Anaz-Voohri (9 page)

The jeep took him to a large troop transport at the end of a runway. Once inside the fat-bellied plane, however, Zack only saw a dozen young men and women sitting on the benches lining the sides. They seemed just out of college and rather quiet. Some even looked like geeks. He wondered what they all had in common to be in this special unit. Michalski said they all had brains as well as strong bodies.

Zack suspected these young recruits knew nothing about their destination or their purpose. His attempts at social contacts only produced strained smiles and shy answers. Some of them looked scared, not the usual jocks you find in recruiting offices.

Zack strapped himself on a bench. With no windows, he wouldn’t be able to see which direction the plane took. The unknown element made him nervous but excited as well.

After takeoff, the deafening noise of the engines prevented all conversation. Zack wished he could listen to his favorite CDs, but with no electronic devices allowed, he had to leave them behind. To make the best of the flight, he opted to catch up on his sleep and soon dozed off.

*****

The bump of the landing gear hitting the ground woke him up. How long had they been flying? It felt like he’d slept for hours. No way to know without a watch, though.

The cargo gate at the back of the plane opened. The sun was still high in the sky, so Zack assumed they’d traveled west. As soon as he stepped outside, the intense heat almost choked him, as if he’d entered an oven by mistake. Around him, only desert, a few dry bushes, dust devils, tumbleweeds.

It looked like the southwest, but where? Arizona, Nevada, Texas, New Mexico? They’d landed in the middle of nowhere. The landing strip wasn’t black tarmac, but concrete, painted like camouflage imitating the desert floor. Several hangars with desert netting on top dotted the end of the landing strip. No other buildings in sight.

An arched ledge rose from the side of a hill, like the entrance to an underground facility.
A secret base?
As he followed the small group toward the entrance, Zack noticed various training areas, barely distinguishable from the desert itself.

On top of the hill, a man-made dome blended with outcrops of desert brush.
An observatory?
So many
questions,
and so far no answers. Here and there slight promontories probably sheltered ventilation shafts. Zack wondered how long the military would keep them in the dark about their location.

Instead of heading for the tunnel entrance, the officer led them off to a side trail and up the hill. Glad for his Nikes, Zack found the short climb taxing in the torrid heat. As soon as they crested the hill, Zack gasped at the sight of a cluster of large square tents under camouflage netting, all in the light colors that would make them unnoticeable from the sky. Did they really expect him to live outside in this heat? This military training camp might prove a little rougher than he’d expected.

Struggling to suppress any negative thoughts, Zack dared to hope they had air conditioning inside the tents. No such luck in the first tent they entered. It was the commissary, where they lined up to receive camouflage uniforms, combat boots, cotton socks, and underwear. The very thought of wearing all that clothing in this heat made Zack sweat. “Do we really need to wear high boots here?" Even his light shoes felt warm.

“You can go barefoot or bare-ass for all I care, soldier." The snide remark came from a hot Latina wearing full desert gear, including a bullet-proof vest and a mean weapon at her belt. “But for your sake, you better not slow the march. I wager you have the skin of an armadillo and you don’t mind rattlers."

Snakes?
Zack hated snakes. He also didn’t like being made fun of in front of the others, mainly by a tall gorgeous woman. The insignia on her beret represented Earth seen from the North Pole, with the initials OES. Zack wondered what it stood for.

“Recruits!"
Her voice carried through the tent and everyone quieted. “Welcome to Camp Hell. My name is Lieutenant Tia Vargas and you can call me Ma’am. You are wondering where you are, but believe me, it’s not on any map, so give it up. The less you know the better.”

Zack secretly vowed he’d find out anyway. He liked a challenge, and he wasn’t going to let a girl get the better of him.

“That way, if you don’t make the cut, we don’t have to eliminate you since you won’t have any secrets to report." Her gaze slowly assessed the dozen young recruits. “We call this unit OES, Operation Earth Shield, or as I call it, Obliterate Evil Scum."

Zack decided he hated her guts. The hot Latina had fire for sure, but he hadn’t graduated with a Masters at nineteen to be ordered around by a girl barely older than him with an obvious authority complex...even if she was a lieutenant and a total knock-out.

“By now, you probably regret volunteering for this special unit, but it’s too late. You signed your life away and your ass is mine. As of this minute, I own you body and soul. You don’t breathe, speak, move, or take a leak without my permission. And whatever I say, you salute and answer, 'Yes, Ma’am'. Understood?”

The recruits stared in dumbfounded silence.

“Understood?” she shouted then cupped her hand to her ear.

Finally getting the message, Zack saluted.
“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Louder!”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Zack yelled, joined by the other recruits.

“Get in uniform and be ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Fill your water canteens. Make sure your boots are the right size. It’s going to be a long march." She smiled, as if enjoying the effect of her words on the recruits. “Your tent is number six. Now scram!”

Although offended by this rude treatment, Zack had no other choice. As he feared, the tent wasn’t air-conditioned. He’d really have to adapt to pass this rigorous training. He was in good physical shape, though, and could endure as much as any athlete.

Still, Zack hadn’t given up his personal freedom to fall under the yoke of a total nut. What was he thinking when he’d enrolled? Didn’t he know the military was run by a bunch of power hungry freaks? Lobo’s comments came back to mind, and Zack realized he may not be cut out for military life after all.

Although he knew there was more to this operation than this humiliating training camp, Zack resented being here. But most of all, he resented Lieutenant Tia Vargas, whose only purpose in life seemed to be making his sojourn at Camp Hell utterly miserable.

Chapter Seven

Drenched in sweat, Zack could barely lift his swollen feet as he staggered uphill upon the uneven gravel of the rocky desert. The shoulder straps bruised his muscles to pulp, and the pack seemed heavier than its sixty pounds. He tasted salt and dust on his parched lips but had only one full canteen left, so he’d wait a little longer to hydrate. Next time he’d bring more water, no matter the weight.

The number of recruits in his platoon had dwindled since he’d started training at Camp Hell four weeks ago. One defected, another suffered from exhaustion and one even mutilated his right hand for the sole purpose to be hospitalized. Zack couldn’t believe what some people did to themselves to escape conditions they couldn’t handle.
Human nature at its sorriest.
Why did they sign up if they didn’t have the resolve?

Lieutenant Vargas led the march as usual, and Zack followed close behind her. Not bad scenery. Almost as tall as his six foot two, she was tanned and her thigh muscles bulged through the khakis as she climbed, stirring up dust in her wake. She’d tucked her long black hair into the beret, leaving her exquisite neck exposed. Although she kept a fast pace, Zack never saw her tired or sweaty. He wondered whether her pack weighed as much as his, but would never dare ask.

She slowed down and came up beside him, smelling like a freshly plucked gardenia, perfect skin, her face devoid of any makeup. “What do you think this
is,
soldier?
The Air Force?"
A spark lit her deep brown eyes as they met his. She shoved his shoulder. “Put some conviction in your steps!"

Zack stumbled under the shove. “Bite me,” he cursed softly under his breath as she quickly moved ahead. What was the bitch’s problem? She’d picked on him since the first day, no matter how well he performed. Zack hated abusers. His father had done enough of that. But if that was the price he had to pay to reach his goal and find Ashley, he’d gladly take her taunts.

The sun had long passed its zenith and now pitched to the West, but its rays remained hot and blinding despite the sunglasses. Heat rose from the baked ground. Still they marched on among the dust devils that filled Zack’s collar with grit and hurtled tumbleweed in their path. After a forty mile march, they couldn’t be more than three miles away from camp. According to Zack’s estimation, they’d soon see it from the top of the hill.

Heavy clouds to the southeast announced an approaching summer storm. Zack slapped an insect on his cheek. The start of the monsoon had spawned swarms of them in the last few days. He longed for the refreshing rain.

The other recruits looked as miserable as he felt. Some seemed close to collapsing. One girl sobbed softly as she limped along. Zack wanted to ask for a rest on behalf of the whole company, but bit his lip. Lieutenant Vargas would no doubt ridicule him in front of the others. And if she could take that kind of hardship with a smile on her face, he sure wouldn’t wimp out and
give
her a chance to gloat.

As they crested the ridge, Lieutenant Vargas finally ordered a halt under a clump of palo verde and mesquite trees. Recognizing the outcropping surrounding the camp in the distance, Zack gratefully sank to an inviting rock to enjoy the meager shade. He untied and set down his pack, loosened his shoe laces to relieve his swollen feet, then drank the last from his canteen. Although warm, the water loosened and washed away the dust in his throat.

Lieutenant Vargas didn’t sit or let go of her pack but planted herself in front of the platoon. Waiting patiently, she observed the recruits with an amused smile. “You have to push your limits if you want to improve your performance. How do you expect to kick terrorist ass in this kind of shape?"

Zack realized with a start that even the Lieutenant had been kept in the dark about the special unit’s true purpose. “What makes you think it’s terrorists we’re after?”

“What do we have here?" The Lieutenant grinned, white teeth gleaming in her naturally tanned face.
A sinister omen.
“A smart-ass, who still doesn’t know how to address a superior
officer
? Would you care to share your abundant knowledge with the rest of us ignorant curs, soldier?”

Too late.
Zack felt trapped.
“Sir, er, Ma’am, sorry, Ma’am.
I... I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“Really?"
Her smile widened, almost sympathetic.
“Then drop and give me fifty for speaking when you have nothing to share. Now, soldier!”

“What?”

Lieutenant Vargas crossed her arms on her chest and her round breasts lifted slightly.
“One hundred!”

“One hundred?"
Zack couldn’t believe the unfairness of it all. He dropped to his hands, cursing the small rocks that poked his palms, and started pushing up. “One, two..." How could he ever do a hundred in his state of exhaustion? Sweat dripped to the parched ground, and he’d swear he heard it sizzle.

The first fifty went easier than he thought, then his body slowed down and the task became agonizing. His arms cramped and his hands bled against the coarse sand. His grunts didn’t help much. He focused mainly on not collapsing.

“What’s the matter, soldier? Lost your tongue? Speak louder!" She seemed to enjoy her power over him.

“Sixty-one."
Zack wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of victory.
“Sixty-two."
His arms shook with the effort of each push and his whole body felt as hard and heavy as granite. The platoon watched him in silence, probably grateful she focused her wrath on him and not them. Why did he have to blabber? If Zack wanted to survive Lieutenant Tia Vargas’ brand of training, he’d have to learn to keep his mouth shut.

Unwilling to look weak, Zack kept working his tired arms. He counted out loud.
“Eighty-nine."
A scream pierced the air, then three gunshots. The pounding of feet told Zack a soldier came at a run.
“Ninety-one."

The man stopped short, sending dust in Zack’s eyes. “Lieutenant,
it’s
Williams. He’s been bit. The rattler’s dead, though.”

“Ninety-two."

“Snakes stick to the shade." The Lieutenant walked away. “What did the dimwit do? Dig under a rock?”

Zack looked right and left. No one paid attention to him. Seeing his opportunity, Zack stopped pushing but kept counting and grunting out loud.
“Ninety-three."

He finished the count lying on the ground then rose, brushed his hands on his camouflage pants and joined the others surrounding Williams.

The unfortunate soldier sat in the dust, pants rolled up, clutching his bare calf. Even on his black skin, the welt looked ominous.