Grunts by Mary Gentle

Author:Mary Gentle [Gentle, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781101655924
Google: 2cqunNTIW10C
Amazon: B00AEIHP6K
Barnesnoble: B00AEIHP6K
Goodreads: 17072785
Publisher: Roc Trade
Published: 1995-08-03T07:00:00+00:00

3

And at that very hour, twelve thousand miles to the south of the Inland Sea, in the fabled Antarctic Icelands, Razitshakra strode between the rows of huts that made up the tundra bootcamp. Snow crusted the squat female orc’s heavy military greatcoat as she stomped, bandy-legged, across the icefield. She rebuckled her webbing, pistol-holsters, and stick-grenades over her coat, looking up to check that the marine striped-and-starred Raven flag still proudly flew. It did.

The ideology class waited, drawn up to attention outside her command hut, in front of the wooden table that stood out in the snow. The orc seated herself at the table, placed her elbows on the wood, and rested her pugnacious chin on her talons.

“Recruit Balan Orcsbane,” she purred, eyes gleaming. “You of the unfortunate surname—perhaps you would be kind enough to state basic orc marine ideology.”

The dwarf drew himself stiffly to attention, his forked orange beard jutting horizontally. Like the rest of the twelve-dwarf recruit squad, he wore olive-drab fatigues rolled up at the ankles and to the elbows. His orange braids had been shaved down to a bare fuzz of hair on his scalp. He carried a much-abused Kalashnikov assault rifle and a steel helmet from which the sharp horns had been forcibly removed.

“Ma’am, politically correct orcish ideology is as follows.” Balan Orcsbane pointed at his fellow bootcamp trainees. “‘If you’re smaller than me, I’m in charge here. If you’re bigger than me—you’re in charge. And if something’s gone wrong, he’s in charge!’”

“Very good!” The Endless Sun glinted from Razitshakra’s round wire-rimmed spectacles and from the peaked brim of her cap. Her lateral-pointing ears twitched. She removed a small notepad from her greatcoat pocket and scribbled a few words. “Tell me more about command responsibility.”

The dwarf rapped out, “The commander is always right!”

“And?”

“The commander is always right,” Balan Orcsbane added smartly. “Even when he’s wrong.”

“Well done.” Razitshakra pointed at the next dwarf in the line. “You. Owaine Elfhunter. Name a test to determine whether a recruit is fit to become a marine.”

The dwarf scratched her trimmed beard. “The recruit is tied—” she hastily corrected herself “—the recruit volunteers to be tied to a sabre-toothed tiger and shut up in its cave. If the recruit comes out, she passed. If the tiger comes out, she failed. If she comes out riding the sabre-toothed tiger, make her a corporal.”

“Excellent.” Razitshakra’s unorcishly golden eyes gleamed. “Now—”

“Commissar, ma’am!” The centaur Coms officer galloped up, ice and snow spraying from his hooves, and thrust the radio handset towards Razitshakra. “It’s Alpha Squad. Commissar, you have to hear this!”

“That is not approved radio procedure. Barzoi! Take over the dwarf squad.” Razitshakra stepped aside, in the shadow of the glossy-coated centaur’s heaving flanks. The rasp of distant gunfire was plainly audible over the radio link. “Bootcamp Base to Squad Alpha—who authorised a live ammo exercise in that area?”

The reply crackled back:

“Squad Alpha to Bootcamp, this is not an exercise. Repeat, this is not an exercise.” Orc Corporal Zakkad’s gruff voice shook with urgency.

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