A Day in the Life
B Company was gasping and staggering when it reached the top of the slope. And sweating profusely, although the sun was still low. This was only their third week, but already their morning run had been extended to thirty long Luneburger minutes. And this was the first time it had been routed up what the Terrans had dubbed "Drag Ass Hill."
Despite their cadre, who'd snapped relentlessly at their heels, their ranks had strung out pretty badly on the hill. But once at the top, their pace firmed. Through stinging, sweat-blurred eyes they could see the regimental area some five hundred yards ahead, and their company hutment with its orderly rows of small gray buildings.
Almost there, thought Esau Wesley. Grimly. He'd never liked taking orders, even as a boy from his father. And looking back, his father's orders had mostly made sense. But where was the sense of running uphill? Or running at all, if you weren't in a hurry? For toughness, they'd been told. For physical conditioning. He had no doubt he was tougher than anyone in their cadre.
"Hup, hup, hup two three four!" The voice was Sergeant Fossberg's, and seemingly effortless, though he was sweating as much as any. Esau didn't notice. He was too busy being angry. Then, some three hundred yards from the company area, Fossberg shouted, "You're on your own! The last ones to reach the mess hall and slap the wall get punishment!"
Esau snarled his anger-wanted to shout it. Lowering his head, he ran hard. Too hard. With a hundred yards to go, his legs began to fail. He fought it, eyes slitted with effort, his gait increasingly heavy-legged. 2nd Platoon had been second in the column, yet without being aware of it, Esau had fought nearly to the front of the now badly strung-out company. Anyone in his way, he'd elbowed aside. But he staggered the last twenty yards, barely keeping his feet. When he'd slapped the wall, he stumbled aside and fell gasping to the ground.
After eight or ten seconds he looked back. Most of the company was still coming. Some had slowed to a walk, alternating with a staggering trot to avoid being last.
Jael was not one of the very last. Perhaps fifteen or twenty were farther back, most of them from 3rd and 4th Platoons, who'd started out in the rear. Wobbling, she staggered through the fallen and touched the wall.
A few had given up the struggle entirely, and knelt or lay in the dirt along the way. It was their names the cadre spoke into their belt recorders. Esau could hear someone retching-more than one-their heaving dry; the company hadn't eaten breakfast yet.
Although they didn't know it, B Company's trainees had just been through a test. Less of themselves than of the training pace. Was it too hard? How much could they tolerate?
Fossberg didn't let them stay collapsed for long. "Company!" he bellowed. "On your feet! Fall in and stand at attention!"
Their platoon sergeants and ensigns herded them into ranks, where they stood, still breathing hard, facing the company commander and field sergeant. It was Captain Mulvaney who addressed them. "All right, B Company," he said, "stand at ease." As always his voice was effortless but easily heard. "You're making progress. You've got a long way to go, but you've started out nicely. Some not as well as others, but you'll catch up. We'll see to that. It's our job."
He paused, scanning the ranks in front of him. Esau noticed resentfully that the captain wasn't sweating. He hadn't run, just strolled out of his office to watch them arrive.
"Now," Mulvaney continued, "everyone on the ground." To a man, the trainees dropped to their bellies, knowing what followed but not how many. "Give me-twenty-five!" Up from twenty; that was new. The captain began to count, and the ranks of trainees pumped pushups to match-in strict form; they'd already learned the penalties for cheating. Besides, for most, even in Luneburger's 1.25 gees, twenty-five pushups were readily doable. Farm work or other hard labor in New Jerusalem's gravity had given them abundant strength.
For a few, including Jael, twenty-five were only marginally or not quite doable. But they were young, and with company punishment and New Jerusalem's work ethic, they did their best. And they did at least twenty sets of pushups a day; they were gaining.
"… twenty-four, twenty-five. All right, on your feet!" Mulvaney said, and the trainees stood. "The mess hall opens for breakfast at 0730 hours. You will fall out for muster at 0815 in field uniform. Company dismissed!"
The ranks dispersed, the trainees hurrying to their huts for towels and soap. Captain Martin Mulvaney Singh and Field Sergeant Kirpal Fossberg Singh watched them go. "How is recruit Jael Wesley doing?" Mulvaney asked.
"According to Sergeant Hawkins, sir, she asked if she could go to the dispensary. When he asked her if she was pregnant, she blushed bright red and told him no. And that she didn't intend to be. I'd say she's smart and responsible."
"Or hoping perhaps to be promiscuous?" It occurred to Mulvaney that some of his trainees, removed from their straitlaced culture, might cast off its inhibitions. Though Jael Wesley didn't seem like a rebel.
"Hawkins doesn't think so, sir. He doesn't think she'd find many takers if she was. Her husband is the dominant recruit in their squad. One of the two or three most dominant in their platoon."
"Apparently they've found a way to have intercourse."
"Apparently, sir." Sergeant to sergeant, Hawkins had told Fossberg they snuck off to the water heater room, but Fossberg didn't volunteer the information. Though if Mulvaney had asked, he'd have told him.
"Tell Sergeant Hawkins to be alert for any undesirable effects in their hut. The briefing we received on the Jerries was long on generalities but short on details."
"Yessir, Captain."
Fossberg headed for the noncommissioned cadre's latrine. The captain's questions had inspired one of his own. How did a young girl like her, from a primitive fundamentalist planet like New Jerusalem, learn about birth control pills? He decided to ask Recruit Spieler, as circumspectly as he could. These Jerries were turning out to be an interesting experience.
Esau had gotten over having to shepherd his wife to the latrine, though he still hovered watchfully near her in the shower. And as usual, they used adjacent washbowls. This morning while they washed, he murmured to her: "You fell way behind this morning on the run." His tone was accusatory.
"Not till the last," she countered. "When we had to sprint."
"That's what I meant, in the sprint. You embarrassed me."
"I did the best I could." She said it quietly, without apology.
"Your best?" he muttered. "You were way back near the end of 4th Platoon."
She said nothing, and avoided looking at him.
"Let's see if you can do better on the chin-ups this morning."
She didn't answer that, either.
At the head of the mess line were several chinning bars. Each trainee was required to do all the chins he could before going inside to eat, monitored critically by two or more cadre. This time Esau did thirty-nine, and Jael struggled out eleven, with Corporal Fong watching.
"Good work, Recruit Wesley," the corporal said. "That's up from four the first day." The number identified which Wesley he was talking to.
"Thank you, Corporal," she said.
As the couple entered the mess hall, Esau jostled her. "Don't you have any sense of decency?" he hissed.
"What?"
"You know what I mean," he murmured. "Fong telling you `good work.' For eleven puny chin-ups! I did thirty-nine, and he didn't say a thing to me. He wants you to commit adultery with him."
He'd turned his face to her when he said it, and without thinking or speaking, she slugged him in the left eye, almost knocking him down. The 1st cook had been standing with a spatula, serving scrambled eggs, and saw the exchange.
"YOU TWO!" he bellowed, pointing with the spatula. "WHAT'RE YOUR NAMES?"
Esau spoke for them both, glaring at Jael, who stood red-faced but without visible repentence.
"Report to Sergeant Henkel at the orderly room, both of you! Now! And tell him you're not getting back in here till I have his okay. In writing. Now out! OUT!"
They hurried out, aware that everyone in the mess hall had heard and seen their ejection. Esau was about to berate Jael some more, when Lance Corporal Fong called after them.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"The cook just sent us to the orderly room," Esau answered.
Fong pointed at the chinning bars. "You know the orders. Trainees do exit chin-ups when they leave the mess hall."
Esau made no move to comply. "We didn't eat."
Fong's reply was not particularly loud, but it was prompt, and strong with intention. "Recruit, that was backflash. Let's see those chin-ups. Now! And they'd better be good." Esau turned to the bars, pivoting violently enough, it seemed to Fong he almost screwed his boot into the ground. The Jerrie homesteader snapped off forty-two chin-ups this time; the corporal was impressed in spite of himself. Fong had trained with the 4th Terran Infantry, and some of these Jerries were already stronger than most of his buddies had been when they finished their training. And their cadre had been Masadans!
By the time Esau had finished and was free to leave, his wife was out of sight on her way to the orderly room. Her twelve hadn't taken a third as long as his forty-two, and when Esau had finished his chin-ups, Fong had ordered him to do fifty pushups for the backflash.
At the orderly room, Esau found Jael standing before Master Sergeant Gerritt Henkel, who clearly had been waiting for him. "What kept you, recruit?" Henkel asked.
Asked it like a cat, Esau thought, waiting for the mouse to move. He told the master sergeant how many chin-ups he'd done, and about the fifty pushups, not withholding what they'd been for.
The ex-marine looked at the couple appraisingly. "That's quite an eye you've got there, Recruit."
Esau said nothing. He looked like he could chew rocks.
"What happened? I'm asking you, Recruit Esau Wesley."
"My wife was disrespectful, Sergeant. So I upbraided her, and she struck me."
"Disrespectful? Really! And upbraided! My my!" The mockery was thick. "Tell me what you said, as exactly as you can."
Esau did. The sergeant turned his eyes to Jael. "Is that the way you remember it, Recruit Jael Wesley?"
She nodded. "Yes, Sergeant," she said quietly, and Henkel turned again to Esau.
"Where exactly did this happen?"
"In the mess hall, Sergeant. In line, by the tray stack. Then the cook kicked us out without breakfast."
"Um-hmm. You're in 2nd Platoon, right?"
"Yessir."
"Recruit Esau Wesley, go sit in that chair." He pointed. "Recruit Jael Wesley, you sit in that one." He pointed at the opposite end of the row, then turned to the company clerk who'd been watching with half a grin. "Corporal, go tell Sergeant Hawkins what we've got here. This is his problem. For now, anyway."
The clerk left briskly, and was back in five minutes. Hawkins, on the other hand, didn't hurry. He finished his breakfast first. If Henkel had wanted him right away, he'd have said so.
Meanwhile, for the most part Esau avoided looking at his wife. But he was angry. His left eye was swollen half shut. It would be black, too, and everyone would be talking about it. He shot an occasional, resentful glance at Jael, but she never returned it, simply faced straight ahead, her expression stony. It struck him then how pretty she was in profile. And how strong her character, even if she was in the wrong. His anger softened.
When Hawkins arrived, he took them both outside, without berating them at all. "Esau Wesley," he said, "drop down and give me forty. On my count." As Esau got down, Hawkins continued. "Jael Wesley, drop down and give me twenty-five."
"What!?" Esau demanded, looking up. "Me forty and her twenty-five? That's unfair!"
"And that, Recruit Esau Wesley, is backflash," Hawkins said calmly. "Which will cost you. But not now. Later. And for her, twenty-five is as hard as forty is for you. Harder. Now, on my count… "
When they'd finished and stood before him, Hawkins told them their idiocy had cost them breakfast, because they had less than ten minutes before muster. "Report to me at the orderly room this evening, both of you, at 2030 hours. Among other things, I will tell you then what your punishment is. You, Esau Wesley, for repeated backflash. And you, Jael Wesley, for striking another recruit."
Then Hawkins turned and walked away. They needed more than punishment, he told himself, but he wasn't sure what.
From muster, where the trainees gave their cadre twenty-five more pushups, B Company jogged three quarters of a mile to a lecture shed, where they dropped down and did another twenty-five before entering. Then they filed inside and took their seats on wooden benches, benches hard enough, the trainees were less likely to fall asleep, despite their heavy exercise regimen.
The presenter was a major from Division, who stood before them in a clean, pressed field uniform. He also wore a crimson turban, instead of the field caps of the company cadre.
"What you're about to watch on the screen," he began, "is a presentation of regimental and small unit tactics. While you watch it, try to spot just what's going on. The better you understand it, the better fighting men you'll be, and the less likely you'll be killed. Afterward we'll go over it again.
"Incidentally, it is not a recording of actual fighting. So far as we know, there hasn't been any actual fighting with the invaders. They've attacked only undefended colonies. But the animated visuals you'll see"-he gestured at the large wall screen-"are as realistic as they can be made. Realistic enough to be mistaken for real."
The entire company cadre was there, including Captain Mulvaney and Master Sergeant Henkel. The cube was one of a set newly arrived from Terra, via pod, and none of the company staff had seen it before. The major had, the night previous. It had its own audio, but he had a list of questions to expect, and tips on how to deal with them.
The audience watched the whole forty-five-minute first run-through without a pause. Captain Mulvaney would have bet that none of them dozed. Then they got a fifteen-minute break that began and ended with pushups for the trainees, with time to rassle around or use a field latrine in between. Afterward the same cubeage was shown again, but this time with numerous built-in pauses where a voice-over discussed the tactics they were watching. When that run-through was finished, there was another break like the first-pushups, latrine, and more pushups.
Afterward the major took questions, almost all of them from the cadre. That went on till it was time to leave for lunch. Outside, the trainees gave their cadre a quick twenty-five, then double-timed briskly in a column of fours to the company area, where there was just time for another twenty-five and to wash up before their noon meal-broiled ground beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, crisp green beans, bread and butter with apple sauce, rich bread pudding, and coffee.
The 1st cook didn't say a word to Esau and Jael, and they said nothing to each other. They simply ate as if they hadn't eaten for a day. Actually it had been eighteen hours.
After the noon meal and the break that followed, the company mustered, did pushups, then jogged to the regiment's physical training area. 2nd Platoon began its workout on "the log yard." Each five-man fire team had its own log, which massed roughly two hundred and fifty pounds, Terran. Working together, they lifted it to their collective right shoulders, then to arms' length overhead, then down onto their left shoulders, and back onto the ground. From there they repeated the sequence in \reverse, and again, and again, until they had to fight it up. Esau was the leader of his five-man fire team, a team that unfortunately included not only Jael, but Isaiah Vernon, two of the weakest in the platoon. Esau had put himself in the middle, between Jael and Isaiah, to make up for their lack of strength. Before they were done, he was gritting his teeth, partly from exhaustion, partly exasperation.
That done, they did twenty-five pushups. Then, driven by barking second-tier cadre, they ran hard to the chin-up bars, a bar per man, where they alternated between sets of ten chin-ups, fifteen pushups, and thirty side-straddle hops, each exercise serving as rest from the one before. After six rounds of those, they jogged to the obstacle course and ran it, climbing walls on knotted ropes, shinnying up rough-textured poles, vaulting or bellying over low fences, crawling through culverts, and ending with a hard, sixty-yard sprint.
They finished on what the Terran trainees had termed "the junkyard." The name had been passed on by the second-tier cadre. It had rows of stout iron pipes, the ends of which had been stuck in tins of concrete before it hardened. Each crude barbell massed roughly seventy pounds Terran, hefting about eighty-eight on Luneburger's World. The exercises were led by a husky second-tier cadreman, a corporal, who'd finished twenty-six weeks of training only three weeks earlier, and was in superb condition. Mostly they did high repetition cleans and jerks. To rest between sets, they lay on the ground and did leg raises, pushups, and situps.
They'd been in the PT area every day since they'd been at Camp Mudhole (which so far had been more of a dust hole), but never had they been pushed as they were this day. It was in the junkyard that Isaiah Vernon collapsed in the sun. Two cadremen helped him into the shade until an ambulance arrived.
From the PT area, the company ran to "the pond"-a long, dozed-out depression covered with a foot of sand, then flooded by damming a creek. It was new to them. They ran toward it at a good lope, waiting for their cadre to halt them. No one did, and to their own astonishment, the trainees ran fully clothed into the water. Only when the last of them was in did Fossberg bellow "COMPANY HALT! REST!"
For the next twenty minutes they sported in the water. There was a lot of laughter, splashing, wrestling, some holding under, and a few brief fistfights that were broken up by cadre. When it was over, there were no pushups. Instead they marched back to the company area in their soggy boots and socks, the clothes drying on their bodies. They were even dismissed without further pushups.
They changed clothes before supper, which was preceded and followed by the usual chin-ups. At 1845 hours they mustered again, and marched to a lecture shed where they viewed another cube. This one was an assemblage of preinvasion scenes from worlds since captured by the invaders. Presumably the people shown, those who'd declined evacuation, were dead now. The trainees left more soberly than usual.
Captain Martin Mulvaney Singh, Ensign Erik Berg Singh, and Sergeant First Class Arjan Hawkins Singh didn't go with them. They were in Mulvaney's office, discussing the case of Recruit Isaiah Vernon, and whether they'd cranked up the physical demands on the trainees too rapidly. War House wanted them pushed hard, and Division had provided guidelines and schedules, but the company cadre retained considerable latitude. Berg pointed out that most of the trainees were meeting the demands very well. They were not only heavyworlders, and young; they'd also worked at farming or other heavy labor. And Hawkins pointed out that the amount of running would soon stabilize. At midweek they'd be issued weapons and pack frames, and march to more distant field locations, carrying sandbags on the march.
They were interrupted by the Charge of Quarters knocking on the door. "Recruit Isaiah Vernon is here, Captain. They just brought him back from the infirmary."
"Good," Mulvaney answered. "Just a minute." He looked at the others. "I'll have him sent in, and question him. It may cast light on the subject." He looked toward the CQ. "Send him in, Corporal."
The CQ ushered a subdued Isaiah Vernon into the room, then closed the door behind him. The commanding officer looked the trainee over. "At ease, Vernon," Mulvaney said. "Let me see your medical release."
Vernon stepped over and handed a sheet of paper to him. Mulvaney scanned it. "Simple exhaustion," he read, and looked up at the young Jerrie. "Not heat exhaustion. Good." He paused, holding the youth with his eyes. "You've been having a harder time of it than the others. Tell me about that."
Vernon didn't hesitate. "The others-lived differently back home than I did," he said. "My father's a speaker of the books, and I was to be one, too. So when other boys were working in the field or the woods with their fathers, or in the tannery or sawmill or whatever, I studied scripture. Instead of lifting and carrying, grubbing stumps and ditching swales, I read and memorized. I did barn chores and cut and brought in firewood, but that was about it. And I never cared much for games or footraces or wrestling. So I wasn't properly ready for training to be a soldier."
The frown had left Mulvaney's eyes. "I see," he said thoughtfully, then made a decision. The abler trainees shouldn't be held back for the least able. "Recruit Vernon, I'll see about getting you transferred to administrative duties in Regiment or Division. Meanwhile-"
Remarkably the young man interrupted. "Sir?"
Mulvaney frowned. "What is it, Recruit?"
"Sir, I can do this training. I can! I quit this afternoon. I just up and quit! I could have kept on. I thought I couldn't, but really I could have. I know that now. I'm learning that when I feel like I haven't got anything left, I've still got a little. And I'm getting tougher and stronger every day."
Mulvaney glanced at Berg and Hawkins, then looked back at the Jerrie. "Very well, Recruit Vernon, I'll leave things as they stand, and give you a chance to show what you can do." He handed the paper back to the young man. "Give this to Corporal Rodin." He paused. "I presume they fed you supper at the infirmary?"
"Yessir."
"Good. The company is at Lecture Shed Four. Do you know where that is?"
"Yessir."
"Go there and report to Sergeant Fossberg. They'll just be starting to show the cube now. You'll see most of it." He clapped his hands. "Now RUN!"
Vernon turned and fled, barely taking time to close the door behind him. Mulvaney grinned at the others. " `Just up and quit!' Hmph! I hope he makes it through. I like his self-honesty. Also, he answered my uncertainty about the pace of training. We'll proceed as we have been."
At 2015 hours, B Company was back in the hutment, where the trainees showered and lazed around a bit. Some went early to bed.
But not Esau and Jael. Sergeant Hawkins had reminded them before the company was dismissed; they had a date with him at 2030 hours. They walked to the orderly room together, not knowing what to expect. Somehow their mutual hostility had died. They didn't know why, and didn't wonder. It was simply gone.
They arrived several minutes early. The Charge of Quarters told them to sit down and wait, then returned to his novel. Hawkins walked in on the dot. "Recruits," he said, "we need privacy. Captain Mulvaney said to use his office." He opened the door to it, held it while they entered, then closed it behind them.
He pulled two folding chairs side by side, so he could see their occupants at the same time. "Sit," he ordered. They sat. He examined them quietly, ordering his thoughts. "I'm going to call you by your given names," he began, "to save time and confusion. I'll ask questions, and tell you who's to answer." He paused, then spoke more loudly, for emphasis. "The other one will remain silent until called on."
His calm eyes examined Jael. "Jael, why did you punch Esau?"
"Because he said I was playing up to Corporal Fong, and that Corporal Fong had said what he did because he… wanted to commit adultery with me."
Hawkins eyebrows rose, and he turned to Esau. "What did Fong say that made you think that?"
"He congratulated her on her chin-ups. She did eleven. But he didn't say a thing to me, and I did thirty-nine! And I didn't say she played up to him!"
"Hmm. Jael, why do you think Fong congratulated you on your chin-ups?"
"Because when we started doing chin-ups two weeks ago, I could barely do four."
"I see." He turned back to Esau. "None of that sounds very lascivious to me. Has Jael flirted with anyone since you've been here?"
"Not that I've seen."
"Not that you've seen. Do you think she might have when you weren't around?"
Esau didn't meet his eyes. "No, sir," he said.
"All right. Jael, you claimed that Esau said you'd played up to Corporal Fong. Esau claims he didn't say that. Which is it?"
"He never said it in so many words, but that's what he meant. Otherwise why would he have said anything at all?"
"Um." The sergeant examined the situation. "What- Jael, I'm asking you this question. What were you and Esau talking about just before that?"
She gestured slightly toward her husband. "He was upbraiding me because I didn't run fast enough this morning."
"Um-hm. Esau, do you think she could have run faster?"
"Most of 3rd Platoon and half of 4th finished ahead of her. And they started out behind!"
"You avoided the question, Esau. Now answer me. Do you think she could have run faster?"
"She should have."
Hawkins' tone sharpened. "Recruit Esau Wesley, I asked you a question twice, and twice you've avoided answering it. Now… "
Esau interrupted. "But she lied! She said I accused her of playing up to him!"
"That doesn't answer my question. It's backflash, Recruit Esau Wesley, and it's earned you a six-by pit to dig before you go to bed tonight. You've got to break that habit. Another backflash tonight and you'll go without breakfast again in the morning."
Esau seemed to shrink, but his expression was bitter and obstinate.
Hawkins' voice was mild again. "Now, I'll ask you once more. Your last chance. Do you think she could have run faster this morning? Or is it just a matter of she couldn't run as fast as most of the others?" Esau didn't answer at once. "The answer, Esau," Hawkins prompted, his voice soft but ominous. "The answer. Nothing else."
"No, sir. It seems to me she ran as fast as she could."
"Thank you, Esau, for your honest answer. So why did you, ah, upbraid her for her late finish?"
Esau looked at his hands, folded on his lap. "I'm the leader of our fire team. I'm responsible for it. And her and Isaiah Vernon are both in it."
"And?"
He looked at Hawkins now, frustrated and upset. "They can't run as fast as the others, and they're weaker!"
"I know that. But do they do as well as they can?"
Esau deflated. "I guess."
"You have some doubts, do you?"
There was a brief lag, then Esau answered. "No. No doubts. She tries all right, hard as she can. And I suspect he does too."
"Are they improving?"
Grudgingly, "Yessir."
"Good. That's what we want them to do. What we want all of you to do. And you Jerries are doing well. You were strong to start with, and you try hard. Your corporals just completed their training here, and they tell us how impressed they are with you all. Jael in particular, because she's a woman. And most young women don't get the kind of physical exercise young men get. Even on New Jerusalem I suspect."
He paused, sizing up Esau, who seemed to be coming out of his black pit. "Tell me, Esau: have you said anything to Isaiah about his running? And his strength?"
"Once or twice."
"Did you ever upbraid him the way you did Jael?"
Esau relapsed a bit. "No, sir."
"Why is that?"
"He's not my wife."
"Do you think your wife's running, and her strength, reflect on you personally?"
He met Hawkins' gaze now, and his voice turned monotone. "It's not that. But I'm our fire team leader, and because of them, my team is the weakest in the platoon. I'll never make squad leader, or recruit platoon leader."
"Ahh! So you want to be squad leader. At least. Why?"
The question took Esau by surprise. "Why, so things'll be done right, and folks'll give it all they've got. Captain Mulvaney said it himself: we'll have to give it all we've got to win the war."
Hawkins nodded slowly. "Those are good reasons. So let me tell you how that works. You start with the people assigned to you, whoever and whatever they are. Some will be strong, some not so strong, some smart, some not so smart. Some able, some not so able. A leader's job is to work with what he's got, and make them an effective team. To do it with fairness, and a minimum of turmoil and resentment. A fire team and squad live together, work together, defend each other. They're closer and more loyal to each other than brothers.
"We senior cadre will base our final decisions on leadership on how well you lead. On your ability to handle the personnel you have." He paused meaningfully. "Including your fairness.
"You, Esau, are physically strong. And fast and smart. But those aren't enough by themselves. Just now, Ensign Berg and I have misgivings about your suitability for leadership. You've shown excellent potential, but you have two major weaknesses. One, you are sometimes surly, and take your frustrations out on others. In this case your wife, which is seriously unfair.
"The other is your backflashing. You backflash more than anyone else in the platoon. When given orders, carry them out! Don't answer back, or argue or discuss-except when invited to. You can't be given authority to order others, when you take orders so poorly yourself."
Hawkins got to his feet. "Now. About your punishments-Recruit Jael, for punching Esau in the eye, you will dig a pit tonight, six feet long, six wide and six deep. After lights out. Recruit Esau, you will also dig one, for backflash. The CQ will supervise you. Report to him in the orderly room at 2200 hours.
"You are now dismissed."
Jael and Esau didn't go directly to their hut. Instead they strolled silently along the road that framed the battalion area. Esau's hand found hers, and she accepted it. After a bit he spoke. "At school once, Speaker Farnham chided me for bullying other kids. I denied it, didn't think I did it, till he gave me instances." He stopped, turned her to him, and held her two hands gently. "And this morning I was bullying you. The onliest one here that means much to me. I'm truly sorry, Jael, and I hope you'll forgive me." His voice broke then, taking him by surprise, and he took her in his arms, his tears falling on her hair and upturned face.
"Oh Esau, I do forgive you, I truly do. And I hope you'll forgive me for striking you. That was bullying, too. I'm not sure I'd have done it, if I hadn't known inside that you wouldn't hit me back. So that makes me a bully."
They clung to each other in the unlighted street until Esau could speak again. "Sweetheart," he husked, "I'm not sure but what I might slip up and talk like that again sometime. I'll surely try not to, but man is a weak vessel, and I might could slip up. So if ever I bully you again, just punch me in the eye. To remind me." His composure slipped again, and again his tears fell on her.
"Honey," she answered without smiling, "I'll pray not to. Because I do love you so."
They embraced again, this time their lips joining.
When the couple had left the orderly room, Sergeant Hawkins went to the hut and told Recruit Isaiah Vernon to come with him, that he had questions he wanted to ask. Then he took him to the dayroom, looking for privacy. At Hawkins' suggestion, they both drew a cup of coffee from the small urn there, before sitting down on opposite sides of a cribbage table. Isaiah had never been in the dayroom before. A sort of recreation room, it was part of a company's normal setup, but the recruits' training schedule left them almost no time to use it. Most had literally forgotten it was there.
"Vernon," Hawkins began, "you said you were being educated as a speaker of the books. I suppose by now you realize that we Sikhs don't know much about the Church of the Testaments. As children we're taught the basics of all the major religions, but we don't get down much into the, um, subdivisions. So I may ask you questions from time to time, to give me a better sense of your beliefs." He paused. "Does it bother you that we refer to you as Jerries?"
"No sir, Sergeant. Not me at least, and I've never heard anyone complain of it. It seems like a natural thing to do." He hesitated. "We are not a people greatly given to complaint. And in The Book of Contemplations, Elder Hofer taught that we should tolerate and respect… unbelievers."
Hawkins nodded solemnly. Their briefing had mentioned that a North American named Albert Hofer had founded the Jerrie church. "Ah," he said, "we have tolerance in common at least. "Guru Nanak founded the Sikh religion on the philosophy of religious tolerance." He raised an eyebrow. "How do you get along with other religions on New Jerusalem?"
Hawkins knew the answer, but he wanted to learn how frank this youth would be with him. The question didn't faze Isaiah. "Sir, there are no other religions on New Jerusalem. Other religions have their own worlds, or at least a place on Terra, and we respect that. But we keep our planet for ourselves. It's in our charter with the Commonwealth."
He paused. "From The Book of Origins, we know that long ago on Terra different religions fought each other, even massacred each other. Do they still?"
Hawkins smiled. "There's still some intolerance, but Terra got over most of it during the Troubles, eight hundred years ago. There hasn't been any serious violence since then. An occasional fistfight maybe. Intolerance tended to grow out of fear, and when a sect had the freedom to leave Terra and colonize a planet of their own, that fear became less. And the Commonwealth tries hard not to be overbearing toward the colonies."
He sipped the somewhat bitter Luneburgian "coffee" he'd learned to like. "I want to talk about the platoon now. You grew up differently than the other men. Do they ever give you a bad time about that?"
"Not really, Sergeant. Esau's commented a few times, as the fire team leader, that I need to be stronger and tougher. But he's never been mean about it. When someone's as strong as Esau, and runs as fast, they might not understand why others can't."
"Ah. That brings up another question: How do you feel about Jael Wesley showering with the men?"
Isaiah's face showed no embarrassment. "I've never heard anyone say anything about it. Though they might, a few of them, if it wasn't for Esau. I'm pretty sure they were troubled by it, early on. But what Captain Mulvaney said made sense. As boys we used to sport together in the river, naked as newborns, and hardly anyone fretted about that. We boys didn't." He spoke more slowly now, as if feeling his way into the subject. "But that is different from swimming naked with girls or women, because sight of their flesh can make you think about having carnal knowledge of them. Maybe want to have carnal knowledge of them. The thing is, here there's no choice. She's a soldier and part of the company, so she should have the same rights. Like I said, I've never heard any of the others talk about it, but I suspect that's pretty much how they look at it."
Hawkins sipped thoughtfully, then nodded. "Thank you, Vernon. You've helped me understand you people better." He got to his feet. "We seem to be done now. You can return to your hut. I may have more questions some other time."
Isaiah got up too. "Yes, Sergeant." He paused. "Sergeant, may I ask you a question?"
"Ask away."
"Do you Sikhs believe in Jesus?"
"Believe in Jesus? Yes, we do."
The trainee looked at his sergeant for a long second or two, his eye contact mild. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said, then turned and left.
Hawkins watched the door close, and smiled. You almost asked me whether we believe he's the Son of God, then thought better of it. The young Jerrie could have followed his answer-he was abundantly intelligent. But that very question, or rather Gopal Singh's reply to it, had split Sikhism even before the Troubles, the better part of a millennium earlier. Split it into the Orthodox and the Gopal Singh Dispensation. For Gopal Singh's answer had posited something akin to the Hindu avtarvad, which Guru Nanak himself had rejected in the Mul Mantra. Gopal Singh had tried to reconcile his belief with Orthodox leaders, but the split remained.
Shortly before lights out, it began to rain. Not a storm rain, but a steady soaker muttering on roof and walls, now and then intensifying briefly. At 2200 hours, Esau and Jael reported to the orderly room, wearing ponchos. The CQ issued each of them a shovel, a short crude ladder, and a six-foot measuring stick. And digging sites some fifteen yards apart. "No talking," he warned. "Just dig. I'll be checking on you out the window." Then he returned to the orderly room.
They dug as rapidly as they could sustain, if only to get more sleep time. Meanwhile the rain continued, and the CQ wasn't eager to come out in it. So when Esau's measuring rod indicated he was done, he tossed out his shovel, climbed wetly from the pit, and went over to Jael's. It wasn't quite as deep yet as she was tall. Without a word he jumped in. As in his, the water was about a foot deep.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
He kissed her. She tasted like rain. "Come to help out," he said.
"The CQ-he'll see. You'll get in trouble."
"To heck with that. We're not only husband and wife, we're comrades in war. Besides, we're eight or ten rods from the orderly room, and it's darker than the inside of a black bull." Then he turned and began to dig. When they'd finished, the CQ still hadn't reappeared, so Esau climbed out and went to the orderly room to get him. The man lay his book aside. "That was quick," he said. "You sure you're done?"
"I'm sure I am," Esau answered. "I can't speak for anyone else."
The CQ donned his poncho and they went out to Esau's pit. Esau jumped in. Nearby, Jael's continued to emit shovelfuls of dirt and slop. Taking Esau's measuring stick, the Terran measured height, width, and depth.
"Looks good," he said. "You're done." Then bypassing the ladder, the corporal squatted, reached down a hand, and hauled him out. Esau was impressed. Stronger than I thought, he told himself.
They headed for Jael's pit. "Quit throwing a minute," the CQ called. "It may be deep enough." He measured. "Good job both of you. Fill them and tramp them, and you're done. Tramp them every foot or so the whole way. I'll know if you don't, and you don't want to do the whole thing over again tomorrow night."
She came up on her ladder, to see the corporal striding off toward the orderly room. Filling the pits was far easier than digging them had been, and they worked hard and fast. When both pits were full and well tramped, the rain-sodden couple went to the orderly room together.
"All done," Esau announced.
The corporal donned his poncho again, went out with them to inspect the sites, then dismissed them to their hut.
On their way, Esau spoke. "You know," he said innocently, "we've already lost half our sleep time. We might as well lose another half hour, and go shower off."
She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him thoroughly. "That's a wonderful idea," she said.
In their hut, they hung their wet things on the drying rack-the clothes from the pond were already dry-put their cold wet ponchos on their bare bodies, and ran to the latrine. After a shower, a hot one, they turned the water off and made joyous love on the duck boards before scurrying back to the hut for three hours of sleep.