TEXT: BattleCorps
  DOG SOLDIERS
  Jeff Kautz
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  Then there was the war, and I married it because there was noth-
  ing else when I reached the age of falling in love.
  Guy Sajer
  The Forgotten Soldier
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  Outskirts of Wenfang 
  Changzhou Province 
  Nanking 
  29 September 3063
  Lingyin Temple rested on the crest of a sloping hilltop, one kilo-
  meter north of the city of Wenfang. From any point atop its walls 
  or modest tower, one had a view for several hundred meters in all 
  directions. The hill upon which the temple was perched was cov-
  ered in tall grasses, which gave visitors the impression of a thick 
  green carpet, extending to the edge of the woods that bordered 
  the hill on three sides. The south slope followed a well-traveled 
  footpath down toward the Han River, which flowed lazily past the 
  city below. Far above the noise and pollution, Lingyin Temple pro-
  vided the perfect destination for a pilgrimage of enlightenment, or 
  a terrorist group on the run. 
  A figure lay on the east slope, his green and brown tiger-striped 
  coverall and black body armor virtually invisible against the tall 
  grass, which rustled slightly in the soft evening breeze. As the 
  sun’s rays slowly disappeared behind the temple walls, the fig-
  ure adjusted his visor to take one last look at tonight’s objective. 
  Dialing in maximum magnification, he slowly scanned the outer 
  walls, switching from visible light to low light amplification and 
  finally thermal, searching for anything out of the ordinary, any 
  small movement, any sign that their presence on the hillside had 
  been detected. Finding none, he slowly, carefully rose to one knee 
  and issued a quick arm signal before moving quickly but carefully 
  up the hill. 
  Behind him, spread out across the hillside, twenty shadowy 
  figures emerged and began advancing toward the temple in a 
  series of bounds and short rushes. They had spent the last few 
  hours lying doggo on the slope, the few hours prior on their bel-
  lies, crawling an inch at a time to get to their positions below the 
  temple. Despite their tired, cramped muscles, they made the last 
  one hundred fifty meters in less than thirty seconds. 
  The last rays of the sun slipped below the temple walls, casting 
  the eastern slope in shadow. The silent figures hunched in the 
  darkness at the base of the east wall. Another series of arm sig-
  nals from the leader sent a few of them around to cover the back 
  gate while the rest crept forward, rounding a corner to line up 
  outside the main entrance on the temple’s south side. 
  
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  The leader placed his left hand on the shoulder of the figure in 
  front of him, a soldier carrying a communications rig attached to 
  the back of his molded armor vest. The soldier handed the leader 
  a long, telescoping wand that resembled a kind of antenna. The 
  leader attached a thin cable to the end of the wand, which was 
  tethered to a handheld viewing device, then extended the antenna 
  until it was the height of a man. The communications specialist 
  then took hold of the wand and, taking cues from the leader, slid 
  it slowly upward until the tip protruded just above the top of the 
  stone wall. As he began tracking slowly from side to side, the tiny 
  camera mounted in the tip of the wand fed real-time video to the 
  handheld viewer below. 
  The leader slid his helmet visor upward, revealing caramel-col-
  ored skin and eyes of deep brown. Staff Sergeant Davis Clay of 
  the Second Platoon, First Federated Commonwealth Mechanized 
  Infantry stared intently at the video feed, making mental notes of 
  every detail no matter how minute.
  Lingyin Temple, like many others of its type, was constructed 
  with a high barricade just inside the main entrance, running paral-
  lel to the outer wall. Ostensibly to deflect evil spirits who might 
  attempt to enter the temple, this spirit wall would provide cover to 
  troops entering through the main gate, but could also become a 
  bottleneck and a potential firetrap should his team become pinned 
  behind it. Beyond the spirit wall was an open courtyard. A stone 
  path traversed an immaculately tended garden of dogwoods and 
  ornamental shrubs before blending into a set of shallow steps, be-
  yond which, almost concealed behind a huge bronze gong, was the 
  entrance to the main pavilion. A squat tower, placed near the rear of 
  the building, housed the living quarters for the monks that occupied 
  the temple. Clay frowned as the camera panned across its surface 
  revealing a series of narrow windows carved into the stone face. 
  Good position for snipers. He made a note on the electronic touch 
  screen, which he then instantly transmitted to his squad leaders.
   Hundreds, maybe thousands of votive candles had been placed 
  randomly in the open courtyard, some on simple stone pedestals, 
  others in elaborate candelabras, bathing the temple interior in an 
  orange glow. So that’s what’s been playing hell with my thermal 
  scan, thought Clay.
  He turned to the rest of his squad and made an up and down 
  gesture with his fingers along the bridge of his nose. Taking his 
  cue, the assembled squad slid their night visors up away from 
  their eyes. The light given off by the candles was bright enough 
  
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  that they wouldn’t be needed, and could in fact become a liability 
  in combat.
  Clay silently signaled to his breach team while scanning the 
  compound one last time. Two members of the team crept up to 
  the massive wooden double doors and attached small charges to 
  the four heavy hinges that held them in place. After inserting thin 
  cylindrical detonators into each charge, the troopers assumed po-
  sitions on either side of the main archway, using the pair of stone 
  guardians that flanked the doorway as cover.
  Holding up the fingers of his gloved right hand so that all the 
  squad members could see, Clay began a silent countdown.
  Five…four…three…two…when the count reached one the four 
  charges exploded in unison, tearing the heavy doors from their 
  hinges and propelling them into the courtyard, where they splin-
  tered against the spirit wall with a resounding crack.
  Rushing through the breach, Clay led Fire Team One, assigned 
  the role of providing suppressive fire, to the right, while Corporal 
  Wu and the assault team moved around the wall to the left.
  Almost immediately, both teams came under a deadly hail of fire 
  from the main temple. At least one gunner had concealed himself 
  behind the massive gong and was sweeping the courtyard with 
  sustained bursts. As Clay had feared, the troops hesitated and be-
  gan to bunch up behind the inner wall. One grenade and we’re all 
  dead, he thought. Clay detached a smoke canister from his shoul-
  der harness and pitched it over the wall. When the billowy cloud 
  had filled the courtyard, he rushed forward in a crouch, yelling for 
  his team to follow. 
  Private Wecker, the newest member of Clay’s team, knelt at 
  the edge of the spirit wall and raked the courtyard with his light 
  machine gun, rounds snapping leaves from the dogwoods and 
  pinging loudly off the face of the gong.
   Clay tapped Janice Yi on the shoulder and she bolted across the 
  courtyard, seeking the cover of a stone pillar set against the far 
  temple wall. Before she made it halfway, she was spun down vio-
  lently onto her left side, as if a rug had been pulled from beneath 
  her feet.
   Clay rushed across the open space and grabbed the screaming 
  Yi by her collar, dragging her toward the relative safety of the large 
  column. Blood trailed across the stones behind her as he pulled, 
  
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  and Clay could see that a round had torn into her left leg, breaking 
  her wraparound shin guard and carrying off a good sized chunk of 
  her calf. She would live, but she would not walk for a while.
   About one meter shy of the stone pillar, Clay himself was hit, 
  a round slamming into the communications unit mounted on 
  his back. The jarring impact severed his shoulder harness and 
  slammed him to the ground, crushing the air from his lungs. 
  Stunned, he glanced over at Wecker just in time to see the ma-
  chine gun fly from his hands and skate across the courtyard stones. 
  Wecker recoiled, grasping his hand in pain. Clay searched through 
  the smoke enveloping the courtyard, trying to locate the source of 
  the fire, when he remembered the tower. Sniper. Must be using 
  thermals to see through the smoke.
   Clay reflected on how lucky they had been thus far. The heat 
  radiating from the candles must be fouling the sniper’s thermal 
  sight, throwing off his aim. Knowing their luck would not hold out, 
  Clay groped for his own dropped rifle and brought it around to 
  lay some fire into the area where he thought the tower windows 
  would be, but a heavy round shattered the weapon before he 
  could get off a shot.
   Desperately, sure that the next shot would find either Yi or him-
  self, Clay crawled on top of the wounded trooper, using his body 
  to shield hers. Long moments passed as Clay tensed, preparing 
  for the fatal impact, but the shot never came. Across the com-
  pound, Corporal Wu’s assault team had managed to silence the 
  gong gunner and had begun working their way into the shrine 
  using concussion grenades and short bursts of automatic fire. In 
  short order it was over. The entire battle had lasted less than four 
  minutes.
  v v v
  Seated on a bench along the garden pathway, Clay removed his 
  helmet and gloves and shrugged out of his armored vest, feel-
  ing extremely lucky to have cheated death one more time. At age 
  forty-three and closing in on twenty-five years in the service, he 
  wasn’t sure how many more times he could get away with it.
   He sat, gazing at the stars when Corporal Lang approached. Tall 
  and gangly with large eyes and a protruding Adams apple, Lang 
  looked more like some great avian creature than a soldier of the 
  AFFC. Clay had learned not to let his almost comical appearance 
  
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  belie his true nature, however. Lang was a warrior in every sense 
  of the word. There was not a man in the Second Platoon that Clay 
  trusted more implicitly, which was why it would be so hard to let 
  him go.
  Lang’s tour of duty was at an end. He had taken a six-month ex-
  tension in order to stay with Clay while the unit tramped all over 
  Nanking hunting down terrorist holdouts, but that mission was 
  almost over. Tonight’s operation had succeeded in eliminating the 
  last remnants of a particularly efficient Zhangzheng de Guang unit 
  that had spread terror over two continents before the Regiment 
  had run them to ground. Lang could now retire from military life 
  knowing that he had seen the mission through to the end. Clay re-
  spected that. He had decided not to tow the company line and try 
  to talk Lang into staying. As far as he was concerned, as much as 
  the unit, and Clay himself, would miss him, Lang had earned the 
  right to enjoy the rest of his life while he was still young.
   Lang, noticing the sheen of sweat on Clay’s forehead, tossed 
  him a towel. 
  “You’re getting too old for this,” he said, smiling.
  “Don’t I know it!” Clay wiped his face and rubbed the towel 
  through the tight, black curls of his close cropped hair. He tossed 
  the towel back to the corporal, who stuffed it under a webbing 
  strap.
  “So this is it, huh?”
  Lang plopped down hard on the bench. ”Yeh,” he said.
  The two sat in silence for a moment. Lang looked over his right 
  shoulder and noticed a couple of MPs leading a few prisoners out 
  of the compound. “Check these guys out,” he said. “They look like 
  refugees. Hard to believe these are the guys we’ve been hunting 
  for so long.”
  Clay shot a glance in the direction of the prisoners. They were 
  dressed in what amounted to rags, with sandals made from truck 
  tires and dirty scarves wrapped around their heads. The MPs had 
  bound their hands with plastic wrist cuffs.
   There were only three, two men, one noticeably older than the 
  other, and a woman. Clay studied the trio as the MPs prodded 
  them toward the main gate. He scanned the faces as they passed, 
  trying to single out one of them as the sniper who had held his 
  life in his hands. His eyes drifted over those of a young man with 
  
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  Asian features and a shock of long black hair billowing out from 
  beneath his head wrap. The young man appeared to be no older 
  than his late teens, but his dirty face was etched with a look of 
  pure defiance. Their eyes met and locked, and Clay found himself 
  staring into a pair of hard, gray irises, cold like stone, yet still alight 
  with inner fire. This had to be the one. Their eyes remained locked 
  until the prisoners rounded the inner wall on their way out of the 
  compound.
  Lang turned to speak again but the sharp report of an explosion 
  cut him off and set him and Clay running toward the origin of the 
  blast. It had come from the main gate and already smoke was bil-
  lowing out from behind the inner wall.
   As soon as he reached the doorway, Clay knew it was too late. 
  A female MP, burned and bleeding, lay in the archway pleading for 
  help. The body of one MP was sprawled just outside the opening. 
  The female prisoner was dead, her torn corpse lying half in, half 
  out of the archway, covered in blood and bits of flesh that had be-
  longed to the older man. A stunned, bloodied MP was staggering 
  through the smoke toward Clay, who grabbed the man to steady 
  him.
  “He…he had a grenade,” the distraught man managed. “He…he 
  just…oh my God…”
  The man was weeping now as a medic came to attend him. It 
  was then that Clay noticed that the body of the third prisoner, the 
  younger one, was missing. He searched the floor through the 
  smoky haze but found no sign. Rushing outside, he scanned the 
  darkened hillside for movement, for any trace, but there was none. 
  The man had slipped away into the night.
  
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  Gladston Hill Training Base 
  Ningpo Mountain Range 
  Nanking 
  6 June 3067
  Davis Clay peered through the dusty window at the incoming 
  transport VTOL as he depressed the button on the coffeemaker, 
  spraying the steaming liquid into his mug. The craft was just a 
  speck on the horizon now, but in a few minutes it would touch 
  down on the tiny landing pad with its load of fresh, new recruits, 
  the first since the start of the Civil War.
  The war had officially ended in April though pockets of Lyran 
  sympathizers, Capellan terrorists, Skye separatists and other op-
  portunist groups still held out on some worlds. Nanking had finally 
  been declared fully secure in May, even though there had been no 
  significant fighting on the world since 3064, with the first recruit-
  ing drives starting up soon after.
   Whether due to patriotism, newfound nationalistic fervor or the 
  chance for free college courses, the drives were proving wildly 
  successful, with more new enlistees than there were available 
  slots. This situation afforded the Regiment the rare opportunity to 
  be very discriminating when it came to selecting eligible recruits. 
  Only those applicants with the best potential and highest aptitude 
  scores were selected for full time duty with the First Federated 
  Suns RCT. The rest would be relegated to reserve postings or used 
  to fill out the depleted ranks of the Nanking Militia. The group ar-
  riving at Gladston Hill today, though few in number, would be the 
  best of those who had chosen service within the ranks of the PBI, 
  the poor bloody infantry.
  The best? Maybe, thought Clay as he watched the transport be-
  gin its approach run. But still a bunch of brain dead civilian slugs. 
  We’ll fix that soon enough.
   He grinned as the VTOL pilot put the craft into a steep dive fol-
  lowed by a last minute flare that dropped the rear of the aircraft 
  down hard on the dusty parade field that served as Gladston Hill’s 
  LZ. That should wake up anyone who fell asleep on the flight.
  As the pilot throttled the engines to idle, Clay observed the un-
  mistakable silhouette of Staff Sergeant William Donnely, Gladston 
  Hill’s primary training NCO, stalking through the swirling dust 
  cloud toward the transport’s lowering rear ramp. A large, square-
  
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  jawed man with bulging muscles that strained against the seams 
  of his perfectly pressed uniform, Donnely was an imposing pres-
  ence who never failed to make an impression on new recruits, 
  which was part of the reason he was so good at his job. 
   The thought of what would happen next made Clay hearken 
  back to that day so many years ago when he and his group of 
  trainees had first arrived at the recruit depot back home, and his 
  grin widened.
  v v v
  Shaken from his uneasy slumber by the thud of the aircraft on 
  the dusty plateau, Regimental recruit Chen blinked hard and tried 
  to clear the cobwebs from his mind. At first he thought they had 
  crashed, a feeling shared by many of his fellow recruits, judging 
  by the fearful expressions on their faces. The rear ramp slowly 
  lowered, filling the cramped troop compartment with choking 
  grey dust and the ozone smell of the idling engines. A hulking 
  figure emerged from the cloud, hands on hips, and placed one 
  large booted heel on the bottom of the ramp. An image of Yen Lo 
  Wang himself emerging from the smoke of Hell manifested itself 
  in Chen’s mind for a brief second, and then the giant spoke.
  “You ladies got thirty seconds to unass this aircraft and twenty-
  nine of ‘em are already gone!”
  Thirty-five men and women piled out of the back of the transport 
  in a tangled heap of arms, legs and equipment. Several recruits 
  tripped over themselves or each other and a few others had to run 
  back and retrieve dropped or forgotten gear. Troops scrambled in 
  seemingly haphazard directions trying to respond to orders barked 
  from the giant and several equally imposing sergeants who had 
  appeared out of nowhere yet seemed to be everywhere, blowing 
  whistles and bellowing commands. 
  After what seemed like an eternity but must have been only a 
  few minutes of running, lifting duffels and dropping for pushups, 
  a semblance of a formation was made on the parade field, ex-
  hausted and terrified troops struggling to control their labored 
  breathing and shaking limbs.
  At the front of the formation, the giant appeared again, stalk-
  ing slowly forward and back, glaring through mirrored sunglasses 
  past the brim of the campaign hat he wore low on his forehead. 
  The giant slowly removed the sunglasses and folded them into a 
  
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  breast pocket, revealing hard, angry eyes set beneath a furrowed 
  brow. Chen wished at once that the giant had left the glasses on.
  Scowling a look of pure contempt, the giant spat once and began 
  to speak in a booming voice to which the whining VTOL engines 
  offered no competition.
  “All right you maggots! This is what your life is going to be like for 
  the next three months! That’s twelve long, agonizing weeks! Anyone 
  who doesn’t think they can hang had best sound off now while the 
  transport’s still here to take you back to mommy and daddy!”
  As if on cue, the pilot throttled up the engines and propelled 
  the craft into the air, sailing low over the assembled troops, the 
  prop wash sending several garrison caps sailing across the pa-
  rade ground. Unflinching, the giant turned slightly, gaze following 
  the retreating transport, his wide-brimmed campaign hat secure 
  on his head as if it was glued down. “Aw hell,” he exclaimed in a 
  mocking tone. “I guess you’re stuck here now!” 
  As the giant turned to address the formation, his brow furrowed 
  even further and his face adopted a quizzical look that suddenly 
  screwed itself into an infuriated grimace. “What the hell are you 
  all doing out of uniform? I turn my back on you for one second and 
  you all throw your headgear on the ground?” he bellowed through 
  clenched teeth.
  “But, sir,” one unlucky recruit thought to offer an explanation. 
  “The wind from the ship…”
  The giant flew into the boy’s face, hat brim tapping a steady beat 
  on the bridge of the young man’s nose. “Sir? Did you just call me 
  sir?” Spittle spewed from the giant’s mouth as he roared, his voice 
  growing in volume and intensity. “Are you trying to insult me? Are 
  you insinuating that I don’t work for a living? Well, I’m waiting!”
  The recruit, who was visibly shaking, managed only to stammer 
  “Sir, I…” The giant let out a deep, guttural inhuman growl.
  “GET DOWN”, he bellowed. “Get down all of you and don’t stop 
  until I get tired!” 
  As one, the assembled troops dropped to their hands and began 
  another grueling series of pushups.
  Clay finished his coffee and approached the assembly from the 
  left flank, out of eyeshot of the troops who would be staring for-
  ward at attention. “What do we have here, Sergeant Donnely?”
  
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  The giant snapped to and turned to address Clay, who was now 
  centered on the formation of prone men and women.
  “A gaggle of insubordinate civilian drag-asses by the looks of it, 
  Top. Might be hope for some of ‘em but most of ‘em would prob-
  ably make better artillery shells than infantry soldiers.”
  Clay waited while Donnely took time out to bark at a young 
  woman whose knees were dragging in the dust. 
  “I see. May I have them for a while?”
  “Sure, Top. Don’t know why you’d want ‘em, though.” With that, 
  the giant turned on his heel and jogged to the back of the forma-
  tion, leaving Clay to address the recruits. 
  “Recover,” he said calmly, allowing the exhausted troopers time 
  to regain their feet. “Go get your headgear and form back up on 
  the double.”
  Clay kept his tone even. It was the duty of his training instructors 
  to ride the troops. As company First Sergeant, he needed to strike 
  a chord right away with them, to show that they could trust him 
  but that he was also ultimately in charge of their fates.
  The troops gathered their caps and reassembled quickly. 
  “Stand at ease.”
  “Very good. My name is First Sergeant Clay. You will address me 
  as First Sergeant, not Sergeant, not Top, not Sarge, and certainly 
  not sir! I am, along with Staff Sergeant Donnely, with whom you 
  have all so recently become acquainted, in charge of your training 
  here at lovely Gladston Hill. Let me then be the first to welcome 
  you here to our little garden spot among the clouds, where, like 
  it or not, you will spend the next three months of your miserable, 
  collective existences.” Clay allowed a moment for the reality to 
  sink in.
  “Sergeant Donnely will be your primary training instructor for 
  the duration of your stay here. You will address him and all your 
  other instructors as ‘Drill Sergeant.’ You will treat these men and 
  women with respect at all times and you will follow their orders 
  to the letter. Those of you who had the opportunity to attend the 
  weekend recruit familiarization course will already be aware of 
  basic military practices and courtesies. It will be your job to edu-
  cate those recruits who did not attend the recruit familiarization 
  course. Now, I want you all to take a good look around you…go 
  
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  ahead, make sure you take it all in.” The troops, wary now of the 
  possibility of a trap and not wishing to invite more pushups for 
  breaking formation, did not move at first, then slowly began to 
  swivel their heads as far as they could with their feet still planted 
  and arms in the small of their backs. Clay paused for a moment of 
  dramatic effect before continuing.
  “You will notice that we are on a mountain,” he said the last word 
  slowly, dragging it out and injecting it with maximum facetious-
  ness. “There are only two ways off this mountain. One is to survive 
  this course and go on to graduation. The other is to be carried off 
  on a stretcher, or in a body bag.” Clay let his voice assume a grave 
  tone. “It makes no difference to me which way you choose, but 
  the choice will be yours.”
  “Personally, I would like to see you all survive, because if you 
  die up here I will have to fill out lots of paperwork explaining why 
  you did so, and I hate paperwork, so I will offer you some advice. 
  Learn to work together. Listen carefully to what you are told and 
  learn quickly. Things will be coming at you fast and furious over 
  the next few weeks so pay attention! We do not have time or pa-
  tience for babysitting! I know you will not disappoint me. Platoon, 
  attention.” The troops snapped to in their best effort at together-
  ness. Perhaps there was some hope after all. “Sarn’t Donnely.”
  “Yes, First Sergeant.” 
  “Take control of your men.”
  “Yes, First Sergeant!”
  v v v
  Clay faded to the outer perimeter of the parade field, to a posi-
  tion that allowed him to observe the new recruits from a distance. 
  He made mental notes as he observed each of the new men and 
  women. This one needed to lose weight, that one was not paying 
  attention. That one was still breathing heavily from the earlier ex-
  ercise. It would help to determine what level the new people were 
  at both physically and mentally and hopefully give the training 
  staff an idea of where to start.
   Donnely was calling roll from a roster sheet and taking every 
  opportunity to reinforce the need for the recruits to sound off. As 
  Clay’s gaze floated across the faces of the assembled trainees, one 
  of them seemed suddenly familiar. The recruit stood at perfect 
  
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  attention and seemed somehow confident, much more sure of 
  himself than the others. For a second the trooper’s eyes wavered 
  and he glanced in Clay’s direction. Those eyes, almond shaped 
  with irises the color of smoke…Where had Clay seen those eyes 
  before? The recruit glanced back in Clay’s direction as Donnely 
  called off the name “Chen.”
  “Present,” said the recruit, his eyes still locked with Clay’s.
  
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  Gladston Hill Training Base 
  Ningpo Mountain Range 
  Nanking 
  1 August 3067
  The first few weeks of recruit training had, as promised, been 
  intense. Clay had watched Donnely and the other instructors drill 
  the troops on a myriad of military subjects. Marching, close order 
  drill, chemical warfare preparation, first aid, weapons familiariza-
  tion, land navigation, battlefield communication…The troops had 
  performed well, thanks in no small part to Sergeant Donnely’s 
  “motivational exercises.”
   Most of the recruits had shown strength in some areas and 
  weakness in others. The lone standout was Recuit Chen, who had 
  excelled in every aspect of the training so far. Particularly adept at 
  rifle marksmanship, his scores were the highest of any recruit in 
  Gladston Hill’s history. His performance had been enough to earn 
  him a promotion to private, a prize coveted by the other troops 
  who were still referred to only as recruit. 
  Chen’s very presence at Gladston Hill left Clay feeling perplexed, 
  and not a little disturbed. The young man obviously possessed 
  more than a passing familiarization with weapons and military 
  practices. The question of where he had developed that knowl-
  edge was of great concern. 
  Donnely’s reports merely reinforced what Clay had already 
  observed; Chen was an introvert who was highly skilled at the 
  military arts but kept himself apart from the rest of the troops. 
  He did not make friends. He had, on several occasions, shown 
  impatience and even disgust with the recruits who did not learn 
  as fast as he did, or who were not as physically fit. Twice he had 
  abandoned slower troopers during the long morning runs rather 
  than attempting to motivate them. Even now, as the persistent 
  cold rain that was such a part of life in these mountains bom-
  barded the troops, Chen chose to sit alone under a tree studying 
  a plastic covered field handbook rather than eating midday chow 
  beneath the field tent with the other recruits. Some of the troops 
  were beginning to resent what they perceived as Chen’s “holier 
  than thou” attitude, but Chen showed no sign that he recognized 
  their resentment or that he even cared.
   Clay made a mental note to watch Chen closely, especially dur-
  ing the squad drills scheduled to begin the following day.
  
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  The next morning after breakfast, the recruits assembled on the 
  parade ground for a full-pack forced march to the next training 
  area. They bid goodbye to the relative comfort of their barracks 
  at Gladston Hill, tossing their duffel bags into the bed of a truck 
  as they filed out the main gate and headed down the service road 
  that wound down the mountain.
  Their longest march so far, the quick pace, coupled with the thin 
  mountain air and the weight of their packs and weapons soon be-
  gan to get the better of some recruits. Donnely, in the vanguard 
  of the column, called a halt to allow the recruits a few minutes to 
  catch their breath. 
  Recruit Travis, a thin, gangly young man and squad mate of 
  Chen’s, was visibly having trouble with his load. Recruit Margaret 
  Hannan approached Travis to try to help him. She began taking 
  Travis’ gear and distributing it throughout the rest of the squad 
  while the young trooper tried to catch his breath. 
  Hannan was a flame-haired firebrand with a forceful personal-
  ity who had clashed with Chen on several occasions during the 
  prior weeks. When she attempted to unload an ammo belt for the 
  crew-served machine gun on Chen, he flatly refused her. Hannan, 
  never one to back down, gave Chen a stern rebuke, which he re-
  paid in kind. Hannan grimaced and balled her fists as if she were 
  ready to strike. Clay and Donnely both witnessed the exchange 
  and Donnely intervened, stepping into the space between the 
  sparring recruits.
  “Recruit Chen, why did you refuse to carry that ammo?”
   “I’m already carrying two belts,” he spat. “He can’t even carry 
  one! If he can’t carry his own weight we’d be better off without 
  him!”
  “Then you’re suggesting we leave him?”
  “Yes! If he can’t hang then he should be left behind. He’s nothing 
  but a liability! He should never have come in the first place!”
  “What if that were you, Chen? Would you want us to leave you?”
  Chen looked down his nose at the bleary-eyed Travis, who was 
  relying on the support of Margaret Hannan’s shoulder to keep his 
  feet. “That would never be me,” he snarled.
  “Okay, what about the ammo? Don’t you think it might come in 
  handy when you get to your objective?” Donnely threw the ammo 
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 1
  at Chen, who winced as the heavy belt bounced off his chest. 
  Without waiting for a response from Chen, Donnely whirled and 
  began pacing up and down the length of the column, his voice 
  reverberating off the mountainside. 
  “People, we are moving into the next phase of our training. 
  Tomorrow we begin squad battle tactics. Up till now we have fo-
  cused on the individual but now we must learn to work as a team, 
  and a team is only as strong as its weakest member! If a member 
  of your team is having trouble, you must stop to help him, other-
  wise the rest of your team will suffer. If we do not learn to work 
  together we will all die separately!”
  The big sergeant glared at Chen, and then turned his fiery gaze 
  toward Travis and Hannan. 
  “Get that man on his feet, we’re moving out!”
  v v v
  That evening, as the exhausted recruits finished their chow and 
  prepared their field tents for much needed sleep, Clay called Chen 
  into the CP. Chen pushed aside the tent flap and assumed the posi-
  tion of attention, rendering the customary salute.
  “Recuit Chen reporting as ordered, First Sergeant.”
  “At ease, Chen,”replied Clay. “Have a seat.” The recuit seated 
  himself in the folding chair across the small desk from Clay. His 
  face was stoic, unreadable. Clay wasted no time getting to the 
  point. “Chen, why are you here?”
  “First Sergeant, I’m here to serve the Federated Suns and the 
  people of Nanking.”
  “Nice answer. Very politically correct. How long have you been 
  rehearsing that?”
  Chen’s face still betrayed nothing. “I don’t know what you mean, 
  First Sergeant.”
  “Cut the crap!” Clay’s patience was wearing thin. “You and I both 
  know who you are. I want to know what you’re doing here!”
  Chen’s face was as impassive and unemotional as ever. “First 
  Sergeant, I think you must have me confused with someone 
  else.”
  
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  Clay thought to himself that Chen would make an excellent pok-
  er player. All right then. If he wants to play, I’ll just up the ante. 
  “Tomorrow we break the platoon up into squads. I’m placing you 
  in charge of first squad. You’ll have Kelley, Aranson, Brathwaite, 
  Hannan, Reichel and Travis.” Clay smiled inwardly as Chen’s lip 
  curled slightly at the mention of Hannan and Travis.
  “You will be responsible for their training and their well-being. I 
  expect you to have them working as a cohesive fighting unit by the 
  time our four-day tactical exercise begins, is that understood?”
  Chen’s face reddened. “Yes, First Sergeant,” he acknowledged 
  through clenched teeth. 
  “Good. Dismissed.” Chen rose from his chair, saluted and turned 
  to leave. “Oh, and one more thing,” continued Clay. “You’ll have 
  a cadre member assigned to you throughout the training period. 
  His role will be as an observer and evaluator. He’ll report on every-
  thing you do so he’ll need to be close to you the whole time. He’ll 
  eat, sleep and shit with you.”
  “Sounds wonderful,” remarked Chen mockingly. “Who’s the 
  lucky guy?”
  Clay allowed his grin to spread across his face. “Why, you are 
  Chen. You got stuck with me!”
  
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  Great Eaves Valley Training Area 
  Ningpo Mountains 
  Nanking 
  2 August 3067
  The new day broke wet and cold. A misty rain fell, accompa-
  nied by a lingering fog that would blanket Great Eaves forest for 
  the better part of the day if the rain kept up. The Valley lay in the 
  center of the Ningpo range, a Shangri-la, accessible only by a few 
  overgrown logging roads that had fallen into disuse since the for-
  est became protected government land. The training area, such 
  as it was, was indistinguishable from the surrounding terrain, just 
  a few pine needle covered clearings complete with small mess 
  pavilions and the obligatory portable toilets. 
  During the morning run, they had passed a huge and imposing 
  obstacle course and a few low buildings that appeared to Chen 
  to be places to shower. Aside from these few signs of civilization 
  there was only the forest. Dark and foreboding, its tall timbers al-
  lowed only the barest sunlight to penetrate the gloom. 
  Raised in the city for most of his life, Chen was amazed that such 
  places still existed, yet thankful in a way that they did. Seated on 
  his helmet, poncho barely managing to keep the rain from his face, 
  he peered up through the trees between bites of reconstituted 
  eggs. For a moment he imagined himself on top of the tallest tree 
  in the valley, clinging to the spire with one hand and shielding 
  his eyes from the sun with the other as he gazed out across the 
  landscape, master of all he surveyed. Or maybe he was an eagle, 
  soaring high above, dipping below the clouds only occasionally to 
  gaze down and scoff at the trivial affairs of men.
   Despite the rain and the aches and pains that came from sleep-
  ing on the cold ground, Chen mustered a smile at the thought of 
  such a childlike fantasy, a smile that quickly faded with the ap-
  proach of First Sergeant Clay.
  Clay stopped over Chen but did not look down, concentrating 
  instead on the last few clumps of eggs on his plate. 
  “Oh eight-thirty formation in full field gear. Get your people 
  ready.” With that, the First Sergeant stalked off in the direction 
  of the platoon CP. Chen sighed and pushed himself up from his 
  makeshift seat, dumped his plate into a plastic trash bag nailed to 
  a tree and shuffled off to the bivouac area to round up the squad.
  
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  As the platoon formed up, Chen took his place at the right of his 
  squad. Standing at ease, he glanced around at the assembled fac-
  es. Leftenant Morgan had fallen in with the first squad, along with 
  Staff Sergeant George, one of the instructors from Gladston Hill. 
  Third squad had picked up Staff Sergeant Voss and Chen’s second 
  squad had taken on First Sergeant Clay, who had filled in at the far 
  left of the line as though he were just another private. Yeah right, 
  thought Chen. At precisely zero eight thirty hours Donnely trotted 
  up to the front and center position facing the platoon and called 
  them to attention. 
  “Ladies and gentlemen welcome to Hell,” he boomed. “Very 
  soon you will all understand why we call it that!”
  He continued, raising his voice slightly as the rain intensified. 
  “The next few weeks will be the toughest yet. You will learn all as-
  pects of basic squad tactics, from tactical maneuvering to defense 
  to attack. You will go everywhere and do everything as a squad, so 
  get used to looking at each other’s ugly faces! The last four days 
  of your training will be your field exercise, where you will be pitted 
  against your fellow squads in round-the-clock simulated combat. 
  Those of you who fail to learn to work together can expect a rude 
  awakening!” Donnely glared at the assembled recruits, stopping 
  for a long moment as his gaze locked on Chen, who avoided eye 
  contact with some difficulty.
  “Training Sergeants, take charge of your squads.”
  v v v
  Squad training did indeed prove to be hell, much tougher than 
  any of the recruits were expecting. They trained from dawn to 
  dusk without break, trudging back to their tiny tents in time to get 
  as much uneasy sleep as they could before the next grueling day. 
  They subsisted solely off vacuum-packed field rations and the 
  tepid water from their plastic canteens. Salt stains formed white 
  crusts on their sweaty fatigues which never seemed to fully dry. 
  They washed their bodies every few days at the shower buildings 
  by the obstacle course, holding their breath under trickles of icy 
  water pumped in straight from mountain streams. 
  The weather was rarely on their side. The tall tree canopy 
  shielded them somewhat from the heat during the day but the 
  nights were chilly and damp and the misty rain was their constant 
  companion. Tender feet cracked and bled, while arms and faces 
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 1
  developed sores and lesions, thanks in no small part to the numer-
  ous biting insects that swarmed throughout the forest. Only the 
  yellow horsepill each soldier consumed daily with their breakfast 
  ration staved off infection. 
  By the time the field exercise began, the troops resembled 
  ragged scarecrows in their patched and faded uniforms. Lack of 
  sleep showed in the dark circles under their sunken eyes. Despite 
  all the hardships they had endured, however, their mental state 
  was actually improving. They had taken all of what man or nature 
  could throw at them and survived, even thrived. The training had 
  shown them that there were no limits to what they could over-
  come. They were proud of themselves for making it this far, for not 
  giving up, and they were each keenly aware that there were only 
  four days to go before it was all over. Four more brutal days and 
  they would leave the cursed mountain forever.
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  Great Eaves Valley Training Area 
  Ningpo Mountains 
  Nanking 
  27 August 3067
  The field exercise had not gone well for the Second Squad. 
  Though they had done well enough in squad tactics classes, the 
  amount of teamwork required to apply what they had learned was 
  just not there. The squad was repeatedly victimized by the other 
  squads during the day’s activities and then forced to endure their 
  chastising remarks when the unit gathered together for meals or 
  mail call. They were the butt of jokes, the platoon whipping boy, 
  and everyone knew that most of their problems could be attrib-
  uted to one man. Their squad leader, Recuit Chen.
  First Sergeant Clay had put Chen in charge of the squad and re-
  fused to make a change, ignoring the requests from several squad 
  members that had come to him privately. Hannan had cornered 
  him twice, imploring him for help only to be turned away. Clay 
  used the excuse that he was just an observer, no longer in a posi-
  tion to make changes to the command structure. Whatever the 
  problem, the squad would have to work it out on its own.
  The divisions grew deeper as the days wore on. Chen was more 
  dictator than leader, barking orders in a patronizing manner as if 
  the rest of the squad were mere children. In the field, his abilities 
  were unquestioned, but he lacked the patience needed to nurture 
  along those who had even the slightest trouble keeping up. During 
  the numerous long patrols, he moved through the torturous ter-
  rain at a breakneck pace, often overtaking his own point element. 
  Twice he had caused the squad to become so spread out the mem-
  bers had lost contact with each other in the thick undergrowth, 
  allowing the opposing squads to set up effective ambushes. 
  First Squad, under the command of Leftenant Morgan, an arro-
  gant young man who was using the field time to complete his officer 
  training requirements, had been particularly troublesome. Sensing 
  their weakness, Morgan had his troops stalk Second Squad, never 
  missing an opportunity to humiliate them with a mock attack or 
  simulated ambush. On the morning of the fourth day, they had gone 
  so far as to throw tear gas canisters into Second Squad’s bivouac 
  area while the troops had been trying to eat breakfast. 
  The afternoon had been no kinder to the young recruits. Travis’ 
  canteen seal had apparently cracked, allowing gas residue from 
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  the morning’s debacle to seep in, ruining his water supply. Chen 
  had chastised Travis for carrying unserviceable equipment and 
  refused to allow him access to the squad’s reserve, a five-liter jug 
  that the squaddies shared responsibility for carrying. Hannan, who 
  was in charge of the jug at the time, refused to abide by Chen’s 
  order and gave the jug to Travis anyway. Chen angrily swatted 
  the container out of Travis’ hands, spilling its contents in the pro-
  cess. Hannan launched herself at Chen and the two wrestled on 
  the forest floor. The other squad members stood by, refusing to 
  intervene. Most even cheered for Hannan. Clay watched from the 
  sidelines as the pitiful scene unfolded, remaining silent even as 
  Sergeant Voss and Third Squad moved in unnoticed.
  Finally separating the two brawling recruits, the squad members 
  were startled to find themselves surrounded, their abandoned 
  weapons gathered up and confiscated by the grinning Sergeant 
  Voss. Captured, they were paraded past First Squad’s perimeter 
  with their hands over their heads to the great delight of the howl-
  ing Leftenant Morgan, whose laughter and catcalls followed them 
  through the thick woods. 
  The squad was silent as they made their way back to the bivouac 
  area. At chow, Chen sat by himself, his back to the rest of the 
  squad. Gone were the jokes and jibes and embellished retellings 
  of the day’s events. Instead, they sat in silence and nibbled at their 
  tasteless rations, heads hung low. Clay noticed more than one 
  trooper casting a sidelong, contemptuous glance at Chen’s back. 
  Occasionally one of the recruits would whisper something, which 
  would be met with nods of silent approval.
  Clay observed the behavior for a while before deciding to step in. 
  He had seen this kind of thing occur within a squad before. Often 
  the troops would work out their differences within the squad, al-
  beit with the occasional black eye or bruised ego. This situation, 
  however, was different, and if Clay’s suspicions about Chen and 
  his background were right, he knew he couldn’t afford to let this 
  one go on any further than it already had.
  He found Chen sitting on the side of the wooded hill that bordered 
  the camp, staring out into the trees as if lost in contemplation. Clay sat 
  next to him and scooped a few spoonfuls of beef and noodles into his 
  mouth, washing it down with a swig of instant coffee. Chen’s expres-
  sion did not change; he just continued to stare into the tree line. Distant 
  thunder rolled up the valley, signaling bad weather in the offing.
  “Another tough day, eh.” Clay began, less a question than a state-
  ment of fact.
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  Characteristically, Chen remained silent.
   “You need to get this situation under control, Squad Leader.” By 
  addressing him by rank, Clay hoped to inject a sense of authority 
  into his voice. “Those troops back there have lost confidence in 
  themselves. You need to help them get it back.”
  Chen finally spoke. “Why should they have confidence? They’re 
  clueless! Stupid! I’ve tried to show them but they just don’t get 
  it!” 
  “You’ve tried to beat it into their brains. They have Donelly and 
  Morgan for that, they don’t need it from you. You need to lead. 
  They need an example and that has to be you! You need to get 
  down in the mud with them and be part of the team. They have 
  the ability; you just need to pull it out of them. You lead and they 
  will follow!”
  Chen sat in silence. Clay hoped he had gotten through to the boy 
  but as always, his face was a blank slate, his expression unread-
  able. Clay got to his feet and emptied the remainder of his coffee 
  into the brush. Leaning down, he placed his hand on Chen’s shoul-
  der. “You can’t lead them from here, son,” he said in a low voice 
  before leaving the young man alone with his thoughts.
  v v v
  Later that evening a truck rolled into the camp with portable 
  showers erected on the back. Each trooper was given five min-
  utes to wash away the week’s worth of accumulated grime and 
  fatigue in the petrol heated water. Fresh uniforms were issued, 
  along with the usual supply of pyrotechnics and blank ammuni-
  tion. The soldiers were allowed two hours of personal time to 
  change clothes, draw supplies and perform preventative mainte-
  nance on their weapons and equipment, and to stretch out tired, 
  overworked muscles before moving into their tactical assembly 
  areas for the night.
  The troops of Second Squad were busy in the squad tent, finish-
  ing up the last of their personal chores before packing to move out 
  into the wilderness. The hot showers and clean uniforms, along 
  with the fact that Chen had been absent since chow, had done 
  wonders for their morale. Even the thunderstorm outside failed 
  to darken the mood as the soldiers laughed and joked with each 
  other while checking weapons, waterproofing boots or compos-
  ing letters home. 
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  The tent flap suddenly flew open, instantly diverting everyone’s 
  attention. A flash of lightning lit the mountain, silhouetting the 
  drenched figure standing in the entrance. It was Chen. All activ-
  ity in the tent ceased as he ducked through the opening and shut 
  the flap behind. He was soaked from head to toe, rain water ran 
  down his cheeks and beaded up in his close-cropped black hair. 
  He seemed not to notice. All eyes were upon him and as he began 
  to speak, in a voice that was soft and humble where before it had 
  been harsh and authoritative.
  “We have had a difficult couple of days as a squad,” he began. 
  “Most of the problems are directly attributable to me. I understand 
  that and take full responsibility.”
  The recruits stared at Chen, shocked expressions on their faces. 
  Hannan dropped the toothbrush she had been using to clean her 
  rifle. He continued.
  “The other squads have had a good laugh at our expense this 
  week. Well, the laughter stops now. After tonight, the only ones 
  laughing in this camp will be us! Team leaders, have someone 
  draw extra pyro and round up all the red luminous sticks you can 
  find. I will need to see Hannan and Kelley in my tent in five min-
  utes.” 
  The recruits stared at each other in stunned disbelief as Chen dis-
  appeared into the storm. The silence lasted for what seemed like 
  minutes until the chatter started, each recruit speculating, most 
  openly suspicious of what their suddenly humble squad leader 
  had in store for them. 
  Hannan and Kelley met with Chen as directed; the three of them 
  huddled over a map in a tent that had been set up for a single 
  person. The raging thunderstorm outside provided the perfect 
  backdrop as Chen laid out the details of his plan. When he was 
  finished, Hannan and Kelley merely nodded, their wicked grins ac-
  knowledging their approval.
  v v v
  The storm hit the mountain hard and stayed with the troops of 
  Second Platoon as they moved out to their tactical perimeters 
  where they would encamp for the night. Clay sensed a different 
  attitude within the squad, but whatever was going on, the troops 
  were keeping quiet. His curiosity piqued when, just one hour af-
  ter setting up, Chen decided to move the perimeter two hundred 
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  meters further north, and the troops, instead of grumbling about 
  the change, simply picked up their still packed gear and moved. 
  They had obviously been expecting the change of position. When 
  questioned, Chen sited “operational security” as the basis for his 
  decision, although Clay was skeptical that Chen believed one of 
  the other squads would attempt to launch a mock attack in the 
  middle of a downpour like the one that was scouring the moun-
  tainside. Still, he could not fault the recruit for being cautious. 
  As the night, and the storm wore on, Clay noticed that few of the 
  troops elected to sleep. They seemed keyed up. Ready. 
  Let them stay up, he thought to himself. Not this guy. Clay lay 
  back and let the rain beating against his poncho shelter lull him to 
  sleep.
  Some hours later, Clay was shaken awake. The storm had inten-
  sified and he opened his eyes to find Chen’s camouflage blackened 
  face not five inches from his own.
  “Wake up, First Sergeant. Get it together. We move out in five 
  mikes!”
  v v v
  True to his word, Chen led the squad out of their concealed perim-
  eter exactly five minutes after waking Clay. The First Sergeant fell 
  in at the end of their column where he could observe the squad’s 
  activity without getting in the way. This was their operation; more 
  importantly it was Chen’s chance to earn the trust and respect of 
  his squad mates, and, though still skeptical, Clay had no desire to 
  interfere.
  The squad moved out from the cover of the tree line and into the 
  storm, which was quickly becoming a raging torrent. Clay stud-
  ied them as they moved. Their faces blacked out with camouflage 
  paint and every piece of equipment taped or tied off to avoid un-
  necessary squeaks and rattles. They traveled light and stealthy, 
  ignoring the drenching rain. Every few minutes they would halt 
  and sink slowly into the tall grass, listening intently. Tuning their 
  senses to the environment. 
  Clay could not help but be impressed. He himself had worked 
  with teams that had taken months or years of constant drilling 
  and preparation before attaining the level of professionalism this 
  young squad was demonstrating. Maybe the other members were 
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  trying to show Chen that they were capable of soldiering at his 
  level, as if they had something to prove. And they did. The frustra-
  tion of the past few days, carried on sagging shoulders, written 
  in hard lines on tight faces, was gone tonight. Tonight, they were 
  confident. Focused.
  They moved, cautious and steady, for two hours, skirting open 
  areas and avoiding obvious trails. They took an irregular, circu-
  itous route that nevertheless kept them on a constant heading, 
  straight toward the First Squad perimeter.
  First Squad had set up their security perimeter inside a tree line 
  that bordered an open field. Chen halted on the edge of a wooded 
  area overlooking the field, just opposite their positions. He led 
  the squad members into the clearing in pairs, carefully placing 
  each trooper before returning to the woods to retrieve the next 
  two. Clay followed behind the last pair, the wind and rain from the 
  heavy squall masking their approach through the high grass. 
  Chen positioned the squad in a cigar shaped security perimeter, 
  designed to provide covering fire in all directions while allowing 
  the squad leader to retain control of his troops. He squatted next 
  to Reichel, who was covering the rear, and counted each man by 
  placing his hand on their shoulders as they entered the perimeter. 
  Satisfied that everyone was accounted for, he immediately tapped 
  Hannan and Kelley and the three moved off silently into the wan-
  ing downpour, to be swallowed up by the shoulder high grass and 
  the pitch black of the moonless night
  v v v
  Recruit Dorian Zander was disgusted, firstly that he had guard 
  duty yet again for the third consecutive night, secondly because 
  each time he had drawn the oh-two-hundred time slot. He would 
  just be getting back to sleep when it would be time to get up again, 
  if he could find sleep at all with the storm raging all around. The 
  storm was the third reason he was upset. Why was it even nec-
  essary to post a guard? Who in their right mind would leave the 
  relative comfort of a shelter and the warmth of a waterproof ther-
  mal bag to attack in this mess? At least the rain is letting up a little, 
  he thought, pulling his poncho tighter around his body. 
  A flash of lightning in the distance illuminated the mountain for 
  just an instant, and Zander squeezed his eyes shut hard to clear 
  the spots. In that instant, a hand snaked around his head and 
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  clamped down hard over his mouth. Something vaguely sharp 
  was dragged across his throat as a voice, gruff and menacing 
  whispered into his left ear.“You’re dead. No sounds or I cut your 
  throat for real!” Zander, surprised and terrified, did not resist as 
  his attacker lowered him gently to the ground.
  v v v
  Clay shimmied up through the grass, drawing even with Travis, 
  who lay with the squad light machine gun pointed in the direction 
  of the “enemy” perimeter. Travis checked his watch and whis-
  pered to Clay. “Should be seeing something any minute now.”
  At that moment, a huge flash of light followed by a loud boom 
  lit First Squad’s position. The explosion was followed by another, 
  then another as the hand grenade simulators went off, sowing 
  shock and confusion inside the encampment. The bright flashes 
  emitted by the pyrotechnics also had the added benefit of tempo-
  rarily blinding anyone who was unfortunate enough to be looking 
  at them when they went off, adding to the chaos as blinded troop-
  ers stumbled over each other in their haste to react. 
  Travis cracked open a few red luminous sticks and waved them 
  in the air briefly before scattering them on the ground in front of 
  his position. As the last of the simulators, big artillery types that 
  emitted a shrill whistle before delivering their loud blasts, were 
  still wreaking havoc, three figures came crashing into the squad 
  perimeter. Chen, breathing heavily, counted his troops and sig-
  naled them to move, placing himself at their head.
  Travis rose to one knee and began firing the machine gun in long 
  sweeping bursts, burning through a belt of blank ammunition in 
  just a few seconds. Doubled over, he rushed past Reichel, tapping 
  him on the shoulder. “Last man,” he said as he passed, reloading 
  the machine gun as he ran. Reichel rose up and turned, trotting 
  backwards to cover the rear as the line of shadowy figures disap-
  peared into the safety of the thick woods. 
  First Squad’s camp was a scene of utter chaos. Leftenant 
  Morgan, clad in only his trousers and t-shirt, staggered from his 
  tent. “What the hell is going on? Sergeant George, what the hell 
  is going on here?”
  The stoic sergeant merely reclined against the dirt berm of a 
  prepared fighting position. He answered, a slight hint of sarcasm 
  tinting his voice.
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  “We got attacked, sir. Took us completely by surprise.” He cast a 
  disapproving glance toward Recruit Zander, who bowed his head 
  sheepishly.
  The Leftenant stared incredulously at the man. “Well, aren’t you 
  going to do something? You can’t just sit there! Get the squad or-
  ganized and go get them!”
  “I can’t do that, sir.”
  The Leftenant was steaming. “And why not?”
  George craned his neck and pulled down his shirt collar, ex-
  posing a luminous red line where an open chemical light stick, 
  doubling as a knife had been dragged across his throat. “Because 
  I’m dead, sir,” he said.
  “Dammit! Okay, I’ll get the squad together and…”
  “Sir,” George shook his head and tossed Morgan one of the small 
  compacts they used to apply camouflage face paint. The leftenant 
  unfolded the compact, its small mirror revealing a glowing red 
  line across his own neck.
  “DAMMIT!”
  v v v
  Thirty minutes would pass before First Squad could mount 
  any kind of organized pursuit. By that time, Chen and the rest of 
  Second Squad were long gone. They took great delight in hearing 
  two more simulated explosives detonate far behind as the pur-
  suing soldiers of First Squad happened across the “going away 
  presents” Reichel had left for them. The satisfied smiles on the 
  faces of the recruits shone brightly, despite the darkness, the rain 
  and the streaked camouflage paint. 
  The squad moved quickly, less concerned with stealth than with 
  putting maximum distance between themselves and their enemy. 
  Chen led them on a winding route that differed greatly from the 
  one they had taken earlier, stopping only once in an area that Clay 
  recognized as being close to the company assembly area. Parking 
  them there, Chen disappeared alone into the dark, returning after 
  a few minutes to lead them back to their own perimeter.
  Long hours passed. By the time the recruits finally bedded down, 
  the rain had stopped and the sky had begun to lighten. Waist high 
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 0
  fog clung to the forest floor. Clay had volunteered to stay up for 
  the remainder of the night, allowing the recruits to get the sleep 
  he felt they had earned. About an hour before first light, he heard 
  rustling from the open area where the squad had established its 
  original bivouac. He chuckled under his breath, imagining First 
  Squad’s frustration as they searched the tall wet grass in vain.
  The next morning marked their final day on the mountain. The 
  company would reassemble and spend the morning cleaning the 
  camp and their equipment before making their way to a landing 
  zone where the transports would pick them up. 
  Arriving at the assembly area, the troops of Recruit Platoon 
  Alpha were greeted by the sight of a soggy uniform shirt belong-
  ing to Leftenant Morgan hanging limply from the flagpole in the 
  center of camp. The spectacle, heightened by the scene made by 
  the furious Leftenant as he struggled to recover the shirt, sent a 
  wave of muted laughter through the assembled troops, including 
  some of the men in Morgan’s own squad and each of the training 
  cadre NCOs.
  Sergeant Donnely, looking immaculate in starched fatigues and 
  spit-shined field boots, stepped out onto the porch in front of the 
  headquarters cabin.
  “Congratulations,ladies,” he boomed at the assembled troops. 
  “You passed. You are the first graduating class of recruits in the 
  history of the First Federated Suns Lancers!”
  The recruits let out a collective whoop, some of them throwing 
  their caps into the air. Sergeant Donnely descended the steps and 
  moved through the formation, personally shaking the hand of ev-
  ery soldier. When he got to Recuit Chen, the corner of his mouth 
  screwed up into a scowl that changed to a grin, and he winked 
  his silent approval of the previous night’s actions. Chen breathed 
  deep, his chest puffing out with pride as he struggled to contain 
  his own satisfied smirk.
  The march to the landing zone was unhurried, even casual. The 
  recruits joyously sang bawdy cadences as they wound their way 
  along the road, sun breaking through the trees to shine on their 
  exhausted but euphoric faces. The stress of the last three months 
  melted away and even the instructors seemed different, almost 
  friendly in a way that seemed totally out of character. The troops 
  lifted out not in the flying cattle cars that had first deposited them 
  at Gladston Hill, but in open-sided VTOLs that carried a squad at a 
  time, allowing them to take in the beautiful mountain scenery.
  
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  Dog Soldiers • Page 1
   Chen sat, legs hanging out of the open side door and enjoyed the 
  feeling of the wind on his face. On his left, an exhausted Margaret 
  Hannan dozed despite the noise and motion of the aircraft, her 
  head resting on his shoulder. Chen allowed her to sleep and found 
  himself smiling for the first time in years.
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  Replacement Processing Center, Camp Allard 
  Outskirts of Yang-ku 
  Nanking 
  1 September 3067
  Davis Clay mounted the steps to the small wooden headquarters 
  building. He stopped in the hallway where the duty rosters were 
  posted, looking for the chart that would tell him when the next 
  wave of recruits would come through. Though he had expected 
  a few weeks off before the next rotation, he was surprised to find 
  no schedule at all. He continued down the hall and checked in at 
  the desk outside the door to the Duty Officer’s office. Recognizing 
  Clay’s voice as he conversed with the corporal on desk duty, 
  Captain Jorgenson invited his old friend in and closed the door 
  behind him. 
  The room was small and spartan with no personal décor as it 
  was not permanently assigned but instead served as the head-
  quarters for the Officer of the Day, a position which changed daily 
  according to a duty rotation. Jorgenson, a thickly built, slightly 
  balding man of Rasalhaguian descent, winced as he sipped from a 
  cup of stale smelling coffee drawn from a pot that needed a good 
  cleaning.
  “Worst part of this job,” he commented, voice betraying a vague 
  accent. He held out his hand to Clay, who shook it vigorously. 
  “Good to see you back, Dave. The new kids look promising.”
  “All in all I’m pretty pleased. A few of them show some real po-
  tential.” 
  Jorgenson nodded but added nothing further, prompting Clay to 
  get straight to the point.
  “I didn’t notice a training schedule for the next round.”
  The other man’s expression didn’t change. “There’s not going to 
  be a next round, at least not here. We’re moving.”
  ”Moving?”
  “Yep. Not just us, mind you. The whole regiment, everybody…
  offworld.”
  The news was a shock to Clay. The First had been stationed in 
  the Sarna March almost since its inception. They were just start-
  
  BattleCorps
  Dog Soldiers • Page 
  ing to make great strides here on Nanking after almost ten years 
  of effort.
  Captain Jorgenson tapped a few keys and brought up a star map 
  on his computer monitor. He turned the monitor so that Clay could 
  see and pointed to the planet Hadnall, halfway across Federated 
  Suns space, bordering on what had been the St. Ives Compact.
  “The First Crucis is coming to relieve us in a few months. They’re 
  way understrength and they need a pacified world to rebuild,” 
  Jorgenson made quotation gestures with his fingers when he 
  spoke the word “pacified.” “Lucky for them we did the pacifying. 
  Anyway, their first units should arrive just after the first of the new 
  year, so keep this under your hat for now.”
  v v v
  Outside, Clay stopped to watch his recruits marching off to take 
  the first in a battery of written tests designed to determine their 
  best suited primary military specialties. They looked sharp, each 
  recruit perfectly in step and loudly repeating the marching ca-
  dence sung by Sergeant Deemer, a wily veteran who had been 
  assigned to oversee the platoon while they underwent their test-
  ing. Fresh uniforms replaced the rags worn in the mountains, and 
  the warm showers, hot food and their first real rest in weeks had 
  helped revitalize the troops. Clay was extremely proud of each of 
  them but his pride was tempered slightly by the thought that soon 
  they would be uprooted, taken away from friends and family and 
  placed on a volatile border that could explode into armed conflict 
  at any moment. Despite how much they had grown during train-
  ing, they weren’t ready. Not yet. Clay would only have a few more 
  months to get them that way.
  
SOURCE: textdata/thevault/BattleTech [multi]/EXTRA/Novels/Battlecorps Novels/Dog Soldiers Pt1 - Jeff Kautz.pdf