by Unknown
“So, what’s it going to be like? Boot camp, I mean.”
Mark made a face, “I’m not going to lie to you, it’s going to suck vacuum.”
She nodded, “Tell me what to expect.”
“Well, imagine two or three wild eyed, screaming DI’s who are impossible to please. In your face every second of the day. They’re going to shred you with PT.”
“PT?”
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“Physical Training,” he clarified. “Exercises designed to torture you while getting your body trimmed out. You’ll come out of it strong as hell in the end, but getting there…yikes!”
“What else?”
Mark leaned back, and crossed his arms, “Let’s see…the first week is Hell Week. It’s really the worst of it. They shock you mentally by confusing you, scaring the hell out of you, getting you used to thinking under stress. It’s the wake-up call that really makes you understand you aren’t a civilian anymore. Through the PT phase, you’ll also be taught drill, military history, and march your butt off. Don’t expect to sleep.
“After that comes weapons training, fitting out for your armor, and the Crucible just before graduation. You’ll get fourteen days of leave to go home, then be assigned to a battalion. That’s when you’ll transfer from Camp Madison to Fort Dixon. You might stay on Attaya for a while, though,” he added as an after-thought, “since the entire Corps is being forward-deployed there.”
Minerva let out a breath, “That sounds intense. What’s the best way to handle it?”
Mark shrugged, “Just have to power through it, Minerva. Pay attention to detail, do what you’re told, and try not to break down. If they can make you cry, those DI’s will rip you a new bunghole. Your life will be even worse. Just take it.”
He leaned over slightly, putting his face a bit nearer to hers, “I’ll share a secret. They expect teamwork. Don’t go in there trying to be an individual, or hanging back to see what happens to someone else first.”
Minerva grinned sheepishly, “You noticed that, huh?”
He smiled kindly, but with eyes that were conveying a message, “Yeah, that stands out like a sore thumb. They’ll zero in
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on that one, too. There’s no flying under the radar in basic training. You either perform, or wash-out. You don’t want to wash out. You don’t get to go home if you do, they just recycle you back to the beginning with a new company, and start it all over again.”
She looked determined, “I’m not here to wash out.”
“You’ve got the right attitude,” he said.
“Oh, damn, check it out!” Someone yelled, pointing out of the port nearest to him.
The kids on that side of the bay twisted to see, and there came more sounds of surprise. Mark motioned for Minerva to go ahead and unstrap, so that she could cross over for a look. She did so, and her breath caught in her throat.
The first things that she noticed were the stars. Space was a velvet sheet absolutely covered with them, brighter and thicker than she had ever seen from home. To her right, Earth was the size of a small melon, bright and blue, peppered with white clouds. To the left was the lunar landscape. The moon was a vast curve of grey desert above them, pocked with countless craters of all sizes.
Seeming to hang motionless below the moon was Star Harbor.
Star Harbor was the pride of Earth. An endeavor that took fifteen years to complete, and trillions of dollars. The joint effort between nations was part of what had led to the unification of the world before she was born. Individual leaders became regional governors with seats on the U.N., with one global president elected every four years to act as the head. Every election brought a representative from a different district, but each served their term from the White House. It was agreed that D.C. would remain the symbolic location of the Union, which put the United States as the global capitol. That did not imply that the U.S. was any more powerful than any other region. In fact, the U.N. assembly had
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arranged a new level of government to ensure that all countries remained not only equal, but answerable to a higher authority that unified the world with the Attayan Trade Alliance.
The Galactic Command Authority resided over all areas of government and military, establishing the system of checks and balances for inter-galactic commerce, and the Uniform Code of Justice.
The politics of it did not interest Minerva at that moment, though. She was too enthralled by the simple beauty of it all. Star Harbor was an immense city in space, miles and miles in diameter, with trees and grass and even a river to create a self-sustaining eco-system. Anderson technology created the atmospheric dome that protected the station from radiation, micro-meteors, and kept the air in.
Ports and dry docks jutted from the equatorial ring, providing a way-station for space craft of all sizes and design. Ships came and went by the hour, following carefully controlled traffic lanes that were monitored from the Lunar Array visible directly beyond the harbor. The array was manned by an ever-growing colony on the moon, with a population that was close to half a million people. A full million resided at any one time on Star Harbor itself.
The shuttle was slowing dramatically, making their approach to the harbor seem terribly long, but it allowed for taking in more visual details, which was a real treat for Minerva. She wished that she had thought to bring a camera.
The shuttle was descending gradually toward the equatorial belt as it approached, bringing into view hundreds of piers along that area. A great number were vacant, but the majority of them were occupied by a mix of private and commercial vessels. The civilian boats were so tiny in comparison to the luxury liners, and the liners were dwarfed by cargo ships, mobile refineries, and scows. The docks were bordered by warehouses, and shipping plants, where
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trucks waited to be loaded, forklifts scuttled about, and longshoremen labored. Streets beyond crisscrossed among bars, eateries, and stores. Hotels and cheap apartment buildings framed all of that in, and there was a healthy mix of trees all around.
The shuttle abruptly began to climb, skimming the purplish atmospheric dome, rising higher and higher. Minerva was able to look down over it all as they reached the highest zenith, amazed to find that the downtown portion of the city very much resembled New York. Traffic zipped about on the streets, the sidewalks crowded with ant-sized pedestrians. Wisps of clouds hung over the sky scrapers, and off to the right, miles out, a thunderstorm was flashing lightning, and dropping rain over a grassy plain graced with a large, shimmering lake.
It took perhaps fifteen minutes for them to traverse the width of the dome, and begin descending again on the far side, banking inward toward the piers along that portion of the equator.
Aggressive-looking ships were moored at those extensions, all closely similar to their sister-vessels that patrolled the oceans of Earth. Battle Ship Row housed destroyers, missile cruisers, tenders. The further along they flew, the larger the ships became. LHA flat-decks that catered mainly to helo-type craft. The super-carriers, long, and flat on top, save for the command island. Those ships, when underway, had atmospheric domes of their own.
This was Star Harbor Naval Station, considered among the Navy as the cream of assignments. Being stationed there was every sailor’s dream when being rotated for shore duty. Inland a ways was the air station, where the fighter wings were staged while waiting for their carriers to leave port.
Minerva remembered all of this from studying up on the recruiting pamphlets before making her decision to enlist. There was a marine contingent stationed there as well. Perhaps she could put in for being stationed here after graduating. The thought of it
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made her giddy.
The shuttle finally penetrated the dome. In one instant, they were in space, and in the next, the field of energy wrapped around them as they passed through. Once in, there was the stunning illusion of being under endless blue sky. The technology involved in creating all of it was impossible fo
r her to wrap her young mind around.
They cruised toward the air station, coming lower until just above the ground, which was a grassy field, until reaching the tarmac. The thump and rattle of the chopper-like engines was loud again as they veered off of the runway, and hovered over a painted spot. A ground crewman wearing protective headgear was making downward motions with a pair of glowsticks, bright even what appeared to be mid-day sunlight.
Mark began telling everyone to sit back down, to get strapped back in before the crew chief came out and caught them. The kids complied, all smiles at the amazing experience. It was a first for them all, to leave Earth, and see the harbor.
The helo landed with a thump, and the engine noise began to immediately cycle down. Minerva found herself bouncing on the canvas bench, so eager was she to experience more. There was a nervous energy in the troop bay, but the kids were much quieter that in the beginning. They did not want to get yelled at again.
The crew chief emerged from the cockpit, and made a dramatic gesture of looking about, and sniffing the air.
“I’ll be damned! No one soiled my deck, or themselves, for that matter!”
The man went to the rear hatch, and slapped the oversized button, releasing the hydrolics. The door swung rapidly down, much faster than it had risen, and clanged heavily on the tarmac. Warm air rushed in, smelling sweetly of foliage, mixed with hot tar and
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exhaust.
Mark rose, and motioned for everyone to get out.
“Form a line out there! No talking!”
He gave Minerva a wink as she passed by, making her have to make an effort to conceal a grin. The crew chief, being older and wiser, caught the little exchange, and rolled his eyes at her. She had to laugh after that, but it was little more than a personal giggle that no one noticed. They were too busy gawking about. There were birds chirping from trees growing out along the fence. It seemed that every detail had been thought of, to bring a slice of Earth to the harbor.
Another bus eventually arrived, this one white, stenciled with the Department of the Navies emblem. The corporal made a head count as the kids got on, noting that he had a total of forty-eight teens.
Minerva had taken his advice to heart, and was already acting on it. She had moved first when told to board the bus. Doing so put her all the way in the back, so she had only either the view of the seat window, or those of the rear exit doors. They drove out of the air base, and crossed a small town, little more than a row of buildings on either side of the road for two blocks. A smattering of houses were clustered together behind them, and there was a brick school and sports field.
The road led beyond to an open, two-lane highway that cut through a sea of wild grass. The highway took them to a larger town a few minutes down the way. Minerva yawned, as were many of the kids. For them, it was getting into the late hours of the night back home. On the station, it was mid-day. Fatigue was catching up to them.
Through the central street of that town, the bus came to a long-running chain link fence topped with rolls of razor wire. A
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gigantic sign announced their arrival at Star Harbor Naval Station. The driver stopped at a guard shack, where a pair of sailors dressed in their white uniforms approached the doors.
“Shore Patrol,” one boy sitting across from her stated.
The sailor stepped up when the driver pulled the lever to open the door for him, and regarded the kids with casual boredom.
“Gawd, anotha load?” He asked in thick southern drawl. “Nubes been pourin’ through here like rain for the past month!”
The driver shrugged, “Big recruiting campaign.”
“No kiddin’!”
The sailor got out, waving them past. The driver shut the doors, and put the bus back into gear. The road changed from blacktop to plain metal. The bare cerma-steel that the station was constructed of. No need to beautify what was essentially supposed to be a rugged section anyway.
The navy shipyards were far from attractive. Steel prefab structures, all warehouses, office complexes, and industrial machinery. Huge cranes lifted heavy equipment from semi-trucks, and slowly swung them over onto one ship or another. Box trucks were backed up to loading docks, being off-loaded both by forklift, and by hand. Crates and boxes of stores were being carried through big access bays in the sides of ship’s hulls.
Sailors in this area were dressed more in either the blue dungaree working uniform, or blue patterned camos. They were working hard, getting dirty. One could tell which ship each group was from by what command ball cap they wore. Each ship had its own mascot, symbol, or design with the ship’s name arced atop.
Minerva noticed that the young men and women appeared
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mostly happy despite being so involved in what looked like trying work. Mostly likely in their mid-twenties, older than anyone on the bus with her, but still young by any standard. Here and there she might see a single man or woman who was clearly older than most, maybe in their thirties. Those were apparently the higher-ranking NCO’s, the supervisors. The navy rank was worn upside-down in comparison to the chevrons on the corporal’s sleeves. She wondered why the services had different ways of displaying essentially the same thing.
The marine, who had been sitting up by the driver, got up, and made his way down the aisle toward the back. He looked down at the kid seated next to Minerva, and thumbed the air.
“Beat it, Nube.”
The boy quickly got up, and shuffled away to sit somewhere else. Minerva grinned as the corporal sat down, smiling at her.
“These hulks are pretty big up close, aren’t they?” He asked.
“It’s incredible,” she answered, “I can’t believe I’m really here.”
Mark was looking at her with a close study, and she gave him a curious, sideways look, “What?”
For the first time, he actually blushed.
“I gotta ask. How old are you?”
Minerva felt her own face heat up, and it felt as if her grin would just swallow her head whole.
“I’m seventeen, but my birthday is in February.”
“I’m eighteen.” He held up his left hand, “And, no wedding band.”
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Minerva broke out laughing, her hand over her mouth. She felt giddy, glad that the ice had broken, and even gladder that this guy was actually flirting with her. She held up her own left hand.
“Me neither.”
“Boyfriend?”
She shook her head no.
“I’m not seeing anyone. That makes us both single.”
Minerva tried to look serious, “I see.”
Mark mimicked her expression, “Maybe after you graduate, and get sent over to the regiment, you could look me up.”
“How would I find you?”
“Just remember First Battalion. You could ask around. I have a lot of friends over there, and someone would point you in the right direction.”
“And, the right direction is toward you?” She teased.
Mark grinned wide, “I like to think so.”
Something outside the window behind him caught her attention, and she audibly gasped, “Oh, my God! Look! There’s an Attayan!”
There were, in fact, several. Over the years, the armed services of both worlds had been engaging in a sharing program that gave enlisted and officers the opportunity to serve in one another’s branches. It allowed service members to become better acquainted with each other, and to learn about the cultures and traditions of each race.
The kids marveled at the working party of Attayan sailors, who were laboring to off-load boxes from a truck, and stack them
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onto a pallet jack. The furry-faced sailors paid little attention to the bus as it passed slowly by. One of them happened to glance over, and see the dozens of interested faces gawking at him. He flipped a casual middle finger at them, but it was good-natured. He was grinning, revealing sharp, cat-like teeth.
Mark was laugh
ing at her surprise, and she playfully smacked him on the arm.
“I’ve never seen one in-person before.”
He sat back, feigning boredom, “It gets old. You’re going to be around them all the time, now. After a while, you won’t even notice the difference.”
“What about Storians?”
Mark shrugged, “There are some of those, too, though not as many. It’s harder for them to get immigration permits from their government. Only doctors, businessmen, and the like. You won’t see any of them in the military, Storia won’t allow it.”
Minerva remembered the news broadcast from the airport, “Are they all really as bad as people say they are?”
“No. There are a lot of decent Storians, it’s their government that’s so bad.”
She looked out again, at the Attayans as they receded behind the bus, “Are they easy to get along with?”
Mark sounded a little exasperated, “Look, Attayans and Storians are just people, like we are. They look a little different, they have some quirks, but they’re humans. Same DNA and all. Some are nice, some are assholes, and aren’t we all?”
Minerva smiled at him, “This is so spank!” Which was the current slang for something fantastic.
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The bus finally stopped, off to the side of the metal road, across from what was one of the second-largest ships in the docks. Mark got up, and gave her another wink.
“We’ll talk later?”
She nodded, smiling.
The corporal moved to the front, and ordered everyone off.
“You know the drill by now! Line up! Stay off to the side of the road!”
Outside, Minerva craned her neck to look up. The vessel was one of the flat-decks, half as large as a full carrier. On the hull, huge, white letters declared its name as the USS Belleau Wood-LHA 3. She had no way of being certain, but it looked as if it were a good ten stories up to the edge of the flight deck. Catwalks up high had a few sailors walking about on them, and they appeared small from that distance.
The corporal led his troop single-file across the road, and along one side of the wide pier. To the left, a destroyer sat moored, actually floating in the air above a thick layer of the purple energy that comprised the dome. Mammoth grapples and thick mooring ropes held both vessels firmly in place. Forklifts whined past, delivering goods up wide ramps that jutted from the hulls of each ship.