Chapter 5

Pepper watched as Jack dragged himself out of bed—apparently he was used to early mornings—and readied himself for the day's events. He took the boy's appearance once more and determined that some weight gain was required if he was going to be a Ghost. As ironic as the statement was, the boy wouldn't be much use to anybody if he didn't gain some muscle in his arms and torso. He'd set up a regiment for him today while Captain Ferguson and 30K ran their usual drills. First thing first though, thought the Master Sergeant: Breakfast.

"Morning, son," he greeted Jack once he was sure the kid was lucid enough to speak.

"Morning, sir," he replied, blue eyes dull. He wore a t-shirt and ordinary pajama bottoms, his black hair disheveled. After a shower, he was dressed in same attire as yesterday—he'd have learn to get used to it. Pepper showed him the rest of the base from the armory to the obstacle course.

"If you wanna be a Ghost, you have to learn the trade and its secrets," he explained. "Officially, we don't exist, which means we can get in places that are normally off limits to our borders. We mostly gather Intel on enemy nations to stay ahead of them in case they plan any terrorist attacks. We also have eyes on local militias in the U.S. just to make sure they don't do anything crazy. But unless our orders are different or in the event we're discovered, we use state-of-the-art weaponry and tactics to out-maneuver our enemies. For the next seven days, you'll learn about how we do things."

"I look forward to it, sir."

"Let's start with some Q & A: Why do you think we don't exist on any official record?"

"For the reason you just said, to monitor enemy countries in case they are planning something. But also in case you're compromised during said mission. If you don't exist, then the government can deny having any knowledge of your presence on enemy soil."

"Hit the nail on the head with that one, son." Pepper smiled; he knew he was going to like this kid. Entering the mess hall, he and Jack grabbed their breakfast and headed back to the armory. The room was lined with most advanced weaponry Jack had ever seen-sans the Autobots' own. Mission gear also hung on the walls, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Pepper lined several grenades on a table.

"They are several types of grenades," he began. "Frags, flash bangs, smoke, stun, and sensor for starters. For the most part, we use sensor grenades. When tossed, they emit a signal that feeds directly into our Cross-Coms and projects enemy personnel. Depending on the situation, we either designate them as red targets or whatever color is issued depending on a HVT's—that's High Value Target—importance."

Jack listened as Pepper explained the Cross-Coms system to him; they were combination of monocle, earpieces, and microphones that enabled communication during missions. They were linked to a super-computer at the GST's headquarters that sorted through and distributed information accordingly. He couldn't help but smile at the thought of what Raf might say if he knew about this kind of tech—better yet, what Ratchet might think of it all.

Pepper went on to grab some gear from the wall and lay it across the table—a combat vest, boots, gloves, a tactical knife, a rifle and a sidearm, a helmet and Cross-Coms. He retrieved the same attire for himself and showed Jack how to apply them. He then handed him sensor grenades and dummy frags—he knew he wasn't ready to handle live explosives. With everything on , Pepper appraised the teen's appearance. He could almost pass for a Ghost—almost.

The kid followed instructions without complaint; at least he would make for a model ROTC cadet. He tightened the laces of his boots and followed Pepper to the obstacle course—the file they'd been given suggested the raven-haired teen had done his fair share of PT in the past. The sun glared down its heated gaze as they entered their makeshift Pit. It brought back fond memories of his days in the Army, back with his Ranger Squad. Like any old soldier, Pep saw a bit of himself in the kid.

"Welcome to the firing range," he checked with Observation to make sure things were ready. "Ghost Recon 101: Learn how to shoot without making an ass of yourself." He jammed a magazine of rubber bullets into his M16. "Lesson 1: Aiming down your sights. Ever play a shooter?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Why so surprised, sir?"

"Nothing," he smirked, "It's just that you're a teenager and breathing. I'd expect you to have some base level knowledge of shooters."

"I've played some old games, but nothing too modern."

Right well," he dropped to one knee and positioned the M16 while squinting his right eye. "The best way to neutralize a hostile is to fire from a stable stance." He barked the "Go ahead!" to Observation and several targets sprung up immediately. Adjusting his grip, he opened fire on targets, hitting each of them in rapid succession. Jack had to cover his ears at each report of the weapon.

"What are you doing?!" came the Southern lilt of 30K, leveled up to no doubt convey his annoyance. "In the field, you'll find you're better off deaf than dead, son!"

Pepper chuckled to himself as he finished the last of the targets.

This was going to be fun.