Dominguez took his shoulder in a firm grip. 'It's not charity, Montoya. When Saldanas, here, froze on the log walk, who went up and talked him across? You, friend.
'And when Dominguez fell off the side of the hill at Camp O'Higgins, rolling end over end while his own machine gun tried to beat him to death, who carried the gun and the pack for two hours until he was capable of carrying them again?'
'Me, too, Montoya,' said Cruz. 'When I fucked up and didn't order chow for the platoon… and we all had nothing at all to eat for a day. Who talked me up to keep on going. They're right. We can help you, and it isn't charity. It's just paying a debt.'
Montoya bowed his head, humbled and grateful.
Ramirez, silent until now, said, tersely, 'Now let's get to work.'
Graduation Exercise Area, Camp Gutierrez, 5/5/462 AC
Unique among militaries, the legion, at Carrera's insistence, had a requirement that all officers and centurions be combat tested before receiving their commissions or centurion's batons. This was so even though almost everyone sent to the Cazador School, followed by OCS, CCS or WOCS, was a veteran of combat already.
'Eventually, there will be peace, however transitory it will prove,' Carrera had said. 'The tradition of combat testing starts now so it will be kept then.'
This was the most dreaded mission in the school, although much of the danger was still more apparent than real. Nonetheless, students were wounded or killed by design rather than by accident.
The live fire took place on an area of rough ground. The objectives consisted of well fortified battle positions, with bunkers and trenches, protected by broad belts of barbed wire and concertina. Interspersed among the bunkers, sometimes in place of them, very heavily uparmored tank turrets with anti-spalling liners-lead shields to absorb the little splinters of steel that often flew off of the inside of armor when it was struck by fire-were set into concrete. These held the defenders of the positions.
The tanks had the main guns removed. Unlike the ones the school used elsewhere, however, the crews of some of these tanks would try to hit the students rather than merely frighten them. Ordinarily, this would mean serious casualties. To keep these within acceptable limits, the turrets' machine guns only carried one round in ten live. The rest of the belted ammunition was plastic tipped. This was still dangerous close up but the plastic rounds lost velocity rapidly due to their low density. Every burst would be aimed with evil intent, but only one round in ten would actually have a bullet in it. The machine guns were, moreover, set loosely in their cradles to allow the fire to spread to cover an area as a normal ground-mounted machine gun would. Therefore, even if the gunner was dead on target, inclined to shoot that target, and that target was a real student, and the burst happened to have a live round in it, the odds were good that the bullet would go low, high or wide.
Other turrets had both main gun and machine guns removed. These had sniper rifles locked firmly into place. The 'sniper' turrets fired all live ammunition, but their job was to try to fire as close as possible to the students without actually hitting any of them. Still, mistakes happened. And, it was widely rumored, the CIs manning the sniper rifles would deliberately shoot a man if provoked by incompetence. The rumor was only occasionally true and they never shot to kill.
Still, the students weren't entirely helpless. The things they had learned, careful reconnaissance, thorough planning and rehearsals, control, and teamwork could, properly applied, allow them to put effective fire on the turrets. The turret crews would cease fire for fifteen seconds after taking a hit from a bullet. There were also two small, upper body shaped, targets on the front of each turret. If the students hit both of these in an area about ten inches in diameter, the tank would cease fire completely. It was possible, though very uncommon, for no turrets on an objective to have a chance to fire.
Turrets never fired deliberately at a CI. Indeed they avoided them as completely as possible.
As an added measure, the students were issued the heavy, fiftyfour pound, ceramic torso armor and extra- heavy helmets. Face, arms and legs were still exposed, but the odds of a fatal hit were lessened. Statistics said that out of a typical class of about three hundred to three hundred and fifty, 8.4 men would be shot as a result of the day's training, 1.4 of them fatally.
Olivetti, wearing more complete body armor, painted white to mark him as a CI, stood in front of the class, explaining these things to the students. 'Those casualty rates are only averages. Sometimes a class comes through without a scratch. Once we had seventeen men shot. Four died. If anyone wants to resign now, step to the rear and see Sergeant Major Schetrompf. He'll take your resignations.' The CI didn't mention that after that particular day, the course had changed to give sixteen hours unbroken rest and five complete meals to the students before sending them to the graduation exercise. It was better they should believe the course was even more dangerous than it was.
Inside the ranks men wavered, Olivetti could see it in the way they shifted weight from side to side, looked around to see what their peers were doing.
Montoya finished their mental self debate for them. Speaking loudly, he said 'You've made me shit myself more than once already, Centurion, although with the little bit you feed us there wasn't much shit. I'll be damned if all that, plus starving us and making us walking dead from lack of sleep, was for nothing. Bring on your fucking tanks, Centurion Olivetti. Besides, I need to pass one more patrol to graduate anyway.' A few students laughed nervously. The moment of wavering was broken.
Olivetti nodded, seeing the men quiet down in the ranks. That's why you're still here, Montoya. You can't lead for shit. Your squad has carried you through every leadership phase you passed. But you're a tough little bastard and you don't quit. Your legion has use for those, too. At his signal, the three, much truncated, student companies began to shake out into tactical formations, separating and moving toward their objectives. Olivetti fell in with the center company, talking on his radio as he did so.
Overhead, real artillery, not simulators or preplaced charges, began to rumble across the sky toward small impact areas offset from the objectives. Though frightened, the men grinned. It was almost over.
Parade Field, Camp Gutierrez, 8/5/462 AC
The school commandant, Major Broughton, FS Army (retired), stood on a low reviewing stand. He looked over the ranks, 331 men of six hundred and ten who had started. Four were dead, about par for the course, most of the rest dropped with prejudice or quit. Some of those dropped were medicals. If they recovered, these would have a chance to continue the course with another class. A few others, hospitalized with wounds from the final exercise, would be graduated, and decorated, in their beds later in the day, their squads in attendance.
Broughton walked up to the microphone and began to speak. At his command the class stood at ease. He told the graduating students how tough they were, and brave; how they represented the best of their countries, and some of the best in the world. He said he expected great things of them, as they had proven themselves capable of great things.
Cruz whispered to Montoya, standing at his left, 'You feel tough, bud?'
Montoya answered, likewise in a whisper, 'He must be talking about some other people. I don't feel tough.'
Broughton finished, calling the class to attention and ordering the school adjutant to call the roll.
The adjutant took Broughton's place at the microphone and began to read off names.
'Optio Enriquez.'
The entire class answered, as rehearsed 'Here!'
'Signifer Trujillo.'
'Here!'
The adjutant finished the last names on his list of dead, each with the rank he would have held had he finished Cazador School and the next course for which he was scheduled. Following the last 'Here!' he gave the command, 'Open ranks, march!'
As the companies opened their ranks, the CIs of Camp Gutierrez trotted out, one to each rank of each platoon, each CI carrying a cloth bag draped over one shoulder. Olivetti came to attention to Cruz's right front.
'Present the tabs!'
Olivetti took one step forward, halted and faced left. He nodded, 'Cazador Cruz?'
'Blood tab, Centurion.' In the school's short life no Cazador had yet failed to ask for a 'blood tab.' It was an article of faith among the students that the first one to do so would have his name publicized across the entire legion.
Olivetti reached into the cloth bag and pulled out a full color black and gold half circle with the word
