Dicer
Jarhead
"Ahem," coughed the on-duty guard more loudly than required. Dicer nodded his appreciation, the Corporal on duty was a good mate. If only more of the squaddies around here were as lax about the regs, Curtis thought.
He started to panic, looking for somewhere to hide the stub of the cigarette the guard had given him a few minutes ago.
He settled on extinguishing it with his heel and placed it under the heel of his boot just moments before the Sergeant came into view.
"Private Charles, once again I find myself hoping that a few days of quiet reflection will have turned you into a model soldier. Once again I cannot contain the sense of apprehension for what new feck-up you will bring to the squad next." The pock faced Sergeant grimaced as the bars slid away from the cell.
Dicer stood to attention, carefully keeping the butt of the cigarette under his boot. Sergeant Jonas sniffed the air deliberately before continuing. "You are a continual blight on my squad Charles, I can only hope the pounding Corporal Haden gave you has knocked some sense into you."
"With any luck sir," Dicer replied. He was certain that the trooper on guard would be smiling under his helmet.
"It's not luck you need now Private," the squad leader growled under his breath, "You'd better hope whatever piss poor excuse you dredge up is better than last time, because it's not me you have to answer to!"
"Good old trust fund JP wants another little chat does he?"
"Private, I'm going to pretend you didn't just directly insult an Officer, because I can't be bothered to deal with you right now. The Regimental CO wants a word, not some officer’s academy whelp. My hope is, it's time to go back home. Don't worry, I'll even get you a going away present. I promise." The Sergeant finished with a wide grin, then turned on his heels. Dicer waited a moment then followed, pointing out the cigarette butt to the guard who gave him a thumbs up.
Dicer's insides felt like they were knotting up as he followed his SL. This was bad. As much as being holed up in this crappy barracks can of endless pre-fab buildings and sandbags was driving him mad, the thought of being sent home terrified him. He wouldn't admit it, and he'd try to pass his dismissal off with pride when home, but it would actually shame him deeply. Becoming a solder in the ODF was about the most success he'd ever gained in life.
They came to a halt at the door to the Officer's centre. Sergeant Jonas turned to him, the smile was gone.
"Look, you know you've really frelled up when the one-star wants to talk to you," he said. "Just don't disgrace the squad more yeah?"
Dicer nodded mutely, finding himself short of words for one of the first times in his life. He was used to being told off by the Platoon CO. The man was only three years his senior, straight out of University. Dicer found their discussions amusing.
Jed Kash was a more worrying prospect. The sergeant walked him through the room, passed the desks of many of the Company’s senior officers. They stopped at the Colonels desk and both saluted crisply.
"Good morning," Kash said. "Let's find somewhere to talk." He slipped his datapad to one side, before gathering a folder from his drawer. He turned and headed towards one of the meeting rooms that bounded the area.
"You can leave us now Sergeant, I'll send Private Charles back to the by twelve hundred."
"Sir."
"Right, Private, have a seat." he waved towards the desk at the centre of the room. As Dicer pulled out a chair, the Colonel closed the blinds. He sat down and started looking through the folder.
He looked up to find Dicer looking at his feet.
"Eyes up Private. It's enough of a pain that I have to deal with you personally, but I at least want to see that you're paying attention to what I have to say."
"Yes sir," Dicer replied. He met the cold hard gaze of the Colonel. There was a force of will behind those eyes. Not the piggy little eyes, hoping to spot trouble, that his Sergeant possessed. Not the vacant expression of the daddy's boy, yet to see action, that the Platoon CO watched him with. There was strength, experience, and understanding in that look.
"So Private, let me start by saying that there is nothing you will have done that will surprise me. I've been at this game for years, and dealt with plenty of cocky little sh…” he paused before swearing. “Plenty of difficult young men finding their way in the world. If you dipped your cock in gas, set it alight and ran through the mess screaming 'look mummy my balls are burning’ then yes I'd be surprised.
"But this," he said, indicating the reports he was reading. "Are nothing I haven't seen."
He surprised Dicer then pulling a glass from the drawer and pouring him a glass of a spirit. He slid it across the desk. Dicer took a swig, it felt hot in the throat, but even he could tell it was far better than the paint stripper squaddies could get a hold of whilst on whilst in the barracks.
"So, what did you do this time?"
"Got in a fight sir,"
"Obviously. Why?"
Dicer ran a hand along the newly-healed cut on his eyebrow. "Corporal Haden said nasty things about my sister sir,"
"You understand how bad it is to strike your ASL, so I won’t bother lecturing. What prompted this?"
"Sir?"
"Well what happened to start this, were you discussing your sister?"
"Showed the lads a photo sir,"
"Well what did you bloody expect Private? You've been in training a year and on ops for months. You've been starting fights for weeks. This means something is causing you a problem. What is it?"
Dicer looked at the older officer incredulously. Help wasn't often offered help by a ranking officer, just demands.
"Well I...erm...I guess I'm bored sir. Same drills every day, chores to keep us going. Haven't been on even a raid in months."
"Ah, I can sympathise with that. Long periods out of actions even get me frustrated. Young man like you should be in the field, earning his stripes. Look, I don't waste my time with losers Private. I want to see every one of my soldiers go on to have a career. All you have to do is shape up, keep your head down. Things will liven up soon, you heard about how relations are going with the Confederacy..."
"No sir," Dicer interrupted.
The Colonel paused for a moment. "Surely you watch the news? Didn't they play the message in the brig? All kinds of sanctions and posturing. The fleet is being mobilised Private, they’ve been interviewing commanders on the news to drum up support with the civvies!"
Dicer considered this for a moment, finishing the drink almost guiltily. He quietly hoped for another glass, but the Colonel stashed it. All-out war was something he hadn't expected, he felt the pace of his heart ramp up. Was this excitement or fear?
"Things are going to get hairy and I need everyone focused. You like sport?" Kash asked while looking at the file.
Dicer nodded.
"Good I was thinking of starting a few teams. Maybe weekly games if I can get it cleared. Could show the flyboys how to play ball, we could invite a team over from the field down the road. That sound interesting?"
"Yes sir,"
"Good lad. You can run some of the sessions, I expect a plan by next week for four training sessions. Now here's a good life lesson, if you're going to pick a fight, make sure you can follow through. Sounds like you got pasted."
Dicer thought of arguing, but decided against it. This was one of the few times in his life anyone had taken the time to listen to him.
"Things will get more interesting soon. But...this is your last chance. Do the regiment proud or I really will send you back to basic." the Colonel didn't bark like a dog like the sergeants, he didn't shout and whine like the junior officers. He just calmly expressed the truth.
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
"And go and see Corporal Harris about some boxing. I can't abide people who can't take a left hook. He used to be the Corps champion you know?"
"Yes sir," Dicer added as he left the room.
The Colonel leant back in the chair for a moment before gathering his things. He hadn't been lying. Curtis was not the first troublesome Private he'd had to deal with, nor would he be the last. He had become quite adept at it over the years. It was a shame that loud mouthed sergeants only brought ninety percent of recruits fully in line, but it felt good to take a direct hand in keeping the regiment in shape occasionally.
Dicer swiped his card across the panel, and the doors to the barracks slid open. He reflected that no matter how well the air conditioning worked, they could never quite remove the hint of stale sweat from the air in here.
The barracks housed thousands of soldiers in relatively cramped conditions. At least ground-pounders and their pre-fab shelters and field tents got more room on their bases than marines did. He’d heard the marines couldn’t even stand in half of their barracks.
Curtis walked down the narrow corridor to his own room, having to sidle past many other soldiers off duty. It was one of the advantages of droid armies, he knew. They cost a lot up front, but when it came down to transporting them you just switched them off and rack mounted them by the thousand. No food, no R and R requirements, no attitude.
He headed down two sets of stairs to reach his floor. Each of the enlisted soldiers had to share a room with three others. If he stood in the middle of the room, he knew he could almost touch both walls. The NCOs always got a room to themselves, or at least only one other roommate. Not that they had a great deal more space, but at least they got privacy and didn’t have to deal with three other bodies snoring and farting through the night. With all that peace Curtis wondered why they were so keen to invade the junior marines’ bunks so often and demand inspections.
As he reached his own room, the form of Corporal Haden loomed large in front of him. A hush came over the immediate area as the nearest soldiers stopped to watch. Heads popped out of doors, and Curtis knew those soldiers must have still been in bed and leaning out for a look because pairs of heads were appearing floating above each other.
“Charles,” Haden acknowledge with a nod.
Curtis took a deep breath, preparing himself. Within a second a grin had split across Haden’s face, he reached out and slapped Curtis across the shoulder hard enough to make him lose his footing.
“You daft t*** Private!” Haden exclaimed and then walked past Dicer.
He could only smile and shake his head, trying not to reach for the painful split above his brow from the fight.
“Hey, who’s got the photo of Curtis’ sister?” came a call from one room.
“I’m still using it!” came a call from another room. That soldier make a few rude noises to make it clear what he was pretending to use the photo for.
“Me next!”
Curtis swore several times under his breath and turned into his room. His three room mates were still rousing and getting dressed.
“Breakfast?” one of them suggested. Curtis nodded in reply.
An NCO came jogging down the corridor screaming out orders: “Third Platoon, get kitted up you’re headed for manoeuvres! Get suited up and go assemble on the field!”
A mischievous grin spread across Curtis’ face. “I’m too hungry, if Sarge asks I didn’t swing by here, I went to the mess first!” before his colleagues could argue Dicer turned and slipped away through the suddenly swarming barracks.
He started to panic, looking for somewhere to hide the stub of the cigarette the guard had given him a few minutes ago.
He settled on extinguishing it with his heel and placed it under the heel of his boot just moments before the Sergeant came into view.
"Private Charles, once again I find myself hoping that a few days of quiet reflection will have turned you into a model soldier. Once again I cannot contain the sense of apprehension for what new feck-up you will bring to the squad next." The pock faced Sergeant grimaced as the bars slid away from the cell.
Dicer stood to attention, carefully keeping the butt of the cigarette under his boot. Sergeant Jonas sniffed the air deliberately before continuing. "You are a continual blight on my squad Charles, I can only hope the pounding Corporal Haden gave you has knocked some sense into you."
"With any luck sir," Dicer replied. He was certain that the trooper on guard would be smiling under his helmet.
"It's not luck you need now Private," the squad leader growled under his breath, "You'd better hope whatever piss poor excuse you dredge up is better than last time, because it's not me you have to answer to!"
"Good old trust fund JP wants another little chat does he?"
"Private, I'm going to pretend you didn't just directly insult an Officer, because I can't be bothered to deal with you right now. The Regimental CO wants a word, not some officer’s academy whelp. My hope is, it's time to go back home. Don't worry, I'll even get you a going away present. I promise." The Sergeant finished with a wide grin, then turned on his heels. Dicer waited a moment then followed, pointing out the cigarette butt to the guard who gave him a thumbs up.
Dicer's insides felt like they were knotting up as he followed his SL. This was bad. As much as being holed up in this crappy barracks can of endless pre-fab buildings and sandbags was driving him mad, the thought of being sent home terrified him. He wouldn't admit it, and he'd try to pass his dismissal off with pride when home, but it would actually shame him deeply. Becoming a solder in the ODF was about the most success he'd ever gained in life.
They came to a halt at the door to the Officer's centre. Sergeant Jonas turned to him, the smile was gone.
"Look, you know you've really frelled up when the one-star wants to talk to you," he said. "Just don't disgrace the squad more yeah?"
Dicer nodded mutely, finding himself short of words for one of the first times in his life. He was used to being told off by the Platoon CO. The man was only three years his senior, straight out of University. Dicer found their discussions amusing.
Jed Kash was a more worrying prospect. The sergeant walked him through the room, passed the desks of many of the Company’s senior officers. They stopped at the Colonels desk and both saluted crisply.
"Good morning," Kash said. "Let's find somewhere to talk." He slipped his datapad to one side, before gathering a folder from his drawer. He turned and headed towards one of the meeting rooms that bounded the area.
"You can leave us now Sergeant, I'll send Private Charles back to the by twelve hundred."
"Sir."
"Right, Private, have a seat." he waved towards the desk at the centre of the room. As Dicer pulled out a chair, the Colonel closed the blinds. He sat down and started looking through the folder.
He looked up to find Dicer looking at his feet.
"Eyes up Private. It's enough of a pain that I have to deal with you personally, but I at least want to see that you're paying attention to what I have to say."
"Yes sir," Dicer replied. He met the cold hard gaze of the Colonel. There was a force of will behind those eyes. Not the piggy little eyes, hoping to spot trouble, that his Sergeant possessed. Not the vacant expression of the daddy's boy, yet to see action, that the Platoon CO watched him with. There was strength, experience, and understanding in that look.
"So Private, let me start by saying that there is nothing you will have done that will surprise me. I've been at this game for years, and dealt with plenty of cocky little sh…” he paused before swearing. “Plenty of difficult young men finding their way in the world. If you dipped your cock in gas, set it alight and ran through the mess screaming 'look mummy my balls are burning’ then yes I'd be surprised.
"But this," he said, indicating the reports he was reading. "Are nothing I haven't seen."
He surprised Dicer then pulling a glass from the drawer and pouring him a glass of a spirit. He slid it across the desk. Dicer took a swig, it felt hot in the throat, but even he could tell it was far better than the paint stripper squaddies could get a hold of whilst on whilst in the barracks.
"So, what did you do this time?"
"Got in a fight sir,"
"Obviously. Why?"
Dicer ran a hand along the newly-healed cut on his eyebrow. "Corporal Haden said nasty things about my sister sir,"
"You understand how bad it is to strike your ASL, so I won’t bother lecturing. What prompted this?"
"Sir?"
"Well what happened to start this, were you discussing your sister?"
"Showed the lads a photo sir,"
"Well what did you bloody expect Private? You've been in training a year and on ops for months. You've been starting fights for weeks. This means something is causing you a problem. What is it?"
Dicer looked at the older officer incredulously. Help wasn't often offered help by a ranking officer, just demands.
"Well I...erm...I guess I'm bored sir. Same drills every day, chores to keep us going. Haven't been on even a raid in months."
"Ah, I can sympathise with that. Long periods out of actions even get me frustrated. Young man like you should be in the field, earning his stripes. Look, I don't waste my time with losers Private. I want to see every one of my soldiers go on to have a career. All you have to do is shape up, keep your head down. Things will liven up soon, you heard about how relations are going with the Confederacy..."
"No sir," Dicer interrupted.
The Colonel paused for a moment. "Surely you watch the news? Didn't they play the message in the brig? All kinds of sanctions and posturing. The fleet is being mobilised Private, they’ve been interviewing commanders on the news to drum up support with the civvies!"
Dicer considered this for a moment, finishing the drink almost guiltily. He quietly hoped for another glass, but the Colonel stashed it. All-out war was something he hadn't expected, he felt the pace of his heart ramp up. Was this excitement or fear?
"Things are going to get hairy and I need everyone focused. You like sport?" Kash asked while looking at the file.
Dicer nodded.
"Good I was thinking of starting a few teams. Maybe weekly games if I can get it cleared. Could show the flyboys how to play ball, we could invite a team over from the field down the road. That sound interesting?"
"Yes sir,"
"Good lad. You can run some of the sessions, I expect a plan by next week for four training sessions. Now here's a good life lesson, if you're going to pick a fight, make sure you can follow through. Sounds like you got pasted."
Dicer thought of arguing, but decided against it. This was one of the few times in his life anyone had taken the time to listen to him.
"Things will get more interesting soon. But...this is your last chance. Do the regiment proud or I really will send you back to basic." the Colonel didn't bark like a dog like the sergeants, he didn't shout and whine like the junior officers. He just calmly expressed the truth.
"Yes sir, thank you sir."
"And go and see Corporal Harris about some boxing. I can't abide people who can't take a left hook. He used to be the Corps champion you know?"
"Yes sir," Dicer added as he left the room.
The Colonel leant back in the chair for a moment before gathering his things. He hadn't been lying. Curtis was not the first troublesome Private he'd had to deal with, nor would he be the last. He had become quite adept at it over the years. It was a shame that loud mouthed sergeants only brought ninety percent of recruits fully in line, but it felt good to take a direct hand in keeping the regiment in shape occasionally.
Dicer swiped his card across the panel, and the doors to the barracks slid open. He reflected that no matter how well the air conditioning worked, they could never quite remove the hint of stale sweat from the air in here.
The barracks housed thousands of soldiers in relatively cramped conditions. At least ground-pounders and their pre-fab shelters and field tents got more room on their bases than marines did. He’d heard the marines couldn’t even stand in half of their barracks.
Curtis walked down the narrow corridor to his own room, having to sidle past many other soldiers off duty. It was one of the advantages of droid armies, he knew. They cost a lot up front, but when it came down to transporting them you just switched them off and rack mounted them by the thousand. No food, no R and R requirements, no attitude.
He headed down two sets of stairs to reach his floor. Each of the enlisted soldiers had to share a room with three others. If he stood in the middle of the room, he knew he could almost touch both walls. The NCOs always got a room to themselves, or at least only one other roommate. Not that they had a great deal more space, but at least they got privacy and didn’t have to deal with three other bodies snoring and farting through the night. With all that peace Curtis wondered why they were so keen to invade the junior marines’ bunks so often and demand inspections.
As he reached his own room, the form of Corporal Haden loomed large in front of him. A hush came over the immediate area as the nearest soldiers stopped to watch. Heads popped out of doors, and Curtis knew those soldiers must have still been in bed and leaning out for a look because pairs of heads were appearing floating above each other.
“Charles,” Haden acknowledge with a nod.
Curtis took a deep breath, preparing himself. Within a second a grin had split across Haden’s face, he reached out and slapped Curtis across the shoulder hard enough to make him lose his footing.
“You daft t*** Private!” Haden exclaimed and then walked past Dicer.
He could only smile and shake his head, trying not to reach for the painful split above his brow from the fight.
“Hey, who’s got the photo of Curtis’ sister?” came a call from one room.
“I’m still using it!” came a call from another room. That soldier make a few rude noises to make it clear what he was pretending to use the photo for.
“Me next!”
Curtis swore several times under his breath and turned into his room. His three room mates were still rousing and getting dressed.
“Breakfast?” one of them suggested. Curtis nodded in reply.
An NCO came jogging down the corridor screaming out orders: “Third Platoon, get kitted up you’re headed for manoeuvres! Get suited up and go assemble on the field!”
A mischievous grin spread across Curtis’ face. “I’m too hungry, if Sarge asks I didn’t swing by here, I went to the mess first!” before his colleagues could argue Dicer turned and slipped away through the suddenly swarming barracks.
