72: Exercise, Exercise

Veraa was having a strange dream.  She was running along through the alleys of vines at her parents’ vineyard on Ha’ash, and she felt like something was chasing her.  She made it to the front door of the house, grabbing the knob and opening the door—

A blaring alarm rang out, waking her up suddenly.  It took her a few seconds to realise where she was and what the alarm was for.  Just as she flung back the covers and rolled out of bed, a calm but firm male voice with a hint of a speech impediment—it was probably an AI—began speaking over the top of the alarm.

“Alpha Company, Alpha Company, this is an A-1 scramble.  Exercise, Exercise.  This is an A-1 scramble: report to briefing room Foxtrot-2-7 at the rush.  Exercise, Exercise.”

Most recruits simply rammed their uniforms on over their pyjamas, as the two bathrooms had been occupied within a couple of seconds.  Veraa was still buckling her belt as she ran out the door, her beige garrison cap held in her teeth.  Every recruit had been loaned a site map to use for getting around the base—loaned, not given, as maps of Naval bases are classified material—but it was a safe bet than none of them had brought them along as they charged along the corridors.  Each recruit wore coloured tabs on their epaulettes: the left shoulder was their platoon, the right was their section.  Red was ‘One’, blue was ‘Two’ and green was ‘Three’; for example, Veraa had a blue tab on her left and green on her right.  Not only did this make it easy for staff to group them together quickly, but it was good practice for the recruits to get used to recognising and deciphering unit patches once out in the fleet.

Veraa had made a point of studying the map and memorising landmarks, and when she and a mixed group of recruits from various sections passed the doors to the A Company mess hall, she pointed to a side corridor.

“It’s down this way.”

A lanky recruit with red tabs on both his shoulders—One Section, One Platoon—scowled slightly.  “How would you know that?”

“I had the sense to read the map.  If you had too, you’d know that F27 is about halfway along this corridor.”

The higgledy-piggledy group had come to a standstill.  The lanky guy folded his arms.  “And what if you’re wrong?”

Veraa sighed.  “Well then we’re lost, ‘cos I don’t see you suggesting a different direction.  Look, I don’t know whether you’re just arguing for the fun of it, or because you don’t trust a girl to read a map better than you, or you just hate me ‘cos I’m green.  Whatever.  I’m telling you, F27 is just down here.”

A couple of the other recruits started agreeing.  Suddenly, several more recruits came barrelling up behind them.  “Well come on, what are you waiting for?” hollered one of them.  “It’s just down the corridor there, let’s go!”

Veraa didn’t bother even looking at the lanky guy, let alone rubbing his nose in it.  The mass of students bolted down the corridor and into the briefing room.  As soon as they were in the door the three platoon sergeants, Loganathan, Weaver and Porter, began shepherding them into their sections.  The XO stood up the front and gestured to a sailor at the side wall, who was at a data terminal.  The sailor typed some commands and the projector on the ceiling burst into life, splashing Commander Creswell with greeny-blue light and casting her silhouette over a map.

“Behind me is a photograph taken from orbit above Kulkarni’s Purchase.  Yeoman,” she said, gesturing to the sailor again, and he tapped something on his screen.  Three coloured box outlines appeared; one red, one blue and one green.

“Platoons will be dropped at these locations on the surface to conduct weapons training.  You will be accompanied by your platoon sergeants only.  Lists will be distributed through your section dorms, detailing what equipment you will need.  It’s winter down there, at your drop site, so I recommend getting cold weather gear from the Q-store when you go to pick up your Personal Cargo Harness and battle backpack.  Return to your dorms and wait for your platoon sergeants to collect you.  Those of you who are still wearing pyjamas under your fatigues—yes, I know that’s what most of you did, everyone’s been there—you’ll want to get changed quickly.  Don’t worry about missing breakfast; combat rations will be supplied when you reach the surface.”

While the Exec spoke, Veraa had been looking at the map.  The blue square was in some open grassland near a mountain range.  The red square of One Platoon looked like it was on a flat-topped mountain in the range, and the green square of Three Platoon was on the far side of the range.  There was no scale on the map, but judging by the size and spread of the mountains, the three platoons would be dropped a few kilometres apart.  The Exec dismissed them, and they all began filing out through the door.  Veraa was deep in thought all the way back to the dorm.  She sat down on her locker for a moment, as Amy came and opened her own.

“I have a sneaking suspicion this isn’t just going to be weapons training or whatever the XO said,” she said to Amy’s back.

“Yeah, maybe,” said Amy, digging through her locker for an extra pair of socks.  “O’Dell’s brother is in the Navy, maybe you should ask him whether he heard anything about it.”

Veraa looked along the dorm to where a couple of New Britannics were horsing around noisily with what looked like a pair of underwear.  “Hey, O’Dell!”

O’Dell and his buddy looked up quickly, flinging the jocks under a bed.  “Oh, Kulhu’ra, jeez… thought you were an officer or something,” he called back.  “What’s up?”

“Your brother ever tell you about this?  The whole ‘landing on the surface’ thing?”

He thought for a moment.  “He said once that recruits do training missions and stuff down there.”

“Thanks.”

Veraa grinned at Amy.  “Bet you ten plat we end up fighting the other platoons, like wargames.”

“No way,” her friend laughed, shaking her head.  “We’re only four days into the course, they wouldn’t make us do exercises like that so soon.”

“We’ve done a few theory classes, I guess.  They might want to show us just how hard it is, and how much we have to learn.”

“Ten plat.”

“You’re on.”

They shook hands to seal the deal, just as Marine Sergeant Weaver came into the dorm and handed over a printed list.  “Hand it around, make sure everyone sees it.  You have fifteen minutes to have everything on the list ready to go, laid out on your racks.”