Read Online War of the Encyclopaedists by Christopher Robinson - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Robinson
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brush through the barrel and then held it to the sky, looking for leftover carbon residue, as Montauk trudged into the classroom. The rest of the platoon was in here, bullshitting loudly over the Top 40 R&B/Hip-Hop station KUBE 93.3, which was probably why the musically snobbish Ant and Joh were cleaning their weapons outside.
The roomâs setup suggested something halfway between a lunchroom and a classroom: up front were a chalkboard and a podium, which faced rows of large wooden tables lined with chairs on both sides. They were covered with dirty squares of cloth, bore brushes and non-bore brushes, tubes of Break-Free gun cleaner and lubricant, a few sixteen-ounce Powerade and Mountain Dew bottles from the vending machine down the hall, and assault rifles, grenade launchers, and machine guns in various states of disassembly. The black metal glinted in the sunlight coming through the open windows.
In the middle of the room, and taking up the most physical space, were Sergeant Jackson and his alpha fireteam, known as the âHardcores.â They all looked up to Jackson, especially Specialist Urritia, who seemed to Montauk to be a nice guy who never quite pulled offJacksonâs badass-jerk persona that he sought to emulate. Urritia was knocking back a can of caffeine- and taurine-fortified weight gainer. He was predisposed to relative scrawniness, so his regimen of pills and supplements gave him the chiseled look of an Abercrombie model, a look that Montauk both admired and thought kind of gay.
Montauk pulled up a chair next to Olaf and popped his rifle open. Olafâs rifle was already cleaned and inspected. With twelve years of practice, he was the quickest and most methodical rifle cleaner in the platoon.
âI can handle that lower receiver for you, sir,â Olaf said.
âThanks,â Montauk said as he disassembled the rest of the weapon. He looked over at 2nd Squadâs table. A tall and muscular guyâÂMontauk couldnât see his name tapeâwas choking out Specialist Antoine Thomas, who was struggling to turn his head and elbow his grappler in the ribs. Thomas was short and wide and wore big-framed googly glasses. He was a fan of sci-fi and fantasy, but especially of anime. To top it off, his speech was impeded by a lateral lisp. The ultimate 1980s caricature of a nerd. Except for one thing: he became infuriated rather than mortified when called out on his nerdiness.
Montauk, although known in his hipster set for horsing around, found it difficult to gauge what was an acceptable amount of grab-ass and unseriousness in an infantry platoon. He didnât want to be seen as schoolmarmish, but he had to maintain his authority. He settled on giving Staff Sergeant Ngo Nguyen, the 2nd Squad leader, a look that communicated annoyance with his squad. Nguyen commenced a halfhearted attempt to calm them down until Olaf bellowed across the room for them to knock it the fuck off and clean their weapons. Quiet settled, and the little clicks and scrapes of bore-brushing could be heard. Daddy was in the house. Montauk continued cleaning impassively, annoyed at how it had all gone down.
Next to Thomas, PFC Lo was wearing his Kevlar, body armor, and ballistic goggles. Having to wear tactical protective gear indoors was the military version of the dunce cap. âWhat did Lo do this time?â Montauk asked Olaf.
âHe left the ballistic plates out of his flak vest so itâd be lighter during the react-to-contact drills,â Olaf said. âNguyen found out.â
Montauk glanced at Nguyen. He had two main facial expressions: calm or, in this case, with PFC Lo sweating under his body armor, delightedly cruel.
Punitive corrective measures were encouraged to maintain discipline, but there were limits. The punishment must directly relate to the soldierâs deficiency. It must discontinue when the deficiency is overcome. Otherwise, it could constitute hazing, which is expressly
The roomâs setup suggested something halfway between a lunchroom and a classroom: up front were a chalkboard and a podium, which faced rows of large wooden tables lined with chairs on both sides. They were covered with dirty squares of cloth, bore brushes and non-bore brushes, tubes of Break-Free gun cleaner and lubricant, a few sixteen-ounce Powerade and Mountain Dew bottles from the vending machine down the hall, and assault rifles, grenade launchers, and machine guns in various states of disassembly. The black metal glinted in the sunlight coming through the open windows.
In the middle of the room, and taking up the most physical space, were Sergeant Jackson and his alpha fireteam, known as the âHardcores.â They all looked up to Jackson, especially Specialist Urritia, who seemed to Montauk to be a nice guy who never quite pulled offJacksonâs badass-jerk persona that he sought to emulate. Urritia was knocking back a can of caffeine- and taurine-fortified weight gainer. He was predisposed to relative scrawniness, so his regimen of pills and supplements gave him the chiseled look of an Abercrombie model, a look that Montauk both admired and thought kind of gay.
Montauk pulled up a chair next to Olaf and popped his rifle open. Olafâs rifle was already cleaned and inspected. With twelve years of practice, he was the quickest and most methodical rifle cleaner in the platoon.
âI can handle that lower receiver for you, sir,â Olaf said.
âThanks,â Montauk said as he disassembled the rest of the weapon. He looked over at 2nd Squadâs table. A tall and muscular guyâÂMontauk couldnât see his name tapeâwas choking out Specialist Antoine Thomas, who was struggling to turn his head and elbow his grappler in the ribs. Thomas was short and wide and wore big-framed googly glasses. He was a fan of sci-fi and fantasy, but especially of anime. To top it off, his speech was impeded by a lateral lisp. The ultimate 1980s caricature of a nerd. Except for one thing: he became infuriated rather than mortified when called out on his nerdiness.
Montauk, although known in his hipster set for horsing around, found it difficult to gauge what was an acceptable amount of grab-ass and unseriousness in an infantry platoon. He didnât want to be seen as schoolmarmish, but he had to maintain his authority. He settled on giving Staff Sergeant Ngo Nguyen, the 2nd Squad leader, a look that communicated annoyance with his squad. Nguyen commenced a halfhearted attempt to calm them down until Olaf bellowed across the room for them to knock it the fuck off and clean their weapons. Quiet settled, and the little clicks and scrapes of bore-brushing could be heard. Daddy was in the house. Montauk continued cleaning impassively, annoyed at how it had all gone down.
Next to Thomas, PFC Lo was wearing his Kevlar, body armor, and ballistic goggles. Having to wear tactical protective gear indoors was the military version of the dunce cap. âWhat did Lo do this time?â Montauk asked Olaf.
âHe left the ballistic plates out of his flak vest so itâd be lighter during the react-to-contact drills,â Olaf said. âNguyen found out.â
Montauk glanced at Nguyen. He had two main facial expressions: calm or, in this case, with PFC Lo sweating under his body armor, delightedly cruel.
Punitive corrective measures were encouraged to maintain discipline, but there were limits. The punishment must directly relate to the soldierâs deficiency. It must discontinue when the deficiency is overcome. Otherwise, it could constitute hazing, which is expressly
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