Chapter 6: Day One

Wash's first day of training, and team 7 is already behind.

The next morning our wristbands woke us up at four forty-five, not even five hours after Vermont and I got to bed. I groaned as I tried to sit up, but my muscles didn't want to move after the previous night's workout. I rubbed feeling into my arms and legs before I could stand, and even then it hurt to even think of walking. Next to me, Vermont didn't look like he was in any better condition.

Stretching as best we could, the eight of us changed into P.T. clothes and headed to the track to meet Sam. "I want you all to run the perimeter of the base before P.T.," he told us as soon as we were within hearing range, "The door's over there. You have an hour, so MOVE IT!"

We all started jogging towards the opening in the wall. Vermont and I were lagging, due to aching muscles, but it surprised us that Leigh was falling behind too. As we passed her, I heard her wheezing as she tried to run. "You alright?" I asked, keeping pace with her. Vermont rolled his eyes and moved on, running as best as he could to keep up with the others. Jersey, seeing us lagging, stopped and waited for us by the gate.

"I've... always had... this... problem," she gasped out, "I - I can't... breathe." Leigh was a big girl, with a large chest, who looked as though she had never had to seriously exercise before.

I looked at Jersey, and he nodded. "We'll run with you, alright?" I told her, "It'll be over before we know it, right?"

She looked at me, then nodded, unable to talk. The sand beneath us didn't help, as it made running feel more like slogging through molasses, and the heat, even this far before sunrise, was brutal.

I was impressed by her determination, though. She was obviously struggling to keep up at a pace that was barely faster than walking, but Leigh never once complained. She didn't groan, even when the ground turned uphill at the third side, and didn't try to walk. Running up, she got a determined look on her face, as if she didn't want to be defeated by a mere hill, even when she lost her footing and slid back about five feet. Jersey and I encouraged her as best we could, by talking to take her mind off it or just saying, "You can do it."

In turn, her struggle took our minds off of our own pain, at least for a while. The three of us made it back to the track in a little over two hours, for the eight-mile perimeter. Everyone else was almost done with P.T., except for our squad, who hadn't started. As soon as we got to the track, Sam set our entire squad to the same P.T. that everyone else was doing, which was sit-ups.

My abs ached before I started, so when Sam said that we were done I could barely stand. Leigh looked as if she wanted to throw up, but was determined not to, and I managed to give her a thumbs-up as we fell in line with everyone else in the center of the track.

"Most of you are done," Sam announced, "but Squad Seven needs to stay here and make up the exercises that they missed while waiting for their teammates. Everyone else, dismissed for breakfast."

The other teams all marched off the track towards the mess hall, but the eight of us stayed where we were. I heard Leigh softly say, "Sorry," but I don't think anyone else did. The poor girl looked ashamed of herself, as if being slow was the worst crime she could have committed.

Sam set us to the same exercises as Vermont and I had to do the previous night. We ran two miles around the track, which was easier than the sand around the perimeter, then did push-ups, sit-ups, burpees, jumping jacks, and plenty else for the remainder of the hour.

Vermont and I were almost to the point of collapse when Sam finally called for the end, and Leigh wasn't much better. The others all looked the worse for wear, but were not as bad off as the three of us. We had missed breakfast, but Sam had had crackers and water brought out for us. It was sparse, and didn't come even close to filling us up, but my stomach muscles were too tired to care at the moment.

Our wristbands told us that we had a half-hour before reporting to the classrooms for lessons. Jogging back to the barracks, we grabbed a quick shower and changed into our uniforms. It was a good thing that the showers were on a timer; my legs didn't want to move from under the warm water.

Telling each other to hurry up, we all made it to lessons with one minute to spare. The classrooms looked just like the ones back on the space station, with about twenty desks in a small room. One large desk was left for the instructor, a small man who sat in the back of the room. He was a few inches shy of six feet, with short hair in a military cut. He wasn't much older than forty, but had a couple of white streaks in his brown hair.

Lined up along the back of the room were the soldiers that had taken the transports with us. They wore two different uniforms; half wore the silver-gray of the Space Corps, while the other half wore the black I was coming to recognize as Raider. They stood at perfect attention as everyone sat down, eyes staring straight ahead despite some of the recruits waving their hands in front of the soldiers' faces.

"Attention!!" the instructor barked. The two teams in the classroom straightened up and faced forward, startled into submission by the short, sharp command. "My name is Guam," he told us, "and I will be your instructor in Militant Theory and Tactics. I know you all are tired from this morning's P.T..."

"No kidding," I muttered, earning a sharp look from Ana on my right.

"but I highly suggest you pay attention in my class." Guam walked over to my desk and slapped his hand against it, hard. "I do not tolerate interruptions," he told us, "and I don't think you would like any more punishment work, would you Washington?"

He knew who I was without a name tag or introduction. That, in of itself, was enough to make me shut up, even without the thinly-veiled hint of more exercise.

"Now," Guam continued, "the first thing you all should learn is land navigation. Once a week, starting exactly six days from now, you all will be dropped in the desert at a random point, and will be required to make your way back to base. Some of these will be as a squad, some will be just you and one or two others, and some will be on your own. It would be prudent for everyone to know how to make their way back, so that they don't die out there."

He stopped moving around the classroom, positioning himself at the front with his hands behind his back. "You noticed the soldiers behind you," he said, "Those are the two options for you when you finish these three months of basic. The silver uniform is that of the Space Corps. Those are the soldiers in the Earth army, meant to work as a unit to fight against extra-terrestrial threats."

Ana raised her hand. "What threats?" she asked.

"Louisiana," Guam said, again demonstrating his knowledge of our names, "please clarify."

"Well," Ana said, "the Devonians are the only extra-terrestrial threat we know of, right? And they come from farther out in the System then we can reach."

Guam gave an amused smile and shook his head. "The term 'extra-terrestrial' does not necessarily mean 'non-human'," he told us, "The Lunar colonies and the Martian frontier have both sparked rebel groups. You might have heard of Terra Luna?" Ana nodded. "They believe that Luna should be a separate state from the Earth Council, a country of its own. Terra Mars, on the other hand, is a terrorist group that popped up recently. They think that terraforming and colonizing Mars will lead to the downfall of humanity, and take extreme actions to prevent it. This includes sabotaging the Martian station, bombing the E.C. headquarters, and even preventing the launch of collection ships to the water mines on Triton."

Ana still looked quizzical, but held her tongue and nodded. Guam continued introducing the soldiers. "The second option, for which you must be selected, is the Elite." He gestured to the black-suited soldiers. "By being chosen for this training, you all have shown the potential to be selected as Elites. However, these guys are the best-of-the-best, and only accept those who prove themselves to be up to the challenge. If you aren't selected for Elite training, your bond will be sold to the Space Corps, where they will train you as a regular soldier."

Guam started moving around the room again, coming to a halt next to Sinbad. "If, however, you are chosen as an Elite, you will be expected to work as either a squad or an individual to complete missions."

He nodded to the soldiers, who turned and marched out of the room. "The Space Corps soldiers are leaving today," Guam told us as they left, "but the Elites will be here for today to help Sam with your practical training. They're heading over to the gym now to work with the other teams. You'll see them later. On to Land Nav.!"

The rest of the lesson, which lasted another hour and a half, consisted of compass usage and maps. After the first half-hour I had to fight to keep my eyes open, and my teammates weren't much better off. The other squad in the classroom was doing better, but they didn't have to run eight extra miles and skip breakfast. Vermont actually did put his head down once, and Guam made us all do fifty jumping jacks. After that, we made sure to stay awake.

* * * * * * * *

Lunch was heaven. An hour in the mess hall where we sat down and didn't have to worry about coordinates, or altitude, or the difference between draws and spurs when they look the exact same on paper. My squad finally got to eat a full meal, and put our heads down on the table if we wanted to.

Jersey and I found Sassy at one of the near tables, and we collapsed in the chairs across from her with our trays. Jersey began scarfing down his sandwich, while I put my head down and chewed slowly, my body aching too much to function. Sassy laughed at me, saying, "Now you know not to fight, right Davy?"

I glared up at her, still chewing, and swore. "I've learned to take it outside, at least," I answered, "and my name is Wash now, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah," she waved it off, "It'll take me a bit to get used to the names."

"Hey, look," Jersey said, nodding towards the doorway where a dozen new people filed in, "The rest of our squad arrives."

"Which do you think are them?" I asked, picking my head up off the table with a wince, "and do you think they can catch up from all that land nav this morning?"

"Land nav?" Sassy asked, "My squad worked with the Elites. They were teaching desert survival."

"That's what Sam told us yesterday, wasn't it?" Jersey said, "Half do theory before lunch, while the other half does it after."

Sassy grinned. "Cool," she said, "If you guys are working with the Elites this afternoon, all I can say is don't annoy them. They don't seem to want to be here, and a couple of them were cranky this morning."

"Thanks for the tip," Jersey said, nudging me with his elbow. I was too torn between resting and re-fueling to do more than grunt in response.

Fifteen minutes later, we saw for ourselves that she was right. Standing in the training hall, waiting for the lesson to start, the Elites kept to themselves. As we walked into the spacious white gym, Jersey and I noticed the group of them standing off to the side, talking to each other but ignoring everyone else.

As the five teams mulled in, we filed into the same formation from P.T., where each squad was spread out horizontally in numerical order. "Atten-tion!!" Sam dragged out the command, letting us all come to attention by the time the word came out of his mouth. "Today we're going to go through some rudimentary land navigation," he told us from the front of the gym.

All around us, the white walls changed, showing the desert. I had never seen a holo-court this big before; back on the station, they weren't even half the size of this one. We didn't need goggles or any other equipment to interact with it; I shifted my weight, and the ground felt as if I were standing on sand. The gym's air conditioning even began to match the temperature outside. I dreamed of the possibilities of solar-boarding in here, thinking wistfully of my board back on the station.

"This is what you all will face in one week," Sam continued, "The Ténéré region of the Saharan desert. In six days, you will be dropped off in pairs forty klicks from here. Your only goal will be to make it back to base. This is not timed," he assured us, "but you will repeat this exercise once a week for the next three months. We will be noticing improvement."

"As you do not yet know who you will be paired with, it will be important for you to pay attention. For today, the Elites will be showing you desert survival tactics, as well as going over the basics of desert navigation. Listen carefully to them."

For two hours my squad worked with Angel, a small Asian woman with a brutal temper. The only time I almost fell asleep, which was after we had stopped partway through the desert simulation, she slapped me with the back of her hand. After marching through the desert simulation (not as bad as the real thing but close enough to be exhausting), our wristbands told us to report back to the track.

* * * * * * * *

It was only 1300, which gave us four more hours before the break. The ten teams formed up at the gym, but Sam went among them and pulled out individual people. The twenty newbies that had arrived during lunch joined us, dressed in their uniforms and tacked on to the left side of the formation. We hadn't yet had time to meet our new guy, but stayed in formation while waiting for Sam. The new guy could introduce himself at the break.

The ten individuals that Sam had singled out (one from each squad) moved to the right side of the formation. "Right-face!" Sam commanded us when he had finished. My squad turned to face Ana, who had been the candidate from our group. "The person at the head of your formation is the Squad Leader, and will be so for the next week. We will rotate this command over these three months, to get you all used to taking and issuing orders to each other. Your Squad Leader is responsible for getting the team to lessons on time, for P.T. in the morning, and for drill, which is what we'll be doing for the next couple hours."

"Squad Leaders have the power to give punishment work to teammates, though if you abuse this power you will find yourself doing the same punishments. They will report to me directly after dinner each evening to receive chore lists and to report progress. Hooah?"

"Yes, Instructor!" came the unified reply from all ten teams.

Sam then took all of us through drills, which just involved moving in formation and learning about the different formations the group could use: the wedge, the double-line, and the block formations were drilled so much that by the end of the two hours we could form any of these on command. The instructor told us that we weren't as clean-cut as he expected us to be by the end of training, but we "didn't do half-bad" for our first day.

Lunch had given us a second wind, but we were still worn out again by the end of the two-hour block. Even though it was just marching, rather than the running we had done in the other training, we still had to move quickly to form up. 1500 came around with relief, when everyone's watch buzzed at the same time to signal the end of drill.

Next came weapons and fighting practice, one hour of each. Guam taught weapons theory to five of the teams in the first hour, before we switched to Sam for hand-to-hand lessons in the second. Later on we would get to practice with the actual guns, but on that first day we were stuck with dummy rifles.

Sparring wasn't much better. As interesting as learning how to fight sounded, it was as dull and repetitive as everything else that day. First, a couple of the Elites gave a demonstration of simple blocks, kicks, and punches, before we formed up and tried them ourselves. It seemed simple enough; just throw your arm up in the air, turn left, kick out to the side, turn right, punch the air in front, turn left, kick with the other leg, repeat, at Sam's slow count. Easy.

But soon Sam and the Elites showed us how wrong we were. At first they just corrected stances, but the fourth time that Sinbad came by me and corrected my high block, he stayed to watch me through the next set.

"Washington, you've got to move your other arm down like this," he told me, showing me the position. His arms formed almost a circle, making him look like a monkey. In other words, it looked ridiculous.

"Okay..." I said, trying the block myself. I kept my top arm squared, but tossed my second arm down and out instead of curved. It seemed better to me, and didn't resemble a monkey.

"No, like this," Sin said, pulling my arms into the rounded monkey-pose. I snickered, trying not to laugh as I felt ridiculous. Moving through the other sets, Sinbad watched me for the next time I came back to the block.

I threw my arms out, my lower arm down and out again, and reeled back from a sudden blow to my gut.

"Halt!" Sam called, and everyone faced forward as I tried to pick myself up off of the floor.

Sinbad helped me up, standing me back in position as I wheezed, trying to get air back in my lungs. Sam called out, "Washington, what did you do wrong?"

Sin stood at parade rest in front of me, gesturing for me to do it again. I hesitated for just a second, but then threw my arms out again.

This time Sin didn't hit me, just stopped his hand right in front of my stomach. Grabbing my other hand, the one that had resolutely not wanted to look bad, he held it out in front of his attacking hand in the rounded position.

Sam spoke to everyone. "Don't worry about how you look," he told us, "or else your enemy will find an opening." He resumed the cadence, and I never forgot to do the monkey-arms again.

* * * * * * * *

We were utterly spent by the time the break rolled around. I had been looking forward to it since P.T. that morning, finally being able to take a nap without an Instructor making me do more work.

As I flopped down on my bed, Jersey, across from me, asked, "So are Sam and Guam the only Instructors here? The Elites said they were leaving after today."

"Of course not," Ana replied, "Sam's just the organizer. There are about six or seven Instructors total."

"Still," my friend pointed out, "for a hundred trainees, that's not very many."

"Most of the theory lessons will be automated," Ana said, sitting down without taking her boots off, "and the squad leaders will be instructing Drill; I only have a few minutes for break today before I've got to go learn tomorrow's lesson."

"Ouch," I said, enjoying the feeling of putting my head down on a pillow.

"Yes," Ana replied, "but it's only for this week. You guys will have your turn."

I shoved that thought to the back of my mind, preferring not to think about missing break for a full week. Instead, I asked, "How did you learn so much about this place?"

"My sisters both went through the training," she answered, "Abby is the top Elite in Alpha Squad. Cam just finished training last year, but she's still a top contender. They both are COR borgs," she told us proudly.

"COR borgs," I repeated, sitting up, "Those were the guys that came to the station."

"Well, duh," Ana said, sitting up too as her wristband beeped. "They're the best of the Elites, and are given the most important missions. Including scoping out new recruits when they aren't kicking butt and taking names."

"So which ones were your sisters?" Jersey asked her as she headed for the door.

"You might have met them," she replied, "Ark and Cal."

As Ana left for her duties, I looked at Jersey. "Cal's her sister?" I said, "What're the odds?"

"Meh." He picked up a data pad and started to write. "Small system."

"You're telling me," I said, laying back down and wincing as my sore muscles protested the treatment.

I wasted no time in telling Sassy at dinner, but her reaction was the same as Jersey's. "So you met her sister," she said, "Big deal. There are probably a lot of siblings that got taxed like us."

"Or who volunteered because of siblings," Jersey pointed out, reminding me of his own reasons for joining Raider.

Shoveling food into my mouth, I shrugged. "I would hate to see Mercy go through this, is all," I told them, "Do you think they choose siblings often?"

They both shrugged. "I'm still foggy as to why they chose Ryan," Jersey confessed, "It's not like he's won much consideration from anyone else."

* * * * * * * *

Later that evening, our assigned chore was cleaning up the mess hall after dinner. Ana put me with Jersey to sweep the floors; I think she knew better than to pair me with Vermont again. Even so, with Vermont clearing tables, I think he was dropping crumbs just to spite me. The chore took forever, and I think we swept the same spots a few times before Ana was satisfied.

Jersey and I were both pretty beat, but we got done in a decent amount of time due mostly to his persistence. Whenever Ana was around, he worked that much harder to make it perfect; I teased him a bit about fancying her, expecting to get some ribbing back, but he just turned beet-red and changed the subject.

Ana came by to inspect after we were done, and pronounced us finished. I thanked her and quietly left, but Jersey stuck around a bit to work with her on something else.

Author's Note

I didn't know how to end this chapter. Any suggestions?