The Mighty First, Episode 1: Special Edition

by Unknown

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  More silence.

  “I do.” Someone volunteered. An Attayan boy who looked shockingly young. Some of the other boys had been calling him ‘Half Pint.’ “My father owns a shoe store in the capital. He taught me how to keep the displays shined.”

  “There you are,” Minerva said. “Half-Pint will teach the rest of us how to do it right.”

  “I’m good at map-reading,” another spoke up.

  “And, I went hunting a lot with my dad. Pretty good shot, too.”

  “I’m good at math.”

  The list of skills grew until they had a decent idea of who could teach what.

  “Well,” Minerva stated when the talking wound down, “I think if we work together, we should be able to do alright.”

  Many of them were yawning by then, and the clock was reading twelve.

  “Four hours left for sleep,” Ecu announced. “We should hit our racks while we can.”

  As they all stood, stretching, working sore arms in circles, Minerva stopped them one last time.

  “There’s one more thing we might want to try,” she suggested. “Tell me what you think of this…”

  That had been the night before.

  The recruit standing fire watch snapped to attention as Sergeant Bri slammed through the door at 04:30 sharp. It swung hard on its hinges, slapping against the wall of the D.I’s quarters.

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  Bri took two full strides, and stopped.

  The lights were already on, and ninety-nine recruits stood at attention at the foot of their bunks, dressed in P.T. gear, ready to go. Bri’s eyes scanned the bay, wide with open surprise. After a moment, he resumed walking toward the front doors, saying nothing. He opened them, and turned his head.

  “Fall out for morning P.T.!”

  In order of squads, the kids rushed past in an orderly fashion, forming up on the company street. Once ready, Bri joined them, casting another look over the ranks.

  “March!”

  Their Grinder session was no worse than the morning before, and breakfast afterward seemed to taste even better. While they ate, the kids could barely contain their enthusiasm.

  “Did you see his face?”

  “That was great!”

  “This is getting spank!”

  One of the larger Attayan boys, one that went by the nickname of Lunk, leaned over to look at Minerva as she ate.

  “Good thinking, Carreno,” he complimented.

  Minerva fairly beamed inside.

  Ecu whispered into her ear, “Like it or not, you’ve just become our leader.”

  That jolted her, shaking the instant of joy that she had just enjoyed. A leader? She felt scarcely capable of getting herself through the coming trials, let alone having everyone else looking to her for guidance. Her appetite waned at that.

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  There was no run after breakfast. Instead, Bri marched them back to the bay, had them get on the line, and took a stance at parade-rest next to the front door. The barracks was cast in utter silence, with a tension that hung so heavy, it was nearly physical.

  For Minerva, time slowed to a crawl in what was a surreal effect. She could hear nothing, while hearing everything at the same time. The silence an oppressive blanket. Her heart beat in her ears. The drawing of her breath. The buzzing from the light ballasts on the ceiling. With the strange perception of sound came also a change in how she could see things. The morning light coming through the high windows took on the appearance of liquid shafts of fire. The reflection from the surface of the floor tile shimmered like water. What was this? A form of panic?

  She pulled in a deep breath, closed her eyes, and willed calm. Remember, it’s all just a mind-game, she told herself.

  At long last, at long, long last, the front doors opened. Slowly, the hinges creaking as if in a scene from a horror movie, and in stepped a figure that was silhouetted against the rising sun outside. The shadowed figure was immensely proportioned: tall, wide at the shoulder and chest, arms like tree trunks, the campaign hat completing a form that could bring nightmares to children.

  Five measured steps in, and the man stopped. The square-jawed marine was visible by then. He was Terran, with a face that had been chiseled from the bedrock of hell. He looked to be either Samoan, or of some Pacific descent. For every ounce of menace that Bri might have, it was a hundred-fold from this face.

  He towered at well over six feet, clad in long-sleeve Class-B’s that were on the verge of splitting under the strain of holding in the muscle beneath. His stance was as passive as it was aggressive. How could someone look so relaxed, while at the same time so ready to render limb from limb? His beefy hands were balled into fists at his sides, arms slightly bent.

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  Each sleeve bore the hash marks of sixteen years of service. At bicep level were the chevrons, three up, and three curved underneath. Over the breast pocket hung a billboard of colored ribbons. The creases in his khaki uniform were razor-sharp, the shine on his shoes glaring the reflection of the sunlight.

  He was a vision of military perfection.

  Without saying a word, his mere presence commanded attention. Standing there like a statue of carved stone, his eyes of hellfire took in what he saw before him without betraying a hint of emotion. Sergeant Bri, who was a tall, stocky individual himself, seemed dwarfed, and intimidated standing next to him.

  Minerva realized that she had been holding her breath, and let it out slowly as fear coiled in her gut. She locked her eyes forward as they were supposed to do at attention, and prayed.

  After a time that was endless, he began to walk slowly down the line of 1st Platoon, across from her. The tap of his heels on the tile resounded like gunshots in the silent bay. He looked into every face as he passed by, taking everything in, and returning nothing. At the end of the row, he pivoted smartly, and strolled in the direction of Minerva’s line. He was staring straight into her as he approached. Ice touched her soul. He paused before her, gazing down at her, seeming to reach inside to measure her worth as a human being. Minerva felt inadequate under that stare.

  Then, it ended. He was moving on down the line. Her legs suddenly felt weak. The experience was not unlike a narrow escape from death, and the utter relief that washes over afterward, threatening to make one collapse in a quivering heap.

  The man finished his walk where it had begun, and executed another pivot, facing the company. He then finally spoke. That voice was deep, and possessed a power that was indescribable. It was a god from a movie, booming into every corner without the need

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  to raise it.

  Minerva imagined that if he did decide to yell, the walls would crumble, and windows shatter.

  “Well, well, well. Just look at all of Momma’s little dumplings,” he said conversationally to Sergeant Bri.

  A pause. The giant began to move down the center aisle, pace measured. When he spoke again, his voice was raised in volume only slightly, but even that caused the kids to flinch.

  “I am Master Sergeant Ford, your senior drill instructor!”

  Minerva swallowed hard. Next to her, Ecu muttered a whispered curse.

  “Welcome! Welcome to Ford’s House of Pain! Welcome…to your worst nightmares!”

  The master sergeant stopped in the middle of the bay, slowly turning as he spoke, to address every single one of them.

  “In my house, you are not individuals! You have no hopes, no dreams, no opinions, nor ambitions! You belong to me! It my duty, my responsibility to mold you into something that the Corps can use! I will carry out those orders! It is up to you to survive them!”

  Ford locked eyes with Ecu, and her posture tightened, fur frizzing out as her ears laid flat against her head.

  “You will learn to breathe, eat, sleep, fight, and live the way of the Global Marines! You will embrace it, and become worthy to carry that terror to the hearts of our enemies!”

  His head swiveled ever so slightly, just enough to zero in o
n Minerva.

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  “There are ninety-nine of you here today, with ninety-nine different reasons as to why! I don’t care about any of them! Whoever you thought were before, as of this moment, exists no longer!”

  Minerva was holding her breath again, but this time was unable to let it out. Not while that man was looking at her. All bodily functions simply froze under his scrutiny.

  Ford mercifully released her from that gaze, and he squared his chest, as if it were even possible to do so more. His eyes took on an inner fire that nearly produced heat, it was so intense.

  “We have no time for games, ladies and gentlemen! There is a madman storming across the galaxy as we speak, slaughtering every man, woman, and child in his path! That madman is heading this way, and he is determined to destroy us all!”

  The master sergeant examined his fingernails, as if bored.

  “That man has become my enemy. I am therefor going to set loose the dogs of war,” Ford’s voice began to rise in tempo, until he was bellowing. It did, indeed, feel as if the walls were shaking, “AND, I AM GOING TO LEAD THE ARMIES OF HELL DOWN ON THE STORIAN EMPIRE! I AM GOING TO POUR FEAR AND FLAME DOWN ON EVERY SINGLE ONE OF HIS TROOPS! I AM GOING TO CARRY HIS OWN DESPAIR RIGHT BACK TO WHERE HE CAME FROM!”

  Ford held out his arms, as if in supplication. Looking at the recruits with a glare that took every one of them in its grip.

  “Who in this squad bay will prove themselves worthy to stop the Storians in their tracks? Are you with me?” He asked softly.

  In that split second, the mood in the barracks transformed. It changed from intimidation, to an electrical energy. His words

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  opened a door, presented an invitation to join him, rather than be under his boot. Ford made it clear that he stood to face down tyranny, and to put himself before the war machine that was consuming worlds.

  Minerva felt that change inside of her as well, and something in his words awakened an energy of her own. She took a step forward.

  “One-Nine! One-Nine! Oooh-Rah!” She shouted proudly.

  Without hesitation, her fellow recruits echoed.

  “ONE-NINE! ONE-NINE! OOO-RAH!”

  Ford’s expression was, as always, unreadable. He looked at Minerva, then at the rest of the company. The master sergeant turned, and strode purposefully toward the front doors. He spoke to Bri as he passed.

  “Commence Day One.”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Bri responded.

  Their nightmare began.

  There was no stop for breakfast that morning, which was just as well.

  Company 19 made their first real run as a cohesive unit, first around the Grinder, then out around the inner perimeter. Bri was singing a Marine hymn in that twangy cadence that only a Marine sergeant knows how to do, which helped to set the pace for them remaining in-step. Master Sergeant Ford ran alongside them, somewhere near the middle, keeping a sharp eye on

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  their formation. He was quick, very quick, to dart before a recruit that was lagging, and let forth with a bellow that would send a tyrannosaur scurrying with his tail tucked. Ford’s anger was the thunder of Thor, and the mere dread of it kept the kids motivated.

  The run took them beyond the layout of the inner base, and along a dirt trail that snaked through the woods. The scenery was pretty, but there was no time to admire it. It took all of one’s effort to keep going, to keep in-step, to draw the next gasp of air.

  Lungs burned, as did legs and feet. Inevitably, a few began to struggle. Some of the kids began to fall behind, unable to keep up even with Ford threatening to pull their souls from their bodies.

  Minerva risked a look back, seeing that it was the big kid, Lunk, who had attracted Ford’s ire. Lunk had not given up, but he was barely able to chug along, his face a bright shade of red as he swallowed air with desperation. She took a chance, and broke from formation, coming up from behind, and scooping an arm beneath his.

  “Come on, Lunk! Tough it out!” She told him, pulling, keeping him moving.

  Ecu followed suit, arriving on his opposite side, and taking that arm. The girls propelled him, using their strides to help the boy regain his slot in the formation. Master Sergeant Ford jogged effortlessly behind them, watching. Once it seemed that the three would be able to maintain pace, he dropped back to harass other stragglers. The kids caught on to Minerva’s example, and began to do the same, helping those who were giving up. In that fashion, the company made it through what had turned out to be an eleven mile run at a brisk clip.

  It ended back at the Grinder, where the two sergeants waited while kids dry-heaved and gagged while they tried to catch their breath. It took a few minutes for them to settle down, after which Bri ushered them back into formation. He moved along the ranks,

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  checking a pulse here and there by squeezing a wrist, and counting seconds off from his wristwatch.

  A couple of orange water coolers had been staged beforehand, and Bri allowed them to take a drink by order of squads. One small paper cup each, and no more. He didn’t want any future dry-heaving to graduate to the real thing.

  “Eight-count body builders!” Ford announced. “Begin!”

  They counted off a full hundred reps before stopping. Not everyone had been able to do them all, their arms having given out despite all of the berating from the D.I.’s. That was something that Minerva could not help anyone with. Upper body strength, or the lack thereof, was a category that each of them had to bear alone. She was having trouble with it herself, her arms shaking so hard that her entire body trembled as she tried to do just one more. Sweat dropped from her face like rain, pattering on the concrete.

  She gasped as Ford appeared seemingly from nowhere. He was on his own hands and toes, in a perfect push-up position, his face upturned scant inches from hers. His eyes were a pair of volcanoes, directed straight at her.

  “What is your malfunction, Carreno? Why are you not pumping out push-ups for me as if your life depended on it?”

  Minerva pushed, struggled, did all that she could to complete the next one, but her arms were locked half-way.

  “I asked you a question, Recruit! Why in the sweet creation of all that is holy are you not delivering push-ups?”

  “Sir, I’m trying, Sir!” She managed, but even the exertion of replying robbed her of what little strength she had left. Against her will, she began to sink down.

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  “You’re trying? Losers, and Momma’s dumplings try, Carreno! Why are you even here? Why have you disgraced my Corps with your presence? Are you a heathen? Why don’t you wash out, and just go home?”

  That did not motivate Minerva. It pissed her off, clear, and simple. She found reserves within her that she did not even know she possessed, and tapped into them. With a supreme effort, she pushed, and ever so slowly, began to rise.

  “Stop trying, and do it, Carreno! Deliver! There are children getting killed out there, all because you’re trying!”

  She looked up from the concrete, met that furious gaze, and shoved. With a cry of triumph, she completed the last push-up, all the while staring into his twin pits of fire. Ford’s face transformed as the most unexpected thing in her world happened.

  He smiled.

  It lasted only for an instant, but it was unmistakably there. Replaced in the span of a heartbeat by the familiar scowl. He was gone in the next beat, back on his feet.

  “One-Nine! Fall in!”

  It took as much effort to rise as it had to exercise, so burned were their muscles. Minerva imagined that she could hear her own creaking like rusty hinges. The kids assumed formation, at as good a position of attention as a ruined body could muster. Ford paced slowly back and forth in front of them, hands in the small of his back. Bri remained off to the side. Neither sergeant was even sweating despite the fact they had not only run with the company, but exercised with them as well.

  “This morning, you recruits have had your first taste of my bu
ffet of pain!” The master sergeant announced. “This is a pain with which you will become familiar, and some day,

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  embrace! It will be your daily reminder that you still live, while the innocent perish, waiting for you become worthy of saving them! Think about that, Recruits! People are dying, this very moment! Waiting! Waiting for us! Waiting for you!”

  Ford allowed that to sink in for a moment.

  “Company One-Nine, your training here will be vigorous---but, by no means cruel! I must, and I will, take each and every one of you to your physical limits! I will help you to peer over that horizon! I will show you how to then overcome it!”

  Ford’s demeanor softened a little, but just a little. He stopped pacing, and his voice dropped to a level that was almost conversational.

  “To be a Marine is so much more than a fancy uniform, or a mere title. It’s a religion! A union of mind, and body! It’s having the guts to look death in the eye, and run toward it, instead of away! It is charging into the fury of a battlefield while lesser soldiers flee! You adapt! You overcome! Above all, no marine is left behind! Ever! We carry our fallen! Oooh-Rah?”

  “OOOH-RAH!” The kids responded, feeling the passion of his words.

  Ford looked over at Sergeant Bri, “March the company to chow. After lunch, we’ll hit the confidence course.”

  “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

  Ford watched his company as the kids marched off toward the chow hall. His stance never relaxed, and there was no deciphering what might have been going on behind those eyes. No one could have guessed that the reason his hands remained balled into fists was to ward off the inklings of fear that were nibbling away at his resolve. Bad things were coming, and he wondered if there would be time to prepare for them.

  The obstacle course actually looked like it might be kind of fun.

  As Company 19 stood at parade-rest in the grassy area before the beginning of the area, Minerva studied the layout. There was a hundred yard run leading to a set up pull-up bars. Another run to a pair of concrete culverts partly buried in sand. Beyond that a trio of logs positioned at different heights over which they would need to climb. A balance rope over a mucky pond. A three-story tower of logs to test their fear of heights. It just went on, further than she could see from where she stood. There was someone in a D.I.’s hat stationed at each obstacle, which meant that the pressure would not relent.