The Ninth (37 page)

“This is it, I gather.”  Brent tapped on Cassandra’s shoulder as he followed.

“Pretty much.”  Cassandra was wrapped in a blue glow.  “Leonard will lay out his brilliant plan.  We all pretend to care.”

Entering through the familiar layout of the examination rooms, the entire division pressed on into the second room.  An endless desert greeted them.  The sun shown brightly over-head – it was a stark contrast to the downcast troopers.  Leonard was standing on a large mound of sand, a strange look on his face.  The squad leaders passed out standard gear.  Leonard stood perfectly still as he waited for the last troopers to assemble before him.  Brent had just finished with his backpack as the division leader addressed the troopers.

“Administer Bloom is being unusually secretive,” Leonard shouted while swiping at his sweating brow.  “Instead of describing the details of whatever it is he has cooked up for us, all he has said is it will be in the desert.  Despite the protests of the other divisions and myself, he refuses to say any more.  As he puts it, he doesn’t want to
spoil the surprise
.  As such, we have no way to properly prepare for whatever he plans to throw at us.  Seeing as that’s the case, we will go over the basics.  Your squad leaders will take it from here.”

The troopers looked at one another, obviously confused.  Brent gathered this wasn’t normal, even for the FF.  Cassandra and Cain were watching Kindra expectantly, who was watching Sanderson similarly.  Brent noticed the other division leaders were focused on Sanderson as well; almost everyone was.  With a single hand movement from their leader, Sanderson’s squad formed two neat rows.  Following in kind, the other squad leaders mimicked him.  Their troopers clumsily tried to form up.  It took them about five times as long to arrange themselves in rows that were anything but neat.

“Fire line, southwest,” Sanderson calmly ordered.

In the silence it was easy to hear him, even though he spoke no louder than normal.  Immediately his squad shifted to face the direction indicated.  The first row kneeled and removed their rifles from their shoulder straps while the second row scanned the horizon through their rifles’ scopes.  The other squad leaders ordered their squads similarly.  It was disastrous.  Some troopers knelt in place and tripped others as they tried to face the right direction.  Others fumbled with their rifles, dropping them into puffs of sand.  Sanderson was making the rest of the division look like a circus.  Brent noticed Leonard off in the distance, watching in disgust.  The squad leaders had to place each trooper in their proper place.  Even after they finished, the lines were uneven, with the troopers pointing their weapons in different directions.  Gathering they had done the best they could, Sanderson prepared to issue another order.

“Snipers.”  He said only a single word.

At once, his squad replaced the rifles back into their straps and pulled out large triangles from their backpacks.  Unfolding the triangles turned them into full sized shovels.  The squad quickly dug through the soft sand, creating a trench in short order.  When it was the proper depth, they each took out a heavy looking material from their backpacks and constructed a makeshift cover.  It fit snugly over the trench, leaving only a small gap for their rifles to fire from.  A sniper wouldn’t be able to get a clean shot on the troopers under the cover.  Brent wondered if the material would dissipate the energy from a sniper’s shot as well.

The other squad leaders ordered in the same fashion to a chorus of groaning and complaining troopers.  The digging was easier than Brent had thought it would be.  Getting the troopers to work together was another matter.  Instead of trenches, the troopers started on their own foxholes, usually tossing their sand into the hole of another trooper.  If there were a sniper out there, the only problem they would face would be holding the gun steady as they laughed at the sight.  The division spent the next couple of hours in the same manner.  Sanderson would give an order that his squad would expertly carry out.  The other squads would try to copy, only to fail miserably.  If the other divisions in the trial were as prepared as Sanderson’s squad, the FF was doomed.  When they were finally dismissed, the troopers groaned and rubbed their aching muscles.

“Brent, a word.”  Leonard called after him before he could leave.

He made his way to the division leader.  Leonard remained silent until all the troopers had left the room.

“Not exactly awe-inspiring.”  Leonard surveyed the pockmarked dunes.

“Everyone starts somewhere.”  Brent tried to be optimistic.

“Kindra’s told me all about you.  Not exactly what we expected.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“We had hoped a powerful Weaver would be able to turn things in our favor.  Give us an edge.  After that dismal display it’s painfully obvious we need more than an advantage.  We need a miracle.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?  You misunderstand.  You might be
exactly
what we need.”

“I don’t understand.

“Let’s say for the sake of argument you were a powerful Weaver.  What would be the most you could do?  Make our enemies tremble for a couple seconds, a minute?  Lose the will to fire on us for a little while?  At best maybe turn them on one another.  After that, where would we be?  We’d still be outclassed by whoever survived your attack.”

“What makes me more useful as I am?”

“Kindra hasn’t just told me about your limited Weaver abilities.  She also described your talents in the war room.  A tactical genius, as Cain puts it.  That’s saying something, coming from him; that boy doesn’t miss a chance to make a wager.  It’s safe to say he’s seen every would-be commander try their hand at the war room.”

“So you want me to think up some strategies for a trial we know nothing about?”

“Forget strategies.  Even if you did come up with a brilliant plan, it would be useless without the proper force to carry it out.”

“Wait, you want
me
to train the division for the trial?”  Brent was shocked.

“You
are
a quick one.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about training.”

“You don’t need to.  Look, I’m not asking you to turn them into elite troopers overnight.  All I want from you is to work that magic of yours.”

“What magic?”

“The one you used on the recruits.  You turned that rag tag group into a disciplined squad that figured out a way to outsmart the Shards on the last exam.”

“Easier said than done.  How do you suggest I go about it?”

“No clue.  You’re the wizard.  I leave the division in your care.  Do whatever you think you need to.  In other words, go do that voodoo that you do.”

“Thanks.”  Brent rolled his eyes.

“Don’t mention it.  Everything you might need is already on your pad.  I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”  Leonard cracked a small smile and left the desert.

Brent stood on the mound for a second, dumbfounded.  Somehow he had just become the ghostwriter of an entire division.  He glanced at his pad.  A myriad of data awaited him.  Every detail about every trooper was listed, from eye color to accuracy percentage.  Brent had no idea how to proceed.

When he had used Commonwealth forces in the war room, they were just simulations.  They performed each action with the proficiency of a hardened unit of master troopers.  Even with that at his disposal, the battles were hard fought.  Brent wondered why Shard forces were so much easier for him to use.  He never even got close to losing when he used Shards.  A stray thought flashed across his mind like a shooting star through the night sky.  Brent flipped through the information until he found what he was looking for.  This might just work.

“Have you seen Brent today?” Cassandra asked Cain as they left the mess hall after dinner.

“Can’t say I have.”  Cain shrugged.  “Was already gone when I got up.”

“I looked for him in the mess hall, but couldn’t find him.”

“Suppose he joined up with another division?”

“He’d tell me, or someone.”  Cassandra nodded to herself.  “Plus, I don’t think he’d do that.”

“I don’t know.  He is a bright one.  The smart move is to flee the sinking ship.”

“Maybe . . . Is that Leonard ahead?”

“I believe it is.  What is he doing
outside
the examination room?”

The squad leaders had already noticed him and ran ahead of their troopers, forming a circle around Leonard.  Neither could hear the discussion, but Rhea was obviously pitching a fit, while Humphrey snickered at her.  Something was happening.

“May I have everyone’s attention?”  Leonard shouted over the murmuring troopers.

He waited as the murmur died out.

“Okay, yesterday didn’t go so well.  Seeing as we can’t depend on Sanderson to win this for us, we are going to try something else.”  Leonard had an odd grin on his face.  “For the time being I’m handing things over to your new instructor.  No one is above him.  His every word is law.  No questions, and no disputes.”

Leonard and the squad leaders filed into the examination room, the division not far behind.  Cassandra gasped as she spotted their new instructor.  Brent was standing on top of the mound Leonard had resided on the day before.  He was standing tall in a neatly pressed Weaver’s uniform.  If she hadn’t known him, she would have mistaken him for any other instructor.  Protests started immediately.  Leonard turned to address the division.

“Enough!”  Brent shouted before Leonard could open his mouth.

Even Leonard jumped at the force in the voice.

“Yesterday was an unmitigated disaster,” his voice remained firm but was no longer a shout.  “If we attempt the trial in our current shape, we are doomed, and
rightfully
so.  The division leader has asked me to try and prevent our failure.  And that’s what I plan to do.  Even if I have to drag each and every one of you with me.  Do we understand one another?”

The response was weak.  A few acknowledged him, but most just muttered to themselves.

“Fine, fail.”  Brent sneered.  “Wash out and run with your tails between your legs.  I’d happily trade the lot of you spineless whelps for a few decent
recruits
.”

A good number of troopers railed.  He had managed to anger them.  Several shook their fists toward him.

“So you
can
be stirred to action,” he taunted.  “Now, as I see it, you have two choices.  Do nothing and fail miserably.  Or try and prove that the entire academy is wrong about you.  You stand before me, before everyone, as a pack of losers.  Nothing but misfits and rejects.  And you can choose to continue that life . . .”

“You think you can do anything that hasn’t already been tried?” A trooper demanded.”

“You all know who I am,” Brent said with forced pride.  “With a group of untrained nobodies I put the best this academy could muster to shame.  I won’t promise you fame or glory.  However, I do promise you one single thing.  If you listen to me you will be able to walk down these corridors with your heads held high.  Now, who will follow me?”

Less than half the division shouted in the affirmative.  It was anything but a clear victory, but it was enough for him.  He was used to some resistance.

“All right, first things first,” Brent said with all the authority Davis used.  “Say goodbye to your squad mates.  From this point forward you’ll be arranged into groups of my choosing.  Check your pads for your new assignment.”

After his announcement he descended from the mound.  Despite some minor resistance, the squads broke up and reassembled into six groups.  Brent handed the new assembled groups their equipment.

“Where’s my shovel?” one trooper shouted angrily.

“My comsat is missing, too,” another protested.

“You won’t need them; we are going to be doing things a tad differently,” Brent reassured them as he passed out the last few sets of gear.

“I don’t care if Leonard tells me to play nice or not, I want my standard gear,” a mighty voice bellowed.

“Petersen!  Krueger!” Brent shouted over the protests.  “Front and center.”

The two hesitantly broke away from the groups and approached Brent.  As they neared he threw a shovel to each of them.

“Dig,” Brent commanded.

“What?  A trench?  A ditch?  A hole?”  Petersen asked.

“Doesn’t matter; just
dig
,” Brent repeated.

The two did as they were commanded and started working on the ground.  After a few moments it was apparent the point he was making.  Krueger had barely made a dent in the ground while Petersen was chest deep in her hole.  Brent gestured for them to stop.  Petersen needed a hand to get out.

“No trooper is a jack of all trades,” Brent shouted to the protestors.  “Each of you has strengths and weaknesses.  By the time Krueger dug a proper trench, Petersen could have dug ten. 
That
is why some of you are missing equipment.  Take a good look at those in your new group.  Each of them has the same strengths and weaknesses you do.  Instead of twenty average troopers trying to compensate for one another, you are a tight group of specialists