Chapter Seven: Exercise
February 9, 2525 (Military Calendar) \
Harvest, Epsilon Indi System
The sun was out with a vengeance, today, and the air was syrupy with humidity. Thick, cloying, and awful.
Perfect weather for our second live-fire TTR exercise. The Staff Sergeants' cruelty knew no bounds.
Meteorologists called for thunderstorms in this area tomorrow, but today we had unbroken blue skies. Not a cloud in sight. I couldn't help but resent those storms for being a day too late to help me in this moment.
1st and 2nd Platoon were suffering together today, out in the middle of nowhere for our TTR exercise, surrounded by gently rolling hills of wheat fields, tall grass, and the occasional tree, stretching away in every direction to the horizon. We had been deployed to defend Harvest's reactor complex from Byrne and Johnson, who would be arriving anytime now to try and capture it from us. The complex consisted of a two-story-tall polycrete tower surrounded by polycrete walls. The entire structure was boxed in by a sturdy metal fence, and we had prepared foxholes and fortifications in the grounds between the polycrete complex and the outer fence.
It was within one of these foxholes that I slowly melted in the late summer heat, slapping away the gnats who were dive-bombing my eyes for their moisture. Having gnats in my eyes was very annoying, and I was determined to avoid it. My eyes were already stinging from the rivulets of sweat seeping down my face and neck, soaking into my fatigues. I didn't smell great, but that was okay, because no one else did either.
What I would give for a puff of wind.
This humidity was making the air cling to my skin. It was hindering my sweat from evaporating, disrupting my body's natural cooling mechanism. It wasn't fair, and I hated this goddamn heat, but I stopped short of cursing the sun, because the sun was integral to life.
I stared off into the distant hills, telling myself that I was watching for any sign of Byrne and Johnson, but really I was just zoning out. We'd been cooking out here for hours, now, and it was an uphill battle to stay focused. The mollifying heat leeched the energy right out of us. I knew I was playing into the Staff Sergeants' hands. To win this exercise, fifty percent of the opposing force had to be wiped out. The Staff Sergeants had to tag thirty-six of us, but we only had to tag one of them.
Byrne and Johnson certainly had no intention of attacking us late this morning when we arrived at this complex, or in the early afternoon while we settled in. We'd been alert and itching for action earlier in the day, but no attack from the Staff Sergeants had come. Clearly, Byrne and Johnson were waiting for us to get heat-sleepy, and with me they had succeeded.
All afternoon under the sun we sat in our foxholes, slowly sipping away our water supplies. The water in my canteen was hot, it tasted like metal, and it hydrated me begrudgingly. Those lone trees and distant hills were the only things I had to stare at. The only break in the afternoon monotony had been a trio of unmanned JOTUN cropduster planes, two hours ago, skimming low across the fields to our west. They passed harmlessly by, and boredom quickly returned.
I was grateful for my helmet. Without it, my entire face would be red with sunburn.
"Who's to say the Staff Sergeants are even here?" Rosen mercifully broke the oppressive silence. "I'd bet they're in some Utgard bar, enjoying a cold one while we fry out here."
"They're probably waiting for dumb fucks like you to get soft," said Billings. "Right when you nod off to sleep, they'll show up and give you a TTR enema because you weren't paying attention."
"That's enough enema talk for a lifetime," interrupted Carrol, restoring the peace. "Byrne and Johnson will strike when they see fit, and until they do, you will keep a close watch."
"We have movement to the northeast," reported Critchley, who was stationed with Hadley, Forsell, and Jenkins at the top of the polycrete reactor tower. I glanced to the left and saw, in the distance, a JOTUN heavy combine approaching from the northeast. It was gigantic, at least fifty meters tall. Dempsey, Rosen, and Kaczynski got into a argument over whether the JOTUN was a Series Four or a Series Five, then reached a consensus that it was a Series Five.
"All squads!" It was Forsell from top of the tower. "Got a vehicle coming in!"
"This a joke, Forsell?" asked Stisen. "It's too hot for any of your bullshit."
"See for yourself," Forsell responded.
I looked to the south and was just barely able to see a gray car approaching via the access road, heading for the outer fence's entrance gate.
"Look sharp!" Stisen bellowed from 2/A's position behind the sandbags piled on both sides of the entrance gate. "Dass, give me some cover!"
"Keep eyes on that taxi, Alpha," Dass, the squad leader of 1st Platoon's Alpha Squad, ordered his recruits. They were stationed on the second-floor wraparound metal balcony on the reactor tower, underneath the sharpshooters' position on the roof.
"Just make sure you watch what you shoot," Stisen growled over the COM. "You'll be firing over our heads."
"We're not the Alpha Squad with a record of friendly fire," Dass responded, much to our collective amusement.
Stisen made no reply, probably because he knew he would lose his cool.
"Look alive," Carrol told us. "Garris, Lowell: I want eyes on that vehicle until it leaves."
I shouldered my MA5B and took aim at the approaching gray car. At this range, it would be difficult to land a good shot without a scope, but that didn't mean I wasn't going to try if the need arose. Everything would be easier with a scoped BR55, but I wasn't worthy enough to receive any of the Harvest Militia's six BR55s. The Staff Sergeants got two, and the remaining four were distributed to Critchley, Hadley, Jenkins, and Forsell, each of whom logged higher scores than me at the firing range.
Stisen broke cover and passed through the entrance gate, standing in the middle of the road to intercept the approaching taxi, which came to a stop about fifteen feet away from him. Stisen leveled his MA5B at the sedan's windshield and ordered the driver to exit the vehicle.
The car did not move. No one got out.
"Burdick!" Stisen called to one of his recruits, ordering him to take three recruits to secure the car.
Burdick led three of his squadmates through the entrance gate, passing Stisen to approach the car, weapons drawn. They fanned out as they approached the taxi, and Burdick edged warily up to the driver door. The instant his hand touched the door handle, all four car doors suddenly sprang open and white light exploded from the inside of the taxi, momentarily blinding me.
Flashbang. Byrne and Johnson were here.
When my vision returned, Burdick and two others were lying motionless on the road, splattered with red TTR paint, while the fourth recruit staggered back to the entrance gate, screaming, "CLAYMORES!"
Stisen sprinted over and grabbed the recruit, supporting him as they hurried back through the entrance gate to the safety of Alpha Squad's sandbag defenses. I frowned a little as I witnessed this event, begrudgingly realizing that Stisen cared about his companions, underneath all of his assholery, which was very inconvenient because it made him harder to dislike. We can only ever see so much of a person in one glimpse.
The car was empty. The whole thing had been a setup. Which should come as no surprise. Who the fuck takes a taxi to the Harvest Reactor Complex?
A loud commotion broke out on the other side of the reactor complex, where I couldn't see. We heard panicked cries from the recruits of 1st Platoon's Bravo Squad, who were stationed along the east fence, followed up by the discharge of weapons.
"Andersen, what's going on over there?" Carrol shouted into the COM.
"The combine! It isn't turning!" responded Andersen, the squad leader of 1/B.
"Garris, check the east side!" Carrol motioned for me to move.
I sprang to my feet and sprinted past my squadmates to Habel's position. 2nd Platoon's Charlie Squad was stationed along the northern fence, behind the polycrete reactor complex. They didn't even notice me as I ran past them. Everyone was transfixed by the Series-Five Heavy JOTUN crashing through the east perimeter, ripping through the chain-link fence like paper, forcing Andersen's squad to abandon their foxholes and scatter for their lives.
The JOTUN was completely covered in red TTR paint, evidence of 1/B's failed attempt to bring it to a stop.
I raised my MA5B and aimed at the JOTUN, alert for any signs of movement. Not alert enough. Without seeing where it had been thrown from, I saw a flash of a small round object flying through the air towards the reactor tower. "Grenade!" someone in Dass's squad barely had time to cry before the well-aimed grenade detonated, showering most of 1/A up on the wraparound balcony with TTR paint, knocking them unconscious.
The exercise has barely begun and the Staff Sergeants have already wiped out a sixth of our force. This didn't bode well.
"Movement!" Jenkins wailed over the COM. "I've got movement on the JOTUN!"
I spotted Byrne, too. He'd positioned himself between the first and second body segments of the JOTUN combine. I fired several rounds at him, but they all went wide, spattering against the JOTUN's enormous wheels. As more of us spotted Byrne and opened fire, the Staff Sergeant was forced to abandon his already-risky position on the JOTUN's chassis, sliding down the nearest ladder to the ground.
"I got him!" Jenkins was shouting. "I got him!"
Upon reaching the ground, Byrne immediately dove into the space between two of the JOTUN's nearest wheels, shielding him from our fire.
"Like hell you do!" Stisen retorted over the COM. "Critchley! Come to front!"
Though Byrne was effectively pinned down, he still managed to return fire without getting hit. The recruit in front of me went down without a sound, TTR splattered across his face. I dove away from the downed recruit, desperate to get out of Byrne's sights.
"I said I got him!" Jenkins started to say, but Stisen cut him off again.
"Shut it, Jenkins!" the constable snapped. "Critchley, respond!"
Silence over the COM.
I looked up to the top of the reactor tower and was able to glimpse Critchley and Hadley's unconscious forms, slumped partially over the roof's edge, TTR decorating both of their helmets. "Critchley and Hadley are down!" I shouted into my own COM. "I repeat: Critchley is gone!"
"So is all of 1/C!" Forsell reported.
"What?!" exclaimed Stisen, no longer trying to keep his cool.
"We've lost everyone on the western fence! 1/C is all gone and 2/B has been driven back!"
Western fence? It was now that I remembered I was supposed to be reporting back to my squad leader about the JOTUN. Whoops. Hopefully Carrol was too unconscious to care that I hadn't returned.
"Stisen, I'm moving to the back!" Jenkins reported over the COM.
"No, goddamnit!" Stisen responded. "Habel! Shift west! It's gotta be Johnson!"
I hurried west with Habel's squad, and the moment we rounded the corner to approach the western fence, a hail of TTR came speeding our way, immediately striking two members of Charlie Squad.
Staff Sergeant Johnson maintained a withering suppressing fire on us while he deftly slipped through a rip in the chain link fence. He hurried into one of my squad's prepared foxholes, stepping over the unconscious bodies of Dempsey, Scotty Lowell, and Billings. From his new defensive position, Johnson was able to take out three more members of Charlie Squad, including Ron Habel, who took a TTR round to the throat while giving orders. Several surviving Charlie Squad recruits began to argue over who was in charge in Habel's absence.
Fuck this.
I abandoned Charlie Squad and hurried behind the polycrete walls into the reactor complex, grabbing the nearest ladder and climbing it all the way up to the top of the tower. Critchley and Hadley were still asleep up here. Forsell and Jenkins were gone. Perfect. I walked over to Hadley and extricated the pristine BR55 from his unconscious grasp, marveling at how light the rifle felt.
This was awesome. I couldn't believe I'd finally gotten my hands on one of these sweet BR55s. I was going to ruin Byrne and Johnson's day with this-
A TTR round struck my left arm before I could even finish my thought, paralyzing my hand and forcing me to drop the BR55. When it hit the polycrete floor, the BR55 accidentally opened fire, shooting three rounds of TTR onto my right foot and lower leg, which sent me tumbling facefirst into the polycrete.
"Cease fire, cease fire!" Captain Ponder's voice boomed suddenly over the loudspeakers. "Staff Sergeant Byrne, you have been neutralized. Final score: thirty-four to one. Congratulations, recruits."
We...won?
This was surreal. 2nd Platoon never won anything. Did we really just win?
From what I could hear of the COM chatter, Osmo from 1/A was the one who fired the lucky shot. Apparently he hadn't even been aiming. Osmo was the only member of Dass's squad to survive the exercise. Sometimes luck carried the day. Still, why the fuck couldn't Osmo, or anyone else, have made that lucky shot fifteen seconds sooner? I was going to have to wait several fucking hours before I could move my TTR-splattered arm or leg again.
With my right arm, which still functioned, no thanks to whichever Staff Sergeant had shot me, I pulled myself to the reactor tower roof's southern edge and peeked over the lip. Carrol, Omar, Worthington, and Ricketts were all standing down there, giving each other congratulatory claps on the back. The rest of Bravo was scattered across the ground, unconscious. "Uh, hello?" I cleared my throat, getting their attention.
"Garris?" Carrol looked up, utterly surprised. "Where the hell have you been? You never reported back."
"How about you help me down from here and I'll tell you?"
