The Bavarian Gate By John Dalmas

In the nine years since returning from Yuulith, Macurdy had mostly avoided showing his powers. Except for that night in the jungle outside Miles City, he’d let no one but Mary see him use magic to light a fire. On Macurdy’s fourth morning in 2nd Squad, 2nd Platoon of Company B, and with the grass crisp and white with frost, the stove was out as usual. While several other trainees looked on, he knelt before it. Poking a finger through the opened draft, he drew on the Web of the World and directed a thin stream of white hot plasma into the coal. None of them could see what he did, but within seconds they could hear the fire, and stood variously gawping or frowning. Then one asked, “How the hell did you do that?”

Macurdy had learned in Yuulith that a poor explanation often works better than a good one. “It’s something my Aunt Varia taught me years ago,” he said.

Actually it was Arbel, not Varia, who’d taught him to start fires, but “Aunt Varia” sounded more innocuous and required no elaboration. Besides, Arbel had done it differently; Arbel’s technique, though fine for wood, seemed to Macurdy not intense enough to ignite coal. Later, also in Yuulith, Macurdy had learned by sheer chance to create and cast small balls of plasma, but he’d wanted to provide more intense and prolonged heat. So improvising, he’d created a plasma jet.

Of course it got talked about, and that evening, Men from other squads were asking him, hopefully but skeptically, to show them how to start fires. His solution was to start a small coal fire on the ground behind the company shower room, from which they could take coals with a shovel; the latrine orderly could keep it burning. The company officers were soon aware of the fire and= idea it had been, but assumed he’d started it from the firebox in the big water heater. They credited him with resourcefulness, rather than magic, a resourcefulness that went into his personnel record.

The became aware of Macurdy in other respects, as well, for in his new circumstances, he showed leadership qualities he’d mostly subdued after leaving Yuulith. After the first week, he was made trainee leader of 2nd Platoon. He excelled at everything-the obstacle course, the rifle range, boxing matches … even foot races! The company clerk noticed his birth date, and certain it was atypo, called him in. “Macurdy,” he said, “your birthdate is listed as 1904, but you’re obviously not 38 years old. Assuming that only one digit was typed in wrong, it’s got to be 1914, right?”

Here, it seemed to Macurdy, was a chance to bring his official age more in line with his appearance. “Right,” he answered, “1914.”

There was one minor awkward incident. In the showers, his virtual lack of body hair, even pubic hair, impelled someone to say, “Jesus Christ, Macurdy! Whataya do? Shave your body?”

“Nobody in my family’s got enough body hair to notice,” he answered mildly. “I don’t even stave my face. Probably never will.” Then his gaze and voice turned cold. “Is there anything about it you don’t like?” And that was the end of that.

Training had started mildly but built rapidly. At the end of the first two weeks, an ordinary training day might start with an hour in the exercise pits and on the obstacle course, followed by hiking four or five miles with full field pack (usually routed over Drag-Ass Hill) to some field training area, for a lecture followed by hands-on training of some sort, capped by a four or five-me march back. And it continued to get tougher. Commonly, lunch was served from a truck, about as close to a vehicle as the trainees ever got. More often than not they trained in the evening, too, perhaps with an hour’s speed march-,again with full field pack-or a night combat problem. Captain Reid was especially stronon filling open hours with speed marches and bayonet drill.

Normally, after an indeterminate number of weeks at infantry camp-as few as seven to as many as seventeen-the trainees were shipped off to one or another of the new divisions constantly being formed. After six weeks, Macurdy was ordered to report to the company’s executive officer after breakfast. The XO, a 1st lieutenant, smiled genially.