Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1) (9 page)

“The pact that I propose is thus: That if someone here were to get out of line, and I or our Sergeant were to propose our own punishment for the error, said person would accept the punishment and carry it out without complaint, and without telling anyone from outside this subunit about it. The advantage for the Drill Team is that we can then be more selective about who gets to be kicked out and who does not. The advantage for you is simple: so that you might avoid getting booted out of the MEWAC’s SIC. If we believe you deserve it, I should add. So what do you say?” He finished.

There was a general murmur of consent, although a few glanced nervously at their drill sergeant as they did so. As for Mason, he kept his attention firmly fixed on Toni. He seemed to be trying to say something with his eyes. Toni kept his head safely lowered and stared at the edge of his redwood desk.

“On ya feet!” Mason barked.

Sixteen chairs scraped against the floor and all stood at attention beside their desks, awaiting the order to file out. Class was then dismissed for the morning, and lunch awaited them at the base canteen.

*****

“Damned if the Screamer doesn’t have a boner for you, man!” Ray laughed as they waited in line.

As with all buildings on base, the canteen was a low-set construction, bone-white in color except for its roof, which was a dull green. What set it apart was its wide one-piece smoked window, which doubled as a gigantic data-screen. What showed on the screen usually depended on the mood of the shift officer of the day. Some liked to play images from previous courses, the recruits thus being forced to watch as some unfortunate predecessor got his ass handed to him in combat training. Some more administrative types liked to present slide-shows of the military virtues, along with inspiring images of men and woman in impeccable uniforms. Courage, discipline, loyalty, etcetera.

The only shift officer whose use of the data-screen seemed appropriate to Toni was Lieutenant Templeton himself. The day before yesterday, the entire base had been treated to old Earth wildlife documentaries. At breakfast, they had found themselves watching a golden sun, quite different from their own, rising from the African highveld to the soft sound of shakuhachi flute. Lunchtime had been a succession of hunting sequences, focusing mainly on the ferocious feline as it pounced on the endearingly unsuspecting herbivore. It had been interesting to note who rooted for which side as they enjoyed their steak and liver meal.

Toni had sided with the predators, of course.

Dinnertime had bestowed upon them a medley of gorgeous sunsets, accompanied afterwards by images of nocturnal wildlife with a starry sky as the backdrop.

Today, however, the data-screen displayed a rolling message informing all present that, at the end of the previous week, a member of the Foot Infantry Battalion had been found guilty of sleeping in the course of sentinel duty, having as a result been sentenced to a public verbal reprimand and reduction of his Behavior Classification. The shift officer, an ageing captain with a heavy gut and soft, lazy eyes, watched the advancing procession closely, gauging the recruits’ level of interest at the public service announcement.

Must work in the Justice and Discipline Department
, Toni thought. He was apparently not the sort to strike gentleman’s agreements with his quarry.

He wondered whether Stick had been the punished soldier.

“Yo ... Toniquita, did you hear me, man?” Ray asked loudly, tapping a finger against his skull as if to hint at his friend’s lack of sanity.

A smile tugged at the corner of Toni’s mouth. Ray had a habit of ridiculously pimping up everyone’s names.

“I heard you. I saw him give you the evil eye back in class, too. What was that about? Aren’t you two supposed to come from the same neighborhood, or something?”

Ray laughed.

“That’s exactly why he hates my guts, man. It’s a neighborhood thing. My father hates the asshole. Thinks he’s a prick, though I can’t imagine why. Even said so to Mason’s face once. Got into a fight with him ‘cause of it. Now Mason hates my pa, which means he hates me by association, get it? Which means we’re both fucked, mate.” He finished, laughing as he was handed a plateful of chicken stew.

“So who won the fight?” Toni asked.

“Ever seen my pa?” He retorted, apparently offended at having been asked.

“No.”

“If you had, you’d know who.” He boldly declared before carrying on, “What’s your pa like?”

“What? He’s, uh, he’s CO2 intolerant. Has a lot of problems with that. Works in agriculture –”

“Plantations?” Ray asked with interest.

“Only recently got into pulp production. Mostly we work with livestock.” Toni felt uncomfortable with the conversation, as if his father’s beliefs would somehow shoulder they way through his words and declare themselves to all nearby.

“You know there are treatments for that, don’t you?”

“His condition is pretty serious, alright?” Toni answered testily.

“Ahuh, that’s cool, man ...”

“What’s cool? Is it edible?” Gordie asked as he bit deeply into a chicken leg. They took their seats opposite him on a solid canteen table reserved for recruits.

Gordon Winters, formerly known as Scarybrow, more recently christened Gordie by his comrades, was nearing the end of his meal, but he attacked the last scraps of food with the same gusto others usually reserved for their first bites. His solid physique was testament to his appetite, although all knew that there was more than fat attached to his frame. His time on the Click had been the fourth fastest.

“Mind your own business, or all you’re gonna eat is my boot!” Ray threatened with mock hostility, receiving a smack on his crown for his trouble. The Leibenese winced at the pain, but didn’t seem to mind Gordie’s quick retort too much.

“I was talking about my father. He works with livestock.”

“Oh, is that right? Mine’s in the North Thau cavalry. Had me a little late, he’ll be retiring next year.”

Gordie suddenly leaned forwards, his lunch safely tucked away, and whispered to them.

“Did you hear about Ian being the LT’s nephew?”

“What?” Toni and Ray exclaimed simultaneously.

“Got that from a footie last night. Can you believe they just put a Templeton in command of a Templeton? Damn, there should be a law against that.” He said, discreetly ensuring that the subject of their discussion was still sitting at the table’s other end.

After two weeks in the same casern, their most senior fellow recruit still remained an unknown quantity to them. Ian had a poker face to match his verbal reserve, and kept a wall up as if he were somehow in stiff competition with his fellow recruits. Toni suspected that perhaps that was true, but still found the attitude fundamentally disrespectful. Either way, Ian maintained a force field that to date had resisted all attempts to breach it.

Ray was game for the conversation.

“No surprise he ended up senior then. D’you know what else? According to regulations, until they find a corporal for the Drill Team, Ian will have to assist for them.” He whispered conspiratorially.

“No one would put a recruit in a Drill Team. I think.” Gordie seemed surprised at the information, but Toni suspected Ray was right.

“Don’t hunch together like that, guys, you look like you’re planning a coup or something.” Hirum whispered in mock conspiracy over their shoulders before settling down beside Gordie.

Hirum was, like Toni, still called by his first name only because nobody had as yet found a more appropriate handle for him. A native of North Thau, the youngest son of a pair of researchers, Hirum was about as tall as Gordie, possessing however only half his width of shoulder. Watching the two, Toni found the contrast amusing. Gordie seemed to sit taller only because his padded rear offered him a height advantage over his comrade. Hirum was also the youngest of the platoon, and would only be turning eighteen in six months. Speaking softly but still wearing his sly grin, he continued.

“So, let me guess. You’re talking about the promotion, aren’t you?” He snickered.

“Even if it’s true, it’s still no promotion, dammit. He’s only a recruit, no more than any one of us. It would still only be a temporary task, if it happens at all.” Gordie retorted, finding it difficult to whisper. Besides Ray, he was the eldest of the platoon, at twenty two.

“Then why did the Screamer call him aside like that?”

“When did this happen?” Toni asked, suddenly becoming interested in the conversation.

“Oh hell, you didn’t know? I was in the bathroom when the Screamer found me. I thought I’d done something wrong, but he just told me to find Ian and tell him to see the Sarge in the Instructor’s Cabin immediately. So I did just that.” He finished.

“And what did Ian say?” Ray breathed, an I-told-you-so expression stamped on his face.

“Didn’t say a word. He just nodded like he was expecting it, or something, and left.”

The group digested the news for a few moments.

“If he tries order me around, I’ll fuck him up!” Ray suddenly burst out, rubbing his knuckles theatrically as he spoke.

“No, you won’t.” Gordie retorted bluntly.

They had already received warnings from the more senior soldiers on base. Drill Teams tended to severely punish entire platoons for their members’ transgressions. No one was keen to discover whether that was true or not.

“You’ll see.” Ray replied. He seemed to be about to say something else, but then Toni noticed Ian walking towards them.

“Quiet, guys. Incoming.” He whispered.

Gordie’s suddenly innocent expression and Hirum’s anxious one amused Toni, but he kept the smile off his face as Ian approached. The senior recruit gave the group a curt nod before speaking.

“Guys, I need you to spread the word. We are to form up at ten to fourteen hundred. And we need to have a talk.”

*****

It was ten to fourteen hundred and the platoon was not formed up. Ray had seen to that. In actual fact, all those within earshot when Ian had spoken in the canteen had seen to that. But it was Ray who had presented his fellow recruits with an ironclad justification for not obeying him, and before long he stood beckoning at the casern’s front steps like a politician trying to improvise a press conference.

“Is that how it is? Any Joe comes out of nowhere and says `hey, your commander says I’m in charge, so I’ll be giving the orders now ...’, and we just accept that? We were with the Lieutie less than two hours ago, and he said nothing about this! Why the sudden change?” He demanded loudly as recruits encircled him.

“But then Ian says, “I want you to form up five minutes before schedule so I can rehearse form-up instructions”. He wants to present us to his Lieutie like he’s already earned the right! Trying to impress his uncle, far as I know!”

Toni was uneasy about Ray’s way of dealing with the matter, nevertheless he stood staunchly beside his friend as the Leibenese argued his case. Hirum loitered anxiously beside the parade ground, clearly standing by to form up at a moment’s notice, as if being the first to do so would somehow spare him from the anticipated blowback. Gordie simply shook his head and kept to himself, apparently just as convinced as Toni that there would be hell to pay if the drill team were to find their platoon in strife. Several recruits kept glancing around nervously as if expecting their sergeant to at any moment approach them, sniffing the air for trouble like a police dog searching for narcotics.

It was testament to Mason’s particular brand of charisma that their fear for him had made him an omnipresent entity.

“Ray, don’t forget what we decided. We form up at five to. And that’s not too far off now ...” Toni reminded him in an undertone.

Ray simply shook his head as if Toni was a troublesome fly. Ian then approached, stood close beside his tense fellow Leibenese, and spoke softly into his ear. A wicked grin spread on Ray’s face and he gave a purposeful nod, and then the two entered the casern with a mystified Toni in tow.

The tension between his fellow recruits as they entered the sleeping quarters alarmed Toni. It reminded him of the first time he had accompanied his father to the slaughterhouse they kept on the farm. His father had had nothing to say at the time either, except for a brief explanation on how to use the captive-piston pistol to euthanize swine cleanly. Toni had pulled the trigger on the last hog himself, and he had in the intervening time put an end to many a critter.

But he had never seen an act of violence between two human beings.

Ian and Ray squared off in the open area opposite the doorway, with only Toni, Gordie and a fearful Hirum as witnesses. Ray seemed fearless, and he smiled.

“You sure you be wanting a piece of the May 23
rd
, Ian?”

At the sound of his name Ian bolted forwards, prompting a surprised Ray to swing wildly while backing up, missing his target. Ian fell on him with a vicious head-butt followed by a knee to the stomach. As Ray doubled over hugging his gut, Ian pulled violently at the back of his shirt, causing buttons to rip off up to Ray’s collar. He then wrapped the cloth around his opponent’s head and began to unceremoniously knee him there while holding the shirt in place.

There was something mechanical and unforgiving about the way Ian dismantled Rosa. Ray swung out blindly at first, hugging Ian’s waist alternately with each arm, apparently not realizing how close his opponent was to him. Ian kneed him mercilessly in the gut, repeating the act like an aerobic exercise until Ray began to feel the pain and hugged his torso. Ian then began to knee him in the head.