Caliphate Read Online Free PDF Page B

Moore—stood and held out his hand. "Sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to shake your hand. I figure nobody who hasn't got what it takes could piss off that many people and still graduate from the IMA."

    Flattered, Hamilton shook Moore's hand, but countered, "It isn't like I pissed all those people off deliberately, Sergeant."

    "I know, sir. I'm sure you didn't. But when a man has a talent like yours . . . well . . . that talent is just gonna shine through.

    "Computer," Moore said.

    "Yes, Sergeant Moore?" the machine answered.

    "Log this officer in. Do we have his billet?"

    "Lieutenant Hamilton is assigned to Room 217, Olson Hall, Sergeant. It is a single with a private bath and maid service. The room has been notified to admit him. His inprocessing schedule has been downloaded to his Mark XVII, along with the academic schedule for the first two weeks."

    "Only two weeks?" Hamilton asked.

    The sergeant shrugged. "Sir . . . this isn't the IMA or even Ranger School where everything goes right pretty much all the time. This is the Regular Army and if you can follow a plan for ten days you're doing pretty well. Two weeks is actually pretty optimistic."

    "But . . . "

    "War is chaos, sir, and we practice chaos every day. That's our unique talent."

    Back in the car, Hamilton let it drive again. Though he'd been at Benning for two months now, all that time had been in Ranger School. He didn't know his way around.

    This was wise, letting the car drive. There's no particular and necessary logic to the way the military designates buildings, fields, ranges and such. Sometimes they have both names and numbers; other times not. Sometimes, they're numbered in accord with when they were built. Sometimes they were so numbered, but the numbers were changed. Sometimes they're numbered by blocks. The names can change to suck up to the latest political figure or general officer.

    Most of the time, you're doing well if "Building 398" and "Building 399" are within a mile of each other. Chaos: it's what's for breakfast.

    Olson Hall, an old barracks used for the last century and a half as a bachelor officers quarters, or BOQ, had somehow kept its number, Building 399, for well over a century. Where Building 4, the main academic building, had had a facelift that didn't quite take, Olson Hall still reflected the look of solid military efficiency it had been born with. Brick, built in a quadrangle open to the west, the living space was stretched around broad interior-facing, railed walkways. The only elevator was industrial, not passenger; those lazy lieutenants could just walk upstairs.

    Which is fine, Hamilton agreed, as he trudged up the broad concrete steps carrying four bags full of uniforms and the minimum necessary other gear, a little exercise never hurt anybody . . . but my fucking knees are killing me.

    Arriving at the second floor, Hamilton's nose was assailed by a mix of esoteric foodstuffs in preparation mixed in with the marginally washed bodies of some of the sepoy officers—foreigners selected to lead some of the empire's foreign volunteers—who trained at Benning. These sort were often quite good, Hamilton understood. Some said that their ideas of personal hygiene did not always match those of the American citizen officers among whom they were billeted. More objective sources had told Hamilton that people with different diets will smell different, no matter their personal hygiene habits.

    There were enough breakable objects in the bags that just dropping them was a poor idea. Instead, he bent at the waist and the knees to lower the two handheld ones to the concrete. Then, straightening— ouch— he reached up and lifted the third. This one he'd had balanced on the back-borne fourth and held steady with the pressure of his head. After lifting it overhead, he placed it, too, on the deck. The last (and curiously enough the Army was still issuing green duffle bags with shoulder straps) he took off one strap at a time.

    His