This is wrong. I knew it was part of my job, and I had to do it, but it was just wrong. I loved the fire nation; their youth, their people, the environment. I just didn't like the government. I understood what my duty was, but every man has their own destiny, no matter what they should or shouldn't do.
My name is Kento. I am a first-string fire nation soldier under the command of Captain Muran. Each day, I go under his wing and train alongside with him; along with 49 other soldiers. I joined because I loved my kingdom. But when time passed by, I learned that the kingdom I knew wasn't what I thought it was. Of course, my story didn't start here.
Chapter 1: Joining the Squad
I walked up the bridge and entered the isolated courtyard, where bulk and muscular men were enlisting. I approached an empty stall as I felt the drafter there examine me with his eyes.
"Name?" he asked, in a monotone voice that was very deep.
"Kento," I answered.
"Can you firebend?"
"Yes, sir," I answered again.
"Where are you coming from?"
"Here."
"Here?"
"The fire nation."
"Exactly."
The drafter was writing very sharply. When he was done, he gave me a piece of paper with some information on it and said, "You will meet back at this courtyard with some firebending instructors and they will lead you to the conditioning camp. If you survive it, you will become an enforcer of this kingdom." I took the paper from his hand. "IF you survive."
If I survived? That stirred up many thoughts in my head. What will we have to do in such a camp? Run endlessly? Increase muscle endurance in a rapid fashion?
I waited for the next few days for a message to come to me for the meeting at the courtyard. Once it did, I gathered my canteen, a bag, and a pair of extra clothes. Then I remembered that this was a tough man's zone; conditioning camp. I didn't care. If they told me to scrap the bag and extra clothes, then I will.
I arrived at the courtyard. The air was very moist and sticky. I knew that this was going to be a long walk to the camp. We gathered in organized forms: three sections with 25 people in each section. There were exactly 75 people. We began the walk and I was amazed at how the landscape changed so quickly. They went from trees to mountains to plains and back to forests. Observing this took up a lot of time and got our group to the camp faster. "Camp Wingman" was what it said on the wooden arches when we entered through the front. I saw many men there training. Each one had a uniform, but not the uniform I was familiar with. They wore sleeveless white tops with fire-red cotton pants and black boots. No man stood out. They all looked the same. They had the same haircut. The same expression on their faces. The same stance. The same amount of power. The same balance. Nobody stood out. Not even the instructors.
But one.
This instructor looked very powerful and was the only one that stood out. But why? He had the same uniform and haircut as anyone else did in the camp. The only thing was his expression. There was a grimace on his face as he watched the others. I focused on the leader in front of us as he was giving us instructions.
"You are all to report to Section 3 to get your tents," the leader said. "There are to be 4 people per tent, which means 4 uniforms are already set for you. They all look the same. They all are the same color. So don't whine about how pretty or ugly you look. There are other 225 men here who don't feel the same way and don't have a problem with it. Now go get your tents. There are already sleeping bags there. Once you are settled in, change into your uniforms and meet us back at the training courtyard. Dismissed!"
So we all did as we were told. As I entered section 3, I surveyed the area. Not for anything special, but to see if anyone was there. Funny, no one was. And there were only 225 people here. There must be more on the way.
I entered a tent. There was already someone in it. Well, it couldn't hurt to be friendly.
"This isn't taken, is it?" I said.
"Nope, come on in," the man said inside. He was older than me. Two other men came inside, dressed in miscellaneous attire.
"Well, well, if it ain't Oishi," a strong man said behind me to another.
"Blast," another man said. "You just had to pick this tent."
"Or this section, for that matter," the man called Oishi said to the strong man. They all knew each other.
"So you all know each other?" I asked.
"Yeh," Oishi said. "We were in the same squad before our first leave, and we're in the same one again. And in the same tent, too. What a coincedence." He took a seat on a sleeping bag that was far against the back of the tent. "I don't remember you, though. What squad were you with? Maroon?"
"No, this is my first year here," I responded. They grew silent, fortunately for a short time.
"Well, it wouldn't hurt to introduce ourselves, would it?" Oishi said. "I'm Oishi, and the strong guy behind you is Io."
"Pleased to meet you," Io said in a deep voice, which made my chest vibrate.
"The wimpy guy over there near the tent entrance is Kai," Oishi introduced the last one, who was already changed into his uniform.
"There's a changing outpost located a few tents behind us," Kai said. So, the strong-looking man was Io, the standard-looking man was Kai, and the old-looking man was Oishi. Funny.
"The four men who share the same tent usually share the same attack lines, so don't be hesitating to communicate with us," Oishi said. I took my uniform and black boots and went to the changing outpost.
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I jogged to the training courtyard. There was another one parallel to it. The ground was dusty and full of gravel, which was there for a reason. I entered the correct courtyard, which was where I saw Io and Kai dusting off their uniforms. We were organized into five sections; eight people each section. The other 35 people were probably scheduled to train after us.
The time of training came and the instructors walked to the front of the courtyard, where all the attention was given. Then I was surprised. The instructor was the man with the nasty grimace. The other co-teachers were single-filed beside him. He stood centerfront and got ready to speak.
"Good afternoon," he said. He had a firm and strong voice that captured ALL of our attention. "I am Captain Muran. You are to address me by this name, or you may address me as the name 'Captain.' I will be your instructor for the rest of my life until the day I get killed." He walked over to the drawing board that was behind him. "The Wingman Squadron fighting chemistry is simple: we fight as one. Not many, but one. Fighting as one strengthens our attack blows and penetration. We defend as one. That way, if one of you slip up and force your fighting line into unnecessary peril, then you will be stuck with a painful regret which will go along with you forever. So, an equal amount of pressure is put on each soldier."
This man was very difficult to withstand because his chemistry made sense in eccentric ways. I was comfortable with this style.
"Those that were with Wingman last year know our chemistry and have mastered it," Captain Muran stated, "So I shouldn't see the sophomores slipping up. Our defense has changed up a bit, though." He picked up a writing utensil and drew the defense set-up coming out of the offense attack line. "When you break out of the attack line, four men are to yaw to the left, four men are to yaw to the right. You check your sides for any enemies, then you face back-to-back, so each man is defending each other." He drew a line through the middle, separating defensive strategies from offensive strategies. "Our offensive attack line is simple; eight men per line and same attack procedure is performed by each soldier. A quick right blow is sent followed by a left kick attack, a left hand attack, and then side-step to right leg attack." He demonstrated the moves for us. It looked very lethal coming from a couple of easy moves. "Now, this may sound like a gymnastics session, but gymnastics can't burn a man's head off. I have used this offensive strategy for many years, and since then Wingman Squadron has accomplished many tasks and objectives which impressed the fire lord. It may seem easy, but it will be hard. EVERY SINGLE MOVE must be timed correctly. If an interval is even SLIGHTLY off-timing, your attack line will fall. Get into your lines."
The training went on. It was hard, but I didn't expect it to be peaches and cream. We ran, we lifted, we even did breathing excercises, and still, I didn't think of Muran to be a hard-ass...yet.
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