-Chapter III-
0546 Hours R-WST
10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani System, Military Wilderness Training Preserve; planet Reach
Unified Combined Military Boot Camp (UCMB) Echo Sordei. Highland Mountains.
"Get outside! Now - triple time! Get the hell outside! I'll kill every single one of you! You hear me!? I'll kill you all!"
Mago bumbled and stumbled his way towards the exit, getting caught in a tide of arms and legs as every single recruit in the barracks fought to escape outside. There was shoving, elbowing, and pummeling from all directions. Rational thought had flown in the wind immediately, right after the drill instructors woke everyone up 15 minutes ago. In its place came a basic instinct to survive. Mago fought his way through the pack, trying his best to maneuver in the heavy boots and gear he was wearing. In a blur off to his right, Mago spotted someone hit the floor - hard. His first instinct was to keep moving, but instead, he managed to stick an arm out to help the guy up. The name on the guy's tag read J. Doe.
It took several seconds to help the guy get to his feet. Several seconds too long. By the time they both gained their balance, everyone was already outside.
Mago rushed out the barrack entrance into an early morning sky. Mountains towered in all directions, killing any hope of seeing a horizon. Military jets and aircrafts whizzed by overhead, leaving behind smoke trails that criss-crossed far above. Tall comms towers stretched high into the sky at the west-end of the base, rivaling the jump towers on the eastern side. The tall, bulky buildings of UCMB Echo Sordei were embedded within the mountains as far as the eye could see. The base had to be miles long, and it looked old, as if it had been constructed way back in the early days of Reach's colonization.
The cool air felt good on Mago's nearly bare head. Late last night, when the recruits had first arrived, the males had all been given painful haircuts. Mago's hair hadn't been this short since the sixth grade. Normally, he kept it at a roughly moderate length, but now he could touch his head and feel his fingers on his scalp.
The recruits were in formation about 15 yards in front of the barracks, forming a straight line that stretched a long distance. All of them were shaking as a result of the low temperature, shuffling their feet around in the cold, wet grass and looking scared. Mago rushed to get in line at the far end off to the right, and J. Doe lined up next to him to finish off the line.
Somewhere down the line, a DI was pissed off. "I said stand straight!"
Mago glanced down there just in time to see the rabid DI punch a recruit in the stomach. The blow was hard enough to make the recruit keel over. Then the DI smacked another recruit across the face for not looking ahead. Mago nearly jumped - he immediately snapped his eyes forward and stood stone still.
For what felt like an eternity, the drill instructors paced down the line, snapping at recruits and smacking them around. There were cries of pain, and shouts of anger, and shallow breathing. Blades of grass flew around fiercely as the DIs dashed about the line, their movements like constant blurs of motion. One of them walked right up to Mago and Doe, and stared straight down into their faces.
"I told you to get outside, boots. Triple time," the instructor growled.
With every ounce of willpower he had, Mago forced his eyes to stay straight. It took everything he had to not show any sign of weakness. The instructor looked like a grizzled veteran. Scars marked his face, carving up his skin in an almost inhuman manner. His eyes were hidden behind black sunglasses, but what stuck out the most was a burn scar that ran from the bottom of his left jaw, down into his shirt. A cap sat on top of his head, with the words 7 Tours and Counting crudely stitched into the front brim. Which meant that he was definitely a veteran - a combat veteran. Combat veterans rarely, if ever, trained recruits. Because combat veterans were of more use out on the frontlines. But Mago had read that they tended to be several times harsher than the average drill instructor.
This instructor had killed Covenant before, no doubt. Probably some humans, too.
"Why weren't you outside in triple time?" The instructor asked as he pulled off his sunglasses, revealing wide, black eyes.
Mago cleared his throat and spoke up immediately. "Recruit Doe fell down, so I helped him to his feet. Sir."
"Scream!"
Mago repeated the words, yelling as loudly as he could stand.
The instructor took a step forward. What little distance had separated him from Mago was now gone. The only audible sounds were the instructor's breathing, and the beating of Mago's own heart. He resisted the urge to step back.
"Two extra laps on the run. Both of you. Fail my orders again," the instructor paused, glancing at both of them. "I will make your lives hell. Got me?"
"We get you, sir!" Mago and Doe shouted in unison.
After that, the instructor placed his sunglasses back on, spun around smartly and paced to stand in front of the line. The other instructors jogged up to his sides and stood behind him at-ease. There were 8 of them in total. More than enough to handle a bunch of recruits.
"Recruits! Atten-tion!"
Simultaneously, the entire line of recruits snapped even straighter. Nobody dared to do anything out of line.
The instructor who'd threatened Mago and Doe took a step forwards, his hands clasped behind his back. "Welcome to boot camp, recruits! I am Master Sergeant Carlos Ramirez. And this here," he pointed towards the ground for emphasis, "is my world. Where my voice is the only thing that matters. We only have two rules here at Echo Sordei: You do what we say, and you do it when we say it. Period. Just like we tell you at those recruitment stations - any of you who can't cut it will be kicked out of here. No exceptions. We make marines here.
You will learn how to fight. You will learn how to kill. You will learn how to be a marine. And you will be sent on your way to the frontlines - where the fighting's the thickest. You will see death. Do you get me?"
"We get you, sir!" The recruits yelled in unison.
"Speak up!" Sergeant Ramirez fussed.
"We get you, sir!"
"Scream!"
"We get you, sir!"
"Let's get you pansies into shape! Push-ups!" Ramirez shouted at them.
At once, everyone fell to the ground into the ready position. A moment later, Instructor Ramirez led the platoon in exercise.
"Sound off! One, two! One, two! One, two!"
With every shout, the recruits pushed the ground. Mago kept his breathing as steady as possible, despite having to constantly sound off. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. Breathing was key to maintaining good endurance. The other instructors were busy moving up and down the line, checking to make sure everyone was doing the exercise properly. Mago could hear them screaming their lungs out at recruits, their voices like burnt sandpaper.
One of them ran up to the recruit at Mago's left. He screamed something, and then grabbed the recruit by his collar and tossed him out of the line. Adrenaline began to burn Mago's veins as he caught a glimpse of the recruit catching a stun baton to the back.
"You're going to die here, boot! Get those push-ups right, or kiss your ass goodbye!"
Jesus! Mago refocused his attention on keeping up the pace.
"One... Two! One... Two!" Ramirez continued on, his shouting beginning to hit a slower pace.
The slower they did the push-ups, the more burn Mago could feel in his arms. And it wasn't coming to a stop anytime soon. Sweat began rolling off him in a torrent, soaking into the ground beneath him. His ears were filled with screams from both instructors and recruits, like booming thunder. PETQP felt like a boy scout club compared to this. Ramirez was like a machine, unable to stop. Mago had to tap into a reserve pool of willpower and energy to keep from slacking off. His numb arms began to shake from the effort. Either he kept up, or he would catch direct punishment from an instructor. Off to his right, Doe still managed to keep pace, though he was visibly shaking as well.
"Alright! Jumping jacks, switch! One, two! One, two!"
The transition happened in a flash. Mago scrambled to his feet as fast as possible, rushing to get into the groove. His shoulders started to burn, and he began to notice the first signs of wear and tear on his legs. Just as soon as he got into a good rhythm, Instructor Ramirez switched up once again.
"Back to push ups!"
Mago immediately hit the ground. Every pump felt like trying to shove a tanker. The cold weather didn't factor in when it came to this type of workout. Burning fire roared throughout Mago's entire body, like someone had stuck a scalding hot branding iron into his chest. Mago weighed about 64 kgs, but every time he pushed himself up, it felt like someone threw on an extra 2 kilos.
"Jumping jacks!"
Once again, the exercise shifted at a lightning pace, with no pause at all. Those who were slow to the mark were hunted down by the instructors and singled out. Back in PETQP, the trainers hadn't cared if you kept pace, so long as you actually tried to do the workout. Back then, Mago could've taken a break right in the middle of it if he'd wanted to. He wished he was back there and not here.
"Rest!"
Finally, Ramirez called off the calisthenics. For a brief moment, Mago felt himself wobbling on his legs. If they'd kept on for a few minutes longer, then he probably would've collapsed to the ground. That would've been a bad thing - a fact that was evident by the several recruits who actually did, who suffered severe backlash from the DIs. Instead, he fell to one knee and rasped harshly, unable to catch his breath. A roiling pain stabbed him in his chest for a second, and he grimaced. It took him several moments to recover. He finally managed to raise his head and saw a few instructors arriving on scene with crates of small, sweating water bottles. Mago would've began salivating if his mouth hadn't been so dry.
"That's... a damn beautiful sight..." A voice rasped out next to Mago, breathing heavily. He looked to see Doe, sitting on the ground and pointing towards the water crates. "I'm Johnathon. John Doe. You can call me JD," he said, sticking out his hand.
Mago clasped Johnathon's hand weakly. "Mago. Mag."
Instructor Ramirez pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his coal black, sunken eyes once more. Mago got a better look at him. Crows feet gave him an older, more weathered look. He had to be at least 50 years old.
"Alright everyone - we've got some water here. There's enough for everyone; almost everyone. We have 49 bottles. Which means that one of you won't be getting any."
Damn.
"We've set up a little game to see who gets water and who doesn't. See those pull-up bars over there?" Ramirez asked, pointing towards a workout station about 100 yards to his rear. About 10 pull-up bars were lined up in a pit of sand. Bodyweight exercising. "All of you are going to get a shot to see how many you can knock out. Loser doesn't get a water bottle. If more than one of you hits the lowest number, then we'll settle it in a head-to-head.
Now line up! Five of you at each bar! Go! Go! Go! Triple time!"
In unison, everyone scrambled to get to the bars. Mago sprinted to the nearest one as best as he could. The weighty gear that he wore slogged him down and made running difficult. He slipped into line at the first bar, right behind JD. After several seconds of lining up and heavy breathing and screaming instructors, Ramirez blew on his whistle.
"First rank, go!"
JD stepped forward and leaped up to the bar, pumping out reps as fast as he could. And an instructor was right there at him, screaming at him to keep it up whilst brandishing a stun baton. There was an instructor for every station, presumably to keep count. They were busy fussing and cussing at the recruits, snapping at every single sleight that they saw. "You better make those overhands! Don't you drop from that bar! Keep going! Keep going!"
Mago counted 16 as JD dropped to the ground, his arms visibly spent. An instructor rushed over and grabbed him by the arm, yanking him off the sand pit. It took another 15 seconds before the final recruit from the first rank dropped. Mago rotated his arms and tried his best to get prepped. Upper-body strength was one of his strong points. This should be easy cake.
"Next rank, go!"
With a quick leap, Mago caught the pull-up bar and started going. He made sure to watch his breathing and to pace himself. A lot of people burn themselves out early on by going too fast. He also made sure to do full extensions. The sky rose and fell in a constant pattern as he did his reps. No matter what, Mago wasn't about to lose this contest. But he could begin to feel his arms going out entirely. From experience, Mago knew to reserve energy whenever he could. He decided to stop going before he burned out his arms all together.
When he hit the ground, he was surprised to see all of the instructors surrounding him. "God damn it son, who told you to let go of that bar!?" One of them screamed.
"I think that's a new damn record. You think you're something special, boot!?"
"That's how it's done! That's how a marine does it!"
"Now get the hell out of my sandpit, recruit!"
Mago didn't even have time to register what happened before he felt steel hands gripping his arms, forcing him off to the side. A hand slapped him in the back, and he went tumbling to the ground, too weak to keep himself from falling. Cold, wet grass smacked his face, covering him with dirt and grit. For a moment, he wanted to stay like that, but he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spat out a mouthful of dirt, twisted onto his bottom, and saw it was JD.
"Don't let them see you lying down... If you care about your life, that is. But that was impressive, though. You did like... Over 20-something of them."
Several blades of grass were caught up in Mago's mouth. He spit some of them out, but he had to dig around with his fingers to get the rest of them. After a moment, he wiped his lips. Gross but necessary. The pull-up bar had done a number on his palms. Mago stared at his bare hands for a moment, and then looked at JD. "You did 16, so you should be good."
"Yeah... I'm a... Rookie, when it comes to this... I just enlisted a few days ago, technically."
"A few days ago? You don't have PETQP where you're from?"
"More like 15, to be specific. Give or take... Like 10. That's about how long it took me to get here from Luna."
"You're Lunarian?"
"Born and raised."
A majority of the recruits would be from the inner-colonies. The outer worlds closer to the edge of human space tended to have much lower populations on average, compared to those within the heart of UEG space. And at least half of those outer-colonies were agricultural communities, with little standard UNSC presence. Thus, many of the outer-colony recruits tended to enlist into their local defense forces. But even still, it'd been a rare sight for Mago to meet a native of the Sol system. Rumor had it that they were typically wealthy, but also prodigiously cordial. Lunarians were known for being particularly reticent.
Mago had read several books on recruitment and enlistment practices of militaries throughout the ages. One thing remained a constant - those people living closer to the heart of a civilization tend to be the ones most interested in defending it. All the way from the First Peloponnesian War to the Rainforest Wars.
"History repeats itself..." Mago muttered beneath his breath.
"Say what?"
"It's nothing."
Mago crossed his legs and resisted the urge to take off his shirt. Despite the frigid temperatures, he felt as if he were burning inside. Cool weather was a certainty back on his homeworld of New Carthage. Which was a good thing, given the fact that Echo Sordei was located within the Highland Mountains. But it could potentially be a bad thing; as a result of being accustomed to New Carthage's climate, Mago hated hot weather, or feeling hot in general. Hopefully, the temperature here wouldn't rise to a considerable degree.
The next row of recruits finished doing their pull-ups. They stumbled over one by one, and Mago finally got a good look at the entirety of the group. From what he could tell, most of the recruits were young men, much like himself. There were some girls, but not many. The entire group had arrived at the base last night, and the in-processing experience had been expedient. They'd been issued their gear and herded into the barracks, all of it done in relative darkness with no talking allowed. Then they'd gone to sleep. So Mago hadn't really known what was going on almost.
It took a while before the final rows of recruits finished doing their sets. Anysus had been in that last row. Mago spotted him jogging over from across the field.
"Mag," Anysus nodded in his direction. Then he turned to JD and shook his hand. "Yo. Name's Anysus."
"I'm Johnathon Doe... JD."
"What made you sign up for this shit, JD?"
"Little bit of this... Little bit of that... ... Little bit of those..."
"We'll talk about it later then, huh."
Before Anysus could say anything else, Instructor Ramirez grabbed everyone's attention, ordering them to form up a line. The 50 recruits rushed into a single-file line, and the instructors began passing out the water bottles. As they handed out the water, Ramirez spoke to the entirety of the group, pulling off his glasses once more.
"When you're on the frontlines, there are going to be times when supplies are running low," he started.
"There are going to be times when you will have to decide between carrying the last box of ammunition, or carrying the last box of survival rations. Or," his voice took on a more grim tone, "carrying those who didn't make it. Where you're going to make sacrifices; and you're going to live the rest of your life, however long that may be, on the consequences of those choices. You'll be pushed to your absolute limits, much harder than anything we can provide here."
Instructor Ramirez handed Mago a water bottle. He took it immediately and unscrewed the cap, swallowing a mouthful of heavenly water. It wasn't as cold as Mago had expected. And it wasn't much either - not even half a liter per serving. It mattered little to Mago. All he needed was something to pour down his parched throat.
"When I got promoted to Sergeant, my first ground operation came less than a week later," Ramirez continued, heading towards the front of the line. "The UNSC had been engaged with Covenant forces in a long campaign in a distant system in the outer-colonies. My platoon was sent as an attachment to a mechanized battalion; to defend the final off-world evacuation site on the last UNSC-held planet in the system. Sharing a common brotherhood with my fellow marines - realizing that we were all in it together - is what got us off that planet. That each and everyone one of us matters. And sacrifices had to be made."
Mago took a quick glance down the line. He spotted the recruit who hadn't gotten anything - a small guy with a skinny build, and a pair of glasses covering huge blue eyes. The guy looked like he belonged in some HIGHCOM office instead of in a UCMB. Squinting his eyes briefly, Mago managed to make out his nametag: S. Malarkey.
"Eyes front! Right-face!" One of the DIs shouted, and everyone snapped forward at once. A few seconds passed by as the DIs checked the line. "Time to go running," another one said.
Ramirez blew on his whistle. "We've got ourselves a long jog to see the sights. I'll be the tour guide. Anybody who falls behind is spending the night in the Deathfield."
Mago felt a hand tap him on his arm, and he risked a quick glance over his shoulder. It was some girl with an exotic dark olive skin tone that almost matched the fatigues everyone had on. She might've been from a planet with a warmer climate. Probably wasn't used to this type of cold weather. "What's the Deathfield?" She whispered.
"I don't know, and I don't think either of us wants to find out. You'd better keep up."
She gave Mago a smug smile at that.
"Let's roll out!" Instructor Ramirez yelled. He was at the front of the line, leading the way. The rest of the DIs were spread along the line, keeping close watch on the recruits.
Mago shifted into gear as everyone broke into formation. The pace felt much faster than anything he'd done back in PETQP. The heavy boots and weighted fatigues made it much harder. But he still had about half his water left. For a split second, he was about to down it right then and there, but then he changed his mind, remembering what Instructor Ramirez had said, and fell back to the rear of the line, falling in right next to S. Malarkey.
"I still have some water," Mago said between breaths as they pounded forward, handing out his water bottle. "Here."
"You keep it, man. You earned it, dude."
Mago insisted, and finally, S. Malarkey took it and finished it off, tossing the bottle to the side. He held out his hand, and Mago shook it.
"Thanks, man. I'm Sleeshah Malarkey."
"Sleeshah? ... Like slingshot?" Mago asked him.
Sleeshah sighed, "Yes. No. It's like slingshot, but it's pronounced Slee-shah."
"Keep up," Mago gave Slingshot a pat on the back and made his way back up the line.
They pounded on and on for well over 30 minutes. At first, they were running around the UCMB main base. They passed by obstacle courses, shooting ranges, the gigantic motor pool, as well as the mess hall. Instructor Ramirez hadn't lied when he'd said that they would see the sights. The base wasn't built for comfort at all, by what Mago could see. Sharp, angular structures ran the length of it. Obstacle courses were around every single corner; some of them seemed relatively easy, while others looked like certain suicide. Occasionally, they'd come across another trainee platoon; the recruits looked just as miserable as Mago felt. One of the largest buildings in the base housed the indoor swimming pool. It was smaller than the outside pool though, which was reserved for "special occasions," according to one of the DIs. The base didn't have a full airfield, but it did have a helipad station for pelicans, falcons, and other smaller-scale UNSC aircraft.
The main attraction was a large sand pit at the center of the base, about 1 kilometer in length and half a kilometer in width. Absolutely massive. A large sign at the perimeter of it read 'The Deathfield: What doesn't kill you, will make you wish you were dead'. Dangerous obstacles covered it entirely, and there was razor-wire all over it. Shock posts were erected at set intervals all throughout, ready to give a sharp stun to anyone who stumbled into one. There were pits scattered about, with sharp wooden sticks protruding from the sides. Spikes and other hazardous objects covered its obstacle courses. Of course, Ramirez led the formation through the entire length of the Deathfield. Running in deep sand, wearing heavy combat boots and weighted fatigues, was far from a trivial task. Recruits tripped and fell over each other all across the Deathfield. Those who didn't get up immediately were swatted by shock batons. It seemed like forever before they made it out the other side.
At this point, Ramirez began singing cadence. "All my life, the truth I've known!"
The recruits repeated his phrases at the top of their lungs.
"Marines don't hide from the combat zone!"
"I don't need no gua-ran-tees!"
"I just need my MA5C!"
"Killing enemies is my God-given plan!"
"And if I die, I'll have my rifle in my hands!"
"I don't know but I've been told!"
"The UNSC is in control!"
The mantra continued on into the run. And the only saving grace seemed to be the cold weather. The long train of recruits followed Drill Instructor Ramirez deep into a heavily forested area outside the eastern end of the base. The terrain was hilly and generally messy, with huge rocks and holes, mudpits and other hazards all over the place. They ducked past thick tree trunks and bushes with razor-sharp leaves. Mago would've had cuts all along his arms had it not been for his fatigues. Before long, the formation came upon a mountain that stretched up far past the tree line. Instructor Ramirez didn't hesitate, and the formation was led up a trail carved out by countless other foot steps.
The run reminded him of a book he'd read a long time ago, back when he was a kid. It'd been about a cataclysmic war fought on Earth in the early 22nd century. Something called the Third World War. The book was a firsthand account of the harsh training regimes. This was nothing compared to what they'd gone through in that book, and Mago willed himself to push through any weakness.
After several minutes of running uphill, Mago met Instructor Ramirez as he was coming back down hill. Mago focused his attention on trying to make it uphill, though, trying to catch the turn-around point. He caught a quick glimpse of Anysus, who seemed to be about midways through the pack. It took Mago nearly 2 minutes to reach the turn-around spot. He overtook several recruits who were starting to dip down to the rear, losing their pace.
The downhill trip was noticeably easier than the uphill trip, but that wasn't saying much.
As more and more recruits started to slack up, Mago climbed his way closer and closer to the front of the pack. He hadn't gotten to the halfway, but he'd gained ground. JD was keeping up as well, just behind him. The long train of recruits had begun to stretch a considerable length though. A time gap of roughly 4 seconds separated Mago from the next guy. Instructor Ramirez was just up ahead somewhere, and Mago could hear him shouting and screaming at recruits, shocking them into keeping pace.
After going back up and down a couple more times, Instructor Ramirez finally slowed down to a stop, allowing everyone to catch up. Mago was just coming off the base of the incline as the DIs set up the rest area.
He jogged up to where everyone had stopped and barely managed to keep from collapsing. Instead, he slammed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath, almost hyperventilating. His lungs burned like a fiery blaze, and he had long ago lost feeling in his legs. Sweat poured off him like rainwater. From what he could tell, he'd managed to climb his way into the top 10.
Mago spotted the girl from earlier, the one from the warm planet. The one that matched the uniforms, that'd asked him about the Deathfield. Whoever she was, she didn't look tired at all. She looked like she was doing as good as the DIs. It was hard to tell because of the uniform, but Mago knew that she must be in excellent shape. The name on her uniform read K. Ten. Mago could hardly stand, whereas she looked as if she hadn't broken a sweat. Anysus was at the rest area as well, his hands clasping his kneecaps, rasping heavily. Mago wanted to go over and talk to him, but he was too tired to move. The only thing he felt like doing was sitting still and getting something to drink.
Instructor Ramirez walked up to Mago - his gigantic frame dwarfing Mago's. Mago snapped straight and still as statue, and Ramirez held out a water bottle.
Mago reached for it, but Ramirez pulled it out of his reach. He twisted off the cap and poured the water on the ground, right in front of Mago's face.
"You got two more laps, Boot. Up and down that hill. Your little Rookie buddy already got started. Now get running, before I shock your ass," Ramirez said, brandishing a stun baton from seemingly out of nowhere.
Damn.
"Aye, sir," Mago rasped out.
"Say what? Scream, recruit! Scream! I want to hear you scream!"
"Aye, sir!" Mago croaked out as loud as he could, running off towards the hill to start his next climb. Ramirez took off after him, running right next to Mago as he made his way back up hill.
"Scream!"
"Aye, sir!"
"Scream! Scream! I'll gut you like a pig, recruit!"
"Aye, sir!"
"You got three minutes, recruit - three minutes!"
Mago chanted the phrase over and over, shouting as loud as he could. He screamed it non-stop; it felt as if he was drilling holes in his lungs and his voicebox. Finally, Ramirez let him go, turning to head back towards the rest area.
At this point, Mago was forced to shove his fatigue to the back of his mind. He was forced to put aside all thoughts of home, all thoughts of feeling tired, all thoughts of giving up. He had to forget about the sharp pain in his chest. The only thing that mattered was running. It'd been such a short time since he'd arrived at UCMB Echo Sordei, but it felt like he'd been at the base for over a year. If Mago gave in, then he would be proving to himself that he didn't have what it took. Everything hurt, even his nose, but Mago pushed through it.
Mago dipped around the turn-around point and headed back down the mountain, taking in the surroundings outside the base for the first time since he'd been at the UCMB. He'd never stepped foot on any other planet than New Carthage, and Reach was an entirely different beast. Most of New Carthage, around where he lived, was generally flatland, with infrastructure all over the place. But here, UCMB Echo Sordei was situated within a mountain range. Mago had never seen a mountain up close in person before. And there was wood and nature covering almost everything, and even a waterfall. He could see rivers carving through the landscape. Back in Pilvros City, there were only two rivers to be seen - the one in East Pilvros Nature Park, and the other one that cut through the middle of the city.
Topping off the list was the fact that the gravity here was slightly stronger than on New Carthage. It was a slight increase, but it was also slightly noticeable.
Far off to the southeast, Reach's bright K-type star began to creep up past the tallest mountains. Never in his life had Mago seen such a sight. A slow unraveling occurred as sunlight peeled back layers of darkness all over the land, and it looked absolutely stunning. A view like this was completely foreign to the conurbations of New Carthage. He wished he could take a picture of it to send back to his family.
1147 Hours R-WST
10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach FLEETCOM Military Complexplanet Reach
Reach Naval Officers Academy. Highland Mountains.
The Naval Officers Academy was undoubtedly one of the UNSCs top military schools in existence. Millions of credits had gone into the design and construction of it. The investment could be seen in the high-tech classrooms housed within the main building, the Union. Even the student barracks had been invested in. The UNSC had spared no expense in ensuring the highest quality possible when it came to the academy. And it was within the FLEETCOM Military Complex, which gave the students access to top-level firing ranges, obstacle courses, and a full-scale airfield, among other key sections.
The Academy served two purposes: to train cadets in their respective MOS, and to shape those cadets into highly intelligent and creative officers. Essentially, the Academy produced ideal UNSC personnel. Despite the impressive design features of the school, there was no special treatment for the cadets here. The Marine cadets were given particularly intense and unorthodox training, to prepare them for high-stress situations in which they'd have to think both fast and smartly. For some of their potential careers, they'd have to make life or death decisions in the heat of combat, decisions that could either save lives, or waste lives.
In total, there were about 78 Marine cadets. Jane Shepard was one of them.
Jane sprinted forward and leapt out over bare air. The next platform was closer to the ground, only about several feet away. She covered the distance easily and landed into a roll. Coming up to her feet, she turned and watched as the other four cadets - Sparkley, Harman, Amanda, and Viktor - followed behind her, landing safely on the platform.
Up ahead, the platform cut off sharply. Jane walked to the edge and glanced down. It was somewhere around 50 feet to the ground - a very long way. A large pool of water sat beneath them. Falling into that would hurt severely, damage some stuff. And cost the entire team a passing grade. An opposite platform stood erect across from the one the cadets were standing on. It was the same height as the one Jane's team was on, and it had railing on either side like theirs, but it's support beams ended in large wheels, rather than being buried into the ground. There was a rope connected to it that dipped all the way to the surface of the water below. There was another rope on the platform that they were standing on, but it wasn't connected to anything, and instead sat coiled up on the corner of the platform.
"How in the hell...?" Cadet Sparkley asked, his coal black eyes darting back and forth across the open gap.
"We should try jumping for it," Harman suggested.
Jane shook her head as she stared at the two ropes in deep thought. "No, that'll never work. That's not what we're supposed to do."
"Hey, I get that you came up with the ideas for the last ones, but nobody put you in charge. I say we leap for it!" Harman responded with an edge to his voice.
"No. That's a one-way ticket to that water down there," she replied, her eyes still glued to the two ropes as she tried to figure out a way to use them. They were placed there for a reason. Trying to jump for it would only cost the team, and Jane wasn't in the business of coming up short.
"You can sit up here like a dumbass for all I care. I'm going for it..." Harman took several steps back and prepared to jump.
Jane checked her frustration, but she turned on him immediately. "Listen to me," she started, but he ignored her. "Hey! I'm talking to you," she said, getting in front of him. "Look at the gap. That's at least 10 meters. You wouldn't even make it halfway, idiot. So quit this bullshit, and help us come up with a real solution," Jane pointed him in the chest for emphasis.
"You don't tell me what to do. Now get out of my way!"
"I'd love to, but if one of us fails, then we all fail. And I'm not about to lose because of an idiot."
Harman stepped up to her and looked down into Jane's eyes. She met his gaze. Jane wasn't afraid of anyone, least of all some punk who probably wouldn't last 2 weeks at the academy.
"I said out of my way. Move, or I'll make you move."
Jane was just about to punch him in the gut before a pair of hands separated the two of them.
"Hey, hey, hey. Let's keep it cool here," Sparkley said as he split them up. "We don't have much time and we can't afford to be fussing at each other. We're supposed to work together. You know, a little thing called collaboration. Teamwork. Etcetera."
Jane backed off and headed towards the coiled rope. "Well, we need to use this rope," she said, crouching down next to it. She unsnapped her helmet and pulled it off for a brief second, running a hand through her hair.
"I concur, but how to adequately utilize it?" Viktor asked, picking it up and examining it.
"I think I have an idea," Jane said as she replaced her helmet. She glanced over her shoulder and looked Harman in the eye. "One that doesn't involve wild jumping."
Harman frowned and crossed his arms, but he didn't say anything.
"Well?" Amanda asked.
"Well...," Jane started. "It's simple, really. If we tie this rope up to the railing here, we can get someone to swing over to the other rope and bind the two. Then, it's just a matter of getting everyone to cross over."
"I'm down with it," Sparkley said.
"I harbor no concerns with this method," Viktor agreed in his weird accent.
"All I see is a bunch of unnecessary risks," Harman said, his face crossed into a frown. "This is stupid."
Harman was starting to raise Jane's ire. "You'd prefer that we just jump for it, right? Because that's less risky and makes more sense?"
"Whatever," Harman replied.
"I see the simple part, but this's gonna be hard as hell, Jane," Amanda said as she stared into the water down below. "Besides, who's going to be the one to swing over there and tie them together? That's gonna be the most difficult part."
"Let me take care of that," Jane assured her.
Viktor and Sparkley picked up an end of the rope and began tying it around the left-side railing. It would have to be tightened considerably, to make sure that it didn't come undone. At the same time, Jane set about wrapping the other end around her waist, forming a makeshift rappel belt. It fit loosely around her slim frame, but it was good enough.
"Alright, I'm gonna need you guys to lower me. And spot me, in case the rope comes undone from the railing."
They got together and picked up the slack of the rope. Jane sat down on the edge of the platform and prepared to scoot off. She tightened her grip as hard as she could. "Let's do this."
"Good luck," Amanda said. Jane slid off the platform.
At first, she plummeted for several seconds. She gritted her teeth as she fell. It wasn't until she was halfway down that they finally managed to slow her descent. A few seconds later, she reached the end of the slack and hung suspended in the air, spinning around slowly about 15 feet above the water. The rope around her waist had tightened just a little. So far so good, but now she needed to get over to the other side.
Jane kicked out to try and gain some momentum. At first, she wasn't moving anywhere. Her hands began to feel strained from maintaining such a harsh grip, but she couldn't afford to loosen up. It took longer than expected for her to actually start moving somewhere. Instead of relying solely on her legs, Jane threw her entire body into each swing. Before long, she started to feel the burn in her muscles. And the rope around her waist loosened by just a tad each time she stretched herself.
The entire course had been designed with hurdles and obstacles that required both physical exertion and a coordinated plan. Jane had led the team with most of the obstacles. Cadet Amanda Reid had came up with the plans for the rest. They didn't have much time. The instructors wanted each team to get through the entire course within 20 minutes. Jane's team was close to finishing the course, but she estimated that they only had about 5 minutes left. It took her a full minute before she could gain enough momentum to arc close to the other rope.
Jane stretched out as she swung over to the next rope, but she missed by several inches. The rope around her waist loosened even more, and forced Jane to intensify her hold. She swung back in a long arc, reached the end, and then tried to push herself forward as best as she could on the return trip. She extended her arm further this time - the more she reached, the more she loosened the rope on her waist. The more the rope loosened, the more she had to rely on raw muscle power and endurance.
This time, her fingers missed by barely a single inch. Jane didn't have time to waste. She swooped back along the arc once more. This time, she needed to make it work. Failure wasn't an option. She needed to win.
For the final time, Jane swooped back across the gap. At last, her hands caught the other rope. At the same time, the rope twisted around her midsection came loose entirely.
Jane's heart skipped as she almost lost her grip on it. But she managed to hold onto both of them, her arms screaming in protest. If she'd lost control of that rope, then the whole team would undeniably end up losing - it would take too long to recover it to connect them both.
Jane wrapped her legs around the second rope, and hung the next one loosely around her neck. Now, she had to climb.
The muscles in her back, shoulders, and arms started to go numb.
"Come on, Shepard!" Sparkley shouted from up above.
Jane had to pause for a moment to catch her breath. Every second wasted was a second lost, but she had her limits. At this point, they probably had about 3 minutes left. Hardly any time. What magnified everything was the gear that the cadets had to use. It was, basically, a modified version of standard-issue UNSC combat equipment, designed specifically for training. And it was slightly weighted - the legs, chest protector, shoulder guards, etc. But Jane couldn't let that slight inconvenience deter her - she was the daughter of Lisa Shepard. She was more than capable of handling this. Steeling her resolve, she redoubled her efforts and made it the rest of the distance to the top.
The rope was connected to a steel loop, right under the edge of the platform. Jane spun the first rope around her arm, securing it as best as she could, and then hauled herself up and over. For a brief moment, she stretched out on the platform and regained her breath.
"Hey! What are you doing?! Hurry up, damn it! If you screw this up!" She heard Harman's voice shout out.
Jane took the first rope and checked to see how far it would stretch. It was long enough to reach the railings, but there wasn't enough slack for her to tighten it properly. So she got on her belly and leaned over the edge, and started tying the two ropes together as best she could. After half a minute of tightening and twisting, she pulled on the rope to test it. Satisfied with the result, Jane signaled for the rest of the team to come across.
"Go one at a time! And hurry!" She called out to them.
2121 Hours R-WST
10 July 2547 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani System, Military Wilderness Training Preserveplanet Reach
Unified Combined Military Boot Camp (UCMB) Echo Sordei. Highland Mountains.
After an entire day full of raw calisthenics, bodyweight exercises, running, and very little to eat, the recruits had finally been released to the barracks. Hunger had escaped the minds of the recruits during the exercising. It wasn't until they'd been brought to the cafeteria that they'd remembered what starvation was. But Instructor Ramirez had given another one of his war stories, this time about the stress of not having any rations, and in turn hadn't allowed them to eat anything more than a snack. The instructors had made sure to fill in each and every second of the day with something difficult to do. This was the first and only time of the day that the recruits would have something resembling free time.
Mago made it to his bunk, a towel still wrapped around his neck and chest from when he'd left the showers. He had on the standard-issue sweatpants they'd been given, but he'd chosen to keep his shirt off. The temperature was warm in the barracks, and he wanted to stay as cool as possible. He hated being hot.
The beds were all arranged in rows of ten, and Mago's was deep in the far back corner. They were more like cots, rather than beds, providing little comfort. It was all fine with Mago, though - as long as he had a spot to sleep. Everything on him felt sore, from his bare feet all the way to his ears and eyes. Even his brain felt overtaxed.
He sat down on the edge of his cot and opened his footlocker. Everything in it was arranged neatly. The instructors demanded that everything be in perfect order. Mago grabbed a hidden candy-bar he'd snuck from the cafeteria and ate it in two bites, savoring the combination of peanut butter and chocolate.
"I'd crack a joke, but... I'm too tired. Like a motorcycle," Anysus said. His bed was right next to Mago's. Along with the rest of the squad he'd been assigned to.
Earlier that day, the instructors had broken everyone up into their squads. Anysus, JD, Slingshot Malarkey, and Karyo - the girl who matched the uniforms, and had asked about the Deathfield - made up the rest of Mago's squad. They all were assigned bunks right next to each other.
That'd been a brutal process; the instructors had sort of... Snapped. Mago had never seen anything like it. They'd started shoving everyone off to the sides of the room, screaming and shouting and, in some cases, outright hitting and slapping recruits. One of the instructors had lifted a cowering recruit to his feet, then gave him a harsh kick to the chest that'd sent him sliding across the floor. And then, they'd gone berserk on everybody's footlockers. They had dumped everyone's stuff into a giant pile in the middle of the room and tossed the footlockers wildly. One of the footlockers had almost hit Mago directly. Had his reactions been off, he'd have probably taken a sharp cut to the forehead, which would have sent him to the infirmary, which would have forced him to be dropped behind by a week. And then, they'd gone around tearing down all the beds, tossing the mattresses, sheets, pillows, even going as far as taking apart the frames. Virtually everything in the room had been, basically, hit by a tornado. During all of this, the recruits had been forced to watch in absolute horror and silence.
The instructors had only given the recruits 1 hour to get everything set back up properly. Those who hadn't gotten set up in time were made to sleep outside on the ground, where it was both wet and cold.
Mago balled the candy-bar wrapper up and shot it into the nearest trash can. "Let's just hope they don't go screwball on us again," he said, thinking about the earlier incident.
JD was just getting back from the showers, and Slingshot was right behind him. JD was noticeably taller and bigger than Slingshot. But Slingshot's haircut made up for it and gave him somewhat of a tough look.
"I hate this place," Slingshot Malarkey said in his cool accent as he collapsed on his bed.
"Don't be like that, Slingshot. We're in this together. It's just day one," Anysus told him.
Slingshot rolled over onto his side and looked at Anysus. "It's Sleesha- ah, what the hell."
Mago spotted Karyo heading their way. She looked the most relaxed out of everyone in the squad. It'd been like that all day. Mago couldn't understand why she was having it much easier than everybody else.
"What about you?" Anysus asked her as she made it to her bunk. Karyo sat cross-legged on it and ran a hand through her wet black hair.
"Hm?" She asked him, her brow raised inquisitively. Mago rolled over on his bunk and slipped his head beneath his pillow, lying on top of his sheets, trying to go to sleep. He was too tired to do friendly introductions and shit. Rest was all he wanted.
"How was day one? Regretting the decision to enlist?" Anysus clarified. Karyo must've thought about it for a moment, but before she could respond, Anysus said spoke up. Their voices were slightly muffled, but Mago could still hear everything, unfortunately. "You look like you're... A professional at this."
"Well, where I'm from, UNSC service is sort of a tradition - we're expected from a young age to be in the military in some capacity. I mean, that's kinda how it is everywhere now because of the war, but it's special on my homeworld. I've kinda been preparing for this for years."
Mago snapped his eyes open for a second. He knew it. He could tell from as early as that first run of the day. Karyo had gotten through it with a breeze almost.
"Your turn, Slingshot Malarkey - tell us something about you. Camaraderie, and all that," Anysus said.
"It's Sleeshah. And there's nothing to tell," Slingshot said, rolling onto his back. "I was on my way to getting a scholarship to the University of Edinburgh on Earth. A Covenant war party invaded my home system, and we asked the UNSC for help. They didn't help. Covenant hit us hard, and I lost all of my family."
"Damn, dude, I'm sorry."
"Fucking Space Command," Slingshot muttered.
"That's what we're here for. So we can beat these Covenant assholes. Send 'em straight to hell," Anysus said. "You're up, JD."
"I grew up... And I.. enlisted," JD said. He kept the talking to a minimum, which was a common trait for Lunarians. What was a bit weird was the occasional pauses he took in his speech. He might've had a speech impediment or something as a kid. Mago tried to block out the conversation, but as he'd learned in cognitive psychology class, it wasn't possible to turn your ears off.
Anysus replied, "Me and Mag grew up on New Carthage. We go way back, like uh... I don't know, hip hop music."
"Tell us something, Mag,"
"Look, man, I'm trying to get to sleep," Mago said from beneath his pillow, his voice muffled. He was tired, and wanted to get at least a few hours of rest. The instructors would probably explode into the barracks in the middle of the night and go crazy again.