Read Online Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty by Jean Johnson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jean Johnson
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Stepping back, Forenze shouldered her pack with a grunt.
Ia took her place in the alcove. Tapping the green reset button, Ia tucked her arm into the slot long enough for the machinery to read her profile, then started grabbing and unwrapping the packets almost as fast as the dispensary spat them out. Plexi wrappers went into the recycler, and boots went into the bottom of her bag, stuffed with quickly balled pairs of socks and spare bootlaces. Undergarments were fitted in around both pairs of boots, then shorts, T-shirts, trousers, shirts, and rain gear, each item neatly folded and rolled tight. As soon as she reached the changing room, she’d have to unpack everything to get out the required change of clothes and boots and then repack it all over again, but for now, everything got stuffed into the oversized knapsack.
On top of everything else, she fitted her hat, stuffed with her sunglasses and her freshly stitched name and platoon patches. A moment later, she had the bag sealed shut, and swung the entire load onto her shoulder as easily as she would have swung a jacket. The next recruit behind them wasn’t even done reciting his Oath of Service.
“How did you . . . ?”
“One of the keys to rolling things into a tight, tiny package is to smooth out the garments several times in the folding and rolling stages,” Ia said, shrugging. “That presses out the air and makes the material that much more compressible. Come on. Let’s follow the blue line to the changing room.”
The two of them were joined by the purple and black haired Kumanei and one of the other recruits, a tallish, dark-skinned male. Both of them juggled their gear awkwardly, not having packed all of it into their kitbags. The blue lines on the floor converged and swerved to the right, detouring in front of a dark-skinned woman in a camouflage brown uniform similar to Sergeant Tae’s.
“I am Staff Sergeant Linley. I will be your Regimen Trainer while you are here at Camp Nallibong as members of Class 7157. That means I will be in charge of turning you soft, wet, civilian noodles into real Marines. You will enter the changing room here,” she stated crisply, flicking the thin baton in her hand at the doorway next to her, “scrub yourself from head to toe in a maximum ten-minute shower, and change into the clothes of your SF-MC uniform.
“Today, you will wear all-brown undergarments, socks, boots, pants, T-shirt, broad-brimmed hat, and sunglasses. Do not don the mottled clothes of your camouflage uniform at this time. You will apply your name-patches to each shirt and jacket before repacking them in your kitbags; the flag patch of the Terran United Planets will go on your right shoulder, the patch for Camp Nallibong Class 7157 will go on your left shoulder, your name patch will go over your right chest pocket, and the TUPSF-Marines patch will go over your left chest pocket. If your shirt has no chest pocket, you will see the fuzz of the adhesion patches in the designated region anyway.
“If you have any questions, refer to the Dress Charts on the walls of the changing room. Refer also to the lists of local dangers of flora and fauna; pay particular attention to the posters on avoiding pools and streams while outside, and the dangers of ‘salties,’ saltwater crocodiles, which can and will be found in fresh water even up here on the plateau. Further instructions will be given over the next three days on all the dangers to watch for locally, and the dangers you may encounter elsewhere in the known galaxy.
“You will be expected to be ready to go twenty minutes after the last of the recruits in your training class has entered this room, and you may be quizzed at that time on the information on those charts. Be prepared and be packed. You’re in the Marines now, Recruits. We do not slack on the job!”
Two more recruits approached. Sergeant Linley held up her palm, stopping them. She kept her gaze on Ia and the other three who had already been
Ia took her place in the alcove. Tapping the green reset button, Ia tucked her arm into the slot long enough for the machinery to read her profile, then started grabbing and unwrapping the packets almost as fast as the dispensary spat them out. Plexi wrappers went into the recycler, and boots went into the bottom of her bag, stuffed with quickly balled pairs of socks and spare bootlaces. Undergarments were fitted in around both pairs of boots, then shorts, T-shirts, trousers, shirts, and rain gear, each item neatly folded and rolled tight. As soon as she reached the changing room, she’d have to unpack everything to get out the required change of clothes and boots and then repack it all over again, but for now, everything got stuffed into the oversized knapsack.
On top of everything else, she fitted her hat, stuffed with her sunglasses and her freshly stitched name and platoon patches. A moment later, she had the bag sealed shut, and swung the entire load onto her shoulder as easily as she would have swung a jacket. The next recruit behind them wasn’t even done reciting his Oath of Service.
“How did you . . . ?”
“One of the keys to rolling things into a tight, tiny package is to smooth out the garments several times in the folding and rolling stages,” Ia said, shrugging. “That presses out the air and makes the material that much more compressible. Come on. Let’s follow the blue line to the changing room.”
The two of them were joined by the purple and black haired Kumanei and one of the other recruits, a tallish, dark-skinned male. Both of them juggled their gear awkwardly, not having packed all of it into their kitbags. The blue lines on the floor converged and swerved to the right, detouring in front of a dark-skinned woman in a camouflage brown uniform similar to Sergeant Tae’s.
“I am Staff Sergeant Linley. I will be your Regimen Trainer while you are here at Camp Nallibong as members of Class 7157. That means I will be in charge of turning you soft, wet, civilian noodles into real Marines. You will enter the changing room here,” she stated crisply, flicking the thin baton in her hand at the doorway next to her, “scrub yourself from head to toe in a maximum ten-minute shower, and change into the clothes of your SF-MC uniform.
“Today, you will wear all-brown undergarments, socks, boots, pants, T-shirt, broad-brimmed hat, and sunglasses. Do not don the mottled clothes of your camouflage uniform at this time. You will apply your name-patches to each shirt and jacket before repacking them in your kitbags; the flag patch of the Terran United Planets will go on your right shoulder, the patch for Camp Nallibong Class 7157 will go on your left shoulder, your name patch will go over your right chest pocket, and the TUPSF-Marines patch will go over your left chest pocket. If your shirt has no chest pocket, you will see the fuzz of the adhesion patches in the designated region anyway.
“If you have any questions, refer to the Dress Charts on the walls of the changing room. Refer also to the lists of local dangers of flora and fauna; pay particular attention to the posters on avoiding pools and streams while outside, and the dangers of ‘salties,’ saltwater crocodiles, which can and will be found in fresh water even up here on the plateau. Further instructions will be given over the next three days on all the dangers to watch for locally, and the dangers you may encounter elsewhere in the known galaxy.
“You will be expected to be ready to go twenty minutes after the last of the recruits in your training class has entered this room, and you may be quizzed at that time on the information on those charts. Be prepared and be packed. You’re in the Marines now, Recruits. We do not slack on the job!”
Two more recruits approached. Sergeant Linley held up her palm, stopping them. She kept her gaze on Ia and the other three who had already been
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