First To Fight (The Empire's Corps Book 11) (21 page)

I frowned in puzzlement.  The idea of a father actually raising his children was largely alien to me.  God knew
my
father hadn't stuck around for my birth, let alone my childhood.  I found myself torn between envy and an odd kind of sympathy.  The Undercity had few decent fathers, but it had far too many adults who’d abused their children.  It was hard to imagine Viper having a decent father.

“We get quite a few recruits who are pushed into the corps by their families,” Bainbridge added.  “Many of them are less than committed to the corps and quit before they reach the Slaughterhouse.   Others find themselves absorbed into the marines and lose whatever tendency they might have had to put politics ahead of everything else.  But Viper, it seemed, could neither let go of his father’s ambitions for him nor concede defeat and quit.  He was, as you said, forever torn between the desire to quit and the inability to quit.”

“I don’t understand,” I admitted. 

“His father would have disowned Viper if he had quit,” Bainbridge said.  “And he would probably have been disowned if he’d blended into the corps, losing whatever inclination he might have had to do whatever his father wanted.  He never realised, I think, that the corps would have taken care of him.  The brotherhood you and your comrades founded would have absorbed him too, if he had been willing to let go of his individuality.  A shame, really.  He had talents that might have been useful.”

In truth, I still didn't understand.  It wasn't until much later that I understood.

The Terran Marine Corps says that every man is a rifleman first.  You cannot serve in the marines, or wield tactical authority, without passing through  Boot Camp and the Slaughterhouse.  Sure, we had auxiliaries who performed good and necessary work - starship driving, for example - but they never held authority.  Our senior officers were all men who had seen the elephant; hell, we rotated officers between desk jobs and actual deployments on a regular scale, which was more than any other branch of the military did.  It made sure they never lost track of what was important.  Or, for that matter, of the simple fact that a plan which looked good on paper might be disastrous if tried in real life.

Every other branch had problems with uniformed politicians.  It was staggeringly easy for the aristocracy to get its children into military academies, then ensure they graduated with high honours and took up commands without a day of actual experience.  This, more than anything else, explains why there were so many problems with the army and navy.  General Mendham, who was the overall CO on Moderato, was promoted to captain the day he left the academy ... and spent most of his career doing staff work (or, more likely, getting someone
else
to do the staff work.)  It might have needed doing, but it didn't prepare him for the task of pacifying an entire planet.

We walked back into the barracks and Bainbridge called us all to attention.

“You will be retaking the exams, starting tomorrow,” he said, without preamble.  I breathed a sigh of relief; I’d feared we would have to repeat phase three right from the start.  “There will not, I'm afraid, be any credit based on your previous attempt.  However, Viper’s conduct will not be held against you.”

“Thank god,” Professor said.

“Fifty push-ups,” Bainbridge said, tartly.  He scowled at me, as if I’d personally offended him in some manner.  “And Stalker, you owe me two hundred push-ups.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“One moment, both of you,” Bainbridge added.  He looked us over, one by one.  “It is rare for someone to crack up in Boot Camp, particularly in phase three.  We are normally very good at isolating recruits who pose a danger to themselves or others.  In this case, we screwed the pooch, for which we apologise.  It could have ended very badly.”

I nodded, inwardly.  If I’d moved a fraction slower, I would have ended up dead.  I might have been wearing body armour, but it wouldn't have been enough to stop rifle bullets at close range.  We designed our rounds to punch through body armour, after all.  The enemy tended to wear armour too, if they could source it. 

“If you have problems in future, you may come to us about them,” he continued.  “We will take them seriously.”

I had my doubts, but they might well have been misplaced.  We’d all learned a harsh lesson in the dangers of leaving problems to fester; in hindsight, perhaps we should have forced him to quit.  Or isolated him ... but that would have gotten us all in deep shit.  Some of the tests couldn't be passed without the entire squad working together. 

“Make sure you get plenty of rest, after chow,” Bainbridge concluded.  He gave us all an evil smile, promising blood, sweat, tears and pain.  “You’re going to need it.”
 

He was right, of course.  They plunged us straight back into the exams the following day, as if they wanted us to bury our fears in activity.  And it worked.  I never forgot Viper, or the inquest, but it didn't overshadow my thoughts ...

Oh, and we aced the exams too.

Chapter Twenty-One

Stalker was not in trouble, when he was summoned to the inquest.  The important matter, as far as the corps was concerned, was establishing precisely what had happened and why before making recommendations to higher authority.  As it happened, Viper was dishonourably discharged from Boot Camp for numerous Headshots and offered a flat choice between being indentured on a colony world and immediate transport to the nearest penal colony.  He chose indenture.

His ultimate fate is not recorded.

-Professor Leo Caesius

“You know,” Joker said.  “I
could
introduce you to my sister.”

I shook my head.  Joker’s family had travelled to Mars for the pleasure of watching us march out as Boot Camp graduates, trapped midway between civilian and marine.  We were no longer civilians - we had reached a point where we were guaranteed positions in the military - but we weren’t marines either.  Some of us, we knew, wouldn't be going on to the Slaughterhouse, even though we had completed Boot Camp.  Phase four had made that far too clear.

“I think she wouldn’t like me,” I said.  We’d bullshitted about girls in the barracks - although most of us had come to believe that girls simply didn't exist - but it was clear that we came from very different worlds.  The Undercity was no place to develop manners for talking to women.  “You go have fun with your family.  I’ll be fine.”

Joker shot me a concerned look, then nodded slowly.  “Make sure you do
something
with your leave, when you get it,” he said.  “If I’m around, we’ll go hit the bars together.”

I sighed, inwardly, as he headed towards his waiting family.  Being on parade had been surreal.  On one hand, I’d made it through Boot Camp, but on the other it was a grim reminder that my family was dead.  I doubted they would have travelled to Mars just to watch me graduate in any case - the corps paid for family tickets - but it would have been nice to see them again.  It wasn't going to happen, unless there
was
life after death.  My father was an enigma, but the rest of my family was dead.

It felt strange to walk back towards the barracks, now largely empty.  Most of the recruits - the ones with families - were going to Wells, where they would have a chance to catch up with their relatives and tell lies about Boot Camp.  A handful of others had requested permission to travel to their homeworlds, which had been granted.  I couldn't help wondering if that would be held against them, later.  But there was no way to know.

The barracks felt abandoned, almost, as I stepped through the door.  Those of us who were staying in the barracks, at least until we knew where we were going, had been told we could stay for as long as we liked, but it still felt odd, as if I were a butterfly climbing back into the cocoon.  It was a
recruit
barracks, after all, and I was no longer a recruit.  I peered down at the badge I’d been given for completing Boot Camp and sighed to myself.  It was hard to deny that I no longer belonged in the barracks.  For the first time since entering the camp, I felt completely at a loss.

Because there was always something to do
, I reminded myself.  If we'd had any free time, the Drill Instructors would happily have filled it. 
But now I am at a loss
.

I lay back on my bunk and stared up at the ceiling.  It was hard to summon the energy to do anything, even walk out of the camp - I could do that now - and take the train to Wells.  I’d heard a great deal about the city from Joker, including elaborate details about its bars, brothels and other entertainments.  Once, I wouldn’t have hesitated before heading to the city to drown my sorrows, but now ... now I felt as though I didn't belong there. 

It was nearly an hour before Bainbridge poked his head through the door.  I was surprised to see him.  We might have told ourselves that Drill Instructors spawned in barracks, or were created in test tubes by mad scientists, but we knew they had to have wives and families of their own.  It wasn't as if they were
needed
to look after us not-recruits.  I sprang to my feet and saluted, hastily.  The habit was too ingrained to lose quickly.

Not that you want to lose it
, I reminded myself. 
There's the Slaughterhouse to come
...

“Stalker,” Bainbridge said.  “There’s an officer from the Imperial Army who would like a moment of your time.”

I blinked in surprise.  “This recruit ... ah,
I
didn't do anything!”

Bainbridge smirked.  “A guilty conscience, Stalker?  He’s not here to arrest you, whatever you might have done, but to offer you a job.”

He refused to be drawn any further.  Instead, he led me back to the administrative block and into a small interview room.  A man wearing a gorgeous uniform - I thought he was a colonel, but it was hard to tell - was sitting on the other side of a small table; he rose to his feet as I entered and held out his hand, rather than saluting.  I hesitated - I hadn't shaken hands with anyone since entering Boot Camp - and then shook his hand firmly.  It was impossible to be certain, but he didn't
look
like a soldier.  I would have placed him as a teacher, without hesitation, if he hadn't been so unpleasantly plump.

“Mr. Stalker,” he said.  “I’ve followed your career with great interest.”

I was suspicious at once.  My career had consisted of little more than six months of intensive training, unless one counted the incident with Viper ... and I was fairly sure that counted as a black mark.  I
could
have prevented a near-disaster by reporting him to the Drill Instructors ...  No, I was being flattered ... and I knew from experience that flattery was very dangerous.  It only grew worse as he poured me a cup of coffee with his own hands.  What sort of colonel served a mere recruit coffee?

“Thank you, sir,” I said.

“I’m Colonel Weise,” he continued.  He waved me to a chair, then sat down facing me, resting his elbows on the table.  “With your permission, I’ll cut right to the chase.”

“Of course, sir,” I said.

“I represent the 101st Regiment, the famed Earth Guards,” Weise explained.  “We'd like you to join us.  I can arrange for you to be commissioned as a lieutenant as soon as you enter the regiment, with a promotion to captain guaranteed within the first couple of years.  There would be a choice of deployments, either on Earth or within the Core Worlds.  Some of them will be dangerous, if you happen to crave excitement, while others will give you nothing, but time to catch up on your reading and attend parties.”

For a long moment, I was
sure
I’d misheard.  I’d known Boot Camp wasn't safe long before Ace’s death, let alone the moment Viper had tried to kill me, and I’d had no illusions about combat (even if some of the danger zones did seem safer than the Undercity).  I could have gone somewhere else if I’d wanted to be safe, or at least to have a reasonable chance of avoiding combat.  It wouldn't have been
that
hard to become an indent, if I’d tried, or a zero-cost colonist ...

It took me several seconds to stammer out a reply.  “You want me to join you?”

“You’re a young man of rare promise,” Weise said.  “The Earth Guards would be glad to have you, Mr. Stalker.”

I stared at him.  I’d been warned that it would be at least two years of active service before I was promoted to corporal, let alone lieutenant.  Bainbridge had told us that such ranks were technically brevet ranks; they were hard to get, but easy to lose.  It wasn't uncommon for a marine to remain a rifleman for his entire career.  Why not?  A marine rifleman ranked well above a lieutenant in the army. 

It would have been tempting, I had to admit, if I’d merely wanted rank.  The odds of reaching captain in the marines were low - and, really, I didn't want to rise any higher.  No matter how regularly our officers were rotated between combat assignments and desk jobs, senior officers weren't really at the tip of the spear.  How could they be?

“There is a signing bonus of ten thousand credits,” Weise continued, when I said nothing.  “It can be placed in your account as soon as you sign, then you will be entitled to a month’s leave before you take your post ...”

I wanted to shake my head.  It was clear that Weise wasn't serious.  He might have been serious about wanting to sign me up - I don’t think anyone would have wasted my time or his for a trick - but he wasn't serious about going to war.  I knew little about the Earth Guards, yet they were either desperate for trained manpower or intended to have me do the work while their officers partied.  And if they were letting me party too ... yes, something was definitely rotten in the regiment.  I didn't really want to parade around all day, even if the regular uniform was something more reasonable than Weise’s sniper-attracting garb. 

Somehow, I managed to lean forward.  “What else can you offer?”

Weise didn't seem surprised by the question.  “Our salary is second to none,” he said.  “There are a host of other benefits, including access to some of the most well-connected officers in the military.  Should you retire at the early age of forty” - twenty-one years in the regiment, I calculated silently - “you will have a splendid pension and the freedom of Imperial City on Earth.  Your children, should you have any, will mingle with the children of the aristocracy.”

And have a jolly time trying to afford the lifestyle
, I thought, sarcastically.  The children of gangsters always tended to have more than their friends and I assumed the principle was the same. 
No one would want that for their kids
.

“I’d have to think about it,” I temporised.  Bainbridge would have kicked my ass for not having an immediate answer, but I wanted to see what Weise would do.  “When can I get back to you?”

Weise reached into his uniform jacket and produced a business card.  “A message sent to this address will reach me ASAP,” he said, shortly.  “I’d appreciate having your answer within the next couple of days.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He shook my hand again, then even opened the door for me as I left.  It was so unlike a
real
officer that I could hear alarm bells ringing in my head.  Weise wasn't just interested in my services, he was
desperate
.  And yet, what could make him so desperate he wanted me, a very junior graduate from Boot Camp?  The offer of being commissioned as a lieutenant
had
to be a joke.  Maybe I should have demanded it in writing. 
That
would have been harder to deny, later.

Bainbridge was waiting for me, just down the corridor.

“In here, Stalker,” he said, leading me into another room.  “What did you make of Colonel Weise?”

“It’s a joke, sir,” I said.  “It
has
to be a joke.”

Bainbridge smiled, coldly.  “And why do
you
think it has to be a joke?”

I took a moment to organise my thoughts.  “He offered me ten thousand credits as a signing bonus, as well as commissioning me as a lieutenant,” I said.  “Sir ... it is a joke, isn't it?”

“I wish it was,” Bainbridge admitted.  “It isn't a joke, Stalker.  And if you want to sign up with the Earth Guards, you’d get that bonus and more besides.”

I stared.  “Why?”

“Your teachers at school weren't allowed to tell you anything that might
traumatise
you,” Bainbridge said.  “And the precise definition of
traumatising
was made very broad indeed.”

“I don’t think they could tell us anything more traumatising than having to live in the Undercity and attend an Undercity school, sir,” I said, tartly.

“Yes, but you’re applying common sense,” Bainbridge said.  “And common sense is, alas, very uncommon.”

He gave me a long considering look.  “One of the things they weren't allowed to tell you was how the levers of government actually work,” he added, after a moment.  “Or, perhaps, how politics overshadow everything outside the Marine Corps and the Imperial Marshals.  It isn't an exaggeration, Stalker, to say that you’re much more qualified for the Earth Guards than anyone who comes out of their academy.  Your training was actually focused on fighting and winning wars.”