"You know that for a fact?" she said. "There's absolutely no chance that you might be stationed on Earth?"
"Come on, Miranda, you know I won't be."
"I don't know. You never talk about what you're doing. How can I know anything if you won't talk to me?"
"I can't talk to you about it. It's all classified."
"Like how you got that cut on your face?" she said, the words bitter as tears began to well up in her eyes.
Dean had forgotten all about the cut. The stitches he'd received were tiny, the scar already little more than a small line, only slightly paler than the rest of his skin. He'd had to lie about the minor wound, since all training at Coronado was classified. He'd said it had been an accident, but wouldn't give her details. He hadn't realized just how much she resented him for it until that moment.
"Look, we both knew this wasn't a long-term arrangement," he said.
"Arrangement? Is that all I am to you," she said much too loudly in the little restaurant.
The server who had been heading toward their table stopped and quickly found something else to do.
"I'm more than that, Dean, and you know it. You can run away if you want to, but I'm betting that if you tried you could find a way to stay on Earth. Maybe even here in San Diego."
"Come on, Miranda, this is my dream."
"It's your dream to live on a space ship and fight monsters and die? Some dream."
"Don't do that," Dean said. "Please, I just don't want to hurt you any more than I already have."
"You aren't hurting me, Dean," she snarled. "But you're a real piece of shit, you know that. My dad was right about you. I should never have let you..."
She couldn't keep talking. The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and even though Dean tried to comfort her, she refused him.
"Don't touch me," she said. "I don't ever want you to touch me again!"
"I'm sorry, Miranda. I really am."
"You used me. I was just a distraction and once you got what you wanted you're done with me."
"That isn't true and you know it."
"I don't know it. All I know is that I was a fool to trust you."
She stormed from the bistro and Dean sat looking at the mosaic pattern on the table. He felt horrible and nothing would make him feel better, he knew that. Captain Parker had warned him, but he hadn't listened. Instead, he let himself develop feelings for someone that he was forced to hurt. The outcome was inevitable, and yet he had allowed himself to carry on the deception until a part of him believed it was possible to maintain an intimate relationship. The wound may have been emotional, but it was just as painful as any physical injury.
He left the bistro without eating, and wandered back in the general direction of the base. Hours passed, and eventually he found himself at Hampton Beach. The swim shop where he had met Miranda was only a short walk away, but Dean didn't allow himself to go there. Instead, he turned his back on the beach and all of its happy memories. He resolved in his heart to finish his training and dedicate himself to the job. He would have to deal with hurting Miranda, and his own feelings of loss for turning away from the relationship, but he could do it. He had learned how to endure pain and keep moving, that was what he needed to do. Just keep moving forward, he told himself as he headed back to the EsDef training facility, and don't look back. Never look back.
Chapter 24
Demolitions training was by far the most fun of all the specialties. Dean found that blowing things up was addictive. The Demo specialists had two main functions, the first was using their knowledge of explosives to help the platoon achieve mission goals. Dean learned how to set traps, blow open sealed doors, and sabotage enemy equipment. Their secondary function was to carry additional supplies for the platoon. Depending on the mission, the two-man Demo team assigned to the platoon carried everything from spare ammunition to replacement parts for the AAVs and MSVs.
Most of the Demo specialists were natural mechanics who loved to tinker. Taking things apart and putting them back together was a pastime, but also a useful skill since Force Recon platoons often needed to make repairs to armor, weapons, and equipment while in the field. The Demo trainees were physically tough, and were expected to carry almost as much weight as the HA specialists, but also calm enough under pressure to disarm explosives. Dean found the men jovial and good natured, and his time with them seemed to fly by. He was even allowed to shoot the shoulder-mounted rockets that had been used against him during his field exercise with the HA squad.
He spent his liberty writing letters to his parents, maintaining his gear, and going over the copious amount of weapons, armor, and equipment specs. He had the information on his tablet, which had been upgraded while at Coronado to one of the state-of-the-art devices used to access and store military secrets. Dean's was triple coded with fingerprint, retina scan, and voice recognition. And the casing was heavy duty, not the thin commercial tablets, but a high impact case that was water and shock proof.
His wrist link had been upgraded as well. It felt like nothing more than a leather band, about the width of his index and middle finger, but the face of the device was glossy and connected wirelessly to his tablet, and eventually to the armor he would receive for combat. The link had a silent vibrate feature to alert him of incoming messages, among a host of other features.
His last specialist rotation was Close Combat. Force Recon was the elite division of EsDef, and Close Combat Specialists were the elite fighters of Recon. Only senior NCOs with combat experience could apply for CCS training, and just like Dean they studied the specialties of every division in Force Recon, including comms and fire control, which would be Dean's own specialty as the ranking officer in his platoon. But the CCS were more than just all-around fighters, they were in essence trained killers. They were deadly with their hands, with knives, with guns, and even with everyday materials. Shoe laces in the hands of a Close Combat Specialist were lethal weapons.
Dean was reminded of Captain Parker's training at OTA as he sparred with the Close Combat Specialists. The physical training was grueling, and every challenge was met with an unmatched intensity that Dean wasn't accustomed to. Still, he adapted quickly, soaking in the knowledge of the other soldiers, who didn't tell stories of their time off world for any other reason than to make him a better officer. The Close Combat trainees were all non-commissioned officers, having attained the rank of sergeant at least. And having seen combat off world, they all knew what was at stake, which made them want to help Dean.
When his two weeks of CCS training were over, Dean felt more prepared than he had after all the other rotations at Coronado combined. Captain Anderson escorted Dean to the hangar, where he was scheduled to catch a flight to Bayview Naval facility in North Idaho. In the past the United States Navy had a top secret submarine research facility in a remote part of Lake Pend Oreille. EsDef had taken over the facility and now used the remote location to train Force Recon officers and newly formed platoons.
"Have fun up in Idaho, that's beautiful country," Captain Anderson said.
"What's next for me?" Dean asked.
"A couple of weeks training in comms, command, and fire control. It won't be as much fun as Coronado, but afterward you'll get your first platoon. There's nothing quite like that. Savor it and enjoy every second you've got before they deploy you. After that... well, let's just say that life onboard a star ship is different."
"Worse than OTA?" Dean asked.
"In some ways yes. At least you'll have access to the entire ship as an officer. But the navy brass still look down their noses at Recon, and depending on the assignment you sometimes get hard case captains. Just take it one day at a time, keep your platoon alive, and get back home soon."
"Good advice," Dean said, shaking Anderson's hand. "I'll touch base if I’m ever back this way."
"Damn right you will. Good luck, Dean."
Dean nodded and stepped up onto the open ramp of the EsDef transport. He hesitated at the top
, looking back over his shoulder and thinking of Miranda. He had done his best to keep her out of his mind, but she was always there, like a ghost haunting his otherwise happy memories of training at Coronado. It was impossible not to wonder what she was doing. She hadn't messaged him after their break-up and he worried about her, but he was leaving and she was better off without him. At least he did his best to convince himself of that as he found his seat and waited for takeoff, wondering if he would ever see her blond hair and striking blue eyes again.
Chapter 25
Bayview was a dual-purpose base. The training for Recon officers took place underwater in one of the old training submarines. For the first two weeks of his time at Bayview, Dean was confined to a tiny cabin about the size of a closet. He wore nothing but his battle armor, and the corridor between his berth, the tiny classroom, and the equally small mess hall, were so tight he had to duck through hatchways and shimmy sideways past bundles of pipes. For two weeks, while Dean learned the capabilities of his armor, he was confined to the submarine to test his stress levels on deep space deployment. The space ships were not as small as the submarine, but he could go for weeks on board ship with nothing to do but train, study, and prepare reports. The absence of sunlight and fresh air put so much stress on some people that they had to be sent to the sick bay and kept sedated until they could be replaced.
Dean was told that every officer went through the intense claustrophobic training to ensure they wouldn't break under the pressure. For his part, Dean focused on his studies, remembering to find ways to release his frustration in productive ways. Major Alphonse Gheridelli taught strategy, tactics, and leadership. Sometimes he was present in the tiny classroom with Dean, at other times he was linked into Dean's battle helmet, or TCU, Tactical Control Unit.
During Officer Training at Grooms Lake, Dean had been taught by the PID, which was a replica of his TCU. The helmet, unlike the others he had trained on, was custom-made for Dean. It fit snuggly, but wasn’t too tight. The placement of every message, video, diagram, and targeting control was natural. He adjusted quickly to using the helmet, and he found that he really enjoyed the TCU's capabilities. He could tap into the ship's computing system at any time, bringing up readings on everything from engineering to shipboard communications.
Once he was assigned a platoon, he would have unfettered access to the video feed and operations of the battle helmets worn by his troops. But spying on other systems was just the beginning of his TCU's abilities. The software node on the very top of the helmet could issue ground radar that would give Dean a schematic of the terrain for nearly a mile in every direction. When enemies were in range he could designate each one, and upload that data to his platoon, or even to a ship in orbit. What Dean might face off world was anyone's guess, and he couldn't be trained for specific tactics and strategies, but he would have almost omniscient control of his platoon through the capabilities of his TCU.
He spent his mornings running battle simulations where he controlled the actions of computerized troopers in settings across the 45 worlds. At first Dean was amazed at the diversity of the strange planets humanity was colonizing. But the threats he encountered quickly swept away the wonder and awe of being in a highly detailed virtual reality setting. His imaginary troops responded to his verbal commands, and after each battle simulation, he was debriefed by a set of officers that helped him describe his actions in complete detail. He was never scolded for failures in his decision making, only for omissions in the way he described the battle. After his debrief he studied the simulations with Major Gheridelli, who talked purely about tactics. What worked, what didn't, what he could have done better.
The major knew the battles backward and forward, knew when the terrain was a factor, when the enemy's unique characteristics played a role in the outcome of the battles. Dean did more than study the lessons he was taught, he used his time with Major Gheridelli to connect with another human being. And he soaked up every idea, no matter how far-fetched it seemed, that the tactics and strategy expert described. Dean didn't feel worthy of being in charge of other people’s lives, yet he had been trained to do exactly that. And during his first field exercise leading troops, taking charge had come naturally to him. It was a skill he hadn't even known he'd had, but it felt right.
Major Gheridelli talked openly about the simulations and their limited ability to allow the officers the chance to improvise. By the end of Dean's two weeks of training he was more than ready to get off the submarine, but also anxious to meet the men and women whose lives he would be entrusted with. His head was stuffed full of knowledge. He knew more about an EsDef Force Recon platoon than anything else in his life, yet the knowledge seemed too theoretical. It was like reading the rules of a game. Dean had studied the rules and he was ready to try his hand at actually playing the game.
It was fall when Dean's two-week intensive on the Bayview submarine was over. When he finally stepped out of the hatch, his transparent face shield up, he stepped out into the golden hour. The sun was setting, casting golden rays of light across the dark blue water and onto the towering evergreen trees that lined the shore. The air was chilly but unbelievably fresh. He savored every scent as he walked across the long pier to the row of base housing that sat back from the shore.
Dean had been assigned a room in building D and was pleasantly surprised to see that he had a bed, a desk, and most importantly a window in his new room. He didn't have a real window to look out of even at Coronado, and the mountains rising around the EsDef base were spectacular.
He climbed out of his armor, which had been his only clothes for his two-week training intensive. He ate, drank, slept, and even used the bathroom in the airtight battle suit. Dean had thought the HA armor was amazing, but the lieutenant battle armor was on a completely different level. It was automatically climate controlled, reading his body's needs without Dean having to do anything. It recycled his sweat and urine into the cooling system, or could be filtered into potable water in the field. It even dealt with solid waste, although Dean didn't want to know how it did it.
Even though he hadn't been in actual battles, getting the armor off was a high priority, as was getting a long, hot shower afterward. The water flowing over his sun-starved skin was luxurious, as was actually laying down on a soft mattress again. He turned in early, skipping his evening meal and catching up on his sleep while he had the chance.
The next morning he was sent to see the on-base shrink, who ran him through a battery of tests to make sure life on the submarine hadn't driven him insane. He was cleared and then escorted to the admiral's office. The base was run by naval officers, and the admiral was the ranking officer at Bayview. Major Hughes, the OWR commander, was there as well, holding gold bars for Dean's uniform. The admiral administered Dean's oath, and he was commissioned a Lieutenant in the Extra Solar Defense Force. Pictures were taken, which would be sent to Dean's family, but he would have no more contact with them from that point forward.
"It's time to meet your platoon," Major Hughes said. "I think it’s best if you meet them one specialty at a time. I always try to have my new LTs meet their CCS sergeants before the rest of their squad. You'll be working with Staff Sergeant Ashley Mercer. She's one damn fine NCO and you're lucky to have her."
Dean felt a little nervous, but followed the major, knowing his future was waiting for him. He had chased down a dream and become a full-fledged member of EsDef Recon. But what lay ahead was an even bigger challenge. He would lead men and women into harm’s way, and they in turn would trust him to get them through the rigors of each deployment and home safe. It was a heavy responsibility, but Dean couldn't wait to get started.
Chapter 26
Ashley Mercer was sitting at a table in the empty mess hall. Chow wouldn't be for a few more hours and the only sounds were the clanking and clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. Ashley sat looking out of a row of windows at the evergreen trees that covered the mountainside rising up toward a blue sky with th
ick, bright white clouds.
She didn't look up as Dean followed Major Hughes into the mess hall. She had short, dark hair, just a few inches on top, shaved down almost to the skin on the sides and back. Her face was wide, giving her a blocky expression, and her eyes were a steely gray color that Dean couldn't quite identify.
"Staff Sergeant Mercer," the major said in a booming voice. "Meet your new LT, Dean Blaze. He's fresh out of OTA, just pinned his bars on myself, but we have high hopes. I'm trusting you to show him the ropes."
"Yes, sir," Mercer said in a low voice.
"Good, I'll leave you to it, then."
The major left the mess hall and Dean stood looking at his CCS and feeling awkward. Mercer looked strong, with visible trapezius muscles on either side of her neck and round shoulders. She didn't smile, but she didn't frown as she looked Dean over from head to toe.
"Staff Sergeant," Dean said. "I'm glad to meet you."
"Yes, sir," Mercer said quietly.
"Should we sit down, get to know each other a little more?"
"This isn't a date, sir, and those gold bars are all I need to know to follow orders."
"Yes," Dean said, suddenly very self-conscious. "I'd like to know what you did before CCS training."
"I was a Demo grunt for six years, before getting a chance for CCS."
"Alright, that's good to know," Dean said, trying desperately to think about what he should say next.
"Who would you like to meet next? HA, our Sniper, FAS?
"Heavy Armor," Dean said, relieved that he could make a decision.
"They're in the bunker," Mercer said.
"The bunker?"
"That's what they call their fitness room and armor workshop. You've got four vets, two rookies, but I think they'll make a good team."
"Excellent," Dean said, following the staff sergeant out of the mess hall.
They made their way across the small base, past the officers' dormitory, and several barracks-style buildings. Then they came to what looked like a vehicle garage. There was loud music being played over PA speakers and Dean could hear the clank of heavy metal plates rattling as the soldiers lifted weights.
We Are The Wolf: Wolfpack Book 1 Page 13