Descent into Mayhem (Capicua Chronicles Book 1) (21 page)

“Considering this, I’d like to offer you all maybe the best advice you’ll ever get from a soldier in this army. No matter what the brass tells you on that parade today, if you come into contact with the enemy, and they’re knocking us off left and right across the board, then forget about attacking, exacting revenge, or any other foolish thing that jumps into those juvenile minds of yours. You’re not gonna turn the battle around with obsolete equipment and incomplete training! Remember the following three Rs: Retreat, regroup and retire! A battleground is no place for cadets! We understood?” He barked, his neck muscles taut as he awaited their answer.

There were several reluctant yessirs and a few nods around the room. Toni didn’t say a word; he was too busy marveling at the change of demeanor.

“Don’t make us wait!” He finally barked, about-facing snappily before he left the room.

“Pussy ...” Toni heard someone, probably Ray, breathe to his left.

The preparations for formation began to accelerate. The male cadets formed up a full minute before the expected time, and for once the femmes did not let them down, arriving only moments later at a brisk run.

Toni searched Rakaia’s features as she formed up in front of him, hopeful that she hadn’t spoken to anyone about their exchange. She turned towards him, giving him a look of pure venom before presenting him with her back.

Not the most encouraging expression
, he thought sourly.

He glanced to his left, only to find Hannah peering back at him with an indecipherable expression. He raised his eyebrows pleadingly, hoping she’d recognize a wordless apology if she saw one.

“Eyes front –” Ian ordered in a low voice.

“Cadet, direct the platoon to the briefing room.” The LT called from behind.

Ian barked out a cascade of orders, the platoon obeying through reflex, and they quickly formed into a double column and marched towards the casern’s briefing room.

Before entering, they were overtaken by the lieutenant, Mason, and a troop of sergeants and corporals. The corpies were carrying electronic equipment, and the sergeants several large scrolls.

The fourteen cadets silently took their seats, Lieutenant Templeton having waived formalities beforehand.

“Good morning, cadets,” the lieutenant began, “So, before you all melt into the ground in sheer terror, I’d like to make the following quite clear: you will not be expected to directly engage the enemy.”

He paused for a moment, silently observing as a kaleidoscope of emotions played across his subordinates’ faces. What he saw there must have been amusing, for a wry smile began to spread across his narrow face.

“However much that might disappoint some of you. The current situation also seems to have offered a gift to the more troublesome members of this flock; any disciplinary proceedings regarding what happened yesterday have, at least for the time being, been suspended.

“I would, however, like to make something clear. A declaration of war is in effect and, in case you’re not aware of what that means, the 1
st
platoon of the SIC is forthwith an operational combat unit. As a direct result, any failure to comply with orders, as well as the committing of any other essentially military crime, will be dealt with severely. And when I say severely, I mean firing squad severely. Taking this into consideration, and also considering that you are not expected to deal directly with the Unmils, you should be much more afraid of your own screw-ups than of enemy action. And so I expect you to listen to the following briefing with great care, because I don’t think that the “my mind was somewhere else” excuse is going to work in a court-martial. Corporals, if you’ll please set up the holographics ...”

That took all of thirty seconds. As the corporals set up the display equipment, Toni took a good look at the strangers before him. There were the three corporals, certainly close ground support. The footies usually had a beefy look to them. The sergeants, however, were something else entirely. Young, thin, wiry, and with lazy eyes born of self-confidence, they were beyond a doubt members of the ASC. And all three were distinctly displeased at their assignment. It was the disgusted look they threw at the cadets that gave it away.

“Very well, thank you. I think before we get into the details of our current assignment, I’d like to outline the change in status. By order of our Commander, Colonel Masters, all training and the SIC itself are suspended until the end of the Wild Rose Campaign. The former 1
st
platoon is now the Logistics Support Platoon, aka LOGIS which, due to obvious considerations, will be dedicated to second-line missions. This platoon has been divided into three sections, consisting of the following: In the 1
st
Section, under 2
nd
Sergeant “Dim” Dunn, we have Cadets Miura, Kimble, de Venter, Bowker and Grimm. In the 2
nd
Section, under 2
nd
Sergeant John Revone, we have Cadets Allerton, Cato, Tani, Winters and Yamato. And in the 3
rd
Section, under 2
nd
Sergeant Carl Jordan, we have Cadets Cassel, Arakaki, Rosa and Templeton. Once this briefing is over, these cadets will join their respective section commanders.”

There was no need to ask who his section leader was; every time the LT had called out a sergeant’s name, one of them had stood at attention. His own leader was the pissed-off looking oriental who, incidentally, didn’t look dim in the slightest. He got the impression that, of the three, his leader was the most displeased.

“Alright, moving along ...” the lieutenant continued, “LOGIS is now an independent platoon under the MEWAC Task Force and our mission is a complicated one, so listen good: Firstly, to progress along with the remaining TF as a reserve subunit, carrying excess ordnance and fuel for the Combat Suits moving ahead. Secondly, to execute flank reconnaissance when required, and only by explicit order from the TF Commander himself. Who is MEWAC’s current second-in-command, Lieutenant-Colonel Kokubo, by the way. This is due to the Moca Suits’ only advantage over the Hammerhead: it has almost twice the range. Thirdly, upon first contact with the Unmil, one section will support our Combat Suits by supplying ordnance when and wherever necessary, while the remainder will assist foot infantry units in the creation of improvised fortifications along our TF’s probable axis of retreat, said fortification remaining under the protection of these sections until relief by the first retreating subunit of Combat Suits.

“Not that we’ll be expecting any order to withdraw. After all, Lt-Colonel Kokubo is not the kind of leader who would make such a decision lightly. I hope you noticed my reference to the term “Combat Suits”. In case there are still any doubts, I’ll make this crystal clear: The Suits in our subunit do NOT qualify as such, and so I expect you all to refrain as much as possible from sticking your noses into the fight, if there is one. If any of you disobey this order, I’ll remote-detonate your Suit. That is a promise. Are we clear?”

It was all apparently very clear to all present, and Toni had no doubt that the LT could do exactly what he’d just threatened to do. He was, however, a little miffed for never having been told that such a contingency existed, although when he thought better of it, such a measure actually made sense.

After all, if one of them were to commit to battle, the remainder of the section would probably feel compelled to at least back him up. Even if the entire section wasn’t wiped out as a result, it would still become bogged down in an unnecessary fight and leave their mission unaccomplished. The lieutenant took that sort of mathematics very seriously.

The LT then began to expand upon the details of their mission, going through a blow by blow of what had to be done, by whom, and under what circumstances. As time began to stretch out, Toni was forced to discipline his mind fiercely so as to keep his attention firmly fixed on the briefing. His efforts were well rewarded when the LT quizzed them on the mission plan and Task Force organics. No one failed to correctly answer his questions.

The last thing their platoon commander did before dismissing them was to order them to download all details of the mission from the GMN.

Shortly after dismissal, Toni found himself in a corner of the classroom along with the rest of 1
st
section, watching silently as the SecLeaders conferred with their lieutenant in hushed voices. He peered at his surrounding comrades, a knot beginning to form in the pit of his stomach.

Ray wasn’t there. Nor was Gordie, nor any of the femmes. Hirum was there, although his presence didn’t boost Toni’s confidence in the least; Hirum was a decent friend, but his test scores were well on the lower end of the performance spectrum. The remaining members were more comrades than mates, and only Clive Bowker, whose bed was beside his, was a closer acquaintance. The tall cadet’s natural reserve, however, had kept them from being anything more than that.

Don Kimble, on the other hand, suffered from a bad case of androgyny. His skin was soft and rosy, he possessed no facial hair to speak of, and he was handsome in an almost feminine way. Toni suspected exogenous genes at play. The cadet also got along quite well with the femmes, which only served to ensure he remain at arm’s length from the platoon’s male members.

Jim Grimm was officially an OK guy. He hung out with Shinji Yamato and Daryl Cato, and together they formed their own little special-interest group. The corn-haired cadet happened to be a hardcore programmer, thus adding his expertise to what they referred to as the Terrorbyte Crew. They constituted their own nation, but diplomatic relations with the remainder of the platoon had always been friendly.

Toni was glad for Jim’s inclusion in the 1
st
section; they were currently rivals in the race to the summit of the performance spectrum.

“Toni?” Hirum inquired hesitantly.

“What?” He replied, still focused on his thoughts.

“What happened between you and Tani?”

“Why would you think there’s something between us?” He answered, thinking it wise to answer an unpleasant question with another.

Don sniggered and answered in Hirum’s stead.

“She’s been looking at you like you shot her dog, man. Look at her.”

Toni turned towards the 2
nd
section and, sure enough, Rakaia stood there watching him like a hawk, her irises half-hidden by her eyelids. Toni turned away, his face expressionless.

No need to be the good guy
, he told himself. Turning to Hirum, he finally answered.

“I only presented her with a few unpleasant facts, that’s all. She took it a little worse than I expected.”

Don thought on the answer for a moment, and then fixed Toni with a cold look.

“Rakaia doesn’t need someone like you to tell her the facts, she knows them for herself already. She escaped some domestic issues back at the Terminator Hub. She’s had some real problems, unlike you, and it just wouldn’t be a good idea to poke her like I expect you did. Especially not since she’s about to be handed a four ton piece of military equipment to play with. And a live Lacrau. And a twenty five millimeter cannon. What do you say?”

Toni nodded weakly, figuring he’d only make a bigger fool of himself if he opened his mouth again.

“First section! Form up on me!” Sergeant Dunn suddenly barked.

The powwow was over and their secleader stood at the doorway with two fingers above his head. The five cadets formed a double column before him and then they were off at a quick march.

The entire base was unrecognizable in its novel level of activity. The caserns had disgorged more footsoldiers than he had ever thought existed, and many were already formed up beside their impossibly large T4 travel-packs on the parade ground. The packs presently rested at their owners’ feet, the personnel having yet to requisition their exoskeletons from the 3
rd
War Materials Deposit.

Over the course of the following hour, time became a blur of confusion as all the promised equipment was requisitioned and distributed. Toni had to hand it to his new secleader; none of the WMD grunts gave the sergeant any hassle, his threatening demeanor proving to be a most efficient lubricant against the customary bureaucracy. Some of the clerks still parted with their equipment reluctantly, as if the loss was a personal one.

Before long the requisitioned material found itself before each driver’s feet, the platoon forming a U on the parade ground as nearby footmen clad in combat exoskeletons clomped towards their destinations.

Had he not seen the array of armament and equipment being fielded by the footmen, Toni would have believed that Kokubo intended them to fight on foot as well.

One Lacrau rifle with 180 rounds of 8 millimeter caseless ammunition in four magazines. One Hornet TF-33 sidearm with 80 rounds of 6 millimeter caseless ammunition in four clips. A light-duty ballistic helmet. One light-duty ballistic vest, including sternum and dorsal anti-trauma plates. Frag-resistant combat fatigues, including integrated tourniquets at the nub of each extremity. A travel pack containing three combat rations (each providing a day’s worth of nourishment), a collapsible thermal oven, and a first-aid kit that included enough combat nootropics to fight for three days without pause. One MFES Mark 4 Comm. device, apparently only for emergencies. And one sleeping bag, which also served as a one-man tent or raincoat, depending on need and imagination.