Battlespace Nomad, page 10
One by one, he found pieces that matched up. Progress was slow at first, but things picked up the moment Jimmy's mind had a moment of clarity. The relief and satisfaction he felt at that moment were palpable.
"This is a damned giant smiley face," Jimmy said under his breath, cracking a broad smile. It was a small victory, but in this high-stakes environment, every win counted.
Now that he'd figured out the design, he was quick to piece together the image. After putting that last section together, he returned to look at his handiwork.
It was a smiley face painted on the stack of ammo cans and fully assembled. Fear replaced excitement as Jimmy waved to get the cadre NCO's attention. After a few seconds of frantic waving, the cadre NCO got out of the vehicle with a disinterested expression before jogging up to the top of the hill.
"Congratulations, you've assembled the image. When will you complete the task to standard?" the cadre NCO asked knowingly. Jimmy blinked in confusion. That's when he realized he'd forgotten the last key detail.
The image had to face east.
"How much time do I have left?" Jimmy asked urgently, his heart pounding in his chest. The NCO's emotionless response sent a chill down his spine. It was clear that the NCO was not going to make this easy for him.
Any elation he'd previously enjoyed disappeared as Jimmy's blood went cold. Knowing it was late afternoon, finding east was the easiest part, as the sun's position in the sky was dipping down toward the west. The problem was that he had to disassemble and rebuild his artwork in short order.
His arms, fatigued and weak, sprang into action. But instead of ripping his project apart, he realized it would be simpler if he pushed it over. At least, that's what his embattled mind told him to do. He did so, and the stack fell over, but to his glee, Jimmy noticed the boxes fell in generally the same configuration, and now he could piece together the new stack with a visual reference.
Imbued with renewed vigor, Jimmy slung his arms and elbows until he finally recreated his masterpiece. He rushed down the hill toward the vehicle, frantically waving his arms to get the NCO's attention.
The NCO got out, spat in the grass, and casually approached the hilltop. He glanced at the tower and then turned around toward the vehicle without saying a word.
"Did I do it correctly?" Jimmy called out to the NCO.
The NCO shouted over his shoulder. "Are you getting in, or am I leaving you here?"
Jimmy had no idea if he'd accomplished his task to standard and time. The NCO didn't offer feedback or seem to be in the mood to chat. The lack of confirmation weighed heavily on Jimmy's mind as he followed the cadre NCO back to the M-37.
The ride back was pleasant, but Jimmy's anxiety soiled the experience. He'd either barely scraped by or epically failed. Neither prospect lent to his confidence of getting selected with a favorable rating.
When Jimmy walked into the barracks, it was early evening, and his remaining teammates were snacking on field rations while cutting jokes. He slowly approached as if they hadn't noticed him enter.
Etta was saying common phrases with a purposefully exaggerated Nigerian accent, and the others laughed heartily. Jimmy found it hilarious and joined in with the chuckles. That's when Ramirez looked over, noticing Jimmy; her eyes widened.
"Stiegel! How did it go?" Ramirez called out.
Jimmy shrugged. "I either knocked it out of the park or epically failed. I have no idea which one."
Jacobs huffed. "You passed, man."
Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows. "How do you figure?"
"Because, genius... look around. The ones who didn't pass are already gone." Jacobs smirked.
14
Land navigation, the final event of the course, was a unique challenge for Jimmy. As a forward observer, he excelled at map reading, and land navigation was a testament to his individual strengths as a soldier.
He was given grid coordinates and a military map with a grid reference system to reference. With a protractor and compass, he would forgo all the modern technology the military enjoyed and do this task with a humble pencil and a paper map.
His first point was not what he expected. Instead of a typical marker, a small tent stood in its place, a surprising deviation from the usual land navigation course.
When he approached the tent, he saw a hand emerge with a small sheet of paper. He blinked in confusion but then approached the tent and secured the paper. The coordinates for the next point were written on it.
He then dropped to one knee, plotted the coordinates on his map, and used the protractor to discern the exact azimuth he needed to follow. The point was several klicks away, and he knew he had to get moving. Using his compass, he found his intended direction of travel and lined up the reticle on a fallen tree in the distance as a reference point.
Using his pace count, he estimated his distance traveled. By reaching the fallen tree, he'd traveled roughly three hundred meters. He then lined up his compass again, found another geographical reference point, and repeated the process until he found the next point. There was another tent in the middle of the woods, and had he been off his direction by a single degree, he reckoned, he would have missed it.
Eventually, he found all his points with confidence and was the first candidate to make it back to the ending point with all his points found. A few candidates from the remaining teams came in next. Jimmy waited anxiously to see if his teammates would make it, a sense of relief washing over him as they all arrived safely.
He was sitting in the shade of a tree, his boots and socks removed, when Jacobs finally emerged from the woods with a smile. Ramirez emerged minutes later, her face smeared with mud and her trousers wet. Their shared experiences had forged a strong bond among them.
"What the hell happened to you?" Jacobs asked incredulously.
"I took a shortcut through the creek and happened to stumble across my last point by sheer coincidence," Ramirez said, as she dropped her laden rucksack on the ground next to Jimmy.
"Where's Etta?" Ramirez asked.
Jimmy and Jacobs shared a nervous glance before turning back to Ramirez.
"I don't know," Jimmy said with his lips forming a straight line.
Then, as if on cue, the lanky form of Etta limping out of the woods came into view. His breathing was ragged, and his face formed a pained scowl.
After turning in his stack of papers from the points he found, he stumbled over to the rest of the team with tears in his eyes.
"Are you okay, man?" Jacobs asked emphatically.
"I only got the minimum number of points," Etta growled, unceremoniously dumping his pack on the ground. "And I pulled my hamstring in the process."
It was dire news, as the final event was the dreaded death march, and his minimal performance was sure to haunt Etta's mind.
"You've got a decision to make, buddy," Jacobs said. His face frowning. "So far, the medics have only offered bandages and fluids. I'm wondering if they'd use some medical nanotechnology and reinforce your tendons for the final event."
"That's a double-edged sword, though," Jimmy warned. "If he approaches them with something more than a few blisters, then they may medically drop him from the course."
"As the current team leader, I'll embrace this as a leadership challenge. Let me work my magic," Ramirez said, wiping beads of sweat off her brow as she stood.
"What are you going to do?" Etta asked.
Ramirez offered a wink and a smile. "Just trust me. I grew up with older brothers. I know how to choose my words very carefully."
Ramirez walked over to where some cadre NCOs were gathered around. They were milling about, leaning on the M-37 parked nearby. Jimmy couldn't hear what she was saying, but he saw the body language of the cadre NCOs. They seemed disinterested in anything she had to say, which was no surprise.
But to Jimmy's astonishment, one of the cadre NCOs nodded in the affirmative. Ramirez turned about and headed toward where the others sat in the tall grass. One of the NCOs trudged over a typical distant expression on his face.
Without a word, Ramirez pointed to Etta, and the NCO nodded. The NCO pulled something from his cargo pocket and approached Etta, depressing the device against Etta's thigh.
"Ow!" Etta called out as the nano module's injector went to work. "Oh, wow! That's much better."
The NCO never said a word and avoided eye contact with anyone. He simply stuffed the module in his pocket and returned to the rest of the cadre.
"What did you tell him?" Jimmy asked with a tinge of astonishment in his voice.
Ramirez smiled and shrugged. "I just spoke in hypothetical terms and pointed out that a small dose of nano might prevent one of them from having to worry about an injured soldier trying to do the death march."
"Shoot!" Jacobs scoffed, careful not to break rule number one. "We all could have used a shot!"
Jimmy agreed but said nothing. He imagined how much better he would have felt in the morning had he a batch of medical nano repairing his damaged and worn body.
More candidates emerged from the woods, and the sixteen remaining candidates were all accounted for. That's when one of the cadre NCOs called out.
"All candidates, line up on me."
The hordes of weary and sweaty bodies lumbered into a straight line. The NCO pulled out another nano module and extended the injector needle. One by one, each candidate got a small dose of the nanobots. Jimmy assumed it was because the following day was the final road march, and no single candidate wasn't physically wrecked.
Jimmy didn't flinch when the needle plunged into his arm. The dose may have been small, but it would be enough to break up some stiffness and help with the pain in his left hamstring.
Etta, for his part, got an additional injection. But considering how bad his limp was, it was a prudent measure. With two injections, his leg might heal just enough overnight to survive the death march, or so Jimmy surmised.
Then something astonishing happened. An M-42 light armored troop carrier entered the clearing. Jimmy's heart skipped a beat as he assumed it was there to pick up those who failed the land navigation portion, while the passing candidates would have to march ten miles back to the barracks.
However, when SFC Ferguson climbed out of the driver's seat, he lifted his bullhorn and spoke.
"All candidates, today is your lucky day. Everyone, climb aboard the truck."
"We're getting a ride this time, folks!" Jacobs said excitedly, collecting his rucksack and hefting it over his shoulder. The others gathered their gear and began congregating around the back of the troop carrier.
The cramped conditions of the troop carrier couldn't dull the mood of the candidates. The remaining class had all passed land navigation, albeit barely. Although they all knew less than half the remaining troops would get selected in the end, they were all elated that their hellish torment was nearly over.
When the truck pulled to the barracks, the candidates all piled out, dragging their sweaty packs. When Jimmy entered the barracks, his eyes instinctively scanned the board.
ALL CANDIDATES: Rest, hydrate, stretch. LBV, helmet, filled canteens, packed rucksack, fatigues. Drill pad 0430
Jimmy let out a long sigh of relief. He would have a whole night's sleep for the first time in two weeks. The mood in the barracks was chipper. Everyone was excited about the course coming to a close, despite the hellish event that waited for them.
Jimmy sat on his bunk and began the painful process of removing his boots. Ramirez sat across from him as she did the same.
"I wonder if the med nano will turn these blisters into callouses while I sleep," Ramirez said. "That's my first time getting a nanobot injection in years."
Jimmy shook his head. "It was a tiny dose only. I think it's just enough to prevent further injury. But I sure as hell feel better."
"Well, since you're feeling better," Ramirez said, removing her blouse. "Then you have the strength needed to wash my back."
Jimmy smiled. "Deal."
They showered immediately after, but the dynamic was functional and not intimate. Theirs was a relationship of mutual trust and respect. Jimmy didn't think the short woman would survive this long in selection. She was the last remaining female in the course and had made it by sheer grit and determination.
Whether she got selected or not didn't change the fact that she'd earned the respect of everyone, and Jimmy was glad to have met her. Knowing she was still in the game had driven him to avoid quitting on more than one occasion, so gently scrubbing her back with a soapy washcloth was the least he could do to show his appreciation for the woman warrior.
That night, they all gathered in a circle in the barracks. They ate their field rations to build their strength and downed water by the quart to hydrate. They all shared funny stories about typical Army experiences and seemed to bond over the hell they'd all endured. With less than one-third of the candidates remaining, they all felt superhuman, and the atmosphere was positive.
When Jimmy's head hit the pillow, sleep took him.
15
0430 came earlier than Jimmy wanted it to. He rubbed his eyes when the lights came on, every inch of his body was stiff, and his joints cracked as he moved. Once on his feet, he yawned deeply and went to the wall locker to get dressed. His feet were tender, with layers of blisters forming. That was his primary concern.
With new bandages, copious amounts of foot powder, and a silent prayer, he stuffed his aching feet into the hard-leather combat boots.
"How long do you think this death march will be?" Ramirez asked, as she tied her boots tight.
Jimmy shook his head. "They didn't say, so I'm assuming it will be the longest road march in our lives."
"What are you two complaining about?" Jacobs said as he passed their bunks with his full gear, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. His tone was more teasing than accusatory, a sign of the camaraderie that had developed among them.
"We're wondering how long the march will be," Jimmy said plainly. He was growing accustomed to Jacobs' quips.
Jacobs halted, frowned, and lowered his bag to the floor. "A friend of mine went through selection. He said he lost count by the time he hit about twenty-eight klicks."
"Are you freaking kidding me?" Ramirez scoffed. "That can't be right."
Jacobs shrugged. "I just know what I've been told. I guess we're about to find out.
By this time, Jimmy and Ramirez were ready to roll with their equipment, and both of them hefted their rucksacks onto their backs before trudging out onto the drill pad.
The menacing lamppost flickered, casting its dull light over the paved surface. Jimmy lined up behind one of the dreaded traffic cones, lowering his pack to the ground. Soldiers were making last-minute adjustments to their gear, tightening straps and taping loose bits together. Most were stretching and chugging water.
When the truck pulled up with the weapons racks, all candidates lined up to be issued a standard pulse rifle. Once equipped, the cadre returned to their designated traffic cones and waited for instructions.
Jimmy anticipated a long speech about safety, but that's not what happened.
The bullhorn squealed to life. "All candidates to the starting line," SFC Ferguson announced.
They all followed instructions and lined up on the white-painted line on the road. That's when an M-37 pulled up with its taillights facing the candidates. Jimmy knew it was the pace vehicle and was surprised at how fast the process was going.
That's when the bullhorn sounded one last time. "Go!"
With that, Jimmy blinked his eyes in surprise, drew in a deep breath, and released it slowly.
"The journey of a thousand miles starts with the first step," he told himself under his breath.
Accustomed to marching, Jimmy instinctively stepped out with his left foot first, leaning into his stride. Ramirez came up next to him on his right while Jacobs stood on the left, both keeping pace. Etta, with a slight limp, brought up the rear.
The first several miles were uneventful. Jimmy pushed past his stiffness, his sore muscles seeming to loosen up as the blood flowed. Nothing could be done about the pain in his feet, however. His blisters were a constant reminder of how torn up his feet had become in the previous weeks.
The huddle of marching troops stretched thin as time went on. While a few candidates were further ahead, most fell behind Jimmy's pace. To her credit, Ramirez remained with the lead pack, but Etta had since fallen back. Jacobs was several paces behind, the sounds of his grunting and heavy breathing letting Jimmy know he was still close by.
The first water point came into view when the sun appeared over the treetops. They'd traveled about twenty-two kilometers, or thirteen miles, by Jimmy's pace count.
The water point had a tank to fill canteens flanked by a pair of cadre NCOs chatting amongst themselves.
"Let's stop and refill our water," Ramirez said with labored breath, her matted, sweat-soaked hair plastered to her cheek.
Jimmy grunted in response. Together, they approached the water point, dropped their rucksacks, and slung their rifles over their shoulders. By this time, Jacobs shuffled over, following suit.
Once his canteens were refilled, Jimmy sat by his rucksack and unlaced his boots. His feet were on fire as sweat mingled with ruptured blisters. He removed his socks and examined his embattled feet. Reminiscent of tenderized veal with toenails, his mangled toes were unsightly.
"Damn! Your feet are worse than mine!" Ramirez said, sitting nearby. "I think you're beyond what foot powder can do for you."
Jimmy looked over and saw Ramirez's feet. She was right, of course. Her feet were in much better shape, albeit swollen. "I've got to fix these bandages. Do you have any moleskin handy?"
"I've got you, man," Jacobs said, tossing a thin sheet of the adhesive padding. Moleskin was an ancient and miraculous invention that could cover a blister and prevent rubbing on the inside of the boot.
"Thanks, man!" Jimmy said.
"Do you need any foot powder too?" Jacobs asked.
Jimmy shook his head. "I pre-powdered my spare socks already, but thanks."
