Chapter 7

The next day the contractor returned after looking over the drawings of my idea for the front. He even had some papers on which he had sketched out his own ideas. “Yours looks good as a start, but this is my idea. Remember, we are already waiting on those blinds, they will be here Thursday. Doors, that will be next week. But this is what I wanna do.”

And it looked good if no longer the clean store entry it was now. Rip out the vestibule, as it was barely 7 feet tall. Then cut into the wall and put in a new entryway, 10 feet tall. Make the entrance a huge double door. “It will make the outside flatter, but otherwise I will have to remove the top of that, raise the walls, and put it back on. I do not want to put in a door where you have to stoop to go through it.”

And I had to admit, that did sound a lot better. I went into the main area and started my morning routine. And I was still marveling at and amazed at this new body. I could slowly lower one hand to the ground, then lift into a handstand without effort. My balance, strength, and endurance were extraordinary. But I knew I had to keep practicing, as some things I did not have.

Hand-eye coordination was still a problem, as were fine motor skills. But They had been improving, and I had a feeling that they would get better. But no matter what, I would forever be limited to the new size. Small hand tools would forever be impossible, as my hands and fingers were simply so large now. It would be like an adult trying to use a toddler fork and spoon.

Harry and Link came back, and I helped them unload the truck. And once again it was quite a load. Industrial grade pressure washer, and a large air compressor and tank. And it was a good call, as Harry said he wanted to stick it in the back so we could use it on what seemed would be constant rebuilds of the trike. We were already sketching out the second model.

And as Link traded in the broom for the pressure washer, I had a call from Control. They wanted me to head on over to the old Navy base and meet them at the gym there. We met up after lunch, and they showed me the gym. They told me I could use it for training, and I looked at it and laughed.

“Look at that thing, and look at me! I could crawl into the basketball area, but that is about it. I would have to walk hunched over everywhere. No, I would be better off where I am. But tell you what, I can send over some of my guys, and we could probably use some of the weight machines.”

We then drove around the base, and I followed them from building to building. They pointed out the old clinic which had a full crew inside, turning it back into a clinic. And the section of 30 houses and barracks that were being remodeled so mutants could move into them. And then I saw something that caught my eye in the distance. I yelled at Miss Smith and the others and drove over, leaving them scrambling to catch up.

And sure enough, on the back corner was a crane. It sat on a railroad car, and the mast was around 40 feet high. And when they said they did not have the key for the lock, I suggested they get it. I then just hopped over the 10-foot tall chain link and barbed wire gate.

“Defense Reuitilization and Marketing Office Storage Yard” was on the sign outside, so I knew what this was. A scrapyard. And it looked like it. The railroad crane was near the middle, and on tracks were other cars, even an old locomotive. Metal shipping containers, trucks, a few metal buildings that looked they had been dragged here, and other scrap covered an area around 10 acres in size. And there was a large building, in the corner. The rest came in just as I was poking my head inside. Mostly storage, but a few more junked vehicles.

I turned to Miss Smith and smiled. “This, I want this.”

She looked around in distaste. “OK, will take a while to get all this stuff hauled out, sure you do not want another area we can just build up for you?”

“No, you don’t understand. I want it as is. Tell me, have you ever read the X-Men comic books?”

“Well, I’ve seen the movies, of course. What does that have to do with this?”

“Two words. ‘Danger Room’.”

Thankfully, one of the guys got it. Even I could see he was excited, and he started talking about it. “Miss Smith, it’s like a super high tech training area. Computer-controlled, robots, traps and weapons, that is how they train in the comics. It is great combat training for them, but they also destroy it fairly regularly.”

“Exactly. With some work, this can be our ‘Danger Room’. Get rid of a lot of the junk, but leave all those containers, about half of the vehicles, trains, and cars, things like that. Secure that crane, make it so somebody can climb up there, with a platform they can use to direct training. We could use this for combat training. I can teach them a lot of things, but teamwork they will need to learn by doing it. Here, they can beat me up all they want. A strong one can throw cars at me even, and nobody outside will get hurt.”

“That will be dangerous, right?”

“Hell yes, it will be quite dangerous. But remember, ultimately these Paladins will be soldiers. They will be going against some with guns, some who will try to run them over with cars. Some with powers equal to or greater than their own. Ultimately, we are going to lose more than a few.”

“Damn, you are as cold about this as Dr. Tran is!”

I looked at her, and she did look a little shaken. “No, I am not cold. Remember, I am a soldier. Do you know how we train for clearing rooms in the Army?”

“Blanks, right?”

I chuckled. “OK, that is the part you see. Yes, blanks. That is step one. After that we move to MILES gear, think of military-grade laser tag. In fact, that is where laser tag came from, military tools modified for civilians to play with. After that, then it is on to paintballs. All of that can be done inside simple wood mock-ups, or inside of actual buildings. No, the final step is inside of the tire house.”

“The tire house? What’s that?”

“Well, quite simple. You see, the barrel of the M-16 is .223 caliber. Close enough that you can fire a .22 bullet through it. You yank out the bolts of the rifles of a squad, give them real .22 ammo, and a modified bolt that can fire that round. You then have them clear a building that has no roof, and all the walls are made of tires. Tires full of packed sand and dirt, that stops bullets. Yes, it is a live-fire exercise. With real soldiers and real bullets.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“Oh hell yes, it’s very dangerous. Quite a lot of things we do, single envelopment, moving to contact or breaking contact under friendly mortar and artillery fire, even moving to contact on foot with our own tanks. Those are all done by real infantry under real live fire conditions. I still remember one drill, breaking contact as mortars were going off and an Apache was moving in and strafing the enemy position. Sometimes we are injured or even killed doing that training. But here is the thing you have to remember. ‘We bleed in training, so we do not bleed in war’. Better to get shot in the ass with a .22 in Kentucky, than shot in Baghdad with a 7.62 mm round. And better if your buddy shoots you, it’s with that low power round with medics right there, instead of with a high caliber M-16 round miles from a hospital during a firefight.”

I pointed around. “This, this is going to be our live fire area. I will still want more changes. Over there overlooking the water, make it an exclusionary zone, out to a quarter-mile. A large dirt berm, so any that can fire projectiles can use it for practice. I can teach a lot of things about bodies and mind and do that anywhere. But to actually practice as a team, we need a place that we can tear up a bit and not worry. And this will be perfect.”

Miss Smith promised she would get on that right away, but it would take a bit to get started. “That’s fine, but we will need it. And it does not need to look pretty. Oh, and I saw a forklift in the back. Get that fixed, I want to be able to move things around here for different training needs.”

That night, I was actually surprised when Miss Smith came in as I was finishing the last class for the night. After a final bow and everybody taking off, I poured us both some coffee and she sat at a table as I sat again on the ground.

“Clint, I have to admit, I only understood about half of what you said there. I know it was important, but I felt stupid. I admit you are an expert in this kind of thing, but I need to know more if I am going to meet your needs. What is an envelopment, and why is it single?”

I chuckled, and after a few minutes moved us to my whiteboard. I had a smaller one in my office in the old studio, that was now in my bedroom. This was a massive one near the side wall. I then used the markers to describe to her a single envelopment, double envelopment, moving to and from danger under friendly indirect fire, and even a few different ambushes. She actually looked a bit amazed when I was finished, almost 2 hours later.

“Wow, I had no idea. Forgive me, but I always thought infantry was kind of dumb. Just point them at the enemy and let them go.”

“Well, that works. If you have enough of them and do not mind if a lot do not come home. That was actually what made things in 1991 and 2003 so easy for us. The Iraqi Army was really not very well trained. Mostly in the ‘Charge them until they are dead or you are’ style of fighting. And the Jihadists, they were the same way. At first. But battle is the ultimate Darwinian experience. You learn from it, or you die. Well, Roger Raghead eventually had some that survived and got smart, and they taught their tricks to others. That is why the fighting is in most ways harder than it was when I was there. They got smart, so now we have to get even smarter.”

I saw her nod, and she was taking that all in. “Infantry is often the joke of the military. So stupid you can not drive a truck? No problem, stick a gun in their hand and make them grunts. We are used to it. Hell, we even joke about it ourselves, turn it into a mark of pride we are as dumb as a box of can openers in a store with only glass jars. And we may not be big into book smarts, I was below average when I first joined. But what we are is smart-smart. Call it street smarts, survival skills. We look at something, analyze it, and decide the best way for us to come out alive, and the other guy to come out dead. Stupid people in combat, they normally just die.”

“That is not what I expected at all, and neither are you. Yes, I read your jacket, some of it sounded like it came from a movie. And yes, your photos before you were injured. You looked like a stereotype of a big, dumb soldier. Silly grin on your face, vest with grenades hanging off of it, and a belt of machinegun ammo around your neck. Hell, I even saw the one where you had your foot on the chest of that guy like a big game hunter.”

“You saw that? Shit, I thought those were all destroyed. Yea, that was dumb, I could have gotten shitcanned for that one. But yea, that is what most people think. But remember, I am still here. After over 2 years of some of the bloodiest combat in the last 50 years. And when I was injured, it was just dumb luck. Not in a firefight, nothing me or anybody else did wrong. I just happened to run into a round fired by some 16-year-old kid who barely knew how to even spell ‘mortar’, let alone use one.”

“It was a 16-year-old kid? How do you know that?”

“Oh, try looking up the after-action report. My Captain visited me when I was a the hospital outside DC. Yea, they caught them as they were bugging out, my captain and 6 others were returning from a briefing they had given in the Green Zone. Strafed them from the air, then went boots down and found their hole. Was 3 kids, from 16 to 18. The 16-year-old was proud of what he had done, hoped he sent many infidels to hell. He had finished their equivalent of grade school, so he was the team leader and set up and fired the mortar. The other two were just mules. Set up, fire the 15 rounds they had, run like hell. Almost made it, too.”

“They take them in?”

I shook my head, and she looked horrified. “The kid was hit twice, they slapped a tourniquet on what was left of his leg, but the high gutshot and severed spine were killing him. They called for evac, but it was by ground and the locals did not like driving into what had just been a free-fire zone. The captain knew Arabic and talked to the kid until he died. He said at the end he could see his 72 virgins and screamed as he died.”

I saw the look on her face and shook my head. “No, if they could have they would have brought him back alive. If nothing else so they could try and find out more about the cell he belonged to. I would kill if I have to, but I never want to. Think about those three punks a while back. Yes, I killed one, wounded another. I could have put all three of them down, and no court would have convicted me for it. But there was no need, I used the minimum force to bring the situation under control.”

“You shot that kid in the belly, though.”

“Yep, but think on this. A belly wound is painful, makes it hard to do anything else. I did not shoot him in the center of the chest like I did the guy with the gun. The spokesman had a gun but had not pulled it so I just had him lie on the ground. This was not a movie, no shooting the gun out of his hand, none of that nonsense. Even the one with the knife, there was a good chance he could have died. But I was not trying to kill him.”

“Well, you sure gave me a lot to think about here, Clint. And now I see why Dr. Tran wants you to lead the Paladins here in Compass City.”

“Oh hell no! Nope, ain’t shoving me into that job. I will be your trainer, and teach them how to stay alive. I can even guide them in battle, but I ain’t no leader. Hell, if “Sarge” had not already been taken, I would have grabbed that as my name. No, I’m just a Sergeant. An NCO, a small unit leader, and instructor. No, you need an Officer.”

“But who do we pick for that?”

“Nobody, I suggest you stay out of it. Do it like the olden days. Do you even know why around 100 men are called a ‘Company’, and their leader a ‘Captain’?”

“No, actually I don’t. Honestly, I never really thought about it.”

“Simple, really. During the Renaissance, the first modern mercenary armies were formed. And they really were companies, like GE or RCA. They elected their officers, and if one performed poorly they could vote them out. And some of the earliest leaders of Companies were also captains of ships, so the names stuck. No, we need to do the same thing. Find our own leaders. Sarge is one, he is an excellent leader. Did you know he has a Bachelors in Management and was working on his MBA?”

“What, Sarge? Are we talking about the same guy?”

“Yep, most high ranking NCOs have degrees. Shit, my Sergeant Major was working on his doctoral thesis when we were deployed on how the office of Dictator was later exploited to bring down the Roman Republic.”

“Really? A doctorate?”

“Uh-huh, got it too. He’s retired now, teaches as a history professor at West Point. Some of us are quite learned. Me, they are all packed in boxes now as I can’t read as I could before. I had a lot of history books, everything from the battles in the Bible to the invasion of Panama. Why the Confederate States were doomed, and why the German Principalities were doomed to cause problems once Napoleon unified them. But it’s specialized in most ways. I can use a computer, but I can’t fix one. I can diagnose the problem with a rifle in under a minute, but I can’t use the machines to make a broken part. Now me, I can lead a squad into combat with no problem. Even a platoon of thirty men, done that before also. But a company with over a hundred? Yea, I might be able to, but I also very well might fuck it up. A battalion with around 500? Forget it, beyond my abilities. That is the key thing, knowing your limits.”