Free First to Fight by Dan Cragg, David Sherman Page A

pattern of whatever they are closest to. That makes a fighting Marine very hard for an enemy to see. You may well wonder why you have chameleon headgear now. Again, there are two reasons. The first is so you will get used to the idea. The second is so you will look as empty-headed as you are at this time.”
    Neeley looked at Singh. “Move them on to the next station.”
     
    The recruits knew their day was nearing its end when they discovered they could hardly drag themselves any farther through the maze of corridors and compartments that constituted Area Whiskey. At last Staff Sergeant Pretty led them into a large compartment equipped with bunks and personal gear lockers.
    The bunks—called “racks,” to the great mystification of the recruits—were fastened to the bulkheads or to vertical pipes running from overhead to deck, three high. There were just enough for the men of second platoon. Their spacing looked odd—there seemed to be exactly as much space below the bottom rack as there was above the top one.
    The recruits of second platoon were told for the time being just to stow their gear in the lockers as best they could and secure the lockers with the padlocks that were part of their issue. In the morning, Pretty promised, he would come around with Corporal Singh and show them how to do it properly, to be ready for the continuous round of inspections that would soon form a major part of the routine of their life aboard the starship. “If any of you must jerk off in the night, kindly see none of it gets on the guy on the bottom,” Pretty announced just before he led them to the galley for their first starship meal.
    Sometime during all this rushing around, getting issued clothing, personal and hygienic supplies, personnel-record bracelets, and everything else they’d need during the one-month voyage, the starship pulled out of Earth orbit and headed for its first jump point. For this first phase of its movement, the Purdom rotated around its long axis. The rotation created centripetal force, which gradually restored an ersatz gravity. The transition was so gradual that the recruits were in the galley, eating solid food off plastic trays, before they realized they weren’t floating anymore.
    The galley was enormous, more than big enough to hold the recruits of Company A. The food was plentiful and delicious and the recruits ate ravenously. Even McNeal was so hungry he finished his meal with hardly a word between mouthfuls.
    Back in the platoon bay, Pretty announced that the time was 22 hours. “Your day while on board this ship commences at zero six hours and lasts until twenty-two hours. On Arsenault you’ll be lucky when your days don’t last twenty-four hours. The training schedule for this voyage allows for half a day of free time once a week. That isn’t for four more days. Hop into your racks, people, the lights will be doused in exactly five minutes!” And they were.
     
    The young men of second platoon strapped themselves into their racks. The ship’s centripetal gravity kept them secure in their racks, and the straps were provided in case an inflight emergency caused the ship to cease its rotation. During the sleep period, the only light in the compartment came from small emergency lamps near the deck and the overhead to guide men in case of an emergency. Too tired even to talk with McNeal in the next bunk below his, Dean lay and listened to the ship as it groaned and cracked and hummed all about him in the darkness. From far, far away came the dim but incessant boom of the Purdom’s many motors, engines, and machinery.
    Dean thought for the first time that day of his mother and wondered what she was doing. He thought about what he’d learned that day. The last thing he thought that first night was that he was just too excited to sleep.
     
    The Purdom reached jump point in the middle of the next afternoon, and the D.I.’s herded their charges back into their compartments.
    “Everybody, in