Chapter 9 chapter eight
A day on β Compass has twenty-two hours, thirteen minutes and twenty-four seconds.We have two hours of sleep.
On the first night, I discovered this fascinating reality.The bastard's piercing howling sound woke me up suddenly, and I was caught off guard and fell off the bed.I slept on the top bunk.After making sure my nose wasn't broken, I looked at the words floating in my mind.
A number is displayed here, one minute and forty-eight seconds, counting down,
I immediately forwarded the message to my squad leaders via the comms group I had set up the day before, sent a general alarm to the BrainPals of the entire platoon, and turned on the lights in the barracks.Every recruit is woken up by sirens that only they can hear.The next few seconds are hilarious.Most of the people jumped out of the bed in a dazed state, while the squad leaders and I dragged those who were still lying in the bed up and out of bed.Within a minute, we had everyone up and standing at attention.The remaining few seconds were spent convincing the few particularly sluggish recruits that this was not the time to go to the bathroom, get dressed, or do anything else; It pissed him off.
However, no matter whether he provokes or not, he will always be angry. "Damn it," Ryze yelled, "Perry!"
"Here, Sergeant Major!"
"What are you doing with your two minutes of warning time? Masturbation? Your platoon is not ready! They are not dressed and ready for the next mission! What excuse do you have?"
"Sergeant Major, the message said that the platoon should stand at attention when you and your assistants arrive! There is no specific instruction to be fully dressed!"
"My God, Perry! Don't you think getting dressed is part of being at attention?"
"I certainly don't take it for granted, Sergeant Major!"
"'Certainly not taken for granted'? Are you kidding me, Perry?"
"No, Sergeant Major!"
"Well, of course I want you to get the platoon out on the parade ground, Perry. You've got forty-five seconds. Get moving!"
"Class A!" I yelled and ran away, hoping God bless my class to follow me closely.When I rushed out of the gate, I heard Angela yelling for the people in class B to follow; this class leader was chosen correctly.We came to the parade ground, my squad followed me in a straight line.Angela lined up to my right, and Terry and the rest followed suit.At the forty-fourth second, the last member of Class F stood up.It's amazing.On the parade ground, other recruit platoons are also lining up.Like row 63, they were also naked.I was temporarily relieved.
In a blink of an eye, Ryze strolled over, followed by his two assistants, "Perry! What time is it?"
I contacted BrainPal, "0100 local time, Sergeant Major!"
"Very well, Perry, you finally know how to check the time. What time is the lights out?"
"2100 points, Sergeant Major!"
"That's right again! Well, some of you must be wondering why we got you up and running after only two hours of sleep. Are we cruel? Sadistic? Wanting you to break down? Yes Yes, that's right. But none of that is why we woke you up. The reason is simple - you don't need any more sleep. Thanks to your lovely new bodies, you only need two hours to get enough sleep The reason why you feel like you need to sleep 8 hours a night is simply because that is what you are used to. It is not the same as it used to be, ladies and gentlemen. Sleeping that long is a waste of my time. Two hours is all your sleep needs , so two hours of sleep is all you'll get from now on.
"Okay. Can anyone tell me why I asked you to run twenty kilometers in an hour yesterday?"
A recruit raised his hand. "Tell me, Thompson," Ryze said.He either memorized each recruit's name, or had BrainPal provide the information.I don't want to risk guessing which one the answer actually is.
"Sergeant Major, you're making us run because you hate every single one of us!"
"That's a good answer, Thompson. But you're only partly right. I told you to run twenty kilometers in an hour because you can. Even the slowest of you is two miles ahead of schedule. Minutes. That is to say, with no training, no real effort, every single one of you bastards can run as fast as an Olympic champion on Earth.
"Do you know why? Do you? Because none of you are human anymore. You've become better than human, you just don't know it. Hell, you spent a week running like wind-up toys Bounce around the walls of your spaceship and probably not know what you're made of. Well, ladies and gentlemen, that's about to change. The first week of training is all about building your confidence. And you will be confident. You have no choice."
Next, we ran twenty-five kilometers in our underwear.
Twenty-five kilometers long run, 100-meter seven-second sprint, six-foot high jump, ten-meter long jump on the flat floor, 200-kilogram weightlifting, hundreds of sit-ups, pull-ups, and push-ups.Ruiz is right, it is not difficult to do all this, the difficulty is to believe that you have this ability.Every project has recruits down and unable to pass.The best way to describe the reason for their failure is: they didn't have the guts.Ryze and his assistants pounced on the recruits, intimidating them to continue training (then forcing me to do push-ups, since my squad leader and I apparently didn't intimidate them enough).
Every recruit has doubts.On the fourth day, my doubts came.The 63rd row stood in a circle around the base's swimming pool, each holding a twenty-five-kilogram sandbag in their arms.
"What is the weakness of the human body?" Ryze said as he walked around the soldiers in the platoon, "It's not the heart, it's not the brain, it's not the feet, it's not any part you think. Let me tell you what it is It's blood. And that's bad news, because blood is everywhere in you. It carries oxygen, but it also carries germs. When you get hurt, blood clots, but it doesn't clot fast enough, and you bleed too much. And die. At that point, what really kills you is the lack of oxygen—the blood that carries it is all the fucking way to the ground, and it's not doing you any good anymore.
"Thank the military for their apocalyptic wisdom. The Colonial Defense Forces kicked the human blood away, fired it, and replaced it with intelligent blood. Intelligent blood is composed of countless nano-scale mechanical particles, which can better execute blood It's not an organism, so bacteria can't pose a threat to it. By communicating with BrainPal, it clots in milliseconds—if you break a damn leg, you don't bleed too much. Still Yes, and most importantly, each 'cell' of smart blood can transport four times as much oxygen as a natural red blood cell."
Ryze stopped in his tracks, "Right now, this point is more important to you, because you will jump into the pool with sandbags in your arms. You will sink to the bottom of the pool and stay there for at least six minutes. Six minutes is enough to hold you back." Dead ordinary people, but you can stay down there for so long without losing a single brain cell. To encourage you to stay down, the first guy to come up will be responsible for cleaning the toilets for a week. If this recruit doesn’t Come up in six minutes, and each of you will develop an intimate relationship with one of the toilets on the base. Do you understand? Jump!"
We dived, and just as Ruiz said, we fell directly to the bottom of the three-meter-deep pool.As soon as I sank to the bottom, I almost had a hysterical fit.As a child I once fell into a covered pond and struggled for several minutes, dazed and terrified, to get out of the water.Those few minutes weren't enough to drown me, but they were enough to give me a lifelong aversion to being completely submerged in water.After about thirty seconds, I started to feel like I had to take a deep breath of fresh air.I couldn't even last a minute, let alone six.
I feel someone pulling me.I turned my head away, a little too violently.I saw Alan who was beside me stretched out his hand.Through the darkness, I saw him tap his head lightly, then point to mine.At this moment, the bastard notified me that Alan asked to link with me.I silently agreed in my head.Alan's impassive voice came to my ears.
"What's wrong?" Alan asked.
"It's scary." I said quietly.
"Don't panic," Alan replied, "Forget that you are underwater."
"Damn, unlikely," I replied.
"Damn it," Alain said, "go look at your platoon, see if anyone else is in trouble, go help them."
The eerie composure of the analog sound worked.I opened the channel to communicate with my squad leaders, checked their situation, and then ordered them to check their subordinates.Everyone's squad has one or two recruits who are panic-stricken and ready to explode at any moment.They tried to persuade and calm these people down.I could see Alan next to me checking on our class.
three minutes.four minutes.In Martin's class, a recruit began to struggle, rocking back and forth, but a sandbag in his hand acted as an anchor.Martin dropped his sandbag and swam over to his men, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders, drawing attention to his face.I got through to Martin's BrainPal and just listened to what he said to the recruits—look me in the eyes.It seemed to work; the recruit stopped struggling and began to relax.
five minutes.No matter how much smart blood's oxygen delivery capacity improves, everyone is clearly starting to feel oxygen deprived.People started switching feet, jumping in place, or waving sandbags.In a far corner, I saw a recruit banging her head against a sandbag.A part of me found it funny, and another part wished I could do the same.
Five minutes and forty-three seconds.A recruit in Mark's class dropped a sandbag and began to float to the surface.Mark dropped his sandbag and swooped quietly, grabbing the recruit's feet and pulling him back with his own weight.I was thinking that maybe Mark's deputy should help out my squad leader; but a quick check by BrainPal told me that this recruit was Mark's deputy squad leader.
six minutes.Forty recruits dropped sandbags and rushed to the surface.Mark let go of his deputy squad leader's ankle and pushed him up to make sure he surfaced first, willingly cleaning the toilets for the entire platoon.I was about to throw away my sandbag when Alan shook his head.
He sent me a message,
I say.
he replied.
I lasted seven minutes and thirty-one seconds before I floated up, feeling like my lungs were about to explode.But my doubts disappeared.I believe it.I am much stronger than human beings.
In the second week, we got to know our weapons.
"This is the standard MP-35 rifle of the colonial army." Ruiz said, picking up his own rifle. Our rifle was still covered with a protective bag, lying where it was originally placed - on the muddy ground of the parade ground under our feet. . "MP means 'Multi-function'. It can manufacture and fire six different projectiles or beams according to your needs, including rifle bullets - all kinds of explosive and non-explosive ammunition, and the firing method can be selected from automatic or semi-automatic, And low-yield rifle grenades, low-yield guided missiles, high-pressure liquid incendiary, and microwave energy beams. This is what makes it all possible," Ryze held up a dull metal object; One piece of the same thing, "high-density nano-scale auto-mechanized ammunition. It can automatically assemble into different projectiles in a split second before firing. It is an extremely flexible and adaptable weapon, even if it only accepts It can be used by anyone with a little training. You idiots will love that, no doubt.
"Those of you who have been in the military must remember that they asked you to repeatedly disassemble and assemble your respective weapons. But this is the MP-35, and I strictly forbid you to do it! The MP-35 is an extremely complicated machine, and we will never I believe you have the ability to mess with it! It has its own detection and repair functions. If there is any problem, it can connect to your brain partner and remind you. In fact, there will be no problem at all. In the thirty years it has been in production, the MP-35 has never had a single malfunction. The reason is simple: unlike you dumb military scientists on Earth, we make weapons that actually work! Your job is not to fiddle with them, Instead, fire them. Trust your weapon, it's clearly far smarter than you. Remember this, and you might survive.
"Remove your MP-35 from its protective pouch and link to it via BrainPal to activate the weapon. Once this is done, your MP-35 is completely at your command. While on base, only You can fire with your own MP-35; but this must be approved by your platoon leader or squad leader, who in turn must have the permission of the training instructor.On the real battlefield, only colonial troops equipped with colonial army brainmates Only soldiers can fire your MP-35. As long as you don't annoy your fellow soldiers, you'll never have to worry about your own weapons being used against you.
"From now on, you must carry your MP-35 with you everywhere. Take it to the toilet; take it to the shower - don't worry about getting it wet, it will repel everything it defines as foreign Take it with you when you eat; you have to take it with you when you sleep. If you somehow find the time to mess around, you better have your MP-35 around to feast your eyes on.
"You're going to learn how to use this weapon. It's going to save your life. The U.S. Marine Corps are fucking idiots, but one thing they got right is the Marine Corps Rifle Creed. It's a few words Says something like this: 'This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend, it is my life. I must know my own Life knows it. My rifle is nothing without me, and I am nothing without my rifle. I must use my rifle rightly. I must aim better than the enemy who would kill me. I Gotta shoot him before he shoots me. I'll do it.'" Ladies and gentlemen, keep this mantra firmly in mind.This is your rifle.Pick it up and activate. "
I knelt down and removed the rifle from its plastic wrap.Despite Ryze's description, the MP-35 looked unremarkable.It's hefty without being bulky, and it's well balanced and sized.A sticker was taped to the side of the rifle's stock: "To activate a firearm via BrainPal: Contact BrainPal, say:"
"Hey bastard," I said, "activate MP-35, serial number ASD-324-DDD-E3CI."
The bastard replied, and a picture stopped in the corner of my field of vision, showing me how to reload the rifle.I leaned down and picked up the cuboid ammunition—almost staggering.Ammunition is surprisingly heavy, and their so-called "high density" is really not a joke.I stuffed it into the rifle as directed.After completing this step, the diagram instructing me on how to install the ammo disappeared and was replaced by a list of options that read:
"Select shotgun mode," I said.
replied the jerk.
"Select missile mode," I said.
The jerk replied and all of a sudden there was a green outline on every recruit in the platoon, look straight at someone and the missiles would fly out.Fuck it, I thought, and picked a target, a recruit in Martin's class named Toyoshima.
The asshole confirmed,
"Oh." I canceled the target and stared down at my MP-35.I turned to Alan, who was standing beside me, his weapon in his hand. "I'm so afraid of this gun of mine," I said.
"Yeah," Alan said. "Two seconds ago, I almost shot you with a grenade."
This shocking truth-telling would have sparked a reaction in me, but my anger was cut short.Ryze at the other end of the queue suddenly rushed to a recruit, "What did you just say, recruit?" Ryze asked.Everyone turned their heads and looked, everyone was chilling.
The recruit was Sam McCann.I still remember Sarah O'Connor saying at a lunch meeting with the class president that he had a bigger mouth than a brain, no wonder he'd spent most of his life in sales.Ryze was only a few millimeters from the tip of his nose, but he still had a flattering look on his face.It was flattery mixed with surprise, but flattery nonetheless.He obviously didn't know why he had upset Ryze, but still hoped to come out of the conflict unscathed.
"I'm just admiring my weapon, Sergeant Major," McCann said, holding his rifle. "I told recruit Flores that I'm kind of sad for the wretches we're about to deal with."
Ryze snatched the rifle from the startled McCann, turned it lightly, and the butt hit McCain on the temple; the rest of McCain's comment was instantly lost.He was limp on the ground, like a pile of dirty laundry waiting to be washed; Ryze calmly stretched out a leg, and stomped a boot hard on McCain's throat.Then he turned the rifle over; McCain looked up at the barrel of his own in horror.
"Not so smug, are you, you bastard?" Ryze said. "Think of me as your enemy. Do you still feel sorry for me now? I just took your weapon and breathed more than you The tone is so fast. Out on the battlefield, those poor bastards move faster than you can believe. While you are still trying to find them, they have already smeared your goddamn liver on a biscuit and ate it. So , don't ever feel sorry for those wretches. They don't need your sympathy. Can you remember that, recruit?"
"Yes, Sergeant Major!" McCain said hoarsely, being trampled under his leather boots.He almost sobbed.
"Let's make sure." Ruiz said, pointing the barrel of the gun between McCain's eyebrows, pulling the trigger, and making a dry click.Every recruit in the platoon shivered; McCain wet his pants.
"Idiot," Ryze said when McCain realized he wasn't dead, "you didn't hear me. At base, the MP-35 can only be fired by its owner, and that's you, idiot." He Straightening up, he tossed the rifle contemptuously at McCain, then turned to face the platoon.
"You recruits are dumber than I thought," Ryze said aloud, "Now listen to me: no army in the history of mankind has ever set foot on the battlefield armed with more weapons than were necessary to defeat the enemy. The minimum number of weapons is the lower limit. War is very expensive. It will cost money and life, and no civilization has unlimited money and life. Therefore, you must save money in war, and give you only the most necessary weapons and equipment. Couldn't be more."
He glared at us viciously, "Have I heard all this? Does any of you get what I mean? You don't have these brand new bodies and shiny new weapons because we want you to be far ahead of the enemy, It's because it's the bare minimum that will allow you to fight and survive outside. We don't want to give you these bodies, idiots. It's just that if we didn't, the human race would have been extinct.
"Do you all understand now? Do you finally know what you will face? Do you know?"
Training is not just about breathing fresh air, exercising, and learning how to fight for humanity.Sometimes we also have classes.
"During physical training, you've been learning how to overcome certain preconceived notions about your new body and how to make the most of it," Lieutenant Oglethorpe told the recruits from the 60th to 63rd platoon training battalion that packed the auditorium Say, "Now we're going to do the same training on your consciousness. It's time to wash away those prejudices that you believe in; maybe you don't even realize you have them."
Lieutenant Oglethorpe pressed a button on the podium, and two monitors lit up behind him.What appeared on the screen in front of us to the left was a nightmare: a black arthropod with serrated, lobster-like pincers nestled obscenely in a deep black gash, one could almost smell the stench.There are three eye-stalks or tentacles sticking out of the shapeless body, dripping brown juice.Even here, they would definitely run away screaming in fright.
On the right-hand display is a sort of deer-like animal with cute human-like hands and a quirky face that seems peaceful and intelligent.Although there is no way to keep this guy as a pet, at least we can learn something about the nature of the universe from him.
Lieutenant Oglethorpe picked up the indicator and pointed in the direction of the nightmare, "This guy is a member of the Basonga race. The Basonga are a peaceful race with hundreds of thousands of years of civilization; their knowledge in mathematics is extremely profound , In contrast, our mathematics is just the simplest addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. They live in the ocean, filter the sea water and hunt plankton, and live in several worlds with humans in peace and harmony. These are good people. And this one ,” he tapped the display screen, “he is an exceptionally handsome guy in his race.”
He tapped heavily on the second screen, which showed a friendly deer man, "Here, this little bastard is a Salong. Our first official contact with a Salong occurred on a human-colonized planet. The colonization of this planet is unofficial, and some people have taken actions on their own initiative. This kind of behavior is prohibited. As for why, the following is the reason. The colonists landed on this planet, but there are also Salongs Later, the Salong people thought that humans were delicious, so they launched an attack on humans and built a human meat ranch. Almost all adult males were killed, and only a dozen or so were left to extract semen. Women Others were artificially inseminated, and their newborns were taken away and fattened up in pens like calves.
"It took us many years to find this place. After that, the army of the colonial army razed the Salong colony to the ground and cooked their leader into a roast. Needless to say, we have been talking to those who eat babies ever since. The mongrels go to war.
"You see what I'm about to say," said Lieutenant Oglethorpe, "that self-righteousness in distinguishing good from bad will kill you. Homosexuality creates prejudice, and we cannot afford it. Certain appearances have nothing to do with us Eerily similar aliens would rather turn us into human hamburgers than live in peace with us."
Another time, Lieutenant Oglethorpe asks us to guess what advantage Earth soldiers have over Colonial soldiers. "Obviously not physical fitness or weaponry," he said. "We're obviously much more advanced in those areas. The advantage of Earth soldiers is that they know what their opponents look like, and they know roughly how the war will be fought—will What kind of armies are there, what types of weapons are there, what kind of goals are needed. Because of this, even if the reasons for the war or the purpose of the war are completely different, the experience gained from a war or conflict can be directly used In another war.
"The colonial army did not have such conditions. Take the recent war with the Everge race as an example." Lieutenant Oglethorpe clicked on a screen, and a whale-like animal appeared on the side of the body. The tentacles stretched out into rough-looking hands, "These guys can reach a maximum of forty meters, and they have a technology that can make water aggregate. When our ship is sailing, the surrounding water will turn into quicksand-like silt, Drag the ship and its crew off. How can the experience of fighting such a guy be used to deal with, um, the Fenwey, for example?" The other screen lit up, showing a reptile-like guy , "This is a species that lives in the desert and likes to launch biological attacks from a distance.
"The answer is no. But despite this, the soldiers of the colonial army continued to move to different battles. This is one of the reasons why the casualty rate of the colonial army is so high-every battle is new, at least for specific Every battle is different from any previous one, to each of our soldiers. Now let me sum up this little speech a bit: Any ideas you have about how war works are best Put it aside. The training you receive here will open your eyes to some of the things you will encounter in the outside world. But remember, as infantry, you are usually the first The methods and motives of those who come into contact with hostile species are unknown and sometimes even unknowable. You must think quickly and not assume that what has worked before will work this time. Such thinking is only a shortcut to death .”
At one point, a recruit asked Oglethorpe why colonial soldiers should care about colonists and colonies. "You keep telling us that we're not even really human anymore," she said. "If that's the case, then why do we have an emotional relationship with the colonists? They're only human after all. Why not just reproduce Colonial soldiers as the next step in human evolution?"
"Don't think you're the first to ask that question," Oglethorpe said, and there was a chuckle from the crowd. "The shortest answer is, we can't do it. A lot of genetic and Mechanical transformation, so their genes cannot be copied. First of all, the gene template of each of you uses common genetic material, so your genes carry too many recessive genetic traits and cannot complete the reproduction process. Second, too much The presence of unnatural materials also makes it impossible for you to successfully combine with ordinary people and reproduce. Colonial soldiers are an amazing piece of engineering, but they are also a dead end in the evolutionary path. So don't be too busy complacent. You can be in three minutes Run a mile, but can't have a baby.
"And in a broad sense, there is no need for that. The next step in evolution is taking place. Like Earth, most colonized planets are isolated from each other, and almost everyone born on a colonized planet will die there. Humans will eventually adapt to a new home; this is already culturally evident. Some of the oldest colonized planets have begun to take on languages and cultures different Given enough time, the number of human races will converge to the number of colonized planets. Diversity is the key to survival.
"From a metaphysical point of view, maybe you should feel an emotional connection with the colony. Human beings have the potential to transform themselves into people who can survive in the universe. You who have been changed can best understand this A little. To put it more directly, you should care about those colonists, because the colonized planets represent the future of humanity. No matter how much you have been changed, you are still the closest to humans compared to other intelligent species in the universe.
"But at the end of the day, you should care because your experience is enough to make you understand that. That's one of the reasons the Colonial Army decided to enlist older people. Not just because you're all retired and holding back the economy, but Because you're old enough to realize that there are more things in this world than your own life. Most of you have a family and a family. You know it's worth doing beyond your personal goals There are many more things. Even if you never become colonists, you can realize that colonizing planets is a great thing for human beings, and worth fighting for. It is difficult to instill such ideas in nineteen-year-olds. But you can learn this from your own experiences. In the universe, experiences matter."
We are trained.We shoot.We study.We keep going.We didn't get much sleep.
In week six, I removed Sarah O'Connor as class president. Class E always lags behind in training, dragging down platoon 63 in the competition between platoons.Whenever the trophy was awarded to another platoon, Ryze would grit his teeth and vent his displeasure on me.Sarah accepted it graciously. "Unfortunately, this is not the same as teaching kindergarten children." This is her answer.Alan took her place.Under his urging, Class E cheered up.In week seven, platoon 63 took the shooting trophy from platoon 58; ironically, it was Sarah's one-shot finish that got us to the top of the list.
On the eighth week, I stopped talking to my brain mate.The bastard has been studying me for a long time, and he has been able to read my brain patterns and start to estimate my needs from brain activity.I first noticed this during a simulated live ammunition training session.My MP-35 switches from rifle mode to missile mode, takes aim, fires, hits long lines of two targets, then switches to flamethrower mode, just in time to sear a six-footer that popped out of a nearby rock Disgusting beetle.When I realized that I hadn't spoken these switching commands at all, I couldn't help feeling a little nervous.But after a few days, whenever I find myself needing to talk in order to get the jerk to act, I'm going to be furious.So quickly, the hair-raising thing becomes a matter of course.
In week nine, Alan, Martin Ganabedian, and I were forced to clean up one of Martin's recruits.This guy wanted to replace Martin as monitor, even going so far as to do a little sabotage to get the job.He used to be a little famous star, and he was used to using any means to achieve his personal goals.He's cunning enough to enlist a few fellow soldiers to join his intriguing inner circle; unfortunately, he's not smart enough to realize that his squad leader, Martin, has access to his messages.Martin found me; I figured we could easily figure this out on our own without involving Ryze or the other instructors.
When a hovercraft at the base was seen temporarily going AWOL later that night, they kept it under wraps.Likewise, if anyone saw a recruit hang upside down under a hovercraft with two hands and one foot, and flit dangerously through the treetops, they didn't say a word.Of course, no one claimed to have heard the recruit's desperate screams, or Martin's harsh, critical review of the former star's most famous album.At breakfast the next day, Sergeant Major Ruiz pointed me out, saying that I looked like I had been blown by a strong wind for a while, and I replied that it might be because he let us jog for thirty kilometers with ease before breakfast.
During the eleventh week, Platoon 63 and several others were thrown into the mountains north of the base.The goal is simple: find and eliminate the other platoons within four days, and then return the survivors to base successfully.To make this even more interesting, each recruit is equipped with a device used to make him aware that he has been shot.The recruit who was hit would fall over, in excruciating pain and paralyzed. (Finally brought back to base by training instructors watching nearby.) I know what it's like to be hit.Ruiz hopes to demonstrate it to everyone at the base first, and I was regarded as an experimental subject by him.I emphasized to the platoon that they would never want to try this for themselves.
No sooner had our feet hit the ground than the first blow fell on our heads.Before I could spot the shooter and alert the whole platoon, four of my recruits had already fallen.We hit two enemies, and two escaped.Several sporadic attacks were encountered in the next few hours, indicating that most of the other platoons had been split into three or four squads, and each squad of the hostile platoon was hunted separately.
Another idea occurred to me.No matter how far we are from each other, BrainPal can keep us connected silently.The other platoons seem to ignore this, which is too bad for them.I asked everyone in the platoon to activate a safe BrainPal communication line to communicate with everyone else, and then they all dispersed to fight on their own, and acted separately. Along the way, I mapped out the terrain for others and marked the enemy units I found. s position.In this way, we all have an ever-expanding map of the terrain and the location of the enemy.Even if our men were shot, the information they provided could help other team members avoid casualties, at least so that their comrades would not be killed immediately.Compared with the squad-based battle formation, a single soldier fighting independently is more agile, can run silently and harass the squads of other platoons, and can cooperate with his comrades in his own platoon when given the opportunity.
The method worked.The recruits in our platoon fired when they had the opportunity to shoot, and when they didn't have the opportunity, they hid to pass on information and cooperated with each other when they saw the opportunity.第二天，我和一个名叫瑞雷的新兵消灭了两个分属不同敌对排的班；他们当时正忙着相互射击，没注意到瑞雷和我从远处发动的狙击。瑞雷射中了两个人，我射中了三个，还有三个人显然在彼此的对射中被击中了。Well done.完工后，我们俩什么都没说，又潜入山林，继续追踪，分享地形信息。
最后，其他各排弄清了我们的做法，想依样画葫芦。但到那时，63排的人还有很多，而他们已经所剩无几了。中午之前，我们“击毙”了最后几个人，将他们彻底消灭了，然后开始慢跑回八十公里开外的基地。我们的最后一名士兵在1800点之前返回了基地。这场战斗中，我们排牺牲了十九人，包括一开始被击中的四名，但却消灭了其余七个排里半数以上的成员，自己的伤亡还不到三分之一。这样的战绩，就算瑞兹军士长也挑不出毛病。当基地指挥官将战争游戏奖杯颁发给他时，他甚至还露出了笑容。我简直不敢想象这一笑会让他的脸蛋牺牲多少细胞。
“好运真是永远伴随我们呀，”新鲜出炉的二等兵阿兰·罗森索在登船区朝我走过来，“咱们俩被分到了同一艘飞船上。”
This is real.我们将乘坐运兵舰弗兰西斯·德雷克号作一次短途飞行回到凤凰星系，然后下船，直到殖民军莫德斯托号的人来接我们。那以后，我们会加入殖民军第233步兵营D连2排。一艘飞船只搭载一个营，大约一千名士兵，分到一块儿真是太不容易了。我很高兴再次有阿兰做伴。
我扫了阿兰一眼，欣赏着他整洁簇新的殖民军蓝色军服。我倒没有羡慕的意思，因为我穿得跟他一模一样。“妈的，阿兰，”我说，“咱们看起来可真不错。”
“我一直难以抵抗军装诱惑，”阿兰对我说，“现在我也穿上了军装，这种诱惑更大了。”
“哦哟，”我说，“瑞兹军士长来了。”
瑞兹看见我在等候登船，他朝我走过来。我放下装着军常服和寥寥几件个人物品的桶包，麻利地向他敬了个礼。
“稍息，二等兵。”瑞兹回礼，“你们要去哪儿？”
“莫德斯托号，军士长。”我说，“罗森索二等兵和我一块儿。”
“不是开玩笑吧，”瑞兹大声说，“第233营？哪个连？”
“D连，军士长。2排。”
“活见鬼，二等兵，”瑞兹说，“你们将享受在阿瑟·凯伊斯中尉的排里服役的快乐，要是那个狗娘养的蠢东西到现在还没被外星人咬掉屁股的话。见到他的时候，如果有可能，请代我问候他。你或许还可以告诉他，安东尼奥·瑞兹军士长认为你还不完全像大多数新兵那样愚不可及。”
“谢谢您，军士长。”
“别太相信这句话，二等兵。你仍旧是个蠢东西，只是没有蠢到一定的地步而已。”
“那当然，军士长。”
“很好。好了，失陪。你们该上路了。”瑞兹军士长敬了个礼。阿兰和我回礼。瑞兹扫了我俩一眼，勉强挤出个笑容，头也不回地走开了。
“这家伙吓死我了。”阿兰说。
“我说不清，说不定还有点喜欢他。”
“你当然喜欢他了。他觉得你还没那么愚不可及。在他的世界里，这就等于夸奖你了。”
“我当然知道。”我说，“现在，我只需要名副其实地做到这一点就行了。”
“你会成功的。”阿兰说，“但别忘了，你仍旧是个蠢东西。”
“这话真让我松了口气，”我说，“至少我还有个伴。”
阿兰咧嘴笑了。运兵船的门打开了，我们抓起自己的东西走了进去。
Notes:
Notes: