He intercepted Company Sergeant Major Ashnak as the big orc left the Officers Mess. Ashnak surveyed Barashkukor, and hastily moved his boots out of the way.
“What it is, Corporal?”
“Sir, you said we’d be leaving this position, sir, and that must mean we’re going to fight, and—” Barashkukor heaved in a breath of hot, foetid air. “And you said I could have a real gun, sir; please sir, can I, sir? Now, sir?”
Company Sergeant Major Ashnak examined his talons. “Certainly, Corporal, certainly. In fact, I think we might even issue you an M79. Follow me.”
Barashkukor trotted across the compound beside the large orc, towards the ruined stone building marked out as the armoury. He passed a smoking crater in the earth. A scorched size three pair of combat boots occupied the hole, and the explosively dismembered corpse of an orc. Ashnak strode over a second crater, and spat his cigar into a third. Barashkukor narrowly avoided the fourth crater, where a larger pair of scorched boots rocked gently.
“I see Squad Three’s mine detector is still on the blink,” Ashnak ordered. “Here we are, Corporal. Try this.”
Barashkukor reached up to the armoury issuing-window and grabbed the gun Ashnak offered. He leaned over backwards to counteract the apparent weight and staggered, finding it unexpectedly light.
“The M79 forty-millimetre grenade-launcher,” Company Sergeant Ashnak announced.
Barashkukor strained to grasp the fore-end and stock of the blunderbuss-like weapon, which seemed twice as long as he was tall. He flipped the catch, broke the gun, dropped the positively enormous shell that Ashnak handed him into it, and closed it down. He tucked the stock into his shoulder, muzzle waving wildly as his helmet slipped down over his eyes, and grabbed for the trigger.
“Testing the weapon now, sa—”
FOOM!
The sun shone painfully into his eyes. Barashkukor rubbed a hand across his face and brought it away bloody. Stone dust covered his combat trousers, where he sprawled on his back amongst the rubble of the armoury wall. There was a warm, wet patch at his crotch. His helmet was gone. The M79 grenade-launcher had landed several yards away. Every bone in his body ached, his ears rang, and his nose bled.
“I should watch the recoil on that one…” CSM Ashnak strode away, grinning, and pointed to a scattered orc body on the far side of the compound, the bits still smoking from the grenade impact. “Get that taken over to the cookhouse. Then get your squad on parade, Corporal, I’ve got an announcement to make. Now, marine!”
By the time the ringing concussion had died out of his ears the marine company was drawn up in serried ranks, filling the compound to capacity. Barashkukor snapped his squad to attention, saluting, as Zarkingu walked down the ranks.
“Mmm—yes—hmm?” The sergeant (Magic-Disposal and Administration) lifted her snout out from a sheaf of papers. Her tilted eyes glittered in the sun, and a slight froth trickled down her small porcine jaws. One of her ears twitched arhythmically. “Corporal, your squad needs a colour designation. Call yourself Red Squad, or Blue Squad, or…”
“Yes sir, ma’am!” Barashkukor slammed a salute. “Please, ma’am, permission to designate this squad Black Squad?”
“No!” The female orc glared. She rattled the sheaf of papers under Barashkukor’s pointed nose. “We already have fifteen Black Squads, twelve Dark Squads, four Raven Squads, three Midnight Squads, one Sable Squad, one Ebony Squad, and,” she consulted a sheet of paper, “one Pink Squad. Hmm. Yes. Well…We’re all a little worried about Pink Squad…”
Shaking her head, she moved on past Barashkukor. He watched out of the corners of his long eyes as she halted in front of Marukka’s all-female squad with their black unit-tattoos, whose helmets had “BADGURLZ” stencilled on their camouflage-covers.
The sun beat down on Nin-Edin. The homely stench of ordure and decaying flesh rose up from the compound, comforting Barashkukor. He unobtrusively straightened his cleaned webbing and eased the strap of the M79 grenade-launcher where it cut into his horny shoulder.
“Officer on deck!”
Barashkukor came to attention and slapped his hand against the butt of the M79. The big female Agaku, Shazgurim, paced along the ranks of orcs, grinning nastily. She gave a lazy half-salute.
“At ease, orcs. Sergeant Zarkingu will now read you this week’s promotion list. Zarkingu…”
The smaller female orc marched up to the skull-standard pole, snapped an about-turn, and faced the orc company. Her thin, piercing voice echoed in the noon heat.
“Now listen up! The entrails have been consulted, according to the usual procedure, and the results of the promotion-auspices are as follows. MFC Kusaritku is promoted to corporal. MFC Marukka is promoted to corporal. MFCs Azarluhi, Tukurash, and Ekurzida are made sergeants. Corporal Barashkukor is promoted to first lieutenant.”
Barashkukor drew himself up proudly, ignoring the jealous mutters in the ranks. He grinned his fiercest grin.
The small female orc, eyes gleaming, continued: “Sergeants Imhullu, Shazgurim, and myself are promoted to the rank of captain. CSM Ashnak is promoted to major, in command of this company. That is all.”
A voice behind Barashkukor muttered, “Arse-licker!”
“You!” Barashkukor snarled. “After parade. The whip: fifty strokes!”
“Company, tenHUT!”
Three hundred combat boots hit the packed earth in unison. Barashkukor, facing eyes-front, caught sight of Major Ashnak in his peripheral vision. The big orc walked slowly between the ranks, Sergeant Imhullu behind him, stopping to exchange a word or two here and there.
Noon beat down on ranks of orc grunts, on web-belts hung with grenades, on rocket-launchers, assault rifles, antitank weapons, and machineguns. Orc-fangs glinted; squad insignia painted on hunched shoulders shone. Variously coloured combat fatigue trousers blazed back the light, cleaned and pressed after hard training. Boots shone.
“A good turnout, sergeant.” Ashnak walked from the rank behind Barashkukor, Imhullu at his side. “Very good; I’m impressed. Stand the orcs at ease now.”
“Squaaaads, standat—ease!”
Again, three hundred boots hit the earth together. Barashkukor clasped his hands behind his back, wondering just where a first lieutenant’s insignia should be tattooed.
Ashnak strode to where several ammunition cases had been assembled in a dais, and stepped up onto them. His black-and-white urban camouflage stood out against the blue sky.
“Right, you orcs, listen up!”
The Agaku had a machinegun and bandoleers slung across his back, and a Desert Eagle automatic pistol in the holster on his web-belt. His broken fangs had been capped with silver and polished, and a major’s insignia was painted on his muscular, sloping shoulders. Grenades hung from his belt. He wore a battered urban forage cap.
“You’ve trained hard.” Ashnak surveyed the ranks. Barashkukor straightened his aching shoulders as the big orc’s gaze swept over him.
“And now your training’s over.” The Agaku grinned. “I’m proud of you. You’re marines! You’re hot! You are fucking hot marines!”
Shrieks and cheers split the air. Barashkukor shook his grenade-launcher in the air, taking two hands to do it. The big Agaku held up a hand for silence. He got it.
“Your training’s completed, and you’re ready for your first big mission. Your officers will brief you fully in a moment, but I want to say this. We know now that the date for the Final Battle has been set.”
The breath left Barashkukor’s chest as if he had been hit. Fear and adrenaline sparked through his veins, firing him with a fierce joy, and he growled in his throat.