Westrons Pt. 01

WESTRONS Part 1

This is a bit of a departure for me. It will probably end up being considerably longer than my other stories (which are already plenty long). The title won't make sense until Part 3.

Thanks to my editors/proofreaders for the first two chapters: Kaereni, Evan Mauk, Desperadosies and Alianath Iriad. They gave me good advice (some of which I took). Any errors left over are mine.

***

I tried to fit in.

Really, I did. I went out on pub crawls with the other cadets. I bought rounds, even though I could ill afford to. I went so far as to hold Stedemann's head while he puked on his shoes, so that he wouldn't spew all over his trousers.

Then I stood guard while Mikel banged some nubile in an alley.

- "You want some o' that, Cook?" he asked, as he zipped up.

- "No, thanks."

- "Suit yerself."

Another night, I met a pretty girl who seemed interesting, and interested. But when she discovered that I had nowhere to take her, she quickly found another cadet more to her liking.

My classmates were, for the most part, juvenile. Mindless guzzling machines. I shouldn't criticize, I suppose; I didn't know where these guys had grown up, or what kind of environments they came from.

Didn't really care, either.

The female cadets were on Rymmel 3 - a mere 200 light years away. They kept us segregated, because apparently males can't 'concentrate on their studies' when females are present. Dead-set against 'intergender fraternization': that's today's AF (Armed Forces).

Of course, some of the cadets had money. The well-off could rent a little apartment near the Market District, and set up a mistress there. From what I heard, you could get a part-time girlfriend for 15,000 marks a month; an upscale, full-time mistress could run you between 60 and 70,000.

I was on a scholarship: 6,000 a month. Room, meals and 'incidentals' were deducted from that. End result: about 600 a month in pocket change.

Most of the guys went out on large group 'tears', or 'hoot n' hollers'. Loads to drink, in the cheaper bars, after which they'd hit a series of nightclubs, trying to impress one of the barflies or the nubiles (halfway to groupies) who swarmed the Market at night.

If a cadet was lucky, or clever, he might catch one of these girls already 3/4 drunk. Or, if he wasn't too picky ... there were other options.

Not my scene.

I started to gravitate towards some of the more serious students. These guys liked to discuss our required readings, or analyze our exercises - the TacSims (tactical simulations) in particular.

Kindred souls, in a way. I got into a decent study group for a while. Eventually, though, even these guys started finding reasons to avoid me.

For one thing, I had a tendency to ask uncomfortable questions in class - I mean, uncomfortable for our instructors. Within a short time, all of the Profs knew who I was. I was definitely not the teacher's pet. Couldn't blame the other cadets for not wanting to sit too close to me, in case I was contagious.

But I think the smarter guys were also beginning to sense that there was something seriously wrong with me.

See - I didn't buy the shit they were teaching us.

***

At University, I couldn't decide between Military History and Psychology. One of my professors gave me a recommendation for AFOTA (Armed Forces Officer Training Academy). Two interviews, the psych test, 3 exams and 2 physicals ... and I was in. Scholarship, too.

Half of the cadets at the Officer Factory were rich kids. Connected, and loaded. Another third were legacies (nepotism still rules, even in the 26th century).

The final sixth were on scholarship, like me.

The curriculum was okay: Hamilcar Barca, Robert E. Lee, Napoleon, Daykera ... all lessons on how to win with less. Then Vietnam, the Roman Empire, the Potilo Cluster ... or how to win against popular movements when you have overwhelming force.

We had regular classes in Psych, Leadership, Logistics, Strategy and Tactics ...

But there was no outright mention of the single most important element of modern warfare: asymmetrical hostilities.

Until Humanity runs into an equal or superior alien species who are hostile, our enemies can't face us in a total war. Obviously enough, they'll try to beat us with weapons they have, that we don't - or don't have enough of. Guerilla war. Cyber attacks. Infiltration and espionage (not as hard as you think, even in this day and age).

Humanity's resources are immense - but not unlimited. Local uprisings and revolts do have a chance to succeed, because our Supreme Command is so cheap. They routinely try to achieve maximum results with minimum expenditure.

Over-spend, or over-commit resources, and you could be cashiered. But under-spend, and lose an engagement, and you will be court-martialed.

We never discuss this in class. We have plenty of TacSims, but no strategic simulations.

I don't want to make it sound like I bitch about everything. There are some parts of our training that I actually agree with.

Despite Space Fleet, reflective body armor, and all of the advanced weaponry available to the AF, our instructors still believe in teaching us UC - Unarmed Combat.

We're exposed to multiple disciplines and styles, then encouraged to specialize in the one which best suits our physique, temperament, or inclination. The rationale for this freedom of choice is excellent: in a prolonged war, our opponents won't be able to prepare against a single-style of hand-to-hand combat.

The instructors tried to steer me towards karate, or another striking style; I like Barai better, because of the way it blends aikido and jiu-jitsu. No one else uses it - another point in its favor. I have to admit: I also like it because it pisses off the instructors.

We have tests and exams, which are just stupid, because they're entirely based on the material presented in class, or on our required readings. Virtually every single cadet uses Sleepread, which practically guarantees perfect recall. The others have eidetic memories (no, I'm not one of those).

There are no bonus marks for finishing early. You have all the time you could possibly need, and then some, to regurgitate everything (I know - as if that would happen in a real war). You can get a bonus for repeating a prof's off-the-cuff remarks, or for searching out and quoting one of their publications.

I'm not so good at ass-kissing.

But I did excel at the Survival Exercises. These are non-CATs (no computer-assisted technology, locators, range-finders ... you get the idea). We had to do orienteering - solo, and group. In one exercise, they gave us a compass. In another, a map.

Had I been in charge, I would have given us an inaccurate map - that would have made for an interesting exercise. But they did occasionally set us up with combat simulations where communications failed, or CATs were unavailable, because of unusual atmospheric conditions, radiation, enemy interference, or - my favourite - for no reason at all.

In those situations, I could show initiative. Originality. Unpredictability.

Here's an example of one of our TacSims: I was in command of 13 archers - yeah, bows and arrows. The intelligence briefing informed me that:

- my opponent had exactly the same number of identically-equipped archers

- the grid on which our sim took place was a level, featureless plain

- there were no atmospheric or climatic conditions which would affect missile trajectory

Minimalist in the extreme. But my opponent was the typical cadet; he would follow SOP (Standard Operating Procedure), as taught by our instructors. Advance scouts, and flank guards. Locate your opponent, and then concentrate your force.

So he came down the center of the grid, looking for my archers. Meanwhile, I was off to his left, looking for his flank guard. When I spotted him, I was able to fire seven arrows to his one. End of flank guard.

My opponent re-grouped, as I withdrew. Predictable, as ever, he repeated his error. End of a second flank guard.

As he re-grouped - and perhaps contemplated a change of tactics - I advanced. I caught two of his archers alone, and eliminated them, for the loss of one of my own. He got lucky, or I got unlucky. It didn't matter.

I pressed on, pitting my 12 remaining archers against his 9. End result: marginal victory, Cadet Cook. I had 5 archers left, when my opponent was completely eliminated.

They gave me a C-, because I lost over half of my starting force.

***

Halfway through first year, I had time on my hands. I read. I read a lot. Military history, of course, but I also found the political and social history behind the wars to be fascinating, as well as instructive.

I was surprised to learn that over a thousand years ago, universities were much the same as now. Of course, the students were mostly aristocrats, or wealthy men. Poor males - but no women - could afford to attend if they were willing to fetch and carry, acting as servants to their social betters. Duties included bed-making, water-fetching, and chamber-sweeping.

And emptying chamber-pots.

How little things change.

AFOTA cadets on scholarship were expected to supplement their meager incomes by caddying. It was a loathsome tradition, involving menial tasks and subservient behavior in return for spare change. Table scraps.

I would much rather be poor.

So I was.

My father was a chef. It was his idea to name me Cook; I never found out if he'd meant it as a joke, or as encouragement, because he left Mom and me when I was 3. She struggled at a series of low-paying jobs, trying to keep a roof over her head and food on the table.

I saw some of the sacrifices she had to make, the humiliations she had to endure, and what they did to her. She made me promise that I wouldn't quit school just to get a job.

She saw me graduate from high school, but not from university.

The only way for me to stay in school was to win scholarships.

So I did.

***

I found that I quite liked the pre-modern period, or the early modern, when computers first appeared. I searched hundreds of strange topics, and unearthed a number of gems.

Kierkegaard and Russell were philosophers - people who thought about thinking. What a concept. Among their ideas, I found that they considered boredom essential.

I would have loved to discuss this with a study group, but I was persona non grata by that time. Boredom, essential?

They suggested that being bored could ignite imagination and ambition. They most definitely did not see it as something that you needed to be rescued from. The only time to really think, to reflect - is when you're alone. That struck a chord. I knew it was true.

I found the statistics from the Maisk-Hong experiments, over 400 years ago. Fully one-third of humanity were prepared to have their CATs implanted in their bodies. Some thought that it was inevitable; others were willing if the cost wasn't unreasonable, or if some government agency assured them that it was all perfectly safe.

Computer-assisted technology. Social communications, instant reference ... inside your body. It boggles the mind, now.

Almost 30% of them went mad. People were worried about the financial and physical dangers. Turned out it was the psychological risks that they should have feared. You can't be plugged in all the time.

Solitude is good. More conducive to reflection. That's what I told myself, anyway - because by my third month at AFOTA, I was alone most of the time.

***

I found a hotel in the 12th District. It was popular with military contractors, because it was cheap. The contractors booked rooms there, but spent their time wining and dining contacts in the uptown Districts.

It was also far from the Market, and the 18th District, where my fellow cadets were still hooting and hollering.

This hotel was old-fashioned, which meant that it was virtually deserted. I could have a quiet drink in the bar, followed by a quiet coffee, without being disturbed - and without breaking my budget. I could read on my tablet, and think. It was therapeutic.

The first time I went there, I was the only patron. Perfect.

The bartender gave me the once-over, and then called the waitress - if indeed that was her job - to tell her that they had a customer.

She was just as fascinating as the outdated decor and unfashionable booths, with wide tables. Her auburn-reddish hair struck me first: she'd obviously shaved it all off, only a month or two earlier.

Her eyebrows were untrimmed, and she wore no makeup at all. Odd. She had full, sensual lips, and good teeth, but her nose was slightly crooked, and the rest of her face showed absolutely no sign of sculpting or amelioration.

It was a handsome face, though. A strong face. I particularly liked her eyes. They were greenish-brown, with flecks of yellow. No cosmetic lenses.

I ordered a draft beer, commensurate with my budget.

- "Don't." she said. "Nobody drinks it. That keg is older than you are."

I liked the sound of her voice, too. Deep, and rich.

- "Thanks for the tip." I said. "How about a bottle of Buddha?"

She nodded, and went to get it. I noticed that her clothing was drab and shapeless - to conceal, rather than to advertise. Between her clothes, her haircut, and the absence of makeup - I got the message. When she brought my beer, I thanked her, and left it at that.

Half an hour later, I ordered a coffee.

I liked the booth, and the hotel - and the waitress. I gave her a modest tip (the best I could do), and left.

***

Cadets could, if necessary, see a counselor for help with their problems - academic, personal, or otherwise. Naturally, no one ever did; it would've been an admission of weakness.

So I was surprised to find a counseling session on my schedule - I certainly hadn't requested one.

Counselor Treng was a pot-bellied desk jockey. His military service, which was far behind him, had probably been done inside the walls of an office.

- "Cadet Cook! Pleasure to meet you." He got up and came around the desk to shake my hand.

After the routine exchange of meaningless pleasantries, he got down to business, calling up my Academy records on a dual-screen monitor.

- "I see here that you have 14 Firsts." he said. "Very commendable."

A 'First' was the top mark, or highest score, in an exercise or simulation, or on a test of any kind. To this point in our first year, we'd had almost 1200 evaluations, for a class of 600 cadets. I had 14 firsts. You can do the math.

I wasn't the reincarnation of Sun Tzu, by any means, but I was certainly above average. 'Commendable' my ass.

"But I notice that five of those Firsts are in non-CATs." continued Treng. "Interesting." The way he said it seemed to suggest that I should be embarrassed. I kept my mouth shut.

"You know, Cadet Cook, I've been paying considerable attention to your case. It seems to me that you could go far, if ... if you applied yourself."

I nodded. But I was thinking: what the hell is this asshole on about? I worked hard, studied hard, trained hard - to maintain my scholarships. I didn't waste hours and hours on the endless pub crawls that passed for 'socializing' here.

So I said: "How would you suggest, Sir, that I go about improving myself? How can I apply myself more effectively?"

Counselor Treng smiled, and put on his best professorial air, while still trying to come across as an indulgent uncle. "I'm glad to hear you ask that, Cook. Shows you have a good attitude."

"You know ... there's an old expression: Sometimes you have to go along, in order to get along. You've heard that one?"

- "Yes, Sir. I have."

- "Well, Cook ... some of us have noticed that ... you don't seem to socialize much - with the other cadets. Especially in off-duty hours."

So my absences from the usual 'hoot n' holler' sessions had been duly noted - and were held against me. Or maybe they'd noticed that I wasn't 'caddying' for anybody. I was going to be labeled anti-social, or 'not a team player'.

No mention of the rich, upper-class elite, who were far too important to be seen in public with their fellow cadets. I was a poor shlub, so I was expected to do what the other poor shlubs did. Kiss ass, and eat shit.

Everybody knew, too, that the rich pricks always seemed to 'randomly' draw better units, or advantageous starting positions in TacSims. Surprised?

- "What should I do, Sir?" I said.

- "Well ... you could join in a little more." said Treng. "Make an effort. After all, you don't want anyone to think that you're not a team player."

"You know - one day, you may find yourself in a situation, hypothetically speaking, where one of your fellow cadets is your direct superior, in the chain of command. A little camaraderie now could go a long way, down the line."

I kept a straight face. But I just couldn't help myself.

- "Isn't it equally possible, Sir, that our situations could be reversed?"

- "Huh?" Treng's easy smile disappeared. It was sad to see: he'd been so sure that this counseling session was going according to plan.

- "What if I was their commanding officer, Sir? In a future, hypothetical situation, of course."

Treng looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

***

I went to the hotel in the 12th district at least once a week. Then I started going twice a week. What can I say? I liked the place: peace, tranquility, affordable drinks ... and the waitress.

Her face intrigued me. So did the body she was concealing, beneath her loose, shapeless clothing. Most of all, I was interested in her facial expressions. Was she annoyed when I showed up? Most nights, I was the only customer.

On those occasions, the bartender made himself scarce, so that there were only two people in the whole place: me, and my intriguing waitress.

On my eleventh visit, I ordered a flask of beer - same as always. But I noticed something unusual. She was looking at me, from across the bar. It was too far to read her expression, but she was definitely looking my way.

When she came to collect my empty bottle, I asked her for a coffee - exactly as I had ten times before. She went to get it, and promptly returned, to place the cup on the table.

- "Thank you, Vanova." I said.

She jerked her hand back, as if stung by a hornet.

- "Wh - how do you know my name?"

- "I heard the bartender say it."

- "What? When did that happen? He isn't even here tonight!"

- "Not tonight." I said. "It was the very first time I came in. Three months ago. I heard the bartender call your name, to tell you that you had a customer."

- "You heard that?" Vanova was frowning, her lips tightly pursed. "You've known my name for three months, but you only use it now?"

- "I'm sorry. I meant no offence. It's just that ... the first time I was here, you didn't seem to be ... in the mood ..."

- "In the mood?" She was almost yelling. "In the mood for what?"

- "A conversation." I said. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean -"

She stormed off.

While I drank my coffee, Vanova stayed on the opposite side of the bar. I read a little more, finished my drink, and left a tip on the table.

- "Goodnight, Vanova." I said, as I left.

***

Leadership classes. What a farce. There are plenty of managers who can't manage, teachers who can't teach; there's no shortage of officers who have zero leadership skill, either.

I don't know if creativity can be taught. But leadership is a lot more than following a set of rules and prescriptions.