Chapter 21: I Hearby Dub Thee
A pair in white medical uniforms lowered a stretcher to the ground. They didn’t look like recruits. The guy in front looked emaciated like he had some eating disorder, and the other had a paunch on his otherwise fit frame. John had seen no one on Paradise Island except for his fellow recruits and the Sowriver clones—or whatever they were. The average normalcy of the two threw John for a loop.
A crowd already gathered around the stretcher. Kunhausen caught sight of Sylvester and his boot suspended over the ground. He lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-smile, half wince. “Holy shit, Haake. How did you manage that?”
The rest gawked and laughed. Sylvester’s cheeks flushed through his pallor and added some color below the purple under his eyes. The two in white slipped their arms under Sylvester’s armpits and took over from Elroy and Justice. They lowered him to the stretcher.
“You chimps shut the fuck up.” The DI stepped out from the group and stood beside Sylvester. “Well, congrats, recruit. You passed your first combat exercise.”
“Sir, thank you, sir.” The energy in Sylvester’s voice drained away. He let his head rest on the board underneath.
“Don’t thank me just yet. Most of the time, we wait until the debriefing to assign your nickname. It’s plenty fun,” the DI put his hands on his hips, “for me, but it seems you already got one.”
Kunhausen closed his eyes and checked out Sylvester in the WarFace. His grin grew. Others did the same. The exclamation mark of a notification greeted John. He dismissed it with a long press and a look to the side. An info-bubble extended off of Sylvester’s form: Pvt. Sylvester ‘Errorist’ Haake (COR) - 1.
I gave him that nickname. Now I suppose he’s saddled with it.
“I’m afraid your time in Bravo Company is over. When the hospital has healed you up, you’ll finish training with Charlie.” The DI saluted. “Farewell, Private Errorist. It’s been a slice.”
The medical guys lifted Sylvester. If he cared about the name, the salute, or being expelled from Bravo, he didn’t have the will to show it. The pain must have drowned everything else out. Sylvester took one last look at his teammates and lifted a hand. John shifted Sylvester’s pack to the other hand and waved with the rest of the fireteam.
The DI pointed out two guys at random. “Accompany Private Errorist to the hospital and report to the briefing room as soon as you’re done.”
The crowd parted for the five-man procession.
The DI took John’s head in his hand. John flinched. The pain from the punch on the first day erupted from his memory.
“Stay still, you idgit.” He turned John’s head to the right and examined the bruise underneath the eye. “I understand you had an altercation with your Pithite.”
“Sir, it tried to put me in the ground, sir.”
“It’s weird.” The DI let go. “Those marks look like human knuckles got you in the face.”
“Sir,” Justice leaned in, “that was me, sir.”
“You?”
“Sir, he asked to be punched, and this recruit obliged, sir.”
“Well,” the DI raised cocked his head, “thanks for the honesty.”
***
The notification revealed John’s class: bowman. John would take on the fireteam’s sniper role. Better that than fisticuffs with one of those things again. Elroy became their corpsman. Seems he predicted right. Justice would be their invader. The guy seemed surprised by the result, but when John asked, he refused to explain.
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John opened the next notification.
What Happens When You Die?
◆ Experience death (in-game) and see what happens.
◆ Type: optional
◆ Privacy: public
◆ 2000 XP
John gripped the fabric of Elroy’s arm. “Did you see this death mission?”
“Huh?” Elroy closed his eyes. “I see it. Two thou XP. Sweet.”
Justice checked out the WarFace, too. “That’s both levels 2 and 3.”
Other recruits overheard and shut their eyes. They spoke among their fireteams, hooting and hollering. No one saw it before John opened the notification. His run-in with the killer bot must have revealed the hidden mission for everyone.
“We only get a thou for graduating boot.” John bit his lower lip. “This is twice that.”
Elroy tapped the side of John’s forehead. “Think. There’s something up with this.”
***
Maynard stood while the rest of the recruits sat on the benches along the walls. John and the fireteam sat to Maynard’s side.
The DI stood by the powered-down holotable in the center. He made his way around the room in order. “You will forever be known as Brigham. Look it up in a history book.”
The other DIs by the door hid their smirks behind curled fingers. They used the same hands at the same time, all in on the joke.
Maynard shrugged and sat back down. “Who’s Brigham?”
He asked Daelman, his teammate on the other side, now known as Dragstrip. “I guess you are.” The guy took pride in shaving his pubic hair stubble into a stripe. Old habits die hard.
“Next up, Private Rowntree.”
Elroy stood.
“Since you suggested leaving your wounded teammate, you will forever be known as Coldcase.”
John straightened his spine.
He must have been listening in on the WarFace.
Elroy—or Coldcase—sat back down as if nothing had happened. The DI had just call him cold, and Elroy had let it wash over him, a hundred percent chill.
“Private Campbell.”
Justice stood in response.
“You will forever be known as Model since you’re so damn pretty.”
A few of the other recruits chuckled. Justice sat back down. The muscles in his jaw tensed. His hands balled into fists.
“You okay, man?” John whispered.
The muscles around Justice’s eyes twitched. He stared at the floor.
“Private Easterbrook.”
John stood to receive his bestowment.
“There’s a reason I saved you for last. A few of your fellow recruits got three kills, but no one else downed two enemies with one shot. Since you clear the way, you will forever be known as Dozer.”
John sat again. “What’s a dozer?”
Justice still hadn’t said a word. His arms trembled, and upper lip threatened to curl into a snarl.
“It was a machine that cleared away debris on Old Earth,” the DI stroked the length of his beard, “but I’m showing my age. Look it up in a history book.”
Old Earth? Is he supposed to be hundreds of years old?
***
As soon as John had time to think, Frantzisca’s and Oly’s cries came back. His hamster-wheel brain kept wondering how they did without him. He hadn’t thought about them when training, when shooting at bots. When the realization occurred, heat had flushed his cheeks. He didn’t sleep much after that.
The level zeros, about a third of the recruits, stumbled out of the barracks for their forced march up Hollow Mountain. The DI gave the rest the day off. A handful of recruits went to the place of worship, the only area in the central building open to them.
“I can’t believe we can’t even visit him.” Justice lay on the floor. He tossed a pair of his socks, bundled into a ball, and caught them on the way down, over and over.
“It’s like we lost one of our own.” John sat on Sylvester’s empty bunk beside Elroy and rubbed his eyes.
Elroy shrugged. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
“For the best?” John asked.
“The fireteam doesn’t need two corpsmen. One with two kills under his belt is better than a virgin.”
“Yeah, if you only take stats into consideration.” John watched the socks.
Truth be told, despite Sylvester’s flair for large-scale screw-ups, he was John’s link to Hadfield. If John had to choose, it would be Sylvester. Not that it mattered anymore.
John leaned back on his arms. “You all right with ‘Model?’”
The socks stopped in Justice’s fist. He paused and tossed them back up. “Whatever.”
“It didn’t seem like you were cool with it yesterday.”
“I guess it was like,” he missed the socks and rolled away to pick them up, “losing my family name or something.”
No way. Justice knew he would get his nickname during the debriefing. Something else sideswiped him.
John raised his eyebrows at Elroy.
Elroy did the same in return. “Okay, but he’s not an Easterbrook, I’m not a Rowntree, and you’re not a Campbell. Not really. Not anymore.”
Oly’s scream pierced his consciousness.
Another voice broke through, a man’s voice. “Gotta go.” John found something familiar about the voice like he had heard it before. He had heard it before filtered through the bone density of his own skull, his voice.
John had shot upright. He didn’t remember standing.
Justice raised himself on his elbows. “Go where?”
“I’ll train with the zeros.” John slipped on his boots.
Elroy patted the bed. “Sit. Chill.”
John didn’t even lace up before he took off out the door.