Mark “Coop” Cooper

Location: Stewart-Benning Training Center, Earth, United Commonwealth of Colonies

“Coop, wake up. We’re going to miss formation.” Eve’s hand came down with a vengeance and connected with his ass with a loud slap.

“I’m up,” he groaned and grimaced as the sting worked its way across his backside. “I’m…” he tasted vomit in the back of his throat and fought back his gag reflex.

Last night the recruits had learned their assignments after they completed training. It had been a far more raucous affair than he expected, but he was ok with that. He got to see some of the NCOs let down their hair a bit, although none of the cadre partook. The MSG who’d been on Coop’s ass, ever since his technical pass of the training exercise with the Stark kid, hadn’t had a single sip of the cheap booze.

Coop hefted himself up, fought the momentary vertigo, and hauled himself out of bed. Clothes littered the floor and furniture like a sex tornado had hit the room. He remembered flashes of the no-pants dance, but most of it was a blur.

“Here,” Eve tossed a capsule at him. He swiped clumsily at it and missed by a kilometer. It landed on the bed and he picked it up with a thankful smile.

Medical science had long ago found a cure for the bane of mankind – the hangover – and the answer was in the palm of his hand. Coop popped the capsule of nanites designed to target the alcohol in his bloodstream, and downed it with a liter of water. The pill’s instruction required a person to stay hydrated to avoid any negative side effects, and he was no stranger to this morning after pill.

“Wowza,” Coop felt it start to go to work as the traditional hangover symptoms began to fade. “I need a shower.”

“Yeah, you smell like ass,” Eve replied bluntly as she worked on getting her CMU over her curves.

He admired the view for a second before rushing into the shower. She was right. They were short on time. The water felt good, and the rest of his symptoms vanished by the time he hopped out. He drank another liter when he started to feel cottonmouth set in, and picked through his uniforms until he found a fresh set. Eve gathered the rest of the dirty clothes and stuffed them all in the bag for the housekeeping staff to wash and return. At most places that meant a basic, programmed droid would do the work, but the military liked to keep human beings employed. It was good for the economy, so they did things the old-fashioned way sometimes.

“How do I look?” Eve asked as Coop was cleaning his teeth. The cadre would have his ass if he didn’t maintain the pearly whites they’d given him.

Coop looked over and couldn’t help but smile. She was wearing her hair down today. If stopped just short of her uniform’s collar. Her CMUs were on their dress setting, so all of her ribbons were on full display. She had a pretty good rack – no pun intended – with her Bronze Star with Valor, Purple Heart, and a bunch of other minor decorations. Her Ranger tab and SRRT badge were the highlights on her shoulder. It was more than a normal SGT would have, and much better than Coop’s. He had a Bronze Star to his own name and a fresh Purple Heart for losing his leg on Harper’s Junction, but lacked other minor decorations and the campaign ribbons that Eve had earned at Yangon.

“You look like young men are going to join up with the hopes of serving with you…or at least wanking off to you tonight,” he couldn’t keep his serious face, and had to weave around a punch she threw his way. “But seriously, you look good.”

She fussed over his own formal CMUs and then stepped to the side so they could both admire themselves in the mirror. “Good to go.” She slipped her arm into his and they left the small quarters they shared and headed to the motorpool.

The cadre liked to call what they were doing a field exercise, but the recruiting corps and the infantry had very different interpretations of that meaning. When Coop heard that phrase, it meant he was going to run through simulations, digital then live fire, and then hunt down and kill the enemy. It meant days of sweat, shitty food, and sleeping in your LACS with the comforting smell of your own BO. For the recruiters, it meant a luxurious bus ride to some metropolis where they would be in PHA administration buildings, high school gyms, or other convention centers to try and lure young men and women out of their mother’s arms and into the shitshow that was the real world. They would stay in mid-range hotels, and get continental breakfasts, which while not as good as a home cooked meal, were a hell of a lot better than MREs and drinking recycled piss.

As such, Coop though of their “field exercise” as what it really was – a field trip.

It was still dark when they entered the motorpool. They were some of the last to arrive, but they were still early. They fell into formation and mentally prepared for the hour-long inspection they knew was coming. As Coop predicted, MSG Shit-for-Brains made a beeline for him, and made him do a few hundred pushups for lint and other articles of pollution that had landed on his uniform during the walk over from his room. Other than those bullshit deficiencies, his uniform was perfect.

“You like your assignment,” the MSG whispered in his ear as he effortlessly knocked out the corrective exercises. “I saw there was an opening there, and I thought that Mark Cooper would just love to go back home for a little bit. You know…see his old stomping ground and reconnect with the other shit birds that he grew up with.”

Coop grit his teeth and kept doing pushups. That was one of the reasons he’d gotten plastered last night. He’d been assigned to the same PHA that he’d been recruited out of a few years ago. As recruiter posts went, it was bottom of the barrel. Buffalo in the winter wasn’t where anyone wanted to be. He shuddered at the memories of the polluted snowfalls of his childhood.

On the other hand, Eve had gotten a sweet gig in New York City at the brigade headquarters for the recruiting corps entire North American district. She wasn’t even going to be doing recruiting for the most part. She was going to be in an operations staff billet. It was desk work, but crucial to her career development. She had more than enough combat experience for her grade, so the infantry needed to see how she managed people in a garrison environment.

Coop would rather blow his brains out, but he would be recruiting from the Rats of his troubled past, so it wasn’t anything to brag about.

“When I call your name, make your way to the first bus,” the LCDR in charge of this excursion announced.

It was a weird way to do things. Usually, you would board by squads, or at least fire-teams, and the squad leaders would be in charge of accountability. Instead, the cadre was acting like this was what it was… a field trip for kindergarteners. Coop half expected them to have battle buddies and hold hands.

he bitched internally. When they moved onto the D’s without calling his name, he knew he was going to be on the second bus. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional punishment or not from the MSG.

On the bright side, Bill, Camila, and even Eve were assigned to the same bus, so it wasn’t going to be an awful trip. That thought lasted until he boarded the bus. It was a normal bus, which was the problem. It seemed that everyone on it was enhanced, which meant they were squeezed in like sardines. The only blessing was the MSG wasn’t on with them, but a big CMDR Coop had never seen hopped on at the last minute.

The CMDR was a giant, grizzled motherfucker with the tabs and awards to match his intimidating physical presence. Coop spotted a Ranger tab and a Silver Star ribbon before the big man turned his back and took his seat right behind the driver.

{You ever seen that guy before?} Coop sent to his fellow CPLs and Eve. They were just as stumped as him as the bus rose off the ground on its anti-gravs and joined the flow of morning traffic.

Their destination was a burb on the outskirts of the Philadelphia-Baltimore-Dover metropolis. They would be manning recruiting booths at a sector fair, participating in a school district’s career day, and providing additional manpower to several of the metropolis’ civil administration buildings that had a historically large volume of recruits over the next week. Again, Coop could not think less of this field exercise and its importance to the Commonwealth’s mission. So, like any good soldier with the ingrained skill of being able to fall asleep anywhere at any time, he shut his eyes and dozed off. It wasn’t overly difficult after the night he’d had.

It felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes before Bill’s hand gripped his arm. “Wake up,” his battle buddy whispered. “Something’s up.”

Coop’s eyelids snapped open immediately as he scanned around him. He took it all in, and only one thing stood out. “Where is the other bus?” They’d been following right behind the big bus since leaving the base, and with automated traffic it was tough to lose someone you were following.

“We turned off the ninety-five a few seconds ago, and the first bus kept going,” Bill replied as he looked behind him in an attempt to reread a sign.

Everything on the Eastern Seaboard of the old United States was populated, but as Coop looked out the window wherever they were seemed less populated than usual. No towering PHA buildings were visible even in the distance. All he could see was a cluster of buildings surrounding the highway, but as they continued farther, they began to thin out into rare open space.

“Wait are we…” Bill began.

{Eyes front,} a voice announced in Coop’s mind that was identified by his IOR as the CMDR sitting in the front of the bus. {You will review and sign the document I am sending to you now.} The bus pulled over and came to a stop on the side of the road. They were at least a kilometer from the last building of the town around the interstate, and only a few cars were visible coming and going. That visibility was abruptly cut off as the windows went black as the driver activated the tint. {Failure to do so will end with you getting off the bus and waiting here on the side of the road for future transport.}

{Do you know what this is?} Coop sent to Eve, but all he got was a question mark in return. It seemed everyone was out of the loop. A mental ping announced the arrival of the promised document, and it was at least fifty pages of legalese, but all he needed to read was the title.

{A non-disclosure agreement. We’re in the military, they completely run our lives with an iron fist. Why do they need us to sign this?}

{Because we’re about to stick our dicks into something big and they want to be able to bend us over and royally fuck us if we breathe a word about it.} The fact that the reply came from Camilla made Coop chuckle as he signed the form. The infantry already owned his ass, so what was another pound of flesh.

The bus only started to move when everyone had signed off. No one took the easy way out and got off the bus, but the tint stayed activated. They stopped briefly at something, probably a checkpoint of some sort given all the cloak and dagger shit. After the brief stop, they kept moving for a good twenty more minutes before coming to a halt.

{Fall in!} The CMDR hopped off the bus, and everyone scrambled to obey. It was a good idea to stay on this guy’s good side.

Coop scanned the group real quick as they fell in outside the bus in front of an arched mound of earth with a heavy duro-steel door covering most of the front. A full four squads of ten had been stuffed into the small bus, and each was arranged by rank. All ten of the LCDRs from the recruiting class were bunched up on the right with the senior officer occupying the role of squad leader. To their left were the collection of NCOs, and at the ass end of the squads, the handful of CPLs including Coop.

Coop was still trying to figure everything out when the duro-steel door slowly started to open and the CMDR ushered them inside before forming back up again. Only once the door had closed did he start to speak.

{What I am about to tell you is covered under the NDA you just signed. Breathe a word of it and the Commonwealth will execute you. Understood.}

{Yes, Sir,} Forty peoples’ voices blaring in Coop’s head was a surefire path to a migraine.

{With the advent of new technology obtained by our alien allies, and the changing tactics and strategies of modern warfare, the Commandant of the Infantry, Admiral Garrett, has decided to put new operational concepts into development. Information gathered during our nation’s most recent battles has only reinforced the Admiral’s opinion and authorized this proof of concept.} The ground jerked below them as the lift they were standing on began to descend. Coop’s mind flashed back to the start of SRRT training on New Savannah. {Every man and woman here was selected for this duty. Your records were combed through, your experience evaluated, your unique characteristics weighed, and everything given the final blessing of the chain of commands. I am not shitting you when I say that the Admiral personally reviewed your packets for this duty.}

Coop had no idea someone had even floated his name for some big, secret project, because that was exactly what this was. You didn’t bury boring, standard developmental concepts this far underground.

{My name is Commander Francis Snow,} the officer continued, {I am the commanding officer of the First Armored Cavalry Regiment.} An insignia appeared in Coop’s vision of an iron, curved medieval breastplate with a big roman numeral one emblazoned on it. Behind it was a crossed rifle and sword. Underneath it all read Animo Et Fide, which his translation software said meant, Courageous and Faithful. Coop had never heard of armored cavalry, a regiment, a CMDR commanding a regiment, never seen that branch insignia, or even knew what language the unit motto was in.

{We are an experimental proof of concept with a different organization and order of battle then what is standard in the infantry. If this works out, more regiments will start to come online after a training curriculum is instituted. Our regiment will be assigned piecemeal to frontline units that need our support. You all have been the tip of the spear for the Commonwealth’s armed forces. Now, you will be the hammer.} The lift shuddered to a stop, and another thick door rolled open.

“Shit!” Coop broke military bearing and hit the deck. He wasn’t the only one.

Forty suits of armor stood in front of the forty soldiers, but these weren’t the LACS everyone was used to. These monstrous behemoths stood six meters tall. All their armored ports were open and every conceivable weapon was visible. The only thing that kept Coop from going into cardiac arrest was that instead of being a rust-red color, the suits were a matte gray, and technicians were scurrying around the towering metal frames.

The jolt of fear and rush of adrenaline at facing a Windsor mech without his LACS quickly faded as Coop got back to his feet. CMDR Snow was smiling, but didn’t rebuke them. A SGM walked over to join the CMDR along with a group of technicians.

{Your updated files has been declassified, for your eyes only, for the next ten minutes. Please verify the information and provide any corrections to the Sergeant Major before we begin our basic introduction.}

A file blinked in Coop’s peripherals and he quickly opened it. If there was one thing he knew for sure it was that he didn’t want his paperwork all fucked up. He read the first line and there was already an error.

“Sir, my rank reads at WO-1. I’m an E-4,” Coop spoke up.

“Ah, almost forgot about that. Thank you, Mr. Cooper.” The CMDR switched to spoken words to match Coop’s question. “As you might imagine, these modular offensive units, or MOUNTS as we’re calling them for short, are very expensive pieces of equipment. The Admiral does not believe that such valuable and top secret weapons should be placed in the hands of enlisted and junior NCOs. As such, a battlefield commission has been awarded to all of you who are not officers for your previous combat service. Many of you might have chosen to become officers soon anyway, and you’ve demonstrated the basic competency for the rank and level of responsibility.”

Coop opened his mouth to ask a follow up, but the CMDR held up a hand to silence him.

“You might be given a commission, but it will not be the full commission of an officer. That has to be earned and special schools attended if you wish to go that route. Instead, the Warrant Officer program has been reactivated. Similar to the specialist track for NCOs, Warrant Officers are subject matter experts in a particular occupational specialty. In your case, that MOS is the nineteen series of the newly rechristened armored cavalry.” The CMDR smiled at them and Coop cringed at the terrifying expression on the man. “However, there are some caveats to the promotion. Everyone here will be required to present an Associate’s Degree from an accredited college within the next three years to keep your rank. Fortunately, most of what you will be learning will be acceptable transfer credits for the Commonwealth Military University. All that will be required are the general courses for you to earn the degree.” The CMDR made it sound easy, but Coop shuddered more at the fact he’d have to go back to school than suddenly being an officer. He really didn’t know how to feel about that. Then he thought about MSG Shit-For-Brains. A Warrant Officer was still an officer, which meant he now outranked the man who was making his life a pain in the ass.

There were a few more questions from the officers, mostly concerning any affect this would have on their own ranks and career progression, but Coop took the time to dive into the paperwork.

Admiral Garrett’s signature was on the final paperwork, but a quick read said that there had to be two additional officer recommenders. The applicant’s frontline commander and someone O-4 or above. Since Coop didn’t know any CMDRs, much less CAPTs, he was scratching his head on who thought he was a good fit for this program and one hell of a promotion.

“Fuck,” he muttered when he finally got to the electronic signatures of his recommenders.

The first one was LCDR Gold. Since Coop saved his life, he accepted that Gold was trying to do him a favor and help his career. It was the second name that was the real punch in the gut. It wasn’t a CAPT, or even a RADM.

Admiral Sonya Berg’s name was affixed to the bottom of the page, and somewhere deep down Coop felt like she’d swindled a piece of his soul. Suddenly, outranking the MSG didn’t seem like such a good thing.

“Welcome to your new unit, Dragoons.”

Coop was too busy staring at the ADM’s signature to even ask what the last word meant.