Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

Baylen’s arrival was accompanied by a torrent of speculation as to what had kept him off-base for so long. Some said he had gotten into trouble with civilian authorities over a bar-fight, an idea most promptly discarded since no obituaries had recently been reported by the media. More speculated that he had finally managed to bed Captain Damien’s teenage daughter, trying to make the connection between one’s arrival and the other’s sudden bout of irritability. Still others whispered that the corporal was currently the prime suspect in a rape investigation, although no one had managed to identify who the victim was. Toni kept silent whenever he heard the whisperings and tried not to do anything stupid. He already knew why Baylen had been delayed, but had been asked by his instructor to keep it quiet.

Toni didn’t quite know why Baylen had confided in him, but was beginning to suspect that he had somehow gained a reputation for trustworthiness.

The conversation had taken place after-hours, as Toni coated the casern’s exterior walls as punishment for something he could no longer remember. Mason had decided that Toni shouldn’t end basic training before putting a fresh coat of whitewash on the Company building. Baylen sometimes stuck around when he worked, ostensibly to supervise the job, keeping up a low drone of conversation as Toni smeared the walls, his deep drawl pleasant company after the Screamer’s daily abuse. Sometimes the recruit would get a heads-up from his corporal, and those warnings had more than once proven useful in keeping out of Mason’s radar.

And then, out of nowhere, he found his instructor dropping the name of Miriam Reeves.

“The sarge from Valhalla?” Toni asked, trying to remember her face. It had been quite pretty in a freckly sort of way.

“Yep.” Baylen answered, “That’s why she had her eye on me when I took Happyface to the back, to keep me outta trouble, see?”

Toni nodded silently and returned to his work, his defined forearms lime-smeared up to his elbows.

“There’s nothing wrong with a corp and a sarge getting together, you know. But it’s gotta be off-base, and there was a rumor going round we were getting together in the sergeants’ mess quarters. And then Cap’n Damien heard about it.” Baylen didn’t quite spit the name out, but the resentment was there nonetheless.

Toni simply nodded and made a noise of encouragement as he worked.

“So I was called to his office one day, and he told me there was an enquiry into the matter. I told him he needn’t worry, that I and the sarge were respecting the institution. But some people are queer, you know? My saying that confirmed that we were together, and he didn’t like that at all. Told me I would never train another platoon. So I put in a few off-days, compliments of the FIC commander, you know him, big fella. Only came back for the enquiry proceedings, and that was ugly. Gotta be the most unpleasant business I’ve ever gotten mixed up with. I tell you, Toni, this army is asleep at the helm. We’re worried ‘bout who’s sleeping with who when we should be worried ‘bout our mission. You might not have noticed it yet, but eventually you will. We’re going through the motions of training, we talk about operations and tactics and strategy and all that shit, but ultimately we’re asleep, sleep-walking through our jobs since there’s no boogeyman to fight out there. About the last time this army woke up was with the PBI, and that was almost twenty years ago ...”

“The PBI?” Toni suddenly felt more than passing curiosity at the conversation.

“Phantom Battle Incident. There was a time before I joined when some of the research hubs were thinking of separating into independent states, you know.”

“Never heard about it.” Toni said, trying to remember his history classes in Leiben High and drawing a blank in his effort.

“Of course you didn’t. That isn’t taught at school, and there was only some talk about it in the media and Civilian Network, but at the height of the crisis there was a training incident involving a few tanks, friendly-fire during a live-fire exercise. Someone botched things up and, by the time it got leaked to the media, it was supposed to be a full-blown battle. I was fourteen years old at the time, and seeing everyone scared shitless like that gave me more of a hard-on for the service than anything else could have. Some Cavalrymen and Arties died on that day, twenty four I think. Anyway, that must be the last time there was a real honest-to-god Red-Alert on any military base. Since then it’s been slow slumber.”

Toni had never heard him speak bitterly before.

“I thought you loved the army, Corp.”

“You know, Toni, I hate the army. I hate today’s army, the one that exists. What I do love is the army the MEWAC could have been if there wasn’t so much bullshit flying around. Never forget this, kid. Even in times of peace the Enemy still exists. But this enemy is on our side. Every soldier napping on sentinel duty, every asshole sergeant with a chip on his shoulder, every officer making mountains out of molehills, is the enemy.

“And you’ve gotta watch out for the enemy. I heard what happened on your first day in the SIC, kid. That was just dumb. You think Ian’s your enemy? Take a better look around you. At least he was trying to do his job right. You’re the ones who screwed up, you were the enemy on that day. You gotta be true now, kid. A few months from now I might have to salute you, and the last thing I want before me is another sarge or officer with a chip on his shoulder. So be true, pay attention to your classes and make me proud, alright kid?”

The criticism bit deeply into Toni, mostly because he knew that Baylen was speaking from the heart of his own experiences, and there was no adequate retort for such words. He was also appalled at the idea that he would soon outrank the veteran standing beside him.

The weeks wore on at a snail’s pace and Toni kept putting in his best. The dope wasn’t all that fueled him anymore, his occasional conversations with Baylen having proven to be more powerful medicine, and his persistence finally began to pay off. The platoon had weekly field exercises to contend with, but on the Friday of their sixth week came the field navigation evaluation each would have to pass to qualify for their week-in-the-field.

The morning was spent under examination in the dimly-lit classroom, each examinee nearly touching his nose to the exam sheet in order to read the questions there. Toni was in the Zone that morning, his tics having subsided due to the scale of the challenge before him. By morning’s end and as a subdued platoon filed out of the freshly whitewashed building, he knew he had aced the challenge.

Lunch was heavy but Toni ate light, anticipating strenuous activity for the afternoon. Soon they would be tackling a navigation course, and he intended to finish before the Special One, as Ian had begun to be called.

Toni harbored no hostility towards his senior, having begun instead to view him as a rival. He had no illusions, however, about which of the two of them was the more capable.

At fourteen hundred hours, the SIT’s entire complement of fifteen recruits stood in formation under the eternal red sun, the orb’s heat turning the humidity from the wetter uniforms into steam as the drill team contemplated them. The lieutenant began to brief the platoon.

“The following examination will be comprised of a topographical course, followed immediately by an orientation course. I should add that the first course is essentially a treasure hunt, since at its end you will find an envelope with the printout map you will be needing for the second course. Each recruit will be set loose at five minute intervals. You will be armed with a map, a scale meter and a set of hectametric coordinates. If you happen to be caught together on any part of the course you will be failed. I should add that there would be no point in doing this anyway since the first three objectives are unique to each recruit.

“You will also each carry a GPS marker that will be on your corpse at all times. By collating the marker’s data at the end of your run we’ll know which objectives were reached and which were not. There will be penalties for failing an objective. If, however, you are unable to finish or you should fail to hand in your marker, you will find yourself privileged to continue your training ... in the FICs and far away from us. Is that clear?”

All present hollered their understanding in unison, and before long the drill team had handed out the gear and sorted the group into single file, the most senior of their number at the fore.

“Recruit Templeton, you have one minute to consult your map.” Baylen warned.

Ian put a knee to the ground and spread his map out, aligning it with his surroundings. He briefly consulted his coordinates and then placed the transparent scale meter over the map. After a quick look-around he stood, stowing the gear away as he patiently waited for the start signal. Thirty seconds later he was off at a sprint, disappearing into the bushes north of their position with no sign of slowing down.

The minutes passed by, Toni waiting patiently as the recruits before him were released into the wild. He didn’t worry about competing against Ian anymore; calmly he decided to run well within the limits of his body, consigning unto the God of the Underdogs the task of leading his rival astray.

“Recruit Miura, you have one minute to consult your map.”

Taking two quick steps forwards, Toni put a knee to the ground and spread the map out before him, taking care to orient it correctly. The effort proved to be a simple one, as he’d already seen his mates do the same only minutes ago. Consulting the initial coordinates on the slip of paper he’d been handed, he superimposed the scale meter over the map’s appropriate grid square and took note of his first objective. A smile came to his camouflaged lips.

The MEWAC water tower was visible from any point of the immediate area not covered in trees, and indeed as he peered south it was there to be seen, four reinforced concrete pillars supporting a cylindrical water tank up to a respectable height of 25 meters. Toni confidently stowed his gear and then set off at a canter at Baylen’s signal, noting that there were no significant obstacles to overcome, only a steep, continuous ascent to the crest that the tower occupied. Within four minutes he reached his objective, and as he slowed to a stop near the closest pillar he found the first snag of the day.

The navy blue envelope was clearly in view, tied as it was to one of the many rungs that ascended the northern pillar. The tower was, however, besieged by a massive growth of thorn bushes. How his instructors had managed to place the envelope without leaving their hides behind was beyond his understanding. It was also beyond his patience to discover how, and so he launched himself forward at a mad sprint, terribly aware he would be hating himself over the following few days.

As he reached the obstacle Toni pounced, catapulting himself towards the pillar in a ballistic trajectory. Curling into a tight ball, the recruit flew onwards until, as the pillar approached, he kicked his legs out and splayed both arms before him, aiming his hands at the nearest approaching rung. His legs connected first, colliding against the reinforced concrete a split-second before his hands clasped the rung. Strong as he was, however, inertia was stronger, and it was his helmeted skull that finally put a stop to his momentum, clashing against a higher rung with enough force to dent the steel.

So that’s how they did it
, he thought in wonder, proud that he had managed to avoid the thorns entirely.

With a free arm he snatched the envelope from the rung and stowed it away in his pocket, and then he twisted his body and neck for a look-around. Slowly it dawned on him that he had been very mistaken.

There was no way his drill team had jumped to gain access to the pillar. The reason he knew that was because, if they had done so, they would then have had to contend with leaping without a running start directly into the thorn bushes themselves. And the bushes appeared entirely undisturbed, making it clear they intended to lose their virginity to the foolish recruit above them.

Plucking up his courage, Toni launched himself into the vegetation, fear morphing into horror as the bush’s tentacle-like branches attached themselves to his body. After several fruitless attempts to delicately weave his way out, Toni finally hid his hands in his armpits, lowered his center of mass and tucked his chin into his chest, presenting the offending thorns with the top of his dented helmet. He then forged a path among the thorns through brute force, arriving on the other side of the obstacle with spiny clumps of bush still attached to him.

Ignoring the vegetation and his numerous injuries, Toni went down on one knee and opened the envelope, finding that his second objective waited on the firing line of a deactivated shooting range due east. Swearing under his breath, he set off once more.

The shooting range posed no challenge, aside from a brief minute lost trying to locate the objective. He finally found the letter atop the range’s mast, requiring him to lower it by the halyard as one would a flag.

Toni’s third objective took him east, and his fourth further east still, bringing him close to the end of the map allocated to him. He was on his way to the fifth objective, a crest situated due south of his position, when he came across a disorientated Rakaia.

“Need some help?” He asked.

“No! I mean, yes! Oh –” she groaned, clearly hesitant with accepting assistance.

Toni shrugged and kept jogging.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Delta Morana,” he replied over his shoulder, “still got a click of running ahead of me.”