Chapter 18
The phone jolted him out of a dream of beach sand and people playing in the waves. Jhon rolled over and picked up the phone--it was strange having one next to bed.
“Hello.”
“Director? This is Chun.”
Jhon sat up. “What’s the matter?”
“How long must I stay here?”
Jhon sighed. “Basic is sixteen weeks, didn’t they tell you that?”
“Yes, but I am to attend something called Advanced Individual Training after that, and apparently the army expects my service to be eight years.”
Jhon closed his eyes for a moment and imagined he was still sleeping. “Well, I’m doing everything I can to get you transferred to the bureau, but even if I can do it, it’s going to take time.”
“How long was your slavery?”
Jhon held the receiver away from his face and looked at it. “What? What the hell kind of question is that?”
“Were you not a slave at first?”
“No, I was not. Solomon has never practiced slavery. It’s a core reason there are two nations on Solomon and Corina, instead of one big one.”
The line was silent for a long time.
“Chun?”
“Why is it different for me?”
“I don’t understand the question, Chun. You’re not a slave.”
“I have been taken from place to place. First Archibald had me, now Park does. I gather there is a General Farland who backs Park. I am told where to go, how long to stay there, and what to do in excruciating detail. I am punished for made-up infractions. My platoon was given their first pay and allowed a day of liberty. I was punished, and not paid.”
Jhon frowned. “On what grounds did they withhold your pay?”
“I do not know. The paymaster said that I was not on the list. It seemed clear to me that he had no intention of putting me on the list.”
“Why was your liberty denied?”
“Drill Sergeant Sand said I had a scuff on my boots.”
“Did you?”
“Of course. A truck fell off of a jack onto someone’s legs. I lifted it and pulled him out.”
“You scuffed your boots lifting a truck off of another soldier, and he punished you for the scuffs?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Here’s what I want you to do. As soon as you can, go see the chaplain. Talk to him about how things are going, and how you’re feeling. If he’s any good, he’ll at least have a kind word for you, and he may be able to offer material aid as well.
“Talk to Sergeant Aindry about your pay. If you don’t think he is willing or able to help you, go see General Park. I will call the General this morning and explain this conversation to him.”
“I am thinking about killing Sergeant Sand.”
“Please don’t do that. Give me a chance to help you. Be patient, it’s going to take a few days.”
“I will try, but I am through being quiet and cooperative. Thank you for taking my call, Director.”
“Anytime,” Jhon said. The line went dead, and he hung up the receiver.
He lay back down. Chun didn’t strike him as the type to whine and given the time Chun had spent at Fort Battering, they must owe him at least four months of back pay by now. He looked at his clock.
“Three in the fucking morning.” He sighed and got up. “I guess this will give me a chance to catch up on my paperwork.”
* * *
“Private, step in here for a moment,” said Haggle.
Chun walked into the small office the drill sergeants used for doing paperwork and having confidential conversations. Haggle shut the door and got to the point.
“Talent would be the best soldier in any other platoon. He hates losing, and it’s killing him that you’re better at everything. He’s a good kid, and he’ll be a great soldier in two or three years, but we have to hang on to him while he grows into it.”
Chun nodded. “I let him win at all kinds of things, just not fighting.”
“The problem is, he knows that,” Haggle said. “So now he knows he didn’t really win, and he doesn’t want to owe you for throwing competitions.”
Chun cocked his head. “I never intended to create a debt, Drill Sergeant.”
“I know you didn’t, Kang, but I think you should stop babying him.”
“I will outshoot him next time we are on the range, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
“Good. And you’ll outrun him this afternoon. We’re climbing the bluff after lunch. Don’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Lunch was franks and beans. Chun wasn’t sure why they ground the meat so finely, it ruined the texture, but otherwise it was acceptable. For once the army cooks had managed to get everything right. Or at least not wrong.
Chun put the word around that he was climbing the bluff after lunch, then sat across from Talent and proceeded to eat. Talent matched him bean for bean and frank for frank until they had eaten four servings of beans and eight franks each. Chun proceeded to eat three more servings of beans and a total of forty-one franks.
Haggle intercepted him as he left the mess hall. “Private Kang.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“I hear you destroyed Talent in an eating competition.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“How did you convince the rest of your unit to give up half of their rations, Private Kang?” Haggle leaned in until they were nose to nose.
“I told them I was running the bluff after lunch, Drill Sergeant.”
“I ordered you to keep that a secret, Kang.”
“You ordered me not to tell them that they had to run the bluff, Drill Sergeant. I followed your orders.” Chun kept a straight face, but barely.
“Walk with me, Private.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Haggle did not say a word on the way back, but once they were all formed up in front of their barracks, he announced the afternoon’s activity.
“Raise a hand if Private Kang warned you about running the bluff this afternoon.” No one moved.
“Drill--” Chun started to say.
Haggle was on him in an instant. “You will shut your hole this instant, Private Kang. By God as my witness, I will cancel liberty for every single man here if one more sound comes out of you.”
Chun shut his mouth.
“When you receive an order from a Drill Sergeant, you signal that you heard that order by saying Yes, Drill Sergeant. Now push until you can remember your courtesies.”
Chun dropped and started pushing. His wound felt stretched and torn.
“Now,” Haggle roared, “which of you sorry sons of bitches had a warning about this afternoon’s run?”
Hands went up across the unit.
“Fantastic,” Haggle yelled. “Anyone who raised their hand, get into your PT gear. Anyone who did not raise their hand, get into your field kit. Now.”
Chun pushed himself up, careful not to wince when his bullet wound twinged, and trotted inside to pack his rucksack. Everyone else put on trainers, running shorts, and t-shirts.
Outside Haggle ordered them into two columns, and they started toward the bluff with Haggle setting the pace.
Chun cinched his pack straps a bit tighter, and fidgeted a bit, but once he had his gear in the right place it rode along just fine. He tried to sing the cadence along with the others, but this one was new.
Bippity bop and bippity boo
Drill Sergeants got some ass to chew
It went round and round, citing the various ways Drill Sergeants dealt with trainees who couldn’t follow orders. Chun knew what bop and boo meant but had never heard bippity. He made a mental note to ask Haggle. Something about spinning Haggle up made him smile inside. It would be worth some extra pushups.
When they started the climb Haggle dropped back to run next to Chun. “How are you doing, Private Kang?”
“Excellent, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said. The pack strap was irritating his wound, but he didn’t think Haggle wanted to know that.
“How are all those beans and franks sitting?”
“I should have eaten more, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
Haggle increased the pace, earning Chun moans and growls from his platoon mates.
“On your center,” a familiar voice bellowed from the back of the column. Their columns spaced out, and Sergeant Major Calibre chugged up the middle of the formation. When he reached Chun, he matched pace.
“Good lad, nice to know at least one of you is training properly.” Then he chugged ahead, gradually leaving the platoon behind, pack board squeaking and combat boots slapping gravel.
“Holy shit,” Wrongway said from behind Chun, “he’s in full kit too, and he’s passing us all. And he’s about a hundred years old.”
“Sergeant Major Ethan Calibre is one-of-a-kind, Private Wrongway,” Haggle said, then started another cadence.
Chun found an immediate advantage to running in full kit. He had two canteens, and proceeded to drink one on the way up, which earned him envious glares from his neighbors.
Everyone made it to the top, but Talent threw up about one step after crossing the line. Chun walked over, patted him on the back and said, “If you didn’t want those, I would have eaten them.” Haggle laughed until his eyes ran, then confronted Chun.
“How are you feeling, Private?”
“Superb, Drill Sergeant.”
Haggle sniffed, frowned, then held out his hand. “Give me your empty canteen, Private Kang.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Chun handed the canteen over and Haggle unscrewed the cap, sniffed the contents, then poured the remaining drops into his palm.
“This is stout, Private Kang.”
Every eye focused on Chun. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Where did you get stout, Private Kang?” Haggle sniffed the canteen again, shook his head, and handed it back to Chun.
“Thatcher’s Brew Pub, Drill Sergeant.” Muttering went around the platoon.
“That’s, what, ten, maybe twelve miles from base?” Haggle asked.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Sergeant Calibre walked over to them. “What’s in the other canteen, Private Kang?”
“More stout, Range Master.”
“Well, Private, that’s a second. I don’t think anyone’s run the bluff while drinking stout since I was in basic.” He clapped Chun on the shoulder, then turned to Haggle. “Are you going to make him pour that out, Sergeant Haggle?”
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“Unless you have a better idea,” Haggle said.
“Give it here,” Calibre said, and Chun handed the full canteen over. Calibre proceeded to chug the quart, belched a mighty belch, thanked Chun, then turned and trotted down the hill to the cadence of his squeaking pack frame.
Haggle looked Chun up and down, then pulled the pack strap aside. Chun looked down and realized that the wound had bled a bit. He pulled his breath together, binding the wound again.
“You look like you're barely sweating, but you just climbed the bluff in full kit, after out-eating Talent, and proceeded to drink a quart of stout on the way up.” He shook his head. “How is your shoulder?”
Chun shrugged. “I am looking forward to it healing, Drill Sergeant.”
A scar rumbled up the hill, carrying Sergeants Aindry and Turley. They ordered the trainees to set up a watering station. That turned out to be four canteen cups that everyone, but Chun had to share.
“Who is thirsty?” Aindry glared at each recruit in turn.
“I am, Drill Sergeant.” said Wrongway.
“Really, boys?” Aindry raised his voice. “You’re going to let Wrongway be the only one to give me a proper answer?”
A chorus of “Yes, Drill Sergeant,” came back.
“Who asked if they could bring a canteen along?” Aindry waited for a few seconds, but no one answered. “In the future, if you think there is any chance that you will get thirsty during an activity, ask one of your Drill Sergeants if you should bring a canteen.”
This time he got a chorus of “Yes, Drill Sergeant,” on the first try.
Haggle pulled Aindry and Turley aside and talked for a minute. All of them eyed Chun, then they exchanged a few more sentences and Aindry walked over to Chun and pulled the pack strap aside.
“Private Kang, put your pack in the scar,” Aindry said.
“I am fit for duty, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
“Nevertheless, put the pack in the scar.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun unbuckled the waist strap and slipped out of the shoulder straps, then set the pack in the scar.
“I am considering sending you to medical, Private Kang.”
Chun straightened to full attention. “Please do not do that, Drill Sergeant.”
“You are bleeding from a gunshot wound, Private. Medical care seems appropriate,” Aindry said.
“They are butchers in the medical center, Drill Sergeant. I will heal faster without their help.”
Haggle snickered.
“Fuck me,” Turley said.
I’m glad I know what that phrase means now.
“Let me see it,” Aindry said. Chun removed his blouse and t-shirt. The wound looked irritated, but otherwise it seemed to be healing.
“You had a pack strap over that all the way up?” Aindry cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant, I did not have time to modify my pack,” Chun said.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Haggle’s expression softened.
Chun frowned. “I was being punished, Drill Sergeant.”
“You can still tell us if we’re injuring you, Private,” Turley said. “We may hate you, but we don’t want you to die on our watch. That’s just a lot of paperwork to fill out.”
Chun smiled. “Don’t worry, Sergeant Turley, I will not do that to you.”
“Are you fit to return with your unit, Private?” Aindry rubbed his forehead and sighed.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant. May I keep one of my canteens?”
“Does it have water in it, Private?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
“Then you can keep the canteen,” Aindry said. “About the stout, Private. How did you get to Thatcher’s Pub?”
“I ran, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
“You didn’t steal a vehicle?” Aindry’s voice was incredulous.
“No, Drill Sergeant, I do not know how to drive,” Chun said.
“But if you did know how to drive, then you would steal a vehicle?” Turley scowled.
Chun pursed his lips and considered. “Perhaps, Drill Sergeant. How difficult is that to do without getting caught?”
“Holy hell,” said Turley.
A look of realization flashed across Haggle’s face. “How did you pay for stout, Private? You haven’t been paid yet.”
“I robbed a pimp in town, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said.
“You what?” Aindry’s eyes saucered.
“He is a criminal, little more than a slaver,” Chun shrugged. “There is no sin in robbing him.”
Three Drill Sergeants swapped glances. “So, you snuck out of the barracks, ran to town, found a criminal, robbed him, then ran to Thatcher’s, where you bought beer, then ran back to the barracks, without getting caught, and without anyone finding your stash?”
“Not exactly, Drill Sergeant, I robbed the pimp one night, then went to Thatcher’s the next night.”
“Well, when you put it like that it seems so much easier,” Turley said.
“How badly did you hurt the pimp, Private?” Aindry gave Chun a concerned look.
“Not too badly, Drill Sergeant. I want to be able to rob him again,” Chun said.
“Smart,” said Turley.
“Did you do all this after you got shot?” Haggle chuckled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant. I wanted some alcohol for pain management,” Chun said.
“Of course you did,” said Turley. “We should have thought of that.”
Aindry rubbed his face with both hands. “I had another job, but I went back to training for the glamor and the fame.”
Haggle laughed this time.
“Private,” Aindry said, “how would you feel about making an agreement?”
Chun frowned. “How can I know before I hear what it is, Drill Sergeant?”
“Okay, here’s the deal. You show all four of us how you keep doing this shit. You don’t leave anything out. You don’t sneak out of the barracks anymore. I will buy you stout from Thatcher’s out of my own pocket,” Aindry said.
Chun pursed his lips and considered. “Will you rob the pimp for me?”
“Fuck no,” Aindry said.
“What if I show you my tricks, and you let me keep the stout, but I still get to sneak out?” Chun asked. “You can punish me if you catch me.”
Aindry closed his eyes and took two long, slow breaths. “That’s really my point, Private. I want you in your rack, where you belong, not out stealing food or robbing pimps. You’re a fantastic soldier, and believe it or not, I don’t want to catch you or punish you.”
“You can do that simply by continuing as you have been,” Chun said.
Aindry ground his teeth, then unclenched his fists, took a deep breath, and said, “You’re too old and too smart for this. It’s like you’re trying to get canned part of the time, and the rest of the time you’re the best soldier any of us have ever seen. How can we get you to only focus on being a good soldier, and stop with the stuff that’ll get you dishonorably discharged?”
Chun looked at his feet. “I was supposed to wake up among my own people, but none of them exist anymore. I was a member of the emperor’s family, with wealth and power, and now I have nothing--I did not ask to join the army, Drill Sergeant. I was simply shipped here and told where to stand and what to do. I have been a general, and now I am a private. I have no home, no possessions. I cannot even visit the graves of my wives and children. Before, I was influential, but here I am a yellow slant.” He straightened and looked Aindry in the eyes. “I am Chun, but I did not expect it to be so difficult.”
“God’s blood,” said Turley. “I’d be pretty pissed too. Exactly how old are you, Private?”
“I am not sure how to map my calendar to yours, but I was four hundred and twelve when I went into my cradle, and I must be nearing my birthday now.”
“Four hundred?” Haggle whistled. “That’s impossible.”
Chun kindled a fire in his hand and let it spread up his arm, across his torso, and down to the other hand. The Drill Sergeants all took several steps back, and the men across the way all stared. Chun snapped his fingers and extinguished the fire.
“Power makes the years hurt less,” he said. “If nothing kills me, I expect to see another five hundred years.”
“How the hell did you wind up in basic training?” Aindry asked. “Shouldn’t you be in special operations or something?”
Chun nodded. “I believe that is what General Farland wants from me.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” Haggle said.
“I believe I am caught in a power struggle between General Archibald and General Farland.”
“Where does that put us?” Turley narrowed his eyes and looked at the other Drill Sergeants.
Aindry lifted his hat and ran a hand over his head. “What am I supposed to do with you, Kang? I can’t give one soldier permission to break the rules left and right. I get why you want to have more control over your life, but that doesn’t leave your drill sergeants with very many good options.”
Chun looked at each of them in turn. “You are excellent drill sergeants. I propose we continue as we have been. I can tolerate the games you play to make me do extra pushups. If you catch me breaking the rules, punish me like any other soldier.”
Aindry shook his head. “How much beer do you have hidden in the barracks, Private?”
“Ten more half-gallon jugs, Drill Sergeant.”
“Where the fuck are they?” Haggle looked gob smacked. “We’ve searched the whole place at least three times since you got shot.”
“Under the washing machines,” Chun said.
“What do you mean, under the washing machines, Private?” Aindry asked. “Those machines weigh over six hundred pounds.”
Chun smiled. “That keeps the toddlers from stealing my beer.”
“Those machines are bolted together so that two or three privates can’t lift them,” Turley said. “Are you telling us you can lift a pair of six-hundred-pound machines quietly enough for no one to notice?” Turley asked.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“In that case, I want to extend my personal thanks to you for not killing anyone during close combat training,” Turley said.
“You are welcome, Drill Sergeant.”
“General Park asked me to tell you that he received a call from Jhon Bonga,” Aindry said. “They’ll have your pay sorted out within the week.”
“Thank you, Drill Sergeant.”