Poor Man's Fight (22 page)

Tanner looked up at her, then at Einstein as he lay on his back with blood all over his face. “Walk it off,” Janeka repeated. Tanner glanced at her, nodded, and half-walked, half-staggered away.

Scowling, Janeka stepped over to where Everett stood watching Rivera as the recruit tried in vain to get a response out of Einstein. “Yeah,” Everett sighed casually, “that’s gonna be a day or two in the infirmary. He’s barely scraping by as it is, too. Might have to revert ‘im to another company. Blood on your uniform there, Michelle.”

Janeka glanced down at herself. She spotted Tanner as he sat against a collapsed bunk across the squad bay. He
wasn’t bleeding. She looked back to Einstein, then at her colleague.

“You’re an evil man, Bill,” she said quietly.

“What? Me? No idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a scheming, manipulative, evil man.”

“No, I’m not. I just help people find motivation.”

Six
: The Only Constant

Hey Tanner,

Got your message. That’s incredible that they won’t let you communicate with anyone for twelve weeks. Wait, I take it back; that’s not incredible, that’s insane. Our communications rules here are restrictive, but they aren’t nearly that bad. If you can find time to write, nobody stops you. They figure that’s important here.

It’s probably not a shock that I don’t have a lot of time to write.
If I’m not in a classroom, I’m outside marching, doing PT or getting yelled at. I could swear I sleep occasionally, but that’s probably just me hallucinating. I imagine you know how that is, right?

Crazy as it sounds, I’m having a blast. It’s pretty hilarious to hear people complain about the heat here. It’s barely 40 and you’d think half my cohort is going to die.

I hope I don’t seem like a bitch for this, but I’m probably not going to write again until I hear from you first. They’re fierce on time management here and it seems like kind of a waste to send what will be weeks of old news by the time you get it, you know? So write to me when you can and I’ll start responding. Hang in there!

Yours,

Midship(wo!)man Allison Carter

He read it three times, slower with each repetition. He didn’t doubt her for a second; she was probably doing fine. Allison thrived on competition. Having all those other cadets to measure herself against was all the motivation she needed.

After sending his “you won’t hear from me for awhile” message, Tanner wondered if he’d
get anything from Allison at all. As he had been on the day of The Test, he was surprised to have her attention. On the other hand, though, he was probably the only one of her friends who could empathize with her current situation. The rest of her social circle from school all enjoyed a summer vacation before starting at civilian universities.

His father
took a very different approach from Allison’s. She’d only sent the one message. His father had sent dozens.

Swallowing hard, Tanner checked the time on the holo screen.
Lights out approached swiftly. He sat in his chair outside the command office, right where he had been when Everett went into the squad bay and announced the release of the accumulated mail. Tanner was free to head back to his bunk to read his messages, but moving seemed like a silly waste of time. Had he been in the shower when Everett made that announcement, he’d probably have read his mail in there, too.

He paused to pop to attention as
Everett passed by, moving from the squad bay to the office. “They’re gonna be a pain in the ass tomorrow,” he heard Janeka say. “Like little kids the day after Halloween.”

“Nah. Shouldn’t be too much trouble to kick ‘em back into line,”
Everett replied.

Tanner
sighed. They were bound to find a reason to jerk the leash. It was a worry for tomorrow, though, not tonight. Right now, he had mail to read from his father. His stepmother, too. A few friends. Dad took priority. Rather than read from the beginning, Tanner skipped to the most recent message.

Dear Tanner,

If I’ve read the message receipts right, this
may be the most recent letter you get when they let you have mail again. I don’t know if you’ll read this first or last, but I figured I’d keep writing to you either way just in case. Your mother told me once that mail meant the world to her when she was in basic training. I can’t believe they’re restricting yours like this.

Sharon and I talk about you every day. We’re both so very sorry
it all came to this. We should have thought more about you and we should have worked harder to have a plan if... well, if what happened with my job happened. We’re both sorry about how we reacted, too. Sharon didn’t mean half the things she said. She’s felt like a complete heel ever since you left.

On the bright side, things are great here
. There are details in the other messages, but Sharon swung a teaching position for this school year, so we won’t be dependent on my income alone. She’ll probably be working by the time you get this. Our neighbors are nice and this is a great place to live. We’re talking about getting a cat.

At any rate: we will both support you, no matter what happens. If you decide to stay in the military, we’ll support you. We both hope you’re doing well. But if you’re not—if you aren’t making it or if you de
cide you want to get out, I’m sure there are ways to make that happen. We can take care of you, Tanner. You can live with us until we figure out what to do next. It’s okay. We know this wasn’t your first choice.

Tanner killed the holo screen. He swallowed hard as if it would reduce the lump in his throat.

Twelve weeks. He hadn’t heard from anyone in twelve very long weeks, and in that time he’d been exhausted and exasperated with hardly a break. He hung on and endured. Now the first word from his family offered an escape hatch.

He stared across the room at the bulkhead. He called it that now. It was a bulkhead, not a wall. He’d adopted the lingo. He’d changed.

“Malone!”
Everett barked from his office. “You still out there?”

“Yes, chief!” Tanner answered, standing at attention.

“Lights out in two minutes. Handle it.”

“Aye, aye, chief,” Tanner replied. He
spared another moment to breathe in deep, trying to put aside his thoughts of home—abstract as “home” was now that Dad and Sharon lived on a planet Tanner had never even visited.

“Bill, you ought to go home to your man,” he heard Janeka say. “I can
handle things for the night.” It stopped Tanner cold as he reached to pick his helmet up off the floor. They clearly thought he was out of earshot already.

“Why don’t
you
go home to
your
man?” Everett replied. “You’re the one with a kid.”

“My man knew what he was getting into when he married me. Yours never wore a uniform.”

“You think we haven’t talked this stuff out over the last twenty years? Anyway, isolation was my idea, Michelle,” Everett said. “I’m not gonna slip out on it now.”

Tanner forced himself to walk away. Inside the squad bay, most of Oscar Company was already in their bunks—or, more typically, on top of them. Sleeping under one’s sheets meant making the bed again in the morning, and that
consumed time. Better to simply sleep on top and smooth it out upon reveille. Tanner checked the time. “Lights out in thirty seconds!”

He heard no
response. Tanner walked to his bunk. He stowed his helmet, unzipped the top of his vac suit and lay down. He would sleep in the same sweaty vac suit he’d worn all day long, then shower and change into a fresh vac suit in the morning.

The lights winked out. Tanner closed his eyes, still plagued by the jumble of thoughts and emotions
created by his father’s letter. Quit? Really? If that was even possible—and Tanner wasn’t sure it was—did Tanner want that? Could he live with himself? Could he admit to others that he’d dropped out of basic training? Would he lie about it?

T
hirteen weeks. Bad food, no privacy, endless shifts between crushing monotony and near- panic. Decompression drills at any given moment; certainly there would be one tonight, maybe two. Some nights had as many as three. Half the time he woke up to his rack collapsing upon him. He spent two days a week, from sunrise to sunrise, wearing an oxygenated helmet. His muscles ached from constant PT.

A month ago, one of his instructors
put him in the hospital. Several days after that, Tanner put someone in the hospital himself. It was the end of Einstein, and the company ran far better as a result. Tanner also performed much better in sparring after that. He felt more confident and self-assured...

...and, just like Sharon said, he was learning how to hurt people. He got better at it all the time. Was that all he had to show for all this?

He took another long, deep breath. He’d have to respond to that letter. He wasn’t sure what to say. But he couldn’t do it tonight.

Tanner
then noticed the shaky, shuddering breath of someone nearby. He frowned, listening intently. It was Other Gomez on the rack above his.

Turning his head to the left, he found Ravenell still awake on the next bunk over. Tanner gestured up at Other Gomez with a quizzical look on his face.

“Got a message from his girlfriend,” Ravenell answered quietly. “You ever hear of a ‘Dear John letter?’”

Wincing, Tanner put his head back on his pillow. “Aw, fuck,” he whispered in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Gomez.”

He heard no response.

Other
recruits cried that night. Tanner heard them. Unable to do anything about it then, or about his father’s letter, he went to sleep.

***

He was awake when the collision alarm went off. It certainly seemed like he’d awoken just before it, anyway. In the very first second of its high-pitched wail, Tanner rolled out of his bunk and hit the deck. His bunk collapsed in the following second. Other Gomez was ready for it, too. For him, the drill was different; he simply grabbed for the rail and hung on, bracing himself to minimize the impact. Both recruits immediately scrambled for their helmets, slamming them down on their heads while rushing to the nearest wall to grab back-up oxygen canisters.

Oscar Company
handled dead oxygen canisters without confusion or complaint. Every helmet light read green within fifteen seconds of the alarm. Recruits calmly lined up along the collapsed bunks at attention. The squad bay fell silent.

“Helmets off, stay at attention,”
ordered Janeka. Seconds later, every member of Oscar Company stood tall and straight, helmets tucked under the left arm.

“You will secure from drill and get cleaned up,” Janeka said. “Morning mess detail is canceled. Fall in here in columns in time for morning PT as usual. Move.”

Oscar Company obeyed. Those who could not keep up had already been reverted to junior training companies. Einstein was the last to go.

Hushed questions circulated about Sinclair’s squad being relieved from mess duty that morning. All anyone could guess, given that they had received the mercy of mail from home just the night before, was that they would
go without breakfast to balance the scales. Fifteen minutes later, Janeka stalked through the center of the squad bay, surveying the recruits. Everyone stood at attention with helmets in hand.

“Some of you may get the mistaken impression that today is Christmas,” she said, the familiar tone of menace returning to her voice. “I assure you it is not. You have
only proven that you are ready for the next phase of your training. You have not proven yourselves actual crewmen and marines in my military. Do not let your progress go to your head. Do not fuck up. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”
responded Oscar Company.

“Morning PT will
take place on the parade ground this morning.” Janeka vigilantly scanned for any break in the company’s stance. She saw widened eyes and sharp breaths, but nothing to pounce on. “This will be followed by close-order drill. We have not performed close-order drill for quite some time. I understand refreshers will be necessary. Do not test my patience.

“If, and only if you measure up to my expectations, we will have a late
morning chow in the base galley. If you blow it, we’ll just have to skip breakfast in favor of extra PT.”

“Gunnery Sergeant Janeka!” a voice called.

“Yes, Recruit Gomez?”

“May I eat at a table with the rest of the company, sergeant?” Gomez asked in as dignified a manner as he could muster. It had been quite some time since anyone had eaten at a table; typically the company simply ate over their bunks.

Janeka paused. “Why yes, Recruit Gomez. I think you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you, sergeant!”

“In fact,” Janeka said with a savagely sweet grin, “you can sit next to me.”

It was too horrifying for
anyone not to laugh. “Drop! On your faces!” Janeka barked at the snickering crew. “You think that’s funny? You see something wrong with that? Would you
fine
ladies and gentlemen be embarrassed to sit next to me at breakfast?”