Anne Fox - Camp Chaos

“Ok. Which one of you is in command?”

Everyone laughed.

Why is that funny?

“The unit doesn’t have a commander in the typical sense,” Edge said. “Who leads all depends on what the mission is. If it involves something with eavesdropping or computer hacking, Voice gets the honors. If it involves a bit of aerial surveillance, Crow and Cloud flip a coin. You get the idea.”

“Then why did you do all the talking during the flight?” she asked, turning to Spud.

“We literally draw names from a hat for that, believe it or not. Turtle and I got surveillance on you, and I got recruiter once we’d made you our top pick.”

“Here’s the way it works,” Turtle started. “Everyone in the unit cross-trains. The idea is that if something happens to one of us, someone else can pick up their job so the mission gets completed. You’re coming in as our firearms top dog, but if you get taken out, then I step in as your back-up guy. Whatever you turn out to be good at, besides shooting, you back up the guy who’s primary for that. So, say, you’re good with electronics, you’d back up Voice. Get the idea?”

“The whole thing centers on getting the mission done,” she observed.

“You’ve got it,” Voice confirmed. “Mission first.”

She looked around the table. Pointing, she identified each of them: “Spud, Crow, Cloud, Turtle, Voice, Edge, Dr. Wright, Jana. I take it Doc and Jana got the night shift tonight?”

“Very astute,” Dr. Wright said. “And I know it’s early, but you probably should think about getting some sleep. You report to Dr. Richardson tomorrow at 0700, and you will find over the next few days that none of us like to be kept waiting. Nothing to eat from this point until you have bloodwork done tomorrow.”

Probably all part of the evaluation. On a mission, timing is likely critical. “Not a bad idea, especially as I’m still two hours behind you. Jet lag.” She got up, made a mental note of the route back to her quarters, and headed out. Turtle, Voice, and Edge hung a left where she recalled needing to hang a right. Quarters FT1, 2, and 3. Cloud, Crow, and Spud all headed in the same direction she was. Quarters 4, 5, and 6. As she headed to her own quarters, she made note of where the other three went. Cloud across, Crow kitty-corner, Spud next door . She was determined to know the unit’s building inside and out, though she suspected she wouldn’t be getting out much, for the next few days at any rate.

It’s five fucking o’clock, I’m starving and can’t eat until they get the bloodwork done. And worse yet, it’s only THREE fucking o’clock in Albuquerque and my damned brain is still on Albuquerque time.

Kat finished rinsing the shampoo out of her hair and soaped up the rest of her body. They’ll probably probe every orifice, so I’d better make sure they’re all clean .

She rinsed herself off and stepped from the shower, grabbing a towel and vigorously rubbing herself dry. Going to the sink, she grabbed her hair dryer and set about brushing and drying her hair. They’re gonna cut ya, so enjoy your last few days of life on my head . She brushed her teeth, then ran a finger over them to ensure she didn’t miss any spots. Mouthwash. Fuck. I forgot to pack any. Mental note: find out if the quartermaster store has some.

She walked out into the bedroom and pawed through her clothes, trying to find some that would fit loosely in preparation for the medical exam she was about to undergo. These will do .

Checking the time, she noted that she would arrive a bit early if she left right at that moment, so she pulled the unit building diagram out and started to study it again. Dr. Richardson is in Med 2, across the hall from the cafeteria’s south entrance. Hang a left past the staircase. Or, if you’ve got time, go straight and check out the range.

She got up, grabbed the access card, and shoving it in a pocket headed out the door. Right, left, all the way down, door is on the left . Checking her watch, she noticed she had a little over three quarters of an hour to explore, and she definitely wanted to explore their firing range.

She walked along at a good clip, anxious to see what she hoped would be her most-visited area of the building. Arriving at the door, she gave it a push.

“Try your access card.”

She jumped, not realizing anyone else was present. Turning, she saw Spud behind her. “You scared the fucking shit out of me.”

“I thought you had spidie sense.”

“Not when it’s 0400 Albuquerque time and I’m not allowed to drink any coffee.” She pulled out the access card and held it up to the sensor. She made a mental note here as well, noticing all of the sensors, rather than being placed over the doorknob as was commonly seen in hotels, were approximately chest-high on the frame to the left of the door. She tapped the sensor with her access card, and was rewarded with the click! of the lock opening. Spud followed her into the range anteroom, designed to act as an airlock to keep the range’s ceiling tiles from becoming dislodged from the negative pressure produced from the range’s filtration system.

“Can I go in?”

“Please do. This is likely going to be the place you spend most of your time, as well as where you’ll be doing some training for the rest of us. So, we’d love your opinion.”

She walked through the door into the range proper and looked around. It was fairly deep for an indoor range. She estimated perhaps two hundred meters. The backstop was ballistic rubber and looked like it had been recently groomed. The sealed concrete floor didn’t have a single mark from an errant round. Neither did the walls or the baffles extending from the ceiling. Set up for tactical. And it appeared to be sound-proofed. There was no spent brass on the floor, nor any partially-burned green powder from fired cartridges just forward of the firing line.

“Do you actually ever use it?” she asked.

“There’s someone in here at various times all day, every day,” Spud said. “But, like they say in the Navy, a clean ship is a happy ship. So, we keep the range policed up. It would be a bad thing to have someone injured by rolling an ankle on a bunch of spent brass, or take a ricochet from lead in the backstop. Luigi has the task of maintaining the range as well as our weaponry, and he’s very conscientious about it.”

“It’s immaculate.”

“Thank you. We pride ourselves on every aspect of what we do, and we want every aspect to be done well.”

“I like this,” she said, noting how the booth dividers were constructed. “This design suppresses bounce back off the divider, so no hot brass hitting you in the face. The louvers just direct it to the floor.”

“Actually, to a catch bin,” he said, sliding one out of its location. “That was a suggestion from your predecessor. He designed it. We love it.”

“I gather this is designed for pistol and tactical rifle?”

“Yes, ma’am. We shoo the Marines off the outdoor sniper range when we want to go longer.”

She glanced at her watch. “Time to get over to Medical 2.”

“And how are you getting there?”

“Out the door of the range, hang a left, first right, second door on the right.”

“You’ve been studying, I see,” he said, walking with her.

“I take a lot of pride in doing things well myself.” Arriving at the medical office, she asked, “Why is it I find you shadowing me everywhere?”

“It’s my job right now, Kat. Recruiter gets to integrate the new guy into the unit.”

She took out her access card and looked at him questioningly. “Yeah, it will open it,” he said. “I’ll be back for you at 1000. The vampire in the lab will be done with you by then, and I’m guessing when the doc listens to your gut, she’s going to hear it grumbling, knowing you.”