*****
The sounds of the forest were beginning to make themselves heard. Toni checked his digital watch; it read a quarter past four in the morning. But of course the critters didn’t know that, and so they kept to whatever timetable they had figured out for themselves. By the looks of it, at least some squirrels had decided it was daytime, and he could see a pair of them foraging among the roots of a Tanoak to his left. He wondered for the millionth time what true night might be like.
Close your eyes and you’ll know, his father had joked the first time Toni asked that question.
He had learned to never expect a straight answer from his father, and had long suspected that that was a treatment the old man reserved only for his son. He felt relieved all over again to be walking away from Mushima farm. His encounter with Kaya had only strengthened his resolve.
He increased the length of his stride, dreading to be late for his first encounter with military life. His backpack felt heavier, and he had begun to switch it from one shoulder to the other more often. His surroundings were becoming noisier. Birds chirped musically as some began to take flight, and at last it became clear to him that the forest had decided it was daytime. Nature’s dawn had finally arrived.
Despite everything he had been taught about Nature’s adaptation to his home planet, Toni still found its biological clock fascinating. In the complete absence of day-night cycles, the forests had adopted their own circadian rhythm of about twenty two hours, although the cycle-length happened to vary depending on the time of month. On more than one class excursion out to the groves, Toni and his primary-school mates had been instructed to sit silently and listen to the forest as it woke. It was a rare day when Nature’s Dawn coincided with the chronological one.
But Nature’s Dawn was not a simultaneous continent-wide event. It progressed in waves, the gradual increase in wildlife activity propagating across the countryside like a planet-wide Mexican wave. That wave moved along at over a hundred kilometers per hour and was eleven hundred kilometers deep, sometimes taking more than two weeks to make a full circuit around the Thaumantian supercontinent’s arid center. There were never less than twelve such dawn waves in motion at any time, although very rarely dawns fused, or spontaneously emerged from between sister waves that were unusually far apart, or even swirled and eddied over vast mountain ranges and other geographical features. Once faced with a time-lapse simulation of the event on a continent-wide scale, it had appeared to Toni as if a giant hypnotic eye was hard at work, trying to bewitch him.
The tree-roots under his feet had become so densely intermingled that he was having difficulty keeping his footing. The road had since been demoted to a long disused path, but it was already too late to think about turning back. Besides, there was supposed to be nothing else out there except for the base. He maintained his heading, swallowing his anxiety as the minutes passed by.
Half an hour later, the road promisingly began to look well-traveled again, and every once in a while he would find a dirt path leading off it, wide enough for a single column of men to travel through. Visibility had also begun to improve and Toni could see farther out around him. He groaned inwardly, knowing that it was now only a matter of time before it began to rain. He kept following the dirt road until finally he spied something that made his heart leap. He took a quick look at his watch: it was a quarter to six.
Two hundred meters down an arrow-straight paved road, there was an ornate wrought-iron military gate with a solitary black sentry box standing beside it. To the left was a white-washed wall of about a man’s height, and it led off into the forest without any end in sight. A wall on the other side led off diagonally into the forest.
After an exhilarating sprint, Toni came to a skidding halt in front of the gate. A quick look at the sentry box provided him with yet another setback; it was quite empty.
The gate must open at six o’clock sharp, he finally realized.
The avian chirping slowly grew to become a nuisance, and Toni saw a number and variety of birds beyond count in flight, or pecking along the ground in ever closer proximity to him as he rested on a rock with his pack beside him.
As Toni tried unsuccessfully to attract the attention of several marauding crows, the long expected drizzle finally began to fall, reducing visibility again as well as chilling Toni to the bone. He removed an oversized jersey from his pack and used it to cover his shoulders like a cloak before perching a wide-brimmed farmer’s hat on his head, an accessory as useful to keep his head dry as to prevent the birds overhead from painting a target on his crown.
The minutes ticked slowly away and, to Toni’s growing bewilderment, not a single recruit showed up at the gate.
He checked his watch again. It was a quarter past the hour, and that undoubtedly meant he was late. Anxiety lurched forwards and took center-stage in his heart, reminding him in exquisite detail of the shame that awaited him were he to fail.
He walked over to the gate and gave it a long, hard stare. He then shifted his weight back and launched himself forward, sending a boot against the gate in frustration. The sudden impact of work-boot against iron produced a resounding metallic clang.
To Toni’s utter surprise, the sentinel box to his left shuddered violently, and a tall figure enshrouded in a black cloth suddenly jumped out, only to collapse to the ground with a thud.
“Uff! HALT! WHO GOES THERE?” the figure bellowed loudly, trying to stand as it did so. It finally managed to free itself from its covering and a compact-looking rifle fell clattering to the ground at his feet.
A crack trooper he certainly wasn’t. Toni suppressed the urge to face-palm as the soldier quickly gathered the rifle up with spider-like arms. He wore a vomit-green uniform a little short at his arms and legs, which made some sense, seeing as his extremities were a little long for the body he had been graced with. The expression on the sentinel’s face as he spotted the newcomer summed his intellect up nicely.
“Oh, for the love of –” The soldier coughed twice and then spat. Composing himself, he turned to Toni.
“Hell, you had me thinking the Lieutie had caught me at it again!” he gasped with relief.
“Hey ...” Toni said, “I thought there was no one in there ...”
“Oh, just doing the curtain routine. Get some sleep without the critters bothering me. If I knew Parkinson had let someone out, I would’ve been expecting you. So, ya want in?” He asked, hooking his thumb towards the gate.
“I’m here to be incorporated,” Toni stated bluntly.
The sentinel stood there for what seemed like a long time, studying Toni anew.
“You’re a ... a rook?”
“Uh ... yes, I guess so. Listen, the sheet says oh-six-hundred and I’m already fifteen minutes late ...”
The sentinel quickly checked his watch, and then marched over to him and put his hand out. Toni shook it, taking note that the soldier possessed retard strength.
“I’m Derek Rooney, but everyone calls me Stick. Get your gear, I’m gonna open the gate!”
“Toni. Thanks.”
Before long Toni found himself inside a military base for the first time in his life, his pack shaking and leaping as he coursed down a paved road at a good sprint.
Stick had turned out to be a mate. The lanky sentinel had given a brief explanation on how to get to the Suit parade ground, the usual mustering spot for recruits. Before Toni had been about to break into a run, however, the soldier had stopped him.
“Listen, you look like you’re a mate, so I’ll give you some advice I didn’t chance to get. Only two things. Don’t ever trust a comrade right off, not even the friendly ones, ‘cause some of them are the pits. That includes the other recruits. And when you get hammered down in the Click, don’t ever give up. Giving up will cost you the Suit, and you’ll never get that shot again! OK? Good luck, rook!”
Following Stick’s directions, Toni kept along the paved road for a full kilometer, occasionally spotting collections of small whi
te-washed huts to his flanks as he sped along. Sure enough, he soon saw to his left an enormous parade ground. Dead center on those granite-grey grounds, he saw a motley group about fifty strong huddled together. Beyond the parade ground was a much denser collection of buildings, white the dominant color there as well.
As sweat burned, Toni put in a final burst of speed and ate up the heavily scratched and pitted parade ground. Beyond the group of civilians, he saw a heavyset soldier standing sentinel, his legs widely spaced apart as he watched over them. He came to a stop beside the group and wiped the sweat from his eyes for a better look.
The recruits wore terrified expressions and stood in a formation three lines deep, their luggage having been piled in a disorganized heap behind them. The soldier standing before them seemed almost inhuman, although Toni couldn’t place what made him so uncannily robotic. He was in his forties, with a smart black cap parked on his shaved head and a geometrically-shaped goatee surrounding his almost lipless mouth. His sky-blue eyes remained fixed on the formation before him, giving Toni the impression that he hadn´t registered Toni’s arrival.
Toni pulled out the printed attachment of the mail he’d been sent and cleared his throat.
“Sir, uh, Toni Miura reporting for duty! Sir!” he added, considering that one sir wasn’t enough for the occasion.
The soldier didn’t budge and kept his robotic vigil over the formation before him. Toni wondered what he was doing wrong. And then, in a flash, an epiphany came to him.
He fired off a salute.
The soldier’s head snapped towards Toni as if it had been spring-loaded. Someone in the crowd groaned as if he had suddenly fallen ill.
The soldier’s mouth gaped as if he was about to say something, and his eyes opened so wide that Toni could see the whites of his eyes above and below his irises. Despite his alarm, Toni noticed that the man had no eyebrows.
“WHAT! THE FUCK! DO YA THINK! YOU’RE DOING? YOU UNDERFED! UNDERBRED! UNDERSIZED! LITTLE SHIT!!” the soldier finally screamed at the top of his lungs. He made for Toni with a fast, almost spastic march, stopping only when his ruddy nose was brushing against the rookie’s forehead.
“YOU WILL NOT! I REPEAT NOT! EVER! SALUTE IN CIVILIAN CLOTHING AGAIN! THIS IS NOT SOME NAVY! AIRFORCE! OR OTHERWISE SUBSTANDARD OUTFIT! YOU WILL NOT SALUTE IN CIVVS! YOU WILL NOT SALUTE WITHOUT A HEAD COVERING! AND MOST OF ALL! YOU WILL NOT SALUTE! UNTIL Y’ALL HAVE BEEN TAUGHT WHEN! WHERE! AND HOW! TO SALUTE! ARE WE CLEAR, BOY?”
“Very clear, sir!” Toni answered quickly, trying to ignore the spittle accumulating on his eyelashes.
“THAT’S FIRST SERGEANT MASON TO YA! ROOK!”
“Very clear! First-sergeant!” Toni declared.
Sergeant Mason took a quick step back and snatched the printed letter from Toni’s hand, read through it quickly, and then consulted the list on his clipboard with a jerky motion. With another quick jerk he checked his watch.
“Why are you late?” he demanded, having apparently fallen into remission.
“I was let in through the gate to the east, First Sergeant. I didn’t ...”
“Sergeant will do.”
“Yes, Sergeant. I didn’t know any other way here. I came on foot, sir.”
“And that constitutes an excuse to you, rook?” he inquired, a smirk beginning to twist his face.
“No, Sergeant.”
“I thought not. Up front. No luggage. NOW!” Mason bellowed, pointing with his clipboard to the spot where he had been a moment ago.
Toni hastily discarded his packs and jogged to the head of the troop, his stomach sinking anew. Mason cleared his throat extravagantly and then fired off like a cannon.
“OUR FELLA! HERE!” he bellowed, pointing the clipboard towards Toni and, accidentally or not, smacking it against his temple, “HAS DECIDED TO BE TARDY! NOW SUCH AN INFARCTION! HAS AN UNREASONABLY CHEAP PRICE OF FIVE! I REPEAT FIVE! PRESS-UPS! EACH WILL BE DONE BY HIM! AND THEN DONE BY Y’ALL! I WANNA HEAR THE NUMBERS! LOUD AND CLEAR!”
Sergeant Mason eyed Toni ecstatically and bellowed one final order into his ear: “NOW!”
Toni didn’t need to be told twice. He fell on his hands, waiting for the entire platoon to do the same, and immediately flexed his arms against the earth once. Amidst myriad grunts and groans, the platoon followed suit. Before he could complete the second, Mason interrupted them.
“I WANNA HEAR THE NUMBERS! AGAIN!”
Toni started from scratch and bellowed out a hoarse “one”. This, apparently, was also unsatisfactory in Mason’s idea of how the exercise should proceed. Before long Toni discovered that “zero” was a valid number at MEWAC, and one to be reckoned with, seeing as he ended up doing at least a dozen zeros before Mason allowed him to continue. The sergeant was also highly demanding of proper execution, and every time they neared five, he would find someone who wasn’t performing properly and Toni would find himself at zero once again.
He had lost count of how many press-ups they had performed when a boy’s hoarse voice piped from inside the formation.
“I don’t need this! Sergeant, I’ve had enough!”
A dark-haired boy finally poked his head above the collection of backs and backsides, his face glistening and his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and fallen drizzle.
“ON YER FEET! ALL OF YA!” Mason screamed, a mad grin on his face as he surveyed the damage. The platoon wavered like a grove of trees in the midst of a storm, some recruits coughing while other rooted their hands to their thighs as if that was the only thing keeping them up. Toni saw that some recruits had something written on their foreheads and he tried to make it out, but then Sergeant Mason’s smirking red face filled his field of view.
“Don’tcha move, rook, I’ve got my inspiration ...”
He took out what appeared to be a marking pen. Wiping Toni’s forehead with his sleeve, Mason began to painfully scrawl something there, biting his own tongue in concentration as he formed the letters. Finally satisfied, he turned around.
“YO! FAGGOT! YA QUIT SO YA GET YA GEAR! OUTTA HERE! AND MISTER TARDY HERE! TAKES YA PLACE!”
With a flourish, Mason struck the washout’s name from his clipboard and then elaborately beckoned Toni to join the group. Feeling light-headed, Toni left his packs where the others were collected and headed towards the boy’s place in formation, whispering a raspy apology to him as they passed each other by.
“Good luck ...” the boy whispered back, although his expression said otherwise, and Toni thought he heard someone whisper “asshole” from nearby. He felt deeply ashamed for the briefest of moments, but then he throttled the emotion.
No need to be the good guy, he admonished himself as he took his place.