Chương 79: Waiting for Orders

"I knew I'd find you here!" Ted grabbed my hand in a brief but crushing handshake. The guy was still bursting with energy despite his regulation military haircut.

"Good to see you made it through," I replied, keeping my own emotions carefully in check. My voice came out much more restrained.

"How'd you manage to wrap things up at camp and pass your finals so fast?"

"Aw, come on, Tom. The only thing left was that stupid theory stuff." He waved a hand dismissively as though we were talking about a middle-school geography quiz.

"Locked myself in the barracks for a week, memorized everything, and passed on the first try. I barely got a couple of days back home. Had some pizza, watched TV, and next thing I know, I'm right back in uniform."

"Get used to it. This is the Corps. They can yank us out and throw us through a portal at any moment. Mobilization orders don't wait for you to finish dessert," I said with the pragmatism of someone who actually read contracts before signing them. I strolled over to a long wooden bench against the wall, away from the endless racket of the fake cement mixer, and sat down, stretching out my legs.

"Anybody else from our class showing up?"

"Definitely not." Ted planted his hands on his hips.

"I'm the only one who made it out. Nick and Louisa are still stuck at camp, and from the sound of it, they're not getting released anytime soon."

"And why's that?" I raised an eyebrow.

"As far as I remember, neither of them was stupid. They both had perfectly functioning brains."

"Oh, their brains are fine. Especially Nick's. The guy thinks like a damn supercomputer." Ted lowered his head and lazily studied the toes of his heavy combat boots.

"The problem is everything else. Physically, they're a mess. I overheard some instructors talking in the mess hall. The sergeants said they're keeping those two in training for at least another month until they put some actual muscle on their bones. Right now they'd make terrible soldiers." I said nothing, only letting my gaze briefly settle on the teenager's bicep, which was already starting to fill out with real strength. His current shape was partly my doing.

For an entire week I had tightly controlled his diet and made sure every movement in training was executed with proper biomechanics. Still, facts were facts. Ted had started with good genetics and a solid frame worth building on. Nick and Louisa were a different story. Frail, undersized city kids. Even if I personally took charge of their training, it would take at least a month of intensive conditioning and a protein-heavy diet to turn them into something that vaguely resembled Corps soldiers.

"How's Sam doing?" I asked, shifting to the subject that actually mattered to my long-term plans.

"He was doing fine. Now? Not so much." Ted shrugged.

"His hand-to-hand combat class was voluntary, remember? I went because it was fun. Beat up a punching bag, get some exercise. Nick and Louisa couldn't have cared less. The dojo's basically shut down now. No classes. But Master Smith still has to stay at camp. He's keeping an eye on the S-Power levels of the trainees who haven't graduated yet." A switch flipped instantly in my head, and I filed the detail away as useful intelligence. The picture was becoming clearer.

Specialists like Selina could finish their lecture series and head off on a paid vacation. The people responsible for the teenagers' safety and power control were effectively tied to the training camp full-time. Useful information if Selina's gloomy prediction turned out to be right and the Corps decided to transfer me into an instructor position.

"Hey, Tom..." Ted suddenly hesitated, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other like someone trying not to sprint to the nearest restroom.

"It's been great catching up with you, but, uh... can I go?" I followed his wandering gaze. He was staring at the glowing square of the portal with exactly the same expression a starving alley cat gave a plump sparrow perched just out of reach. Every newcomer was irresistibly drawn to the thing.

"Go ahead. Get familiar with the place." I made a small dismissive gesture.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk in the barracks." Ted didn't need to be told twice. He took off immediately, practically jogging toward the tear in space for a closer look. I had no intention of joining him. I'd already studied the portal from every accessible angle, and spending hours admiring a frozen bolt of lightning was the sort of hobby better suited to romantics, a category I'd never belonged to. It didn't change, didn't move, and held no operational value until deployment orders arrived.

Mary, for that matter, had lost interest in it just as quickly and had already disappeared through the door leading to the women's quarters. Deciding it was time to deal with practical matters, I got up from the bench and headed toward the men's barracks. I still needed to drop off my gear. A heavy duffel bag hung from my shoulder, and although my enhanced muscles and increased strength made the weight practically unnoticeable, walking around base with luggage still felt ridiculous.

The men's section was a textbook example of military minimalism thrown together as quickly as possible. Thin paneled walls, a couple of narrow windows near the ceiling, but the roof didn't leak and the air conditioner did a passable job fighting Bogotá's oppressive heat. More than adequate for military living. Inside, forty steel bunk beds stretched away in neat rows. A plastic nameplate was attached to the headboard of each one. I made my way down the central aisle at an unhurried pace.

To my left, a group of guys huddled around a smartphone while the canned laughter from some viral social media video echoed through the barracks. I ignored them and continued to the far end, an area the quartermasters had apparently reserved for fresh arrivals. The lower bunk bore the name Private Drake, while my own nameplate was mounted directly above it. Calmly, I tossed my bag onto the top bunk. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Hey, man, you sure you've got the right bunk?" a confident voice called from behind me. I turned around. The same trio that had been glued to the phone was now standing right in front of me. Arrogant, appraising looks. Chins tilted up. Shoulders squared. They looked about twenty-five, all three of them thickly built gym rats wearing identical black Corps T-shirts that showed off their tattooed arms.

"And who the hell are you supposed to be?" the one in the middle asked, crossing his arms over his chest. If a scene like this had played out somewhere in Los Angeles six months earlier, my civilian instincts would have responded the usual way: panic, sweaty palms, and a frantic search for the nearest exit. Now I felt absolutely nothing. My pulse did not rise by a single beat.

When you know your fists can cave in an army helmet along with the skull inside it, and your reflexes and combat skills are more than enough to reduce three men to pulp in a matter of seconds, fear simply stops being part of the equation. It felt like reaching the final boss in an old video game after turning on god mode.

"Second Lieutenant Ross. Reporting as ordered for the portal closure operation," I replied, delivering the words in the calm, official tone that usually persuaded logistics personnel to sign paperwork a little faster.

"Who am I speaking with?"

"Staff Sergeant Connors," he replied, unconsciously matching my clipped military cadence. It did not last long. He relaxed his shoulders and let out a short laugh.

"All right, man, enough with the formalities. We're not downrange yet. We just figured you might've wandered into the wrong section."

"What do you mean?" I shifted my gaze to the trio. Their eyes kept moving between me and the nameplate above the bunk.

"This corner's always reserved for new arrivals. We're used to seeing nervous recruits over here, and you don't exactly look like a scared teenager." Connors let his gaze drift over the stubble already spreading across my jaw.

"So we figured somebody screwed up your assignment. Honestly, it's still hard to wrap my head around."

"No mistake. I'm Tom Ross, and I really am part of this intake class," I said, putting the matter to rest.

"But thanks for checking, Staff Sergeant. A little extra vigilance never hurts." That settled it. The men lost whatever confrontational energy they'd started with and drifted back to their interrupted entertainment. Half a minute later, the same idiotic canned laughter was echoing from their corner of the barracks again. I climbed onto the top bunk, stretched out on the stiff mattress, and pulled out my phone. Fortunately, under actual deployment conditions nobody confiscated personal electronics.

This was not an isolated training camp with its rigid rules. Corps leadership had even provided a dedicated Wi-Fi network with unlimited bandwidth. It was a perfectly logical decision. Soldiers who were fed, occupied, and not bored out of their minds were far less likely to break discipline or do something stupid just to entertain themselves.

While everyone else wasted time on entertainment apps, I opened a browser and methodically fed new information into my memory palace, everything from articles on Colombian geopolitics to specialized medical references. The text flowed across the screen in an endless stream, but I continued monitoring the room through my peripheral vision. Soldiers kept throwing curious glances my way. My arrival had clearly disrupted their understanding of how the world was supposed to work.

I was not surprised when, somewhere around my twentieth article, Connors broke away from his group and wandered back over to my bunk.

"Hey, Ross," he said, trying to sound casual. I looked up from the screen and gave him a slight nod to continue.

"You said you're part of the new intake, but you're a second lieutenant. How does somebody show up for their first deployment already wearing officer bars?" I handed the question over to my internal analytics department. The simplest response would have been to tell the sergeant to mind his own business. After all, he had not even bothered to introduce himself properly. But after weighing the options, I decided that playing the mysterious special-ops type was not in my best interest.

First, the basic facts of my status were not classified and posed no risk. Second, I could tell several people on nearby bunks were listening. If I wanted the questions to stop once and for all, I needed to give them a simple explanation they could understand.

"I'm one of the rare cases whose awakening happened in adulthood," I said evenly, offering only the minimum information necessary.

"By the time I went through medical evaluation, I already had a college degree, documented work experience, and several professional certifications. In cases like that, Corps protocol automatically compensates for civilian qualifications with an officer commission."

"Ah, now I get it. Valuable civilian specialist." Connors nodded, and the last traces of suspicion finally disappeared from his expression.

"I won't keep bothering you, Lieutenant. Get some rest. Until the squad leader gets here, we're basically just waiting around." I gave him a brief nod of appreciation. That comment was useful. I filed away the fact that we probably had at least another day before anything happened. The sergeant walked off, and I returned to gathering information while simultaneously building a mental map of the barracks. Nobody else tried to strike up a conversation or force fake camaraderie on me, which suited me perfectly.

The architecture and internal hierarchy of the place discouraged pointless sentimentality. Even the layout of the bunks reflected social distance. Closest to the entrance was the core of the unit, the regular assault team. These were battle-hardened soldiers whose bonds had been forged through shared training grounds and real combat operations. They moved as a single group and had no interest in letting outsiders into their circle.

The center of the barracks housed attached specialists from other divisions, people like Danny. Their primary contracts involved civilian work back in the States: firefighting, disaster response, and emergency management. Portal operations were simply an unpleasant obligation a few times a year. They knew perfectly well they would spend less than a week in Bogotá, so investing energy in long-term social relationships inside the barracks made little sense.

At the far end, against the wall, were the bunks assigned to cadets. I had already noticed the skeptical looks veteran assault troops gave Ted whenever he walked past. To them, a green recruit was a potential liability, someone who might slow down a mission when things went bad.

"Hey, Tom, aren't you tired of staring at that screen yet?" Danny appeared beside my bunk. The captain narrowed his eyes with a crooked grin and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"It's already dark outside."

"And what conclusion am I supposed to draw from that?" I asked without taking my eyes off the page.

"Put the books away. Let's take a walk and see Bogotá at night. At least get some fresh air before the assault."

"Let me guess. You just need a free translator to help you talk to the locals?" I finally switched off the screen and looked at him.

"I was absolutely certain that's exactly how your practical brain would phrase it." Danny laughed and shook his head.

"But sorry to disappoint you, Lieutenant. My phone handles basic conversations with Colombian bartenders just fine. I genuinely just want to drag you out of this tomb and show you the city."

"All right. You've convinced me." I slipped the phone into my pocket and dropped easily from the top bunk. After all, a short walk beyond the perimeter had never hurt anyone. Nothing was supposed to go wrong.