"Michael Z. Williamson - Freehold 02 - The Weapon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Williamson Michael Z)

proceeded to quote from memory about "spaced equidistantly or 10 cm apart, as is feasible, shirts buttoned and
facing the right, pants hung folded at the halfway point lengthwise and seam-to-seam along the legs . . ."
She claimed I'd simply dumped my extra uniforms into the laundry bag to avoid having them inspected. She was
right. There was nothing prohibiting that, however, and I wasn't about to accept a gigging over it. She swore and
threatened, I replied that she was violating regs. Another instructor came over, and it got louder. Then I was
written up.
I refused to sign it. They could impose any punishment they wished, but I wasn't going to acknowledge it as
legal. Shortly thereafter, I was standing shaking and terrified in front of the battalion first sergeant. I'd look like
an idiot if I backed out now, so I made it clear I'd take it through the chain of command to the Marshal if I had to.
He hemmed and hawed, but agreed I'd committed no violation, merely been a smartass. He agreed the instructors
had no authority to act as they had. I was dismissed back to my section. I won the battle.
And that lost me the war. They knew who I was. They knew I was a smartass. I spent the next six weeks (we
have ten day weeks, twenty-eight plus hours to our day) regretting it, being nailed for every tiny infraction (it's
impossible not to make them) and cheerfully accepting the punishment. Wasn't I the recruit who liked to go by
the book? What did the book say about dust? Wasn't that a dust mote on my locker?
It was a valuable lesson. A little extra work would have saved me a lot of grief. I never saw an off-base liberty,
and damned few on-base libs, either. I spent my time polishing furniture and shoes, scrubbing latrines and floors,
and hating the instructors. The only time they left me alone was survival training, and that was brutal enough on
its own.
I made it to the "Wreck" (RecreationCenter) for one evening, for a whole half div, about 1.5 hours. I knew I
couldn't get anyone to dance with me, we weren't allowed to touch if we did, and I didn't like pop music. All I
wanted was to get away from everything for a few segs.
While standing there, getting a sugar high off a single mug of chocolate, I was confused by a face almost nose to
nose with me. The eyes twinkled and looked happy to see me. I stared at them and tried to place the rest of the
face.
Deni. Hard to recognize in shapeless camouflage and with a shaved head, but it was Denise, the redhead from the
hotel. "Hi!" we both said together, and laughed.
We sat and talked, ran late, hurriedly swapped unit and contact info on paper, being forbidden to use our comms
for personal matters ("All soldiers must carry a manual writing implement and notepaper at all times, in case of
comm failure." Thank you, Freehold Military Forces!) and parted ways. I cheerfully took the bitching I got and
the extra half div of guard detail.
Deni was in the barracks next to us, which might as well be light-years away rather than a mere 200 meters.
There were sixteen platoons in each blocky barracks building, and we were on adjoining sides. Occasionally, I'd
see her across the drill field during PT, or while doing details. It was frustrating.
I had a normal sex drive. I still do. After thirty days, I needed an orgasm or I was going to die. There were plenty
of naked women running around my platoon for me to think about, and some were quite hot, but it was Deni in
her shapeless goof suit that I thought about while carefully jerking off under the covers at 0200. I really hoped to
meet up with her later, although I knew it was highly unlikely.
***
We covered much more than the silly minutiae I mentioned above, and those aren't really part of the training.
Those are designed to get the mindthinking about the petty details that must be dealt with to keep one alive. The
real training was what you would expect, and then some. We shot, practiced first aid, field sanitation, perimeter
security, orienteering, concealment, support weapons, recognition of air and space craft of our own forces and
others, communication methods, order and discipline, the laws of war, and unarmed combat. I excelled at
swimming. I'd competed in several events at school, and was totally comfortable in water.


file:///K|/eMule/Incoming/Michael%20Z.%20Williamson%20-%20Freehold%2002%20-%20The%20Weapon.htm (7 of 238)9-12-2006 0:14:01
 Back|Next