The tac officer paced for a minute and then closed on Galen and yelled into his face from a centimeter away. “You should be kissing Jenkins’ ass. It was a judgment call. It’s his call to blow your guts out! He can blow your guts out!” Stray spit flecked Galen’s face.
“Don’t just stand there! Go clean your gear! Go clean your gear! Go to the latrine and clean your war gear! Don’t make me void your contract!”
Tad and Galen washed their field gear in the bathroom sinks. The tac watched their every move. The troop kept his weapon at the ready, not wavering from his duty for an instant.
“Get your trunks, carry them on your left shoulder. Get your trunks and carry them on your left shoulder!”
“Sir?”
“Shut the hell up!” the tac smacked Tad across the face.
They patrol-slung their weapons and heaved their foot lockers onto their shoulders.
“Move it! Double time! Outside, damn it, outside! Move!”
They ran past the jogging trail to the opposite side of the compound. The tac and the troop ran after them every step of the way, the tac shouting abuse and orders. The troop kept his weapon trained on Galen and Tad. They ran to a tin shack in a wooded area in a remote part of the compound. It was a twelve by twelve meter square building with a sloping roof and three walls and an open front.
“Inside, Sergeants. Inside and sit on your foot lockers.”
The tac stared at the communicator on his wrist and let them rest for exactly one minute. “Do some pushups! Do some pushups with your feet elevated on your trunk!”
Galen and Tad laid face down, their feet on the edge of their foot lockers and the palms of their hands on the ground below their shoulders. Then they pushed, raising their bodies until their elbows locked, then lowered their chests to touch the ground.
“Faster! You can go faster than that! Knock ‘em out, do some pushups! Don’t make me void your contract, don’t piss me the hell off, Sergeants!”
After two minutes Tad slowed down. His body quaked and then he collapsed on his face, unable to push himself back up. The tac knelt and whispered to him. Tad rose up halfway and then collapsed again.
“Stand up, you!” Tad stood. Galen slowed his pace, tried to conserve some strength. The tac took Tad’s weapon and laid it on Tad’s foot locker, “Lay down there, you! Lay there on your back! On top of your weapon! Put your feet straight up in the air. Put your hands straight up in the air! That’s the dying cockroach! That’s the dying cockroach, Sergeant! When I tell you to do the dying cockroach, that’s what you do!”
The tac turned his attention to Galen. He knelt and whispered to Galen, “The longer you hang in there the longer your buddy does the dying cockroach. Keep doing pushups.”
Galen was finally getting tired. His body quaked as he pushed up, quaked as he lowered back down. Searing, burning pain surged through his triceps. His chest muscles burned too. His back hurt. He managed to push up again.
“Come on, you can do more than that. Are you a pussy? You can’t do just one more pushup?”
Galen collapsed.
“Dying cockroach, Sergeant! You, the ugly one, your turn! Sit ups, knock ‘em out!” The tac had them alternate like that for thirty minutes, each doing an exercise to the point of collapse while the other held the dying cockroach position.
“Let’s see. Both of you get at parade rest. That’s right, at order arms parade rest. Okay, Dinner time. Why is it called dinner time?”
Tad started to make a guess, “Sir, it’s—”
“Shut the hell up!” The tac backhanded Tad across the face. “It’s called dinner time because you eat only one meal a day. One field ration is enough nutrition, if you eat the whole thing, for an entire day of rigorous combat duty.”
The tac walked over to the troop and pulled two field meals and two canteens from his pack. He threw them at Tad and Galen. “That’s good, real good. Just stand there and let that trash bounce off you and hit the ground. Discipline. Maybe you two really are academy graduates. Now break ranks, sit on your foot lockers, take that cover off your grapes and have dinner.”
The tac pulled a training manual from the troop’s pack and stood in front of the tin shack. He read the entire first paragraph. “Now you, repeat what I just said.”
Tad started to get to his feet.
“No, just sit there. Repeat what I just told you.”
“Sir, I can’t remember.”
“Oh, a stupid ass. Fine. Listen closer this time.”
The tac read a sentence, Tad repeated it. Then the tac read another sentence and Galen repeated it. It was a manual about platoon-level leadership. After an hour and a half the tac said, “Okay, that’s the day-one training. You, the tall one, summarize in your own words what you just learned.”
“Sir, our mission always comes first. However, taking care of our troops is always the top priority. We take care of our troops by accomplishing the mission.”
“Right. Now, that chow you ate and that water you drank, who got that for you?
“Sir, you did.”
“Shut the hell up! Trooper Jenkins took care of you! That chow was in his pack! You owe that troop your life! Don’t forget it. All combat leaders owe those troops their life! So what are you going to do to take care of that troop?”
“Sir, I will-”
“Then do it! Get your gear on, go check out your troop! Go inspect your troop, take care of him.” The tac took the submachine gun from Jenkins and held it at the ready while the Sergeants approached the troop.
“That’s right, get him into the shade of the shack and set him on a foot locker. Take his gear off and inspect it. Take his boots off and inspect his feet. Check his scalp for ticks, give him water. Give him a field ration to eat. That’s right, open the pack for him. Is he comfortable? Maybe he’d be more comfortable if the big guy got down on all fours like a bench for the troop to sit on. You with the red hair, give that troop a shoulder massage, that pack he’s been carrying for you all day is heavy. That’s right, take care of your troop…”
They were allowed to sleep at midnight. At four in the morning they were awakened by the same tactical officer but a different troop kept a weapon trained on them. The abuse stopped but the physical exercise and instruction went on for ten days. On day eleven they sat in a holographic theatre and watched combat footage narrated by a monotonous voice for twenty solid hours. After four hours of sleep, they were allowed to shower and put on clean ceremonial uniforms. They were given the same one-hour guided tour of the Jasmine Panzer Brigade museum three times. Finally they were instructed to stand at attention on the front steps of the museum.
Colonel Norbert Theil walked up wearing his full ceremonial uniform. Galen saluted and the Colonel returned the gesture.
“Congratulations, Sergeant. You made it. You are now a Chief.” He shook Galen’s hand and moved to stand in front of Tad and promoted him as well. Then Colonel Theil executed an about-face and walked away.
“That’s it, Chiefs. Congratulations, and remember what I taught you.” The tactical officer offered his hand to Tad, but Tad simply raised a salute. The tac grunted and returned the salute, then walked away. The troop with the submachine gun locked and cleared his weapon and slung it on his shoulder as he walked beside the tac. Galen resisted an urge to kill them both.
Chapter Thirteen
“Right there.” Tad stabbed at the assignment orders on the bulletin board with his index finger.
Galen read the orders. “Tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours, we are to be standing by the front gate with all our gear. Good, plenty of time to rest.”