Chapter CLI: Valor, Integrity, and Other Stuff

January 2, 2548 (UNSC Calendar)/six months later

Mendez Military Academy, New Alexandria, Viery Territory, Reach, Epsilon Eridani System

"Officers are like us grunts, they just have fancier clothing when they're buried."

It was cold. Even with the temperature regulating technology in my new dress uniform it was cold. I didn't know that officers got fancy technology that only ODSTs and Special Forces Operators got in their fucking dress whites. Well, I can't complain about it anymore, I just so happen to be one of those pampered college kids now, even if I never did go to college. Still, despite the cold and the snow hitting my face I couldn't wipe that stupid grin from my face.

I was a lieutenant. I was an officer.

Still, I would've preferred it if I had been allowed to wear my dress blacks or maybe even my gray service uniform, but the Mendez Military Academy had a long-standing tradition and everyone, Helljumper or not wore the standard UNSC Marine Corps Dress Whites. I do have to admit that the longcoats we were using for protection against the cold did make for a rather impressive show. Fifty-two of us had entered the course. Forty-nine had made it through. It wasn't exactly a deadly washout rate, but it had been tough, tougher than I expected.

Granted, there was no way in hell that OCS or Military Academy could compare to ODST boot camp when it came to physical effort or even psychological abuse, but I have to admit that Military Academy had me use my brains in a way that I hadn't since my last year of high school. It had been challenging, requiring hours and hours of studying as well as creative and outside-the-box thinking.

I had constantly run into problems when the drill sergeants and the teachers didn't consider my outside-the-box thinking actually outside-the-box. I got called batshit insane more than once.

OCS was relatively easy. I had to endure psychological abuse, and fold my clothes, and sleep on the floor as to not mess up my bed; stupid stuff that was meant to weed out the weak from the strong. I also got to do different kinds of tests on leadership and combat-related topics. I'd like to think I aced those, but those exams did have right or wrong answers, they weren't adaptable like combat was. It frustrated me to no end, but I ended up adapting to them, ironically enough.

When I first arrived I was annoyed at the amount of fresh-faced college kids eager for a life full of adventures. Some of them still had pimples on their faces.

Six months earlier

It was very much like the barracks in Camp Mars IX. Sure, the floors here didn't have holes and there was a rudimentary air-conditioning system, but all in all, they were the same basic shape, size, and model as the ones that I had lived during my indoctrination as a Helljumper.

I grunted and tossed my black duffel bag on the nearest empty bunk. This was the first day, we would probably get yelled at some and then we'd go through our standard health tests and physicals. I had contacted Jones before coming here and told him about the health tests. He had assured me that everything was taken care of.

There were three other guys that had definitely been in the service before, I could tell just by their posture and annoyed attitude. They'd probably be my equivalent of friends for the length of my stay here.

A young-looking kid with freckles running across his nose approached me. He looked like the kind of guy that would play water polo, probably great with the girls too. I looked up at him and gave him my best hateful glare. "Yes?"

The kid, however, looked unperturbed. "Hey, name's Mitchell Hood." He had a happy voice, but there was something behind those steel-blue eyes of his that made him look hard. Perhaps I had misjudged him. "You look like the kind of guy that has seen a lot."

"Does my cynicism leak?"

Mitchell shook his head. "Nah. I can see the bottom of your ODST tattoo."

I glanced at my right arm and saw that my t-shirt sleeve had gone up just enough to reveal the bottom of the drop pod and the ODST letters. "So you can see Sherlock, what do you want?"

Mitchell looked carefully at me before examining the jackal-caused scars on both the insides of my elbows and forearms. "I might not seem like it, but I ain't exactly joining for shits and giggles. I want to know what I'm dropping into."

"You won't be dropping into anything," I told him. "You'll go down in a nice and spacious Pelican."

"Are you going to answer my question?"

I stood up. The kid must've been suicidal if he was going to talk to an ODST like he was talking to me. I noticed that a few of the other recruits were looking at us; some of them were staring at the tattoo on my right arm with different expressions. Some of them were surprised, others were just shy of awestruck, and some of the men that looked like veterans were looking at me with an expression of hatred. I didn't want to cause a scene; after all, there were few worse ways to start Officer Candidate School than beating the snot out of a college graduate.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life," I said finally, in a voice quiet enough that nobody would hear and mistake for a threat.

Hood nodded and seemed to ponder on my reply before looking up and thanking me.

We spent a couple more minutes on the room by ourselves before two drill sergeants came through.

"Atten-shun!"

The three veterans and I stood up at attention immediately. A pair of girls that looked worried jumped up as well, even if they did it clumsily. Hood actually managed to jump up to the desired position at a respectable speed.

"I said attention you worthless shits!" one of the drill sergeants spat. "Stand up. I know this isn't hardwood like you rich kids are used to, but stand the fuck up!"

By the time he was done nobody was just sitting on their asses. The two drill sergeants took their time verbally assaulting everyone before coming to the three Marines and me.

"So you three have actually seen some combat?" they asked us.

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"And you think you've got what it takes to be officers?"

Silence.

"You think you've got what it takes?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. This drill sergeant hadn't been nearly as intimidating as Gabuka had been.

"Ah, Gunnery Sergeant Castillo, I heard about you."

"Sir?" I asked, staring straight at the wall past the drill sergeant that had addressed me.

"You are an ODST, are you not?"

There were some murmurs amongst the recruits before the other drill sergeant shut them up.

"Yes, sir."

"You probably think that being a veteran gives you the right to get preferential treatment, don't you?"

"No, sir."

"Damn right you don't!" he spat in my face. "Because as long as you're here you are going to be my bitch. You hear me? My. Bitch." He turned around and took a couple of steps before turning to face me again. "Is that clear?"

I was very tempted to answer with 'crystal' as opposed to the usual 'yes, sir', but I managed to restrain myself.

"Very well then. You little shits are in for the time of your lives."

This time I couldn't resist rolling my eyes.

Present Time

It had been a pretty dull first day, even if I had gotten unnaturally nervous at the physical tests. The doctors looked pretty bored with me, even with my collection of scars. One of the nurses asked where the large slash scar on my back came from. She didn't believe me when I told her that it was from an energy sword.

I managed to avoid shaking my head. If there was something that the officer corps loved it was uniformity. Hood was standing directly to my right, his chin held high and shoulders set apart. To my left was Dufresne, one of the three Marines that had been with us since the beginning. He looked about as bored as I felt giddy. I cursed myself for the feeling of excitement. I was supposed to get excited for manly stuff like threesomes or decapitating elites. Being made an officer was not that manly, at least not in the eyes of a veteran of fourteen years.

The speech of the brigade general in charge of the Mendez Military Academy was a good one, even if it was likely recycled. I tried my best to put attention to what he said, but my mind kept making up various scenarios as to what my friends and squad mates would think of my officer commission.

Four months ago

OCS was done. It hadn't been exactly easy, but it had been easier than I had expected. The tests and exams busted my balls, but I could easily manage the physical part of it and the drill sergeants quickly learned that I could do any physical punishment that they could think of and make it seem like I wasn't even trying. I do have to admit that being forced to do twenty-five pull-ups three times in a row had strained even my enhanced deltoids.

Still, I didn't really cause any trouble for the drill sergeants, keeping my opinion to myself and refusing to reply to their taunts. They weren't worse with me than they were with the other recruits, but I was still close to beating the shit out of them more than once. I remained content to just picture myself doing that.

"Off to the Academy then," Dufresne said.

"Yeah," I agreed, poking at my cold pasta. "Supposed to be hard."

"I can pass all the combat tests no problem," he boasted. Well, he didn't actually boast since it was true. "Nothing they throw at us can compare to actually being shot at by a real alien."

I nodded in agreement. Dufresne was a five-year veteran. He had seen a lot of stuff and had had many people he knew die. He was a hardened man. He reminded me a little bit of Grigori and Serge, even though he was more talkative and in general friendlier.

"Only two dropouts, that's good."
I nodded again.

"This war needs good officers."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?"

Dufresne smiled and took a large bite of his garlic bread before eyeing one of the prettier officer candidates. He seemed to undress her with his eyes before returning his attention to me. "I don't claim to be the best there is going to be, but I know that my own combat experience will help make me a better el-tee."

"You're right, you know?" I told him. "If we both come out as average officers at least we'll be marginally better."

"A terrible thing to look forward to."

"Agreed," I muttered. The last couple of months had left me cranky and short-tempered.

It had been tougher on me than I had been willing to admit.

"So, you hitting that?" I asked Dufresne, gesturing towards the pretty officer candidate. Even with a buzz cut she looked very doable.

"No. Unfortunately. How about you?"

"Got a girl."

"Really? She's probably a pistol. You know, in order to handle you."

"That's a weird expression," I noted. "But yeah, she's tough. Corpsman. Or corpswoman, whatever you want to call it."

"Huh, funny relationship that one."

"You should've heard everyone when I was dating a pilot."

"I thought ODSTs were never supposed to use Pelicans."

"Just for evac."

"Pelicans are nice, if you ask me," Hood said, sitting down next to Dufresne. "Spacious."

"Smelly too," I replied, shooting him a quick glance before digging into my food again.

Dufresne scoffed out a chuckle. "The smell does linger, doesn't it?"

"Give me air freshener any time of the day."

While we talked about the dried blood that was so often stuck to the Pelicans' cargo bay floor without actually saying it was blood Hood paid close attention to us. The kid had remained one of the best officer candidates for the last couple of months. He knew how to deal with the drill sergeant and I often saw him studying in his bed right before lights out. At first I had taken him for a spoiled rich kid whose dad might've been in the armed forces before him, but I came to see him as a spoiled rich kid whose dad might've been in the armed forces before him that had absolutely no personal interest in joining the Marine Corps.

I pitied the guy, being pressured into doing something sucks, especially if the odds are that you'll end up dead.

"So Hood, how's Military Academy going to be?"

"Mornings for school and afternoons for hands-on training."

"Physical?" Dufresne asked.

"Not a lot, I hear. Supposed to be a bunch of combat sims."

I swallowed a particularly overcooked bit of pasta. "School? What kind of school?"

"They're going to teach us about military history, then they're going to do a bunch of military theory exams as well as make us memorize the principles and whatnot of the UNSC Marine Corps."

"So it's basically OCS on steroids?" I asked.

"Yup."

"How come you know so much about all this?" Dufresne queried.

"I've told you already, practically my entire family has joined the Navy."

"And her you are," I said. "With the Marines."

He shrugged. "I wanted to be a lawyer, old pops wouldn't have it, he wanted me to be like my uncle, and my other uncle, and my grandparents, and my mom, and my brother, and my cousins, and my-"

"We get it pumpkin," Dufresne cut in.

"All of your relatives in the Navy?"

"Most of the living ones, yeah."

"And the dead ones?" I asked.

"Same deal."

"Hood, Hood, that name sounds familiar." Dufrasne stroked his chin.

"As in Robin Hood?" I suggested.

"Could be…" Dufresne said, returning my sarcasm with his own. "But somehow I don't think so."

Mitch was starting to look a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of his family becoming a conversational topic, but he didn't say anything.

Schitzo sat down with a tray full of hamburgers right next to Dufresne. The sandwiches looked tempting. He grabbed one of the burgers and took a big bite, juice flowing down his chin. "Hood. Does sound familiar."

"Maybe someone in command of a local ship?" Dufresne went on, thinking out loud.

"Nah, it rings a bell, but I think it's Earth-related," Schitzo continued.

Dufresne kept talking, undeterred. "There's a Bryan Hood captaining a Marathon-class cruiser somewhere out there…"

"The guy in charge of Earth Fleet is called Terrence Hood. That's probably it, Lord Terrence Hood."

"Mitch, you're from England, right?" I asked him.

"United Kingdom, yes. I was only born there and only came here to do college."

"So you're British."

"That's what comes with being born in the UK."

"Don't give me sarcasm," I warned him. "Are you by any chance related to Lord Terrence Hood?"

Mitch gave me a long look.

Jackpot.

"Yeah, you're welcome," Schitzo muttered. "Dick."

Mitch quickly changed the topic. "What's that on your arm?" he asked me.

"Wait?" Dufresne said. "The fleet admiral in charge of Home Fleet? That's over one hundred ships!"

"Seriously, is your dad the fleet admiral for Home Fleet?" I pressed.

Mitch looked up at me. "I'll tell you if you tell me what happened to your arm."

I glanced back down to my arm. The stinging had stopped a while ago, but I was still supposed to keep the bandage covering it for another few hours. I shrugged and peeled the bandage off, revealing a black cross right above a crow.

"A cross?" Mitch asked.

"Yeah. After a friend of mine," I explained. "He died several months ago, I've been putting it off for a while. Got it on my weekend trip to Esztergom."

"Why a cross?" Mitch asked. "Was he religious?"

I glared at Mitchell and Dufresne shook his head in disapproval at the question.

"He was the team medic."

"And the other one?"

"I answered one question," I said. "Now you have to answer mine."

"Lord Hood's my uncle. Dad's oldest brother."

"I bet your dad has an inferiority complex," Dufresne joked. "That is, unless he's a chairman or something."

Mitch shook his head. "Nah, dad looks up to him a bunch. Everybody does."

"I bet," Dufresne agreed. "He's probably the second most important officer in the whole navy."

"After Admiral Freemont?" I asked.

"Yeah," Dufresne confirmed. "Or maybe the ONI chief, whomever that is."

"Who the hell decided to make that position not public?"

"A very smart person," Mitch stated. "The chief of ONI needs her identity to be a secret in order to avoid assassination attempts and the like by insurrectionists."

I nodded in agreement while my mind raged over a single piece of information that he had given me. Her?!

It was a her. A her very much like the one that had spoken to me when ONI had apprehended me.

Apprehended, mind you, They had most definitely not kidnapped me. It was not the term that they preferred to use in situations that needed direct action.

The chief of the Office of Naval Intelligence deemed me important enough to walk into an interrogation room and actually give me an explanation regarding my situation?

Wow, I feel important.

"Don't get ahead of yourself just yet Francisco," Schitzo told me, only just finishing his last burger. "Might be she was just the one in charge of a certain section."

Nah, Stanforth is in charge of Section-III, and that's the section in charge of me.

"Fine, fine. Smartass."

I quickly returned back to real life when I realized that the conversation had shifted back to other non-intrusive topics. It wouldn't do any good for me to stare dully at a point right next to one of my two 'friends' while they asked me a question. I had enough people thinking that I was a psycho. I nodded when the conversation required nodding and kept my smiles to a minimum while occasionally giving each of the two guys shit for something that they had said.

So Mitch's uncle was Fleet Admiral Terrence Hood, who also happened to be a British noble.

No wonder he was pressured into joining the military.

I couldn't imagine a worse fuck you to your family than joining the Corps instead of the Navy. Well, maybe going the other way around would be worse.

Present Day

They were starting to give each candidate their gold bars. I was going to be one of the last ones to go. Our group consisted of forty-eight men and women of which I was one of the first in alphabetic order, but it wasn't the only one that was graduating. Seven other different groups were also going to receive their officer commission today, and all of them were ahead of us.

I suppressed any display of emotion for what seemed to be the eleventh time in the ceremony. This time I failed, a little sigh of boredom escaped my lips and I could see Mitch shake his head lightly next to me but refrained from smiling.

I endured the cold and the snow without another sigh. Hell, I managed to keep from shivering. I watched as one by one the members of other groups were called to the front to have their new pins insignia to their lapels. The brigade general did it with extreme speed considering how long it took me to get my goddamned chevrons to my lapels without any help. No doubt the man had commissioned many officers.

Suddenly it was my turn.

"Francisco Castillo!"

I did what we had rehearsed; I took one step forward before stopping and then marched towards the podium. There were several captains and colonels next to the general, they all looked bored and didn't bother to hide it. The man in charge of this academy however, looked professional as fuck. I have no other way to describe it. He reminded me of an aging movie star, the looks were there even if they weren't what they had been in his youth, but he was still in what appeared to be excellent shape and would certainly appear attractive to most women. But what he had that struck me the most was presence. Like most general officers he had something about him that just seemed imposing, no matter the age, or height, or even physical power difference. If this man told me to do something I would do it.

"You are now an officer son," he said as he pinned my bars. "Make the UNSC proud, make the UEG proud, andmake humanity proud." He pinned the second one and looked at me. "But on top of everything, make yourself proud."

I saluted like everyone before me had and gave the general a quick, curt nod before stepping to my left and returning to my place.

I am now a lieutenant in the United Nations Space Command Marine Corps. Fuck. Yeah.

Two months ago

I gotta give it to them. The recovered Covenant weapons were a big bonus when it came to training. I rarely bothered to pick up a covvie weapon. I remember once firing a beam rifle in order to save a pilot, but it always felt wrong, no matter how dire the circumstances. I have to admit that the jackal gauntlets were incredibly useful during Skopje, but the feeling of wrongness was always there.

A plasma rifle was no different.

The younger guys were incredibly eager to fire the things, lifting the rifles carefully and examining them before trying to aim down range. The ballistic gel dummies were shaped like humans and clad in old fatigues. So far we hadn't been given the order to fire.

"The Type-25 Directed Energy Rifle, more commonly known as the plasma rifle," our instructor started, "is one of the more common Covenant infantry weapons. Its rate of fire varies, our geeks haven't figured out how to tune it just yet, but so far it goes between three hundred sixty and five hundred forty rounds per minute. It is about six kilos in weight and unwieldy as hell. As you can see, it has no sights or stock. It was meant for Elite use, and those have enough strength to fire it like a pistol."

The instructor described more of its physical and technical qualities before going on to describe the damage it could cause on a human being.

"The plasma bolts that this gun fires are superheated, meaning that they will burn through several layers of ballistic armor. Clocking at almost half a million degrees Celsius it will sting like hell. The only good that comes from this is that the magnetic fields keeping the plasma together are unstable, meaning that they don't have much penetrating power. Don't get me wrong, one hit from this and you'll be out of commission for a while if not dead." She looked around the group with a slight frown. "Four veterans here…who of you has been hit by a plasma rifle?"

I raised my hand and so did another guy.

"You," the instructor pointed at me. "Where did you get hit?"

"Back." I pointed to my shoulder blade. "And belly."

"You?" she asked the other guy.

"Left thigh."

"How was it?"

"Burned all the way to the bone," the Marine replied.

"For a moment there my intestines were out in the open. Shoulder wasn't so bad, armor absorbed most of the heat, but it still peeled my skin off the muscle."

"So you don't want to get hit with one of these," she reaffirmed. "And you most certainly don't want the idiot next to you to accidentally melt your face off, so aim those things at the fucking ground!"

A few of the recruits that had been waving the guns around looked sheepish as they pointed the muzzles to the ground, others looked plain frightened at the prospect of being shot with one of those. I guess that the prospect of holding alien power weapons made them forget all about range safety.

The instructor had us fire a couple of times at the targets. She didn't tell us that firing for too long would overheat the weapons, and more than a few of the guys ended up with burnt hands. They winced and cursed but didn't complain. They knew better than that.

"Next up we have the Type-51 Carbine. Commonly known as the Covenant carbine or just the carbine," she said, holding the huge purple weapon. "Looks fancy, doesn't it? Well, it is. It's rare because it fires conventional ammunition, if you call caseless radioactive projectiles conventional. Now, be very careful when you run out of ammo, because the magazine ejects directly into your face. More than one imbecile has gotten a concussion from the mag."

The carbine was the counterpart to my personal favorite, the BR55. I would always pick the human weapon over the alien carbine, but I was of the personal belief that the BR55 was better. It had several different firing modes as well as a longer effective range in addition to a larger magazine size, and most importantly, a stock.

"This is boring," Dufresne muttered as the instructor walked past us. "I did all this in boot camp."

"And it still feels wrong," I replied.

"Amen."

Mitch was trying to aim down the rather unconventional scope without hitting himself in the face with the recoil, succeeding more often than not, but occasionally nicking himself in the forehead. It took some practice, but everybody got the hang of it quickly enough.

The process was repeated with plasma pistols, needlers, and even needle rifles. At one point I was hoping that they'd bring out fuel rod cannons, but they didn't. I had only fired those once and I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to do it again in the future.

"This bores me," I told Dufresne after giving in my spiker to the instructor.

"Day wasted," he agreed. "I've gone through this already."

"But we have a fucking exam tomorrow."

"What was it on again?" he asked.

"Warfare in the Rain Forest Wars."

"Damn, it's a tough one."

"You're going to fail if you haven't even started studying."

"I'll manage," he shrugged. "I'll sit next to Mitch."

"Ha!" I exclaimed. "And he'll allow you to copy? Let alone being able to see all the way to his terminal."

Dufresne shrugged and smiled. "Guess I'll just study like crazy."

"Good luck."

Present day

They were giving off swords now.

Let me explain, because that probably sounded a little bit weird.

The Mendez Military Academy was one of the first officer schools on the planet. A British officer that had studied in a British military academy before joining the UNSC Marine Corps had founded it. He had set several 'traditions' based on the ones in his school back on Earth. I still don't know why the guy had named it after someone other than himself

That meant that the best students got swords, sabres to be precise. Ok, maybe they were not sabres; they were more like straight sabres. Is there a name for that? Well, the point is that you probably know what they look like already. There were five different swords in all. Each was given to a different student for a different achievement. They were incredibly prestigious to have and every officer that cared about his reputation wore them to every single important occasion.

It's a shame; a sword would've looked pretty damn good on my waist.

The general went into an explanation, telling us why each sword was important and what it meant to have it. They were all named after virtues or desirable characteristics in an officer. I thought that it was conceited, but then imagined being the proud owner of the Sword of Bravery, class of 2548 and decided that it was actually kind of cool.

The general turned to grab a sword from one of his aides and lifted it slightly to show it to the crowd. "Sword of Bravery. It is awarded to the cadet that displayed exceeding talent in combat situations. Every officer that earns the right to carry this sword leads his men into battle and fights just like one of them. Men and woman that have earned this sword are always looked up to by their subordinates, always keep morale high, and are not afraid to get their hands dirty…" I trailed off as he went on listing a couple of famous recipients and telling of their accomplishments before finally calling a name form a guy on another company.

My heart sunk a little. If I had a chance of getting a stupid sword then that was it.

"Sword of Diligence." The general had produced another sword, slightly different hilt and the blade looked to be a little bit shorter and wider. "Perseverance. This sword is issued to the cadet that managed to overcome challenges despite the adversity and refused to give up. The men and women that have earned this sword are known to have been determined until their last breath or until they accomplished the mission. They lead through example and sacrifice themselves for the greater good." Again he cited a few important figures before naming the student. I watched the kid march towards the general. He looked a little bit short and maybe on the heavy side, but I know that he must've done something to earn that price. He saluted the general and received his sword.

"Sword of Honor. This sword in particular has been held by many of the greatest strategists in the history of the Marine Corps. It is given to the cadet that understands tactics and knows how to use them. The men and women who earn this sword are always informed and knowledgeable."
In my own personal opinion it was the lamest sword. He was adorning it, but this sabre went to the person who had the best academic scores. Of course, a certain degree of practical abilities were needed, but it was the equivalent of the highest grade average in a regular high school. Kudos to the guy that got it though.

"Sword of Excellence."

This is a good one.

"As it name suggests, it is awarded to the cadet considered to be the best overall in the graduating class by the commanding officer. Me. It is considered by some to be the toughest sword to earn, but it depends on the man in charge of the academy at the time. Seeing as right now I'm the director of this school, I would also say that it's incredibly difficult to get." He smiled at his own joke because we weren't allowed to. "Grades in theory and academic studies go above and beyond; practical skills that surprise even our drill sergeants. And above all, he should have all the characteristics of a model UNSC Marine Corps officer. It is my honor to announce the winner of this sword. Second Lieutenant Mitchell Hood!"

Mitch took a step forward without saying a word. I don't know what he felt, but he was probably torn between pride of earning such a prestigious prize and frustration at having risen up to his family's expectations. No matter, he walked towards the general and received his sword with a perfect poker face, only smiling a little at some joke or comment that the higher-ranking officer made.

He walked back with a shiny new sword strapped to his hip. Mitch took position right next to me and ignored the glance that I shot him, looking straight ahead, his peaked hat almost covering his eyes.

In the podium the general had one more sword to give out. This looked no different than the others, perhaps a little bit slimmer than most, with a slightly modified handguard, but that's about it.

"The last sword," he announced, lifting it so that everybody could see. "The Sword of Leadership. This sword goes to a cadet that I chose myself, same as the previous one. This cadet is a man or woman that inspires others to follow him through sheer force of will and personality. Some of the Marines that have won this sword are not the best in theory, they are not necessarily the best in combat training, and they are most certainly not the drill sergeants' favorites. Men and women that have won this have been headstrong and meek, outspoken and shy. We've had women who could barely pass the physical win this and we've had men with a body that would put a rugby player to shame. There is no profile for the cadet that wins, the only thing in common that they all have is that they are exceptionally good leaders." He paused and looked down at the sword. "Holders of the Sword of Leadership have gained rank and prestige in the military. I should know since I got it myself."

This time we did allow ourselves a little chuckle. It was the kind of joke that called for it.

"Well, without any further ado, I shall name the winner of this class." Like all good speakers he paused for effect. "Second Lieutenant Francisco Castillo."

"Huh," I said. "Wait, what?"

"Move. Up," Dufresne urged me in a quiet growl.

Right. What?

I took a step forward, straightening my back. Suddenly it was a little bit too cold for my comfort and the wind seemed to be blowing just a bit harder than before. I could feel every last eye digging into my back. I felt very much like the first time I had been called into the principal's office. Hearing my name being called over the speakers and all my classmates staring in wide-eyed wonder and muttering amongst themselves.

The people looking at me weren't staring in wide-eyed wonder, they were staring with barely concealed curiosity. It is worth noting that they weren't first-graders either. They were all military men and women with impressive skill sets and a very high standard as to what 'leadership' actually meant. And now they thought that I had whatever they thought was necessary.

"Sir," I said, saluting the general.

"As you were, son," he told me. He unsheathed the sword and showed me the blade, point facing up. "This sword has been given to many of the greatest leaders in the history of the Marine Corps. It has also been given to the men and women with the biggest failures. It doesn't mean that you'll be a great leader or remembered in the history books. It means that those under your command will follow you to their death. It is your job to make sure that they don't die in vain." He sheathed the sword and presented the sword to me. "Lieutenant, you are the most curious combination that I have ever seen. From the outside you are narcissistic and egotistical yet also charismatic and engaging. Some of the school's psychologists say that you could be great and others say that you could be a Koslov in the making." He paused his tirade and sighed. "I think that you're a good at what you do and have an ability to make people want to follow you into their very graves. I have not seen anything to signal you as a potential terrorist."

Thanks for the vote of confidence.

"I think you're going to do great, son. You need to believe that yourself, corny as that sounds."

"Sir."

"Make me proud," he ordered, finally handing me the sword. "Prove me right."

I saluted once more. "I'll do my best, sir. You have my word."

"That is all I ask," he replied, returning the salute.

I strapped the sword to my belt and returned to my position, feeling a little bit shellshocked form the whole experience. The general gave a closing statement before dismissing us all.

I got patted in the back by a few guys and Dufresne took advantage of the opportunity to repeatedly poke me. Mitch shook my hand and congratulated me. I congratulated him in return. A few minutes later I was dragged away for a photo op, the academy's official photographer and a few civilian freelancers took several dozen pictures of me posing in front of the statue of the school's founder before taking a hundred and a half of all five of us with fancy swords.

"What the fuck?" I asked myself as soon as everybody left.

Thanks to SilasWhitfield for proof-reading this chapter.

So, I'm really sorry for the delay, but a couple of very big basketball games coupled with a party (yes, an actual party. With girls and boobs) prevented me from being able to have this wrapped up earlier. I was planning on putting it up friday, but evidently that didn't work out as I wanted. Again, sorry for the delay in posting this.

Well, I wasn't going to go through all of OCS and Basic. I mean, I've seen enough movies to know how bootcamp is supposed to be like, but OCS? I mean, who makes movies about Officer Candidate School? That's right, no one. Well, the point is that I did some research and did my best to portray both separate sections of officer training as realistically as I could. First part was based on the United States OCS and the second...well, the Military Academy is based on a british one whose name I don't recall at the moment with a little bit of my grandpa's stories thrown in for good measure. Just don't make the mistake of thinking that becoming and officer actually works like that.

Back in the day they would get locked up in the school's grain silo and they had to sleep on top and outside because it was actually warmer than the inside. Once he and his friends got an Italian lieutenant in a sack of potatoes and hung him from the flagstaff. And here I thought that the Mexican Army wasn't that interesting.

Anyhow, I went through some of Frank's most memorable experiences in OCS and Military Academy before graduation itself. All of you know that Frank is special, but he doesn't quite believe it yet. Don't know if he has an inferiority complex or thinks that he hadn't earned all his skills, but Frank fails to see just how goddamned special he is. Not because he's modest, but because he has a variety of mental illnesses working together to make his life shit. But he was still awarded a fancy sword by a fancy general, that's gotta count for something. I hope that you liked Hood and Dufresne, they might be present further on if you liked them. Or if you didn't, I don't know yet.

Next chapter will introduce lots and lots of other characters as well as a slightly different dynamic.

Ladies (hopefully) and gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to reading your future reviews and thank you for all your past reviews. Stay strong.

-casquis