Chapter 1 - Officer Training

Michael Deschenes stood out on the frozen ice of his new command and home planet, Thule, clad in a heated white parka, white snow pants and heavy white snow boots, Colonel's eagles on his epaulets. Beside him stood his 2IC, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles (Chaz) Desrocher, likewise clad in arctic gear. The third member of the group, "Butch" Blondell, only differed in rank marking and gender from the two officers: her shoulders bore Sergeant-Major's stripes. All three wore their hoods up, for the wind was up this morning and bitingly cold even by Thule's somewhat extreme standards. Only a fool went around on the surface of Thule without snow-blindness goggles, and none of the three experienced Confederacy Marines were fools.

Suddenly, the first object fell from the sky. Colonel Deschenes turned to Sergeant-Major Blondell and politely ordered, "Advise Lieutenant Carruthers the new officers have started to land."

"Aye-aye, Sir," acknowledged Butch, who turned to communicate the news to the base logistics officer.

"And advise all officers, staff meeting at 11:00 hours."

Thule was a fairly new base, with new risks and new opportunities. The Brigade itself was new: the 12th, the Chosen Frozen. Each officer and NCO had voluntarily transferred into the unit. They had been trained in arctic or at least winter combat operations back on Earth, some with their old combat units, others through an agreement with the Canadian, American and Dutch governments in war games stretching across the Arctic Circle from Greenland to Alaska, as realistic as their NATO taskmasters could make it.

And now they were ready to begin building a brigade specializing in combat on ice planets.

Michael stood at the head of the table of the Officers' Mess. Chaz, who was not only Brigade XO but doubled as CO of the engineering battalion, sat to his right. Sharing the head table were the five lieutenant colonels of the three infantry battalions, one armoured battalion and the artillery battery, and at the far end Butch, the only non-officer in the room aside from concubines serving coffee and tea. She had been invited at the strong suggestion from Michael to the Mess Officer. At the other tables, set up at a right angle to the head table, sat the commanders of the six companies that made up each battalion and their lieutenants who commanded the headquarters companies, and the ensigns who headed up the other four platoons. With over 260 officers present, the room was quite full.

"Alright, everyone, if I can have your attention," Michael's voice rang out as it cut through the clamour of conversation. "Most of you are brand-new to this planet, so let's show you what we've got." Those 'new to this planet' would be the lieutenants and ensigns. A large 3-D representation of Thule appeared. One dot glowed blue; another number of dots glowed green.

"The blue dot is our current location, Camp Shackleton, located on top of the highest mesa on the planet. It gives us solid ground to work with, without having to drill down to find bedrock. The frequent winds help keep the snow clear. We've got one dome, with the corridors to the residential pods running out from there. As our Marine units arrive, their pods will land in prepared trenches, link up to the primary tunnels and be covered against the snow, wind and cold. There's a secondary tunnel that girdles the Camp and can be used as a backup, and that also allows us access to the trenches that surround us here."

He brought Camp Shackleton up in closer detail. "The central dome houses all administration, our indoor training areas, sports facilities, messes and the dependants' school. There's a pair of slidewalks that ring the dome's perimeter, and a parade square across from the Camp Headquarters. We have a theatre that not only can be used for Marine training, but for live plays and recreational movies."

He paused for a sip of water as the picture reverted to a revolving Thule. "The green dots are remote facilities we're going to use both as advanced training and as weapons caches. They'll allow us to disperse our strength and cover more of the planet in the event the Sa'arm get curious about this place. They're called Martello towers."

He then had the AI bring up the schematic for a typical Martello tower - it resembled its namesake not in the slightest. "As you can see, it consists of buried and camouflaged bunkers made from pods, four conventional cannon in twin dual-purpose turrets covering the cardinal points, slit trenches and a landing spot capable of handling anything up to and including a Panther. There are four barracks pods, a command-and-control pod, a medical pod, a general supplies pod and an armoury pod. Each pod has entrances at both ends, and together they form the spokes of a circle. The hub is a general assembly area with access points to the inner trenches, the outer rim is a tunnel through which we access the reserve trenches and the turrets. The outer trenches are just beyond the turrets."

Michael then brought the lights up. "The purpose of the Martello Towers is to turn this planet into a galactic pincushion. Wherever the Sa'arm try to land, there will be a base of support nearby where we can stage attacks from, and where we can retreat to. We don't have all the Martello towers we want, yet, and probably never will, but the more we have the better we can defend our home.

"And make no mistake, this is our home. We are going to defend it, just as strongly as we are going to counterattack against the Swarm incursion."

The audience reacted with cheers, table thumping and general growls of agreement.

"Now, over the next few weeks we're going to be receiving our allotment of troops. The first of five Kilo-class transports, the CSS Grey Goose, is arriving within the next week. We've got to sort through that lot and assign them between the various battalions as we give them their basic training. And we have a bunch of newly-minted officers to finish putting through their paces first so that they can be good leaders for these raw recruits."

With the first troops coming so soon, the training got down to business right after lunch.

"Eyes FRONT! Turn to the RIGHT in column of route, RIGHT TURN!" Sergeant-Major Blondell's voice turned to one of outrage as one hapless ensign from the 1201st Infantry Battalion managed to turn left in total confusion. "YOUR MARINE RIGHT, YOU SLACK AND IDLE INDIVIDUAL!" Pause to add insult to injury. "SIR."

Colonel Michael Deschenes, looking on from the sidelines, winced. The recruit officers' drill was slowly improving, but it was a painful process to watch.

Another class, led by Lieutenant-Colonel Stan Waterman of the 1204th Armoured Battalion, was grouped around a large and vicious-looking tracked vehicle. "This is the winterized variant of the LAVT-102 armoured personnel carrier. 'Winterized' means its treads are wider than the standard design, there's more insulation and improved heating inside the crew compartment, and its chameleon camouflage is set to white. It carries a crew of two and up to a platoon of Marines. There are firing slits along the side that can be opened in battle so that the troops inside can shoot back, and a turret mounting an LA-1 laser cannon with about a thousand rounds of crystals. Every platoon of infantry will get one, and every soldier will be expected to know how to operate one. You may be officers, but you are soldiers first, so you WILL know how to drive this beast and you WILL be able to operate the turret and you WILL qualify on the LA-1 laser cannon, tomorrow morning. Get the sleep-training module on the 102 tonight, before you fuck your concubines!"

The next station he walked to had the ensigns and lieutenants of the 1203rd Infantry Battalion field-stripping and reassembling the RLA-1 laser rifle, the basic infantry rifle in Marine inventory. They were, predictably, making a hash of it. The Colonel walked up to Commander Walker, the 1st Company commanding officer, and politely offered to demonstrate. The hard-pressed Commander, ready to blow a head gasket, happily handed a spare rifle to his superior officer.

The Colonel stripped and reassembled the rifle in less than half the time of the best ensign, which impressed the group immensely. They went back to learning the drill with a will.

As the Colonel continued his stroll around the parade square, Lieutenant-Colonel Desrocher approached and gave a snappy salute. "Good afternoon, Sir. Will the troops be ready by the end of the week?"

"They won't be ready by the end of the decade," snorted Michael sourly as another platoon of student officers ran the obstacle course off in the distance.

"They'd better be," grunted the engineer. "A communication just came from DECO. A second kilopod is loaded and ready to deliver. They'll arrive in four weeks."

"Wonderful. Any experienced staff?"

"Not many, maybe twenty. Your buddy Bill managed to stuff a veteran tanker NCO on board, though."

"Great, if we get any tanks he'll be useful." Michael pointed at the diminutive LBT-201 Charles De Gaulle light tank currently functioning as a gate guard near the front entrance to the base headquarters. "That little can is not only the closest thing we have to a main battle tank, it is our entire inventory of tanks at the moment."

Chaz agreed. They desperately needed more of everything, but the replicators just were not numerous enough, and the ones that they did have were not big enough. The base was being founded on a shoestring. "And that last intelligence report was not encouraging."

The Sa'arm were coming. They would be here in two years, Division G2 figured. Michael's S2 agreed with the assessment.

"Gentlemen," the tall Valkyrie announced to the nervous Gi-clad class of ensigns and lieutenants, "welcome to Martial Arts 101. I trust you had your appropriate sleep training module last night?"

The class kind of shrugged. Those that hadn't would be quickly exposed.

"Well, we'll soon find out. The reason why we're doing Martial Arts is not because we actually expect to battle the Sa'arm hand-to hand, but because it gets you all used to using your new Marine-standard bodies, and not incidentally helps instill self-discipline. Any questions?"

A rumble of "No"'s flashed through the nervous class.

"OK, who's our first victim?"

"I am," announced a voice from the back.

"ROOM!" called Butch, as she realized Colonel Deschenes had arrived in class. Everyone stood to attention.

"Carry on," ordered the Gi-clad Colonel, making his way to the front of the dojo. Everyone noted that the Colonel himself had a black belt.

"Sensei," he greeted the Sergeant-Major with a bow. After a few example throws, the Colonel and the Sergeant-Major broke the class into partners and supervised them trying to throw each other to the mat.

"No, no, no," Butch growled at Lieutenant Judy Kawamori. "You're supposed to be trying to use his own momentum against him. He's a Sa'arm, he outweighs you and has one more leg."

The Lieutenant looked at her partner, Ensign William Barker, and both chuckled. "I think we're about the same weight," Ensign Barker pointed out.

"But you do have the third leg," Lieutenant Kawamori observed, staring at his crotch.

They got back into position and tried again.

Finally, the class was over. The Colonel addressed the students before handing them back over to the tender mercies of his Sergeant-Major. "Aside from hand-to-hand combat, there's another lesson here for all you officers, specifically by my presence. Can anyone figure it out?"

One voice called out, "You called the Sergeant-Major 'sensei'? She knows more about martial arts than you do?"

"You're on the right trail, you just need to walk down it a little farther. Look, you outrank your noncoms, just like I outrank Sergeant-Major Blondell. But your noncoms all have more experience than you, and will often have suggestions to pass along, just as Sensei Blondell has a higher level of black belt than I do. If you're smart, you'll listen to them and take those suggestions. Your sergeants will save your hides if you let them. Tell them where the platoon has to go, and let them tell you how to get there." He turned and bowed low to Sensei Blondell.

At the tank range, the young Ensign had command of the de Gaulle. "Fire!" she cried, and the blast of energy reached out and touched the Pinto-class ground target vehicle mocked up to look like and behave like Sa'arm armour. "Oh, man," she cried, "I think I just gave myself an orgasm!" She turned red when she realized she'd said that out loud.

"Wait until she fires the Rommel's gun!" whispered her CO, Lieutenant-Colonel Stan Waterman.

Colonel Deschenes said nothing, although the smirk on his face communicated volumes.