Op File Revenge Page 6

  “Sure, hold on a second,” then Enrica turned and shouted at a table. “Lance Corporal Harleen. Come over here.”

  As a young Marine rose from the table and made her way to them, Warlock asked, “Why can’t the Strikers have her?”

  “She was offered a place on the Corps’ Kite Rider team,” he described. “But she refused. Seems she wants to go fleet and get into the war as soon as possible. I can’t imagine she’ll put that off to train for two years to join the Strike Kill unit.”

  Natalie Harleen approached the table and nodded at the NCOs.

  “You wanted to see me, Staff Sergeant?” inquired Natalie.

  “I’d like you to meet Master Sergeant Diosa Alberich, call sign Warlock,” Enrica said. “You may not be able to tell it but Alberich is a decorated Striker team leader.”

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Natalie responded.

  But Warlock wasn’t listening. Although the Marine smiled, her eyes were calculating and took in everything as if measuring for angles of attack and escape routes. The idea of a kite rider, an exemplary student of infiltration tactics, an expert marksman, using old ammo and looking down to check, one wearing size nine booths, washed over Warlock. Could this young Marine be the killer from the Troop compound? It didn’t seem likely.

  Diosa pulled herself out of the idea and inquired,” Where are you from Private First Class Harleen.

  “Planet Dos, Master Sergeant,” Natalie replied. “A town just on the other side of the great forest from the spaceport.”

  Chapter – 7 Striker Training Command

  “Master Sergeant Alberich,” the officer said without looking at her. “I have a slot available for a senior instructor. It’s yours, if you want it.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Captain,” Warlock replied. “But I’m an operational Striker, sir. I need to get back into the fight.”

  “Have it your way, Warlock,” the Captain responded as he looked from his screen and studied the Striker team leader. “I don’t have to warn you about Striker qualifications. Or that you’ll be in Senor Instructor Ulric’s Phase V class.”

  “I’m familiar with Senior Instructor Ulric’s standards,” admitted Diosa. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

  “It feels odd to be saying this to you of all people,” the officer said slowly. “Striker candidate Diosa Alberich. You are ordered to report to the Strike Kill Training Squad for evaluation and assignment. Good luck to you, Alberich. Dismissed.”

  Warlock left the office and marched by the Striker training staff. Outside, she peered over the concrete buildings at the towering poles, nets and cross beams that made up the Striker confidence course. Beyond the outdoor equipment, the high sloped roof of the training building rose almost to the highest level of the cross beams.

  Ten years ago, she had conquered the course, proved her worth to the instructors, and qualified as a Sky Element. Four years later, she’d become a Team Leader. Now, she had to requalify as a Striker and it put butterflies in her stomach.

  ***

  “Good morning, boys and girls,” a man called out from the dark. It sounded as if the voice rained down from the heavens as the man stood on the roof of a building. “I am Senior Instructor Ulric. Some of you want to join my Strike Kill teams. But to be part of the elite organization, you have to get by me. And people, I don’t impress easily.”

  The twelve candidates of the Phase V class stood at attention. Ulric’s tone grated on their nerves and the gravelly voice carried an ‘I’m better than you’ quality.

  “What are you doing on the ground?” he asked in surprise as if he’d just noticed the formation’s location. “Get on the roof. Go, go.”

  Alberich ran to the one-story concrete building. Positioning herself under the eve, she cupped her hands together. “Lift,” she called out.

  A foot touched her hands and she tossed a candidate up into the air. Three boots later, Alberich raised her arms expecting to be grabbed by people she had helped onto the roof. None reached down for her. Jogging away from the wall, she turned and ran back. One foot came up and she pushed off the wall, soared up and grasped the eave. One leg hooked the roof’s edge and she scrambled to where the formation stood.

  “Ah, the old and infirmed,” accused Ulric. “Alberich. Why don’t you climb back down and go have a nice breakfast?”

  “No thank you, Senior Instructor,” Diosa responded.

  “Just a warning to you, fat bodies,” Ulric stated ignoring Diosa. “We’re going to do the roof circuit. If it gets to be too much, they have donuts in the mess hall this morning. Please accept my invitation to drop out and go feed your faces. Now people, run.”

  Not surprising, the lighter Sky Elements quickly reached and jumped the gap between the first two buildings. Following close behind came Diosa Alberich and candidate Gregor Bhreac. Behind them, the Earth elements lumbered to the gap and as if defying gravity, they leaped between the buildings.

  Two circuits of the eight buildings later, Ulric held up a hand and in the early morning light, the training squad trickled onto the rooftop. They fell into a two-rank formation.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” the instructor explained. “You have one hour. I’ll see you at the confidence course.”

  The twelve candidates walked to the edge of the roof and after placing a hand on the concrete, they vaulted over the side.

  ***

  “Not too bad,” commented a Sky Element candidate as she set a tray on the table. “I expected worst based on the scuttlebutt about Ulric.”

  “Alya, he’s just getting started,” an Earth Element suggested. “Give him time to warm up.”

  “I don’t think Chief Instructor Ulric has a warm bone in his body,” another Earth Element responded.

  Diosa Alberich ate and listened to the conversation. The candidates had no clue about Ulric or his history. Although Diosa knew the Chief Instructor’s story, it wasn’t her place to inform them. Glancing at the eleven candidates, she weighted their strengths. Their weaknesses and call signs would rise up during Phase V training.

  Alya Badr had an olive complexion and taut muscles as did all the Sky candidates. Alya had a nervous energy about her as displayed by her being the first to speak about the Chief Instructor. Beside her, Gurvan Mael was a study in contrasts.

  The Earth Element’s massive physique dwarfed Alya and his skin glowed pale with a splattering of freckles. He shoveled in food proportionate to his size.

  Next to Gurvan, Callum Fearghas consumed eggs and steak forgoing the potatoes and bread. He may have a weight problem and feared adding to his bulk. It was an issue for some Sky Elements.

  Daiki Masaru seems small for an Earth candidate. While his muscularity exceeded the Sky Elements, he was the smallest Earth at the table. But being an Earth Element wasn’t about size, all it took was raw power and explosive speed. And he ate as much as the bigger candidates.

  Almost matching Daiki bite for bite, Dewi Kechik happily forked in mouthfuls of anything within range of his arm. A natural Sky Element, his metabolism burned calories keeping him as lean as a trapeze artist while allowing him to enjoy the food.

  At the end, Braulio Nieve anchored that side of the table. Dark and brooding, Braulio scowled at his plate as if it was offensive to him. He neither looked up or around at his fellow candidates.

  Across from Braulio, Gregor Bhreac also studied the Striker candidates. He ate sparingly and watched. Gregor, as an outstanding trainee, was slated for a Team once he completed Phase V. Without a doubt, he was analyzing and judging with an eye to filling out his team.

  Beside Gregor, Aloisia Kelian laughed openly and accompanied the chuckle with a wide, open faced grin. Aloisia projected the confidence of a big woman who had found her place in life. Many big boned and muscular women found it hard to be accepted. Warlock assumed Aloisia had grown up lonely and isolated by boys who were imitated and frilly girls who ostracized the big girl. Sitting among a group, who
not only valued her but would, in the coming years depend on her to save their lives in combat, she displayed the confidence warranted by a Striker Earth Element.

  Sitting in the shadow of Aloisia, Joris Ivo seemed comfortable with the hearty laughter and even protective as he eyed the other candidates for signs of disapproval. Sky and Earth Elements bonded but usually later, once in the teams. Joris’ watchdog action showed a trust between the two beyond their station. Warlock decided it would be a mistake to break up the pair should she select them.

  On the other side of Joris, Radko Václav forked in food. It wasn’t the fork in his big mitt of a hand that cause Diosa to pause. It was the scars, as if Radko had been a bareknuckle fighter before joining the Marine Corps. Many young toughs answered the call of the Corps but few had the discipline to make it this far in Striker training. Their issue came in the form of extreme self-reliance. Often it excluded them from getting close with squad mates. And trust between a Sky Element and an Earth, like Radko, was a necessity for success on a Strike Kill team.

  Malak Safa occupied the chair between Radko and Diosa. He was quiet and aloof, not joining in the conversation but not shying away from acknowledging remarks made by the others. He seemed as if he was unsure of his role.

  Diosa would keep an eye on Malak because he reminded her of someone. A dead Striker who came up through hard times. She excelled but was shot during the same mission where Diosa was injured. She had missed the engagement as the team medic had her floating on a cloud of joy juice. It wasn’t until later, she learned of Arna Thorsten’s death.

  “Ten minutes,” announced Gregor Bhreac as he pushed back his chair and grabbed his tray. “Ten minutes.”

  Diosa glanced at her PID. They actually had twelve minutes. Apparently, the young team leader candidate wanted to be the first to make the announcement and show himself to be a leader. Not a bad strategy, but small lies in the Strikers often compounded into big confrontations. That happened in all tightknit communities and few were as crowded together as the teams or as interdependent as Sky and Earth Elements.

  ***

  “I trust you had extra pudding with whipped cream and a cherry,” scowled Ulric. “All my little, scrawny people, hit the fourth rope.”

  Alya, Callum, Dewi, Malak, Joris and Diosa ran up a set of ascending posts. The higher they climbed, the smaller the pole tops. Halfway up, as if a wave peeling off a rock wall, each jumped and grabbed the line. Hand over hand they began crossing towards another post.

  Diosa caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Aloisia shifted back in the line so she would be aligned with Joris when the drill progressed.

  “Fat bodies, second rope. Go,” Ulric directed the Earth Elements.

  Gregor, Gurvan, Daiki, Braulio, Aloisia and Radko raced up the posts and leaped to the second rope. Hand over hand they moved quickly along the rope out of fear. Time was measured in seconds and no one wanted to be late.

  Gurvan missed a grip and he hung by one handed for a split second too long. Without slowing, Daiki raised a foot and kicked Gurvan out of his way. The line of Earth Elements continued chasing the Sky Elements as Gurvan Mael tumbled down five meters to the first net.

  “Pair drops, first rope,” screamed Ulric.

  Alya let go and fell. As her feet reached the second rope, Gregor released his rope and grabbed her ankles. As they fell, Alya rolled backwards pulling their combined height over in an arc. As the Sky Element passed the first rope, her Earth Element bent his knees and hooked the rope.

  “Sky to the second rope,” shouted Ulric.

  Gregor flexed his abs, bent and swung Alya back before bringing her flying forward. At the peak of her Earth Element’s crunch, Alya soared up until her fingers gripped the second rope.

  All along the line, Earth Elements caught, hooked their legs and swung their Sky Elements back up to the second line. All except, Callum Fearghas, Mael wasn’t there to catch him. He bounced in the net on the other side of the course from where Gurvan Mael was tangled up.

  Diosa Alberich felt a twinge in her right shoulder as she caught the second rope. Not enough to signal damage, but enough to let her know the workouts on the transport to planet Uno and the Striker training base hadn’t been enough. This evening, she’d need to have medical examine it. Before she could think more about the shoulder, Chief Instructor Ulric shouted down at the training squad.

  “Are you going to hang around all day?” he yelled from the narrow beam at the top of the confidence course. As he talked, he traversed along the beam in short quick steps as if he were strolling along the parade deck. “Get up here. I feel like doing rat races.”

  ***

  While the other candidates scrambled for the center post and the ropes needed to climb to the top, Diosa pulled herself onto the rope and sat with one leg dangling. Ulric looked down at her and a smile creased his face.

  “Well I’m waiting,” he shouted at the candidates grabbing lines and hauling themselves up. “I haven’t got all day, people.”

  Once her line was free of candidates, Diosa bounced on the rope line. It flexed downward and as it came up, she stood and flexed her knees. The rope and her legs boosted her up. Shooting off the rope, she grabbed the next line. As it bent under her weight, she pulled up, placed a foot on the line and vaulted to the next level. As if an arrow shot, again and again, from bow strings, Diosa rose through the course. After the last rope, she grabbed the beam and climbed up next to Ulric.

  “Nice day for a climb, Chief Instructor,” she whispered.

  “Good day to you, Warlock,” he said under his breath before turning to the other candidates. “I’m waiting, people. Faster is better than slow. Slow is death.”

  Once all the candidates were balanced on the beam, Ulric looked over the side and down to the grass.

  “I need a blade of grass,” he announced. “So, go get me a blade of grass. And, it better have roots with an unbroken stem. I’m a horticulturist and I appreciate nature. First pair, go. Next pair go.”

  The candidates grabbed ropes and began climbing down. On the top rope, they worked hand over hand to the other side of the course. There, they dropped to the next rope and crossed back to the center post. Soon all the ropes had candidates hanging and crossing at every level. It resembled a stack of cloth lines, if the clothing were kicking and sweating.

  “Do you think Chief Instructor Ulric knows what horticulture means?” asked Joris.

  “It means he wants a blade of grass, unbroken and with roots,” Aloisia replied. “Now move it.”

  ***

  “What?” yelled Chief Instructor Ulric. “You killed my Striker grass?”

  He held a broken blade of grass in his palm. Everyone on the beam could clearly see the mushed middle of the green stalk.

  “We will go and bury the poor abused grass,” announced Ulric. “Everybody, down and be careful.”

  As Diosa shifted to take her place at a rope, Ulric came up behind her.

  “Come on Warlock. You don’t have to do this,” he said softly with an inflection of caring. “Just call it a day. I hate to see a Marine of your statue going through this nonsense.”

  “I’m good Chief Instructor,” Diosa assured him.

  And that was the evil of Chief Instructor Ulric. There were meaner Phase V instructors and crueler ones, but none whispered fatherly advice in your ear like Ulric. As if a dear old friend, he’d find the exact moment you were vulnerable and suggest you drop out of the training.

  After the funeral, or rather twelve grass funerals, Chief Instructor Ulric ordered more pairs drills on the confidence course.

  Diosa was happy to see Gurvan Mael and Callum Fearghas recover from their earlier falls. Although Ulric did spend time with each of them, pushing the virtues of dropping out for their own good.

  Once the class was dismissed for the day, Diosa limped her exhausted body to medical.

  ***

  Iñaki Uxue was bored. After a day of teaching Phase III and IV clas
ses, he’d drawn the evening medical shift. Rub a little lineament on it or wrap it in a bandage and send the candidates back to their rooms with a couple of aspirins. For a trained combat medic, accustomed to digging out hot metal and doing field emergency repairs, the medicine he was allowed to practice equated to opening a first aid kit.

  When the door opened, he said over his shoulder, “Sign in and I’ll be with you in a second. And try not to bleed on my deck.”

  “If I were bleeding Fire Dove, I’d just buy some epoxy and seal the wound,” Diosa advised. “Rather than let a quack field medic practice his stitch work on me.”

  “Warlock. What are you doing in my clinic?” Uxue asked as he turned. “We don’t use call signs here except to impress the candidates.”

  “Between you and me, Fire Dove, I’m not sure why I’m here,” confessed Diosa as she rotated her arm while attempting to loosen up her shoulder.

  “You must be in Chief Instructor Ulric’s class,” Uxue guessed.

  “How can you tell?” inquired Diosa.

  “From the upbeat, can do attitude the Chief Instructor forges into all his students,” Uxue replied. “Now, why are you in medical.”

  “They rebuilt my shoulder with cell therapy,” Diosa explained. “I just want to be sure I’m not undoing the work.”

  “Rat Races will do that,” Fire Dove agreed. “We’ll run a scan and I’ll send it to the on-call orthopedic doctor. It’ll only take a minute.”

  Fire Dove wheeled in a portable scanner and clamped her shoulder into the machine. Seconds later, he typed a note and hit send.

  “Where is the doctor?” inquired Diosa.

  “Up on Command Station,” remarked Fire Dove. “They have a lot of the doctors stationed there in Remote Surgery to help the fleet. Especially as they’re planning to take back Construction Station.”

  “It’s going to be a messy operation,” Diosa commented. “I’m hoping to graduate and get in on it.”

  “Most of Striker command is out there. But from what I hear, the Navy is dragging their heels on committing,” Fire Dove stated. “You may get the chance. Unless, they begin spreading out the new teams to different sectors. We have a lot of capital ships without Strikers.”