85: Debrief

In the thundering metal cabin tearing across the sky at 180 knots, Veraa managed to catch up on a little lost sleep.  The gunships returned to Fleet Base Talisman inside of an hour.  The junior medic woke her gently, and she was still rubbing her eyes as she slid out of the helo and onto a steel deck the size of a football field, marked with white circles and large ‘H’ marks.  The medics walked casually with her from the elevated landing pad array, taking a lift down to ground level.  They wished her well and went off in their own direction.  She unzipped her heavy white parka and dug in a chest pocket of her camouflage uniform for the instructions she’d been given more than five days previously.  She’d done all but the last line.  On return to MFB Talisman, report immediately to Room QY7 for debriefing.

She knew exactly where QY Block was: a couple of kilometres away, on the far side of the town-sized Naval base.  However, she remembered that Landing Array 4 is just around the corner from…

She walked around a few buildings, and next to a motor workshop was one of the motor pools, just as she remembered.  She knocked at the door of the workshop and asked to sign out an LM-2, and within a minute she was entering her service number into a data pad and being tossed a set of keys.  The Gunnery Sergeant on duty, a cheerful New Britannic in a grease-spotted boilersuit, glanced at the gear hanging off her, noticing the ration cube.  “You Alpha Company, upstairs?”

‘Upstairs’ was Talisman jargon for the Recruit School.

“Yes, Gunny,” she smiled.

“How’d you go?”

“Five days.”

The Gunny whistled loudly and called out to one of the other mechanics.  “Hey, Davis!  This girl did five days on the Challenge.”

The mechanic poked his head around from behind a metal rack of shelves full of spare parts.  “Days?  Jeez, I don’t think I lasted hardly five hours out there, and it was summer and all,” laughed the second New Britannic.  “Well done, Recruit.”

“Thank you, Sergeant,” she beamed.

“Go on, get some real chow in you,” laughed the Gunny.

She thanked him and left, checking the number on the keyfob.  She jumped in behind the wheel of the corresponding jeep and roared out of the motor pool with a cheek-burning grin on her cold face.  Within a couple of minutes, she was signing the jeep back in at another motor pool on the other side of the base and walking into QY Block.  The door marked QY7 was easy enough to find, and she knocked lightly with a gloved fist.

“Come in, Miss Kul’hura.”

She entered, finding Sergeant Weaver sitting at a conference table in his brown shore duty uniform and matching pullover.  Beside him, hands folded neatly on the desk, was the CO, also in shore duty uniform, also with matching pullover, and also with a look of calm satisfaction on his face.

“Captain, sir, the Recruit presents at your table for report,” she said without inflection, standing to attention with the ease of many hours of practise.

Potter’s mouth twitched into a faint smile for a moment.  “Relax, Marine,” he said calmly.  “Take a seat.”

She sat stiffly in the seat across from him and set the ration cube on the table.  Weaver pulled it toward himself and poked through it.  “Food’s all gone, kept all the survival kit… plenty of water left.  How’s your rig; empty yet?”

She patted her PCH in satisfaction.  “Not quite, Sergeant.  Still have a few muesli bars, some of those boiled sweets, the tube of condensed milk, most of the coffee.”

“Looks like the hooks and line have been used.”

“Caught a couple of fish, supplemented my diet a little.”

“I’ve heard that a Syrr can find fish anywhere,” chuckled Potter.  “I’ve no reason to doubt it now.”

Veraa smiled hesitantly.  “Thank you, sir.”

“What was your final time?”

“One hundred and thirty-one hours, nine minutes, sir.”

He wrote the figure down on a form, then spun it around for her to sign.  She did so, he countersigned, passed it to Weaver to do the same, and then stood up.  Weaver and Veraa rocketed to their feet as well, out of respect for the officer.

“Well, congratulations, Miss Kul’hura.  Five days evading capture at any time of year is an achievement, but especially so when there’s still snow on the ground.  Many a strong man or woman has given up after a night or two.  Many a man or woman has conceded defeat when faced with overwhelming odds in our simulations, but you have gone above and beyond time and again.  Your classmates have only the highest respect and praise for you.  You are a team-player and a leader all at once; you lead by example and with great skill. You’re an exceptional warrior, Kul’hura; it runs in the blood of your people, and you should be most proud to call yourself a Syrr and a Marine.”

To her extreme surprise, he and Weaver saluted her.  She returned the salute smoothly, fighting back a lump in her throat.  “Thank you, sir.  That means a lot to me.”

He gave a fatherly smile.  “Your classmates are most eagerly awaiting your return.  You’ll be called on later to give a detailed report for a recording, but for now your orders are thus: make your way to Mess Hall One and report to Chief Trujillo.  That’s it.  The Chief will tell you what happens from here.”

She thanked them both, saluted, and left.