"Back in '72 the UFS started to push back into the coalition systems and I mean push, they moved their entire fleet into range of the interior until the battle on 202. Guess they were kinda embarrassed they lost thousands of men to five hundred marines but who wouldn't. We were all shitting a planet-sized brick during that time expecting a galaxy sized war the likes of which we had never seen. What we didn't know was that after that battle the higher ups in the Corps promoted the 18th into a Special Forces battalion. Gave them a blank check for everything, gear, weapons, training and even remade their ship the Terragora since they near destroyed it in the battle. Afterwards they sent them out with five hundred extra marines as an attachment on two ships to cause havoc with the Uni's that were scouting for the fleet. Well those Uni's never expected to see the Terragora again so when they see that ship brought back from the dead the entire fleet scampered back to the outer rim in a panic. Tell you something boys, everyone still wonders what five hundred men did to scare the largest military force of our time."
An Intelligence officer releasing information he shouldn't to a group of civilians in a bar.
December 24th 0030 hours Mars
All sense of time had been lost to Watts as he marched in the line of exhausted recruits to their next exercise. His young, muscled limbs now felt like lead weights, his powerful lungs now two empty husks inhaling fire as he struggled on through the raging sandstorm that had assaulted them for the past hour. His senses were constantly assaulted as he progressed through the storm. The recruits had been given scarves and goggles to cover their faces so they could continue in this physical hell. When the storm was seen on the horizon the recruits, already exhausted from the relentless exercises believed the selection would be put on hold till it past. Staff Sergeant Jacobs eliminated any of those thoughts as he ordered them to push through the storm, as the rest of the Reapers saw their distress they smiled a devilish grin.
Visibility was next to none as Watts tried to look through his goggles at his surroundings. The night's darkness along with the constant onslaught of flying dust nearly blinded him; the only sight to see was the flashing IFF strobes strapped to each of the recruits running in line. These lighthouses among the chaos was the only thing that kept them from disappearing into oblivion The Reapers wore no such strobes and moved through the storm like ghosts; their only reminder of their presence around the line was when one tapped each of them on the shoulder every so often to keep them in formation. It was the only gentle act the recruits had received from the Reapers since they arrived.
His mind still felt somewhat detached from his body from the interrogation earlier. Hell his entire being felt like it had been slowly walked through a meat grinder. He only hoped that the eight other recruits left felt the same or worse. Looking back over the previous week he thought about the recruits that had quit, some were smarter, some were stronger physically. One by one though they said their code numbers and were near enough kicked out the door with one of the masked Reapers screaming into their ear to drive their failure home.
He was brought back to the present by the throbbing screech of a Dropship flying low over them; once again the only visual sight was of the ship's flood lights, dimmed by the raging sandstorm. It passed overhead flying onwards ignoring the suffering troops below. Watt's desperate hopes of a pickup dwindled as the engines silenced further in the distance. More than twice he had slipped into misleading daydreams and memories during the long run, tearing his focus from the objective. With no sensual stimuli such as locations to observe or distinct sounds to hear, the mind's only escape from the monotony and pain of this test was to stealthily replace the conscious mind with the unconscious. It was a deadly failing of focus, if it wasn't for the reapers corralling them, most of the group would have wandered alone into the storm to die in this wasteland.
His boots continued to crush the crisp, rocky surface of the red planet sluggishly for the next fifteen minutes until he was awoken from another daze as he ran into Drake's back with a heavy thud nearly felling them both. As conversation was impossible Drake turned and formed an 'okay' hand signal towards Watts. Unable to make any eye contact he just nodded briefly as Drake pointed ahead of them to the silhouette of one of the recruits lying motionless on the ground. The line of recruits halted as two reapers crouched beside the fallen marine; Watts feared the worse as they probed the recruit's neck for a pulse. In answer to his fear they nodded to each other and rose to continue the run, leading the group on, leaving the incapacitated marine to his fate.
His exhausted brain kicked back into action and he ran to the marine, kneeling down to check his pulse, it was erratic but faint. Knowing in his mind he couldn't march away from him he knew his only choice was to carry him. He tried desperately to lift his comrade but with the extra weight his body refused even the concept of giving his legs the strength to try. He panicked as he realised he may have just condemned himself to the same fate as the recruit, abandoned by the Reapers like their lives were nothing. The worst aspect was that he didn't even know the name of the young man he stopped to try and save. Snapping his head around he saw the strobe-lit queue of dwindling hopefuls leave them behind, their lights like his hope for survival dwindled into the abyss of the storm.
Exhaustion and despair gripped his chest like a vice for the next handful of moments, threatening to crush him with its grim reality of his impending doom. In an effort to concentrate his focus and energy away from the selfish prospect of his own death, he began to inspect the fallen marine. He was only given the crudest of medical training when he went through basic, knowledge in how to perform first aid to entry wounds and broken bones. The risk in this exercise was to the legs so he began his amateur diagnosis. Feeling over both legs he analysed the thighs and shins, both seemed inline but the marine woke into life, coughing sand into the inside of his face cover as Watts probed his left knee. Wiping engrained dust from the conscious marine's goggles, he tried to make eye contact to reassure him. It failed miserably; he looked on the edge of a stress-fuelled panic, his eyes widened as open as they could be. Watts leaned down and exposed his ear under a frayed beanie hat.
"Don't move!" Watts screamed at the top of his voice, he regretted it as his throat ripped apart like sandpaper was being shoved inside it. Propping himself back up the marine nodded franticly, his sudden alertness eradicated Watts' sense of hopelessness and despair. This wounded marine needed him and he wasn't going to die on this dust pit like a statistic as a determined rage flooded his muscles with a burst of fresh energy. Examining the knee further the patella bone felt loose as he probed further, ignoring the gritted screams of his patient. He concluded that the tendon below the kneecap had snapped completely, he wouldn't be able to put any weight on the leg at all, as Watts contemplated how to move him he felt a presence beside him. Drake crouched down beside him and screamed into his ear, no doubt tearing up his own throat too in the process.
"Couldn't leave you like this! The troop is still moving that way!" He shouted as he pointed in the direction, his hand struggling to stay still as it thought the vicious wind.
Relief flooded through him as he realised he was no longer alone in his struggle. Watts couldn't even remember which direction the Reapers had led the group into, without Drake he probably would have brought him and his new patient into oblivion. He leaned into the side of Drake's head. "He's fucked his knee! He's awake but we'll have to carry him!"
Drake thumped his fist on his thigh in frustration, after a moment he threw the man's body onto its side and pulled his battle dress uniform shirt off, exposing his muscled torso. Using the BDU he pulled the recruit's injured lower leg and straightened it while he bound the knee into immobility. Ignoring his horrifying screams he began to tie the leg together to avoid further damage and to limit the excruciating pain. After this Drake positioned himself beside the recruit and brought his torso up into a seated position. Wrapping the recruit's arm around the back of his head and shouted into the injured man's ear. "You're gonna have to hop to the rendezvous"
The recruit nodded again, he uttered no coherent words as he continued to groan beneath gritted teeth. Drake raised himself to a standing position bringing the recruit up with him showing an incredible amount of reserved strength. Watts' slung the other arm over him and the three comrades began a slow advance to catch up to the Reapers.
They walked through the wasteland for what felt like eternity, stumbling repeatedly and more frequently. Watts knew within his own mind that his body would soon shut down completely, he hoped that Drake wouldn't risk himself even more by trying to save him too, he already risked enough. What he didn't know was that similar thoughts ran through Drake's head, this experience had created a trusting bond between them, though they didn't realise it.
They could feel the harsh unrelenting bite of the invasive dust and winds begin to lessen, minute by minute the storm faded until the planet's desert tundra was revealed to them. Under a peaceful starlit sky with the unearthly dust storm behind them they could only see three thick fires a few hundred metres ahead of them, they could faintly see the silhouettes of their comrades circling each fire.
Ripping the scarf and goggles from his face Drake inhaled a deep breath loudly while Watt removed his own and the recruit's.
"Jesus Christ!" Drake exhaled. "I didn't think I'd ever breathe fresh air again".
"I heard that, feels a whole lot fresher than Earth's air" Watt added
"You'd think the terraforming would have stopped the dust storms" He motioned towards the fires with his free hand. "Assholes just left us there; I want a goddamn answer as to why." He growled.
"First let's get this guy some decent medical attention, poor guy's been through the worst of it out of all of us tonight. How you feeling?" Watts added as he adjusted his hold on the wounded marine.
The marine coughed roughly as he tried to speak, constantly trying to spit the dust out of his mouth. Being without water for this whole run though left his mouth as dry as the ground around them.
"Water, need water" He breathed his voice ragged and coarse.
"Don't worry we'll get you some. Need to get that leg seen to more importantly. Watts let's keep moving." Drake pleaded as he began to walk, forcing Watts to continue with the recruit between them. "I wanna get a proper break, my ass feels like it ain't touched the ground in a year."
"Same, I gotta feeling though a breaks the last thing we are gonna get" Watts finally added as they traversed the last distance of this gruelling exercise.
0
As Jacobs overlooked the recruits huddled in the darkness away from the portable fire placements he counted through their remaining numbers. Of the nine recruits that they began this run with only six remained. Two collapsed on the way here, he had ordered two of his men to wait with one of them until the resupply dropship picked them up on the way here. The other he left with the intention that his comrades would work together to save him. That had mostly but failed two of the healthy recruits had stayed behind to help him, no matter what happened he strapped a beacon to every single one of them just in case. If they died here he thought. At least they would die closer to home than most marines did.
The third recruit that had failed the selection simply stated once they had arrived that he couldn't go on any longer. His willingness to give in disgusted the Gunnery Sergeant, he had denied them their water ration as a punishment for their willingness to surrender. They could drink until they burst when they were flown back to base for all he cared.
While his Reapers sat around the fires cooking the best rations provided he ordered the worst ones tossed to into a pile for the recruits to fight over. It didn't matter in the end, cold rations were shit enough no matter what kind they were. Their water rations were served to them freshly boiled with only spoons to drink it from. Captain Phillips had called his methods at times 'barbaric' but they wielded results as he had already eliminated the ones he knew to be the weakest of the group.
As he laid against his rucksack beside the roaring fire unit he silently stared at the fuel fed portable hob sucked into his own thoughts for a while. He was awoken from his chaotic daydreams by a rough kick in the boots from Emmett as he crouched beside him.
"Enough dozing you lazy fucker." Emmett said as he dumped his Night Vision Binoculars on Jacobs's chest. "Looks like your little test paid off".
"You do remember the chain of command don't you?" Jacobs chided.
"Yeah I remember but I've saved your ass enough times that I should be pretty much god to you." Emmett added.
Jacobs raised himself up with a heavy groan and peered into the darkness with the binoculars and grinned. "Well those two have definitely jumped up in the rankings in my eyes. Complete disregard for their own safety to save someone they barely know." He lowered the binoculars and motioned towards the loud recruits scrambling over the pile of rations like dogs fighting over scraps. "Those pathetic excuses for marines just left him there with a shattered knee and followed us without a second glance." As Jacobs hawked and spat into the fire, he released a pained feral growl as he stretched his back, throwing the binoculars back on Emmett's chest he stomped over to his Reapers.
"Boys! Change of plan, round up." As he walked towards his men, all raised themselves to attention in an instant, some still smoking and a few bickering over an unfinished card game. They may have seemed unruly to an outsider but these men were some of the best warriors Jacobs had ever seen, honed in intense training and some of the bloodiest battles in modern history. Of the five hundred men in the battalion Jacobs would die for any of them but these fifteen men were his brothers. All original survivors of the battle on LV-202 that birthed the dreaded battalion.
"What's the deal boss?" Smith asked. His best smartgunner and second fireteam leader.
"Yeah c'mon Grim those newbies been left resting for too long" Boomer, explosives expert of fireteam Alpha said while rubbing his palms together.
The air around the Reapers was tense as their collective boredom began to come to a head and they direly needed to vent some of that anger. They had been left brewing in the Pit, the 18th's personal battalion base for two weeks. Returning from a hostage rescue mission on a transport vessel involving pirate smugglers. The operation was a success but Jacobs' squad the 1st, returned missing two of their squad mates. Now their lost comrades' space within the squad was to be filled by two of these pathetic, arrogant recruits.
"They got through the easy part now the gloves are off." Jacobs pointed out. "They left one of their own in the middle of that storm so they're as good as dogshit in my eyes." He pointed to the now empty littered space in the centre of the three fire units where the Reapers were biding their time. "Get your shit cleaned up and start to work on the kids, rough them up but keep 'em in fighting condition got it?" Jacobs commanded.
"Yes Boss!" They replied in unison with a sharp loud feedback that reverberated along the makeshift camp, shocking the resting recruits into an unsteady alert.
The Reapers left Jacobs with Emmett and Smith; his two fireteam leaders. They began a rapid but controlled clean-up of their camp. This was a laborious exercise that had now became a rehearsed ritual among the veteran marines. Very little communication was uttered between them as they cleared up the traces of human existence. After that they began to shout and rage at the recruits, kicking their meals out there hands and in general being as intimidating as they could without causing debilitating damage.
The three Sergeants watched their men silently for a few moments lost in their own thoughts until footsteps from the dropships direction arose their attention.
"Sergeants" Bishop announced as he stood beside them, his hands clasped behind his back as he laid his analysing eyes over the Reapers and the recruits. "Reports from Camp Elder indicate another storm will pass over this area in two hours. I recommend that we extract within the hour."
"Noted Bishop." Jacobs replied. "We won't need an hour."
"What you got in mind for these lads Grim?" Smith enquired.
"I want you two, once the men have finished messing the children about, to make a sand circle in between the fire units. We are going to have a little tournament, let's see how badly they want this post."
The two fireteam leaders sniggered a wild grin, the flash of white teeth contrasting against their dirt smeared faces. Bishop however did not smile, his cold blue eyes only opened wider at this turn of events.
"Sergeant Jacobs I strongly recommend you avoid this course of action, the laws governing selection for special forces groups forbid recruits fighting with selection staff to advance in the course" Bishop stated.
"He's right Ryan besides our lads would probably kill 'em by accident even if they were holding back." Smith added.
"The laws don't forbid the recruits fighting each other though do they?" Jacob corrected them with a sneer of his own that released years from his grizzled, scarred face. "Now enough debating, Smith, Emmett get a move on." As they left Jacobs turned his focus onto the android. "Bishop don't ever second guess my methods involving these recruits again, now attend to the two coming in with the wounded marine. Take Cutter with you, Straven could use the extra company at the ship. Get the two coming in ready for combat within twenty minutes, they can be the last to fight."
"Yes Sergeant" The android replied coldly
0
Humankind's habit of doing violence to their own kind still confused Bishop, even after a three year attachment to the 18th battalion he still couldn't reason as to why such a travesty had to always occur daily throughout history. His internal memory core was filled with a history's worth of data but one thing was always apparent. War.
As an analytical android, the Bishop model was designed to be a source of intellectual support to a military commander and his or her forces. Only to provide information and tactical information, never to engage. A century ago when cybernetics blossomed among humanity they had envisioned a combat model android to replace soldiers in their pitiful wars. The controversy of the subject led to the enforcement of the ban of combat androids in their entirety under the Geneva Convention. At least some humans had that much sense, Bishop thought.
In a way though androids like Bishop still had the power over human lives indirectly. His role as a tactical consultant meant that he would offer his best suggestion over how his assigned marine force inflicted maximum casualties with as little danger to their own marines. His task also was to observe and intake new information and form an outcome. His outcome of the ban was that it had in some way failed; a military force with a synthetic adviser was a deadlier, more lethal one.
His underlying processors brought forth these thoughts as he saw the Reapers preparing the recruits to fight each other to remain in the selection. While he was abhorred by the thought of these exhausted young men beating each other he realised it was it was a good decision. If these men couldn't fight in physical combat how could they cope in some of the near suicidal engagements this battalion has survived.
His attention was turned to the two latecomers who both carried one of their wounded on towards him and the Dropship. Both looked weary beyond words but there was something else that Bishop couldn't place, his only explanation was that they were agitated by being left behind to show so little levels of fear or anxiousness.
He walked over to them to inspect the injured marine, stopping the other two without saying a word.
"Looks like he popped his knee sir." Said the marine on the right, he appeared more approachable than his hulking companion.
"You don't need to call the droid sir Watts, they will never outrank a human."
Bishop's internal archive came alive in his system with the recruit named Watts' personnel file. Such a tragic, all too common childhood to grow up in, Bishop thought. Scanning through his history he stumbled across a name, one all too familiar. He decided to log it for future investigation, now was not the time.
"Bring him over to the ship, he requires treatment." Bishop stated as he turned for the ship.
"Wow all that technology and you came to that conclusion, genius." Drake growled as they heaved their comrade forward.
As they approached the ship they saw a fellow marines with similar leg injuries being treated by two Reapers positioned at the foot of the ship's cargo ramp. The two warrior's mere presence was uncomfortable, their gaze towards the approaching marines was murderous. As Drake and Watts laid their fellow marine, they collapsed beside him, one of the Reapers moved to examine the marine's leg.
"Well if it isn't the heroes of the pussy troop, Straven you think they might give me their autographs." The Reaper asked of his comrade while he cut open the sleeve of the marine's leggings, exposing a horribly swollen and discoloured knee.
"Fuck knows Cutter" Straven paused to look at the injured knee and whistled loudly. He kneeled beside Cutter with a grimaced face. "Shit kid that's bad, you still with us? What's your name?" He said as he fed capfuls of bottled water into the marine's crusted lips.
"Danny" He coughed as his throat reacted to the new sensation of water. "Danny Hall."
"Well kid I hate to say it but it looks like you're gonna be out the game for a while." Straven noted as he probed further around the joint. After a moment he glanced up to Drake and Watts who were still watching him work. "Dunno what the fuck you babies are staring at but Grim wants you ready to fight soon by the looks of things."
Both the recruits' shock flared visibly on their dirt-smeared faces before looking at Bishop as if he were some sort of teacher. They merely wandered behind Bishop over to the bad side of the playground as the teacher lead them away from the bigger, more troublesome children.
"Corporal Straven is right. Staff Sergeant Jacobs has ordered all of the recruits to engage in a tournament to secure further position in the selection. You two are to be paired last as a reward for aiding recruit Hall."
Fighting was not a stranger to the two young men, in fact they both revelled in the act of physical violence more than a normal human should. They were exhausted beyond measure though, the day's events had led to a level of fatigue that washed over their willpower like a tidal wave. As such they spent the next half hour locked into a solitary daze, watching the others fight as the Reapers pushed them on.
The conflicts were bloody; it was clearly obvious these men wanted to survive in the selection from the brutality of the altercations. Not one of the recruits left the sand circle without donating their own amount of blood sweat and tears to moisten the dead, dry ground beneath them. The Reapers though didn't seem satisfied as they shouted and railed for more, their three commanders stood behind them, arms crossed, like dark sentinels waiting to unleash their hounds of hell.
The eyes of the warriors turned towards Watts and Drake, their cries for blood rocked both of the weary men from their daze, to both it had only felt like moments had passed since they first lay down.
"It's your turn now puppies, give us a good show" Cutter ordered as he pulled both of them up with frightening ease. Once standing he dragged them both to the circle by hand, once again they felt like children.
Once they stood opposite each other, adrenaline coursed through their systems, turbocharging their already damaged bodies, readying them for violence. They circled for what seemed like an age, hesitant to strike the other that they called friend. This hesitation angered their spectators, they screamed for contact, blood and pain. Drake answered first as he advanced like a hurricane on his smaller opponent.
"Bruiser, Devon you're the CQC guys who you favouring" Shouted Camp among the throng as Drake thundered strikes into Watts' blocking arms.
"The big guy!" The answered together.
The three sergeants stood silent till Drake disengaged before winding himself. "Praise to the little kid for surviving that. Damn that Drake is fast for his size." Smith commented just before the crowd went into uproar as Watts thundered a lightning fast jab, connecting perfectly with Drake's cheek.
The next few engagements were much the same, aggression countered with swift counters from Watts. Just as he closed in once again Drake swung a kick aimed at Watts' midsection, he countered by grabbing the leg just in time and hammering his shoulder into him. They both fell to the ground, thrashing desperately to gain the better position before Watts rained an elbow strike down into Drake's head.
"Fuck it I'm betting on the little one now, looks like we got a fight eh boys!" Devon shouted as Drake threw Watt off him tumbling him onto the ground before lunging on top of his back to throw heavy punches down on a foetal Watts. After a few strikes Watts had enough and twirled in a blur of motion to scramble back on his feet away from the giant. Afterwards he closed in to rain down his own punishment on the larger man, who to everyone's surprise began to retreat.
As he pushed his advance Watts grabbed the back of Drake's head and pulled it down to land a brutal knee strike that nearly knocked the lights out of him. While off balance though Drake fought through the pain and wrapped Watts within his arms, lifting him high before slamming his entire body onto the ground. Watts was winded beyond measure; his only defence was to weakly hold his arms up trying to block the hammer blows raining from above.
The men around them were silent as the grave; never did they expect such abandon from two fighters so exhausted as they were. The contest was too even to decide a probable victor which made it all the more entertaining to these harbingers of violence. The only movement came from Jacobs as he pressed his earpiece close listening to an unknown voice.
In a stroke of luck Watts grabbed an arm before it smashed against his skull, with all his dwindling strength he pulled the bigger man downwards and begun to wrap his legs around Drake's neck. Feeling good purchase he began to tighten the choke hold, squeezing the life force from him like a snake. As Drakes face begun to turn purple he grew desperate and heaved with all his might.
In an epic finale Drake lifted Watts' entire body still entwined around him up to full height and brought him crashing back down. The force of the impact was felt by everyone through the ground as the two combatants disentangled and lay apart heaving in deep breaths as they felt unspeakable agony.
"Cutter, Straven!" Emmett shouted to the two medics who were back at the Dropship still tending to Hall and the rest of the wounded. Urgently they rushed over to the Sergeant. "Get those men patched up NOW!" He ordered.
"Yes sir" They replied.
"I really didn't expect a show like that, fuck I'd hate to be the little lad right now" Smith commented as they both watched Jacobs speaking to someone through his comms kit out of earshot of the group. "Who do you think he is gonna pick?"
"Not a clue as much as I hate that Drake kid he did a hell of a lot of damage. Just need to see what the boss says anyway." Emmett couldn't help but keep his sniper's eyes locked on his commander watching his all too familiar expressions. "Think we might have an op happening."
"Bout time" Smith growled
Jacobs began to stomp over to them with a face like thunder, his temper was always predictable and they both knew that when it erupted though people usually got hurt badly.
Still though they couldn't help but jab the tiger in its cage.
"Oh god they didn't cancel your Vogue subscription did they?" Emmett chided as Smith laughed loudly
"Why? You were the one that read the articles anyway. Get everyone packed up now. We are heading back to the Pit." Jacobs slung his kukri holster over his back. The eighteen inch Nepalese blade never left Jacobs' side for long, procured from a dead Uni soldier on LV 202. It was his scythe and he was as accurate with it as a surgeon with a scalpel.
"Why what's up boss?" Smith asked
"Someone just arrived on a shuttle that I need to speak to." Jacobs spat out.
"Oh you can't be serious." Emmett added, knowing full well the identity of the person mentioned.
"Yep and she brought Rain and the asshole with her."
"Well there are two good things then, Rain will get to see you and all her favourite Uncles and we can fuck with Mr Corporate in the same day." Smith said as he nodded to the selection recruits. "What about them then? You gotta pick who's going through.
"It's already been decided. Drake and Watts are our new team members."
"The others are gonna bitch about it. They tied." Emmett warned.
"Fuck them. The decision is final; I already cleared it with Briggs. There's a Cheyenne waiting for the others to take them back to Earth."
"C'mon then big man." Emmett said as he patted Smith on the shoulder. "Let's go and break these guys' hearts."
"If any of these lads cry I swear I'll hit them" Smith swore as they walked away leaving Jacobs with his own thoughts.
If there was a limit to how much pain one human could endure, Drake and Watts had reached it and more. They were brought up to a sitting position as the two medics worked on them. No sarcastic comments or insults were voiced as they monitored and cared for them, in an unnerving way they were being as tender as real doctors.
"You are one tough son of a bitch Watts." Drake grumbled, spitting out a large stream of blood on the ground beneath him. He didn't think he would ever have feeling in his face again; every nerve ending flared an inferno of fresh agony with every breath.
"Thanks. Your head is harder than a brick wall, nearly broke my fucking fist on the first hit."
"Ah it's used to punishment. My big brother hit harder than you, he was bigger than you though. Could never beat him but fresh out the gate I'm sure you'd give him a run for his money."
As they were being treated a commotion broke out behind them. The other recruits had begun to argue over their own fight results. Some argued that they should have been paired with another or that they demanded rematches. All this ended as Emmett and Smith approached.
"Right you miserable shits! Form up!" Smith shouted, his broad Scottish accent only aided to sharpen his words and purpose.
Hastily they all assembled along with Watts and Drake who were aided in standing by the medics, once standing Straven and Cutter didn't let go, they kept supporting them, still concerned with their injuries.
"Gunnery Sergeant Jacobs has reached a decision." Smith stated
"Private Drake and Watts are being accepted into the 18th the rest of you are being returned to your units as soon as possible." Emmett added. The recruits fell silent as his words sunk in to their brains. After a minute the silence was shattered as the rejected roared their objections, the successful two were silent among the sea of rage around them. Though the hate was beginning to be aimed at them when words weren't enough.
"Why the fuck should they be picked right away!" One of the larger recruits shouted as he moved to the front of the group. "Look at them, poor babies are nearly dead after one fight." As this was said he pushed his hand forcefully into Drake's face, Drake was too exhausted to fight back. "Just as I thought fucking puss…"
Like a tiger pouncing from the undergrowth a black figure hammered into him from the group of Reapers, flooring him instantly. Jacobs was on top of him instantly, the light from the fire units glistening off his blade as he pressed it into the skin of the recruit's throat. As he swallowed deeply the blade cut ever so slightly into the skin leaving a trickle of pulsing blood. He felt no pain though, only fear as he looked upward to a growling face of brutal violence.
"You're lucky I don't drag this across your throat and leave you to bleed out you pathetic waste of meat and bones." Jacobs whispered as he gently nudged the blade, elongating the cut into a tiny slice across the front of his throat. "I'll just say we lost you in the storm, easily enough done, your buddy's won't say a word either cause they know I'll find them and do a lot worse to them."
"Sir… may I speak?" The speaker was Watts as he stood on fragile legs beside them.
"Make it quick." He snapped
"Leave him, I know you wanna hurt him. Hell if I felt even close to a hundred percent I'd cut him myself but just let him go home, it will do a lot more harm in the long run. He will never forget how close he got. How close he was to being killed and left to rot, he's just a failed statistic on a training exercise now. He's never gonna think he's one of the tough guys ever again."
As Jacobs stood up he wiped his kukri on the leggings of the recruit's BDU and turned to Watts. "Nicely said kid, you're under my command now so here's your first order, shut up and get on the damn Dropship, understood? That goes for the rest of you too."
As Watts sat in his flight harness the reality of events hit home. He passed, above all odds he actually passed. It more hellish than he ever could have expected but now he was one of them, well he was close to being one of them. He still felt on edge around any of these veteran killers, he would only consider himself a Reaper when he felt at home among these avatars of Death. He fell asleep not long afterwards and dreamed of coming home in dirty clothes to his father with a lit cigarette in his hands.