Atlas (6 page)

"
Yes sir!
"

I heard snickering from somewhere behind me.

Bowden got a big smile on his face. "Someone thinks this is funny? You probably expect me to act like all the drill sergeants you've seen on the Net, don't you? Maybe make an example of the knucklehead, make him do some pushups, or maybe take it out on the rest of you, so you all gang up on him later when he's by himself in the showers or lying in bed by his lonesome.

"But I'm not going to do that. That's not the Navy's style. You can laugh all you want, recruits. In fact, it'd tickle me silly if you did that. Laughing at the stench of your collective bodies because you never have time to take proper showers. Laughing at the gruel they call food around here. Laughing through all the Physical Training you're subjected to. Laughing at the pitiful amount of sleep you get every night. Laughing when you're on the second klick of your daily five-K run. Yes. Laugh. Please do."

Bowden waited. No more snickering came from behind me, I noted.

"I can help you, or destroy you. You can listen to me, or laugh at me. It doesn't matter to me. Respect my authority, do what I say, and you shall pass. Defy me, laugh at me, and you shall fail. With a single one-bit transmission I can have any one of you sent packing. This is my ninth and final push, which means I won't have to lead knuckleheads like you through Basic ever again. So let's just say I've seen a lot of crap, and the crap-I-put-up-with threshold is at the lowest point it's ever been. So try me, I dare you."

When no one tried him, he ordered all the females into the adjacent room and then he had us males strip down. A humanoid robot moved between our ranks and distributed uniforms, using cut-on-demand technology to tailor the clothing to our bodies.

I and everyone else got blue cotton pants, a white t-shirt and underwear, a sweat shirt, and a hat with the words "recruit" on it. Other than the shirt and underwear, each item was a bright blue.

"What happens to our old clothes?" one recruit asked. It was Ace.

RDC Bowden swooped down on him. "You! Did anyone tell you that you could speak?"

Ace looked down. "No sir!"

"Stop staring at the floor and put your freakin' head up."

Ace looked up again.

"Don't look me in the eye you ingrate! You haven't earned that honor."

Ace snapped his head to the side. He seemed on the verge of panic. "Where should I look, sir?"

"Straight ahead, knucklehead."

"Yes, sir!"

"Why is it that UC citizens are always the dumbest of the lot! Thank God for immigrants! Now, in answer to your freakin' question: Your old clothes and any other personal belongings will be sent to the mailing address indicated in your embedded Id. If you don't have a mailing address within this country, all your stuff will be incinerated."

Oh well. Good thing I wasn't attached to my old clothes.

After we'd changed, Bowden had us 'reintegrate' with the female recruits, then he led us all outside. I cringed once more at the blast of frigid air. It was snowing even harder now, and the wind had picked up.

Bowden organized us into a tight square in the courtyard, then he marched us around the base, and we tried our best to stay in line and keep our formation in the cold. A few people slipped in the snow. Bowden swore at us the whole while.

"You worthless pile of snot-eating, toilet-licking knuckleheads! You donkey-humping ingrates! Keep rank!
Keep rank
!"

Bowden led us to our temporary barracks in a nearby building, a room full of bunk beds, with a large partition dividing the room into separate quarters for the males and females. There were lockers at the base of each bunk, with a duffle bag inside.

"You pathetic excuses for recruits will find your spacebags inside the lockers," Bowden said. "Don't you dare let me hear you call those bags anything else. Not a duffle bag. Not a rucksack. Not a barracks bag. And never a backpack.
Spacebag.
Also, you will refer to your sleeping area as racks. They are not beds. They are not bunks. What are they?"

Some people shouted "racks sir," others "spacebags sir," and a couple "racks and spacebags sir!"

Bowden frowned. "Make up your mind you freakin' knuckleheads! Ah, forget it. Turn about and march to the quarterdeck for Physical Training! Actually, belay that. Just drop where you are! Let's see what kind of PT you can do! Burpee pushups. A hundred. Now!"

I and some of the recruits were looking around, not sure what Burpee pushups were. I saw someone beside me do a pushup, then launch his feet forward into a squat position, jump up and clap, then squat, touch the ground with both hands, kick his feet back, do a pushup and repeat.

"That means everyone!" Bowden shouted, his face becoming an even darker shade, an angry vein pulsing on his forehead.

Burpee pushups were surprisingly hard. I found myself becoming exhausted after only five of them.

And I had actually thought I was in shape, just because I was a Dissuader back home.

I may have made a slight underestimate of my fitness level...

"Jump higher when coming out of the squat you insipid weaklings!"

We all jumped as high as we could. But it wasn't the jumping that got most of us, but the pushups. Around the tenth burpee, my arms started to fail, and by the twelfth I dropped in mid-pushup, panting loudly. Others around me did no better.

"You're all pathetic. I don't how I ever got stuck with such sorry, mangy asses. Donkeys perform better than you. I'm never going to get you into shape. Never. All right! Enough already. Stop! I can't take it anymore."

The whole class of seventy lay on the ground, facedown, panting.

I think we had a break of maybe ten seconds before he spoke again. Ten seconds of exhausted panting.

"Rest period is o-ver! Now I want to see pushups only! Like a champ, you knuckleheads. Hump the floor. Hump the floor!"

I heard people gasp for air around me as we forced ourselves up. I collapsed after my sixth pushup. I wasn't the only one.

"Pathetic. Utterly so. You're all doomed. We're going to ship you all back to your native countries. And as for you natural-borns, we're going to return you to your hillbilly states and your boring insipid lives. Right back to mommy and daddy. Ah! Hell with it! I'm through training you crap-sticks. I give up! I resign! You can go train yourselves!"

Bowden stormed out of the barracks and we were left there, panting, speechless, wondering if we really
were
going to be sent packing.

Bowden came back again five minutes later and
, cursing the whole while, made us do PT all over again.

The thing I remember most about the early days of Basic was the smell.

Bowden hadn't been joking about the shower thing. In the first week or so, most of us had maybe two minutes, tops, in the showers. Barely enough time to lather and shampoo. Most people just did their hair and got out. Compounding this was the fact that there was just no time to clean our clothes. We ended up smelling like a bunch of homeless people. Don't even get me talking about how bad Alejandro's feet smelled.

By the way, the showers were
not
co-ed. Guys and gals took separate showers in separate heads (bathrooms). This was hugely disappointing to a lot of us. I'm not sure why anyone expected co-ed showers when we weren't even allowed to dress or undress together. I blame it on all those military sci-fi vids the UC film industry churned out.

After the first few days, RDC Bowden assigned fifteen of us to leadership positions. These "Recruit Petty Officers" held authority over the others, and any orders received from them had the full weight of the RDC behind them. Those positions came and went, depending on Bowden's whim. Bowden made me a Recruit Section Leader, which only meant that I had the pleasure of being punished for the faults of my section as well as my own. Thankfully I only lasted in that position for three days.

Anyway, eventually we got settled in. Processing week went by, we finally found time to properly shower and wash our clothes, we were given our own aReals, granted our division guidon, and assigned to a berth in one of the 'starships'—which were really just barrack buildings. My division was barracked in the
USS John F. Kennedy,
which had berths for eleven mixed gender recruit divisions. It also had classrooms, a library, a galley, a mess hall, and a quarterdeck. The latter was the most sacred part of the starship apparently, and was kept polished and trim. It had naval artifacts like the anchor and rope from the actual USS Kennedy—the sailing ship. We did a lot of indoor PT there.

In the berthing compartment, we were assigned to our racks based on our last names. A large partition divided the compartment into two halves, one for males and the other, females. Watches drawn from our own numbers were assigned each night to insure no one crossed over to the female side and vice versa.

RDC Bowden was happy to explain the terminology. "This is your berthing compartment. These walls are bulkheads. The ceiling is the overhead, or deckhead. The floor is the deck. The washroom is the head. You eat in the mess hall, from food prepared in the galley. This is the forward part of the compartment. Behind you is the aft part. You get me?"

"We get you sir!"

"Your starship is to be shipshape at all times. You will all be assigned cleaning stations, and are expected to
clean
! You get me?"

"We get you sir!"

Each morning I and the others awoke to the high-pitched whistle of 'General Quarters,' followed by a ten second klaxon. After the klaxon faded, Bowden sometimes ordered us to immediately drop into pushups beside our racks. Other times he had us dress and pile outside to shovel the walkways that led to the starship (the Brass could have had robots do it, but why bother when you had all this free labor lying around). When we finished the pushups or the shoveling, we showered, brushed our teeth and shaved within the seven minutes of personal grooming allocated us. Thirty-five guys trying to use ten showers and ten sinks at the same time wasn't an environment all that conducive to teamwork—there were constant arguments over things like shampoo and soap, let alone who was using what sink and when. Still, Tahoe, Alejandro, Ace and I managed to cordon off a sink and shower for ourselves each morning so that we always got ready in a timely fashion.

After integrating with the females our division trotted in formation to the mess hall. We ate breakfast in ten minutes, then ran 5K around the base in a tight, square formation. We were getting pretty good at that. The first week Bowden had berated us at almost every turn. These days I don't think there were any stragglers among us, and he didn't have to say a word. I guess it helped that we had our running cadence song down pat.

"Everywhere we go-o."

"
Everywhere we go-o.
"

"People wanna know-o."

"People wanna know-o..."

When the run was done, it was time for a three or four hour classroom or hands-on session. Classroom sessions covered everything from ethics to MilNet familiarization to starship basics, while the hands-on sessions ran the gamut from firefighting to weapons training to first aid, and also included specialized Physical Training such as navigating the 'confidence' course (an obstacle course where you carried heavy spacebags/sandbags through scuttles and whatnot).

After that we jogged back to the mess hall for lunch, then off to more classroom and hands-on sessions, then to the mess hall once more for dinner, then to the quarterdeck for group PT, then to our berth, where we washed our clothes and shined our shoes, then taps sounded and we went to bed.

And so it went.

RDC Bowden rushed us through each day, keeping up the sense of urgency that was perhaps false, but felt real to me and the other recruits. As astronaut soldiers stationed aboard a ship traveling between star systems, we always had to be on high alert. Space wasn't the safest place in the world. Sure there was the threat from privateers funded by the Sino-Koreans, but a far greater threat came from the starship itself—more vessels were lost due to structural and engine problems than anything else. Running out of fuel was apparently also an issue. A radioactive element known as 'Geronium' provided the main fissile fuel. If you ran out of Geronium when you were a billion kilometers from pickup, you had a very big problem.

Anyway, Bowden promised that while the training might let up once we graduated into our respective ratings, it would never cease. The life of a soldier was a life of training and constant readiness.

After the first few weeks we basically got into the rhythm of it all. I was closest with Shaw, Tahoe, Alejandro and Ace of course, but everyone else was like extended family. After lights out, the recruits assigned as RPOs—Religious Petty Officers—led us in prayer, and sometimes we cracked jokes with our bunkmates. Some used their aReals to browse the Net or catch up on reading for a few minutes before going to sleep. A few people were probably watching porn, though Ricky Boxing (masturbating) in your bunk or the head was frowned upon. Most people were too tired to try anyway. A few people claimed they fed us something that prevented erections. I don't know if that was true or not, but all I know is that whenever I thought of Shaw while lying in bed at night, I had no problems in that department.

Speaking of Shaw, the sexual tension between the two of us was growing by the day.

One time at lunch when she and I were eating alone—Ace and Alejandro had been delayed doing extra PT on the confidence course while Tahoe was off doing some other duty—things got a little out of hand. Our conversation started out innocently enough...

"So where'd you grow up?" I asked her.

"On a cider farm," she said. "In the Normandy district of France. My grandparents owned it. Mom's side. Though I spent a lot of summers visiting relatives in Bangalore, India, where my dad was from. Quite the contrast, going from the calm farms of France to the hustle and bustle of India. Anyway, my family eventually moved to the UC when I was sixteen, and here I am five years later."

"How about that. Sweet sixteen and a new country to boot. So your brothers came too?"

"Yup," Shaw said. "My grandparents sold the farm, so my two brothers really had nowhere else to go. They came, and got drafted. One's in the Navy, the other's a Marine. But what about you? You lived south of the border your whole life?"

"I did. My parents owned the biggest orange plantation in the whole country."

"Wow. That sounds like fun. And not so different from my own upbringing."

I sighed. "Yeah. It didn't last too long though. When we lost the plantation, things kind of spiraled out of control and I found myself on the streets. I was six. Let's just say, I wasn't very street smart. If it weren't for Alejandro, I wouldn't be here today."

Shaw reached out, and touched my hand. "He means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

I nodded. "He's
like a brother to me. More than a brother."

I noticed that her hand lingered on top of mine. I could almost feel the electricity passing back and forth between us. When she took her hand away, it really felt like something was missing.

"So you're half Desi, and half French," I said.

"
Oui.
" Shaw smiled coyly. "
Comment ca va?
" Her fingers twirled the air beside her neck, right where her long locks used to be. The roots of her short hair were dark, but the tips maintained their dyed blonde color.

"
Tres bien
. That's all I know." I didn't break eye contact. I couldn't.

"Well, you have to start somewhere." Her voice seemed a little husky to me.

"I do. I don't suppose you know how to cook French food?"

"
Mais oui
. I can stir up a mean banana
crepe
."

I leaned forward, just slightly. "
Crepes
aren't even real French food. That's like a dessert."

"Not so." She smiled that cute-as-pie smile of hers, dimpling her cheeks. "Ever heard of savory
crepes
?"

"All right. When Basic is over, you're going to make me a savory
crepe
."

Her eyes hadn't left mine the whole time. "Deal."

"So which half of you is French?"

"The good half," she said.

"And which half is Desi?"

She edged subtly closer. "Guess."

A tray suddenly plunked down between the two of us.

We both sat back, stunned and embarrassed.

It was Ace.

I'd forgotten about everything else. The mess hall. The other recruits.

A dangerous thing to do. If that had been RDC Bowden...

"You guys over your little staring contest?" Ace said.

Shaw and I couldn't meet his eyes, or each others'.

I caught a recruit watching us from the far side of the mess hall. Nathan Filberg, aka Dirtbag Nathan. He was one of those lazy dudes who always complained about everything, shirking his duties and doing the least amount of work possible to get by. The kind of guy who you thought wouldn't ever make it through Basic, yet here he was in week six.

He didn't like me very much. The feeling was mutual.

He was smirking.

* * *

Bowden took me and Shaw aside that night. "Nothing is going on between you two, yes?"

I shook my head, maybe a little too fast. "No sir!"

"No sir!" Shaw echoed.

Bowden's scowl deepened. "If I catch you two copulating, well, I'm sure you know the meaning of the phrase Big Chicken Dinner?"

I exchanged a glance with Shaw. "Excuse me, sir?"

"Bad Conduct Discharge," Bowden growled. "You get me?"

"We get you sir!" I said. "But respectfully, it's impossible for Shaw and I to... well, copulate. There's cameras everywhere, and recruits stand watch every night."

Bowden studied me through slitted eyes. "Have you ever heard of the Sacred Band of Thebes?"

"No sir," I said.

"They were a band of gay lovers, put together by the ancient Spartans. The theory was, you'd fight better, harder, if not only your life was on the line, but the life of your lover. Good theory, right? And even seemed to hold some water, for a little while at least. The Sacred Band became the most elite unite in all of Sparta. For a whole three battles. Then they were annihilated by Philip the Second of Macedon. Do you know why?"

Again I shook my head.

"The love bond worked too well," Bowden said. "When one of the two lovers died, the second man went down soon after. When Philip II attacked, he had his soldiers concentrate on the older, weaker man in each pair. When they killed that man, his lover, maddened by revenge or fraught with sadness, invariably fell. Thanks to this strategy, the ranks of the Sacred Band fell apart and Philip II's soldiers slaughtered them to the last man." He gave me an appraising look. "This is why we don't allow lovers in the same division. Gay or straight. It's too distracting. How can you concentrate on the battle at hand when all you can think about is the great sex you'll be having with your partner afterward, who just so happens to be crouching beside you, her thigh touching your thigh? How can you focus on your target when your eyes keep drifting toward your lover, out of lust or some need to protect and nurture her? How can you hope to complete the damn mission, let alone retain the will to live, when your partner dies on the battlefield? Do you understand now, recruit? Sex and war don't mix."

I nodded stiffly. "I understand, sir."

"Good. Dismissed."

* * *

After that, Shaw and I let things cool off between us. I avoided her, and she avoided me. We still sat with the same group in the mess hall, but I was always careful to sit as many places away from her as possible. She was a distraction, one that could ruin my dreams, and I wasn't ready to give up everything for a girl.