1. The good, the bad, and the very lucky
The blazing sun beamed brightly on Joe's face as he walked up the concrete steps. He was slightly nervous, as this day was an important one. He was about to attend his first day of boot camp.
Joe Schmoenson was your average Joe. His hair was a normal shade of brown, he was an average height and weight, and he generally wore normal clothing. He had joined the Marines because he firmly believed that he had a duty to fight for the race that he was a part of. He also enjoyed hunting, and killing things made him feel happy. If killing one deer made his day, killing a horde of Zerg would be Joe's heaven.
He made his way into the barracks and looked around. There were forty bunks, twenty on each side, stretching down the long, narrow building that he would be calling "home" for a few months. It was a beehive of activity inside. Men were pulling clothes and supplies from their bags, putting it into their footlockers, making their beds, and putting on their uniforms. Joe found his own bunk and trotted over to it.
He met his bunkmate, Bob Roberts. Bob was a joker, and Joe liked him. They became friends immediately. Joe passed the day talking to Bob and some other people in the barracks.
"I think I'll like it here," Joe thought.
--- That night...
"Listen up, maggots!" yelled Drill Instructor Sergeant McTrebin, "You're all here because you're too weak and stupid to be soldiers. But I'm here to change that. If you survive my boot camp, you will become killing machines! Private Mortenstein, are you picking your nose in MY BARRACKS?!"
"Daah, no sir, boss. I just had an itch," Brutus Mortenstein said slowly. To put it nicely, Brutus was about as smart as an ox. But to make up for his lack of intelligence, he was also about as big as one. Sergeant McTrebin walked up to Brutus, and got right in his face.
"BRUTUS, ARE YOU LYING TO ME?" the Sergeant screamed, having to look up to meet Brutus' eyes.
"Daah, no, sir!"
"Good."
Bob Roberts leaned over and whispered, "Hey, Joe, is this guy a joke, or what? He thinks he's tough. I bet I could take him, huh?"
McTrebin heard the whispers, and marched up to a smirking Bob. "And just what do YOU find so funny, Private Roberts?" This only made the smile bigger.
"Nothing... Sir..." he said, trying to stifle a laugh. He failed. "Baa-hahaha!"
The Sergeant reached his arm out, wrapped his hand the back of Bob's neck, and pulled him down to the ground. "IS THIS FUNNY?" yelled McTrebin, stepping on Bob's face.
"NO, SIR!" he yelped from the floor. The Sergeant removed his shoe from Bob's face, letting him up.
"Now, I expect you all to learn a lesson from this," McTrebin said. "I take this camp very seriously, and I expect you all to do the same. Lights out! I'll see you in the morning." He left, turning off the lights.
Five minutes later, one corner of the barracks was glowing. Everyone looked, and saw Bill Carlen holding a miniature TV. "Hey, would you turn that thing off? I have to sleep," one of the men complained.
"No, they're calling out the lotto numbers. I missed them earlier, now's my only chance. Whoa. Hey! I won! I WON! YES!"
"You've got to be shitting me," someone said.
"WOOHOO! To hell with this boot camp!" Bill Carlen ran out, screaming victoriously.
"Lucky bastard," Joe thought.
--- The next morning...
Joe sat down in the mess hall with some guys from his barracks. He looked around the table at who was there. Bob Roberts, his new friend, was directly to his left. Next to Bob was a French guy named Cecil Bellerose, who had joined the Marines as a medic. Joe could only wonder why he was in boot camp to be a medic. Across from the Frenchman was the gorilla Brutus Mortenstein. Rumor had it that he had killed two Zerglings with his bare hands. Joe wasn't sure if it were true, though, so he made a mental note to ask later. By Brutus was the nerdy Larry Hartmann, a computer expert and professional SCV pilot. He had come to boot camp to "toughen up", since his construction had always been in civilian areas. Going into a war zone, he was afraid the pressure would hurt his ability to work.
"What's up, ah... Joe?" Brutus said, struggling with his words.
"Hey, Brutus. How's your face, Bob?" Joe asked, looking at a rather large, red, boot-shaped mark on Bob's face.
"Still sore. I'll get that bastard for what he did to me, just you wait."
"I'm not sure this boot camp thing is such a great idea," Larry said from across the table.
"Why not?" asked Joe.
"It's just... The pressure, and the violence, and the constant yelling. It's killing me," Larry complained. Just then, another guy came by and sat next to Larry.
"Thinking of quitting already?" the new guy asked. "That doesn't say much for your loyalty to the human race."
"And just who the hell might you be?" Joe asked.
"Name's Jack Smith. I'm moving to your barracks now because apparently, some idiot ran out screaming and didn't come back."
"Bill? He won the lottery. So I guess you're his replacement?"
"Replacement? I'd call it an upgrade. Someone who ditches their duty for some money doesn't deserve to be in the Marines anyway."
"And just what exactly qualifies you to be here?"
"You know what? This is a waste of time," Jack said, stood up, then left.
"What an ass," Joe said. Everyone around the table agreed.
--- That night...
Everyone had just gotten into their bunks, and the lights were out. Joe was thinking about how much he hated boot camp so far. Bob Roberts, from the top bunk said down to Joe "Hey, did you hear?"
"Hear what?"
"That Bill Carlen guy never actually won the lotto. He just misread his ticket or something. He's back here now."
"So? What's your point?"
Bob's voice lowered a bit in volume. "That guy, Jack Smith. He's staying in our barracks, and the Carlen guy is somewhere else now."
"What? That's bull. Why can't they send him somewhere else?"
"It's just easier to keep him here than switch again, I guess."
Joe sighed. He could already tell that, as bad as it already was, it was all going downhill. He suddenly regretted being such a patriot, and wanted to just go home.