Author's Note: In case y'all ain't realized most of this stuff is property of Namco. Props to them for creating such a cool setting. Also, credit for this chapter's tank scene and the character of Drill Sergeant Kurtz go to the Fyodar Bondarchuck film the 9th Company for inspiration. Great movie, watch it if you can.
-Thank you guys for the support. And sorry for the unnecessarily long delay, I've had most of this chapter ready but personal life problems distracted me. Here goes nothing!
Chapter Two: Renegade
We never even saw our weapons until after the first week of training. That week was probably the worst. Kurtz drilled us constantly. Sometimes he'd wake us up at night to force us to do exercises, or even a night hike into the dense woods. If someone whined or complained, SMACK! He'd punch them right out. If someone talked back to him, they got punched in the gut and get a roundhouse kick to the head, sometimes with an extra stomp for good measure. When he caught us staring at the clock to anticipate when we could finally go to sleep, he punched it in and told us to drop and give him fifty. It rained almost every day that week too. The most miserable seven days of my life.
I got to know the other recruits pretty well though. As different as we were, the only thing that united us was a hatred of our drill sergeant. Apart from Jackal there was also Diego Zuma, who seemed a bit too smart for the Army. As soon as we begun he became our de facto leader by helping out everyone who struggled more than the rest, and by making sure we avoided Kurtz's wrath as often as possible. Sometimes he even took the blame for things unrelated to him out of mercy, especially for screw-ups like Anton and Larry Johnson. Those two were cousins, and neither had any idea what they were doing. Anton was a big oaf who joined to shoot stuff. Larry was completely mentally and physically unfit and joined to blow stuff up. Kurtz always berated them for a lack of discipline, and sometimes even I agreed.
Me, a hooligan named Bill Williams, and two black guys named Kent Jackson and "Osi" Cinque were practically inseparable. We always ate at the same table, hung out together whenever possible, and even took turns keeping an eye out for Kurtz and Robichaud. Paul Robichaud was one of us, but he was a complete stickler for the rules and always sucked up to the sergeant. We all feared he'd be given a squad when this was over. He wasn't a bad soldier, and he was actually pretty smart, but he couldn't relate to any other human being.
A week after we all got here, I was eating in the mess hall and joking with Kent about some of the dumber contestants on 'Osean Idol' when the intercom blared. "All recruits report to the drill square! All recruits report!"
"Goddamn, what is it this time?" Osi groaned. We shuffled out sullenly, but when we got there we had our first real cause for joy in a long time. Sergeant Kurtz stood in front of the weapons storage facility and ordered us into lines. Today we actually formed up perfectly.
"You have survived the first seven days at Renegade, therefore you are no longer useless lumps or turds, you are now maggots! Be proud of that, it's the best you can be until buck private. As a present, you will now be given your weapons!"
Everyone's sullen grimace flipped into a beaming grin. The company clerks began passing out Galil's and keeping record of how many were issued and who got what. I held mine gingerly, like my own baby. It was an Erusian license-produced modification of the Yuke's AK rifles. Same rough finish, same rugged look and excellent reliability, but lighter, better sights, and more accurate. It also had a bipod fitted as standard and and extra five rounds in every magazine. Like my uniform, nothing special in the way of guns, but it was mine. The sergeant addressed us once more. "Take care to maintain and clean your weapons every day. If your weapon does not pass inspection you will be severely punished. Follow me to the firing range so I can instruct you on how to clean and operate your rifle."
I slung it over my shoulder and followed. He said it was lighter than a normal AK, but it still felt like a burden to take it everywhere with me. Bill, Kent, and Osi caught up with me. "Lovely things, aren't they?" Bill said, positively beaming.
"Yeah, yeah," Kent said. "But still a pain to take care of. My dad made me clean some of his guns before. You know how complicated rifles really are? Sheesh, I can't understand how anyone gets used to it." When we got to the range Kurtz showed us every single detail on the Galil, and after everyone took turns taking it apart and reassembling it Kent gaped. "Wow, I was wrong. I love these things, nothing simpler!" He was right. Even a pencil-pusher, or the dregs of society that made up half the army, could learn how to operate them in the field within an hour or two.
Kurtz had us take turns firing down range. I think I did well enough. The next several weeks were no lighter or relaxing than the first, but we gradually became used to the routine. We'd go into the woods, across a river, through a swamp, and up a mountain wearing full battle gear and packs all in one night. In the pitch darkness the bugs would be all over us, and unseen rocks took a toll on our feet. The weight of the helmet on my head was another burden at first, but soon I became so used to it I hardly noticed, just like the bump of my rifle on my back as I jogged. Kurtz had us crawl through the mud under barbed wire strewn with actual pig guts as machine guns would fire live ammo over our heads. If a piece of equipment was rusty or too dirty, he made good on his promise to beat us. Eventually every single recruit obsessively watched over their gear.
The food was no comfort either. Nothing but pork, beans, potatoes, hard tack, and water. Every once in a while we got veggies and a stew of god-knows-what if we were good. I heard it was worse for the grunts out in the field in the Republic of Amber, but I refused to believe those rumors. We slept from 10:00 pm to 6:00 am if we were lucky. When we weren't sleeping or eating we were drilling our asses off. Every single one of us became as tough as Kurtz said we would. Even Larry could pass for a soldier, at least an Osean one, we joked. Their military was often derided for incompetence and it was rumored they took in convicts, bums, and teenagers because no one else would join. I think the real cause for rumors was because they supplied the FCU with nearly everything they had, but seeing as they're doing in this war, maybe the rumors were right. Either way, the NCO's and officers even encouraged us to make fun of our rivals and their allies.
Eventually the commanders organized our barracks into platoons and squads. One morning Kurtz stormed in and ordered us to get up and stand at attention. "Maggots! Listen carefully, any interruptions and I will beat your face in! I have made my suggestions to command and they agree with me 100%!" I felt my heart sink as that probably meant Robichaud the bootlicker would be the platoon leader. "For platoon leader, only the most trustworthy, calm, and intelligent will do. Seeing as you're all nothing but worthless maggots, I suppose Recruit Zuma will do." Everyone stood still in stunned silenced. "Diego Zuma!"
He stepped forward. "Yes sir."
"Congratulations," Kurtz grumbled. "You're better than these other pukes. You will receive a sergeant's training and if you succeed, you will be promoted to sergeant upon completion." Zuma tried to suppress his wide grin and stepped back into line."
"Kent Jackson!" The drill sergeant yelled for this time, "You are to be a squad leader. You will be promoted to corporal upon completion. I will assign five more men to your command. Bill Williams, Osi Cinque, Larry Johnson, Alex Jackal, and Charlie Sharitarish!" I almost sighed at being mentioned last. "You are to listen to this man's commands."
Kurtz continued on and on. Robichaud was also a squad leader. The only recruits I knew under him were Anton Johnson and a weird guy named Jon Huy. There were a couple of other squads formed before Kurtz stopped. Based on our individual results on tests and at the range he began assigning specific roles and weapons. Jackal got a Galil sniper rifle. I wasn't surprised, he once said he hunted all the time at home. Larry got a grenade launcher to attach to his rifle. Bill ended up with a Negev machine-gun. As usual, I wasn't mentioned at all. I was to be just another basic rifleman, basic private.
One day, Kurtz randomly selected Bill for a special training procedure, and ordered us to watch. We went out to the fields as Kurtz had Bill lay down on the ground as flat as possible. While Bill was wriggling to find a more comfortable position, the drill sergeant firmly placed his boot on his chest and coldly said, "You will want to stay as still as possible. This is the test of courage. If you aren't a fucking coward you might just pass." As soon as he said that a nearby Sabra tank revved up its engine, sending a small puff of smoke into the air. Kurtz lifted his boot, and Bill decided that heeding his orders would be a really good idea. As the gargantuan tank rolled towards him, Bill started shaking in fear. We were all praying we wouldn't get up like an idiot.
As the tank rolled over, shaking the ground below us, we let out a collective sigh. Bill got up, still shaking, and made his way back to rejoin us. Larry looked twice at Bill and suddenly burst out laughing. "Look! Our brave soldier over here just pissed himself!" True enough, Bill had wet his pants in fear when the tank rolled over him. We all started laughing to his great mistfortune, even me, until Kurtz stormed over and socked some recruit in the gut.
"Laugh when you prove yourself! Go ahead!" He kicked Larry with full force in the shin." Let us all see how brave you are! Recruit Williams is more a man than any of you. At least he volunteers while you just watch like a goddamn pack of rats!"
I, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, decided to correct the sergeant. "Uh, sir, you forced him to do it. He didn't actually volunteer." Big mistake. A hard fist made contact with my jaw not a second later. A few of the recruits, Bill among them, chuckled at my stupidity and embarassment this time. I went back to the barracks a humbled man. I did the test of courage the next day, along with Jackal, Kent, and Osi. I understood why people were so reluctant. The sound of the engine above you and the tracks tearing up earth on either side was like the sound of impending doom, like it was going to crush me.
That same day, he also informed us of the imending final test the next week. We were to do the ultimate obstacle course. Starting at noon, when it was the hottest day in June, we were to do a hike in full gear through the woods for a couple of miles, then up a steep slope where several other recruits would try to keep us from getting to the top. Then it was the average obstacle course while we were still dog-tired and had to crawl through thick mud under pig guts-strewn barbed wire with several machine guns firing overhead and riverlets of pig's blood dropping all over me much to my surprise and disgust. After the long nightmare we had to do a marksmanship test, without being rested, and anyone whose gun was fouled up by this point was failed and had to try again. People who took too long also failed. If one us fell or had an accident, the ones who didn't help him but could failed. But after we did that we could rest easy. For the ones who passed, no matter how barely they made it. Even Larry, the laziest, the dumbest, and the most hated of us all was no longer Kurtz's whipping boy that day.
There was an even more joyous event the next day. The next day, we finished basic training. Colonel Tryffel had us form up in the drill square to formally congratulate us. It was a hot June 10th. We were dressed in formal uniforms of a dark gray-green that were stifling and uncomfortable in the heat. The Colonel must've felt the same because he made the speech short. We became a part of the Erusian 8th Army, 14th Infantry Division. We were to have leave for 5 days in Farbanti, and for that the whole Fort practically cheered. On the 14th we would take part in a military parade for National Day. I was particularly excited for that. As long as I can remember I watched those parades and they were part of the inspiration that caused me to join the Free Erusian Land Forces. When Tryffel finished his speech we received the FELF 14th Division and Erusian Flag badges that set us apart from the rest of society and completed our "tiger coats."
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I spent the first day in Farbanti with my dad. Catching up on all the things I missed, talking about army life, all the fun father and son stuff. The next two days I partied. On the last day of leave me, Kent, Osi, and Bill got together to have fun in town. We made fools of ourselves at one restaurant and nobody cared. The soldier's discount was more than I thought. Didn't have to bring as much Erusian Foli as I did. The four of us went to a mall after eating and I spent a lot of time sleeping in a massage chair while the others did god-knows-what. Eventually some lady who worked there woke me and said politely, "Sir, you are not allowed to stay in these chairs for too long. Company policy."
I just stared right back at her, as groggy as I was. She said again, "You've been here for ten minutes."
"Been that long, eh? Uh, can I sleep for ten more minutes? Whatever happened to privileges, man, I worked my ass for them."
Now she began to sound impatient. "We have a military discount, yes, but the boss never said anything about letting you take massage chairs for yourself. Will you please leave now."
"Geez, no need to sound impatient, lady. I think we just got off to a bad start. I'm Charlie. What's your name?"
"Uh... Heather? Look, I know how the army works, my sister's in the Air Force. So if you don't leave I'll report you to your superior."
"Hey, no need for that! I just went through nine weeks of hell and wanted to rest a bit. But fine, I'll go. Why does everyone have to be so mean to me? Bye."
"Sorry, I just have to follow the rules." She looked more smug than sorry.
"Sure. See you again!" I smiled and finally left with the others.
The next day we went to an armory in the city to get ready for the parade. Fortunately some lieutenant was leading our platoon and not Kurtz during the parade. I assumed he was back at the fort being an ass like usual. The lieutenant, like every other officer, wore his formal dress uniform with the service cap. The lieutenant reminded us what to do, "Remember to stay in perfect step, look in the same direction. Remember your training and you will do fine!" I snickered at the cheap movie line he delivered as if we were all in combat. "Do not forget to salute the Junta and the Committee members as you pass by. 14th Division, fix bayonets!" We did so. "Attention!" We did so again. "Fall in behind the tanks and march!" And we started marching.
The parade was nothing more than showcase of Erusea's military might. As tensions between the FCU and our country grew the National Day parades grew more and more elaborate. Foreign press was everywhere, under guard of course, taking pictures of the Sabra and T-90 tanks, BMP-3s, 2T Stalkers, and other armored vehicles, jeeps carrying officers, and endless columns of infantry marching as one, like a hive mind staring blankly ahead. In the Presidential Palace's balcony stood all the people in the country with the most power. Anton Verdun, the Prime Minister, was the most well-known and visible in the government. But by his side was Marcus Danial, head of state and the military too. While Anton just waved at the soldiers Marcus solidly saluted them back.
After we got back from the parade an all too familiar face waited for us at the armory: Kurtz. "Maggots-, I mean men!" He said, forgetting for a moment we passed basic. "I have some delightful news. Pack up and report to the bus loading dock. We're going places..." he said with his signature crooked grin.