Free C.R.O.W. (The Union Series) by Phillip Richards Page A

he
released me and my lungs sucked precious air back into them, my heart pumping
hard as it tried to return oxygen back into my organs. I clutched my throat and
my eye which was already beginning to swell.
    ‘I’m off to
scoff,’ Woody said to Climo and Brown as they watched me with blank
expressions, ‘You coming?’
    ‘Yeah,’ Brown
replied instantly, but Climo hesitated.
    ‘You coming?’
Woody repeated harshly.
    Climo looked
at Woody, then at me, ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Don’t worry
about that little prick,’ Woody said as the bulkhead slid open for them, ‘He
needs to learn. That’s how it works.’
    The door was
shut and I was left alone on the floor in my room, my body slowly recovering
and my breathing coming back under control. As soon as I was able to, I dragged
my bruised body to my bed where I cried for what seemed like forever.
    After a while
and without warning the door slid open. Startled, I quickly wiped the tears
from my eyes.
    A corporal
frowned as he looked down at me. He was so tall that he appeared to fill the
entire doorway, with sharp chiselled features that made him appear almost
god-like, ‘What are you doing down there?’
    My eye was
half closed already and I could feel it swelling. There was no way he didn’t
know what had happened. My skull throbbed in pain.
    ‘I just…,
um…, fell over, Corporal.’
    The Corporal
screwed his face up into a quizzical expression, ‘Right. Who did you fall over
onto?’
    ‘Nobody,
Corporal,’ I insisted.
    He nodded
slowly, ‘Right. Tell the lads in the room Corporal Evans says thirteen-thirty
hours back up at the stores.’
    ‘I will,
Corporal.’
    Corporal Evans
continued to stare at me, ‘Do you know what you should do when you fall over,
lad?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘You get back
up.’
    I realised that
I was still hunched up against the frame of my bunk bed. I quickly picked
myself up off the floor, tucking my shirt back in and brushing down my
trousers, ‘Sorry, Corporal.’
    ‘Don’t be
sorry.’
    ‘Corporal.’
    ‘It’s Private
Moralee, right?’
    I nodded,
uncomfortable in Corporal Evans’ steady gaze, ‘Yes, Corporal.’
    The NCO
nodded thoughtfully, ‘Okay. Watch your step next time, Moralee, this ship is
littered with trip hazards.’
    He knew I had
been beaten up, I thought as Corporal Evans disappeared behind the closing
bulkhead, but he chose to say nothing. Senior troopers were part of military
life, I had been warned, and were responsible for much of the discipline behind
closed doors. Unfortunately it was just my luck that I had managed to find the
worst of the bunch.
    I didn’t go
to eat, instead I washed my face in the sink and nursed my half-closed eye. It
was already beginning to change colour, but it was still working and I assessed
that no bones appeared to be broken. Under my shirt my body was black and blue
with the bruises from two separate beatings received in a single day. I longed
for somebody to reach out and help me but there was nobody, not even Peters
could help me. I resisted the urge to cry again, clenching my fists until my
nails bit at the skin of my palms. Damn you for being so weak, Andy , I
said to myself, what if Corporal Evans catches you like that again?
    #
    ‘What the
hell happened to you, boy?’ Sergeant James scowled at me as the platoon arrived
at the stores, a warehouse almost as large as a dropship hangar stacked with
crates of ammunition of all sizes and natures.
    I said
simply, ‘I fell, over, Sergeant.’
    He spluttered
and then frowned, ‘Onto a fist?’
    ‘The floor, Sergeant.’
    The burley
platoon sergeant rubbed his forehead stressfully, as the platoon set about
their work amongst the ammunition. Woody eyed me threateningly as he walked
past and disappeared into the maze of crates.
    ‘You silly
prat,’ he said after a pause.
    ‘Yes, Sergeant,’
I agreed, with little other option. I had enough bruises for one day.
    He drew in a
deep breath and sighed resignedly. Behind those