Starship Troopers: Thirty-One Ways To Crash & Burn

Camp Arthur Currie

During unarmed combat training

"Alright, you apes," Zim announced as the boots lined up, "I imagine you've all wanted to take a pop at me since day one. Hell," he chuckled, "I was just the same when I was a boot! I hated Sergeant Frankel's guts! Now's your chance! C'mon, let's go!"

Several boots took him at his word and made spirited attempts. Shujumi, in particular, came close; he knew a couple of martial arts and, Zim approved, "gave me a decent workout for a change! At least one of you isn't totally useless!"

In truth he was kidding; they were all trying. Most had the fighting spirit essential in a boot.

Except one, apparently.

"Alright, ten-hut!" They complied, forming a line at attention before him. "Damphousse," he cocked his head towards the obviously nervous boot, "what's your problem? Did you or did you not hear and understand my order? Take your best shot!"

"Sir...yes, sir, I got you. But...correct me if I'm wrong, sir, but respect towards our instructors is expected of us, is it not?"

"Damn straight," he growled. "First boot who doesn't respect me, a punch is the least that can be expected!"

"But...we should not respect you just because you're our instructor and CO, sir. That is just blind obedience, the kind the Armed Forces used to insist upon. Sir, with respect, you and we deserve better than that. Respect is earned, not just given."

Zim smiled slowly. "That, Damphousse, is a very good point." He turned to the others. "And Damphousse is exactly correct. The M.I. does not want, does not expect, and definitely does not deserve blind respect. If it did, a boot may as well be just a dumb robot. While you will be expected to master certain automatic movements - in combat, for example, where freedom to think is a luxury the battlefield seldom affords you - the M.I. does not want mere blind obedience. A soldier who cannot interpret orders and carry them out creatively is no soldier at all.

"Even the Bugs do not obey orders blindly. Even they know better. If I earn your respect by teaching and training you, then that's good. There must be mutual respect between teacher and student, else nothing can be taught or learned. From this beginning we take untrained civilians and, God willing, turn them into M.I. cap troopers. A certain degree of respect is expected because, to you, I am God. But that is where it stops. You will come to respect me, and I you, by actions taken, not merely our respective positions. Are we clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" was the boots' reply.

"Good. So, Damphousse, given that we've established that we're not just automatons, why didn't you try to attack me?"

She trembled, but bravely answered, "Sir, there are thirty-one ways to crash & burn - wash out, that is - are there not?"

"You've paid attention," Zim noted. "Correct again."

"Sergeant...isn't striking a superior officer one of them? Article 9080?"

For a long moment Zim did not reply.

They all knew the "thirty-one ways", of course. Ignorance of military law was the fastest way to Washout Lane, the condemnation never to be a citizen. There were frequent claims of a boot having found a thirty-second way...always something preposterous and usually obscene. The Articles were read to them every Sunday, and posted, and so there was therefore no way a boot could plead ignorance as a defence.

Any attempt to do so, and...Washout Lane.

Finally Zim nodded. "Article 9080: Striking A Superior Officer, the Federal Services being at war. A serious offence indeed, and it will indeed guarantee you a one-way trip down Washout Lane. Any attempt to pop me one just because you're pissed off - and God knows we give you plenty of reason to feel that way!" The boots chuckled at Zim's rare joke, "- will buy you a 9080. Correct on the face of it.

"But," and his voice turned surprisingly gentle, "there is one exception, one time - and only one - where 9080 can be ignored. That, Damphousse, is during unarmed combat training. You are given official permission - indeed, you are encouraged - to attempt to strike your superior officer. There is, quite simply, no other way to teach unarmed combat effectively.

"It serves as a valuable safety valve, a way to work off your frustrations without risking harm to yourself, your fellow boots or your superior officers. Now if you're trying it just because you're pissed and, if you're going to wash out anyway, taking a pop at your most hated instructor might just be worth it, you will be punished according to the full force of military law. A Bad Conduct Discharge is the least you can expect. Should you actually kill your superior, you will likely be hanged according to the Commandant's discretion.

"But...if it's during training, anything goes as long as you're not gouging eyes out. How are you expected to learn combat strikes unless you practice them? How, therefore, can you practice without striking your superior officer? While I should not need to specifically state this, I will, and," he raised his voice, "this goes for all of you! Official permission is hereby granted to attempt to strike me, and you are not required to adhere to Article 9080 during unarmed combat training!

"So," he grinned savagely, "go for it, Damphousse! That is a direct order!"

Damphousse smiled. "Thank you very much for clarifying the matter, sir." Then, to the boots' surprise (but not Zim's; in fact he had read up on her background and knew full well why she had initially hesitated - this was more for the other boots than for her), she set herself. "I am required to advise you by my sensei and by my own moral code, sir: I have several years' experience with the deadliest of martial arts and therefore I may pose a considerable danger to you."

"Tenspeed And Brown Shoe, huh?" Zim grinned.

The boots looked puzzled; what in the holy hell was Zim talking about? But Damphousse nodded. "Something like that." She bowed respectfully to him.

He returned the bow with equal respect.

Then she attacked.

The boots were shocked. Damphousse had never moved that fast before. A few doubted the evidence of their own eyes, for she was just a blur.

But so was Zim.

In the space of ten seconds she delivered multiple combat strikes, her face set in hard, professional lines. Every single other boot vowed never to piss her off. On the last, Zim struck out with a hard kick; Damphousse rolled with it - in fact she somersaulted, landing smoothly on both feet some distance from him.

He looked merry. "Banzai!" he grinned. He looked happy for the first time since they'd met him, and - was he sweating?! Zim didn't sweat!

"Arigato," she returned. Each bowed to the other once more.

Zim chuckled and threw an arm around her shoulders. "Now that, Damphousse, is exactly what I'm talking about! It feels good to have a real workout with someone other than Captain Frankel! What's your dan, third?"

"I made fourth last year, sir," she answered. Though she too was perspiring, she wasn't even out of breath.

"Your father?"

"I have the honour to have him as my sensei, sir."

"Ah, so! To clarify for you ignorant apes," Zim addressed the boots, "Yoshimoto Murakami is her honoured father, and the current Martial Arts Champion of Earth. What he doesn't know about several martial arts isn't worth knowing. I trained with him some years ago, shortly after he married Juliette Damphousse. For obscure family reasons, she retained her maiden name and passed it on to Caroline here. Thanks to him, I am a Black Belt, Fifth Dan. A dan is a rank in Japanese martial arts. Mine is the fifth, Godan. Hers is Yondan."

"And, uh, Tenspeed And Brown Shoe, sir?" Ace asked tentatively.

Again Zim grinned. "In the 20th Century they used to have an entertainment medium known as 'TV'. It depicted TV shows for a variety of purposes. Some were documentaries. Some historical. Some were 'science fiction'."

Dizzy nodded. "My grandfather taught me about TV, sir. Fell out of favour by 2050 or so." She grinned. "When people figured out that real life was way more entertaining."

"Mine, too," Damphousse agreed. "He's a history buff. He actually has a few restored shows on disc."

"And some shows, like the one mentioned, were primarily for humour," Zim went on. "Tenspeed was a petty criminal, doing detective work as part of his parole. Brown Shoe was also a detective, with a Black Belt. His own code of honour required him to warn an opponent of his prowess. The joke was that most didn't take him seriously - until he kicked their asses." He smiled. "Of course, I already knew what Damphousse was capable of, but she warned me anyway as required by her code of honour.

"I might point out, however," he added, sobering, "that while the niceties of honour are one thing, survival is another. An opponent who intends killing will not necessarily - probably won't - give you any warning. So my advice is: Don't you give any warning, either. To survive in a fight for your life, your best bet is to get in fast, ideally get in first, and do not broadcast your intent. You must kill him before he kills you. During training, yes, a warning is fair, but not in what we laughingly call real life. The Bugs, certainly, will neither hesitate nor give warning."

"But you can't fight a Bug in hand-to-hand, sir," Rico objected.

"True," Zim agreed. "They have manipulative limbs, not arms and legs the way we recognise them - and twice as many of each. This is why they're given the slightly inaccurate name of 'Arachnid'. I won't even speculate as to what they call us. It is impossible to fight an opponent with twice as many limbs in hand-to-hand, and since they are naturally armoured and considerably stronger than we are, you would be certifiable if you even tried. They are, however, not the only combatants you may face. Some are humanoid like us, and similarly sized.

"And," now his grin was evil, "our techniques work just fine on them!" A siren sounded, and Zim announced, "Chow time! And for once, you apes have earned it! Dismissed!"

At the line

After the boots have showered

A couple of boots were giving Damphousse a respectable amount of space. She glanced at them and quipped, "What, did I not shower before chow or something?"

Dizzy grinned. "They're just showing they know better than to mess with you, Caroline." She sobered. "But that was amazing. You damn near got the better of Zim. Way to go, you dark horse, you."

("What the hell is a horse?" Leivy whispered.

"Kitten" Smith chuckled and elbowed him good-naturedly. "Look it up and zip it, boot.")

But Damphousse chuckled and shook her head. "He was letting me get a couple of pops in for practice, Dizzy. If we'd been serious, he would've taken me apart and picked his teeth with the bone splinters." She looked rueful. "Which makes me wonder what Captain Frankel would be like."

"Death on two legs," Ace confirmed. "I looked him up on FedNet. Some of his record is classified, but most of it isn't. He's seventh dan, would you believe. Seventh. There are ten ranks."

"Sir," Rico asked Corporal Bronski, at a neighbouring table, "is there a correlation between rank and ability?"

"What dictionary or math textbook did you swallow, Rico?" Bronski chuckled.

"I'm serious, sir," Rico persisted. "The higher up you go, the more skilled you are?"

Bronski went on chuckling, finishing his cornbread. "If that were true, the Sky Marshal would be able to strike you down just by pissing in your general direction." Ace chuckled at the image. "Besides, where does Damphousse fit into that notion? A boot is the lowest of the low, but would you mess with her in a dark alley at night?"

"Sir," Rico replied, deadpan, "the only way I would be there at all is if I knew she was there to protect me!"

There was laughter.

And off to one side, Charlie Zim gave them a fond smile he would never let them see.

Good kids. I hope they make it.

Unfortunately this would later lead to a boot being given a B.C.D...and a whipping.

THE END