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The recruit cadre stood at ease in smart ranks on the parade square. The wind-swept patch of earth was the only flat bit of ground near Entrance Beta and the surface buildings. The gusts tugged at the recruits’ clothing, threatening to remove their caps. A hint of drizzle made everything damp.
Johnson addressed them, shouting as her voice was almost carried away by the wind. “Well done on surviving the first two Hell Weeks. I’ve never heard of such a high pass rate on any Basic training course. I’m glad I looked in on it myself, or I’d have started to think the Primus had gone soft.”
There were a few smiles and snorts at that. Most of them were still hurting too much to see the funny side. Straight after the physical and mental effort of the basic combat Hell Week, they’d been thrown into three weeks of intensive medical training. Issawi hadn’t let up on the physical training, though. Twice a day they’d done a five kilometre full kit run, unless he decided to replace one with an obstacle course or trim trail. Then they’d had to endure the psychologically demanding Medical Hell Week. Treating even simulated battle wounds put a terrible strain on peoples’ minds. Add in the lack of sleep and the unrelenting series of scenarios, and most people had ceased to function properly after a few days.
Goes to show how tough these guys were when we picked them up.
“You’ll all be pleased to know, however, that there is no Hell Week on this rotation,” she continued. “Your PT will continue, under Primus Issawi, but when you are with me things will be a bit more ... leisurely. You’ve earned a bit of time to recuperate and heal.”
She stepped closer and paced along the front rank, fixing her gaze on one or two people as she passed. She’d read the summaries from the DS; she knew who was trying, and who was cruising.
“Don’t mistake this for a chance to doss around. What you learn here will form one of the cornerstones of your effectiveness. It’ll give you unrivalled situational awareness and enhanced command, control and communication ability.”
Johnson thought a signal, and a tiny drone floated out from behind a hut. Far too small to generate the power for any form of field generation or manipulation, the spherical black body was held aloft by a set of four ducted fans recessed into its sides. It softly whirred over to her side.
“Take a seat,” she said, smiling inside at the irony of the invitation. The recruits sat on the hard ground, most crossing their ankles and hugging their knees. Once they had settled, she continued.
“This is a Mark 17 Seeker. It is an unarmed reconnaissance drone, standard issue to Republic special forces teams. It is stored in a suitcase, which acts as a charging station and control unit. It can also be carried on one of the shoulderblade mounts of a hardsuit, from which it can be deployed hands-free. It carries a range of sensors, including DNA and chemical sniffers, but today you’ll be dealing with the camera.”
Those words triggered a memory of the first time she had heard them spoken. Ten years ago; she had finished her six-month tour as an enlisted crewmember and been enrolled in Command School. It was the first lecture of the third day, and she was still recovering from the night before. They had been let loose on a mock drinks reception, part of learning how an officer was supposed to behave they were told. With all the free alcohol, she hadn’t been the only one to get carried away. They weren’t allowed any meds; the hangover, her division commander informed her with a mean grin, would serve to remind her to be more circumspect in future. The concentration needed to work the drone had focussed her pain, and she’d thrown up four times before managing to complete the task. She hadn’t touched a drop since. Well, nothing apart from Clovis’ gin.
“I have already set this one to accept requests from all your EISs,” she told the recruits, trying to ignore her churning stomach. “Its ID is 1133.EY.7HT5.P9. I want you to connect to it. Nothing else, just connect to it.”
With her link to the drone still open, she was aware of the growing number of channels being created. They all connected with ease; not surprisingly, even those whose EIS was newly implanted had used them frequently in the medical course to connect to equipment, and even to one another’s diagnostic functions.
“OK,” she said when the last channel was opened, “now I want you to find the visible spectrum feed. Open it as a window in your inner vision.”
This produced a more noticeable split in the class. Those who were already proficient EIS users navigated the menus without any change of expression; the less advanced amongst them squinted or wiggled their fingers to an imaginary keyboard. She watched, ready to pounce on the expected mistake.
There’s always at least one ... Where are you? ... Bingo!
“Xlaxos!”
The unfortunate recruit jerked his head up and desperately tried to refocus on her.
“Ten jumping jacks. Now!”
Eight weeks with Issawi, on top of his previous experience in the Congressional Merchant Navy, prevented any question or delay. He sprung to his feet and rapidly completed the set.
“Sit back down,” she instructed. “Anyone know what Recruit Xlaxos’ mistake was?”
No-one offered an answer.
To be fair, no-one was looking at him.
“He closed his eyes. You all need to be able to reliably access things through your EIS whilst remaining aware of your surroundings. You can’t sit in the middle of a combat zone with your eyes closed. You’d be easy picking for the enemy. Worse still, the Primus might think you’d fallen asleep.”
That elicited a few more grins. She reset the drone and felt it shed all the other connections.
“Try again. Connect, and pull up that feed.”
Everyone managed it without closing their eyes, though several squinted at the effort.
“The next step is to learn to split your attention. The drone is going to find one of the optios now. She will hold up cards for it to see. If the card has a number on it, you should stand and shout out that number; if it is a letter, just ignore it. To make things slightly harder, I am going to be holding up cards for you to watch with your own eyes. If I hold up a number, you ignore it; if I hold up a letter, you stand and shout out that letter.”
Again, she had a flashback to her eighteen-year-old self. She was sat on the frozen ground, barely able to feel her fingers and toes. She was so tired that her eyes had drifted shut. The blissful moment of peace was broken by a fist to her ear that sent her sprawling through the snow. She righted herself and tensed, ready to fight, but looked up to see her grizzled division commander standing there. He was silhouetted by the watery yellow light, snowflakes swirling all around, and yet he was unmistakably furious. As a result of her mistake, the whole division was treated to a lecture on why an officer should always appear to be alert and in control, a lecture conducted while they were beasted around the drill square by the drill instructor and a couple of his terriers.
After an hour, Johnson called the session to an end. The recruits stood back in their ranks, looking as weary as if they’d spent the time running.
“The task you’ve just attempted is at the level expected of officers passing out of the Congressional Fleet Command School,” she told them. “It is only the beginning of what I expect of you. An experienced commander can watch what is happening in a camera feed, skim through a set of data, send commands to others via EIS comms and still be aware of the people around them. In the close quarters environment of an orbital facility or a ship, keeping track of your surroundings is vital.”
Most of them won’t believe that’s possible. It took me my whole first tour as a sub-lieutenant to accept that I’d be able to do it.
“To help you practice,” she continued, “the drone will fly around the base. Any member of the training staff who sees it may, or may not, display a card. If they do, you need to pay attention to what is written on it. We’ll keep it simple and stick with the numbers; a five is five press-ups, etc. Failure to do the exact right number of press-ups, within ten seconds of the card being displayed, will incur a lap of the trim trail in the tender care of one of the optios.”
A few of the recruits winced, presumably remembering previous such penalty laps.
“This exercise will continue until further notice. Only emergencies and orders explicitly telling you to ignore it override the requirement to act on the numbers. You will need to keep that window open all the time. If the link drops, you know how to reconnect. Any questions?”
No-one spoke up.
“OK, then. Lunchtime. Platoon commanders, carry on.”
Food. The one thing you cannot get wrong if you want to keep them working. What was it that ancient general said? An army marches on its stomach?
#
After lunch, the recruits were taken on their second run of the day by a group of optios. It was a much slower time than usual for all platoons; the need to pay attention to the camera window meant few were able to maintain their usual stride, especially on the rougher ground. The drizzle had stopped, but the ground was still damp and several of the runners slipped.
Watching them, Johnson had to fight the urge to rub imaginary bruises off her shins; she had spent weeks bumping into things before becoming used to splitting her visual focus.
At the end of the run, the recruits were drawn up into their ranks for Johnson to address. Given the added challenge, the training staff had gone easy on them and no-one was out of breath. A few were flushed red, but that could just as easily have been embarrassment at stumbling than heat from the work.
“Your next challenge is a lot harder,” she said. “As platoons, you have to negotiate the obstacle course. You may only communicate by EIS messages. The penalty for being caught using any other form of communication is the same as for failing to complete the required number of press-ups on a number card being displayed; which, I assure you, it will.
“You have ten minutes to prepare. Make sure you can all message each other. Teach those who can’t ... Go.”
She triggered a countdown timer to appear in all the recruits’ internal vision, right in the middle in big red numbers. A chorus of groans came from the men and women as they moved to their accustomed holding areas for the obstacle course.
Let’s see how long it takes them to work out how to minimise that while they work on the other tasks.
After five minutes, they seemed to all be happy with messaging, judging by the volume of traffic she could feel. She surveyed her domain, pride at what they’d achieved in such a short time swelling.
^Optio Franks,^ she sent. ^Give them a number card.^
He glanced around and spotted the drone following him. He pulled out a card, checked it, and held it up. A '2', Johnson read.
^Good choice,^ she sent.
All around, recruits dropped to press-ups. No-one messed up, but then they could all see each other and copy.
Let’s see what happens when they are concentrating on something else.
Johnson smiled to herself, remembering a couple in her watch recounting how they had been in the middle of some bedroom aerobics when a number card had been displayed. At the time, she hadn’t understood how they could have had the energy for a liaison. Then she’d met Alexis...
The first three platoons got through the obstacle course without having to do any extra runs. The optios kept giving them cards, but they were able to react in time.
The fourth group was going strong. They were making good use of the comms, far more chatter in fact than the previous platoons, and were poised to set the best time of the day by far.
^You reckon this lot’ve got that extra something?^
^Possibly, Primus,^ she sent back. ^You been keeping tabs on them?^
She looked around but couldn’t see him. She was about to ping his locator when she spotted him on the drone feed as he stepped into the camera’s field of view.
^They are on my radar, amongst other teams. I had my staff call me if any of them looked like they were gelling particularly well.^
^Let’s give them an extra push, then...^ She changed the target of her messages. ^Optio. Show a number card on my mark...^ She watched the recruits on the obstacle course intently. ^Mark.^
The Optio pulled out a card and displayed a 10. The recruits were in the middle of helping each other over the four-metre wall.
We’ll see how they juggle the teamwork with the ten-second deadline.
To their credit, those who were supporting others didn’t flinch. They held on until their teammates had found a secure position. In some cases that was too late, and they immediately set off on their penalty lap. The trainer escorting them omitted the usual haranguing to work harder, however, and she heard him compliment them on taking one for the team as they passed the area the first platoons to finish were being held.
^Do that again for any other groups that you want to press,^ she sent to the trainers. ^I’m going to start debriefing the platoons that have finished.^
“You need to make better use of your comms,” Johnson told the third group. “I’ve already said that to the first two platoons to go through, but you have a different problem. You are sending plenty of messages, but you aren’t targeting them enough. General broadcasts have their place, and can be very effective, but they are an extra distraction for those who don’t need the information. I know that it takes extra concentration to find your target’s channel and send exclusively to them; it is something you’re going to have to work on.”
She half-heard the chorus of “Ma’am. Yes, Ma’am.” as she recalled the embarrassment of accidentally broadcasting a particularly complimentary remark about another trainee’s backside to her whole division, instructors included.
“So,” she continued, “how do you think you are doing splitting your focus between the drone feed and the...”
A crash and a scream of agony came from the obstacle course. Her EIS automatically pulled up the bio stats of the platoon on the course. The list rapidly filtered down to two oranges and a yellow, the greens minimising to a row of dots at the bottom of the window.
The world slowed. Her heart raced but her mind took on an icy calm. She felt her body responding to the adrenaline, wanting to do something now, but she held it in check. Emergency drills ran through her thoughts unbidden, a legacy of her own training. She directed the drone to the scene, terminating the feed to the recruits and locking them out of its controls.
The recruits from the other platoons started to move towards the noise.
^All recruits, stand down,^ she broadcast to those platoons.
Most stopped moving, but a few continued.
^Stand down!^ she sent directly to those who had ignored her first order.
One continued. In fact, he started running. Johnson queried his file; Recruit Smith, no reprimands for disobeying orders, no technical issues with his EIS reported.
^STAND DOWN!^ she repeated just for him. She reinforced the command with a mental jab through his implant.
He pulled up, looking from the scene of the accident, to her and back again.
^Don’t even think about it,^ she sent. ^Let them deal with it. Extra bodies will just get in the way.^
He thought about it for another moment and then turned and trudged back to his platoon. Johnson made a note to go into his behaviour in detail later.
The drone had arrived at the obstacle course. Johnson was halfway there, striding purposefully but deliberately refusing to run; as she’d said, there were plenty of competent and qualified people there, brass would just get in the way and she could set an example by remaining calm. One recruit was lying motionless below the high ropes section, another lay next to her with blood oozing from his thigh where the broken end of the femur stuck out.
A suppressed memory resurfaced in black and white. Johnson flashed back to the desperate struggle on The Indescribable Joy of Destruction, to the shard of metal slashing through her leg. Blood filled the scene, vivid scarlet drowning out the greys. She grasped the cargo net beside her and concentrated on counting under her breath. By eight, the colour returned to her face and she was able to stand unaided. There wasn’t time for this kind of indulgence. She couldn’t afford to show weakness. Her veins filled with ice as she slipped on her unshakable commander persona.
It looked like one of the supports of the hastily-built obstacle had given way and dropped them to the ground. She couldn’t see the yellow casualty on the view the drone was giving her, but right now she didn’t care about walking wounded.
The other recruits had reacted well. The field medicine rotation had done its job and they were working in small teams to stabilise each casualty. Those not directly involved in the treatment were securing the area and helping others down off what was left of the obstacle. The trainers were keeping a close eye on things, obviously ready to jump in if needed, but were otherwise letting the recruits get on with it.
Johnson reached the scene and made straight for a recruit who was standing back where he could see everything going on. A white band on his upper arm marked him as the current platoon leader. He acknowledged her approach with a hand held parallel to the floor, the field signal for ‘Wait one’, but continued to watch the platoon getting on with their jobs. A dip into the comms log showed her that he was sending occasional messages of encouragement and answering queries that came up. Either he was paralysed into inaction by fear of getting something wrong, or he was supervising an effective team that didn’t need micromanaging. The fact they were asking him questions, and getting replies, suggested the latter was the case.
I’ll have to review the message logs in detail once this is over. This could well be a candidate for rapid promotion.
The last recruit reached the bottom rung of the ladder and stepped onto the ground and the platoon leader lowered his hand. He addressed her as she stood beside him, never taking his eyes away from his platoon.
“Prefect. Foxtrot Platoon currently engaged in treating casualties caused by fall from height. Recruit Smith is unresponsive but breathing, suspect head and neck injuries, stabilised ready for extraction. Temporary Section Leader Zhang is responsive to pain, compound fracture to the right femur with significant blood loss, severed vein has been clamped, stabilised ready for extraction. Recruit Hamilton is alert, fractured left arm, painkillers given and arm slung, mobile and able to self-extract. No other significant injuries to report.”
^Your assessment?^ Johnson sent to the lead trainer.
^Situation managed and casualties given appropriate treatment, Ma’am. We didn’t need to do anything; these guys had it all down,^ he replied.
^Thanks. You take the casualties in the truck. Your team needs to secure the site, pending an investigation. I’ll get the Primus to arrange for someone to keep the other recruits busy.^
Thank goodness we got the base infirmary set up.
^Understood, Ma’am.^
“Thank you, Acting Platoon Leader Canetti,” she said after scanning the scene once more. “It looks like you’ve done a good job handling the incident. Optio Marx will take your injured to the infirmary; load them into the truck. The rest of your platoon needs to remain here for the time being. The DS will take over securing the site from now.”
#
Johnson entered the meeting room with a dark cloud trailing behind her. She had always disliked inquests; those into serious injuries, or fatalities, were the worst. That the casualties were recruits, albeit ones with previous military service, put her in an even worse mood. She’d seen far too many people killed and injured on active service to casually accept casualties in training.
At least they would all survive. Hamilton was already back at work; his arm brace did not impede his drone practice. Zhang was due to be released to light duties in a month. He would be unable to rejoin the cadre, the boarding and close quarters combat course didn’t exactly count as light duties, but his naval experience would be welcome as a specialist. Smith would walk again, but was unlikely to be able to withstand the rigours of combat.
A soldier standing by the door announced her presence as she crossed the threshold. Everyone braced up. Johnson made her way to the wooden seat left empty for her between Levarsson and Issawi at the head of the long, polished table. The three of them were to act as the presiding officers. It wasn’t a court-martial, but some issues needed putting to rest and they had agreed to conduct a formal hearing.
As she took her seat, everyone returned to sitting at ease. The screen forming the wall behind her changed from matching the magnolia paint of the rest of the walls to a stylised eagle clasping a set of scales in its talons, the current draft of their emblem.
“This inquest into the serious injury to Recruits Smith and Zhang and the minor injury of Recruit Hamilton is now in session,” she stated. “Prefect Johnson, Primus Issawi and Trierarch Levarsson presiding.
“Given our isolated situation, we are unable to carry out an independent investigation. I therefore intend that this inquest act as an official record of our own investigation. Should the recordings of this session be reviewed at some point in the future, I hope it will be seen that everything was done in an above-board fashion.
“I must state that I was the officer responsible for the phase of training the casualties were undergoing. However, as the cause of the accident does not appear to be linked to that training, I believe I am not compromised to sit on this panel. Does anyone present disagree?”
No-one moved to speak, a few glanced around. She looked down the table to Zhang and Hamilton.
“Recruits Zhang and Hamilton. As two of the injured personnel, I’d like to confirm if you are happy with the set-up of this inquest. If you would like to name a replacement for any of us on the panel we can arrange for them to stand in.”
The two men leant together and whispered briefly to each other. Both nodded then they sat up straight again. Hamilton spoke first.
“I’m OK with it. Can’t think of anyone better to ask for.”
“Are you in agreement, Recruit Zhang?” asked Johnson.
“I am. None of you built that obstacle and I know none of you wanted us to get hurt. Well, not seriously hurt anyway,” he added, glancing at the Primus with a wry grin.
“Recruit Smith is still in a medically induced coma,” said Hanke, who had volunteered to represent the injured recruits. “The doctors have advised against attempting an EIS conversation at this time. I would thus ask to enter a neutral response for her until she is able to speak for herself.”
“Noted, Naval Centurion Hanke,” said Johnson. “We will continue on the strength of the support from the other two victims. If, once she has reviewed the proceedings, Recruit Smith wishes to request the inquest is reopened, she will have that right.”
Johnson checked her notes, flicking through them in a small window overlaying the scene in front of her. As the first legal case of their new regime, she couldn’t afford to get anything wrong. She had spent the previous night going through the standing orders for both Congressional and Republican military inquests. There had actually been very few differences in the procedures; the biggest being the make-up of the panel. In keeping with the disagreements that crystallised around the Gastardi Petition, the Republic required the panel contained experts in the fields or fields relevant to the incident, whereas Congress required they represented the home systems of those involved. They didn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing a panel, so it was rather a moot point, but she had to admit the Republican way would be better if it was possible to get rid of inter-system rivalries and prejudices.
Minimising the note window to a single line ticker along the bottom of her vision, Johnson spoke to the room. “Firstly, I would like to establish the chain of events immediately before and after the incident ... Marine Centurion Anson will take us through things.”
He stiffened slightly in his chair as the focus turned on him. Issawi had recommended him for the promotion, speaking highly of his actions in rallying the boarding party against Issawi’s own special forces team. Despite the confidence his superiors had in him, he appeared nervous of the responsibility placed on his shoulders. In combat he acted on instinct, here he seemed to be overthinking and tripping himself up.
“Ma’am. I’d ... I’d like to start by ...” He paused, composing himself. “My apologies.” He took a sip of water from the glass in front of him. “I’d like to start by calling Recruit Zhang to the stand.”
Zhang rose, helped up by Hamilton and Hanke. A second of fiddling with his hands on his crutches, and he made his way to the chair to one side of the panel.
“Recruit Zhang, do you swear to tell the truth, without omission or embellishment?” asked Issawi.
“I do,” he replied.
“Recruit Zhang,” asked Anson. “Please could you tell us, in your own words, what you remember of the events leading up to your injury?”
Zhang nodded and addressed the room.
“I’m afraid I don’t remember too much,” he said. “We were doing pretty well on the course. We’d had a couple of cards pulled on us earlier, but no-one had had to do any runs. I’d got to the top of the cargo net and was just getting onto the crawl rope when I heard a loud cracking noise. Next thing I remember was waking up in the infirmary with my leg in traction.”
He waved to indicate the plastic mould on his leg.
“You had been over this obstacle many times before. Did you notice anything different about it this time?” asked Anson.
“Until the crack, I didn’t notice anything different from the last thirty times I’d been over it ... Sorry, I’m not much help.”
“That’s fine. Thank you for making the effort to attend,” Anson said to Zhang then addressed Johnson, “No more questions for this witness at this time.”
“Lieute ... Sorry, Centurion Hanke. Your witness,” said Johnson.
“No questions, Ma’am.”
“OK. Recruit Zhang, you may step down.”
It was all very different to Johnson’s first experience of an inquest. She had been called to testify to the fatal shooting of a fellow cadet. She could still see his father’s face when she had described his fallen son coughing up bloody foam. He had lost his wife, and now his only child, to the war. He’d tried to keep up a brave front but she could tell he had collapsed in on himself, a broken shell of a man. Leaving the stand and walking past where he sat, she couldn’t face him. When she caught sight of him in the corridor after the verdict, she ducked into the head and curled up in the corner until she was sure he’d left.
Anson called Hamilton to the stand next. Once he was sworn in, Anson asked him to relate his memory of the events on the obstacle course.
“Pretty much the same as Min ... that’s Recruit Zhang. I was half-way across the crawl rope when I heard the noise. I started falling. I let go of the rope and landed in the water. I guess my arm hit something solid as it wasn’t working. When I pulled myself out I saw Min lying there. He had landed just outside the water. His leg was at a funny angle and he wasn’t moving. I tried to get to him but kept slipping in the mud. I think Siddiq got to him first. Then people were helping me up. I saw that Min was getting help so I let the others sit me down on dry land and sort my arm out.”
“Did you see what happened to Recruit Smith?” asked Anson.
“No. I know she was ahead of me. I tried to use the drone to see what was happening but I couldn’t get it to accept a link.”
He winced as he put his arm down too heavily on the arm of the chair.
“No further questions, Ma’am,” said Anson.
“Centurion Hanke,” called Johnson.
“Thank you, Ma’am ... Recruit Hamilton, did the Directing Staff play any part in the immediate aftermath of the incident?”
“No,” replied the recruit. “Not that I saw.”
Hanke looked pensive and scratched his throat.
“Did that strike you as strange?”
“They could presumably see as well as I could that Min and I were being treated. They knew we were all qualified field medics. I saw them watching; I’m sure they would’ve intervened if they needed to.”
Hanke looked relieved.
“Thank you. No more questions,” said Hanke.
Was he worried that the DS’s actions might be challenged? He was right to call it into question, I’ll have to talk to him later, reassure him he did the right thing.
The inquest continued with Recruit Canetti describing the events as he had seen them. Hanke grilled him on the team’s conduct on the obstacle course, throwing footage from the drone and extracts from the comms logs onto the wall, but Canetti remained calm and firmly explained each and every action, stressing how they were within the rules at all times.
Optio Khan took the stand next. He confirmed that he had made the decision to stand back and let the recruits deal with the situation. As a Combat Rescueman before joining the cause, he had plenty of experience making difficult calls about trauma response, and in this case he stated that he’d never had cause to worry about the outcome.
Anson finally called the engineers who had inspected the course after the accident. They had identified bacteria in the soil that had corroded the foundations of the obstacle. It wasn’t a strain that had previously been documented, and thus hadn’t been looked for before construction. A check of the other obstacles, and indeed all structures on the base, was underway but so far no other patches of the bacteria had been found.
“We find that the injuries were as a result of a construction defect that could not have been foreseen. The incident was dealt with effectively, without compromising the care of the casualties or the further safety of those involved. No blame is attached to any parties,” Johnson declared. “I must reiterate, however, that these findings are to be flagged for review at such time as an independent authority can be established.”
The panel rose and the soldier at the door called the room to attention as they filed out.
A weight lifted from Johnson as she stepped into the corridor. By the three of them reached the airy hub at the end, she had managed to bottle up the memories of previous cases once more. She stopped to admire the newly-planted shrubs and flowers.
Even in the midst of such desperate preparations, people find the time to make their surroundings just that bit more pleasant.
#
With the inquest over, Johnson was able to deal with some of the other things that had come to light in the accident. She sat at her desk in her office, with Recruit Smith stood at attention in front of her. After a few moments, she put her tablet down and looked up at him.
“Disobeying a direct order. That didn’t sit with the rest of your record, so I asked around a bit. As usual, scuttlebutt held the answers the official records don’t. You’re in an intimate relationship with another recruit. She was the one you were running to.”
He sagged. She guessed he had been prepared to take the punishment for disobeying an order, but didn’t want this out in the open.
“Whilst it is not entirely prohibited,” she continued, “it is very much frowned upon. The risk of it damaging unit cohesion, or distracting people from the mission, is too high. I had hoped that, as recruits, you’d be too exhausted to even think of that kind of thing.”
A hope that she had known wouldn’t be realised. She knew all too well how love could sneak up and grab you even when you weren’t looking for it. Her stomach fell as if she were pulling high Gs; she also knew how badly it could end.
“I could give you both the choice of who stayed on the course and who dropped out and avoided front-line work...”
He looked horrified. Obviously they were both passionate about serving the cause.
“...but that would be unfair, and we need everyone we can get. I can’t ban you from seeing each other either, as you’ll have to work together. So I’m going to give you a warning. From now on, you only meet with other people present. No physical contact beyond that called for by training or ordinary friendship. When you pass out, if you still desire to continue the relationship, you choose different chains of command. Is that understood?”
He stiffened again.
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am!”
“As for disobeying a direct order, whilst I understand your motivation, and appreciate that you did get a grip on your emotions and eventually stand down, I cannot let it slide. You can expect a visit from an optio for pack drills.”
He raised his chin.
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am!”
“Dismissed.”
He turned smartly to his right and marched out of the room as an optio opened the door for him.
And now I get to do something I’ll actually enjoy...
“Optio, would you show the next recruit in?”
Recruit Canetti stood at attention in front of her. He was braced far tighter than was required, usually a sign someone was worried. She felt sorry for him, wanted to put him out of his misery, but fought to prevent her face giving anything away.
“Recruit Canetti,” Johnson started. “You were in charge of the platoon at the time of the accident. It fell to you to organise the response.”
“Ma’am, yes Ma’am!”
She fixed him with a piercing glare, one she’d learnt from the executive officer on her first ship.
“Why didn’t you get stuck in with the first aid?”
“Ma’am, I felt that as commander I was responsible for managing the whole situation, something I couldn’t do effectively if I got too deeply involved with one casualty.”
He wasn’t overly put off by the glare, delivering without hesitation the answer he had doubtless gone over again and again.
She watched his eyes carefully as she posed her next question.
“In such a situation, why did you not issue any voice commands?”
“Ma’am, you had ordered that we refrained from speaking and used our EIS instead. I knew I could justify breaking the order as it was an emergency, but I would have had to shout to be heard by everyone and I felt that would not be conducive to calming things down. It also allowed me to communicate clearly with individuals without the risk of confusing others.”
Johnson nodded appreciatively and relaxed back into her chair, casually interlacing her fingers on her lap, and she took a deep breath through her nose, held it, and let it out forcefully.
“At ease, Recruit ... I had hoped those would be your reasons. I have to say that I was impressed by what I saw that day. You stepped up and handled a difficult situation. Your calm manner helped everyone do their jobs, and you maintained an overview that ensured nothing slipped through the cracks. I know that is hard, and few people really understand what it takes to hold back. It is, however, one of the abilities we’re looking for in future leaders.”
He perked up at that. His eyes widening just a tad, as he shifted position slightly.
“You are due to rotate out of the platoon commander position at the end of this week; we need to give everyone a chance to lead the platoon. However, I want to give you more chances to build on your skills. I am going to assign an experienced officer as your mentor. They’ll analyse responses to situations with you, run you through simulations, and generally push you to see what you can do.
“You’ll still have to complete all your assigned tasks as a recruit. This extra work will stretch you further than you believed possible. I hope you are up to the job.”
“Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am ... I think.”
“You’re welcome, Recruit. I have a feeling you’ll thrive on the challenge.”