Christopher Nuttall - A Learning Experience

Montana, USA

“Earth’s 1 stInterstellar Regiment,” Romford said. “Reporting for duty, sir!”

Steve had to smile. Seven thousand men, most of them former American military officers and personnel, had passed through the training camp; five thousand, six hundred had graduated. Romford’s reports made interesting reading — there had been soldiers who had been unable to face the aliens, officers who thought they should automatically be given command positions — but in the end the really bad ones had been weeded out. Future officers, he’d quietly promised himself, would follow the Marine concept of rising from the ranks, having served as riflemen first. It helped ensure they knew what they were doing.

“Good,” he said. He stepped forward and up onto the podium. He’d never reviewed troops before, but he’d taken time to cut the ceremony down to the bare minimum. It was always irritating to have to stand for hours while some politician pontificated on a subject dear to their hearts. Most of the time, it consisted of meaningless words and phrases. Bracing himself, Steve keyed the mike. “I won’t waste your time.”

A thin ripple of amusement ran through the assembled ranks of soldiers. Steve concealed his own amusement and continued.

“Many have said that you are mercenaries,” he said. “Many have accused you of going off to shed alien blood in alien wars. Many have accused you of being nothing more than guns-for-hire, men and women who are paid to fight whoever the paymaster wants you to fight. But those people do not understand the true situation. You are going to fight beside aliens we desperately need as allies. And you are going to fight for Earth.

“Make no mistake. Barely a year ago, we knew nothing of affairs out beyond the edge of Earth’s atmosphere. Now, we know that great interstellar powers wage war constantly, with human slaves serving in their armies. Now, we know we need to prepare for the coming struggle for a place in the universe, for independence, for survival itself. You are the ones who will learn about the universe and bring your lessons back to us, to help us prepare for the oncoming storm.

“I wish I could promise that it would be easy. I wish I could promise that each and every one of you will return, one day, to Earth. I can make no such promises. But what I can promise is that Earth will never forget you. History will enshrine your names for the rest of time — and Earth’s survival will be your legacy.”

He paused. “I’m not very good at making speeches, am I?

“I want you to know that you have my gratitude for volunteering and that, one day, you will have the eternal gratitude of Earth. And that’s enough speechifying from me. See you at the spaceport in a week.”

There was a brief cheer, then the soldiers started to scatter. Most of them, Steve knew, would head for the nearest town for food, drink and women, the last they would see of anything remotely human for several months at the very least. A handful would head home, if they were willing to use the teleporter, or stay on the base and write their wills. Some of them simply didn’t have anywhere to go.

“No,” Romford agreed, breaking into his thoughts. “You’re not a very good speechwriter.”

Steve flushed, then shook his head. “At least it wasn’t faked,” he said. “Not like a political verbal orgasm.”

“True,” Romford agreed. “I assume you have a shipping plan?”

“Yes,” Steve said. “Two of the freighters will carry you and your men to Ying, where you will meet up with our allies. At that point, you should receive the supplies they promised; if you don’t, or there are problems with the supplies, work with them to fix it.”

He sighed. The aliens had promised everything from cybernetic enhancement to suits of powered combat armour. Given the sheer productive might of their fabricators, they could afford to fabricate literally millions upon millions of battlesuits — or anything else the human race might need to arm its soldiers. And, if there were problems with the first batch, they could easily put together another set of equipment within the first few days.

“And if they turn out to be a real problem,” he added. “Use your own best judgement.”

“I will,” Romford said. “These men, Steve, will not be wasted.”

Steve nodded. The soldiers were a diverse lot; soldiers, sailors and airmen from America, joined by a relative handful of retired soldiers from other English-speaking countries. Some of them had been old, on the verge of death, or badly crippled like Romford before they’d been recruited. Most of the ancient veterans would have signed away their souls for a chance to return to the battlefield one last time. Retraining them on Galactic-standard equipment had been one hell of a mission. But it had been done.

“Good,” Steve said. “Have there been any major problems?”

“Had a few thousand protestors at the fence for a week or two,” Romford said, “and caught a number trying to sneak into the base. They stopped doing that after we put them to hard labour for a few days before releasing them. Oh, and we’re being sued by their families.”

Steve snorted. The agreement between Heinlein Colony and the United States agreed that the training camp wasn’t — legally — part of the United States, just like an embassy. Anyone who crossed the fence was entering a territory where the laws were different — and, if they crossed the fence in any case, they were breaking and entering. There were no legal grounds to sue Steve and his people for arresting intruders, or for giving them a small punishment before they were released.

“Not much of a problem,” he said. “And the men themselves?”

“We weeded out most of the idiots and glory-seekers within the first week,” Romford assured him. “Most of our discipline problems were handled at the same time. Right now, I have faith in both the selected officers and NCOs. If there’s one advantage of giving our allies more soldiers than they asked for, it’s that we can rotate officers and NCOs back to Earth to give lessons to newer recruits.”

Steve smiled. “And are there newer recruits?”

“A surprising number,” Romford said. He shrugged, expressively. “It could be the lust for adventure or the extremely generous benefits, but we have more volunteers than we have space to train. So far, we’re giving priority to men and women with genuine military experience from the Western countries, although we have quite a number of qualified candidates from Russia too. The Chinese, on the other hand, seem quite reluctant to allow any of their personnel to sign up with us.

“Given time, I suspect we will have thousands of potential recruits from poorer parts of the world too,” he added. “But that will cause other problems.”

Steve nodded. Americans and other Westerners were generally well-educated — and they could all speak English. Working with soldiers from other parts of the world had convinced him that the foreigners had their own way of doing things, not all of them remotely compatible with the American Way of War. But there would be no need to humour or tolerate the locals, not now. Those who failed to make it through the training program would have no opportunity to embarrass the human race in front of the Galactics.

“Just make sure you exclude the ones who can’t make it,” Steve said. “What about expanding the camp?”

“I think we will have to lease somewhere else,” Romford said. “Right now, the American Government is cooperating, but that might change. We are, after all, training mercenaries here.”

Steve rolled his eyes. The American Government had been training mercenaries, rebel armies and foreign soldiers for years, although not all of the students had gone home brimming with love for America. There was little point in the political objections, he knew, save for a desire to look good in front of the voters. But politicians rarely changed their spots when confronted with reality.