Academy Snippet 2

   Insanity is about to strike, on top of my usual holiday stuff I've been tasked with throwing two Thanksgivings this month. I was asked a few days ago to throw an early one Saturday for family coming into town. I'm going to be busy. lol 

Not to mention pooped when it is all said and done. lol

 Right into the first story:

A Proper Naval Officer’s Education

 

Annapolis, Bek

 

There were so many prospective naval recruits each year that there were different academies on Bek and off. The Citadel, Annapolis, the Britannia Naval College, and four others were the premier ones. Getting into one of them took some hard work and commitment… not to mention some proper connections.

A few people each year went the community college or university ROTC route and managed to get in. Those people would never get beyond a reservist or REMF position within the fleet. At best they would be shoved off to shuffle papers or man a desk in a recruiting office.

Shooters, also known as the gun club were where the real action and path for promotion was. Get in there and Gregory knew he’d be made.

Annapolis was the one academy that all shooters strove for. Once you got in there and graduated you were introduced to the club. Your career would be covered by others who had graduated from your alma mater. He had set himself on the course for Annapolis early.

His family came from a long line of navy officers reaching back to the inception of the Bekian branch of the Federation navy. He was ninety percent human, only a small percentage of his genes were chimera. He learned to appreciate those modifications as he grew older.

Minor screw ups could be swept under the rug. You scratch my back; I’ll scratch yours when you call in the favor later. It was no wonder that half of the naval families sent their kids there. They looked out for each other and helped or hindered each other’s advancement later.

The strategic thinking taught in the academy classrooms and simulators were not only for ships. A large part of what seeped into them over time was the political strategy. An officer needed to think about the bigger picture and the long term.

He thought he was fully prepared for the academy. He had gone to military boarding school growing up. He had been trained to military standards of life and culture since he could walk. He ate, slept, and breathed the navy and had never thought of any other sort of a career.

At least he was doing something with his life. His little sister Britney wanted to be a cosplayer and make costumes, or become a pop singer, or both. She had flunked out of every military school that their parents had sent her into one way or another. They’d finally given up and sent her to an all girl’s boarding school. She’d settled down but for a time there she had started to turn into a serious liability and public embarrassment to the family.

Perhaps intentionally? A rebellious streak to get her own way that won in the end? He hadn’t known she could be so devious. Perhaps she had some strategic skills after all.

He reported for duty with the crush of other cadets. All but 3 had gone to some formal boarding school; they were all squared away from the beginning. The other 3 were close but he knew that the upper classman and instructors would be on them like rabid dogs.

He had been fortunate enough to have taken a tour of the campus during the summer, and of course he had been there for his cousin’s graduation. That meant he’d gotten a lot of his tourist mentality out of him and didn’t look around. He hoped he kept a professional mask as he walked past the statue of the rearing goat, the mascot of the academy.

The building oozed old. It was made out of stone, or at least appeared a such. The entrances were grand, rising up over 5 meters. The ornate walls were alabaster white. The floors had geometric tiles on them. The staircase was grand. He took it one step at a time since he had his bag with him.

At the top was the plaque with the impressive words, ‘Don’t Give Up The Ship’.

Inscribed on the brass plaque were the immortal words dedicating it to the alumni who had given their lives to defending the ideals of the Federation. The wording was rather careful since as far as his knowledge base held there had been no Bekian killed in action. In fact there had been no combat in Bek or in the pocket of space they resided in.

The plaque was bracketed by the flag of the Federation on the left and the flag of Bek on the right. There were lit panels with the list of names of people who had died in accidents and other incidents over the seven centuries since the academy had been founded.

He saw a cadet linger to look but studiously avoided the plaque. He’d seen it before. Instead he turned smartly to the right and headed down a corridor to another. He had the map seared into his memory.

As soon as he found his dorm he quietly got his gear squared away. One bed and press had already been taken. He ignored them and focused on unpacking quickly and professionally. Three other cadets joined him after a moment; the first had been in the head.

They exchanged names softly but each was busy. They smiled tentatively, obviously nervous and excited, but they knew what was coming.

Gregory just finished getting his uniforms and clothes stored to regulation and his duffle stowed as well when the door opened behind him. He turned smartly and came to attention. His sharp move made the others look up and then brace to attention as well.

A cold Elven upperclassman came in and checked them over. He sized them up and then leveled a look on Greg. “Pacifier?” he demanded.

“Sir?” Greg asked, confused.

“Do you have a hearing issue Plebe? I asked if you are a pacifier. You know, a boarding school wanna be,” the high elf said contemptuously. He was tall and gangly, the typical blue skin with long limbs of his subspecies. The long braided hair and long ears and his cat eyes made him intimidating as he towered over the plebes.

“I… Sir, this cadet did attend boarding school yes sir,” he said as he remembered what he’d been rehearsed to say.

The elf glowered at him and then turned to look at each of the others. All three confirmed they too had attended naval boarding school.

“Very well. You are pacifiers. Don’t think we’ll go any easier on you. If your shit is squared away then fall out.”

They immediately fell out to the corridor and came to attention again. Greg heard other upperclassman bawling out some of the other cadets. He studiously kept his eyes front and center and 6 centimeters above the brow line above the doors.

“I am midshipman Trip Shenandoah. You will not screw up. You will abide by the regulations or you will be sorry,” the elf growled. He strode up and down and then back.

“I expect you to frack up. I might even encourage you to lower your guard to frack up. Just so we’re on the same page, I’m issuing you each a demerit as a way of greeting,” he said.

One of the plebes opened his mouth and the elf was on him in an instant. He went nose to nose to him. “Yes? Something to say plebe?” he demanded in a cold voice.

“Nothing sir!” the plebe replied.

As starts went this was not a good one,” Greg thought.

“Oh, so you think you are better than me? Well plebe, that’s now two demerits for each of you. Anyone else want to foul my air with your useless excuses?” he demanded as he surveyed the others.

“No sir!”

“Oh good. You can work the demerits off now. One lap around the campus. Double time it. Move out!” he barked, voice dropping into a bass bellow.

They didn’t have time to change into their PT uniforms. They had to rush out at a trot.

Yup, as far as starts went, this one was peachy, Greg thought in annoyance.

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