C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) Read Online Free Page B

quite
like Peters. Even though we were from different cities, him from London and me
from Pompey, we had similar personalities, likes and dislikes, and so were
mates since the very beginning. Having a good friend nearby to talk to, I knew,
would really make a difference on board Challenger.
    ‘You think
anyone’s up?’
    I shook my
head, ‘I doubt it, reveille’s probably at six I would have thought.’
    ‘Yeah, fair
one. I wouldn’t wanna get up early to check out a bunch of new guys anyway.
Hopefully we get an hour’s extra head down.’
    Without
warning the crew compartment’s airlock door slid open silently, revealing the
airlock that led into Challenger. Within the two stood a figure dressed in a
suit, its helmet tucked under its arm. For a second I blinked at the figure,
who was bathed in blinding white light.
    After couple
of seconds it spoke irritably, ‘Come on then, you lizards, let’s go!’
    That was the
first greeting I had on board Challenger. Was I ever in for a treat , I
thought as one by one we filed through the airlock, past the rather grumpy
looking airlock technician. I couldn’t quite figure out what her problem was -
it was her job to maintain, check and cycle the airlock after all - but then I
wasn’t in a position to say anything.
    Challenger’s
lock room wasn’t the enormous cathedral sized room I had entered on board the
Fantasque, the enormous troopship that had taken me and hundreds of other
recruits from Earth to Uralis, and neither was it tiny or cramped, in fact it
wasn’t really much at all. Apart from a few suits hanging from hooks along the
walls, the room was completely bare and not very interesting to look at. If I
could describe my first impression aboard Challenger with a single expression,
it would have to be ‘anti-climax’. Or as most troopers would say – ‘pump’. We
formed up into three ranks with hands clasped behind our backs, sausage bags at
our feet, which were shoulder width apart in the correct position of ‘at ease’.
Rarely had we practiced any form of drill on Uralis, most of that was done on
Earth during basic training, but old habits never die, and we were eager to
please our new unit.
    The
technician emerged from the lock, having checked that nobody had been left
behind. Seemingly unimpressed by our smart parade ground formation, she counted
us with an outstretched finger. The Navy loved to count things, I had learnt. I
presumed she was counting us in case somebody had been left behind, which I
would have thought would have been highly unlikely. Either that or she just
wanted to appear more important than she really was, which I thought was
probably more likely.
    ‘Just waiting
for your lot to come get you,’ she finally said, jabbing a thumb over her
shoulder, ‘I just work the lock.’
    We said
nothing, unsure of the rank of the woman addressing us. We didn’t fight in
vacuum, that was what the marines were for, and so we didn’t work closely with
navy personnel, they were simply our means of getting to where we were going.
    I listened to
the new sounds of the ship, the rush of air being circulated through her
network of ventilation ducts and the faint hum of powerful and exotic machinery
deep within her bowels, echoing through the metal superstructure that
surrounded us. Even though I had never seen how awesome a ship like Challenger
was from the outside with my own eyes, I could imagine from images I had seen
that she was an incredible thing to behold, a glorious machine half a kilometre
long, her harsh angular lines and bristling weaponry revealing her true purpose
as a machine of war with the ability to project the Union’s power across the
cosmos.
    We waited for
five minutes, fidgeting awkwardly while the technician busied herself resealing
the lock, until finally somebody came to collect us.
    The grey
haired Lance Corporal held up a tablet and read our names aloud, ‘Jones!’
    ‘Here,
Corporal.’
    ‘Rai!’
    ‘Here,
Corporal.’