Recruit

Chapter 2

The passenger deck on the transport vehicle was dark and dirty, the air filled with the stench of putrid bodily excretions. A Marine sergeant was pushing the recruits toward the seats that ran along either side of the deck, a small tazer in his hand. The cover on Jack’s chair was covered in dark smears. He sat uncomfortably on the sticky surface. The floor in front of his chair was covered with a caked-on splatter of vomit.

A sudden eruption of gas and steam from a vent above the seat opposite Jack brought gasps and shouts of surprise from the packed passenger deck, and somewhere in the stinking dark, Jack heard a burst of uncontrolled sobbing.

Jack looked at the faces of the young men and women sitting in the seats along the deck. Most were nervous but they all looked like the usual military conscripts, a mix of the poor and stupid, unable for one reason or another to dodge the draft. As he looked along the line, he saw one face glaring back, the hard face and cold eyes of an angry and aggressive recruit.

Jack averted his eyes from the hard stare opposite. The wailing and crying from further down the deck had grown to a wild yelling. It was the same excuses he’d heard in the lecture theater time and again; they shouldn’t be here, it was a mistake, they didn’t belong, they wouldn’t be any good as a soldier. The deck lit up in a flash together with the fizzing of a tazer. The crying stopped, replaced by the creaking and groaning of the old transport.

The gloom became darker as the massive doors to the passenger deck began to close, filling the air with a rushing hiss of pneumatic pressure. A claxon alarm sounded and then a loud, distorted announcement that was almost impossible to understand. The countdown was clearly understood. Soon Jack would be blasted out into space to one of the off-world training bases.

The acceleration hit like a hammer. Jack was pressed into his seat as the craft raced toward space. A wailing alarm pierced the ear and drowned out the noise of the rattling old ship. A red light flashed across the terrified faces. Shouts of panic and fear came from the new recruits. Jack felt it would be just his luck to get killed on his first flight on a military craft. No need to send these kids to the war, he thought. The military could save a load of time and effort and just incinerate them all in the atmosphere of Eros.

A door at the end of the deck slid open with a hiss and the scraping of metal on metal. A Marine entered the passenger deck, opened an instrument panel on the wall above the row of seats, and began tapping keys and flicking switches. The alarm and flashing light stopped. The deck was still filled with ear-shattering noise from the engine and the wailing recruits. Jack looked across to the Marine who was shouting into a communication panel. He could just make out what was said; why was the transport still suffering from the same fault? Jack couldn’t hear the reply, but he guessed it was not acceptable by the way the Marine slammed the control panel shut.

The Marine turned to look along the passenger deck. Jack saw that the Marine was a woman, a tall, broad-shouldered woman. Her hair was blonde and short, her face set with a grim expression. Gravity fell away and the Marine began to float. She grabbed hold of a rail running along the roof.

“Listen up, hayseeds. Training starts now. I am Lieutenant Crippin. You may call me whatever you like behind my back. Cripple. Crapple. Pin head. Bitch. But to my face, you call me sir. Do you get me?”

Crippin shouted in the face of a young woman, no older than eighteen. The woman shuddered. Her lip wobbled. Crippin shouted again into the girls face.

“Do you get me?”

The young woman nodded.

“Give the proper response, hayseed,” Crippin yelled. “Sir, I get you, sir.”

The girl spoke quietly. Crippin shouted again, “Sir, yes, sir.” Crippin went to the next recruit, a young man so malnourished he retained his boyish features. Crippin yelled into his gaunt face. “Do you get me, hayseed?”

The recruit shouted, “Sir, yes, sir.”

Crippin straightened up and looked along the deck. “Listen up and you might live. Listen well and you’ll live longer than you deserve. Sergeant Hacker is distributing ration bars. This is today’s ration. Eat it now.”

The sergeant walked along the line of recruits, holding a sack in one hand. He reached in and pulled out a small, silver-colored block. The sergeant began throwing the small blocks into the laps of the recruits.

Jack watched the recruits tearing through the silver cover to the dark sticky mess within.

“Some of you have volunteered. Some of you have been drafted. You are all military now. You are all the same to me. You are all hayseeds.”

Sergeant Hacker threw a ration bar to Jack. He reached out for it, but a boot flicked up from the recruit opposite and kicked it up to the roof. The block bounced off the grubby ceiling and flew down, toward the recruit who had kicked it up. Jack reached out, but the block was just beyond reach. He looked across the person opposite, who reached out and grabbed it.

Jack smiled and held a hand out. “Throw it over,” he said.

“I can read people real good. Better than I can words. I recon you are a kravin' student. But you dropped a grade and got thrown in here with us. You ain’t so smart as you thought you was.”

Jack held out his hand. “Come on. Give me my rations.”

The recruit sitting to Jack’s left nudged him in the arm. “You won’t get that back from him. He’s a thief. I’m Bill Harts.” Harts held out his hand for Jack.

“Jack Forge,” Jack introduced himself and shook Harts’ hand.

“And he is Sam Torent.” Harts leaned forward toward Torent. “A thief.” Harts turned to Jack and spoke as if to take Jack into his confidence. “I was waiting when the police delivered him. He took military service instead of prison for persistent thievery.”

Torent smiled and tucked the ration block into his jacket.

“Listen up, hayseeds. It’s my job to turn all of you into something useful, something that can kill Chitin scum. But the Chitin wants to kill you, and they are good at it. Those of you who listen are more likely to survive. Then you will be able to spend more of your nasty little life killing Chitin scum. Do you get me?”

Sam shouted out with everyone else. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“You, hayseed,” Crippin shouted into Jack’s face. “Why aren’t you eating?”

Jack looked across to Torent, who glared back.

“Sir, I lost my ration bar, sir.”

“Unacceptable, hayseed. That ration bar is military property. It was your responsibility to see it was used in the correct manner. If the military gives you a pulse rifle and you lose that, how are you going to shred Chitin scum, hayseed? Next time the military gives you a piece of equipment, you look after it like it was your own nutsack. You get me, hayseed?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Jack shouted. And as Crippin walked on shouting about the limited duration of the training and the limited resources available, Jack looked across to Torent as he bit into his ration bar. The dark, sticky bar stuck to Torent’s teeth and he gave Jack a big, sticky smile.