Back outside, Carpender went through excruciating detail on how to wear every item. "If you survive to become a soldier," he said, "you can wear it any way you wish. That is the privilege of the soldier. But as filthy little maggots, you will wear it in the fashion prescribed by the book. This is so the cadre can tell you haven't conveniently lost any items to try to wimp out on us.
"You will be armed at all times, on and off base, with at least a sidearm. It will be your duty to the Freehold to protect the Freehold and you cannot properly protect it unarmed."
He led them down several roads and into tall grass that had been beaten down by use.
"When soldiers walk, it is called marching. Before you can learn to walk, however, you must learn to crawl. We will spend the rest of the day learning to crawl. On your hands and knees."
They dropped quickly and gratefully. Then they realized that the gear was heavy and crawling hard work, especially when you weren't allowed to contact the ground with your torso.
Kendra was forced to her elbows, her arms not having enough strength to keep her upright. It had been a miserable morning, a boring lunch of field rations and an excruciating afternoon. The heat hit before noon and continued until well past the break for dinner. Sweat and grime mingled in a greasy film on everything.
After dinner, they walked back to the barracks and grounded all gear except rifles. They fell in outside again and Carpender took his usual position. "No-load," he said, using the moniker he'd attached to one recruit.
"Yes, sir!"
"Front and center. And Icebitch." After a few moments, he added, "That's you, Pacelli. Are you waiting for an engraved fucking invitation? Did you decide this morning you were going to fuck up my schedule and my life?"
"No, sir, no sir, and here, sir!"
she shouted as she hit the line in front of him.
"Well, that's funny," he said as titters ran through the ranks. "Ever consider comedy?"
"No, sir!"
she replied.
"Good. You'd starve. If you have energy for jokes, you have energy to give me twenty. So does anyone who laughed. And anyone who groaned can make it thirty! And you, and you, and you, who don't have the integrity to admit to laughing can make it fifty!"
Several segs later, they resumed. Kendra and No-load were back at attention in front of Carpender. "About,
hace!"
he ordered. Kendra swiveled on her heel.
"These two have prior service," he explained. "Not what anyone competent would properly call military service, but at least they learned how to march. At least, I
hope
you two know how to march, with your records," he said viciously, breathing over Kendra's shoulder, "because if you embarrass me, it will not bode well for the next eighty-six days."
"Split into three squads, here and here," he waved his hands to indicate. "Icebitch, take the left, No-load, take the right. I'll take the middle. If they can walk and turn corners without tripping before a div has passed, you won't have to give me fifty more."
Kendra waited a moment to see what Carpender did. He waved his group into a circle, so she followed suit.
She began the process of showing them attention again, facing movements, forward march, column right and left and left and right wheel. Then was the laborious time of getting a handful of people to learn left from right and remember that forward march commenced on the left foot. In exasperation, she handed several of them rocks to hold in their left hands. It actually did work.
A div later, Carpender came over and snapped orders. "Squad, by my command, Aten
shut!
Left
hace!
About,
hace!
Right,
hace!
About,
hace!
Forward,
harch!
Column left,
harch!
Column right,
harch!
Squad,
halt!
Adequate. At least they don't trip over their feet. You will be squad leader, and march them every night until they are competent. Say, 'Yes, sir.' "
"Yes, sir!"
"Shower, Shave, Shit and Sleep. Look for your names on the watch roster. Dismissed." He strode inside.
Kendra had never been more exhausted in her life. She couldn't lift her arms above mid-chest and could barely stand in the shower. It didn't help that the water was now cold; the heat had been turned off. She dried as best she could manage, drew on a shirt and underwear against the growing cold and straightened her bay area. She was too shocked by the day to lie down, so sat on her chair for a while. Open bay barracks, shaved scalps, screaming profanity and exercise as punishment. It was like something out of the Middle Ages. Rob had warned her that it would be harder than her UN training, but the magnitude of the difference was staggering. She ran a hand over her stubbly bald head again, and breathed deeply to avoid crying. She could hear occasional sobs and restless movement from some of the younger recruits. Some were barely sixteen Earth years. How would they survive this?
Feeling cold, she finally dragged her aching body into bed. Her head bristled on the pillow and someone was snoring to do justice to a shuttle landing. She began griping in her head and was asleep before she could frame three words.
As soon as she closed her eyes, it seemed, Carpender was roaring for them to get up. She snatched on her pants, stuffed her feet into her boots and dragged the rest of it with her. The result of her efforts was a mere fifty pushups for not being dressed properly. Those who lacked clothing items did thirty per item and fifty more. She decided to sleep dressed from now on. Quickly finishing, her arms feeling bruised from the abuse of the last two days, she waited for orders. After a run that made her almost vomit, they hit an obstacle course. She hated climbing up and down the two artificial cliffs, even with the provided ropes. She gritted her teeth as she clambered up a cargo net into twenty meters of free space, then back down. She slipped on a swinging rope and was soaked in frigid water, then soaked again crossing a log bridge. They didn't change, but went straight to breakfast.
She choked down food to keep her strength up, and started to drink a bottle of liquid loaded with protein and muscle-building nanos. These were issued to all the women and some of the smaller men. The physical standards of the FMF were very high and were not adjusted for gender or disability as the UNPF's were. There were few women recruits, she noted, only about fifteen percent, and most of them on the tall and rangy side, and even then they needed the extra muscle builders to keep up with the men. It had seemed degrading, but Carpender's quick, pointed comment about the difference between men's and women's Olympic records drove the point home. Men average bigger and stronger than women, and the FMF took only the best physical specimens. Women and small men started with a physical disadvantage and had to work that much harder to meet the standards.
The glop was slimy and cold and she slurped it with distaste. Finishing, she dismally followed the others. As they were marched out to one of the many huge open fields, she pondered the next three years, drinking protein goo and working out at the gym daily to meet standards. It kept her morose as she stood in formation and waited. The usual confusing orders did little to shift her thoughts.
"Today, we begin unarmed combat training," Carpender said in his near-bellow. Kendra and her platoon mates stared across the grass at a more advanced class. They had disconcerting leers and grimaces on their faces. She shifted imperceptibly and uncomfortably. She was standing in what was called "horse riding stance," legs wide, body squatting low, until her thighs and calves burned with exertion. In seconds, Carpender was in front of her. "What's the matter, Pacelli? Too hot for you?"
"Weather is fine today, sir!" she shouted back. If "fine" was identified as somewhere north of 30 degrees, calm and dry at 3.5 divs, Io still with half the morning to rise and get hotter. The weather here in the Dragontooth Mountains was bizarre, frigid one day, scorching the next. The thinner atmosphere probably had something to do with it, but understanding it didn't make it enjoyable. Her clothes had dried from the morning run through a stream and the "confidence" course and were itching. Her breakfast was a greasy weight in her stomach.
Carpender turned and continued, "You will learn how to strike with hands and feet, how to grapple, how to avoid blows.
"Fingers locked behind your heads. Tense your abdominal muscles. Harder." Kendra stiffened as he ordered. "This is the basic position from which you will learn the first lesson today and every day.
"That lesson is how to
take
blows. Platoon two-seven-one-three, advance and strike."
With whoops and cheers, the other class charged them. One short kid who'd had his eye on Kendra the entire time closed and drew back. He punched her hard in the midriff.
The air wooshed out of her and she bent double. His second blow landed his knuckles in her ribs, the third squashed her right breast. Three more blows buffeted her shoulder, her jaw and her temple. As he retreated, she stood, fuming, stinging and gasping for breath. That was uncalled for and she intended to take it back with interest.
Then she recovered and steadied herself. It wasn't the kid's fault; he was just taking orders. Perhaps a bit too zealously, but anger wouldn't help the situation. Carpender's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Do you feel that?
Do you?
Good! Controlled anger can be a useful tool. Uncontrolled anger will get you killed. So let us learn control. Attack again!"
Twice more she got thumped by upper students. The minor bruises on her face stung, but the blows to the guts and ribs were definitely debilitating. Just as she thought this, Carpender said, "Body blows cause injury. Face wounds are ugly and can be a psychological advantage, but body blows will take them out. Remember that." She made note of that. That phrase was hint they would see it on a test.
The first week was spent as a target for upper students' pent-up resentfulness. They began learning to block the second day and had great incentive to learn to block well. She learned to block inside or outside with either hand, then her legs and gradually, to twist her body around the blows without losing her balance.
They added punches to their daily drill, then kicks. Sweeps, parries, counters, grapples, throws, headbutts and gymnastic contortions that bent an opponent's attack back on himself. They practiced with restrictions: hands only, feet only, blindfolded, shackled, doused with incapacitating agents, then combinations thereof. The drills increased her respect for Rob's and Marta's skill. She was beginning to realize how tremendously learned they were.
When it came their time to initiate recruits, Kendra had no trouble doing so. They needed incentive to learn and it was her duty to do it well. She hit them hard and reliably. The murderous glares in response only made her smile. She'd pulled her punches enough to avoid actual injury, but her victims looked at her with hatred.
Four weeks in, they began adding weapons. So-called "unarmed" combat made use of everything in the soldier's inventory except projectiles, from boots, sticks, entrenching tools and wire, to climbing spikes, helmets and even the rifle as a club. The simulators and dummies were revolting. Blood splashed, jaws and limbs separated, guts spilled and horrible screams brought home just how deadly a human can be when properly trained. More important than the physical skills, Kendra learned, was that it encouraged a willingness to engage the enemy and an attitude of capability. It required closing with an opponent and getting hurt and in that regard, she agreed it made for better troops than those who trained in sterile rooms with electronic aids. She slept poorly, bothered by the violence involved, but realized that it could be necessary to save her life. The sparring with dummy weapons was painful in blows taken and she could mark her progress in bruises from fresh bloodred to stale yellow. She had a tooth regenerated after one vigorous bout with a man twice her mass, all muscle. The lesson she learned from that was to
never
try to outbrute a larger, stronger opponent. Stealth and careful grappling were the tools of the small against the large, sheer force only for use against a smaller opponent.
They spent time on the weapons range every day, with their rifle/grenade launcher combination weapons and the school's machineguns, mortars, rockets and other ranged weapons. They practiced stripping and rebuilding weapons in the dark, while restrained and even behind their backs. She learned to separate actual components from bogus parts tossed in to confuse her and even to separate parts from unnamed weapons out, and assemble all the pieces into their appropriate forms. She could identify a weapon, strip it, clean it, assemble it, shoot it and clear malfunctions, whether it was Freeholder, UN, Ramadanian, Caledonian or from one of the smaller colonies.
The M-5 Weapon, Personal, Rifle/Grenade Launcher Combination, was a nasty piece of hardware. At five kilos plus, it wasn't very light, but it did everything. It fed the rifle from a solid clip of fifty rounds of ammunition, breaking off individual rounds at stressed seams. The cartridge was consumed in use for excellent thermal efficiency, leaving no empty case. It was suppressed to a loud coughing noise and had a two-stage trigger. Squeezing the trigger changed it to fire single shots, gripping the trigger back fired the weapon automatically. The grenade launcher fed from its own fifteen-round clip and the charges were programmable for proximity, impact, delay or delay-on-impact fusing. The optical sight could see in infrared, low light, adjust for different gravity and instantaneous wind conditions and had a graduated reticle for range. The construction was solid and easy to maintain. The fit and finish was flawless to Kendra's eyes. She knew good machine work when she saw it.
They trained with the heavier support weapons, vehicles and comm gear. Everyone was given at least a passing familiarity with every ground combat weapon and most vehicle- and aircraft-mounted support weapons. The files of the training manual's text were in the tens of megabytes. She hadn't realized there was that much involved with basic military training.