C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) (13 page)

I felt relief
mixed with surprise when I realised that according to ship’s time, my birthday
had indeed been two days ago. I had been so busy, so detached from my old life
on Earth that I had forgotten my own birthday! I was nineteen years old… and on
my way to war.

‘Don’t forget
to clean the toilets, birthday boy,’ Woody said upon our return to the
accommodation after the service. We didn’t have much time, fitness would be at
half-seven, which only really left me with enough time to get changed. I knew
that I would be crucified by Jamo if I was late for PT, but if I argued with
Woody he would take pleasure in making an example of me. 

‘I’m going
now,’ I said, and joined the rest of the new lads cleaning the accommodation.
Climo and a few others came to help us, but a lot of the platoon were still
reluctant to help, enjoying having us to do it all for them. I didn’t care
anymore, I was used to it. Cleaning the ablutions and mopping floors in the
morning had become part of my routine.

Once we were
satisfied we had done as much as time allowed, I hurried back to the room. I
was anxious to get ready for PT in time so as not to infuriate the platoon
sergeant, but when the door to my room slid away I stopped. My PT kit was no
longer laid out ready on my bed as it had been, but instead it was laid out on
the floor. It had been written on with shaving foam, ‘Happy birthday.’

Brown and
Woody were in the room and laughed as I crouched down beside my ruined PT kit
in horror. Jamo would kill me! What would I do? The simple answer was nothing;
we had so many PT sessions every day that most of my PT kit was constantly
being laundered. All I could do was wipe away the excess foam and take Jamo’s
wrath.

‘Happy
birthday, crowbag,’ Woody sneered. I looked up at my tormentor. He knew what he
had done; he knew that the consequences for me turning up in dirty PT kit would
result in a punch to the gut or worse.

My bottom lip
trembled. What had I done to deserve such unprovoked cruelty? And then
something changed in me.

I felt the
anger boiling up inside of me, surging like a storm of energy that raged across
my body and caused my limbs to shake. I was angrier than I had ever been,
angrier than I had been for the most brutal of bayonet training sessions. There
stood before me was the man at the heart of all of my misery, he had almost
single-handedly made my prison on board Challenger unbearable. He was a bully,
a coward who used vulnerable people like me to feel powerful.

‘You gonna
cry for mummy?’ Woody asked, and Brown laughed again.

Every trooper
was trained to have a safety catch in his mind, his rage needed to be
controlled, directed, or else he was little more than a mindless thug. That day
I released my safety catch.

I screamed as
I launched to my feet, throwing a punch straight toward Woody’s jaw. He was
unprepared but his reactions were quick and he jerked his head back away from
the punch enough to deny me a clean strike. My fist still clipped his chin and
I threw a second punch into his stomach, knocking the air out of him.

Woody
staggered backwards in shock and made no attempt to block my third punch which
struck him on the top of the head. I was no prize fighter; my unarmed combat
training was only a few weeks long, but the furious speed of the blows I threw
at him kept him stumbling backward. I hit him again on the head, and twice to
the neck and shoulders. Woody withdrew himself into a blocking stance, his arms
tight together in front of his head.

My attack was
stopped when Brown gripped me by the shoulders and threw me backward and I slid
on my arse across the room. He strode confidently toward me with his fists
raised, he was nowhere near as big as Woody but he was strong.

‘Come on,
then, you little weasel,’ he beckoned as I stood.

‘Little
bastard,’ Woody groaned, clutching at his head in the corner of the room.

Woody would
be fighting any second, I wasn’t much of a fighter but I knew my only hope was
to take out Brown before he recovered and the two of them finished me off. I
was committed.

With a cry of
anger, I charged back into Brown, my head lowered toward his waist. He punched
out uselessly at my back as I connected with him, driving him into his bunk.
This wasn’t a matter of honour; there were two of them and one of me. I punched
him once in the balls and once in the gut and then stood, giving him a final
punch into his nose. Blood exploded from his nostrils but he didn’t fall.
Instead he hit me across the temple so hard that I saw stars and with a
powerful swipe of his leg he kicked my left foot out from under me and I fell
to the ground.

‘You’ll pay
for that,’ Brown clutched at his groin as he stooped over me but Woody checked
him.

‘He’s mine,’
Woody’s face was screwed up with rage, and he stalked toward me where I lay
dazed. Brown stepped away.

I stood, but
too late. A mighty punch drove me back to the ground. Warm blood flowed from my
nose and into my mouth and I spat it onto the deck.

‘Fuck you!’

‘Fuck me?’
Woody gripped me by the throat, ‘Fuck you, Moralee!’ His fingers closed around
my windpipe, squeezing it closed. He leaned forward and whispered rasping
threats into my ear as I fought for air, ‘Remember what I said, crow bag.
Accidents happen all the time out here. People kill themselves. Jettison
themselves out of airlocks. Then there’s New Earth. People get shot - in the
back. Happens all the time.’

I tried to
speak but failed. I choked on my own blood and my eyes rolled back into my
skull.

‘I’m gonna
kill you, Moralee, you’re gonna die out here, do you..,’ he didn’t finish.

A metal chair
crashed down upon Woody’s head and he collapsed onto me under its weight. His
hand remained around my throat but the fingers lost their grip and I gasped
desperately for air.

Brown watched
frozen in horror as Climo struck Woody again with the chair, swinging it around
with so much force that it knocked Woody clean away from me.

‘How do you
like that?’ Climo taunted as Woody tried to lift his body up from the ground
but the chair came down again and again. Woody lay still. Blood from his head
ran onto the metal floor.

‘Christ…,’
Brown gasped as Climo stood with the chair poised over Woody, waiting for him
to move again.

Climo threw
down the chair, ‘Want a go?’

Brown went
for Climo with a clumsy punch, but Climo blocked it with ease and struck him
with a punch that connected with the base of his chin. Stepping forward in
between Brown's flailing arms he clutched his collar to pull him close, swung
an elbow into his nose, and then grasping the back of his head he thrust his
face downwards onto his knee. Barely conscious, Brown fell to the ground at
Climo's feet.

‘Fuck you,
Brown,’ he spat at the unconscious trooper, and then at Woody, ‘And you too.’

Slowly I sat
myself up, there was blood everywhere, ‘Jesus Christ,’ I exclaimed.

Climo kicked
the chair across the room and then sat down on his bunk, ‘God that felt good.’

I staggered
toward the door and leant out into the corridor.

‘Man down!’

Surprised
troopers peered out from their rooms, but the message passed rapidly, as it
would on New Earth.

My anger
forgotten, I ran back to Woody. He wasn’t moving. He had a deep gash across his
skull but it didn’t look bad.

‘He’s stopped
breathing,’ I told Climo, ‘Help me get him over!’

Climo
remained motionless, ‘Leave him, he’s better off dead,’ he said darkly.

‘Not if you
get done for murder, give me a hand!’

Climo came
over just before Joe Mac arrived at the door.

‘What the
hell is going on?’ He shouted, and then his eyes widened at the sight of Woody
and Brown on the floor, ‘Jesus!’

‘He’s been
hit on the back of the head,’ I told him, ‘He’s stopped breathing,’ we rolled
him over and I reached into his mouth with my fingers. There were a few pieces
of broken teeth in his mouth which I tossed aside and then felt deeper, ‘He’s
swallowed his tongue.’

Troopers
massed at the door and more NCOs were shouting to find out what was going on. Mac
pointed at the nearest troopers to the door, ‘You two! Get on Brown over there.
You, get the medics down here now! Moralee what the hell happened?’

I looked at
Climo as I pulled Woody’s tongue back from his throat with my fingers, ‘I hit
him.’

There was a
gasp from behind Joe Mac, ‘You
what
?’

‘I hit him
with the chair,’ I repeated.

‘Don’t be
stupid, I did,’ Climo argued.

‘Right, you
two,’ Mac beckoned more troopers, ‘Take over from these two idiots.’

I felt for a
pulse as two troopers came to replace me and Climo beside the casualty, but
there was nothing, ‘His heart’s stopped!’

‘Get out of
the way,’ Sam snapped, pushing me aside. He knelt beside Woody and began
compressions onto his chest, trying to work his heart to force any air left in
Woody’s lungs around his body. Me and Climo were roughly led out of the room
and into the corridor where the whole platoon, its routine disturbed, crowded curiously.

#

I stood
outside the Company Sergeant Major’s office, deep within the headquarter
section of the ship. I had never been there before, nor did I want to be. The
CSM was also known as the Company Scary Monster, the disciplinarian, the man
you never wanted to meet. He was meant to be scary, and he fulfilled his role
to the letter. He was like Sergeant James multiplied a thousand times.

You never
stood outside the Sergeant Major’s office unless you had messed up severely,
and my God I had. Woody was in the ship’s infirmary under intensive care with
several stitches to his scalp. Rumour would have it he died twice and had to be
resuscitated, and that his scar was larger than it should have been because
they had to operate on his brain. He was alive, as was Brown of course, but my
God had he taken a beating off Climo.

The bulkhead
to the CSMs office barely muffled the sound of shouting, Climo was getting an
earful. He would surely be locked in the brig and taken back to Earth to be
court marshalled, with a hefty sentence. I wasn’t sure what was worse, being in
that room or on New Earth.

‘Face your
front,’ a naval NCO ordered. There were two of them, standing watch over me and
Climo in case we did something stupid; ready to take us both to the brig once
the CSM had his way with us.

I waited for
what seemed like hours, until the door to the CSMs office finally slid open and
Climo emerged red faced and into the arms of the two naval NCOs.

‘Get that areole
down to the brig!’ The CSM bellowed from inside and Climo was marched away
leaving only me behind.

I wondered if
I should enter, hesitated, and then thought better of it.

‘Get in here,
Moralee!’

I marched
into the CSMs office as smartly as I could. I had barely practiced any kind of
drill since leaving Earth and the CSM winced as I halted awkwardly at his desk.
He sat forward in his chair, tapping his fingers impatiently as if he were
waiting for me to speak. I said nothing, facing my front with my chin held up
high, not daring to look down and meet his gaze. I swallowed hard.

‘What do you
have to say for yourself, Moralee?’ He asked finally. He seemed oddly subdued
after having screamed the walls down at Climo; I braced myself for the worst.

‘I started
it, Sir,’ I blurted, and the CSM raised an eyebrow, ‘I attacked Woody first.’

That was the
second time I had seen the CSM since arriving on Challenger, but it was the
closest I had been to him, and alone in that room his presence was
overwhelming. He was no bigger in size than the average trooper, but his face
was hard as Jamo’s, and his gaze twice as penetrating. He had seen it all, like
many of the older NCOs, from Eden to the Betrayal, and he had survived to make
it all the way to the top of the food chain. Now he looked at me like he was
about to explode.

‘Go on.’

I told him
about how I had found my PT kit ruined, about how I had constantly been at
Woody’s mercy and how I had finally attacked him and Brown in a terrible
outburst.

‘I just lost
it, Sir. I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’ The
CSM picked up a
tablet from his desk
and frowned as he studied it, ‘I have two troopers in
the infirmary, one of whom is critically injured and I’ve got another trooper
in the brig. That’s half a section wiped out in five minutes. Do you understand
the importance of our manpower right now?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We have one
hundred and nine troopers in this company, and every one of them is a rifle on
the ground. Effectively we could have lost three rifles today, if you include
that idiot Climpson, that’s half a section’s fire power wasted before we even
hit the ground.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Are you on
the Chinese side?’

‘No, Sir.’

The CSM
slapped the table so hard I jumped, ‘Then act like it, then! Every five minutes
I’ve got troopers beating each other senseless, but this takes it to a whole
new level!’

I said
nothing, and then the CSM sighed. He tapped away at his tablet, ‘I’m putting
you on galley duty for the remainder of the jump.’

Surprised, I
glanced down at him, ‘You mean I’m not going to the brig, Sir?’

‘No, you’re not,’
the CSM tossed the tablet onto his desk, ‘You’re not the one who wrapped a
chair around someone’s head, are you? If I put blokes in the brig for fighting
it’d be overflowing in a few days. I’m sure the blokes in your platoon will
punish you enough, anyway. It’s not looked upon well to attack your senior
privates, believe me.’

‘No, Sir.’

The side of
the CSMs mouth twitched, ‘Even if they are arseholes.’