My apologies formy lack of knowledge on standard military procedures. This chapter is dedicated to the veterans and currently serving members of the US military. Thank!
Continuing the early military career of John Shepard, following the events of Mindoir.
Chapter 2
Basic: Part I
The Grizzly heaved back on its tires before jerking forwards again. The recruits inside jostled each other without malice, although some of the passengers obviously had less experience in rough terrain travel than others.
Outside the only sign of civilization was a series of concrete buildings, a large fence and two towers, all surrounded by endless plains. A few clumps of trees, no more than a few acres, were scattered haphazardly. One of the buildings was apparently a hanger, but it didn't have the usual radials on multiple positions. Other buildings were more easily identified as a mess hall (rectangular and long), bunkhouses (same shape but smaller) and miscellaneous sheds.
Shepard watched his compatriots. Most of them, he knew, would be his comrades-in-arms for the next few months, or at least neighbors. Broadly speaking. They would also be his enemies, his competition for grades and rank. Shepard loved competition.
The old vehicle groaned to a halt, shuddering the last few feet. The undercarriage door hissed open, allowing the passengers to exit. Most of the recruits lined up roughly, some wandered around a little, at least until a large man with a deep voice suddenly bellowed into their ears.
"GREAT , ANOTHER SHIPMENT OF LOUSY RECRUITS. EVERY MONTH IT GETS WORSE. WHERE DID THEY GET THIS CREW, A QUARIAN TRAMP FREIGHTER?"
All eyes instantly swung forwards as the voices' owner stalked out from the shadow of a guardbox. He was easily six feet tall, a blue-eyed blond, and would have made advertisements for gymnasiums had he not also possessed an extensive network of scars on the right side of his face. He clearly knew about his appearance, and wasn't afraid to use it to loom over the shorter recruits. When he reached Shepard he couldn't lean over, so he simply pushed very close to Shepards face. "IS THAT A SMILE I SEE RECRUIT? DO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY? DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY!"
Shepard dropped to his hands, kept his feet spread and began pumping. He had grown a great deal in two years, even if he hadn't filled out yet. He'd also gone to a military veteran for training advice, back when he'd been thinking about joining the Alliance.
"I AM SERGEANT PETROS. YOU ARE MY CHARGES, AND NO I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT IT EITHER." The sergeant stepped back from observing the last of the recruits and witnessed Shepard finishing the last of the pushups.
"I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO GET UP RECRUIT! I TOLD YOU TO GIVE ME TWENTY PUSHUPS!" he instantly bellowed.
Shepard assumed the parade rest, arms behind his back, hands linked. "I have finished your-"
Petros interrupted in fill volume. The man seemed to have only one setting for communication. "I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK RECRUIT! DROP AND GIVE ME THIRTY PUSHUPS!"
Shepard's face burned; he'd known about the intimidation tactics used, especially in the early stages of Basic. He'd still blown it, like a rookie with no actual knowledge. Which, in retrospect, he was. He made the only response possible.
"SIR YES SIR!" And he went down again. As he pounded out his tenth pushup, something heavy almost drove his face into the grass. He strained up, and the weight became heavier, but Shepard kept it up until he'd done all thirty repetitions.
Sergeant Petros smirked at him. His left boot looked cleaner than his right boot. "So you've been working out, boy. Do you feel smart now?"
Shepard spoke without thinking. "Sir, no sir! I am an Alliance Marine Recruit, Sir!"
Muffled snickers broke out before the sergeant could respond.
The rest of the day went fairly similarly. The hard work and exercise Shepard had done for years served him in good stead, but he was still sore and tired by lights out. Instantly, he fell asleep, or tried to do so.
He was interrupted by his assigned "battle buddy," Karl Valdez.
"Psst, Shepard." Karl hissed.
Shepard moaned quietly.
"This is going to be fun, right?" humor was heavily prevalent in Karls' tone. That was not much of a surprise. Karl was an easily amused individual apparently chosen to balance the "bland, insipid oatmeal" of Shepards own nature. Which was a compliment, in a backhand manner. Shepard believed he had a scintillating personality, just not on the job. Maybe he'd have to work on that.
"Come on Johnnie, I can crack jokes, you can make with the straight man face, it'll be fantastic!"
Shepard rolled onto his side, deliberately away from Karl.
"Oh come on, don't be like that. What happened to make you so flavorless in personality?"
Shepard let out a pent-up sigh. "I am overtired, run off my feet, and kept from sleeping by some clown that thinks he's funny."
Karl snorted. "At least he admits to my inimitable personality. Maybe-"
Someone hissed from a corner "Fire brigade coming. Sarge behind 'em."
Karl dropped like he'd been shot, leaving Shepard to sleep. He needed it.
Morning began precisely at 0430. It was a good morning as well, filled with the cheerful noise of a clanging garbage can lid and the dulcet tones of their drill sergeant.
"WAKE UP CUPCAKES! TIME FOR WIPING OFF THOSE PATHETIC EXCUSES FOR FACIAL HAIR AND GET MOVING!"
Shepards' feet hit the floor before his head was off the pillow. It was still dark outside, but the surrounding vegetation was alive with the noises of groaning recruits, not the usual wildlife he'd grown used too. Within minutes, he'd shaved, dressed and started making his bed. Around him, some of the men and women were still groggily sitting up. That bothered him a little; how much time did they think they had?
"Two minutes." Warned the current fire brigade member. That would be Nicodemus, against all odds. He was a short, wiry young man with black hair. Difficult to place, phenotypically. Then Shepard started wondering when he'd begun identifying people based on the geography of their ancestors origin.
Fortunately, that moment of distracting introspection was interrupted by the call to mess. Which, in Shepards opinion, it certainly was.
Recruits swarmed the entrance line that slowly wound its way to the serving counter. The meal of choice was bland, but filling. Some sort of egg substitute overwhelmed a platter with bread and a small pile of meat. Sausage, maybe.
One of the recruits had apparently been arguing with the chef. Shepard got close enough in time to hear the tail end.
"Missy, I can assure you the Alliance military respects all the religions and viewpoints. Being a vegetarian is perfectly acceptable, so long as you can afford to bring your own meals."
The lady in question looked fairly upset. "It was not evident anywhere in the forms that I would be responsible for bringing meals!"
The chef shrugged. "I don't think you would have the option on the battlefield. You'd eat what you could get, so long as it kept you from starving. Now since you are in training, not even a full soldier, you will eat what we provide, or provide your own food. After graduation, you can argue with the brass about dining privileges."
Shepard waited until the woman had angrily stomped away with a full tray. He followed her to a bench. "Mind if I sit here?"
She shoveled forkfuls of egg substitute into her mouth. Her hand gesture could have been interpreted as either go away and eat a carfish or who cares anyway.
Shepard gingerly sat down. "You know these aren't actually meat…." He poked at one of the sausage meat analogues.
The woman gave him a dirty look. "I know. It's the principle of the thing. Why give us anything that even looks like meat when we choose to move beyond it?"
Shepard felt himself on treacherous ground. "You didn't see anything in the manual about basic training, right?"
She forced down another huge mouthful. "Nope. I read it from back to front."
Shepard couldn't resist a cocky grin. "Then I suppose you read the appendix, about the differences between recruits in basic and the full timers?"
He noticed she had omelet on one side of her face. A comparison came to mind, but he manfully pushed it aside.
"Of course not! Who has time for reading the appendices? My boyfriend helped me look through it and Verner didn't see anything about this in the app-"
"BACK TO WORK CUPCAKES!" came a familiar bellow. "DAYLIGHT IS COMING AND WE NEED TO BE TEN MILES OUT BY DAWN!"
Shepard made this an excuse to inhale his breakfast. Even so he was almost late for his company.
"What happened to you?" Karl whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
"Homework." Shepard muttered back.
Sergeant Petros missed their little exchange. He had been bellowing at the other end of the line over some infarction. But he managed to give Shepard a dirty look as he reversed his course along the rows.
"THIS IS SERGEANT O'MALLERY. YOU WILL GIVE YOUR BEST ATTENTION TO HIM, OR YOU WILL BE CLEANING OUT THE ENTIRE OUTPOST FOR THE REST OF TRAINING!"
O'Mallery was much quieter than Petros, but he had the same intensity. For a minute he looked over the group carefully. He didn't seem as aggressive, but still, this was a training camp.
"You will be taking standard weight gear, along with standard gear. Your orientation before you got here will have sent your measurements to us, so no whining about ill-fitting gear."
Shepard groaned quietly, but followed the others to gather equipment. The standard armament was one rifle, one assault rifle, one shotgun and one pistol. Each recruit already had an omni-tool, given to them at their medical exam. Genetic modifications were already planned for their individual needs; part of the physical portion of their training was to get the recruits ready for the modifications. Armor, medgel and power supplies were all integrated, nothing exceptional for beginning military, but still formidable enough to be illegal for civilian usage. Shepard found his set easily enough; it had dark black coloration with bright orange stripes down the arms, denoting his status as a recruit. Within ten minutes, he had the entire set broken apart and inspected. He needed help getting it on, however. It felt uncomfortably like donning a set of medieval armor; all he needed was a Morningstar and a white horse.
Once it was fully assembled and sealed, however, it felt surprisingly natural. The armor fit like a glove; a bit bulky at the shoulders and knees perhaps, but remarkably lightweight. Shepard did a few squats and stretches to test its maneuverability, and found it superb.
Fully kitted up, Shepard found a place next to Karl, and the company headed out at a jog. By the time the sun was up, everyone was breathing hard, even the sergeant. They were halfway to the turnaround point, being paced by another Grizzly, which was well planned. When they learned they still had 75% of the course left to complete, three recruits requested to be dropped from the program then and there.
Shepard watched with slightly wondering gaze. "Why did they quit?" he messaged over to Karl on a private line.
Karl jerked slightly at the unexpected sound. His helmet twisted slightly before he realized who had commed him. Instead of answering over the private link, he raised both hands in confusion, with enough of a shrug to make his pauldron shift slightly.
Shepard shook his head in disbelief. The idea that someone would sign up for basic training with an improper idea about the requirements was understandable. The ludicrousness of the situation was that they would quit after experiencing the benefits of a personally fitted armor set. It was like running in an emergency care center; your heart rate was on the HUD display, core temperature, blood pressure and oxygen consumption rate. Additionally the armor was designed to keep the human body at optimum operating order, air conditioning being only one of multiple benefits.
He got his answer at the end of the run when they returned their armor to the racks. Without an exception, the recruits were sweating, red-faced and thirsty.
The physical training sergeant was pretty grim. He was sweating as well, but he had a much more even coloration.
When he did talk, it was with an amused drawl. "Which of you," did his eyes flicker towards Shepard? "Which of you figured out how to actually turn on your armor?"
A cluster of hands went up, then a few more separate hands.
O'Mallery put his hands behind his back and sneered. "Pathetic. None of you asked for instructions, and you paid the price for it. Now how many actually got their suits to work so they didn't kill themselves on that little hike?"
Shepard raised his hand hesitantly. He was the only one.
O'Mallery focused on him like a hawk. "One, out of over fifty recruits. Pathetic."
He turned to include the rest of the company in his baleful glare. "All of you take a look at Shepard. HE managed to figure out how to turn on something as simple as the AC unit. This ain't rocket science princesses, the Alliance Marines has no use for people that have no initiative. Figure it out, or you'll be leaving with a bootprint on the back of your lap!"
O'Mallery glared at Shepard. "Well done boy. You get two choices, either help the rest of these lunkheads figure out how to turn on their flaming armor, or hit the chowder line early."
That was a non-choice choice. If Shepard went to lunch early, he'd have an angry company trying to bring him down the rest of the duration.
"Sir, I will stay, sir!" Shepard barked, eyes forward.
O'Mallery's eyes glittered. "As you choose….the rest of you, put that armor back on. It better be active and ready for action by 1300, in time for a little thing I like to call 'live-fire exercise.'"
Chastened, the company waited for permission, then rushed for the armor sets. Shepard hustled from recruit to recruit, walking them through the process of activating the armor, then running the internal scans that adjusted the settings to individual physiology. The recruits caught on fast, using the inter-communication function to relay directions to other members of the unit. In this fashion, they were done by 1200 hours.
Shepard was turning towards the door when one of the recruits caught his eye. "Yes?" he asked.
The recruit slid his helmet off. "Recruit Appleton, sir. Do we keep the suits on or take them off for lunch?"
Shepard waved away the honorific. "Keep them on, I'm putting mine on myself. This will give you a chance to adjust to the armor, and work on your fine-motor manipulation skills."
The company went out the door towards the mess hall, except for Karl who lingered to help Shepard with his armor. A few other recruits hung back as well.
Karl chuckled on a private line. "Careful Shepard. You may get yourself noticed pretty soon. Then you'll have to beat the ladies off with a stick."
Shepard blushed. "Shut up."
Karl saluted. His helmet was sealed, but the armor shook from laughter. "Aye aye, sir."
The company made for an odd sight; filling several tables with fully armed and powered combat armor wielding recruits. Shepard had to admit it was an intimidating sight, and somewhat humorous. Several recruits didn't quite have the art of eating with gloves on, and were holding their utensils with ridiculous care.
Eating in full kit turned out to be a good thing. At 1230 hours, lunch was interrupted by Sergeant Petros, himself in full combat armor.
"ALL UP AND AT 'EM! TIME FOR COMBAT TRAINING!"
The leather lunged sergeant had barely enough time to scan the room as he bellowed, his eyes bugged out when an entire armored company rose and stampeded towards the door. He was quick on his feet, however, and even quicker mentally, turning to lead the company towards the training field without missing a beat.
"They aren't actually going to use live rounds, are they?" Karl asked Shepard for the tenth time.
The field was stocked with man-shaped targets, or at least humanoid-shaped targets. Ever since the First Contact War of 2157 Alliance military had used more varied targets than ever before. Short squat targets, taller thicker ones, even a few with the distinctive asari cephalo-growths. Asari commandos were some of the deadliest combatants in known space, but there weren't very many of them.
Shepard checked the sight on his rifle, and then slapped his friends' shoulder. "Check your target before you shoot, and maybe we'll get out of this alive." He kept his face completely blank for the benefit of his friend. He was still smarting over the assumption that he had no sense of humor.
A signal horn sounded, and fifty young recruits rushed onto the field. More accurately, forty seven recruits rushed. Three recruits paced their way onto the field as though they had all the time in the world.
Shepard and Karl watched the newcomer with a little surprise. He waved at them, then manipulated his omni-tool into private channel. "I saw you two beforehand and figured something was up, can I join your squad?"
Shepard nodded. "Sure, Karl's my spotter, can you watch our backs?"
The newcomer nodded. "Sure. I'm Arvid by the way."
Shepard nodded again. "Shepard. Pleasure to meet you. Now, set your HUD for constant sweeps and keep an eye on it. We're going to be busy, and will be depending on you for heads up."
Arvid did as he was told, and the three-man crew moved deeper into the field. Unlike most of the others, they didn't charge into the field firing at objects of opportunity. This was a training exercise of combat capability; what had been softpedaled in the directions was that return shots were expected.
"3 o'clock low, slow." Karl snapped.
Shepard swung his rifle to the right, exhaled and stroked the trigger. The gun roared, and a silhouette fell.
Behind them, Arvid swung his assault rifle in small, slow circles. "Movement 6 o'clock high." He reported.
Shepard made a hand gesture and the squad slunk off under some underbrush. A drone flew overhead scanning the terrain, missing the trio.
Karl was still watching, "Target, 1 o'clock, 150 feet."
Shepard swung left, raised the barrel a trifle and squeezed off. "Child's play."
Arvid opened up behind them, the sudden noise startling the other two almost into jumping out of their position. Karl turned as well and fired a high-carnage blast with his shotgun. Within seconds the silhouettes that had popped up behind them were reduced to so much horizontal polymers.
Sergeant Petros was watching through the observation programs built in to the recruits systems. "Hmmm…I wonder…" he muttered. Unlike what the recruits saw so often, he was relaxed in a chair in front of a series of screens. The same three recruits were replicated on those screens, and racking up a high kill score. They'd secured a fairly defensible position, and while the man with the assault rifle was gunning down opponents at an impressive rate, the other two were working as a highly efficient fire team. One seemed to be directing fire, while the other, while sniping, actually seemed to be analyzing the situation and making recommendations for the squads overall tactics. Efficient, and deadly, just what the Alliance was looking for…maybe.
"Captain?" he called.
A square-jawed man with dark skin strolled over. He watched the squad in action silently, expression giving nothing away. "Interesting." Was all he said.
"Sir?" the sergeant questioned? "Do you have any recommendations?"
Captain Anderson smiled broadly. "Of course sergeant. Watch them, and watch that boy," he pointed at Shepard. "If he continues to excel, there may be a place for him in the N7 program. Until we know more, anything else is premature."
The sergeant saluted. "Yes sir."
"And sergeant?"
Petros turned reflexively. "sir?"
Andersons face was serious, "Don't make it easy now. That won't help him any."
Sergeant Petros saluted. "That has never entered my job description, sir."
"Good man."
Karl shouted out more targets for Shepard, Arvid sprayed surprisingly disciplined fire down the far side. At this point they'd gathered several more members, including the vegetarian woman that Shepard had met earlier.
Arvid squinted past his scope, "Shepard!" he yelled over his shoulder, "Friendly pinned, 5 o'clock, seventy-five feet!"
The woman jumped past Shepard, "I'm on it!" she screeched as she went over the wall.
Shepard tried grabbing her leg but she was too fast. "Wait, we have to cover…." But she was too fast for him. He gritted his teeth and popped up over the barrier, "Cover her!"
That was actually a redundant command, not to mention it exposed his lack of basic knowledge, like her name. But at least his shout had alerted another rifleman to help cover her position.
Her path was not erratic enough, though, and her suit shut down one of her leg armor pieces before she reached the bottom of the hill.
As she collapsed, Shepard took a moment to organize. "Karl, spot for Arvid. You, you and you, "he pointed at two assault gun wielders and a pistol man, "cover me, but watch the sides."
Then he was off and running down the hill, dodging around trees and brush like a slalom skier, minus the skis. One of his arms shut down movement, forcing him to drop his rifle. By the time he reached the woman, his HUD showed himself at 30% armor, so he waited a few seconds for the repair protocols to activate.
"You're just making me look bad." She scowled angrily at him. "That's my boyfriend out there, I got to rescue him!"
Shepard examined her suit, its readout signified a permanent heavy injury, simulated, but restricting nonetheless.
"He knew the risks, I'll get him after I get you back up."
She struggled somewhat as he hefted her into the firemans carry, but settled down when a rifle shot cracked next to her helmet and took down the silhouette of a turian soldier.
Shepard reached the barrier boulders at the top of the hill and knelt to roll her over. As he did so, his suit made a sudden pinging noise, and the HUD flickered red.
"Sorry Karl, I'm ko'd." he called. Unfortunately, when a soldier is marked as dead in practice, his communication system is put offline, preventing cheating, such as "dead bodies" reporting enemy movements behind enemy lines. Captain Grissom may have been able to get away with that, but he was the only one.
Karl leaned over the wall and pulled Shepards stiff body back to safety. He entered a code that unlocked Shepards suit, somehow.
"OVERRIDE!" he bellowed over the deafening cacophony of automatic assault weaponry. "ALLOWS COMMANDERS TO ADMINSTER MEDGEL EVEN WHEN YOU'RE UNCONSCIOUS!"
Shepard filed away that particular fact for future reference. "Thanks! I owe you!"
Karl slapped Shepards head down behind the wall. "Then get your gun in gear and start sniping!"
Within seconds their deadly duet began making havoc over the field once more.
Sergeant Petros leaned back in his chair. "Well Shepard," he muttered. "I'm keeping my eye on you."
Authors note: this ran a little longer than I anticipated, so I'm breaking it into two. This idea has grown far beyond my original plan, but should still be done within 4-5 chapters.
Thank you for your time.
Vercingetorix