The Mighty First, Episode 1: Special Edition

by Unknown

  Ford was nowhere to be seen. Sergeant Bri offered a short briefing before sending the kids in four at a time.

  “This initial run is to measure a baseline for your individual endurance! Do not attempt to help one another on this test! Don’t get yourselves killed! I’m actually getting fond of you turds!”

  He pointed at the first pair in each platoon line, “Go!”

  Minerva and Ecu were most of the way back, and would have a bit of a wait. The kids began whooping, and cheering their company mates on. Bri kept to himself, arms folded, watching. Only the D.I. at the far end would be recording their times, so he was free to merely observe.

  At each station, that D.I. would scream, and rant for the recruits to perform better, to do things faster. People seemed to be handling things fairly well, especially for a first-run. Quite a few of them were freezing up on the tower climb. An instructor perched all the way at its top could be heard ripping new bungholes left and right as kids hung on for dear life, afraid to climb any higher. He always got them to get on over it, though. A D.I.’s wild glare, and never-ending yelling were potent motivators.

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  Then, Minerva was facing her turn. Crouched, as if ready to run a race, she rocked on her heels. Ecu distracted her by making a chattering sound, like a cat mesmerized by a bird. She started to laugh just as Bri snapped at them to take off.

  That gave Ecu an unexpected lead on her, but then again, most all of the Attayans were adept at fast sprinting. Minerva fell behind, being the only Terran in the group running with her, but she made up for it by pumping out more pull-ups than they did. The D.I. berated her colleagues for allowing her to exceed them, but just as quickly turned on her for letting go after only little more than a dozen. A regulation pull-up was far more difficult than it looked. Minerva jumped at the bar, and attempted to grind out a couple more, just for principle’s sake.

  After struggling for a few moments, though, the D.I. hurried them along, wanting to get the next group on the field. As they approached the sand pit with the culverts, the D.I. stationed there was already shouting instructions at them.

  “Drop to your knees, and crawl through! Do not dive for the opening! I don’t want to be cleaning your brains from my sandpit when you miss the mark!”

  The sand absorbed the impact on their joints, and in they went. Minerva winced as the sand within the short tunnel ground against her hands and elbows. Out the other side, and taking a running leap at the 3-log obstacle. The first log, roughly the diameter of an average person, was elevated at knee-height. Not too bad to hop up on that. The second was three feet away, and up at waist-level. Without keeping forward motion, it was hard as heck to get up onto it. One of the kids slid off, and landed in the sand beneath. Navigating the last log required hugging it, and throwing a leg over. A drop back down, and on to the tower.

  Beginning the climb was not bad at all. There were hand-

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  holds carved into the logs, and they were spaced perfectly for easy ascension. Minerva fairly cruised right up, meeting the gaze of the D.I. perched near the top as her yelled at them to climb faster. All was well until she reached the top log, and glanced down to gauge how best to get her leg over, so that she could climb down the other side.

  Three stories looks very, very high when one is up there.

  Minerva had no idea that she was afraid of heights until that moment. Her guts and sphincter clenched, and her arms locked around the log in a death-grip. The D.I. recognized her reaction the instant it happened, having witnessed it countless times over.

  “Recruit,” the sergeant said gently, but firmly, “just throw one leg over, follow it, and climb down. It sure as hell beats staying up here.”

  Minerva, her mouth dry as a popcorn fart, eyes bulging, locked eyes with him. Her heart felt as if it wanted to pound out of her chest. He nodded once at her, eyes serious.

  With an effort that bordered pain, she forced one leg to come up. It shook so badly that her entire body trembled with it. The ankle touched the top of the log, and she pushed that leg the rest of the way over, sliding her body upward with it. Knuckles white with tension, her hands loosened their grip just enough to get her body into position on the opposite side.

  “Now, for the love of God,” the sergeant said, “don’t look anywhere but at the logs in front of you. Just start climbing down. Feel for the next log with a foot…there you go.”

  Once she had established the stance she needed, Minerva’s confidence began to return. She even managed a nervous smile at him. The sergeant nodded again, and pointed at her face.

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  “Now get your sorry ass down from my obstacle!”

  The kindness was dished out in only microscopic increments, and only in the moments necessary. It was enough to keep the kids going, though. Morsels that fed their internal desire to please the instructors as much to prove to themselves that they were capable.

  Minerva finally reached the ground, and took a second to collect her wits, leaning on her knees. Above her the other three were topping the tower, and starting down. It looked like one of the other kids was struggling with fear as she had. Ecu and Lunk paused, wanting to help, but the sergeant would not allow it. This run was for individual baselines. Reluctantly, the pair kept descending while Minerva watched. The D.I. tried to encourage the kid, then resorted to threats, followed by out-right screeching.

  The kid finally began to move. A shaking leg felt around for the next lowest log, found it, and he started to bring his weight down.

  The foot slipped from the edge of the log. The uppermost foothold log. The kid screamed with a terror that cut across the entire course. Heads turned from every direction as the boy fell, arms flailing, shrieking all the way down.

  He hit neck-first, on his back, scant inches from Minerva’s feet. The horrible snap sounded like a dry twig breaking in half. He convulsed for a moment, his eyes rolling back into his head, then lie still in front of her. So very still.

  Minerva was screaming when the D.I. on the tower blew a long, sharp blast from his whistle, bringing all motion on the course to a halt. Other D.I.s left their stations, and came running. They shouldered her out of the way as they knelt over the boy, gingerly feeling for a pulse, checking for breathing. The D.I.s traded knowing looks. They stood, hands on their hips, looking down at the motionless body.

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  By then, Ecu, and Lunk had climbed the rest of the way down, and stood at the fringe of the instructors, looking on in silent horror.

  “Shit.” One of the sergeants stated flatly. Nothing else needed to be said. That curse told it all. Another tragic accident.

  Lunk then did the absolute unexpected. The gentle giant eased his way into the circle of instructors, knelt down, and scooped the kid up in his arms. He gently positioned the dead-weight over his thick neck to better carry him. The sergeants gawked at his bold intrusion with a mix of surprise, and barely concealed anger.

  “What in the sweet name of creation do you think you’re doing, Recruit?” One of them demanded.

  Without pause, Lunk looked at the sergeant, his face neutral.

  “No marine is left behind, Drill Sergeant.” He replied softly.

  Under the shocked scrutiny of seven instructors, Lunk then returned to the course, and continued on while carrying his fallen squad mate. Minerva and Ecu looked at one another, impressed. Ecu took her by the elbow, and tugged. The two of them followed Lunk as recruits from the section of the course behind them joined in. The D.I.’s watched, silent.

  From a short distance away, the massive form of Master Sergeant Ford stood atop a rise in the terrain, arms folded across his chest, observing the reactions of his company with a look of approval.

  “There’s something about this batch.”

  This came from Sergeant Bri, who had come up alongside him. Ford nodded in agreement.

  “I know. They’re hungry. I saw it in their eyes this morning. Especially those three.”

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  Bri followed his gaze, “Carreno, Ecu, and the kid they call Lunk.”

  Ford nodded again, “Some marines are born. Keep an eye on that trio. Keep them frosty.”

  It was Bri’s turn to nod.

  The kids completed the course together as a company. Their baseline times were shot to hell, but that could be over-looked. Something far more important had taken place, and incredibly early in the training phase. They were already thinking like a team.

  There was no funeral service afterward.

  No mention of what had happened at all, other than a terse reminder that basic training was going to be dangerous, and that people might not make it through. Sergeant Bri marched the company to the chow hall for dinner, then returned to the quiet of the squad bay.

  Master Sergeant Ford was in his office, feet up on his desk, smoking one his cigars that reminded Bri of a rolled-up dog turd. The senior instructor looked at him as he entered the office, blowing smoke rings into the air.

  Bri stepped over to where they had a make-shift kitchenette, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  “Damned shame about today,” he offered.

  Ford did not reply, instead absently studying his cigar. He tapped some ashes into an empty ammunition box beside his desk.

  The Attayan sipped at the brew, winced, “By the Creator! How old is this stuff?”

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  “Yesterday’s,” his boss answered flatly.

  Bri frowned at it, shivered, and took another sip anyway.

  “How many does this make for you?” Ford asked him. “Recruits killed in training, I mean.”

  Bri thought for a moment, “Twelve companies in three years, I’ve seen at least one in each group.” He shrugged, staring into the dark liquid in his mug. “I wouldn’t say that I’ve gotten used to them, but after the first few, it stopped bothering me so much.”

  Ford took a drag, letting the smoke bellow from his nostrils, “I’ve been a D.I. for going on eight years, now. You know how many recruits I lost in that time?”

  Bri shook his head. This was the first training group that he had been assigned to with Ford.

  The master sergeant cupped his finger to his thumb, making a zero.

  “I’ve seen a few wash-outs. Kids that either couldn’t make the physical standards, or get beyond momma’s apron strings, but not one death. Those aren’t numbers that I’m willing to live with.”

  Impressed, Bri’s eyebrows went up. It was an unspoken standard that there would likely be one or two inadvertent fatalities in training. It was the nature of the beast. Basic was dangerous, as was every training and refresher phase beyond it. He had heard rumors of Ford’s perfect record, but had dismissed them as scuttlebutt. It seemed that every base had one person that was supposed to be some kind of a legend. Camp Madison had Ford.

  Changing the subject, Bri strolled over toward the bulletin board, his eyes flitting over the newest memos tacked to it.

  “It’s getting tense with Storia, I hear.”

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  Ford chuffed, something halfway between a laugh, and a snort of disgust, “Tense? That crazy S.O.B. Grozet is pulling the entire system toward a war. Our first real war, Bri. Not just some half-assed police action on a colony somewhere.”

  Bri leaned against the wall, holding his mug in both hands, slowly turning it round and round, “We should have our numbers bulked up by the time it becomes real.”

  The master sergeant looked unconvinced, “The Storians are going to hand us our own asses, Bri. We’ve lost our touch. Too many years of peace. Do you realize the commanding generals are researching historic archives just to get an understanding of what to do?”

  “How much time do you think we have left?”

  Ford sighed, chewing on the end of his stub, “Not enough.”

  That evening, after lights-out, Minerva buried her face into her pillow, and allowed herself to have the first real cry since leaving home. She missed her parents, her room; the simple things like going to the root beer stand after school. She cried for Sasha, and that poor boy that had died in front of her that day. Most of all, she simply cried for herself. Buried pain rose from the depths, and poured from her. Her body wracked with muffled sobs.

  After a while, feeling somehow cleansed, she drifted into a healing, dreamless sleep.

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  Six

  The Silent Dead

  Camp Madison UEMC Recruit Training Depot

  Week 4, Training Day 30

  Minerva finished brushing her teeth, and spat into the sink.

  After rinsing, she looked at herself in the mirror, scarcely recognizing her reflection. Her body had grown firm, and muscled over the past month---almost to the point of appearing unfeminine. She had quite a tan from all of the hours spent outside doing P.T. every day. P.T., marching drill, miles-long hikes. Her arms, legs, torso, even her neck were bastions of strength. The only things that even resembled the girl she remembered were her breasts, and her hair that was ever so gradually making its way back to her shoulders.

  This new look did not necessarily bother her, though. She was now able to power through the P.T. with only nominal effort, where in the beginning, it had tried its best to destroy her.

  Behind, Ecu stepped from beneath a shower head, closing the valve, and reaching for a towel. The Attayan began the arduous task of drying her fur, which covered her from top to bottom. She, too, rippled with toned muscle.

  “You know we’re going to play heck trying to ever get a date again,” Minerva told her, only half-joking. “We look like body-builders. Look at these veins!” She flexed her forearm, making them pop out.

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  Ecu snorted, striking a pose, “Fur hides veins. At least I’m still sexy.”

  “Feline.”

  “Smoothy.”

  Both were considered to be racial slurs, but the rough bantering had become the norm among the recruits of Company 19. Hardship, and relentless training brought the kids together in a bond that allowed for such play. Comments like that from an outsider would bring violence in a heartbeat.

  Sergeant Bri stepped into the shower room, as nonplussed at seeing the recruits unclothed as they had become to seeing one another. Privacy was a luxury long forgotten.

  “Okay, boys and girls!” Bri greeted cheerfully. “No P.T. this morning! Uniform of the day is fatigues, with no belts! Formation in four minutes!”

  He spun on a heel, and left the kids looking at one another in mild wonder. No belts?

  Minerva shrugged it off, tapping her toothbrush dry, and heading for the squad bay to get dressed. She had learned to stop second-guessing things, and simply go with the flow.

  Ecu harrumphed. “Well, at least we’ve progressed from ‘turds’ to ‘boys and girls’.’”

  Company 19 had earned their boots the previous week, and so took great pleasure in stomping every left step with the cadence that Bri was so adept at belting out. New companies coming in gave admiring looks, which felt pretty darned good. The things that they

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  had endured to get to Week 4 would remain burned into memory for years to come. There had been no more training fatalities as yet, which was testament to their progress in mastering their fears. The confidence course had become playtime.

  Their progression in adapting to their surroundings, and the demanding expectations of their D.I’s was also producing another pleasant achievement. The open hostility and screaming from the instructors had faded, becoming something more like a stern relationship between teacher and student. The kids had learned to pay attention to the little details, respond quickly to demands, and operate as a cohesive unit. Gone were the frightened kittens, to be replaced by recruits thirsty for the next challenge.

  Sergeant Bri led them out of the company area, and across the asphalt parking lot where their induction had begun a month before. The flag-bearers in front held their heads high, feeling proud. Master Sergeant Ford had handed out assignments earlier, offi
cially making them counted among the senior companies in the division.

  Past the induction center, and beyond the apartment-like barracks already filled with staffers and those stationed on the base for support tasks. Past the mansion where the base commandant resided, with its immaculate grounds, and guards posted in front. On toward a concrete block structure that was labeled as the Armory.

  Bri called them to a halt just outside, and the flag-bearers deposited their poles into the holders next to the foundation.

  “First Platoon! Enter!”

  In 2nd Platoon, Minerva waited outside, curious as to what was coming next. She had a good idea that the armory had something to do with weapons. Perhaps they were about to be issued their rifles, and begin training with them. She could guess all day, and never know, so she did what the recruits had learned to do

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  best.

  Standing at parade-rest, with her eyes wide open, she allowed herself to partly doze, catching a power nap while birds chirped mindlessly in the tall oaks above. Ford had gone in with Bri, and 1st Platoon, leaving 2nd unsupervised. There was no longer a need to babysit them. The kids were disciplined enough to know better than to screw around in the absence of their D.I’s. They waited patiently, in total silence.

  Perhaps an hour had passed, Minerva was not sure. Definitely, it felt like a long time. She returned to instant wakefulness when Bri came back out, feeling refreshed, and ready to find out what the new deal was inside.

  “Second Platoon! Atten-Hut!”

  They snapped to attention with the resounding slap of leather boots coming together. Bri led them in.