Prologue
"On your feet you apes!" A voice boomed into our barracks. My eyes snapped open as I rolled off my bunk, landing feet first on the cold metallic floor. I stood stiff at attention as the drill sergeant began his inspection of each cadet. His silver eyes flared through each of us, none daring to shift our gaze in any direction other than forward. I could hear a man huff as his stomach was struck by the handy baton drill sergeants enjoyed using as encouragement to keep moving. "Looking good today," he said as he strode past me. I could smell the light musk from his morning workout routine. His cap was low but I could feel that piercing bore into the side of my skull. His squared jawline shifted slightly as he leaned in.
"Report for morning P.T. in five minutes," the Sergeant's voice was gruff as the massive man finally took a step. I felt as if my pulse stalled while he stood only inches from me. His barred tag read Zim. Rumor has it, he was demoted after the First Bug War. I slipped into my physical training uniform. A pair of track pants and an M.I. t- shirt. You were to tuck the shirt in and roll the sleeves up to your shoulders. We fast marched from our barracks to the open sand fields. Camp Arthur Currie was the training site for the Mobile Infantry, equipped with a massive obstacle course in the middle of the camp. To the course's left and right flanks were sand pits the size of a standard American football field. The sand pits were broken into stations for calisthenics, sandbags and combat pits. On the northern and southern positions of the camp were firing ranges. Each range was its own obstacle for various scenarios and team based training drills. We were called to attention in the middle of the sand pit with four other training platoons.
"We start with our morning smoker," Zim almost sounded ecstatic as he explained the morning routine. "You will go on my count, by the numbers. Pace!" His call for pace meant for us to jog in place. Zim dropped down into a pushup position and performed two push ups before pushing himself to his feet and returning to his stationary jogging. We followed his movements and repeated until he changed the exercise. We performed basic calisthenics movements to warm the bodies up for the real test. I felt proud of my ability to keep pace with Zim after the months of torture. In the coming hours we ran the obstacle course, performed hand to hand combat training and logged hours on the range. We performed all movements until perfected. Well, what the drill instructors took for perfection. Failure was met with punishment exercises, the worse being a sprint around the campsite. As the sun reached its peak in the afternoon we finally got a small reprieve for chow.
"I don't know what's gonna kill me first," I said as I sat at a table with my tray, "the bugs or Zim."
"I think Zim is a bug," a cadet said. His broad shoulders were slouched forward in defeat as he leaned over the table, giving his tray a confused look.
"I wouldn't be surprised," I joked as I tore into my protein square. Our food was meant to refuel our bodies for the heavy workload, often packed with the needed nutrients to improve bodily performance. With that said, there was a clear oversight in taste. You either tasted cardboard or sawdust and there wasn't a single inbetween.
"I'd rather be pushed hard here to survive a big encounter," a cadet said sitting to my left. Her raven colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail as she rolled her left shoulder. "Zim knows what it means to fight bugs, so I'll take any training he can give if it means I can make it through my term alive. The table fell silent. The renewal of hostility with the Arachnids put everyone on edge and being this close to graduation from training meant we were heading straight for the grinder. I finished my meal and still had twenty minutes to spare before having to stuff myself into a powered suit for the remainder of my day.
"Moore," my name was called. I turned to face Jones and the man seemed to grow in size as he closed distance. He stood at a staggering six feet three inches tall and had a build similar to a silverback gorilla. His brown eyes had a kind gaze as his bear paw of a hand scratched his patchy beard. "Heading back to the pit?"
"Was thinking more of catching some rest before we have to lug a power suit around," I responded. Jones and I became friends after a grappling match in the sand pit. A friendly rivalry turned into almost a brotherhood. "Might be smarter to jump into muscle suits now beforehand."
"You make a good point," he said with a wicked grin as his voice trailed off. I sighed my agreement and before I knew it, we were on our way back to the pits. I knew I would regret the decision physically but there's always something about fighting one of your buddies that keeps you going. We stepped into the sand, taking fighting stances. I stood tall, hands raised with a slight bend in my knees. I kept my feet wider than usual due to experience with the style Jones chooses. He took a much lower stance with his lead arm stretched out as his rear was held closer to his face. His grappling was second to none but my specialty was striking. The goal was to make him miss a takedown attempt and make him pay for it. He lunged and with blinding speed and instantly had a hand on my shirt. His vice grip was unrelenting even as I unloading with a round of knees to his body. I gripped the nape of his neck with one hand while using the other to control his gripping hand. Widening my stance kept my back from hitting the sands but if I miscalculated a single knee strike I'd hit the sand and be in his world. I could feel his body get heavy as he tried to pull. His weight lightened as he stood taller to avoid a knee aimed for his face.
A crowd formed, something we've become accustomed to. Cadets and drill sergeants alike watched on as if it were the main event. Unhappy with his first attempt at taking me to the ground, Jones broke our clinch and threw a looping hook. I covered my head to avoid it and landed a sharp kick on his abdomen. His face was still as stone as I connected with another quick kick to the inner thigh of his lead leg. He swatted my jabbing hand away and drove his shoulder into my sternum and I felt my back hit the sand. I instinctively wrapped an arm around his neck and shot my hips up to squirm for position.
"No escape," he murmured from under me as his body slowly snaked around mine. I felt Jones wrap his massive arm around my neck and within seconds of applying pressure I was tapping. He rolled off and celebrated his victory by rubbing his inner thigh. "My leg," he yelled jokingly.
Power suit training started with the understanding of jump jets. They carried a trooper for hundreds of meters at a time. They also reduced the chance of injury when jumping from a retrieval boat. A two stage process was needed to use the jets. First using your chin to press into the chin strap opens an options tab on your heads up display. Using your eyes you swipe through the various options for munitions use, optical settings and jet activation. Once engaged, the flex of your calf muscle during a normal jump sets off the jets in your boots and backpack. It's always smart to keep your eyes on the fuel levels and your suit's battery charge. The power suit also came with a multitude of functions, such as a sneak mode that made your steps silent. You could detach the entire set of armor if need be, retract the helmet or face mask separately. There's a function to magnetize ourselves to surfaces as well.
Months of jumping, using explosives at range, connecting our suits to a central hub to perform simulated bug missions and constant suit maintenance classes and training turned us into grease monkeys before long. I used to think being a trooper was simply pointing a rifle and pulling a trigger but there was a plethora of skills needed just to perform basic combat tasks. To think an insectoid race void of technology could give a technological society of this magnitude a hassle in war. The day I became a trooper was a day marked with excitement and rage. Only days before our graduation the bugs attacked in the form of an asteroid blasted from the Arachnid AQZ. It hit a city named Buenos Aires, completely destroying everything. Fresh out of the pot and into the grinder. To war we were sent and what a grand war we waged.
