by Tom Germann
Sam did the crime. He had a good reason for it. Now he’s a cold detached kid. The media and public wanted to see him hang on national television broadcast in color with commentary.
Unfortunately the public won’t get what it wants. Sam was put through mandatory testing scoring incredibly high. He has the unique biology that it takes to be accepted in as a Marine.
The Glentol Corporation desperately needs more recruits. They aren’t above over riding the rules in any regional court to get what Earth desperately needs to survive.
Sam has to head off to a top secret facility and undergo training for months with constant mental and physical testing. If he passes he lives. If he fails? Maybe he gets shipped off world to one of the outposts for a very long time. Or maybe he just gets executed.
If the aliens come back one day Sam can either be on the front line defending humanity or in a box six feet under. The choice will be his.
CORPORATE MARINES: book TWO
Welcome To
The Marines
Tom Germann
CORPORATE MARINES
Welcome To The Marines
Written and Published by Tom Germann
Copyright 2016
License Notes
Thank you for reading this book. A great deal of effort went into the creation of this book. So if you would like to share this with a friend please have them visit one of the stores carrying this book. This work is not to be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial or non- commercial purposes.
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Thank you for the support.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Edited by: Robin Schroffel
Cover by: http://10dollarcovers.com/
Hitting ‘GO’ on book 1 was hard. This was easier.
Thanks to all of my friends and supporters.
Keep an eye out for book 3 and yes book 4.
The only way to move forward is by walking there
one step at a time.
“Gunga Gunga”
Table of Contents
THE ARREST
THE MEDIA REPORTS
SAM’S DAY IN COURT
FIRST EVALUATION
THE INTERVIEW
A NEW START
WELCOME TO CANADA
THE FACILITY
SECOND EVALUATION
DAY 1
THE RUSSIANS IN AFGHANISTAN
AMERICA AND THE THIRD WORLD
DESTRUCTION OF PEACEKEEPER FORCE HERMES
REAL-WORLD TRAINING
EVALUATION (AFTER FIELD TRAINING)
THE LAST MEAL
IMPLANT TECHNOLOGY
BREAK THE BODY IN
IMPLANTATION SUCCESSFUL
SIM FIELD TRAINING
EVALUATION AFTER SIM TRAINING. FINAL CONFIRMATION
SHELLSHOCK
THE EVALUATION ROOM
MORNING ROLL CALL
ADVANCED ALIEN TRAINING
WEAPON HANDLING
ENVIRONMENTAL TRAINING
GRADUATION
FINAL EVALUATION
PREPARING TO DEPLOY
EXCERPT BOOK 3
AUTHORS NOTES
THE ARREST
I was just sitting there in the dark. I had washed my hands when I came home and then sat down in the dark on a chair. I had nothing left. I was alone and empty. Most people would be sulking or crying or something right now.
I was just empty, and that seemed right. I must have been sitting there in the room for maybe a few hours, maybe longer. I may have been sitting there for days for all I knew. Then, it was time to come back to the real world and face it.
One second it was quiet and dark, and the next second? BAM! There was a helicopter outside circling with lights shining in through the windows, and then the windows were exploding toward me and canisters the size of a pop can were flying in. I was hit in the chest by two of them and they hurt. They started spitting smoke out as soon as they were through the window. Then the door exploded inward and a bunch of armed guys were in the room with me.
I heard the ‘Pffft’ and then felt myself get hit in the arm. When I looked down I could see a dart sitting there and my arm had a bit of blood on it. I started feeling even stranger then and nothing seemed wrong with there a bunch of guys in my room, even when they started tearing everything apart.
I was just sitting in the chair not feeling anything and there were four men with guns pointed at my head while the other four ran and checked out the other room and the closet. This was a small apartment in the Projects. I had only been here for a few weeks and there was nothing in here really except for the crappy furniture that was here when I moved in. The only things that I really care about are the burned teddy bear and a few scraps of burnt pictures. But really, those are just things.
I guess they didn’t like that I was just sitting there because they flipped the whole chair over and I was on my back. Two of them grabbed me, flipped me over and pushed my face into the old mouldy carpet and were kneeling on my back while pressing my arms up and wrapping something around my wrists. They had yanked my arms way back and I yelled in pain, and that just seemed to make them angrier as they cinched whatever they put around my wrists tighter.
When I screamed, this time one of them pushed my face deeper into the carpet so that they were grinding my face against the concrete. I felt my skin tear and it hurt.
But the pain was distant.
Then suddenly there was a bright light in the room and I could hear voices yelling, “Clear! Incoming! Prisoner secured!”
Two of the men yanked me to my feet and held me there while the other two kept their weapons to my head.
The bright light was shining into the room from the hallway now. It was so bright that I couldn’t keep my eyes open as the light moved into the doorframe.
I could feel more than see the armed men stepping away from me, but the two big men that were holding me were as solid as rock.
A man’s voice started talking. It was a cold voice and it took me a second to make out what it was saying.
“I said, are you Samuel Slate?”
The two pairs of hands that were holding me started shaking me, hard. After a second that voice spoke again. “Gentlemen, please stop that. Just because the prisoner is refusing to cooperate is no reason to be rough with him, no matter what he did.”
There were more voices out in the hall and then the cold voice came again. “Let him in. The department has approved the media coverage on this arrest.”
Someone else came into the room and coughed. “Do you want me to start recording here now or go outside for when you bring Slate out? What happened to his face?”
That cold voice again, trying to sound cheerful and soothing, said, “Mr. Slate was resisting arrest when our agents moved in. He was, unfortunately, foolish to do so. Our personnel are trained to the highest standards and were able to take him down before he could do anything more foolish. Come along; it would probably look better if we get you properly situated outside in the optimal recording position. The rest of the media will likely be here soon, and if we get you properly positioned, then you are going to enjoy a much better
scoop over what everyone else will get.” Their voices faded away until it was just me with these armed guys.
One of the guys that had been pointing his short machine gun at me leaned in close and hissed at me, “We all know what you did, Slate, you scumbag. You’re gonna pay!”
He cracked me in the gut hard with the butt of his weapon and I would have fallen except for the guys holding me up.
Another one of them spoke up. “Chek, cut that out. Everything we do is recorded; you know that. If the highers get footage of excesses, then you could end up getting this guy off — and I want him on death row.”
I knew which one was speaking, but it wouldn’t do me any good — they were all wearing helmets with face masks so no one could make out who they were.
The first one turned to his buddy. “No worries — the techs will delete the footage as ‘scrambled.’ Everyone knows what this scummer project lowlife did. He ain’t getting off no matter what. You shouldn’t be so soft. Anyone with kids should want this filth cut up into small pieces!”
A third one at the door barked, “Stow it! We are here to get a job done. If you can’t do it without making it personal, then you need to get off my TAC team and go get someone else dead. Am I clear?”
Both men grunted out, “Yes sir.”
I guess the man at the door was in charge of the guys who had raided me. Whatever had been in that dart had me so numb I couldn’t feel anything anywhere on my body.
I heard some sort of crackling noise coming from the helmets of the guys who were holding me. I guessed radio, maybe. Or maybe their heads were full of dry leaves?
They started dragging me toward the door. I really tried to help them by standing and walking but I just couldn’t do it. So I let them keep dragging me. It didn’t really hurt that much. I couldn’t feel anything anyway.
At the doorway the guy who had been yelling held up a hand to stop them. He pulled out a rag and wiped carefully at my face until he felt better about it. I think he removed the blood, but I didn’t know. I didn’t have a mirror.
He stepped back and then they dragged me down the hall. The elevators don’t work in most of the Projects anymore, so after a short walk we went down one of the many sets of stairs. I had been given a unit on the third floor so there weren’t really that many stairs to go down, but I think that they would have just dragged me by a heel and smashed my head off of every stair if they could have.
I deserved it too.
At the bottom of the stairs they closed up on me. There were a lot more people around in these larger halls. Police only come to the Projects in large groups and in armour. There is strength in anonymity and the residents would come in and swamp these cops in a second if they had a chance.
There is a lot of anger in the Projects.
They didn’t even know me, those people. They just knew what had happened to me, what the police had told them I did, and they all felt deep down that it was just another lie.
But they stayed back and gleaming eyes seemed to watch from every corner. There were no kids around; they had all been sent home, along with the good kids. It was only gangers in this hall.
We went out one of the many large entrances, from the broken-down darkness of the hall to the bright lights of the media.
I could see dozens of vehicles and heard several helicopters and some sort of plane circling. I was pinned in the lights and standing supported at the top of the eight steps down to the paved drive. There were dozens of police vehicles and then there was someone yelling at me from the side.
“Sam Slate! Did you kill those four kids, Sam? Why did you kill them? Did it feel good? Did your dad abuse you?”
The two police officers holding me had stopped and even turned me a little bit so that the camera could get a good shot of my face.
Other vehicles were pulling up and people were getting out; they had to be more reporters. They didn’t care about what had happened to me!
I felt the old anger rising and I struggled to stand up. I started yelling, “YES! I killed them! All four of those bastards! They deserved it for what they did to me! They killed….”
As soon as I had started yelling, the two officers started dragging me and then more hands grabbed me and by the time I had said anything I was flying across the concrete. I could pick out the individual cracks in the surface and everything that I looked at had a red highlight. I opened my mouth to scream out what they had done and then I was flying through the air and into the back of a van. I saw the wall come at me and I tried to curl up into a ball.
I hit the back of the van hard and all the voices and the yelling in the background faded away and the red left. Everything faded to black and I felt nothing. Again.
THE MEDIA REPORTS
The woman sitting at a small wrap-around stage desk is gorgeous. Her brown hair is cut in a short bob and has blonde streaks running through it. Her brown eyes are behind what are still known as Clark Kent glasses. She is wearing a short mesh vest over a very small tube top which is quite filled with a cleavage that was provided by a higher power known as a bodymod doctor. She has several tasteful tattoos that people who knew her well could tell you have changed over the years to stay “in.” Her tan is so good, and even then, it’s as fake as her smile and perfect teeth. Susie is the perfect presenter and is very popular; she was sent down to the city after presenting out of the capital for several years. Six years there is a long time for those who do not have perfect genes or slightly higher ratings, though. “Good day and welcome to Channel 95, news all day, every day, and all real! I’m Susie Halent and I’m all yours for the next ten minutes!
“The big story today is Slaughtering Sam Slate, the psycho killer who killed off four innocent kids that he went to school with. The four victims went to New Hope High School on Tenth Street. In fact, they were two adorable couples that were the sweetest kids in the school!” Behind Susie is a full-size screen that shows some slowly changing pictures of the victims generally doing what teenagers do — participating at local school and charity events — as well as the pro forma sports shots. “It is unknown at this time what caused Sammie to snap and go on a rampage. The evidence does appear to make Sammie, as everyone calls him, the prime suspect. As you may have heard previously, Sammie boy is a reclusive teenager that never really fit in at school and was never into extracurricular activities. Why would this man go out and do such horrific things? We really don’t know at this time.”
Susie pauses and a concerned look comes onto her face. She leans forward toward the sensors, which also just happens to accentuate her heaving cleavage which is almost exploding out of her top. “The rumour mill has it that Sammie came from a single-parent family and there was abuse that had been documented in public previously. No one knows at this time if there had been more direct…physical abuse in past. Experts have stated that it could be possible.”
Susie took a deep, shuddering breath as she wrestled with the revelation. “In a situation like that, anything was possible, after Sammie was moulded by a parent into the monster he is today.
“Now let’s take a look at some of the recent footage of Sammie in court and Ms. Smirko, the prosecuting attorney.”
Susie fades out and the interior of a richly appointed local court comes up on-screen. The judge is sitting behind a large stand with a bronzed justice symbol embedded on the front. The jury is already sitting in their box and the records keeper is checking the assorted sensors that will be recording everything. The entire room gives off an air of authority and power. There must be two hundred spectators in the room. The doors at the rear open and in walks a beautiful woman in current business attire, which includes a short wrap skirt in a deep purple and a form-fitting orange top with panels cut out over the abs and the back. The material is like a second skin. Her tan is almost perfect. As she walks down the aisle to the prosecutor’s table, a voice narrates, “Ms. Smirko is the
prosecutor’s attorney for this case; you’ll note that she is perfectly turned out, as always, in a Dal-Jar original. Ms. Smirko demanded this case ‘to get closure for the parents and to ensure that a maddened criminal is removed from the streets.’ This on top of just being appointed to the committee for women’s rights and needs in the city, as well as assistant chair for the charitable organization Food for the Children. Ms. Smirko is still teaching, practicing law, involved with a dozen different charities and organizations throughout the region and is the youngest partner in the firm of Opper, Degs and Chukle. The rumour of her future promotion to senior partner persists, and if she does make senior partner, she will likely be moved to one of the satellite offices on the West Coast. As the most eligible bachelorette in the city, the question on everyone’s mind is, when will she be getting married and who will that lucky fellow be? She has been seen on the arm of politicians, movie stars and billionaires. Who will she choose? Her answer?” The broadcast cuts to a scene with Ms. Smirko looking gorgeous as ever, sitting on a lounge along with the interviewer. She’s wearing the workout outfit that she has made popular within the state through her classes and sims. She laughs at something the interviewer says and then replies, “Oh, Billy, I am able to manage the whole workload quite easily. I would consider a partner if I could only find someone with the same energy levels that I have. Part of my success is that I am fortunate and have an excellent staff that knows what I need and can give it to me in a timely manner. Any future partner has to understand that and would almost become an integral part of the staff. If you can’t go for twenty hours a day, every day, then you may not be up for that sort of position.”
The scene fades away and Susie is back. “I just love her! Don’t you all just love Ms. Smirko? I take as many of her classes as I can and watch all her sims. She is just so amazing!
“Now we can see Sammie brought into court.” Again the fade-out, then a young, gaunt man is led into the same court by four beefy guards. He is in a prison jumpsuit and looks terrible. He is taken to the defence table and stays standing while the judge begins to address the court. The screen blacks out and Susie is back. She is leaning back with her arms folded under her breasts with a cross look on her face. “He just looks so guilty, you know? I do not know how a man like that can live with himself after what he did.”
