Josephus weeps

Another one that's been in my head for a while. Finally getting around to getting it out. Hope you enjoy. Usual blanket permissions to take this and narrate it, provided you send me the link so I can listen as well.

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War Elder Suu'ha stepped out of the transport and sighed in relief. Finally, the Humans colonized a proper planet, one that is comfortable, hot, and dry.

Suu'ha looked at the junior human officer and asked, "Yes, where go now?" His tongue stumbled over the harsh, blocky language of the Terrans.

The young (to his eyes all Humans looked young, with their smooth skin) officer gestured, and stumbled over the Ss'lark words for, "This way, Elder." He walked around a wall surrounding the landing pad to a ground transport vehicle, and opened a door on it's. Quite considerate, given Suu'ha's missing hand; having lost it in action against the Bulro, his arrival to this "Training Center" was delayed by his need to see a Ss'larki doctor about his arm's proper regeneration. Suu'ha got in, appreciating that the humans sent a vehicle equipped with seats that were somewhat skeletal in nature, so he could stick his tail through the gaps and not cram it up against himself like with normal human seats.

Suu'ha gazed out the window as the ground vehicle travelled. This would absolutely be a comfortable place to live, he thought, but it's too bad that the humans ruined it with their "training center". Yes, training is all well and good, but after the soldier has been taught the basics of his profession, what is the point? he mused.

Suddenly, out the window, he saw a series of insignia painted on various rocks. He flicked his tongue in surprise. The human officer, obviously seeing his reaction, chimed in. "Painted Rocks, sir. I don't know why, but it is tradition for each visiting unit to paint it's insignia on the rocks."

Humans are so weird Suu'ha thought, and thanked the young officer.

After a few minutes, they pulled up to what was obviously a field command post. The young officer got out and opened the door, and Suu'ha nodded in thanks and stepped up to the sentries. "Suu'ha Elder, to watch humans" he grunted out. The sentries saluted him, and let him in.

As he stepped inside, he saw nothing that would be out of place in any other army's command post. Maps, communications equipment, camouflage netting, nothing looking significantly different. A short, barrel-chested human with dark skin walked up to him and saluted.

"War Eldar Suu'ha? I'm General Alan Jackson. Welcome to Newvada, and to Fort Luck. We've been trying to figure out how to deal with Bulro doctrine, and your experience with it is something we've sorely needed."

Suu'ha saluted in the Ss'lark fashion, palm splayed out on his chest. "Good meet, Jackson-Alan General. How go training so far?" Jackson nodded, and cheerfully replied, "Well, the first day was a meeting engagement, as is tradition, and we got hammered. Today, we’re trying a defense."

Suu'ha's neck frill rippled in confusion. "Hammered? Beaten? How is good thing?" he replied, stupefied. What sort of War Elder is happy about getting beaten in a training exercise? he wondered.

Jackson smiled, and began to reply: “Well, it’s all about quality of training, and not about-“ he cut off as one of his subordinates called out, “OPFOR recon spotted in sector 3!” Jackson spun around with a curt, “Excuse me” and began snapping out orders.

“Get drones out! CORARTY, prep FASCAMS to lay down in front of third brigade! Tell the 32nd—“

Jackson’s words were cut out by a recorded roar of a Bulro warrior. Suu’ha’s arm instinctively slapped to his side, searching for his weapon, but neither hand nor weapon was there. He turned, only to hear piercing beeps from the sentries outside, as a human in a suit of powered armor stormed in. This suit was different, though, having tufts of fur attached to it. Obviously, it was some sort of “simulated” Bulro Storm Commando.

The figure darted right at Jackson, extending a “simulated” blade that, when it impacted Jackson’s uniform, set it to beeping. Jackson exclaimed, “Fuck!” as the rest of the humans in the tent turned towards the interloper, drew weapons, and fired. Rather than the “simulated” human being reduced to an incorporeal red jelly, it instead set off on a beeping of its own as one of the other humans immediately got on their communications network. “3-6 Actual is down! XO, take over!” he shouted. There was a murmured acknowledgement, and Jackson clapped the “simulated” Bulro's shoulder. “Good job, son, you got me good” he said, smiling.

Suu’ha sputtered. “War Leaders aren’t attack by Commandos of Storm! Sow chaos among lines their job is!”

Both Jackson and the “simulated” Bulro looked pointedly at Suu’ha’s missing hand.

Taking the hint, Suu’ha responded: “Special! Exception!”

The “simulated” Bulro replied with, “We train with the worst case scenario, sir.”

Seeing Suu’ha’s neck frill ripple in confusion, Jackson chimed in. “We train for the worst possible thing the enemy can do, with the best forces the enemy can muster, with the most competent commander the enemy can use. Best possible training that way.” Turning towards the “simulated” Bulro, he asked, “What’s your name, anyway? I’m General Jackson.” he said, extending his hand.

“Sergeant Tom Murphy, sir” he replied, taking Jackson’s hand.

Sergeant? Suu’ha thought, isn’t that barely a group leader? Why is Jackson so friendly to him?

“Pleased to meet you. Let’s get headed to the God Hut. How did you creep up on us, by the way?” Jackson continued, leading the group back outside to the waiting vehicle.

“Wadi, sir, on the backside. Nobody watches over it, if it’s any consolation, sir.” Murphy replied, climbing into the vehicle.

Suu’ha’s tongue flickered in interest. “Fought here have you, in past?” he asked, climbing into the vehicle as well. Jackson joined him, and the vehicle began moving.

“Yes, sir, I’m OPFOR. Opposing Force. Our job is to fight here every day. Train up whoever comes here.”

“But familiar, with ground you are, how fair?” Suu’ha replied.

Murphy flashed a brief smile. “It’s not about fair, sir, it’s about giving the best possible training.”

Suu’ha had swiftly grown to dislike this phrase, “best possible training”. How would the War Leader who was to lead his forces against Alumag, he who took his hand, be ready to face the wily Bulro if he kept on losing in training in an unfair fight?

Seeing Suu’ha narrow his eyes in consternation, Jackson chimed in again. “Yes, it is unfair. That’s the point. Look, in the First Gulf War, a couple hundred years ago, the 25th Infantry Division fought over about 240 klicks – that’s about the same in your Great Strides – and clobbered the Iraqi army whoever they found them, while covering the-look, just trust me, it was an amazing performance. OK? They rotated into Fort Irwin, which was the old Fort Luck back on Earth, about six months later. OPFOR took. them. apart.” Jackson said, taking time to enunciate the last. “The FTC is supposed to be tougher than actual fighting. Ok?”

Suu’ha’s neck frill rippled in confusion. “Why harder than war be?” he asked.

Jackson replied, “We realized that if a soldier can survive their first five fights, their chance of surviving goes up about 80%. It doesn’t matter if it’s fighters, or infantry, or armor, or whatever. Survive the first five, and you’ll live. So we try to make it so that their first five fights are simulated, where the worst they’ll get is beeps instead of blown up. Ah, here we are, let’s go.” Jackson opened the door, and they all got out and walked into the cavernous building.

Suu’ha immediately saw the massive holo-map in the middle, clearly marking the positions of two sides of a combat. It was easy to spot the visitors, as the (simulated) Bulro were rampaging confidently behind their lines. Jackson groaned. “They didn’t get the FASCAMs off in time?” he asked.

One of the people around the holo-map replied, “No, they did. Stalled OPFOR a bit, but they eventually rallied, and the mech counterattack to the west stalled.”

Suu’ha cocked his head in interest. “Bulro defend deep. Tie up, stick, slow. Offend whole. Either offend or defend. Offend, offend?”

Jackson’s eyes crossed as he tried to decipher Suu’ha’s meaning. Murphy, however, quickly jumped to it. “Sir, he’s saying that the Bulro either attack or defend. No middle ground. Wherever the recce elements find enemies, their arty lays down a box barrage to curtain off the area, and their CAS moves into to suppress while their shock groups attack. If they get stymied, they rally and try again. So, what if, when they get stopped and are reforming, we hammer them in either flank with a mech attack, instead of counterattacking in another area?”

Jackson immediately took on a thoughtful expression. Suu’ha looked at Murphy. “How know Bulro fight style?” he asked.

“Because I’m OPFOR, sir,” he replied. “It’s my job to know how the Bulro fight. Hell, we even have a Bulro designation. While I may be part of the 11th Cavalry, we call ourself ‘Duke Luck’s Storm Sabres’ since that’s the closest we can come to a Bulro designation. We greet each other with that Bulro chest bump, and we do our best to think, speak, and act like Bulro. It gives-“

Suu’ha cut in. “The best possible training, yes yes.”

“Exactly, sir!” Murphy replied, smiling. “You see, throughout history……”

Later that night, Suu’ha sat in front of his data-slate to compose his report to his superiors.

Respected Elders,

I would like to humbly disagree with our general opinion that the Humans are lucky amateurs. They are anything but amateur. Their most powerful empire, thousands of cycles ago, mastered training. One of their scribes, a Josephus, wrote, “Their drills are bloodless battles; their battles, bloody drills.” They crushed all before them until internal rot brought down their empire. However, the humans did not just seek to reclaim that legacy. Rather than just forming an army that Namzuuma the Great would envy, they sought to refine their training. No, refine is too weak a word. They sought to perfect their training. To beat indecision out, and beat aggressiveness and competency in, to the same degree a smith forges his metal. Their Josephus would surely weep to see the degree to which humans have mastered the preparation for war……

edit: Fixing some stylistic things that bothered me when I read it the morning after.