Boot Camp - An Earth@War Short Story

Boot Camp

An Earth@War Short Story

By John J. Knox Jr.

Shuttle T-7586

Approaching Kennedy Space Center, Earth

January 28, 2487, 1317 UT

The shuttle from Atlanta descended on approach to Kennedy Space Center through the broken clouds revealing Earth’s busiest space hub. The large, circular main terminal loomed below, with various shuttles and spacecraft docked to the numerous gates on each of the four levels of the building. To the left was the launch pad originally used for the Gemini and Apollo missions, now the home of a museum dedicated to space travel.

Max Finley peered out of the window as the shuttle approached Gate 26B. He had never been to the space center before. Hell, he’d never been out of Atlanta. But today, he not only left Atlanta, but soon he would be heading for Mars to start recruit training for the Naval Assault Forces. Max spent the last few days alternating between excitement and nervousness as his active-duty date approached.

Max felt a small bump as the clamp engaged docking the shuttle. A moment later, Max grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment and headed for the door.

“Thank you for choosing Falcon Shuttles,” the attendant said as Max passed.

Max stepped out into the terminal. The terminal was busy, with the drone of hundreds of conversations filling the air. He double-checked his itinerary on his comm pad, noted that his flight to Mars would depart from Dock 37A, and looked up at the signs pointing to the various docks. Seeing which way to go, he turned toward the dock. His flight would not depart until 1450, but he decided to go there anyway. Better safe than sorry, he thought, knowing that missing the shuttle would be a catastrophic error.

When he arrived at Gate 37A, he found a seat and glanced up at a monitor displaying the news.

“Another cargo ship was stopped today by Batronian warships as it attempted to enter Antronian space. An SDK Shipping representative confirmed that the cargo ship Ivorsky was forced to return to Omar IV after three Batronian destroyers threatened it. The Batronian ambassador has repeatedly complained that Earth’s policy of selling weapons to Antron is unacceptable to the government of Batron. The war between Antron and Batron has entered its second year,” the reporter said. “Secretary General Colón has repeatedly responded that Earth has the right to engage in free trade with Antron and that Earth will not tolerate any interference with its right to trade.”

“We’ll be right back,” the reporter announced, then an advertisement began. Max watched as a Black man sat down beside him. The man looked familiar, though Max struggled to place him.

“Yeah,” Max replied as it dawned on him. “I saw you on the shuttle.” Max looked at the man, who appeared to be about his own age—nineteen—and fit. Like Max, the man was carrying a single duffel bag. “Are you headed to boot camp?”

“Yeah, you?” the man asked.

“Yes. Assault forces.”

“Me, too. My name is Phil Moore,” the man said, extending his hand.

Headquarters, Fourth Fleet

Naval Base Oscar, Kylar II

January 28, 2487, 1000 Local, 1640 UT

Admiral William P. Morris, Commander-in-Chief of the Fourth Fleet, was frustrated. The Batronians were becoming bolder, stopping cargo ships from Earth more and more frequently, and his hands were tied. The Fourth Fleet was responsible for security in this sector, which included both the Batron and Antron sectors, although the two systems were almost 10,000 AMU from Kylar II.

This normally wouldn’t be a problem, but budget cuts prevented him from deploying the fleet in force. Currently, he had only three destroyers and a cruiser forward-deployed to Omar IV, but they were still more than 4,500 AMU from where he needed them.

Despite that fact, the bureaucrats wouldn’t increase the fleet’s budget. Yet every damn time another ship was stopped, they would ask what he planned to do about it. Without money, there was little he could do but hope Batron would not recognize just how weak his position was.

Galaxia Flight 1283

On Approach, Mir Space Center, Mars

January 28, 2487, 2117 Local Time, 2217 UT

Max Finley and Phil Moore sat together during the flight to Mars. Since it was a commercial flight, food and drinks were served, and the seating was comfortable. Most of the passengers were families or businesspeople heading to Mars for various purposes. Max spotted a few recruits who might have been heading for one of the two boot camps on Mars—one for the Navy and the other for the Naval Assault Forces.

One of the men, who was obviously a recruit, turned to Max and Phil. “You two heading for recruit training?” he asked.

“Yes,” Max said. “Naval Assault Forces, not regular Navy.”

“Me, too,” he replied. “I’m Dave Roberts.”

Max and Phil looked out at the Martian surface as the spacecraft made its approach. The surface of Mars consisted of domes connected by tunnels, each dome essentially a city. The Mir Space Center was in Gorborech, one of the first Russian colonies. Both men grew anxious as the craft landed.

The two men made their way off the spacecraft and into the space center. They looked around and saw a sign that read “New Recruits.”

“You ready?” Phil asked.

“Yeah,” Max replied, feeling more nervous than excited now. He had, of course, heard the horror stories about recruit training. He knew it would be tough, but he was determined to make it through. Joining the Naval Assault Forces had been his lifelong goal ever since he watched videos of the War at Masic Point as a child.

They arrived at a desk, where a yeoman scanned their orders and directed them to a ground transport just outside the space center. The transport was painted in the Naval Assault Forces’ colors of blue and gold. A sign on the bus reading “Naval Assault Forces, Recruit Training Command” clearly indicated its destination.

Max and Phil boarded the transport. A corporal who was driving double-checked their orders. “Have a seat,” the corporal ordered. As they made their way through the aisles of seats, they saw that the transport was about half full. Once again, they sat together, silently contemplating their journey.

Over the next 45 minutes, more men and women boarded the transport. Finally, the transport departed for the naval base.

“Here we go,” Phil said more to himself than to Max.

Thirty minutes later, they passed through a security gate, then through a long tunnel and arrived at the training facility. A sergeant boarded the transport.

“Everyone out now!” he yelled. The new recruits quickly filed out. Outside, more sergeants were yelling at the recruits to form a single-file line.

“On the line!” one sergeant yelled.l

“Bags on the ground at your feet!” another shouted.

“Eyes forward!” a corporal ordered.

“Yeah, right there,” a recruit said to another, showing him where to place his bag.

A sergeant was instantly in the recruit’s face. “Who told you to speak?” the instructor shouted. “Who told you to speak on my line? You must be crazy. Is that it? Are you crazy?”

“Nnno, sssir,” the recruit stuttered.

“Then you must think you’re special. Do you think you are special?”

“No, sir!” the recruit shouted.

“Look here, Sergeant Blake. We have one of those special recruits,” the drill instructor said, addressing a First Sergeant. First Sergeant Richard Blake quickly stepped over to the trembling recruit. Sergeant Blake was a mountain of a man, with a close-shaven head under his drill instructor’s cap. The cap was tilted forward, partially covering his eyes and giving him a stern expression. His uniform was perfectly pressed, with five rows of ribbons.

“What’s your name, special guy?” Sergeant Blake asked in his booming voice.

“Trooper Ari Katz, sir,” Katz said, his voice trembling.

“Trooper? Trooper? You’re no trooper! You’re barely a recruit!” Sergeant Blake yelled. He then addressed the entire company of recruits. “You are the lousiest set of recruits I have ever seen! The recruiters must be scraping the bottom of the barrel! I never thought they would let such scum try to join my Assault Forces!

“When I tell you, you will pick up your bag and face right. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” the recruits shouted.

“I said do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Do you understand, Special Boy?” Sergeant Blake asked, turning to Katz.

“Yes, sir!” he shouted.

“Do it now!” Sergeant Blake yelled. As he expected, one recruit turned to the left. “Your other right, numbnuts!” he yelled. The recruit quickly turned around to face the right way. Another drill instructor opened a door to the building in front of the reception building. “When I tell you, you will walk in single file into the reception building and line up against the wall. You will not speak! You will not look around! Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the recruits yelled in unison.

“Do it now!”

The recruits quickly moved into the reception building and stopped in a short hallway. A few minutes later, another instructor opened a door and had them file into a room with several rows of long tables. The instructor had the recruits stand in front of the tables and place their bags on them. Sergeant Blake and two other drill instructors made their way to the front of the room while the other instructors lined up along the sides.

“My name is First Sergeant Blake, and I am your lead drill instructor. Sergeants Bayless and Foster are my assistant drill instructors,” Blake said, nodding to each instructor as he mentioned their names. “It is our job to try to turn your candy asses into troopers over the next fifteen weeks. We will not fail, but you may. From now on, you are expected to obey every order immediately. You are not to question or hesitate! You are not to give less than 100% effort to everything you do.

“You will all be treated equally. We don’t care who you are or where you are from. Each of you is now as worthless as the next person. But if you listen and follow our instructions you may become a trooper. My loyalty is to the Naval Assault Forces and my duty is to weed out those of you not fit for it using any means necessary, fair or unfair, to perform my duty. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” the recruits shouted.

“Is there anyone who wants to quit now and save me the trouble?” Sergeant Blake asked. No one said yes. “Some of you will regret that decision.”

Sergeant Foster stepped forward. “Dump your bags on the table. Do it now!” she ordered. Immediately all the drill instructors were in motion, yelling and moving up and down rows of tables.

Max began to pull things out of his bag. “She said dump your bags on the table!” a drill instructor shouted at Max. “It’s a simple order!” Max picked up his bag and dumped it.

“Now empty your pockets on the table. Do it now!” Foster yelled.

The other drill instructors began sorting through the recruits’ property, throwing cigarettes, candy, and other items that were now considered contraband onto the floor. After searching, they ordered the recruits to place the remaining items on the table back into their bags. They handed each recruit a box and told them to put their bags in it.

“Now strip down to your underwear and place your clothes into the box. Do it now!” Sergeant Blake ordered. As the recruits boxed up their clothes, they were handed bags containing clean underwear, shorts, T-shirts, socks, and a pair of shoes. They changed quickly and put the rest of their property in the box.

“Now seal the boxes. You are to either write an address to ship your stuff to or write the word ‘destroy’ on the box,” Blake said.

Next came paperwork and more yelling. Finally, the recruits were moved to the reception barracks. They made their beds and showered. At 0145 local time, they were allowed to go to bed.

At 0430, they were awakened and began their day. Over the next two days, they received haircuts, uniforms, physical examinations, and many vaccinations while their instructors constantly harassed them. On the third day, they were officially organized into Company C051 and moved to their regular barracks. Now they were ready to begin.

Batronian Blockade

Near Antron System

February 1, 2487, 0120 UT

The two Batronian destroyers were moving slowly along the shipping lane that connected the Omar and Antron systems, with orders to prevent any ships from entering the Antron system—especially those from Earth. In the years since the war began, Batron had nearly destroyed the Antronian fleet, but fighting inside the Antron system was still heavy. Part of the problem was that five inhabited planets in the Antron system were well defended. Just when Batron seemed on the verge of victory, Earth began selling weapons to Antron. Most Batronians felt that if Earth hadn’t interfered, the war would be over by now.

The two ships began a slow turn when twenty-four spacecraft accelerated toward them. Of the twenty-four, eighteen were SA-18 attack craft and six were SF-117 fighter craft, all bearing Antronian markings and all purchased from Earth.

The attack craft broke into two groups of nine, each escorted by three fighters. Each group turned toward one of the destroyers and fired its missiles. The ships turned and began to increase speed. 75-mm and 20-mm bolts burst from the ships, destroying two of the spacecraft. The ships released decoys in an attempt to fool the missiles as the spacecraft turned away from the destroyers and circled around them.

Seven missiles slammed into the lead ship, causing massive explosions and sending the ship rolling to the left. Laser fire from the ship slowed, and fires broke out.

Although only five missiles hit the trailing Batronian ship, the damage was even more devastating. Two missiles hit the ship’s keel, causing it to break in two. Batronian bodies poured out of the hull, sucked into the vacuum of space as secondary explosions rocked both halves of the ship.

The Antronian spacecraft came around and engaged the lead destroyer, firing their remaining missiles. The ship seemed to have lost all maneuverability and hung nearly motionless in space. All the missiles found their targets, and the ship disappeared in a massive explosion that rocked the Antronian spacecraft. The Antronians turned back toward their system and accelerated away as the two halves of the remaining destroyer drifted and burned.

Company C051

Naval Assault Forces Recruit Training Command, Mars

February 1, 2487, 1330 Local, 1430 UT

Max and Dave were assigned as bunkmates when they arrived at their barracks—Dave in the top bunk and Max in the bottom. They got along with Phil, and soon the three were becoming close friends. They all agreed that boot camp wasn’t as hard as they had feared. But they hadn’t realized that boot camp wouldn’t really start until the morning of February 1, after they had finished processing.

“Down!” Sergeant Blake yelled. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, the recruits were doing push-ups, this time because one of them had fallen out of step while marching. Max’s arms shook as he held his chest just off the hard, red dirt of the Martian surface. It was hot, as always, and sweat poured down his face.

“We can do this all day! You will do things right, together. You will succeed together or fail together, but you will do it together. Up! Down! What is so hard about staying in step while marching?” Sergeant Blake bellowed.

“I think they like doing pushups!” Sergeant Foster yelled.

“Is that it? Because we can do this all day,” Blake said.

“No, sir,” the recruits shouted together.

“Up! Down! Up! I suggest you get your act together and pull your heads out of your asses. Recover!” Sergeant Blake yelled. The recruits got up and stood at attention.

“Not fast enough!” Sergeant Bayless screamed. “Back on your faces.” The recruits once again hit the dirt. “Down! You are to obey all orders instantly, not at your own pace!”

“Maybe this is too easy, Sergeant Bayless,” Sergeant Foster said. “Maybe we’re not being tough enough with them.” Max groaned inwardly. His arms felt shot. How much more could he do? That thought was quickly followed by another: I’ll do what I must. I will not give up. “Up! Halfway down!”

Okay, this is worse, Dave Roberts thought. Like Max, his arms felt like rubber. Dave was in decent shape, and as a high school athlete, he felt he was more than ready to handle the demands of recruit training. But this was different from what he had imagined. It was constant from the moment they got up at 0430 until taps at night: constant yelling, constant movement, and constant exercising. He couldn’t fathom fifteen weeks of this. But this was his dream. Like Max, it had been his dream since childhood. He loved the old movies about the War at Masic Point, where the Naval Assault Forces had fought so courageously. He and his friends would reenact the battles, imagining themselves as the heroes.

Of the three men, though, none was as prepared as Phil Moore. He was smart. He studied. Before coming to boot camp, he had read everything he could about recruit training and watched every documentary he could find. He knew and understood everything the instructors were doing, and unlike Dave, he knew it wouldn’t be like this for all fifteen weeks. He remembered a former drill instructor writing, “First we have to break them; then we can build them up and turn them into troopers.”

“Down! Up! Recover!” Sergeant Blake shouted. This time, the recruits jumped to their feet and re-formed their columns. “Forward, march!”

Office of the Secretary General

United Nations, Earth

February 1, 2487, 1400 UT

The Batronian ambassador entered the office of Vincent Colón, Secretary General of the United Nations, Earth’s primary governing body. The tall, thin alien had been on Earth for over two years, serving first as an assistant to the ambassador before assuming the post himself. At 6 feet 8 inches, he towered over the 6-foot-1 Earthling. His grayish skin and large black eyes made him appear almost sickly.

The secretary general rose from his seat behind the desk. “Mr. Ambassador,” Colón said, motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Mr. Secretary General,” the alien responded as he sat down.

“What can I help you with?” Colón asked. He already knew what the Batronian was going to complain about, of course, but there was no reason to reveal that he knew.

“Earlier today, Batron lost two of its destroyers in an attack by Antron,” the Batronian said.

“I had heard that. Unfortunately, that is a consequence of war.”

“They were destroyed by spacecraft provided by Earth!” the ambassador shouted. Even with the obvious anger in his voice, his facial expression remained the same, almost like the mask all Batronians wore.

“The spacecraft were purchased by Antron. They are theirs to use as they deem necessary. We have been through this discussion before, Ambassador. We have offered to host Antronian and Batronian officials to help negotiate an end to the war. Antron accepted. Batron did not,” Colón replied.

“We will not be forced to negotiate.”

“You have made that clear. You have been expanding by conquering the systems around you. Unfortunately for Batron, Antron has provided more resistance than expected. That is not our problem. We have trade agreements with Antron that predate the war, and we will honor those agreements. We strongly recommend that both sides sit down and negotiate peace,” the secretary general replied.

“There can be no peace while Earth interferes,” the alien replied.

Company C051

Naval Assault Forces Recruit Training Command, Mars

February 4, 2487, 0930 Local, 1030 UT

“Right shoulder, arms!” Sergeant Blake bellowed. The recruits of Company C051 had finally received their L-29 assault weapons that morning. The L-29 was the Naval Assault Forces’ primary weapon for its troopers. It was lightweight but rigid, firing 8-mm bolts to a distance of approximately 200 yards. Each charge pack gave the weapon 30 rounds, and replacing the packs was quick and easy. The recruit-training version had a power selector that, when set to low, fired nonlethal rounds, which were convenient for training but unnecessary in combat, when troopers fired only at what they intended to kill.

“Port arms,” Sergeant Blake ordered. Max moved his weapon from his shoulder and held it in both hands at a forty-five-degree angle across his chest. It was hot. The gravity generators were set to high, adding to the intensity. Sweat poured down the recruits as they learned the basic arms drill. Unfortunately, one recruit, his hands slick with sweat, lost his grip on the weapon, and Max heard it hit the ground. Sergeant Blake instantly jumped into the recruit’s face.

“Are you kidding me? Have you lost your damned mind? Did you just drop your weapon?” he yelled at the recruit.

“Yes, sir,” the recruit replied, his voice trembling.

“On your face! Belly crawl!” Sergeant Blake ordered. “I said belly crawl!” The recruit dropped down and began crawling forward.

“Your weapon is your life! You are even more worthless than you were to begin with without it!” Sergeant Foster yelled at the entire company.

“That makes you less than worthless!” Sergeant Blake yelled at the offending recruit. “Have you found it yet?”

“Sir, it’s back there, sir!” the recruit replied moving towards his L-29.

“Not your weapon! Have you found your mind? Look for it so you can put it back in your worthless head! You must have lost it somewhere! Now crawl and find that worthless brain of yours!” Sergeant Blake yelled, bending over the recruit.

No one from company C051 dropped their weapon again.

On the morning of February 8, the company was marched out to the firing range. So far, six recruits had quit, but Dave, Max, and Phil were not among them. As they marched with their L-29s at right shoulder, Dave noted with pride the progress he and his fellow recruits had made. Their marching was crisp. Their pivots were precise. It amazed him how far they had come in such a short time.

The company arrived at the firing range and fell out. They were ordered to sit in the bleachers. A tall Hispanic sergeant approached the company.

“My name is Sergeant Gonzalez. This is my firing range. Here you will learn how to use that weapon you’ve just been carrying around. You will do so safely. Safely means doing it the way I tell you! Do you understand?” the sergeant asked.

“Sir, yes, sir!” the company shouted in unison.

“When you load a charge pack into your weapon, you will keep that weapon pointed downrange at all times. I don’t want to hear that the safety is on. I don’t care if you have the power setting turned down. The weapon points downrange. If I see a weapon pointed anywhere else, I will personally destroy you. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the recruits shouted.

The recruits were broken into pairs. One person would fire while the other spotted. On the first day of live fire, they would shoot from the standing position, learning the other three basic firing positions—sitting, kneeling, and prone—later. Dave and Phil were assigned together, while Max was paired with a female recruit named Wendy. Dave and Max would fire first. The two men ensured their weapons were set to single fire, their safeties were on, and the power was set to full. They loaded their charge packs and, following Sergeant Gonzalez’s order, kept their weapons pointed downrange. A red flag was hoisted to warn people nearby that live fire was in progress. Dave and Max turned their safeties off.

“Ready on the left! Ready on the right! Ready on the firing line!” Sergeant Gonzalez shouted. Hearing no objections, he ordered, “Commence firing.”

Max aimed at the small target approximately 100 yards away. Remembering the instructions he had received before firing his weapon, he slowly squeezed the trigger, and the 8-mm bolt sprang from the barrel. He took a breath, aimed, and fired again. His third shot went high as he pulled the trigger rather than squeezing it, causing his weapon to jerk upward. To his surprise, twenty-four of his thirty shots found their target. Not bad, he thought as he set his weapon to safe and removed its charge pack.

Phil was stunned as he spotted for Dave. Firing the L-29 seemed to come naturally to Dave. His score of 29 was the highest in the company, shocking the other recruits.

“Hey, numbnuts, you might make it after all,” Sergeant Blake said after Dave fired. It was as close to a compliment as any recruit had ever received.

They switched positions, and Phil matched Max’s score of 24. Wendy scored 26, humbling Max, whose goal had always been to become a trooper.

Still, morale was high in Company C051 that night as the 73 recruits who had made it this far celebrated and bragged to each other late into the night.

Cargo Ship Vladimir

In Orbit, Earth

February 12, 2487, 0612 UT

James McVeigh, third officer on the cargo ship Vladimir, descended the ladder into Cargo Hold Two. He reached the bottom and began walking around, checking the cargo to ensure it was secure.

Vladimir had just finished a four-month overhaul at the SDK docking port in orbit above Earth. James had finally been able to spend two months visiting family and friends in his hometown of Vancouver—more than double the time he would normally have between runs.

During his time with SDK Shipping and in the Navy, James had remained single. But in the next five years or so, he would be able to retire, and the idea of having a family grew stronger each time he visited his brother, sister-in-law, and their children. His sister-in-law had even tried to set him up with a friend.

James found a strap that he managed to tighten a little more. Nothing sucked more than cargo coming loose in a hold while underway. After an hour of inspection, James climbed out of the cargo hold. The ship would soon be underway, heading for Omar IV. Hell, maybe I’ll let Tina set me up next time I’m home after all, he thought. Unfortunately, James would never meet Tina.

Company C051

Naval Assault Forces Recruit Training Command, Mars

February 12, 2487, 0842 Local, 0942 UT

“Move it! Move it!” Max heard a sergeant yelling as he followed several recruits running to the next obstacle. Red Martian dust filled the air, kicked up by the recruits as they ran toward a cargo net leading up to a twenty-foot-high tower. Max reached the net and struggled as he scrambled up it, sweat soaking his T-shirt. Despite the heat and physical demands on his body, he pushed on. He knew he needed a good time this time. Phil and Dave ran with the lead pack, while he trailed slightly with the second pack. He pushed forward. Muscles in his arms and legs had bulged from weeks of training.

Max reached the top and grabbed the rope he would use to swing down to a four-inch ledge twenty feet in front of him and fifteen feet below. He caught the ledge with his feet and straightened his legs. He released the rope, losing his balance as he did. He fell back into the small pond five feet below him. The cold water and impact shocked him. Shit, he thought as he stood up in the chest-deep water.

“Who told you that you could fall off my obstacle, Finley?” Sergeant Blake shouted.

“Sir, no one, sir,” Max said as he made his way out of the water, still stunned by the fall.

“Are you quitting on me? Are you done?” Blake yelled.

“Sir, no, sir!” Max shouted in response. “I’ll never give up!”

“Get back on my obstacle and do it right this time! I don’t have all day for you to screw up!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Max shouted. He turned and made his way back to the cargo net and began to climb again. This time, he was able to clear the obstacle, but by then his time was shot.

That night, Max, Phil, and Dave got together in the barracks, shining their shoes and preparing their uniforms for the next day. This was the time of day the three men liked best. The pressure was turned down slightly, and the men and women of Company C051 could unwind, write to loved ones, and prepare for the next day. The drill instructors were in their office doing whatever drill instructors do. Most of the company believed they were probably thinking of new ways to torture recruits.

“I really messed up on the course today,” Max said.

“Yeah, I saw your fall. What did Blake say?” Dave asked.

“He told me it was fine and helped me up,” Max replied with a chuckle. “Just more Blake stuff, really. Still, it hurt my time, and I hate when I mess up.”

“It will be fine. You are still meeting the requirement and in the end that is all that matters,” Phil said.

“And there will be more opportunities on the course,” Dave added.

“What is next?” Max asked Phil. Phil’s memorization of the training schedule before they left Earth had paid off. Max, Phil, and Dave were always at least aware of what was coming.

Phil smiled. “Tomorrow, we fire the big gun.”

“The 75! No shit?” Max asked. All the recruits were excited about firing the BA-75 since they first saw the guns from a distance.

The next afternoon, the recruits ran five miles to where the BA-75s were set up. For the first time in weeks, they weren’t carrying their L-29s, and Max felt naked without one. Maybe I am becoming a trooper, he thought. Once again, the recruits sat in the bleachers, and Sergeant Gonzalez appeared beside one of the BA-75s.

“This is the BA-75. Every trooper is required to qualify on it. Therefore, you had best pay attention, or your candy ass will be heading home.

“The BA-75 is the Assault Forces’ primary anti-spacecraft weapon system. It fires a 75-mm bolt from a single-fire charge pack. Therefore, it takes two troopers to operate it—one to load the charge packs and one to fire the weapon. You will have the opportunity to do both today.

“These weapons have been modified for training. They fire low-energy bolts so they don’t blow a hole in the dome. They will, however, blow a hole in your worthless head, so pay attention when operating one. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Once again, Dave and Phil managed to get teamed up.

“You try first; I’ll load,” Phil said as Dave sat down, trying to remember what Sergeant Gonzalez had taught them about the firing controls. Phil opened the cover where the charges were loaded, then the bin where they were stored. The charges were two feet long and weighed 50 pounds—62 pounds in the enhanced gravity the recruits were working in today. Dave pushed a charge pack into the gun and closed the cover. On the gun, Dave saw the light change from red to green as he heard the gun’s emitters charge.

For the first exercise, each recruit was to fire five rounds at a target generated by a hologram in the dome above them. Dave used the controls to swing the gun left and then up, using the sight to aim as he had been taught. He pulled the trigger on the control. A loud, crackling sound filled the air, and the 75-mm bolt leapt from the barrel.

“Oh, baby!” Dave yelled. His first shot hit just to the right of the target. As Phil reloaded, Dave made the adjustment and, as soon as the light turned green, fired again. This time, he hit the target, which faded as a new one lit up.

“Woo-hoo!” Phil shouted as he pulled out the spent pack. Dave hit the target four out of five times, while the rest of the group managed three hits each.

For the second exercise, the target was moving. Wendy fired first, hitting it twice. Max hit it three times, and Phil hit it twice. Dave scored a perfect five.

“Holy shit!” Phil said, watching Dave’s last bolt hit the target.

“Not bad,” Sergeant Blake said watching. “Do you like firing the 75?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dave shouted.

“Good. Try this,” Sergeant Blake said. “Moore, you load. Finley, you direct him to the targets, and you”—he nodded toward Wendy—“spot.”

Phil loaded the first charge. Multiple targets appeared on the dome in the shapes of attack spacecraft. Max scanned them and noticed one that appeared to be heading toward them.

“Far right, at eleven o’clock!” Max shouted. Dave spun the BA-75 around and fired. The bolt leapt out, and Phil opened the cover and removed the spent charge pack.

“Hit!” Wendy shouted.

“Next target, come left,” Max said, observing three more targets. Phil quickly shoved a charge into the gun and closed the cover. Dave brought the gun to bear and fired again.

“Miss, right!” Wendy shouted.

Phil quickly loaded another charge, and Dave fired again, hitting the target.

“Behind you!” Max directed. Phil and Dave worked together, loading and firing the gun, and hit four more in a row.

“You’re not terrible,” Sergeant Blake said afterward. Then he walked away, leaving the four recruits to celebrate together.

Batronian Embassy

New York City, Earth

March 2, 2487, 0947 UT

The Batronian ambassador stared at the message in his hand. Has it really come to this? he wondered. He couldn’t believe it had, and wondered whether the council was making the right decision. Still, the choice was his to make.

He stood up and walked over to the window. The courtyard behind the embassy contained a lake with picnic tables and benches around it. A light coat of melting snow covered everything—a sight never seen on Batron. The Batronian stood for several moments, contemplating what he had just read. Finally, he turned around. There were things that needed to be done and preparations to make.

Cargo Ship Vladimir

Approaching Omar IV, Omar System

April 7, 2487, 1400 UT

Vladimir approached the commercial docking port in orbit above Omar IV. McVeigh watched the destroyer ESS Mexico slide out of the Navy’s dock. He couldn’t help but notice that only three destroyers and a cruiser were in the Omar system. The naval base had been much larger before the War at Masic Point. Now it was a shadow of its former self, despite being the sector’s forward-most base. The destroyer moved silently past Vladimir.

Twenty-five minutes later, Vladimir docked, and McVeigh watched as cranes began unloading cargo into the space dock, where shuttles would transfer it to the planet below.

Omar IV consisted of a single landmass surrounded by a single large ocean. Unlike Mars, Omar IV had been terraformed to create a planet habitable to humans. The planet was sparsely populated and had regular seasonal patterns.

McVeigh was relieved on the bridge and headed to his cabin, where he grabbed an already packed duffel bag before heading down to Zelerod, the capital of Omar IV, for some rest and relaxation. He spent ten days on the planet before returning to the ship to help prepare it for the next leg of the journey to Kylar II.

Company C051

Naval Assault Forces Recruit Training Command, Mars

May 4, 2487, 1027 UT

The company gathered in a circle around Max Finley and a recruit named Barnes as they squared off, holding the large pugil sticks with padded ends used to train Assault Forces troopers to use their L-29s as battering weapons if they ran out of charges or were too close to fire effectively. Both men wore helmets to protect their heads as they circled each other carefully.

“Don’t just stand there! Do something!” Sergeant Blake yelled.

Max stepped forward and swung his pugil stick toward Barnes’s head. Barnes ducked, then jabbed forward, catching Max in the gut and causing him to stumble backward. The company cheered as Max regained his footing. Barnes, encouraged by his success, swung again. This time, Max blocked with one end of his stick, then brought the other end up, catching Barnes on the chin. Max stepped forward again, swinging and catching his opponent twice more in the chest, bringing the recruits’ cheering to a roar.

“Protect yourself,” Sergeant Blake told Barnes. Barnes brought his stick up to block Max’s blow, but Max simply shifted the angle of his attack, catching Barnes in the head and knocking him down. “Halt!” Sergeant Blake ordered. He turned to the rest of the company. “Next.” Max dropped the stick and removed his helmet, passing it to the next recruit.

“Great job!” Dave said slapping Max on the back. Other members of the company came up congratulating him.

Following the exercise, Company C051, with just a few weeks left in boot camp, ran the five miles back to the barracks. A list was posted showing that Max had been selected as fire-team leader for the upcoming field exercise. He was surprised to see that Phil and Dave had both been assigned to his team.

“Why me? Phil, you’re smarter, and Dave, you’re the better shot,” Max said.

“Yes, but you are a natural leader,” Dave said. “You’re the one who makes Phil and me perform better. If there ever were a war, you’d be the one to save my ass.”

“Thanks,” Max said.

“Everyone, outside now!” Sergeant Blake yelled. “Faster, Special Boy!” he yelled at Ari Katz. Despite his rough start, Katz had managed to stay in the company.

Cargo Ship Vladimir

Omar System

May 12, 2487, 1428 UT

“Disengage the main thrusters,” James McVeigh ordered the helmsman as Vladimir exited the Omar system.

“Main thrusters disengaged, sir.”

“Engage the main engines. All ahead full; make your speed 14 AMU,” McVeigh said. With that command, Vladimir headed for its place in history.

The story continues in "First Strike An Earth@War Novel" available now.