"The more you sweat in peace, the less you bleed in war"

Norman Schwarzkopf

Chapter Three—The training begins

"ROOM ROOM 'TION!" Jaune was yanked out of the sweet embrace of unconsciousness by the unholy screeching of a demonic entity. Jaune jerked up to see everyone else leaping to their feet, somehow unaffected by the ungodly hour Jaune knew it must be. He tried to ask what the hell was going on.

"Wuh, huh?"

Ok, maybe not the best line he'd ever had. By this time almost everyone else was already standing in front of their beds, but Jaune was still hopelessly tangled in his bed sheets, desperately wondering if this was some kind of nightmare.

"ON YOUR FEET MAGGOT!" A mountain of meat stomped over to Jaune's bed and, without warning, flipped the entire mattress over. Jaune experienced a feeling of momentary weightlessness, before gravity claimed its cruel revenge and yanked him to the floor. At least that solved the problem of being tangled in his sheets.

"Are you deaf, rat?! I said ON YOUR FEET!" Jaune scrambled to find his feet, rising to find Sergeant Cole's bald, angry face staring down at him, trim moustache twitching when he spoke. "When I say Room room 'tion, I expect you on your feet immediately, Private. Am I clear?"

"Uh… yuh?" What could he say? Jaune just wasn't an early morning person. Sergeant Cole didn't seem to find this a valid excuse.

"Well guess who just volunteered for extra laps this morning. Five times around the compound, Private, and if I see you lagging I'll be after you with a stick!" Jaune was forced to throw on some clothes and limp out the door to the sniggering of his comrades for a morning of torture he was sure was illegal under international law.

After the laps came a much needed breakfast, and then back outside to stand in front of one of the fields which Jaune had seen from the bullhead. It turned out to be an obstacle course, though with swathes of barbed wire, towering climbing frames and swamps of mud, Jaune was pretty sure its purpose was to kill them all. Before midday Jaune had run, jumped, and crawled more than he'd ever done in his entire life. By lunch he was bathed in mud, sweating like a pig and willing to ingest an entire horse. His only condolence was that he wasn't the only one who looked on the verge of death. The gruesome training through the hellscape had taken a toll on every member of the section with the except of Ash. That was due to a mixture of him being physically fitter, having more experience doing the course, and because he had jogged his way around most of it, ignoring the screams from Sarge with a determination that was truly commendable.

Jaune looked down the table he was seated at to the other members of his section. Bounty was bright red and still panting hard, shoveling food through his thick beard between breaths. Buzz had another grin plastered to his face, his purple hair limp with sweat. Aiden was sitting silently, as he had been the entire morning, his wolf tail absently flicking back and forth. Jaune was beginning to think that was his thing. Finnegan had been the slowest in the course, and had wanted to quit after the first obstacle. Sarge had quickly put an end to that, though Jaune suspected he may have been faking his exhaustion, because at that moment he was merrily tucking into his meal with far more energy than he had any right to have. The rest were in various states of exhaustion, limply munching on the gruel the army passed for nutrition.

After lunch Sarge rounded them up and marched them to a firing range. Jaune did the best he could to imitate the marching of Cat, but was managing to fail miserably. Cat noticed, smirked, and did nothing to help.

When they reached the firing range ("oh look," thought Jaune, "it's in another concrete slab,") Jaune was shoved into line against one wall between the lanky Terry and the blue haired Naomi. On the opposite wall hung a target.

"Right you weak-legged pansies!" barked Sarge. "After this morning's lovely little warm up," at this, a chorus of groans went up, "it's now time to see which of you can shoot. Who's first? Lightning?" Jaune had absolutely no idea who Sarge was referring to, until Phillip nervously stepped forward. Must have been some kind of nickname.

"U-uh, me sir?" Phil stuttered, "I… I mean, I'll do it if I have to, but uh… could someone else go first? Maybe?" Clearly Phil wasn't comfortable being in the spot light.

"I'll do it sir!" chirped Terry excitedly. The look of relief on Phil's face was almost comic as he slipped back into line.

"This ought to be good," whispered Cat loudly.

Terry ran up to Sarge, his blond curtains bobbing, but as he stepped forward to take a shot, it became laughably apparent that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing. Sarge sighed, and began dictating the motions to him. Terry listened with rapt attention, but when he took his first shot it went far too high. Nine shots later, Terry was at least hitting the target, but his shots were still going wide. He miserably returned the rifle to Sarge.

"Better luck next time sunshine. You need to pull the butt further into your shoulder."

"Yes Sir!" answered Terry, throwing a quick salute with far more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary, before scampering back to the end of the line.

"Kiss-ass," Jaune heard Bounty mutter.

"You're next squirt! Get your arse over here."

Jaune realised he was being addressed, and trudged over the Sarge. Once there, a rifle was dropped into his hands and he promptly staggered under its weight. Oum, it was heavy. He heard sniggers from behind him.

"Let's see what you've got, kid," Sarge encouraged, standing back and indicating the target at the other end of the room. Jaune hefted the weapon and took aim down the barrel. It felt horribly clumsy and unwieldy. Jaune was reminded why he'd only wanted a sword and shield to fight Grimm. Jaune held his breath and squeezed the trigger. Immediately a deafening explosion ripped through the air and the gun bucked in his hands, flying up and bashing him in the face.

The muffled giggling burst into raucous laughter, and even Sarge struggled to suppress a grin. Jaune's face burnt red.

"How can you even use a gun with that much recoil?" he protested.

"Technically it's a rifle," corrected Naomi. "The barrel's got the action of rifling, which causes the bullets to spin when they're fired, achieving a greater range and—"

"Stuff it Naomi," snapped Sarge. "Try again rookie. Put the rifle nice and snug into your shoulder, release your breath, and for heaven's sake don't rest your head right on the damn barrel!" Jaune tried again with Sarge's corrections, and this time the gun – sorry, rifle – didn't buck quite so hard, and the sound wasn't quite so ear-splitting. Jaune actually felt quite pleased when a small hole appeared on the edge of the target he was aiming for. Sarge clapped him on the back. "See. That wasn't so hard now was it rookie? Try it again."

After a few hours of target practise in which Jaune was introduced to rifles, shotguns and handguns (which Naomi had laboriously explained the differences between), plus a lengthy dinner in which Bounty burst into terrible singing, before being kicked silent by Cat, the squad was dismissed to return to their quarters. Aiden, the quiet, wolf Faunus had ended up being a better shot than any of them there, even Ash. When Phil finally had a go, he turned out to also be surprisingly good. Jaune was watching him now. He had some sort of strange device in his lap, which he was fiddling around with using a screw driver. It looked like a yellow cross with a handle connected to one side and an arrowhead shaped point on the other. Enclosed within the cross was a circular drum, from which protruded a hand crank. All in all the contraction was a little longer than a forearm. Jaune debated whether to ask him about it, then decided against it. He had his own problem to sort out.

With trembling hands, Jaune removed his scroll from his pocket. More unread texts. More missed phone calls. Once more, his fingers hovered over the keys, and once more they typed nothing out. Thoughts and emotions chased each other inside of him, creating a confusing soup of conflicting feelings. His head burned. His stomach boiled. His mouth filled with metallic saliva, but he found he couldn't swallow it. He wanted to spit, or be sick, he wasn't sure.

Jaune was saved by the entrance of Sergeant Cole. He leapt to his feet, his grievances momentarily forgotten, and was halfway to the foot of his bed when Sarge bellowed, "At ease, men!"

Jaune relaxed, then stiffened again when he saw Sarge advancing towards him. "Relax Arc," commanded Sarge, sitting down on the bed next to him. "I just wanted to check on you. Not everyone's cut out for the military lifestyle. How are you holding up?"

"Fine sir." Jaune winced at how weak that sounded, even to him, and more so when Sarge raised a bushy eyebrow. "OK, maybe not fine. It's a pretty rough lifestyle, and I didn't exactly have much time to adjust to it." At this, Sarge barked out a laugh.

"That's the army alright. It's sink or swim from here till retirement, believe me. What's that in your hand?" Sarge asked, indicating his scroll.

"Oh, that's just my scroll." Sarge rolled his eyes at that.

"I can see that. I mean why are you holding it? Were you talking to someone?"

"No sir, at least, not yet." Jaune was desperately uncomfortable with where this conversation was heading, so he decided to divert it. "If I may ask sir, why did you join the army?"

"Me?" replied Sarge, taken aback by the question. "I joined when I was a kid. Why though? Because I was young and full of energy. Because I was deeply patriotic, and wanted to do something for my kingdom. Because I was bored." Sarge shrugged. "It was a rash decision, and it almost cost me my life. But once I was in it, I found myself in love with this life. I tried leaving it countless times, but always found myself drawn back to it. I couldn't leave it even if I wanted to." At this, Sarge sighed. "Same with Ash over there." Jaune was surprised to hear this.

"Ash?" he asked. "Why does he love this life?"

"Oh, he doesn't love it," replied Sarge, grinning. "I'd say he hates it."

"Then why doesn't he leave?" asked Jaune, genuinely confused.

"Same as me. He can't." At this, Sarge's grin fell marginally. "Though for completely different reasons."

Jaune sensed he was treading on fragile ground here, but Sarge had caught his curiosity. The thought that there may be something more to Ash than the grouchy, cynical man who had told Jaune he was going to die was something Jaune couldn't let go of. "Why can't he leave?"

Sarge shrugged. "Well the military sure as hell ain't gonna kick him out. The Valesian army is pretty hard pressed for good, experienced soldiers, you know, and believe me, he's an excellent soldier when he puts a half-arse of effort into it. So despite his less than savoury attitude, the 'powers that be' just keep shifting him from section to section when the commanding officer gets sick of his shit."

"But if he hates it so much, why doesn't he just get up and go?" Jaune pressed.

Sarge sat back and seemed to consider whether to answer Jaune, one hand coming up to scratch his bald head, before appearing to decide to hell with it. "He can't leave cause he's got nothing to go back to. No family. No friends. The army's all he can remember. It's all he knows. If he tried to go back to society, he'd be lost. At least in the military he knows his place, what he's expected to do, and what he can expect of others."

Jaune digested what Sarge had told him. Nothing to go back to? That was… actually pretty sad. Jaune would never previously have tied that emotion to the rock hard exterior of Ash, but maybe there was more to him than he was letting show. "But why is he so… you know… a…"

"Why's he such a cynical, anti-social arse?" Sarge laughed mirthlessly. "You have no idea what he's been through. It's the only reason I put up with his bullcrap, when had it come from anyone else I'd have shot them myself." All laughter had fled Sarge's voice now. He paused again before continuing, as if he was figuring out how best to put his next words. "When you spend enough time in a regiment, when you bleed for the man on your left, and the man on your right dies for you, bonds are formed. Bonds deeper than family. Ash had a regiment like that once. He'd have done anything for the other men and women in his group, and no doubt they'd have done the same. He was, can you believe it, actually happy." Sarge sighed deeply before going on.

"Then, a few years ago, Ash and his squad were sent on a reconnaissance patrol into a forest. Intel claimed the forest was mostly empty, and that it should be a cakewalk. Intel was wrong. Ash and his men were ambushed by some very well-equipped, and more importantly, well-led bandits. It was a bloodbath. They slaughtered every single person in his group. He'd have died too, if it wasn't for his best mate lying over his body, so that when the bandits walked over them, ensuring they were all dead, they missed Ash. That poor bastard had to trek all the way back to base covered in his best bud's blood. Never been the same since. The army failed him by supplying his section with faulty intelligence. Then when he tried to retire, society failed him. I guess he just got sick and tired of getting failed by everyone."

Jaune was shocked into silence by the tragic story Sarge had recounted. He looked over at Ash's harsh face and cold eyes with a new found pity. He couldn't possibly imagine how he would be feeling if something like that had happened to him. It was a testament to how strong Ash was that he hadn't cracked and gone insane. No wonder he didn't want any friends. Jaune still had one more question though.

"How do you know so much about him?"

"I make it my business to know everything I can about the men in my section. Allows me to better judge what they can do. That's how I know Finnegan doesn't want to be here. That's how I know Terry is trying to suck up to me. And that's how I know you're trying desperately not to talk to your friends back in Beacon."

Jaune stared at Sarge, his mouth framing a perfect O. Sarge smiled. "He's a good man, that Ozpin." And then, with an amount of tenderness Jaune hadn't expected possible from such a gruff man like Sarge, he asked, "Son, why haven't you called your friends?"

Jaune's eyes fell back to the screen of his scroll. How could he answer Sarge? How could he tell him about what he'd done before he left? What a selfish, heartless coward he'd been. A leader was supposed to protect his team. To put them first. He'd failed on both accounts.

But more than that, he'd let them down as a friend. He should have been the one to take the hit for them, not be the one to give it. He'd just been so terrified of what would happen if he didn't. Of what Cardin would do to him if he refused. He'd been surrounded by enemies, so he'd done the one thing he thought might get him out of that situation. He'd been scared damnit. And not just of being beaten up by Cardin, but of losing everything he loved about Beacon, not least of all his team. He'd tried to save both his dream and his friends. But in the end he'd lost both.

But he couldn't tell Sarge that. He wouldn't understand, or else he'd understand fully, and that was even worse. So instead he answered, "I don't know what to say to them," which was partially true.

"Talk to them," commanded Sarge simply, getting to his feet. "We all need a few friends in life Jaune. And in this kind of life, you never know when you'll get to talk to them again. Life's too short to waste on apprehension. See you tomorrow kiddo." And just like that, he walked out, leaving Jaune alone once more.

Jaune looked back down to his scroll. Sarge didn't understand. How could he? He didn't deserve his friends, and they were better off without him. No doubt they'd soon be getting a new student to join their team. If Jaune tried to cling onto them, he'd just be holding them back from making a proper team with the new guy. A guy who probably wouldn't sell his team out for his own, stupid hide. It would just be one more selfish thing to add to the list. It would be better if he just left their lives completely. Stopped hurting them. They would get over him eventually, but if he tried to reconnect with them he'd just end up being a thorn in the side of their new team. He couldn't do that to them. If nothing else, he'd ensure he didn't ruin his team any more than he already had. He could handle the knowledge that they hated him. He could bear the pain of losing them. So long as he knew they were happy, that would be enough for him.

"Sorry guys," whispered Jaune, putting his scroll away, "it's better this way." No one saw Jaune stiffly lie down, turn over to face the wall and pull the sheets over his head. When the morning came, the tears had dried, and Jaune got ready to face another day.

And that's the third chapter of Sergeant Arc. I've not got much to say here, so I'll keep it brief. I hope you guys like the characters and how they're developing. I realise that there are a lot of them, but I hope you're able to understand who is who and what their personalities are. Some of you warned me against doing too much angst, but I feel Jaune needed to explain his reasoning for leaving his friends at some point, so best to get that out of the way early on. Next few chapters I'll try to move away from angst if I can. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you in two weeks for chapter 4.