The Grey Chronicles Part One: New Declaration of An Old War

Chapter 13: All Fun and Games Until the Wife Finds Out.

The Anarchist, en route to Onyx Seven, April of 8096 AL.

Salem and Augustus walked into the briefing area while the gunnery sergeant was explaining King of the Mountain to his platoon. The room was plain and rectangular, with racks of armor and weapons lining the far wall. There was some exercise equipment here and there; pull up bars were built into the walls, when the arena wasn't in use these briefing rooms were used as gyms. The platoon stood silently in line, at a glance it appeared that most of the platoon was made up of shinies; soldiers fresh out of boot camp, they'd been grouped with older veteran soldiers in the hopes that the elder warriors would mentor them.

The Anarchist was on the front lines of every major conflict for several reasons; as the flagship of the Royal Fleet, if Salem's ship was not actively participating in the war effort it was seen by the people as his disapproval of the war. However there was a second, more subtle reason he'd taken the charge; in Machinae culture, the leaders were expected to lead. The higher your rank, the closer to the front lines you were placed. Because she was always on the front lines, the Anarchist served a double purpose as a mobile training area; half of the marines on board were special forces SHOK veterans, the other half were shinies just out of basic training. The term "shiny" refers to their armor; shiny and smooth, clear of any scratches.

"King of the Mountain is one of two field sports played professionally on most Machinae colonies," Gunny paced at the front of the room. His platoon stood at-ease in neat files, facing the wall of windows that overlooked the arena. "It takes place on a field half a kilometer square. The field is littered randomly with concussion mines, razor wire, pitfall traps, and that kinda shit. The floor is made up of individual one-meter cubes that hover at different heights creating hills and cliffs. There are four smaller hills surrounding a central four-sided pyramid, the 'mountain.' The defending team protects their team captain, the king, and tries to prevent the attacking team from scoring in the cave at the top of the mountain. The attacking team starts at each of the four hills. The few rules we have are simple enough that even you shit-faced shinies could understand. Attacking team; hand-to-hand and melee combat only, follow the general, get the ball into the cradle at the top of the mountain to score, eliminate the king. Defenders; protect the king, stop the attackers from scoring, tackle the general, eliminate the mortar teams."

Salem saw several soldiers perk up at the mention of mortars, he couldn't help but smile; some of the newbies hadn't watched much in the way of professional sports, apparently.

"I'm sorry, did I forget to mention the mortars?" Gunny said with an evil grin, "My bad."

"The mortars are fired remotely from each of the four hills to cover the advance of your troops," cut in Salem, strolling to the front of the room next to Gunny.

"Officers on deck!" shouted the gunnery assistants. The eighty-five assembled soldiers came to attention and saluted.

"As you were," Salem said, flashing a grin at Gunny, "That means you too shit-for-brains. Care to finish your demonstration?"

Gunny smiled and stood at-ease. He returned to explaining the rules of the game.

"The defending teams are allowed to set any sort of non-lethal traps on the mountain, and the attacking teams get mortars to make up for the fact. You can aim the mortars to drop on the entrances to the mountain and prevent the defenders from escaping or trying to flank your attacking forces, though it's not often that'll matter."

Salem strode over to the racks at the end of the room and picked up one of the breastplates hanging on them. He smiled and slid the armor on over his tank top, buckling it to his sides and tightening the straps. He picked a baton off the rack and grinned widely as he swung it in a circle.