator."

  Concern washed over Zack's face. Maybe shoving the big guy wasn't exactly the smartest thing in the world to do. He assumed the basic warrior stance.

  Darrell charged at him and swung hard. His fist raced toward Zack's face. It swished by as Zack dodged to the side. As Darrell carried forward, Zack blocked his elbow, just like he was trained to do. Then he kneed the big oaf in the groin.

  Vaughn doubled over. Zack planted an elbow into Darrell's mid-back. He hammered down with all his might, putting his weight into it like a pro wrestler.