Greenies

he said, his voice reasonable, 'perhaps you could tell me what the minimum safety standard is for reservoir depletion. What is the absolute lowest that you are allowed to run your tank to before doctrine commands that you cease all activity and let it refill?'

The gulp from Stillwell was clearly audible over the frequency. 'Uh...' he stammered.

'How low, Stillwell? How low?'

'Five percent, Lieutenant,' he finally was able to blurt out.

'Five percent,' Wilton said reflectively. 'That's correct. I thought that I'd mentioned that number fifty or sixty fucking times during my lectures. I thought that that was what was common knowledge among every MPG member, among every fucking outside civilian worker who wears the fucking biosuit! So, Stillwell, with that in mind, perhaps you could explain to me why you let your reservoir go all the way down to two and a half percent before you stopped?'

'Uh... well... I didn't really... I mean, I thought that I could... you know...'

'Didn't want to fag out before Wong huh?' he asked. 'You just couldn't stand to think that Wong would be able to go further up that hill than you could, right?'

'No Lieutenant,' he said sternly. 'I just thought I could bring it back you know. That if I conserved...'

'Don't you fucking lie to me,' Wilton nearly screamed. 'You brought yourself far below safety standards, put your stupid-ass life at risk out here, just so you wouldn't have to admit that Wong is in better shape than you.'

He didn't wait for a reply. Instead, he glared at the rest of the troops. 'And he's not the only one, is he? I counted thirty-seven of you who were well below four percent on your readings. Thirty-fucking-seven of you! And there were another five of you who were below five percent. And holy Jesus, all of you just happened to decide that enough was enough about twenty seconds after Wong finally had to give it up. You stupid idiots! Do you think we pulled that five percent figure out of our asses? Did it occur to you that you were putting your lives at risk? What would have happened if your bodies didn't recover from the exertion quickly enough to stop the discharge of your suits? You would've died of suffocation out here and there wouldn't have been a goddamn thing we could have done about it!'

The men who had been involved in this all hung their heads in shame at this lecture.

Wilton continued to glare and then shook his head in disgust. 'If anyone in this platoon ever lets his or her tank drop below five percent again for any reason whatsoever, you will be dismissed from this training and returned to your regular assignments. I will not tolerate stupidity! Is that understood?'

It was understood loud and clear. Lisa, uncomfortable with all of the chaos that her presence had caused, looked around and saw that looks of hatred were being directed at her from all quarters. Waves of resentment were radiating off of her colleagues almost visibly. What had she done to deserve this? Just because she had signed up for the position that she thought she was best suited for, they all hated her.

'Let's get back to our feet,' Wilton told them. 'We have a long jog to the gunnery range. I want everyone to shoot off a thousand rounds today before we break for lunch.'

One by one they got to their feet and formed up. Soon they were trotting off across the red landscape once again. They kept to a pace that was slow enough that no one discharged their oxygen tanks and thirty minutes later they arrived at the outside gunnery range, a one square kilometer area, ringed with small hills, upon which a variety of holographic targets could be activated and shot at.

For the next three hours they practiced various maneuvers and shooting drills. Lisa, who had qualified as expert with her M-24 ever since joining the MPG, quite easily showed up most of the men in marksmanship. Indeed a few of them were forced to grudgingly accord the smallest amount of respect towards her in this as she placed clean head or body shots on target after target, without benefit of her combat computer, from ranges up to half a kilometer away.

One person who did not give her respect was Stillwell, who was still quite stung from being publicly humiliated by Wilton because of her. His own shooting was near expert and well within the top ten in the class, but it was still short of her own. He took every opportunity to make snide remarks towards her, saying things like, 'So she can hit a target with a gun. She still hasn't been in a combat unit before'. Or he would remark to another student, 'Do you really want a woman backing you up in a firefight? What if there's some icky blood around? She might get sick'. Lisa, for her part simply ignored him and went about what she had been told to do. Wilton too, though he could hear every transmission that was made, chose not to say anything to either of them. Lisa wasn't sure what to make of his silence. Was he waiting for her to handle things on her own? Was he perhaps hoping that Lisa would quit of her own accord? She just didn't know. Wilton was a difficult man to read.

At last the shooting session wrapped up and they spent the better part of an hour picking up the expended shell casings that littered the range. Wilton then made them run back to the base at triple time, once again discharging their tanks.

By the time they made their way through the airlocks and back into normal gravity and pressurization, all of them were exhausted. Wilton told them to hit the locker rooms and get their biosuits off and back into their normal clothes so they could spend another three hours in the classroom learning the finer points of movement and tactics.

Lisa followed the men into the locker room that had been set aside for the use of the special forces teams. Wilton and the other instructors had given her access to a small storage room adjacent to the locker room for the purpose of changing her clothing in privacy but she had adamantly refused it, not wanting to have any difference between herself and the other SF troops in training. So far she had only put her biosuit on over her shorts and T- shirt. Now however she would have to strip completely naked and shower in front of them.

The locker room was quite large, large enough for an entire company to dress and shower in at once. A long plastic bench sat before each row of metal lockers. She found the locker that Wilton had reluctantly assigned to her and opened it by placing her fingerprint on the locking mechanism. She released the seal on her helmet and pulled it off, setting it on the bench before her. Her short hair was damp with her perspiration. She took a few deep breaths of the stale air, glad to be breathing anything other than the manufactured variety, and then began undoing the clasps that held her biosuit body in place. She slid it off so that she was standing only in her sweaty shorts and T- shirt. She looked around and saw that the men within view were moving slowly at removing their own equipment. Some were casting glances at her, others were trying their best to ignore her, all seemed very uncomfortable with her presence.

She thought of saying something to them and then decided not to. To hell with it. The sooner they got used to her being among them, the better. She reached down and pulled her shirt over her head, dropping in into a laundry bag in her locker. Her ample breasts were now covered with nothing more than a nylon work-out brassiere. She pulled this off as well, baring them for anyone to see. She could plainly hear the gasp of surprise from those around her. It was apparent that they hadn't thought she'd really go through with this. She continued to ignore them and dropped her shorts and underwear as well, leaving her completely nude. She stuffed the rest of the clothes into her locker and then picked up a clean towel and a bottle of liquid soap. Strolling almost casually she headed for the lockers, passing between groups of men.

'Better hurry up,' she said flippantly, speaking to no one in specific. 'We only have twenty minutes until we're due in the class. Wouldn't want to be late.'

No one moved, no one replied.

She stopped and looked at them, amused to see that many of them - these tough, macho guys who fancied themselves the best of the best - were actually blushing. 'Oh come on, you assholes,' she said, just a hint of challenge in her voice. 'Are you afraid of a naked woman? Surely a few of you have seen tits and ass before. Are you afraid to shower with me?'

She walked off towards the community shower area. Here were a series of showering stations situated above tile floors with drains in the center. Each station held a fixture that featured six nozzles in a circular pattern. She hung up her towel and then stepped up to the first one.

'Shower on,' she told the computer that controlled it. 'Thirty-eight degrees.'

The spray activated, sending a stream of droplets out at moderate pressure. She stepped under it and sighed as the warm water caressed her tired skin. She turned this way and that under the stream, thoroughly wetting herself. Finally she picked up her body wash and poured a generous amount into her hand. She picked up a washrag and began soaping herself up, cleaning the sweat and the grime from her body.

Soon, one by one, the men began to come into the shower area as well. All were naked, carrying towels with