if you yourself are not trained to a comparable level.
“In fact, we will be teaching you certain Afaso techniques for unarmed and edged weapons combat. As archaic as long blades might be in an era of stunners and lasers, you are attempting to become Marines, and in the tradition of Old Earth Marines, you will be learning sword fighting as well as knife fighting, ranged weaponry, personal artillery, and unarmed combat. However . . . as good as the Afaso are, the Marines are more dangerous than the Afaso. Recruit Ia, do you know why the Marines are better?” Linley challenged her.
Ia met her skeptical brown gaze. “Sergeant, yes, Sergeant! This recruit does know why the Marines are more dangerous, Sergeant!”
That took the Regimen Trainer by surprise. Blinking, she quirked one of her brows. “Do you? Well, then, Recruit. Explain to all of us why you think the Marines are more dangerous than the Afaso.”
“Sergeant, while the Afaso are trained thoroughly in how to end a fight, they are not trained in how to start a fight. The Afaso are also trained to avoid killing an opponent whenever possible,” Ia added, projecting her voice so that her fellow recruits could hear. “While it does take more skill to disable rather than destroy, and by that standard the vowed members of the Afaso Order are more skilled than the average Marine . . . they are not more deadly, Sergeant. Marines are trained to kill.”
“Very good, Recruit. And very astute.” Sweeping her gaze over the others, Linley emphasized that point bluntly. “You are here to learn how to kill . Your psychological evaluations during your MATs suggested that you have the intestinal fortitude to follow through when given the command to ‘shoot to kill,’ without the danger of a predilection for liking it a little too much. The modern military does not have a place for homicidal maniacs.”
Without warning, Linley struck at Ia. She jabbed, swept, and kicked, arms and legs moving swiftly. Ia managed to block the attacks effectively enough, though her weight suit did slow her reactions to the point where it took effort to meet each blow fast enough to deflect it. Despite her heavyworlder reflexes and precognitive forewarnings that it would happen, the Regimen Trainer managed to distract Ia long enough with a vicious jab to her throat with one hand. That allowed Linley to grapple Ia with the other and trip her to the ground.
She landed with a heavy, rolling whump on the mat. No Sanctuarian survived to adulthood without learning how to take a fall with minimum injury. Doing it in less than a third of the gravity gave Ia plenty of time to curve her body in preparation for the impact; however, the grid work of weight suit tiles weren’t normally a part of her practice for such things, making her grunt at the bruises caused by landing on the awkward things.
Linley gave her a few seconds to recover from her fall, then offered her hand. Ia accepted it, though it didn’t make much difference against the inertia of her augmented kilos. She had to twist onto her side just to regain her feet. Once up, she resumed her attentive stance, waiting for either a dismissal back to the rest of the group, or to be used again as an example. The staff sergeant did neither, instead turning back to the others to continue her lecture.
“As you can see, Recruit Ia does have a reasonable amount of training. However, she is not trained to kill, and therefore will not use potentially lethal maneuvers among her opening attacks, such as my attempted throat grab. By the end of her Basic Training, if she doesn’t wash out, this reflex will be retrained. While the majority of attack methods used by the SF-MC involve actual weaponry, you will learn how to kill with your bare hands. Resume your place, Recruit.”
“Sergeant, yes, Sergeant!” Turning, Ia strode back to the others.
“Recruit Ia, weights off,” Sgt. Linley added, pointing with her baton. “Pile them off of the mat, over
“In fact, we will be teaching you certain Afaso techniques for unarmed and edged weapons combat. As archaic as long blades might be in an era of stunners and lasers, you are attempting to become Marines, and in the tradition of Old Earth Marines, you will be learning sword fighting as well as knife fighting, ranged weaponry, personal artillery, and unarmed combat. However . . . as good as the Afaso are, the Marines are more dangerous than the Afaso. Recruit Ia, do you know why the Marines are better?” Linley challenged her.
Ia met her skeptical brown gaze. “Sergeant, yes, Sergeant! This recruit does know why the Marines are more dangerous, Sergeant!”
That took the Regimen Trainer by surprise. Blinking, she quirked one of her brows. “Do you? Well, then, Recruit. Explain to all of us why you think the Marines are more dangerous than the Afaso.”
“Sergeant, while the Afaso are trained thoroughly in how to end a fight, they are not trained in how to start a fight. The Afaso are also trained to avoid killing an opponent whenever possible,” Ia added, projecting her voice so that her fellow recruits could hear. “While it does take more skill to disable rather than destroy, and by that standard the vowed members of the Afaso Order are more skilled than the average Marine . . . they are not more deadly, Sergeant. Marines are trained to kill.”
“Very good, Recruit. And very astute.” Sweeping her gaze over the others, Linley emphasized that point bluntly. “You are here to learn how to kill . Your psychological evaluations during your MATs suggested that you have the intestinal fortitude to follow through when given the command to ‘shoot to kill,’ without the danger of a predilection for liking it a little too much. The modern military does not have a place for homicidal maniacs.”
Without warning, Linley struck at Ia. She jabbed, swept, and kicked, arms and legs moving swiftly. Ia managed to block the attacks effectively enough, though her weight suit did slow her reactions to the point where it took effort to meet each blow fast enough to deflect it. Despite her heavyworlder reflexes and precognitive forewarnings that it would happen, the Regimen Trainer managed to distract Ia long enough with a vicious jab to her throat with one hand. That allowed Linley to grapple Ia with the other and trip her to the ground.
She landed with a heavy, rolling whump on the mat. No Sanctuarian survived to adulthood without learning how to take a fall with minimum injury. Doing it in less than a third of the gravity gave Ia plenty of time to curve her body in preparation for the impact; however, the grid work of weight suit tiles weren’t normally a part of her practice for such things, making her grunt at the bruises caused by landing on the awkward things.
Linley gave her a few seconds to recover from her fall, then offered her hand. Ia accepted it, though it didn’t make much difference against the inertia of her augmented kilos. She had to twist onto her side just to regain her feet. Once up, she resumed her attentive stance, waiting for either a dismissal back to the rest of the group, or to be used again as an example. The staff sergeant did neither, instead turning back to the others to continue her lecture.
“As you can see, Recruit Ia does have a reasonable amount of training. However, she is not trained to kill, and therefore will not use potentially lethal maneuvers among her opening attacks, such as my attempted throat grab. By the end of her Basic Training, if she doesn’t wash out, this reflex will be retrained. While the majority of attack methods used by the SF-MC involve actual weaponry, you will learn how to kill with your bare hands. Resume your place, Recruit.”
“Sergeant, yes, Sergeant!” Turning, Ia strode back to the others.
“Recruit Ia, weights off,” Sgt. Linley added, pointing with her baton. “Pile them off of the mat, over
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