Behemoth, p.1
Behemoth, page 1
Behemoth
Charles C. Samuels
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Copyright © Charles C. Samuels, 2022.
Table of contents:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 1
As I changed the bandage on the little cut on my left forearm, I had the thought, "Well, fuck. The injury was scarcely more than a scratch and had long since ceased bleeding. But every time I used that hand or arm, I was painfully reminded of it. While I was running, every step I took served as a terrible memory. I persisted, however, and did my best to forget about it.
I had retreated over 250 kilometers from the enemy. The transport that picked up the rest of my unit ought to have returned to the base by the time it picked up the remainder of my battalion. Now all I needed to do was find out how to go home safely.
Since the beginning of this clusterfuck, I had been thinking about Gramps' instruction. "Do the opposite of what the opponent expects to escape"
I finished eating after frying a portion of a tiny peccary and then cut some of the raw flesh off the bones. I handed Striker, my partner, the remainder. He caught our food, so it was only fair. I had reared Striker, a five-year-old Tharakian eagle, from an egg. He's not a pet, even though almost everyone believes he is. He won't go back into the wild, despite my attempts to get him to. Later, I'll go into more detail about it.
After slicing the raw meat into thin strips, I strung the sticks over the top of a tiny wooden rack that I had constructed out of somewhat thicker green sticks that were connected by short lengths of a vine that was abundant in the nearby tropical forest. The rack was the recommended height for drying meat and fruit while utilizing the tiny fusion heat source from my equipment, measuring 25 cm high on one side and 30 cm high on the other. Because of the angle, the melted fat ran down the bottom end of the stick rather than onto the heat source, where it would smoke.
I prepared my meals in the same manner. But I was going to let the meat I was cooking simmer all night. It should be sufficiently dry by morning to last for a few days and add two or three days to my rations—not that I couldn't find plenty of food in the bush if I searched.
When looking for edible plants, there are plenty to choose from. Although many plants' leaves and blossoms are edible, they are often not very full. The most popular sections to eat, apart from fruits, are stems and roots. There are several edible seeds and tubers. Some fungi can even be eaten. I am aware of at least forty common plants in this region of the forest that are entirely or mostly edible. Even more varieties of edible animals exist, including some delectable insects. All you need to know is how to capture the animals, where to locate them, and when to do it.
I should be able to get food without any close enemy forces. During school holidays, I've spent a lot of time camping and roughing it in the tropical rainforest, much of it with my paternal grandpa, Gramps.
You may be wondering how I ended up here. It wasn't simple. Our eastern neighbor Trindi was conquered by the nation of Giloh. Trindi and the Republic of Cambak have a mutual defense pact.
When Trindi was invaded by Giloh and pleaded for our assistance, Cambak promptly enacted an obligatory draft. It took thirty days for every healthy guy between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five to sign up. A person would be called up right away if they had completed high school, weren't married as of noon on the day the conscription notice was published and hadn't attended college the previous semester.
My ambitions to go to college this fall were destroyed by that, but I still want to realize the other part of my goal. Before the draft, I was supposed to start training at Red Hills State, the university my father attended to begin his professional soccer career as a goalkeeper, and report to class at the beginning of August. After four years of college, I had hoped to start my professional career as a goaltender, realizing my last remaining desire.
Early in my freshman year of high school, my other dream had been shot to sh*t.
Gramps urged that I obtain early graduation (just two weeks early) and enroll right away once the draft was declared. He knew from experience that if I enlisted immediately, I would beat the massive backlog of soldiers being processed when the first draft notifications were received. A random birthday lottery would determine how the messages would be distributed. First-round draft notifications were sent to those who were born on May 16, August 11, January 9, and December 30. There would be a fresh round of notifications every week.
I had a greater chance of getting assigned to an established unit with a commander who had prior combat experience since I enlisted early.
The school waited two days to grant my request. I visited the enlistment facility on the day it was authorized. I signed up for a three-year enlistment that would finish thirty days after the war was over, whichever came first.
The darned eagle was the only issue I had when I complained. He followed, even though I was able to get on-the-ground transportation without him. I assumed that he would remain home to help look after the eaglets because he now had a mate whom we had called "Momma," and the couple had produced two young.
When our transport arrived at the base and I stepped off, a furious Sergeant confronted me and reprimanded me for bringing my pet. The Sergeant never gave me a chance to explain that the eagle was not a pet and that he would not leave me. Striker followed me around like a dog. In addition, I didn't bring him. Striker flew more than a hundred kilometers from the recruiting facility to pursue me. He couldn't have followed me if the base had been considerably farther away or if they had taken an air transport rather than a land transport.
Thankfully, a Lieutenant showed up. He used a portable scanner to look up the serial numbers on my two firearms and questioned me, "Powell, Lucas T.?"
I was unsure at the time whether I needed to salute or not, so I quickly said, "Yes, Sir."
He questioned, "Are these firearms registered to you or your grandfather?"
No clue, Sir. Grandpa never said anything. "Sir, I was simply ordered to bring these with me today," I stumbled upon my response.
He said, "And the bird's with you?" He didn't refer to it as my pet, at least.
Yes, sir, I answered.
He said, "What is your knowledge of your grandfather's military service?"
"All Gramps said was that he was a Staff Sergeant and had been a member of Charlie Company of the First Vanguard Battalion. Sir, he doesn't discuss it much.
"Sergeant, could you please inform this recruit which Tharakian War regiment Staff Sergeant Warren J. Powell served in?" The Sergeant who had been bugging me was questioned by the Lieutenant. The Sergeant had shown a moment of astonishment.
"Sir, Staff Sergeant Powell served in the First Vanguard Battalion, Charlie Company (later renamed "Can Do Company"), Second Infantry Division, Seventh Infantry Brigade. He was a member of Fire Team Alpha, Second Squad, and First Platoon, the Sergeant said as he stood at attention.
The Lieutenant proudly added, "the most decorated veteran this base has ever produced."
The Lieutenant said, "Come with me, and we'll have you processed."
I said, "Yes, Sir," but when I turned around, the Lieutenant had left. I hastened to keep up. Striker took off but continued to pursue us while making sluggish loops.
You will get a physical today, even though this isn't how we generally do things. We'll evaluate your physical fitness tomorrow, followed by a marksmanship evaluation. You will then get your assignment. He questioned, "Is it true that Striker can scout?"
But how did you know that, Sir? I queried. How in the world did he know Striker's name? I questioned.
He answered with a chuckle, "One of our MilIntel officers alerted us this morning.
I had to question how MilIntel came to know about me. I am aware that Valerie, my elder sister, was a civilian cryptographer for Mintel. She is not one of the police since she is a civilian. Perhaps she had spoken anything to a staff member.
I was assigned to the First Vanguard Battalion, Charlie Company, First Platoon, Second Squad, and Fire Team Alpha the next day after passing the physical evaluation and marksmanship tests. Gramps had served in this outfit.
I wasn't shocked that I did well on the exam. For the last six years, Gramps had been preparing me. I was aback to realize how comprehensive his schooling was, however.
At supper six years ago, I mentioned Giloh's nation to my father. I discovered through my study for a term project that they had invaded a neighboring nation on average once every twenty-seven years during the previous two centuries. By this time, Giloh had over a quarter of our continent under its control and outnumbered Cambak by a ratio of around 3:1. Despite Giloh's vastness, the only seaports there were far away and often frozen over. They had to get permission before flying over other nations, or else their aircraft had to use longer, more expensive orbital routes.
I also mentioned how their growth over the previous century had been northward, in the direction of the closest year-round ocean access.
Dad believed the Gilohans wouldn't be an issue since our military technology was superior to theirs. Right after their most recent conflict, Giloh had a purge roughly thirty years ago. Their intellectual elite, including their scientists and the majority of their best professors, were slaughtered or imprisoned in it, and they are still working to recover. The majority of the Gilohan scientists and intellectuals who survived the purge wound up in Cambak, which gave our military and civilian research an amazing boost.
Dad didn't give my comment much attention, but thereafter, Gramps seemed contemplative. A week later, dad gave me two presents, one of which was a KT-63 sniper rifle, the military model, for my thirteenth birthday. The rifle has an effective range of at least three kilometers if the sniper is skilled enough. The bullet would hit the target at that range around seven seconds before the report.
"When you're deployed into battle, you're already a better shooter than most recruits. He offered me the KT-63 and urged me to practice with it.
Since I was physically able to handle and operate a 6 mm gun, I have been hunting. I learned how to stalk wildlife and shoot from my grandfather.
No matter how proficient you get with it, you won't be your unit's main sniper if you join the military, he said as he gave it to me. You'll be given the position of the heavy weapons expert for the unit as soon as they realize how huge you are. That is what took place for me.
The combined height of Dad and Grandpa is 10 centimeters above two meters. Moreover, they are big guys; their weight at the height of their power was around 140 kg.
My tall and enormous genes come from both of my parents, and my mother is a gigantic lady. Four months after turning 19, I'm already five kg heavier and six centimeters taller than my father was at that age. I was maintained healthy and thin during the previous eight years through athletics, physical training, martial arts, and the specific diet my mother had me follow. I wasn't skinny or lean, but I wasn't obese either. I've been almost twice as heavy as other males my age for the last several years. I've also become a lot stronger. You won't notice a gap wider than a centimeter if you run a straightedge from the side of my chest to my hips.
I acquired the moniker Behemoth in the third grade. I played on a club soccer squad, one of tens of thousands in Cambak and billions worldwide. Everyone expected the same of me and positioned me as the goalkeeper when I played soccer since Dad was regarded as the finest goalie in the world for a big portion of his career and because I inherited his enormous physique. I've played soccer for well over a thousand games since entering school, and I don't think I've ever played a new position for the whole game more than twenty times.
When I was eleven years old, one of the top ten young teams in Cambak came up against our club team, the Shockwaves, in a game. We had a 1-0 lead when the game came to an end. The team against whom we were playing hadn't lost in regulation in over a decade.
Their ace striker said furiously, "How the heck are we going to score with that... that... monster in the goal," irate at being kept scoreless.
To increase the pressure on us and increase their chances of scoring a goal, our rivals moved all but one of their defenders forward. A frustrated attacker once raced by me and kneed me on the side of the head as I was quickly running out to grab a loose ball.
I don't remember kicking the ball; the next thing I know, I was seeing it go downfield. A whistle was also blown, and the offending striker was given a red card by the referee.
The opposing side moved their last defender forward after they lost a player due to a red card. As a result, we were able to score another goal.
Three minutes after we scored the second goal, the game was over, and our squad erupted in jubilant celebration on the pitch. My comrades attempted to raise me but soon abandoned the effort as hopeless. Instead, they crowded around me, jumping up and down while chanting, "Be... he... moth." It has remained my moniker since then, even though few people outside of the soccer pitch use it.
Along with all I've learned from my years of goalkeeper practice, Dad also taught me a few tips and tactics he had picked up. He also signed me up for a martial arts class called Tun-ró. He argued that doing so would improve my reflexes and make me more aware of my surroundings. It has also improved my ability to read people. I am better able to predict where and when a player will pass or shoot the ball when he is approaching me with the ball based on the location of his body and how he plants his foot. When defending against penalty kicks, being aware of this is very useful.
I can generally predict where he intends to kick the ball by watching how he plants his foot and the angle of his hips and leg as he gets ready to hit it, whether it's high or low, left or right. I'm able to prevent 73% of penalty kicks with this information. Three-quarters of penalty kicks usually result in a score.
The second birthday gift I received from Gramps was a crew-served TLK-19 four-barrel mini-gun. With a precise single shot range of slightly over a kilometer, it can fire anything from single shots to hundreds of rounds a minute. It is divided into three sections. The largest portion is carried by the operator. The remaining two sections are carried out by two more fire squad members. My grandfather placed brackets on my TLK-19 and had a custom sling constructed for me so I could carry the whole weapon across my front as other soldiers carried their automatic rifles.
I had no idea how Gramps acquired two military guns, and he was keeping it a secret. He merely grinned smugly in response.
I've fired thousands of rounds between the two guns over the subsequent six years, but I can't even begin to fathom how many. Gramps never once voiced a complaint and even seemed pleased with how often I used them. When I went hunting, I carried the KT-63 and immediately got used to using it rather than my previous 11 mm hunting rifle.
Only when an adult was present, typically Gramps, was I allowed to use the TLK-19 on the unique two-kilometer shooting range that Gramps had constructed in the abandoned quarry on our land.
My comment regarding Giloh was taken extremely seriously by Gramps. In addition to the guns I received for my birthday, he had a shipping container loaded with a remarkable variety of military equipment delivered within two months. The container itself was always secured and kept within a new, secure machine shed that Gramps built next to the residences.
Tomorrow, do your testing. When Lieutenant Harris presented us to Sergeant Butler and Corporal Long, he said, "He aced his physical evaluation.
What is wrong with the bird? Indignantly, Sergeant Butler enquired.
The Lieutenant said casually, "It's with Private Powell.
"You gave him firearms already?" Officer Long enquired.
He brought them with him, not me. The answer from Lieutenant Harris was given with a chuckle. "They were assigned to him six years ago.
The number six? Butler, a sergeant, exhaled.
Why does he have two weapons on him, one of which is a three-man weapon? Officer Long enquired.
Lieutenant Harris said casually, "Because he can; the KT-63 is his backup armament.
"Won't the weight make him go more slowly?" The Corporal questioned out loud.
