THE PRIZE: BOOK TWO - RETRIBUTION (9 page)

“Very good, children. Now we can move onto the more complicated task of inserting the power pack. Observe. This time you insert the battery into the slot in the butt of the rifle, a quarter twist of the butt plate to lock it in place. To remove, PULL, twist the butt plate a quarter turn, left or right and remove. “Easy, right? So, go ahead and insert your training packs.”

Only half of them got it right, until the rest discovered that the battery would only go in one way. That had been a deliberate omission on Sharon's part. After that, he had them removing and inserting one of the four power packs they each carried.

“Very good. I see that you were all paying attention.” He gave them a shark-like grin. “Now we get to the interesting part. On each side of the receiver, right above the trigger is a three position thumb switch. The rifle is configured for both right, and left handed people. The first or bottom position is the safety. One click up with your thumb is position two. In that position you can fire a single well placed shot at the enemy. The third click up is position three, for the three round burst shot should the enemy be foolish enough to all gather together for a quick group grope or to sing cum-by-ya. Hopefully, you all have your selector switch on safety?” It wasn't hard to spot the ones who didn't, as they either openly or surreptitiously moved the selector to safe.

“Thankfully, at the moment, your weapons are pre-set for training and although painful as hell, getting hit with a burst of fire from your teammate isn't lethal.” Sharon couldn't help but smile slightly as the recruits quickly set their weapons between their legs with the barrel pointing up.

“I’m glad to see you are all pointing your weapons up. Can anyone here tell me why you should ALWAYS point your weapon up when at rest?” All he got was blank looks. So he told them.

“Not so long ago, many small arms instructors advocated pointing your weapon down in the mistaken impression that this was a safer position than pointing your weapon up. Not so, more often than not, this ended up with soldiers inadvertently digging the business end of the barrel into the ground when scrambling for cover. This had the unintentional effect of blowing that persons head off and injuring his squad mates when the blocked barrel exploded when fired.” The trainees shifted around on the hard benches thinking about the word picture he'd painted.

“That’s brings us to weapons safety. Unlike the old rifles that used bullets, where you could check to see if the weapon was unloaded, with the Mark III-c, pulse rifle there is no way, other than removing the power pack, or making sure the selector switch is on safe. Shooting your squad mate, either deliberately, or accidently will mean you will both have a very bad day.” That brought a few smiles to their faces.

“When you first arrived and drew your equipment, I saw many of you smiling when the quartermaster issued you a box of condoms. I suppose you all thought it funny that the Corps would issue both the men and the women condoms. From the sly looks and nudges you were giving each other, I bet you all thought you’d got it made in the shame. WRONG! The condoms are not for your pathetic little dicks, they are to cover the business end of the barrel to prevent dirt, water, and debris getting inside.” By the number of red faces in the group, more than one had thought that.

“And, while we are on the subject. The one thing the Corps will not stand for is rape in any form. If the girl… or boy says no, they mean no.” At that point, he drew his side arm and held it up.

“This is my Mark II semi-automatic sidearm, and unlike your training weapons it is loaded for bear.” Two quick steps and he had it jammed into the crotch of a beefy young man with a nasty grin on his face. “If I even suspect you engaged in a rape, I will personally, and with great delight, blow your fucking dick and balls off! You hear me recruit?” The grin vanished and the boy’s face turned white as chalk.

“Y…yes… Sergeant Sharon.” He stuttered. There was no mistaking the look in Sergeant Sharon’s eyes. He’d do exactly that without a second thought.

“Now then, where were we? Oh yes. There are two ways you can aim your weapon. The first is through the holographic sights over the barrel. The second is through your HUD display in your helmet face plate. Between the two, hopefully you will be hitting something besides each other.” Lifting his right wrist, Sharon tapped in a set of numbers and pushed the enter key. He didn't need to look to see the surprised expressions on their faces as each of their rifles started to hum softly.

“Your weapons are now live, and if you look at the side of your butts, you will see the power level indicator. In combat, always change out your power pack once it goes below two thirds charge. This will ensure you’ll have maximum power at all times.”

“How do we recharge the power packs, Sergeant?

“You don't, recruit. The power packs are self regenerating, and will be back up to full charge within four hours.” He waited for the question, but oddly, it didn't come.

“Do any of your know why four hours is significant?” He asked, seeing blank looks. He sighed. “The fact that you only have four power packs should give you a clue?”

“Oh! Yes… each pack can last up to an hour… um… so, by the time we get through four of them, the first one will be recharged?” The recruit spoiled it by turning his answer into a question.

“Correct. I always like to carry an extra to give me an edge in case I get into a heavy firefight, but it comes with a weight penalty as you will notice.” Each power pack weighed two pounds.

“Now we will move onto the more… interesting part of your training. All the left handed people stand on my right. All the right handed people stand on my left.” They didn't need a second invitation after sitting on the hard wooden benches for over two hours.

“If you are wondering why I split you up, here is the reason. Right handed people tend to carry their weapon with the barrel pointing to the left, whereas left handed people naturally tend to carry their weapons with the barrel pointing to their right. So, all you left handed people will be on the right flank,” Sharon pointed to ten recruits, “and you ten right handed people on my left flank.” They shuffled around.

“Good. Now then, who wants to be on point?” A few hands went up, and he picked five people two females and three males.

“You job is to scout ahead and locate the enemy. The moment you do, you will not fire. You will take a knee, or cover and notify me, or your squadron commander as to the location, number, and disposition of the enemy troops. After that, you will hide and wait for instructions, clear?”

“Hurrah.” They responded, better this time.

“Well? What are you waiting for, a written invitation? That way!” He pointed down range, and they all took off at a rapid pace.

“Right, flankers fifty yards out - you five will act as rear guard. Packs on, key your helmets on and let’s go.” More than one gave him an odd look, as if to ask what was happening, while others just tapped the side of their helmets and started walking down range.

When these new recruits had woken up this morning, they’d probably thought it would be another boring training day in the Terran Marines. They'd all been through their intensive physical training to build up their bodies, plus a little help from the new medical technology provided by Richard Penn and Colonel Ellis. Right now they were all at the peak of their physical and mental abilities. Now came the hard part of turning them into Marines. They spent the rest of the day shooting at pop up targets and generally getting the feel of the uniforms and equipment. A young second lieutenant joined them after lunch, having gone through a similar orientation lecture that morning in a different part of the training base. After introductions and his ‘getting to know you speech’, the lieutenant dismissed them early for dinner. Like any bunch of new recruits, they went off chattering between themselves about the day’s events. Sergeant Sharon smiled to himself, knowing what was coming. They too would pass through their trial by fire come morning, and like him would never know the difference until it was all over.

* * * * * *

At O dark thirty, half hour before dawn, Ben-Sharon rushed into the Lieutenant’s quarters. “Lieutenant! Get up. The Thrakee are landing an invasion force up country a few miles from here.”

“What! What the hell.”

“Up and at them LT, training is over. We’ve got to get out there and kick their skinny lizard butts.”

“What… wait… we haven’t been trained…”

“No time for that. This recruit battalion is the only one around to go and kick their asses. I’ll get the troops sorted out while you get dressed and get your battle rattle on.”

Saying that he rushed out of the BOQ, ran to the barracks, and rousted out the trainees. It was a mess, as he suspected it would be, but that was the point, not to give them time to think about what was happening. He managed to get them into some sort of order just as the LT arrived and dawn was breaking.

“I just downloaded our orders, Sergeant. It seems as if we have to march up country and engage the enemy.”

“That’s correct, sir. I have the same orders.”

“Shit! This is a fucking mess…” Just to add to their misery, it started to drizzle, the cold, mist-like rain gradually soaking the shivering recruits.

“I happen to agree, sir, but we have our orders.” Sharon hid his smile. “Shall I send out the point, sir?”

“Ummm… yes… I suppose so.” The poor guy was lost and had no idea what to do.

“Point and flankers out - two hundred yards, and watch your spacing.” He yelled. A few looked at each other as they tried to remember who they were supposed to be.

They left the training camp and started across the sparsely wooded free fire zone in reasonably good order, all wishing they were back in their nice warm beds dreaming about getting laid, or a nice hot breakfast, or both. Unlike the old style of training, this was very much on-the-job training, and as close to a real war as it could get. Today began the first day of a grueling one hundred mile forced march with full packs and equipment, and for hours they slogged their way across muddy ground, swearing and cursing the Thrakee and their commanding officer in the same breath. Unlike any previous training method, before long, these recruits would be subject to intermittent, but constant attacks from different quarters. In some ways, it was rather like taking a bunch of barely trained newbies into combat. They would learn the hard way how to survive, what to do, and what not to do. Unlike combat, they really couldn’t die, unless by some unfortunate accident, even if they thought they had. Getting shot was hard and painful, and after getting hit a few times, they would learn very quickly when to hit the deck, when to fire back, when to hide, and all the thousand and one things any soldier learns, if he survives.

Thankfully, it would also sort out the leaders and the followers. Once he'd found the sergeants, corporals and lance corporals, they would get their stripes once they graduated. After seeing how brutally efficient the 'simulated' real combat he’d been through was, he had no doubt the casualty rate in real combat would be very low after this. The march started normally enough, with the prerequisite amount of bitching and moaning, and questions about when they were going to have breakfast. Sharon smiled to himself. They would learn. Five boring miles went by and they crossed lightly wooded hills. After the sun came up, the rain stopped and it turned into a beautiful day, clear, sunlit blue skies, with just a little cloud. Birds singing, flowers blooming, not too hot, just the right kind of day for a nice stroll through the fields and woods if it weren’t for the mud, until they crested the next rise and approached a line of thickets, then all hell broke loose as they all walked into a barrage of criss-crossing pulse rifle fire. Within seconds, half them were down, their armor locked rigid, indicating a kill. Those who were only 'wounded' hugged the ground, or tried to dig their way to China. Less than a minute later the firing stopped and Sergeant Sharon stood up from behind the boulder he'd been hiding behind while watching the whole depressing debacle. By that time, ninety-eight percent of the one hundred men and woman were 'dead'. Like any good First Sergeant, he immediately whistled up the medivac shuttles and the wounded people were ferried back to the mash unit while they brought in fresh recruits. The Lt was still in a bit of a daze, uninjured this time and wondering where the enemy had vanished to.

“Don’t worry, sir. I’m sure we’ll run into them again soon. That was probably just a scouting party from the main group.” He answered before turning his attention back to the troops.

“Well, well, well. Wasn't that fun, boys and girls?” Sharon shouted sarcastically.

“Holy shit! That fucking hurts!” Someone yelled. All around he could hear the others moaning in pain, or cursing as the medics went around treating everyone, or quickly moving the ‘dead’ and seriously ‘wounded’ to the evac shuttle. There was little sympathy on his face as he looked down at one young lady who was sobbing her eyes out.

“Jesus that hurts” She moaned. She’d taken a low-grade blaster bolt to the chest that in combat would have killed her.

“Good, or would you rather be dead?” The woman stopped crying and looked up at him, realizing what he meant.

“First lesson, boys, and girls. The enemy isn't going to tell you when they are going to shoot your ass off. They’ll just do it. He let them suffer a little while longer.

“Your second lesson is, the Corps gave you a perfectly good, brand new, standard issue Mark III-c pulse rifle for a reason. That is to shoot the fucking enemy with! It is not so you can look all tough and macho to impress your fucking girlfriend or boyfriend, or use as a fucking walking stick!”

“Hurrah!” A few responded.

“So how come only three of you shot back?” Silence greeted him. “Alright you pathetic bunch of wannabe Marines! On your feet and back into formation.” One by one they stood, looking cautiously around, all feeling pain to one degree or another, depending on how seriously they’d been hit. Whatever Penn and the General had come up with looked impressive to someone who didn’t know better, but any hit hurt like hell, and that was the point. Pain is a great teacher.