BattleMech Training Facility, 3rd BattleMech Training Battalion

Orlando, Florida, United States of America

4 February 2016 S.E.C.

24 November 3058 I.S.C.

 

 

     Penton grunted in frustration at the Black Hawk's targeting systems, which continued to miss the steel block target that stood nearly two kilometers away.  "Tell me again why I can't keep a stable lock on this damned thing?"

     "Even Clan targeting systems have trouble keeping up with the subtle movements of a 'Mech," Gerts replied over the radio.  "The system makes close-range accuracy exceptional, even superior to your modern systems, but once out that far..."

     "I get the picture."  Penton sighed and moved the right hand joystick so that the reticle moved over the target again, his lost shot having missed despite being targeted properly.  He lifted the Black Hawk's right arm and tried to hold it steady, the gyro transmitting back the same stress of gravity he would expect if he held his own flesh-and-blood arm up in that fashion.  With the arm straight, Penton pulled the finger trigger button for his right joystick, which fired the Clan-built ER PPC mounted as the Black Hawk's right arm.  A bolt of man-made lightening struck through the air and cut straight into the steel target, somewhat right of the "bullseye".  The kinetic impact of the plasma ripped the target in half even as the high energy component transferred enough heat to the material to cause the steel to melt away, vaporizing portions of it in the process.  The Black Hawk's heat spiked to the edge of the yellow from the discharge of the particle cannon.  The heat began sinking quickly and was half of the way gone when Penton asked, "How did I do?"

     "Very good shot.  Now try with the torso-mounted medium lasers."

     Penton nodded and returned the reticle to the target.  He pushed the right joystick's thumb trigger and watched a ruby beam eminate from the lower right portion of his Black Hawk.  Despite the reticle being right on target, the beam missed by about three meters to the left, the result of the targeting systems improperly acquiring from the range.  "Damn."

     "Don't feel bad, at that range you're not going to hit a lot, especially a moving target, and if you've got a lot of atmospheric particle matter like dust, your lasers aren't going to do their usual damage anyway.  Okay Captain, you've done good, bring your machine back in and go and enjoy your lunch."

     Penton nodded to himself.  This is getting tiring, he moaned mentally as he began walking his Black Hawk back to the hanger.  In a nearby training range he watched Paravska wail away at a target with the dozen medium lasers on her Black Hawk.  To make sure her 'Mech had enough spare parts they had turned Penton's 'Mech into a custom configuration, replacing the hexagonal medium laser arms with extended range particle cannons, with medium laser pods from the Wolves-in-Exile mounted on his torso to provide a bit more close-in firepower.  The medium lasers were Clan models, with improved damage and range, but beyond a kilometer and a half they got terribly inaccurate and began losing their sting.  Despite this Paravska was still hammering away at her target from a distance of 2.1 kilometers, apparently her bid to try and one-up him.  Penton snickered for a moment, thinking of the firebrand Russian girl and her seeming obsession with proving herself better than the 'American babies', as she had one time said disdainfully before pummelling away at Brian Nielson in the boxing ring.

     Penton walked the Black Hawk into his assigned hanger, where Taylor's Phoenix Hawk was the only 'Mech present, all ten others still out on the field.  It was the first full week of firing exercises with the 'Mechs, Able Company moving at a faster pace than Parlucci or Drasche had expected.  Beta and Charlie Company were still in simulated weapons use and only movement practice with their BattleMechs, with Beta barely beating out Charlie.

     As Penton backed in he could see his 'Mech's technician waiting for him.  He went through the shutdown sequence for the Black Hawk and climbed down as quickly as he could, more than a little hungry.  Sergeant Shelia Dougalie was waiting for him.  A Tech from the 23rd Arcturan Guard, Dougalie was Caucasian in appearance, possessing brown eyes and flowing brown hair on the back of her head that was kept up into a bun.  She stood at about five foot eleven and was of decent physical shape.  She was wearing a blue technician's vest over her standard Lyran field uniform, which hugged her body closely enough to give a good idea as to the size and shape of her slim body.  Dougalie smiled at him and said, "Do good on your firing test?"

     "As good as I could do.  Any way for you to make the targeting system a bit more precise?"

     Dougalie shook her head sadly.  "Nope, sorry Cap, I've done all I can on that thing.  It's just not designed for the range you like to take potshots at."

     "Oh well."  Penton winked at her.  "You look good."

     "Aye, but I haven't been crawling through many 'Mechs recently," Dougalie commented.  "Spent all morning in briefings.  But don't worry, when I get done checking up on your 'Mech and Sergeant Taylor's, I'll be nice and sweaty."

     "Wouldn't like it any other way."  Penton stepped out of the niche that formed his Black Hawk's berth and looked over at Taylor's Phoenix Hawk.  Despite her cooling vest and shorts Penton could see why Andrew Devon was so taken with the young woman, Victoria Taylor had a pleasant face and a strong if not particularly noteworthy build.  But her face was now contorted in an expression of anger, her brown eyes glittering from her rage as she and the American technician-in-training argued over something.  The tech, a Caucasian man in his thirties, gave a condescending look to her.  "Sergeant Taylor, it's nothing urgent, we can get it done later," Penton heard the man say.

     "I'd call swamp debris in my lower left jump jet port urgent, Sergeant Wallens."

     "Yeah, well, you're not the tech, I am, and I'll clean it when I think it needs cleaning."

     Dougalie had heard the commotion to, and she barked, "I'll be the judge of that."  Wallens' expression soured a little as Dougalie rounded the wall seperating Penton's berth from Taylor's, and walked up to the rear of the 'Mech.  She jumped up on the metal rungs at the back of the berth and limbed up them until she was opposite from the jump jet port in question on the back of the Phoenix Hawk.  She reached into her belt and drew out a flashlight, which she used to look into the port.  "Blake Almighty you're such an idiot, Wallens," Dougalie cursed.  She came back down and came around, an angry expression on her face.  She put a finger in the trainee's face.  "You idiot!  That port needs cleaning, and now."

     "Sergeant Dougalie, it's only..."

     "It exceeds safetly limits, Wallens.  Blake's Blood, if she goes out and spends enough time in that gunk again it'll clog completely, and that can cause problems!  You could damage her 'Mech, even kill her!"

     Dougalie's words seemed to bring an epiphany to Taylor.  Penton could see the apprehension in her eyes as Taylor lowered them, obviously disturbed.  Wallens merely lowered his head as Dougalie pointed toward the back of her berth with her arm.  "Now, go clean that out, or I'll be having words with your superior.  Very harsh words."  When Wallens walked by her with insufficient speed, Dougalie shouted, "Now you useless piece of crap!  Move faster or I'll shove my boot up your ass!"

     The sight of the irate Lyran technician made Penton chuckle, and even brought a grin to Taylor.  Dougalie turned around, satisfied that Wallens was moving fast enough, and noticed the looks on their faces.  "I'm sorry, Sergeant Taylor," Dougalie apologized to Taylor.  "If Captain Penton doesn't mind, I'll keep a close eye on him."

     "Do that," Penton said to Dougalie.  "I only have sim exercises and equipment review for the rest of the day anyway.  And, you enjoy bullying him around, don't you?"

     "Yeah, Wallens is one of those idiots who gets under my skin."  Dougalie sneered a little.  "I've thought about screwing him over real well, but the methods I'd have to used would be too much like that bitch Archon I have to serve.  And please don't tell anyone I said that about Her Holiness Katherine," Dougalie winked at them, "I could get in trouble for slandering her beautiful name, assuming Loki doesn't disappear me first."

     "Considering the hard-on some of your comrades have for her, it's refreshing to see someone with a dissenting opinion," Penton remarked, "so my lips are sealed."

     "Mine too."  Taylor grinned.  "She sounds too much like Denise Saunders anyway."

     "I'll remember you two said that."  Dougalie laughed and walked toward the back of the berth.  "Okay Wallens, I want to..."

     Penton turned his head and looked down at Taylor.  "Vic, mind if I call you..."

     "Vicky," Taylor corrected.  "That's the pet name."

     "Vicky.  Sweet name."  Penton gestured toward the direction of the barracks area and mess hall.  "Looking for a late munch before we have to report to the sims?"

     "Andrew's still out there," Taylor said.  "I'd prefer waiting for him."

     "I'm not going to steal you from him," Penton replied.  "This way you can get a bit of a headstart, besides, I haven't really gotten to know you yet, and I'm the generally friendly type."

     "Ah."  Taylor grinned at Penton before shrugging.  "Okay, I'm game, let's go dine on sludge."

 

 

     The mess hall, arranged in a dozen tables capable of seating twenty diners apiece, was at a normal pace of operation, about half-filled up with various base personnel.  Penton and Taylor choose seats near the end, close to the door the other Able Company members would be entering through.  They had shed their cooling vests, Taylor now in a loose brown tank top shirt that showed the upper edge of her cleavage from it's loose size and emphasized her athletic arms.  In this more open form of clothing, Penton realized just why Andrew Devon felt so passionate about her, for Victoria Taylor was a very beautiful woman, the few hints of Caucasian blood mixing wonderfully with her African skin and hair, giving her an appearance no "pure-blooded" woman could ever hope to emulate.

     By comparison, Penton's arms, bared by the brown muscle shirt he had chosen to wear, were more muscular than athletic, something that had been improved by the weight-training Penton and Farris had engaged in together in their physical fitness routine.  If anything Penton liked that the training had improved his stamina, he felt as though he could sleep four hours a day and still manage to keep himself going.  "You're from Sacramento, right?"

     "Somewhere near there," Taylor corrected him.  "My mother is a Congresswoman, or a former one.  She... made the mistake of backing Denise Saunders in 2012.  So she was voted out."

     "I wish I could say I sympathized," Penton replied, "but to be frank I think she picked the wrong horse."

     "It was my mother's sense of honor and loyalty," Taylor muttered.  "You see, Saunders pretty much won her election for her, and my mother felt she had to repay that debt of loyalty.  She was never a politically-minded person, she didn't care about winning as much as she cared about being honest."

     "A shame, I wish there were more politicians like her," Penton lamented.  "So I take it this is when you met Andrew?"

     Taylor grinned and shook her head.  "No, I meant Andrew a year or so ago, after I enlisted and was assigned as a part of General Perkins' staff.  The General liked me so much he had me bumped straight up to Staff Sergeant and made me his personal assistant.  Andrew was on his officer staff, and, well," Taylor looked down at her cup of coffee and twirled a spoon in it.  "It was love at first sight.  He was so handsome and charming, very humble.  You'd never know his father was second-in-line to be Speaker of the House."

     "I have to admit, Andrew's better than that twat Nielson," Penton sighed.  "I probably judged him too harshly when I found out who his dad was."

     "Yes, well, Andrew's father is one of those 'build your own life' types.  He didn't give Andrew anything more than basic advice, he let Andrew make all of the important decisions.  Andrew had to gain his academy place at West Point on his own efforts."

     Penton's jaw dropped a little.  "Andrew's a West Pointer?"

     "Yeah.  Didn't graduate very high in his class, though, in fact, he told me he nearly had to repeat his third and fourth years."  Taylor took a sip of the coffee and put the cup down with a graceful move of her right arm.  "But that I don't care about.  Andrew and I began seeing each other, first as friends and then personally when the General gave us his blessing."

     "I know Perkins has a reputation as being pretty lenient at enforcing some of the regs.  So he made sure you couldn't be busted for fraternization?"

     "Andrew and I weren't on the same line of command anyway, and we weren't combat troops, so General Perky saw no problems with our seeing each other."

     Penton began snickering with laughter.  "General Perky?  Did you ever call him that to his face?"

     "Plenty of times."  Old memories brought a wide smile and made Taylor's face seem more beautiful in Penton's eyes.  "He was quite perky.  Especially when his wife was around.  I liked him, he might have been a bureaucrat general and not one leading a combat unit, but he was friendly and nice."

     "I imagine.  But Parlucci, well, I think he'll turn a blind eye to only so much."  Penton clasped his hands together on the table.  "Scuttlebutt is that the only reason you and Andrew haven't been seperated is that Parlucci's afraid of getting Andrew's father upset."

     "That's funny, because we both offered to be transferred," Taylor mentioned.  "I mean, this is combat training, and Andrew and I aren't going to compromise that just to be together.  Of course, I'll admit we've had a few nights where we felt in the mood for some passion, but I know I'd prefer it if we were seperated.  It's not fair to the others, you know?"

     "I can't say I'd regret it if they moved one of you out," Penton responded.  "That would seperate me and Paravska."

     "You don't like Alex?"

     Penton shook his head.  "Sometimes she can be a royal pain in the ass.  If she's not ranting about how lazy Americans are, she's ranting about how evil capitalism is and how Marx was right about this or that blah blah blah..."

     "Oh, so she's a Communist?"  Taylor's grin turned into one of amusement.  "I can imagine the fun it is to listen to her talk about it."

     "She's got the Communist Manifesto in the 'original' Russian, as well as a couple of Marx's other books," Penton groaned.  "God, I wouldn't mind it if she didn't constantly bitch about how Gorbachev betrayed the Soviet Union and how Reagan was an evil warmongering imperialist and how if the Soviet Union still existed today this war would never have happened."

     "Well, she's right on the last point," Taylor sighed.

     "Maybe, or maybe not, but she's still annoying when she does it."  Penton sighed.  "The girl has no respect.  She'd go up to Parlucci and curse him out if she truly felt like it.  That's another thing, no American general can be as great or as brave as 'Comrade Shivosky', the great Russian leader who," Penton raised his fist on the table and continued in a hushed and sarcastically jubilant tone, "fights beside them as an equal!"  Penton shook his head.  "Oh God I wish she'd shut up sometimes."

     "Oh, Shivie..."  Taylor chuckled to herself.  "Well, it's obvious Alex fell for his act."

     Penton's eyes widened a bit from interest in Taylor's words.  "What do you mean by that?"

     Continuing to chuckle, Taylor replied, "You see, Shivosky's a sneaky little bastard.  He drives out to whatever front his army is fighting at in an armored humvee, holding a rifle and dressed in combat fatigues like everyone else.  But right up to before the front, he gets out and is flown back behind the lines by helicopter."

     "That clever bastard," Penton laughed.  "He's taking a page from Patton's book."

     "Patton?"

     "Yeah.  You know, 'Ol' Blood and Guts'?  From World War II?  Had a movie about him with George C. Scott?"  Penton thumped his fingers on the table to expend the energy from his amusement.  "I read some of the info on the real Patton, he would drive toward the front in a jeep, but whenever he returned from the front he traveled by air, so his troops never saw him leaving the front."

     "I see."  Taylor laughed with Penton for a moment.  "You're into history?"

     "Quite."

     "That was always one of my favorite subjects."

     "And mine.  I've always felt that in history we can find solutions to modern problems, although, admittedly, not all problems."

     "Yet, you went into law?"  Taylor put her hands together on the table.  "Why?"

     "One too many 'Law & Order' episodes as a kid," Penton chuckled.  "Well, that, and, I thought about how lawyers were represented and perceived by the public, and I wanted to see if I could break the stereotype.  But, I'll admit, after four years of law school and another year practicing law with JAG, I realized just why some lawyers charge the amount they do.  The pure amount of work that goes into studying and practicing law is staggering.  As for why I'm in military law, well," Penton scratched the back of his neck.  "We have Denise Saunders to thank for that.  She had loosened the discipline of the military, pretty much turned the Army into a paramilitary police unit, and it was easy to get in and go right to law school."

     "So, you've never seen combat."

     "Nothing at all," Penton said in reply.  "This will be my first combat assignment."

     "Same here."  Taylor sighed.  "I still feel sick whenever I think about it.  I, well, I'm not sure I can kill someone."

     A gutteral laugh came from behind Penton, and the origin of that laugh was readily identifiable.  "Ah, some things never change," Dalton laughed.  "Nigs still don't have any guts."

     "Ah, the peanut gallery wants to put in it's two cents," Penton remarked with an air of sarcasm.

     "Watch your mouth, and if you know what's good for you, you'll stop hanging around all the mongrels we have around here."

     "Mongrels?"  Penton looked over and up at Dalton, a smug grin on his face.  "Such soft language from you, Dalton, I'm surprised, it's like you're afraid you're going to offend someone."

     "Steven, don't," Taylor urged Penton.  "He's not worth it."

     "You want to know what I think?  I think that your skin should be black, you don't deserve white skin, you sympathize with all the nigs and spics and kikes too much."

     Penton looked across at Taylor and asked, "Vicky, I wasn't aware there was a Jew in the company, is there?"

     Taylor shrugged.  "Nope, not that I know of."

     "Of course, it's not like it matters.  You see, Dalton, those 'nigs, spics, and kikes' you mentioned, they happen to be human.  Like me.  And unlike you."

     Dalton's expression went from his smug expression of superiority to a dark anger.  "What the hell do you mean by that?!"

     "What I mean is that to be human requires a little something we like to call 'intelligence'," Penton retorted, standing to his full height and emphasizing the seven inch difference in height between them.  He looked down at Dalton and crossed his arms.  "You haven't shown me any intelligence, you haven't shown any of us anything to say you're human and not some dumb ape that can talk.  Now, Sergeant, I expect you to go sit down somewhere and leave everyone the hell alone."

     Some of the nearby lunchgoers had by now begun paying attention to the argument.  Noticing all the eyes turned toward him, and with the knowledge that Penton was an officer and was larger than he was, Dalton backed down.  He opened his mouth to give a parting shot, but apparently had trouble thinking of what to say, and merely stepped back and turned to go his own way.  Penton made a "hmph" sound and sat back down.  "People like him make me sick," he said to Taylor.

     "And they scare me," Taylor remarked.

     "What, those racist fucks?"  Penton looked down at where Dalton was sitting, noting that they were probably all with his type of mindset.  "They're pathetic."

     "They're also dangerous."  Taylor looked beyond Penton and saw Devon enter.  "Andrew's here now.  I'll talk to you later."  She lifted her tray and stepped away from the table.

     Penton watched her walk away for a moment and turned his attention to his food.  He looked back down at Dalton and his group, and noticed that a haggard-appearing Wallens was now sitting with them.  The incident earlier became clearer, and this was something he would have to bring up with Dougalie when he got the chance.  For the moment, he would just finish his meal and get ready to continue the day's exercises.

 

 

     The sun was low in the sky and the day's simulator exercises were over, leaving the members of the training battalion to do as they pleased.  Some had taken to the rec room, determined to enjoy their time off, others were involved in more physical pursuits.  Calvin Schulter was the kind who went for the latter.  Clad in his gi, Schulter practiced a routine of attacks to keep himself in shape and work out his developed physique to prevent cramping.  The punching bag he was assaulting had been intended for fists only, but against it he used a variety of kicks and chopping maneuvers with the occasional punch.

     Schulter was not alone in the gym, and could hear others working out in various pursuits, but a single sound became dominant in his thoughts; that of someone approaching.  He turned and looked over at the sweet-looking Osmone, a full half a foot shorter than Schulter.  She was in a blue sports bra and jogging shorts, with some sweat on her lightly-tanned skin from whatever she had been doing earlier.  "Hi Cal," Osmone said cheerfully.

     "You look like you've been busy," he remarked, keeping his attention respectfully on her.  Schulter found Osmone to be a beautiful sight, cute and sweet in her demeanor and appearance.

     "The other girls got me to go jogging with them for a bit," Osmone said.  "I was actually hoping to find you here."

     "Really?"

     "Yes.  I mean, you were real nice to us by showing us some of the basics, the other girls feel more confident now.  You know, about defending themselves."

     "That's what the skills are for."  Schulter kept his arms at his side and began breathing a little less heavy, taking the moment to rest.

     "What else do you do?  Well, what did you do before joining up?"

     "Nothing special, went from one job to the next."  Schulter noticed the expression on her face.  "You think that's funny?"

     "Well, Cal, I mean, do you have anything you want to do?  A career?"

     "Nothing.  All I really want to do is find a girl I like and raise a family with her."  Schulter shrugged.  "Careers are nothing compared to that, I mean, having kids.  That's the best impact a guy can make on the world, having kids and raising them right."

     "I agree."

     "And what about you, Kim?"  Schulter grinned a little.  "What are you looking to do?"

     "Oh, well, before I signed up, I was in nursing school," Osmone replied a bit sheepishly.

     "Nursing school?"

     "Yeah, uh, I wanted to be a nurse.  Nothing special, not like a doctor, just a plain ordinary nurse, to help people and make them feel comfortable, letting the doctors make all the real big decisions."  Osmone's face fell a little.  "I don't make those big decisions very well.  It's very hard to say whether you can save someone or not, or to tell someone they've lost a limb or they're going to die..."

     "You've done that?"

     There was a short and for Osmone uncomfortable pause.  "Uh, yeah," Osmone replied.  "Yeah, um, when I enlisted and signed up with one of the Volunteer units.  They, uh, assigned me as a field medic, someone who would be right there in the trenches deciding if someone was, um, alive enough to send to the battlefield hospitals."

     "You sound nervous," Schulter said to her.  "Calm down, relax."

     "Sorry, um, I guess thinking back makes me a bit jittery.  Having explosions around you, it, um, can make you jumpy like this."

     "I'm pretty sure of that."  Schulter looked back at the punching bag and then quickly turned his head back toward Osmone.  "Kim, you ready to shower up?  We'll go have dinner together."

     "You mean us?  Together?"

     "Yes.  Nothing special, I'm afraid, not like going out on a date, but better than standing around here."

     "Oh, um, okay, that's great, I accept."

     Schulter nodded at her and took a step forward.  "Then let's go get ready."  They stepped toward the exit together before seperating to go to the showering and locker facilities.

 

 

     It was almost late enough for Penton to retire, but not quite feeling ready for sleep he made his way into the rec room to find something to do.  He could always be in his room, but that would mean spending more time with Paravska, who amused herself by getting on his nerves with rhetoric and her other babble.  And if there was anything Penton wanted to avoid, it was trouble with that hotheaded Russian girl.

     The rec room was empty, save for one occupant at the bar.  Wearing a sleeveless brown shirt and knee-length shorts of the same color, Galvaeriz looked up toward him with a glass in her hand filled with a crystal liquid.  "Isn't it time for you to get to sleep?"

     "I could ask the same of you."

     "Waiting up for Kimmy to get back," Galvaeriz responded.  "We have some things to go over for tomorrow's pairs firing exercises.  Shouldn't you be doing the same with Alex?"

     "Wouldn't work."  Penton sighed and sat down at the bar near Galvaeriz, but not next to her since that would be a bit too uncomfortable.  "Alex does what she wants to do."

     "Even though you're an officer?"

     "Yup."  Penton snickered and set his hands on the table.  "I think I'd prefer staying with Nielson."

     "And risk him pissing you off?"

     "Nielson will at least be quiet when you ask, and won't make assumptions about what I'm thinking.  Paravska is a bit dirty-minded, she thinks every male in the battalion wants her in bed, me included."

     "And do you?"

     Penton's mouth opened a little and he looked at Galvaeriz.  "What?", he asked increduously.  "She's a teenager, why in the hell would I..."

     "Just asking, just asking, don't get upset."  Galvaeriz giggled.  "You've got a bit of a temper."

     "Well, I guess it comes from someone asking something so stupid," Penton guffawed.

     "The only stupid question is the one not asked."  Galvaeriz grinned at him.  "I suppose it was a bit over the line, I didn't realize how revolted you were at the idea."

     "Terribly revolted," Penton stated.

     "She's that bad, huh?"  After taking a drink, Galvaeriz decided to change the subject.  "You don't look the type to be a lawyer."

     Penton raised an eyebrow in interest.  "I don't."

     "No.  I've always seen lawyers as the smaller weasel types."

     "Well, we don't exactly have a very good public image," Penton chuckled.  "At least our civilian counterparts don't."  He looked over at Galvaeriz and, for a moment, considered how attractive she appeared to him.  "Linguistics, right?"

     "Yes."

     "What languages?"

     "I've been speaking Greek and Italian since I was five."  Galvaeriz's grin evaporated.  "My parents died when I was very little.  My grandparents made an agreement to kind of bounce me back and forth, I lived here with my mom's parents in the winter and up in New York with my father's parents in the summer.  Both of my grandfathers are, well, were Hispanic.  My grandmothers were Greek and Italian immigrants, they still spoke the 'old tongue' and they taught them to me."  A little smile came onto her face.  "I'm a bit of a family joke, because, well, the Greeks and Italians never have liked each other that much, and here I am, with a bit of both in me."

     "They certainly make you unique," Penton remarked.  "Tall, intelligent, well-built..."

     "Thank you," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye at the last comment, even as Penton acknowledged the truth of it in the curves and shapes of Galvaeriz's body.  "Well, to continue the story, I guess learning all the different languages when I was young made me a bit of a genius in languages, I mean, helping me to learn them quicker than others who haven't had the same experience.  I started when I was twelve, took some community college courses for Japanese and Russian, I speak those pretty fluently now.  I know some Chinese, Vietnamese, Hebrew, Arabic, a lot of the fun languages."  She looked back at Penton.  "So, are you the typical American who only speaks English?"

     "Nein, nein," Penton responded.  "Ich spreche Deutsch."

     "I actually don't know much German, never got into the language."

     "Probably too familiar," Penton remarked.  "I mean, the languages you've mentioned are all very different from English, different alphabets, sounds, everything.  German and English are pretty close.  Your specialty languages are more, I don't know, exotic."

     "Exotic?"  A twinkle appeared in Galvaeriz's eye.  "That's a funny way of putting it."

     "If you say so."

     The door to the rec room opened and Osmone stepped in, waving goodbye to someone in the hall.  She was in her usual duty uniform, and wore a wide grin, appearing to have generally enjoyed herself.  Galvaeriz sighed and stood up.  "Took you long enough, Kim."

     "Sorry, Rache, Cal and I got talking some more and time just flew."

     "Cal Schulter?", Penton asked.

     "Yeah, he's so sweet."  Osmone looked to Galvaeriz.  "I'm ready when you are, Rache."

     "Okay, I'm coming."  Galvaeriz picked up her glass and walked toward the door, Penton getting up behind her.  "Nice talking to you, Captain."

     "Steven for off-duty."

     "Then you can make it Rachel."  Galvaeriz nodded at Penton and continued her way out, leaving Penton alone in the rec room to consider himself.

 

 

     Galvaeriz stepped out of the bathroom with her nightrobe on and saw Osmone sitting on her bed at the opposite side of the room, in her own nightrobe, the same make as Galvaeriz's with a different size and blue color as opposed to green.  "Ready for tomorrow?"

     "As ready as I'll ever be."  Osmone laid back in her bed and put her arms under her head.  "But I wonder how we'll do when the real thing comes up?  The way the Lyrans look at us, it creeps me out.  It's like..."

     "It's like they think we're doing all of this to end up cannon fodder," Galvaeriz finished for her.  "I've seen the looks too, even heard a couple talking one time.  They're wondering if we'll even be a speed bump."

     "Is this going to be for nothing?  All this training, just to get swept aside?"  Osmone's head turned toward Galvaeriz.  "Would they do that to us?"

     "Of course they would.  We're pawns to them," Galvaeriz commented.  "Useful only to the extent that we fight the other side, beyond that they don't give a damn."

     "No, not the Lyrans, I mean our own people."

     Osmone felt a chill as Galvaeriz turned her head and they made eye contact.  With a cold glimmer in her eyes, Galvaeriz answered, "Who do you think I was talking about in the first place?"

     "Oh, I see."  Osmone saw the coldness in Galvaeriz's expression and decided to change the subject.  "So, do you like him?"

     "Who?"

     "The lawyer?"

     Galvaeriz shrugged.  "Better than Nielson or Forrest, I suppose, but I'm not sure I like any of these types.  Penton's a bit too smug sometimes, Hayal's worse.  The other guys in the unit I haven't really gotten to know."  Galvaeriz sat on her bed and brought her feet under the covers.  "What about you?  You've taken a liking to Cal Schulter, I know.  What do you think of him?"

     "Oh, Cal?  He's a nice guy.  And, I, well, I..."  There was a grin on Osmone's face combined with a deep blush.  "I really like him.  He's very sweet and a romantic.  The kind of guy you'd trust."

     "Well, don't get too attached, you never know what might happen."

     "I know."  Osmone turned on her side and closed her eyes.  "Doesn't mean I won't dream about him, though," she added with a giggle.

     There was a nod of agreement, and then silence as Galvaeriz moved into a comfortable position to get some sleep.  Her mind was occupied by her fears of the future, the uncertainty of this life she had been forced into.  It was with this preoccupation that she finally settled into sleep.

 

 

     Paravska was on her bed reading when Penton stepped out of the bathroom, having stripped down to his boxers to go to sleep.  As he moved around the bed she looked up at him, holding her sheet over her chest up to her shoulders.  "You are ready for tomorrow?"

     "Yes, my only question is how well you're going to cooperate."

     "Do as I do and we will succeed, it is as simple as that," Paravska responded.

     Penton sat on his bed and brought his legs up.  "The hell it is.  I'm the officer here, remember?"

     She looked over at him with a condescending expression on her face.  "I will never take orders from you, or any other so-called 'officer' in your Army," Paravska said in a harsh tone.  "I only take orders from Comrade Shivosky."

     "Shivosky isn't here, I am," Penton retorted.  "We're supposed to function as a unit, with you and I as a section in of ourselves.  We can't function if you want to go your own way and never take orders, and even if I'm not giving them out someone will be, and I'm damned sure he won't be Russian and even more sure he won't be Shivosky."

     "And you assume this commander will be a man?  You are arrogant."  Paravska put her book down on the nightstand between their beds and curled up in the sheet.  "All of you Americans are arrogant."

     Penton rolled his eyes and replied, "You must think that if you repeat something often enough you'll make it true."

     "It is true."

     "Or so you want to believe."

     There was no response from Paravska, who apparently did not know what to say.  "I wish to sleep," she finally stated in a grumpy tone, admitting defeat with her words.  "Be quiet."

     "Fine with me."  Penton pulled his sheets up.  "And, don't get in my bed again."

     Paravska's head whipped around.  "What?!"

     "You've done it, like, three times.  Gotten into my bed and curled up beside me, you even called me 'Mikhail'.  I don't know who the hell that is, but I know I'm not him, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped."

     Paravska's face turned a deep red, which amused Penton a good deal.  She was apparently deciding whether to reply or not, and after about five seconds she turned on her right side away from Penton.  He reciprocated and fell asleep soon afterward.

 

 

To be Continued....