It was the only thing to do Saturday nights after the six-packsof of Molson had all been drunk and the pot had all been smoked.  Bunch of us usually, we'd hop in some guys beefed up all-terrain
utility and catch the boat from the island.  This was before the corp bought the whole island up of course.  Use to be three thirds cattle, the rest was housing for the farm hands.
 
    We'd tear-ass into town, all lime-stone and tourists and drive around for a few hours. Big-ass 40 inch Hydra kevlar tires, 12 inch hydraulic suspension lifts and chipped ceramic engines.  Cruising for the students mostly, but sooner of later you'd always come across one of them.  Big army academy right next door you see; all the cadets used to come into town, drink, shop, whatever.  Prim black uniforms, knife-edge creases down the front of their trousers, funny caps with enblems on them.
There was a guy, old, gristled fellah, no teeth who would give us a couple bucks for every cap badge we brought to him.  It was enough for a pack of Camels anyway.  Guy owned a military surplus store in town, get all sorts of shit in there.
 
    With the Jamie Faze urban chants pumping from the speakers, we'd tag one of these cadets walking stiff necked through town, sometimes with a cute girl on their arm.  If two or more walked together, they were all in step, like they were still on the quad or something.  I used to think they did it to show off, flash bastards.  After we'd worked up the nerve with beer and pot, well, we'd just jump the bugger, kick the shit out of 'em.  You know, major dental plan stuff.  Taking their uniforms was part of it, not to humiliate them but 'cuase the cloth was worth alot of money.  Nice and smooth it was, a full uniform was alomst a weeks work on the farm.  We'd leave them naked and senselss on the road, take off, smoke some more.  Back on the boat to the island, cops never came across the the island you see, no juristdiction.  The company had their own security, but they were a good bunch of lads, didn't bother nobody.

    It started out as something to do, and soon became a regular event.  We had bets, who could get the most badges in one night? Who could take out a senior cadet?  That was the riskiest. I soon learned that there were five different levels of cadets, first through to fifth year boys.  Thet had little markings on the epaulettes so you could tell what year they were.  This was good because the fourth and fifth year cadets had their reflexes bumped up.  They were getting close to active service, their
combat skills were better.  The first year lads you could beat on like no tomorrow, but the others, well you had to be careful.

    Bodey found out the hard way one night: jumped a fifth year. He got real desperate you see, needed a fix, the uniform would have given him the money.  Guy spread Bodey all over the road, put him in the clinic for a while.

        That was entertainment for a few years, stroumping for cadets we called it.  One night, out of my skull on Meth-2-rotathymine, we called it Rock 'cause it made you feel that tough.  I slipped my oldman's brass knuckle-dusters on and went to work on this 5th year senior.  Shit he was faster then anybody I ever saw, real good too, fucked me up something aweful.  But I won. You don't feel anything when Rock is in your system, just anger I guess. Got him good as well, put his jaw on
the curb and jumped on the back of his head.  I left him naked and bloody in the parking lot of a McDonlads, got a good deal on the uniform. i kept his cap badge though, little trophy, testament to how hard I was.

    After the corp bought the island from the Eastern Maratime Republique of Canada, they kicked everybody off and turned the place into the seventh most fortified position in all of former Canada.
 
    I'd seen my buddies go off, self-styled gangers hitting it big in the Boston-Atlanta-Metropolitan-Axis.  I figured that wasn't for me, so I hit the recruitment office and found myself on a shuttle to Gagetown for basic training.  I knew I was tough, thirty weeks was pure cake-walk, I'd come out a mean motherfucker.

        To this day I still haven't felt the terror that I felt standing on that quad with a bunch of other loosers when out walks our new platoon lieutenant to give us the well rehearsed welcoming speech.  I looked at him, he looked at me, I figured he wasn't trying to smile, it was just the way the medics had patched his mouth up, grinning ear to ear like the Cheshire fucking cat.

( Loosely based on a true story actually. )
Chris Pike.