First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (9 page)

“It will be a long time before you’re able to cheat in such a fashion,” Bainbridge added, “but you will
not
have a chance to get into bad habits.  Anyone who does will be summarily removed from Boot Camp and tossed back into the civilian population.  Do you understand me?”

“YES, SIR,” we bellowed, again.

“Good,” Bainbridge said.  He glanced at his watch.  “We should
just
have time for a run over to the Chow Hall and back before Lights Out.”

A few weeks ago, I would have groaned out loud at the thought.  Now ... I just started to run, pacing myself as best as I could.  The throbbing in my neck had faded completely, leaving me feeling ... happy.  I knew it wouldn't last - the Drill Instructors kept upping the pressure, pushing us to step past our previous limits - but for the moment I felt good.  We reached the Chow Hall, slapped our hands against the wall as instructed, then started running back again, right into the barracks.  Nordstrom, standing just inside the door, pointed us at the shower and supervised as we washed ourselves, then climbed into bed.

“Stalker,” he growled.  “You're on first watch.”

I did groan this time, which earned me a warning look.  Being on watch meant that I would have to stay awake for four hours, then snatch a bare three to four hours of sleep before it was time to get up and do our early morning callisthenics.  I had no idea how the Drill Instructors picked the watch candidates - we weren't allowed to set a rota for ourselves - but it wasn't going to be fun.  I sighed, picked up one of the books we’d been assigned to read in our
copious
spare time and sat down by the door.

“Hard luck, mate,” Joker called.

“Silence,” Nordstrom growled.  “Lights Out.”

I flicked a switch and the lights went dim, save for the one over my head.  The Drill Instructors were
never
gentle, but they reserved particular wrath for anyone who fell asleep on watch.  It could spell death, they’d warned, if someone fell asleep while they were watching for enemy infiltrators.  I’d seen Joker and Thug being berated for falling asleep and I had no intention of having it happen to me.  I was midway through the latest chapter when I heard someone moaning in fear, as if they were having a nightmare.

Bracing myself, I rose to my feet.  Some of the first recruits, back when we’d just arrived at Boot Camp, had been homesick, something that had puzzled me until I’d learned that they actually came from decent homes.  A handful had quit within the week; the remainder had learned to adapt, to cope with being so far from their families.  I slipped down past the rows of sleeping recruits, wondering who was making the noise.  Viper?  No, it was Professor.  He jerked awake as I approached.

“It’s all right,” I said, very quietly.  If he woke everyone else up, he’d rapidly become even less popular than Viper.  “What’s the matter?”

“Just a nightmare,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck.  “I’m sorry.”

I frowned.  “Are you in pain?”

Professor shook his head.  I thought it was genuine, although I didn't think any of us would admit to suffering if there was any alternative.  The last thing we wanted was a reputation for being unable to handle pain, even if we were visibly injured.  And yet, there were ways to cope with pain.  He could make a visit to the medics, they could check him out ...

“It was just a nightmare,” he said, keeping his voice low.  “Probably that slop we were eating for lunch.”

I had to smile, although I didn't believe him.  We joked that the cooks served us crap to save time, but the truth was that it was better than anything I’d eaten for the last ten years on Earth.  And it did help us to build up our muscles.  Besides, we were always too tired for nightmares.  I honestly couldn't recall dreaming, even once, since entering Boot Camp.

“You have to be tougher than you look,” I said, with a smile.  “I just go out like a light when my head hits the pillow.”

Professor gave me a wan smile.  “Just don’t tell the Drills.”

“I won't,” I promised.  I probably should have asked what he was dreaming about, but I didn't want to know.  “Go back to sleep.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

I watched him close his eyes, then walked back to the seat at the front.  Nordstrom was standing there, his eyes expressionless.  I waited for a moment, wondering if he was going to either compliment me - unlikely - or tell me I’d overstepped my bonds.  Instead, he pointed a finger at the chair, ordering me to sit.  I saluted - we’d spent weeks mastering how to salute - and sat.  By the time he woke up the second watch officer, I was engrossed in the book.

“Get some sleep, Stalker,” Nordstrom growled.  “Morning will come soon enough.”

He was right, of course.

Chapter Nine

The use of tracking implants was - and remains - one of the most controversial aspects of social control in the Empire, particularly in the years leading up to its fall.  There were strong movements to give everyone an implant, in the name of public safety, that would make it impossible for anyone to develop a political movement without being tracked, monitored and eventually arrested.  Indeed, a number of CityBlocks trialled mass implantation programs that helped to accelerate their social breakdown.

-Professor Leo Caesius

“Well,” Nordstrom said, as soon as we had marched through the camp and into a whole new section.   A large circle was drawn on the ground, with the Drill Instructor standing in the middle of it.  “This is the day you’ve been dreaming of since you first arrived.  This is the day you get to actually
hit
a Drill Instructor without repercussion.”

I shared a glance with Joker.  Hitting a superior officer - which was effectively everyone in the camp - was one of the headshots.  I’d seen a couple of recruits throw the first punch, then get dragged off to the commandant for immediate dismissal.  The idea of actually being allowed to take a swing at one of them was tempting, yet we knew them too well by now.  I doubted I could beat
any
of them on my best day.

“There is no such thing as a dangerous weapon,” Nordstrom continued, calmly.  “There are only dangerous men.  A man carrying the most deadly weapon in the universe is harmless, if he lacks the will and skill to use his weapon.  But an unarmed man who knows how to use his body to best advantage is very dangerous.  You, if you still want to complete the course, will be expected to become
very
dangerous men.”

He smiled, coldly.  “The Marine Corps has its own particular fighting style - the disrespectful call it Semper Fu - which draws from a hundred other fighting styles.  By the time you graduate, you will hold a tan belt - at the very least - in Semper Fu.  If you go to the Slaughterhouse, you will require a black belt to graduate.  We will hold you back as long as necessary to make sure you have the right qualifications before you go onto active service.”

There was a long chilling pause.  “Before we go any further,” he added, “does anyone want to take a crack at me?  A free shot at a Drill Instructor - and an automatic pass if you actually manage to knock me down.  Anyone want to take me up on it?”

I shook my head firmly.  Nothing in Boot Camp was easy ... and while I trusted the Drill Instructors to honour their offer of an automatic pass, I doubted anyone could actually win the prize.  Nordstrom was the toughest man I’d ever met.

“Come on,” Nordstrom said.  His gaze swept our ranks, challengingly.  “You can't get kicked out here, if you slam a fist into my jaw.”

Thug lumbered forward, looking pleased.  Nordstrom smiled at him, then waved him into the circle.  “I should add, for the benefit of everyone else, that it’s an automatic fifty push-ups for anyone who steps into the circle without being invited,” he said.  “Only the contestants are allowed inside until the match is over.”

He nodded to Thug, who lunged forward and threw a punch.  Nordstrom, moving so quickly I could barely follow his movements, caught his arm, yanked it forward and sent him falling to the ground.  I heard Thug grunt in pain as he landed on the hard surface, then gasp as Nordstrom sat on his back and smirked at us.

“Aggressive enough, but a complete lack of proper training,” Nordstrom said, addressing Thug.  “Not too hard a combination to beat.”

He looked up.  “Anyone else?”

I was still reeling, mentally.  It had happened so
quickly
.  Someone like Thug would have been intimidating as hell, in the Undercity; he'd been taken down so fast I hadn't even seen what had happened.  Nordstrom stood, helped Thug to his feet and muttered something I couldn’t hear in his ear, before pushing him back towards the rest of us.  I silently gave him some respect, if only for having the guts to
try
.  No one else had dared take the Drill Instructor up on his offer.

“You should always focus on taking the offensive,” Nordstrom said, as Johnston stepped forward and halted at the edge of the circle.  “Trying to go on the defensive is asking for trouble, unless you are
very
certain of your own supremacy.”

He didn't say it out loud, but the implication was easy to see. 
He’d
been confident he could best Thug without doing him a serious injury.  And he hadn't even thrown a single blow at his enemy.

“We will now demonstrate something more complex,” Nordstrom said.  He waved Johnston into the circle, then smiled savagely.  “Watch carefully.”

Johnston lunged forward; Nordstrom ducked back, then feinted himself with a handful of quick jabs.  Johnston threw a punch of his own, then followed it up with a kick aimed right at Nordstrom’s balls.  Nordstrom hopped backwards quickly, but Johnston followed up with a blow aimed right at his throat.  No matter what Nordstrom did, he couldn't take the offensive again.  Johnston landed a blow that sent Nordstrom reeling back and falling to the ground.  It wasn't until later that I realised just how carefully the entire thing had been choreographed.

“I lost the chance to take the offensive,” Nordstrom said, as he picked himself up.  I’d known people who would be completely humiliated by such a public loss, but Nordstrom took it in stride.  “As long as my opponent was beating on me, I had no opportunity to strike back and take the offensive for myself.  To tamely accept such a loss is to accept eventual defeat!  You will learn to reverse such a disaster as quickly as possible.”

He paused, then blew a whistle.  A line of recruits - all from the platoon above us - walked into the section, looking tough.  We’d improved a great deal, I knew, but they were still heads and shoulders above us.  Their Drill Instructors didn't look any tougher ... I looked at the older recruits and frowned, inwardly, at the nasty expressions on their faces.  They knew what was coming, even if we didn’t.  And they were looking forward to it.

Joker elbowed me.  “We have to fight them?”

“Line up, single file,” Nordstrom bellowed.  “I want one recruit from my platoon facing one recruit from the other platoon!”

I exchanged looks with Joker as two tough-looking men marched over to stand in front of us, resting their hands on their hips.  They had the same sense of easy confidence I’d seen in the older marines, although it was ruined by the air of grim anticipation I could sense pulsing off them in waves.  They were
definitely
looking forward to what was coming.

“My platoon,” Nordstrom said.  “Lock your hands behind your heads!  Tense your muscles!  Keep them there until ordered otherwise!”

“YES, SIR,” we bellowed.

“Today’s lesson is on how to
take
blows,” Nordstrom said.  “
Strike
!”

I had no time to react - as if there was anything I could have done - before the recruit facing me lunged forward and stabbed a fist into my gut.  Pain.  Lots of pain.  It was all I could do to keep my hands locked as he drew back and struck me again, this time in the upper chest.  I gagged, almost losing my lunch; somehow - and I have no idea how - I kept my hands in place.  Judging from Nordstrom’s snapped orders, others hadn’t.

“I believe I told you to keep your hands in place,” he thundered.  Despite the pain, I turned my head and realised that Viper was in deep shit.  “You were
not
permitted to block the blow.”

“Yes, sir,” Viper said, tonelessly.  “This recruit allowed his training to guide him.”

Nordstrom gave him a nasty look.  “Drop and give me fifty,” he ordered.  “Everyone else who moved their hands can join him.”

“You too, Harris,” the unfamiliar Drill Instructor said.  “This isn't a place to work out old grudges.”

“That must be his old platoon,” Joker muttered to me.

I nodded.  The pain was fading, but slowly; very slowly.  I couldn't help wondering if I’d cracked a rib, something that might well be a death sentence in the Undercity.  Jenna had told me that almost everything could be fixed, but why would anyone spend money on saving
my
life?  It wasn't as if anyone really gave a damn about Undercity rats ...

“Change your partners,” Nordstrom ordered, once the punishments were over.  “And prepare to do it again.”

We were all aching and sore by the time the first session was over and, unfortunately, burning with hatred for the other platoon.  Luckily, the second session covered how to block punches; Nordstrom and Johnston demonstrated them, one by one, before calling in the second platoon once again.  We still couldn't hit them back, but at least we could try and deflect their blows before we were hit.  None of them gave us any mercy; later, I realised they hadn't been shown mercy either, back when they’d been in the first phase.  It was a great relief when we were taught how to punch, kick and take the offensive, even though it took weeks before any of us managed to beat them in open combat.

“It is time to introduce you to one of our favourite games,” Nordstrom said, two weeks after we started unarmed combat training.  “You’ll notice the circle on the ground?”

We nodded in unison.  Nordstrom had called our attention to it regularly, both for demonstrating moves to us and reminding us - time and time again - that we weren't allowed to cross the line without permission.  I assumed it was something more than merely a line delineating the combat zone, but he hadn't elaborated.  Now ...

“The rules of Circle are quite simple,” Nordstrom said.  “Two marines enter; the victor is the one who either flattens his opponent or forces him out of the circle.  Would anyone try to hazard a guess as to why we have
that
victory condition?”

I decided to gamble and raised my hand.  “Sir,” I said, when he nodded.  “This recruit thinks that it exists to keep us aware of our surroundings.”

“Correct, recruit,” Nordstrom said.  “It is quite possible for someone who is winning to accidentally cross the circle and lose the match.  You can be beaten in the game by your own carelessness ... and, alas, you can be beaten in real life that way too.  Would you care to take a guess how?”

There was a pause.  None of us dared to try to answer.

“There have been incidents where someone has accidentally put a hole through a habitation dome on an asteroid,” Nordstrom said.  “Or somehow managed to vent the shuttlebay, throwing themselves and their comrades into space.  One
very
elaborate trap for marines involved filling the air with explosive gas, then waiting for some idiot to pull a trigger.  You
must
remain aware of your surroundings at all times.”

He beckoned to Johnston, who strode back into the circle and nodded, curtly, to his opponent.  Nordstrom ran forward; Johnston stepped to one side and stuck out a foot, sending Nordstrom flying forward and out of the circle.  He picked himself off the ground and turned to face us, his expression unreadable. 

“That was a depressingly easy victory for him,” he said, shortly.  “I expect you to do better.”

The Drill Instructors ran through two more demonstrations before we were allowed a chance to enter the circle.  The first time, Nordstrom allowed Johnston to literally
push
him out of the circle; the second time, Nordstrom did
something
and threw Johnston over the line, dropping him to the ground just past it.  As soon as Johnston picked himself up again, they divided us back up into pairs.  I was not best pleased to find myself paired with Viper.

“Go,” Nordstrom ordered.

I watched Viper closely for a second - Nordstrom had talked about learning to read one’s opponent, but I hadn't managed it - before advancing forward, carefully.  Viper
had
had two months of extra training, after all; I knew I shouldn't take him lightly.  But the moment I crashed into him, he jumped backwards and over the line.  It was so blatant it took me a moment to understand what he’d done.

Nordstrom blew the whistle, angrily.  “Do you actually
intend
to learn how to fight or are you just being stupid, recruit?”