Alarm of War

going to do, challenge me to a duel?”

The DID officer had stared at him with a flat look that made Hudis squirm. “No, Citizen Secretary, the Prince will not challenge you to a duel. He does not duel with people who displease him, he kills them. What he will likely do is call in one of his fucking trolls, the Savak, the Creche- born monsters that make up his personal guard. He, or it, or whatever the fuck it is, will twist your head until your spine snaps, then he will cut it off. The Prince will add it to his little collection.” Unspoken was the fact that the DID would not prevent it from happening. If Hudis slipped up and displeased the Prince, he was expendable; the Citizen President had been clear about that. The Dominion of Unified Citizenry needed the Tilleke’s participation if this…this enterprise was going to succeed.

Then the DID officer had shown him the video.

Chapter 5

P.D. 948

The Recruit

At Victorian Fleet Training Facility on Aberdeen

Late one afternoon at the end of the third week, they were broken up into four companies of one hundred each. Each recruit was issued a new uniform that seemed to have a lot of metallic threads woven into it, a battle harness, two canteens, a rucksack and assorted gear to enable them to spend several days outside.

And, to Emily’s astonishment, they were issued weapons.

Sgt. Kaelin stood on a small platform in front of them. He looked at them solemnly, hands on his hips. “Each of you has been assigned to a company, Red, Green, Blue or Gold. Tonight Red Company will stay here, but the other three companies will be moved to separate barracks. From here on in, you will be at war with each other. In every field exercise you will be pitted against one or more of the other companies. All of you will have the same weapons, the same tools. No one will have a technological advantage. How you do in the field exercises will depend on how well you think and plan, how disciplined you are. And sometimes, how bold you are.”

He paused for a moment. Emily glanced about. Most of the faces around her showed no particular understanding of what was being said, but Emily felt a surge of excitement. Tactical training! And after less than a month! She had always read that the Fleet basic training was months and months of physical training and basic instruction, and then, time permitting, some modest tactical training before being shipped off to advanced school. What were they doing?

Sgt. Kaelin held up a rifle, the same rifle that had been issued to the recruits an hour earlier. “Each one of you has been issued the training version of the M24 Bull Pup assault rifle. This is not a sonic blaster, which is considerably more powerful. Those of you who go into the Royal Marines will learn how to use blasters.” There were some scattered cheers and Kaelin waited tolerantly for them to subside. “The regular model M24 shoots a flechette projectile, but for training purposes we use a low power laser. The Bull Pup weighs ten pounds and requires a battery source, which weighs another pound. The battery gives you enough power for approximately seventy shots and then it has to be recharged or replaced. The Bull Pup has a removable three-power scope. The rifle has an effective range of eight hundred yards, but its shot can be deflected by foliage, so take note. From this moment on, each of you is personally responsible for your rifle. You will keep it with you at all times. If you damage it or lose it, you will have to answer to me, and you won’t enjoy the experience.”

Emily wondered how the laser rifles recorded a hit. Would the uniform glow? Turn colors? Make a noise?

“Some of you are wondering how you’ll know when you’ve been shot by the enemy. A brief demonstration is in order.” He barked out orders, and the recruits each separated so they were standing in two long rows, ten feet apart. Emily had a sinking feeling.

“On my order, each recruit will aim his weapon at the leg of the recruit facing him and shoot! Another pause. This is going to hurt, thought Emily. “Aim,” Kaelin bellowed, “and fire!”

Four hundred howls of pain and outrage echoed across the parade field. To Emily, the sensation felt like someone had stabbed her with a hot knife. Her leg erupted in pain and she was dimly aware that her uniform pants leg had stiffened, making it very hard to bend her knee. “Gods of Our Mothers!” she screamed. Off balance, cursing, she unceremoniously collapsed to the ground.

“That is how you know when you’ve been shot,” Sgt. Kaelin said mildly. You will find that the pain will diminish over a period of an hour and that the stiffness in your uniform will go away after one to two hours, depending on the severity of the wound.” He pointed to a nearby recruit. “On your feet!” The recruit staggered to his feet, one hand still clutching his thigh.

“If you receive a fatal wound, “Kaelin said, “your uniform will do this.” He pointed a laser pistol at the recruit and shot him twice in the chest. The recruit staggered back and opened his mouth to scream, then stopped and looked sheepishly about. “I don’t feel nothin’,” he said. The recruits near him snickered.

“That’s because you’re dead, dipshit,” a woman muttered.

The recruit’s uniform was blinking on and off, a brilliant fluorescent orange.

“Once this happens, you are FOF, or ‘flashing orange forever.’ Dead, in other words. You are out of the battle. Your uniform will keep blinking until it has been reset by one of the Drill Instructors,” Kaelin concluded.

That night Emily settled into new barracks as part of Blue Company. There were no bunk assignments and she found herself standing next to a bunk bed with a tall, strongly built Hispanic woman.

“I’m Maria Sanchez,” she said, holding out a hand. “My friends call me Cookie.” She had a round face, high cheek bones and rich brown eyes, which were bright with amusement. “How do we get out of this chickenshit outfit?”

Chapter 6

P.D. 950

Emily’s Personal Journal

At Victorian Fleet Training Facility on Aberdeen

Some historian I turn out to be! I’ve been here for five weeks now and not made one journal entry. I don’t even have a proper notebook — I am writing this on a roll of toilet paper, much to the amusement of my bunk mates.

I am in the Blue Company barracks, or I should say the Blue Company women’s barracks. The men’s barracks is across the parade ground. Life so far has been pretty regimented. Up at 5 a.m., calisthenics ‘til 6 a.m., breakfast, and then start the days maneuver by 6:45. I have my very own rifle now, and take it everywhere I go. And I mean everywhere. They are very serious about that. One recruit got caught coming out of the toilet without his rifle and spent the rest of the day running up and down a hill with a backpack full of sand. I am in the top bunk and finally learned to just sleep with Gertrude rather than leave her on the floor somewhere. Cookie, my “downstairs” bunk mate, laughed when I named my rifle. But “Gertrude” describes my rifle perfectly: ugly, utilitarian and deadly when angered. We have all learned the hard way it hurts like hell to get shot. And since they started us on a steady diet of combat maneuvers, I have been shot several times. (This has even given rise to “mercy killings” among friends, but the Drill Instructors ream you out if they catch you.)

I was surprised that they started us on field maneuvers so fast. Most of us are going to the Fleet and will be on warships. (I, of course, will be happily ensconced in the Fleet Department of Military History.) If we ever face battle it will be in space, firing missiles and lasers at hundreds or thousands of miles. Why teach us to run around in the woods and spring ambushes? I didn’t really figure it out until this morning after breakfast. They had us moving across a large field, bordered by a hill on one side and a copse of trees on the other. It hit me then: I was no longer thinking like a civilian. I looked at the trees and thought: “Just big enough to hide a squad of men.” Not how pretty the trees were in the morning sun, not curious about what type they were. Just that they were a suitable ambush