Chapter 7- Squad Goals

Barret Wallace quietly followed three burly men into Sabine's office. Barret stood at an imposing six feet tall with a clean buzz cut and a strong jaw - a fighting man for sure. He was silently ushered into Sabine's office which earned him a standing greeting from the man himself.

"Leave." Sabine firmly said. His cohorts left obediently and shut the door, leaving behind an amply confused man and the Boss.

"Mr. Wallace, please have seat."

Barret hesitantly took a seat but sat on the edge, "Mind tellin' me why I'm here Sir?" His veins popped from his head with anxiety. He cracked his knuckles under the imminent tension that was filling the room.

Sabine smiled and nodded his head, "There is something you have seen; we must clear the air."

Barret shook his head and smiled, "I'm not sure whatchu talkin' about boss." Barret knew, but he was in denial.

"The crate." Sabine said sternly. His gold watch reflecting the ceiling light as a small, ribbon of light slid over the glass face in a response to him folding his hands.

"The crate? Seein' crates is my job - see 'em all day, every day. Can't do inventory without checkin' crates." He nervously stammered. He rubbed his short, coarse, black hair with his hand back and forth quickly - a sign of uneasiness. Barret's was the Inventory Shipment Manager at the coal mine and his job was to view the shipping dockets, check the shipments, and give it the okay to ship. Most of the shipments were raw coal; others were natural resources the miners would dig up on occasion. He'd been doing it since he was seventeen years old.

"No, no, no Wallace - you have seen the crate and that is why you here. I have done research - you seen docket, you seen crate." He leaned forward, "You like cat, curious." His thick accent made the words even more threatening, "but be careful, cat dead."

Barret did not like the way Sabine was speaking. He grasped his hands and rested his elbows on his knees; he wasn't sure which card to play- denial or admittance. Wasn't really a fan of the 'cat dead' part, but he took it as a language barrier - which made it sound ten times more intimidating than it truly needed to be. Who the hell says, "cat dead"? He attempted to silence the sidebar of thoughts and tried to focus on the matter as he sat in silence listening to the gentle tick of the clock on the wall.

Sabine leaned back, his brown curly hair bounced with the motion, "I make easy for you. You work for me long time. You are loyal but even loyalty must be tested. You tell truth - I call Myra and tell her you very good employee. Women must know how hard husband work - it would make her proud."

Barret tested him, "And if I don't?" His voice deep and solemn, unsure of what would follow.

Sabine sat with his jaw fixed, nodding his head without a word. After a moment of disgusting silence, Sabine spoke. "Cat dead."

He leaned back into his chair, "Cat dead," he repeated out loud as he nodded his head in understanding. His heart sank into his stomach, which sank even further down into his bowels. He wasn't afraid of dangerous situations - not even a bit. He had death threats before, but mainly from gang members and disgruntled people - never someone as renowned as Sabine. This was some real fucking shit.

Sabine shook his head, "Wallace, I known you and trusted you for years. I thought you honest employee. I have problem with liars." Sabine's voice grew dangerously dark.

Barret conceded. He had no way around this - either way he is a dead man, "Alright! I saw the damn crate! The one full of materia. What gives?! Don't mean you gotta kill me off!" Barret desperately spoke.

"Rule is rule."

Barret's voice grew desperate, fighting for his very life, "What rule?! What fuckin' rule says I gotta die because I saw a fuckin' crate on a fuckin' train? I didn't ask what the fuck the crate was for, I turned a blind eye! I ain't tryin' a get mixed up with nothin'!" Barret slammed his hands on Sabine's desk, earning a small courtesy check with Sabine's men. He shooed them off instantly.

"And yet you are." Sabine smiled, "I make you good deal. I no want you die, you are good employee. You now ship my product."

Barret was uncomfortable with the way 'product' was said. Barret couldn't believe his luck. It was a simple shipment check based on a forged shipment docket, and he somehow ended up opening a crate full of materia. There was no way Shinra was allowing materia on a public rail system - not with all the conundrum with the laws he set forth.

Barret closed his eyes, a strong headache began to form at the back of his skull, "I no want to make bad call to Myra." Sabine threatened, "She is with child, no? Your choice."

Fire sparked in Barret's deep brown eyes. Threatening his life, fine, but bringing Myra and his unborn child into this? Not fine. In all honesty, he was unsure of the angle Sabine was playing. Was he going to kill Myra and subsequently kill his child? Or was he playing the widow and child who would never know his father card? Fear turned into intense anger and frustration as he knew he lost the battle. He snarled his face and turned to Sabine, "What do you want me to do," he added through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with disdain, "Boss?"

"Tonight," Sabine proceeded, "there is product drop near Cosmo Canyon - you and another go and receive."

Barret could not keep the scowl off his face. There was no choice in the matter - even if Sabine was lying and wouldn't hurt Myra, he was not willing to take the risk. Sabine slid him a torn paper with the drop coordinates on it.

"Do not get caught. If do, I know you not." Barret wordlessly slapped the piece of paper and dragged the offensive note in towards the edge. He picked it up and tucked it into a pocket lining his jacket, stood up, and walked out without another word. He stormed down the hallway and went straight home to his wife - wanting to make sure he could see her beautiful face before shit hit the fan.

Zack sat refreshing his email over and over again in the drill instructors break room. It was a small room located within the Barracks with all the necessary essentials for relaxation - a state of the art coffee machine with several different creamers to choose from, a thirty-two inch plasma T.V with a gaming console hooked up to it, a leather couch with the artistic and high quality leather of the Great Glacier inhabitants, and of course, three high-quality computers for all their internet surfing needs. Despite all these wondrous amenities, boredom quickly sank in as Zack clicked the mouse over the circled arrow refreshing the page - hoping for something new to pop up. As if the gods answered his prayers, the door swung open and DI Graveson walked in, a frown covering his handsome face and his green eyes filled with worry. He took his cover off and sat down on the couch without a word, staring at the T.V.

"Uh, you alright?" Zack asked softly.

"Well Sir," he said without turning his head, "I just got word that -" before he could finish his sentence, Abrams walked in after him and slammed the door, his face red with anger.

"Well butter me a fuckin' biscuit and pour gravy on it." He gnarled his teeth as he pulled out a cigarette from his left arm pocket and lit it. He inhaled deeply on his cigarette and began to pace the room.

"Um, did I miss something?" Zack outwardly questioned, taken aback by words chosen by Abrams - a man who seldom cursed, but did indeed enjoy gravy covered biscuits time to time.

Abrams started, "We've lost funding." Graveson shook his head in disbelief, already burdened with the same information from earlier. Abrams pressed on, "The President has decided to pull funding from training and put it towards the War."

Zack stood up in genuine shock, "When did this happen?" His blueish-green eyes filled with concern.

Graveson sighed, "We just got off a conference call with the higher-ups. Not a good sign." He stood up and poured himself a cup of coffee and added an individually packaged creamer to it. With the budget cuts, this might be his last time using creamer. With that invasive thought, he grabbed two more creamers and tossed them into his coffee as an insignificant stab at the President. Might as well get his money's worth while he still could.

"How will we be affected?" Worry dripped from Zack voice as he glanced over and saw Graveson gag on his milky coffee. Smoke left Abrams lips, "First off, they are cutting the drill instructors payroll; many of them will be getting the boot by the end of the day." Zack furrowed his eyebrows at the upsetting news.

"What?!" Graveson exclaimed as he was putting more coffee into his cup, trying to salvage it, "I didn't hear about that!"

"You wouldn't have," the older man spoke, "It was sent in a follow-up email to the veteran drill instructors. They are putting more work on the senior drills and reducing the payroll costs, giving more room for war efforts. Quality over quantity, or so they say." He ran his hand through short, dark black hair that had a small gray patch on the front, "That doesn't leave much room to instruct - we just won't have the manpower." He took a drag, "Not only that, our fuel and ammunition allotment are getting cut by half." His face saddened.

Graveson wore a look of disgust and Zack shrugged. "What are they thinking?" Abrams sighed heavily through his nose.

"There is always VR training." Zack added, "That's how most of the Soldier's get trained."

Abrams shook his head, "They won't feel the heat of the gun under the pressure of the bullets. They won't get the kick-back of the gun when it fires its rounds. They won't get to feel the wasted shell slipping under their collar and burning the holy hell out of their skin. That's the essence of shooting." He gritted his teeth and puffed a breath of air, "Also," he paused, "no tanks."

Zack's eyes widened and Graveson spit his coffee back into his cup, "No... tanks?! That's the best part!"

Abrams snapped with annoyance, "War isn't just about tanks." His voice was short and stern, but that didn't stop either of them.

Graveson and Zack exchanged glances and Graveson spoke up, "Then where the heck are our training tanks sir?!"

Abrams pursed his lips regretting his response as he pulled out another cigarette and lit it, "Wutai." Zack and Graveson dropped their shoulders in defeat and sighed. Abrams sat down on a foldable chair at the break table and flicked the ashes from the end of the cigarette into an ashtray, "Three point five million gil budget cut - who would have thought." The worry and defeat on Abrams face made it clear how catastrophic this was. Abrams hands were being tied behind his back and yet Shinra was still telling him to train the recruits with no staff and no ammunition to shape their shooting, "I guess we can just teach them how to throw rocks at the enemy. Nothing like a good grenade arm, eh." Graveson tried to lighten the mood but Abrams wasn't biting. Graveson turned away and sat at the small table to finish his coffee in silence.

President Shinra and his staff members were redirecting three and-a-half million gil to war efforts. The worst part about the whole situation was, many of these recruits would be the ones on the front lines when it started without the proper gun handling and shooting skills that they should develop during training. The recruits were the war effort and yet funding was siphoned off abroad. The moment grew dark as Zack had to ask, "When do you think it will happen, Sir? There's not much news over at Soldier Headquarters." Even though Zack outranked him, he always respected Abrams with politeness.

"The war?" Abrams questioned coldly, earning a nod from Zack, "Three to six months. Last I heard, boots were on the ground in Wutai and the engineers are already at work building the bases. Deployment orders are already going out the IDTF unit as well."

The International Defense and Tactical Force, commonly known as IDTF, was a large division within the military police that handled international and foreign disputes, a rather fancy wording for war. They were deployed alongside Soldiers and were at their every command - they were the chess pieces for the First Class. Having that unit deploy was a surefire suspicion that Shinra was about to make a move. The worst part is, no one knew when and it could only be speculated due to the confidential nature, leaving every commanding officer and even many of the higher ups in the dark.

Zack stood up and approached Abrams, "Look," he started somberly, "I can't do much about the ammunition part, but I can definitely take some of the training burden off of you and your instructors." He gave a small smile, "I'm no use just standing around doing nothing, Sir."

Abrams concealed joy from his words, "Son, be careful what you say. I'm likely to take your offer. Are you sure you want to get tied up with starry-eyed recruits?"

Zack shrugged, "I'm here – so use me," he added, "Besides, how will I know who's the best if I don't get my hands dirty, right?" His friendly smile was contagious as Graveson smiled at his attitude. Abrams nodded his head and put out his cigarette – already giving Zack assignments to take over.

White phase. Maroon phase. Gold phase. The three phases represented the trials and tribulations each recruit must face before becoming an honorary member of the Shinra Military. The White phase represented the purity of the recruit, the naivety, the virgin. They knew nothing and were stripped of all privileges. The DIs would tell them when to speak, eat, shower, and sleep. There was no talking allowed during this month as it was their sole job to listen and absorb any and everything. This was by far the hardest phase of the three as each recruit must separate with their own individual self, a parting that was long and hard for many. The individual must give up their own ideas, mannerisms, and ego in order to be formed into an outstanding member of the military. Once the self was released, the warrior could enter, thus leading to phase two: Maroon.

The Maroon phase represented the blood that would be spilled building the body and mind of the recruit. Physical and mental training would be brutal as they would be transformed to be an ideal soldier. This phase would give them the physical abilities to outlast the war both home and abroad. Their combat and shooting skills would be crafted and honed by the best instructors in the world. Their teamwork and compatibility as a unit would be tested and shaped as they learned how to clear buildings and rappel from towers. As physically rigorous as this phase was, it was the most enjoyable as each recruit would be able to find their strengths and weakness.

Lastly, the Gold phase. This phase was for the DI's to show off their recruits like the fine gold they were and be initiated into the military world. They would test for placement in the Military Police either in the Homeland Protection and Security unit or the International Defense and Tactical Force unit. Once they were placed, they would be trained for the last month on a specific job according to their own abilities then it was time to either call Midgar, Junon, or an International Base home.

For the next month, the recruits would be in White Phase and at the sole mercy of the drill instructors.

"Can you count recruit? There are seven recruits per squad, can you see that you are the eighth person in this squad?!" The instructor proceeded to point and count out loud every recruit in this squad's formation. The short recruit looked petrified as the instructor stood pointing at him, "Eight! You are eighth! The numbers are one through seven you dipshit. Find your squad!"

Panicked, the recruit roamed through the platoon formation to try and find the squad that was one person short. After a few agonizing minutes and a verbal barrage from the instructor, he fell into formation with his squad - the problem was, the instructor was not satisfied.

"You don't just walk into someone's home recruit. Get over here!" The recruit, all but shaking, ran over and stood in front of the instructor, "You need to knock and wait for an answer!" The recruit kept his mouth from hanging open.

"Turn around and knock. Maybe your squad leader will open the door!" The recruit took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked on the imaginary door in front of the squad leader who was standing in the front of the formation.

"Squad leader, if you are home and are willing to accept this squadless dumbass into your formation, open the door."

The squad leader reached out and turned the invisible door knob and opened the imaginary door.

"Don't just stand on the doorstep and not introduce yourself? What is your name?! Tell the squad-owner your name you uncourteous ding-dong!"

The recruit let out a raspy breath, "H-hello, I am Gerald Haygood." The instructor slid into his face immediately, "That is not your name! Did you not understand the orientation?! First name, This, last name Recruit. Do it again!"

"Hello, my name is This Recruit. May I enter your squad?" The squad leader kept his eyes from rolling into the back of his head. He nodded and the instructor chastised Gerald one last time before letting him settle into his squad.

That's how training was going thus far.

The Junon drill field was located on the grassy outskirts of the military city. Their backs were facing the mountains as they looked onto the beautiful still waters of the ocean, a sight that instilled a false sense of peace in the recruits. The platoon was currently divided into ten squadrons and what was most important about these squads were the tasks and duties that were assigned to each one. The underlying issue with this was that each recruit only knew their squad by the task name and had no idea what each task entailed.

"Now that we are situated, get your rucks over your heads now!" The recruits instantly sped into motion and all attempted to pull their forty-five pound ruck sacks above their heads and hold it. The contest of strength and endurance began. There were many different recruits in the platoon, many were strong, some were weak, but a virtue found throughout them all was the personal determination not to be the first to fuck up.

Six minutes painfully crawled by.

DI Reyes was yelling angry motivational words at the recruits who were already struggling with the rucksack extended over their heads. Cloud's eyes shifted around to see if anyone was struggling. Physical fitness was not his strong point, he knew it would be a journey to get stronger. The few instructors walked in between the recruits, looking for the weakest to pick out. Cloud saw DI Studdard standing in the back eating a tasty pastry wrapped in cellophane. Baer was staring straight ahead with a firm grip on his bag whereas Cloud began to sway back and forth from the weight of his bag. Harley was assumed to be somewhere behind Cloud as he was not in his viewpoint.

Ten more grueling minutes passed – a torture no one was ready for.

Cloud was sweating, his arms were shaking, and his shoulders were on fire. Cloud tried to focus his best to keep his ruck up - but his arms gave way and it crashed to the ground. Cloud gasped and stood still with shock.

And then they came.

"What are you doing, Recruit?!" Reyes was in his face, nose to nose, "Did I say to drop your bag?"

Cloud stood at attention with his fist clenched next to his thighs, "Sir, No, Sir!" Sweat beading down his face in the hot Junon sun.

Reyes took a large breath, preparing for his attack, "Then why is your bag on the ground Recruit!?" Spit flew into Cloud's face.

"Sir, it fell, Sir!" Cloud's exasperatedly cried.

"My god!" Reyes dramatically threw his head back and stared into the sky, "Did it fall from the fuckin' heavens?!" Reyes returned his gaze to Cloud showing pure hatred in his brown eyes. He turned and addressed the entire platoon, "It seems that this recruit has been chosen by the gods because a magic ruck just fell out of the damned sky!"

He turned and blew Cloud's hair back with his booming command, "Pick it up Recruit!" Cloud quickly picked it back up and slowly and painfully forced it over his head - using all his concentration to make his exhausted muscles push the ruck over his head. He could feel every fiber of this muscle fight against him, but he overpowered them with his focus and determination not to infuriate the DI even more. He finally lifted it over his head, his teeth gritting from the process.

"Now, put it down!" Cloud stood for a second as his brain began to process the next step. He slowly brought the heavy ruck down and placed it at his feet.

"Pick it up again!" Cloud cried on the inside and did what Reyes wanted, which was promptly followed by another command to put it down, Cloud followed. A second drill instructor craned his neck to see what the commotion was about and walked over, swiftly joined by a third.

Oh. Great. Gaia.

Cloud was swarmed by three drill instructors all shouting at him, their noses touching his face while he was staring down at his ruck, his arms fatigued and hanging by his sides. One was telling him to pick it up, another was telling him to drop and give him pushups, and Reyes was telling him to put it down when it was already on the ground. Cloud's face dropped as he stared in front of him blankly, defeat slowly swallowing him.

Thank Odin's Glorious Asshole.

Another recruit dropped his bag, that called two drill instructors off of Cloud and over at the unfortunate recruit - and boy was he was yelled at. Cloud was back to one vs. one match with Reyes, "the gods are generous today! You drop that bag again Recruit and I will shove it up your ass!"

"Aye Sir!"

"Open your mouth recruit!" Reyes screamed in Cloud's face.

"Aye Sir!" Cloud yelled louder as he looked straight ahead, not wanting to look the instructor in the eyes.

DI Studdard walked in front of the formation and threw his pastry wrapper on the ground in front of the recruits and yelled, "Why is there trash on my field?! You let your field look like this?! Clean-up squad, get on it!"

Cloud, exhausted from the physical and social humiliation, and six other recruits in his squad dropped their rusks and ran out of formation, heading straight for the wrapper. One recruit bent down and picked up the wrapper. Studdard grabbed it from the recruit's hand and threw it on the ground again, "Where is your teamwork! Why is one person working when all y'all are standing there watching 'im?! Now, the entire squad needs to pick it up and throw it away!" Cloud and his squad shot glances at each other unsure of what to do as they were all exhausted and fatigued from holding their rucks. They gestured to each other with shrugs and all seven recruits circled around the small, offending wrapper and each recruit grabbed a part of the wrapper with their fingers and carried it as a group over to a trash can, huddled together in a circle formation with a crab-like walk, the looks of despair on all of their faces. They approached the trashcan and released the wrapper in unison.

"Get your asses back in formation and don't waste time!" They hurried back and raised their rucks over their head, secretly thankful for the asinine break.

At least Cloud knew what Clean-Up squad entailed.

Zack walked the long halls of the classroom building trying to make it to the class he offered to teach, no, was forced to teach. After telling Abrams that he would lend a helping hand, he got way more than he anticipated. Already three drill instructors were taken off the payroll within the few hours of their morning meeting, leaving basic training in a state of chaos, but that was to be hidden from the recruits. Luckily, he was an expert with the materials entrusted to him as he was very passionate about the class he was about to teach. He walked strong and forcefully into the classroom of waiting recruits who were standing behind theirs chairs, waiting for the order to sit. Upon Zack cleaning the doorway, the recruits were already in shock.

"Take a seat."

The recruits sat down quickly with disbelief that a Second-Class Soldier was in front of them.

"I am Second-Class Soldier Zack Fair and I will be teaching you the Basics of Soldier Physical and Nutritional Wellness. If I go to fast, please stop me - I want to ensure you all have a strong grasp and great notes on the subject. It is really the most beneficial of class that you will take in the White Phase despite what other DIs will tell you."

His face was relaxed and confident, giving an easy going approach to teaching the class, "I am going to go through the basics of nutritional choice to improve and max your performance on and off the battlefield." His wore a friendly smile as he turned to the chalkboard, "Still using chalkboards, huh?" He muttered out loud. He looked along the shelf of the chalkboard in search of the chalk itself. He picked up an eraser that was resting coyly on the shelf, but still there was no chalk in sight. He began to look in the small podium and couldn't find a piece.

"What good is a chalkboard without any chalk?" He shrugged to the class, "Supply squad, find me chalk!" He ordered. Baer and the rest of the squad recruits stood up and immediately left the room on the wild hunt for chalk.

Zack grabbed the podium sides with his hands and leaned with his arms stretched outwards, "Got any questions?" He said to kill time as the great hunt for wild chalk commenced. More than half of the recruits raised their hands. Zack pointed to a recruit who stood up anxiously, "Sir, do you have any tips to share with these recruits concerning getting into Soldier, Sir?"

Zack laughed and ran a hand through his hair, "Well, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news but, out of everyone here, maybe one of you will make it -maybe." He felt the mood of the room sadden and quickly added, "Well, that's what the statistics show us anyway. That doesn't mean it can't change." He stood straight, balled up his fist, and pointed his thumb to his chest, "I busted my ass during basic and was able to go straight into IDTF right after graduation. While there, A First-Class Soldier scouted me and took me under his wing and then a month later - Boom," he clapped, "I'm a Third-Class Soldier. Your rank and position in the military is what you make of it. Keep focused on your goals and don't lose sight of them. If you truly want to be a Soldier, you'll make it happen." The mood lightened - successful diversion.

His eyes expertly shifted around the room, memorizing the recruits faces. His well-trained ears picked up footsteps in the hallway - they must have returned. Six recruits filed into the room, Baer came last.

"Sir, here is your chalk Sir!" Baer extended chalk over to the Soldier, "Blue? From what room?" Zack questioned

"Sir, Room 103 Sir!" Baer responded. Zack shrugged, "I dig it." Zack smiled and commanded them to return to their seats.

"Alright, now that we have secured the chalk. Let's get started with your expectation of physical upkeep." He began to write on the board, signaling the recruits to begin to take notes.

"Your body is your weapon and single most important defense against enemies. How you feed it, maintain it, and exercise it depends how well you do with combat. You must always be able to pass the PT test every week - no if and's or but's - and you should always strive to beat your previous test scores." He paused as he wrote a word on the board: Diet.

He underlined it, "Your diet is your tool to push you past your limits. You don't want unleaded gas in your luxury car, right? Same goes for your body. Classed Soldiers are required to keep our body battle ready twenty-four seven and it is my job to ensure you do the same, even at the military police level – you never know when an opportunity to take the Soldier Exam pops up and you don't want to miss it. Be Battle Ready." He pressed this idea and hoped it would penetrate the recruit's minds, "Alright, let's go through the basics of a soldier's nutrition - open your books to page thirteen at look at the chart."

For the next two hours, Zack covered everything from amino acids to ATP to the food pyramid to bodyweight workouts - the whole shebang. For as laid back as Zack might have been perceived as, he had a pretty good brain on him. He would pause occasionally and watch the recruits feverishly write down notes - something he greatly appreciated - they were listening to him.

"I highly suggest you go through your notes on a daily basis to prepare for the White Phase test. In your textbook there is a food log - you should fill it out every night when you have personal time. If you feel you are slumping and not performing well, check your food intake first and then adjust according to your logs. The body is adaptable and you will need to shock it every now and then, so don't be afraid switch it up you know?" Zack smiled an endearing grin, "Well, my work here is done and it was certainly a pleasure teaching you all." He shut his book and relayed orders, "Your orders are to return to the common area and regroup with DI Reyes for further instructions."

The recruits stood up with a sharp 'Aye Sir!' and lined up along the wall and filed out the room. Zack turned and erased the chalkboard, the blue dusty lines becoming a vague memory of his teaching session. Zack gently placed the eraser down and a chill went through his body. Abrams words entered his mind, giving him a large dose of responsibility. It was his job to ensure these recruits were set for their futures; one two-hour class would not be enough to get the information in their heads. A mischievous thought popped into his mind as he grabbed the chalk to return it to Room 103.

As he stepped out into the hall, a muffled shout startled him from behind a closed door down the hallway, "Where the fuck is my goddamn blue chalk?! Find my chalk!" The door swung open as frantic recruits piled into the hallway at the command of the instructor. Zack raised his eyebrows as he saw one, and then two, now six recruits panic at his presence and tried to salute him while the DI continued to bellow commands down the hall. Zack walked up to one of the poorly saluting recruits, "At ease," he commanded as he held out the blue chalk, "Thanks." The recruit stared at the Second-Class Soldier, but he was instantly brought back to life by the screeching call of his DI. He grabbed the chalk and hastily flailed down the hall and returned the beloved blue chalk to the DI.

After finishing the day full of classes, it was finally time for the recruits to eat dinner, clean the barracks, and turn in for the night. The recruits were shuffling through the food line with their trays making their food selections. They were groggy and tired from their strenuous day of activities and classes and none of their minds could focus.

Being a great mentor that Zack was, he was ready to put the recruits to the test - wanting to see their retention from his class. They were already being barked at by the drill instructors to move faster so he decided to have fun and join the rally. Swiftly, he walked up to the food line and began to get into the recruits faces, "Do you think this will satisfy your protein for the day?! How many grams do you need to be eating to maintain your macros?!"

Every single jaw was on the floor. The drill instructors tightened their mouths to hide their smiles. This was the first time a Soldier ever smoked a recruit. This was history.

The recruit stammered as his eyes shifted in nervousness, "Sir, uh uh protein intake -."

"One-hundred and ten grams is the answer to my question. How many grams of protein is needed per day to maintain a soldier's body recruit?!"

"Sir, one-hundred and ten grams Sir!"

"Excellent!" Zack moved to another recruit near the end of the line. The recruit's face was etched with panic as if he was caught red-handed. Oh he was. Upon walking up to him, Zack blue eyes gravitated to the plate of cake which was coyly hiding under the recruit's tray. The recruit said his prayers.

"It seems you have grabbed the wrong item recruit as this item does not have any nutritional value to you. Don't worry, I'll help you increase the vitamins of this item!" Zack snatched the offending item from the recruit's hand, walked around to the kitchen side and scooped a large spoon of watery, green peas and covered the cake, and handed it back to the recruit.

"You will eat every bite because in the military, we do not waste food!" The recruit looked at the watery goo the cake had transformed into, the white frosting began to clump with the pea juice and turned a milky green color. The smell of pea mixed with confectioners' sugar penetrated his nostrils to the point where he could feel the bile rise in his throat. And now, he had to eat it. Zack handed him a fork and ordered him to eat, "Take a bite of it to show your platoon that you want to eat your vitamins!" Zack smiled brightly as the recruit scrunched his face and stuck the fork into the cake, making a slimy, suction sound as a piece was gathered into the prongs. He regrettably placed it into his mouth and gagged as his face employed the most disgusted reaction it could muster. He dropped the cake on the ground and ran over to the trash can and spat it out, a small amount of saliva followed and it dripped in strings from his mouth.

"That's how we eat cake in basic training! If you don't like that, don't get it!" Zack clapped and moved on to the next victim.

"Clean-up squad clean this mess up!" a drill instructor yelled from the background, pointing to the cake covered in peas laying in a homicidal pile on the floor. Cloud and his squad were off as they searched for the nearest mops. Zack walked up to Harley and inspected his tray, "What is creatine Recruit?"

Harley froze. The answer was not coming to his mind. He was buckling under pure exhaustion and pressure. A black-haired recruit in front of Harley turned around in line and began to mouth words at him. Harley struggled to read his lips. His mind was able to pull the matching words from the recruit's mouth and blurted the answer, "Sir, it's an amino acid, Sir!"

Zack smiled, "and it's function?"

Harley shifted his eyes back to the black-haired recruit who was mouthing the answer again.

"Muscle enhancement and endurance." The black-haired recruit nodded at Harley's answer.

Zack smiled, "Great! Next time, I hope you can get the answer without reading lips." Zack turned and looked at the black-haired recruit whose face turned as stiff as stone. Zack locked onto his smart, light-brown eyes. In an instant, Zack found what he was searching for - a leader. He turned away from the recruit and strongly urged Harley to study some chapters in the textbook. He stepped away from the food line and shouted, "If you feel you have made any incorrect choices with your food, I suggest you change them now before I step in and pick your food for you!" The recruits, standing and those already sitting, sprinted to the food line and began making food swaps, changing rolls and apple sauce cups for more vegetables and meats. Gerald and his six squad mates stood behind the food counter with hair-nets and aprons on, quickly scooped the items onto his platoon's tray. Being in the mess hall squad served to be more stressful than he anticipated as food was flying all over the place. At least it was true to its name – messy.

Zack, now along with other drill instructors, continued to yell and correct recruits on their food choices until they were satisfied with what they saw. Zack stepped back and watched the carnage explode before him as he smiled inwardly thinking he might actually enjoy being the Soldier-in-Charge for this training platoon.

Night fell too quick as Barret rode in the back of a white, unmarked delivery truck alongside another coal miner he identified as Dyne. Dyne had short black hair, a tall, lean muscular build, and olive skin. He was chewing on sunflower seeds as the truck bumped up and down on the rocky terrain. Barret was sweaty nervously and began to fumble with his hands as anxiety filled his mind. He stared at Dyne who looked relaxed and at ease, it could only be assumed that he'd done this a couple of times already.

Barret broke the silence, "Did you volunteer for this?"

Dyne's eye shot up and stared at him, his jaw slowly pulsating from him chewing on the sunflower seeds. He remained silent and the air turned uncomfortable. Barret scowled and leaned back on the bench in the back of the truck, folding his arms across his chest. What a great first impression. He never worked with Dyne personally, but he did hear about him occasionally. He was in charge of the blast mining crew that would go into the mountains and blast open the digging sites for the rest of the miners. He heard he was a tough man, he wasn't expecting him to look as menacing as he did. The large scar over his eye certainly didn't help either.

The truck rolled to a stop and Dyne quickly pushed open the back doors and stepped out, walking to a small crevice in the mountains. Barret cautiously jumped out and took in his surroundings. It was pitch black and the tall mountains stood over him, giving him an ominous feeling. The stars were bright in the sky as a chill wind ran through his body. He saw another parked van in the distance – an uncomfortable sense of danger crawled through his spine and he quickly made his way next to Dyne.

As he caught up, three men appeared from the parked van and nodded to Dyne. They stopped and stared at each other, distance between them. A grungy accent coated the words of the strange man, "It's in the back."

Dyne continued to stare without moving.

"It's in the back, are you deaf?!" The thug shouted, his greasy hair reflected in the moonlight. Several rings were on his fingers and a gold chain dressed his neck. His black hair was slicked back away from his face. He shook his head in surrender and snapped his fingers. A giant wooden box was dragged from the van and placed between them. Barret noticed the crate – it was the same crate that held the materia. It was marked with 'Jager's Trading Company' stamped on the front and top of the crate.

"Such attitude - you shouldn't treat your boss like that." The man smugly said as a smirk broke on his face and pointed to Barret, "Don't learn your manners from this one - we haven't killed him yet because he doesn't piss himself at the drop offs like some of the others Sabine has sent in the past." He shifted his stance, "Hurry up and check it - I've got a hot pussy waitin' on me. Time is of the essence." A snake-like sound came from his mouth. Dyne motioned Barret over to the crate. Hesitantly, Barret took a step forward as he saw no way out of his situation, especially with their shirts raised to show off their handguns tucked in their pants. He cracked open the wooden crate and saw a multitude of glowing orbs of all different colors. Dyne nodded from afar, clearly recalling that this crate was much larger than the last.

"We'll probably be seeing you again this week - Wutai's been frisky with the materia shipments."

"Wutai?" Barret questioned as he shut the lid on the crate.

The thug lit a cigar, "Yeah. We got a sweet deal with Wutai. They be sendin' us their materia so the Pig don't take it after the war. And they doin' it for free because that's the kind of business men we are. Helpin' a fellow anti-Shinra county out." He ground his teeth as he puffed out smoke.

Barret had so many questions and a silent partner who kept his mouth shut.

"Hurry up and get this on the train - it's supposed to be there by two am."

Barret and Dyne moved to the crate and placed it in the back of their truck. The thugs flipped them off and departed. Barret hopped back into the truck with Dyne and closed the doors. He stared at the crate and knew whatever he got himself into was more than he bargained for.

Pressing the matter again he asked, "What the fuck is up, Dyne."

Nothing.

"You really gonna be silent? What the fuck is we doin' Dyne?" Barret repeated his question sterner than before.

"Figure it out on your own." His deep raspy voice answered.

"You want me to say what I think this is?! I think we're getting our hands dirty with some fucked up bullshit. Why the fuck is Wutai sending some thugs materia?"

"I'm not here for politics."

"Well I sure ain't here for shit! What the fuck man. Fuck!" Barret slouched up against the wall of the truck. His uneasiness filled the space between him and Dyne. Barret was shaking his head and began to bite his cuticles. Dyne settled back against the wall as well. When Dyne first started doing the drop offs for Sabine, he was in Barret's shoes. He was questioning everything and terrified mostly of getting shot or tortured. Once he accepted his fate and went along with the rules, it grew easier and easier.

The rest of the ride was lived out in silence except for the soft clanking of the glass materia gently knocking against each other with every bump the truck made. Barret was lost in his mind and was startled when a bag of sunflower seeds was thrown at him, hitting him in the chest.

"It'll keep your mind off things." Dyne said as he closed his eyes. Barret picked up the bag, looked inside, and plucked one of the seeds nestled inside. He focused on the saltiness of the seed as he laid his head back and hoped for the best.

After all, his life depended on it.

AN: Reviews are the fuel to my soul. Tell me what you think! I really do want input to make me better as a writer and help shape this story - sometimes I need an outside set of eyeballs to pull me out of writer's block and just give me a different angle. I really am sorry for any grammar or spelling / word flaws, I just can't catch them all.

I do hate updating around once a month, but alas, I'm chained to work as many of us are, and it takes me about a month to write and edit. Eh, could be worse but I do apologize for the long updates.

I appreciate everyone taking the time to click and read my story. I do hope it brings happiness to you just as many fics have brought happiness to me :)

Terms:

Cover- military word for hat