Fluke
I had no reference off of which to base my expectations for Fire Nation training, except, perhaps, the local militia combat readiness drills that the Peacemakers used to run.
None of us had ever really known what the purpose of it was, but about once a month, the Lawmakers would organize 'inspections' of those with local slum militias. It was unclear to all if they were preparing for civil war, external invasion, or Fire Nation crackdowns, but all the same, they'd been serious, even if those of the militia weren't.
They were scrappy slumdogs who wanted to feel useful by practicing forms with a wooden spear once a month, pretending that they were a part of something bigger than themselves. It hadn't been regimented, it hadn't sewn discipline, it'd been a show more than anything else to the point that the lawmakers had given up on the venture. About half a year later, they fell.
Some would jokingly make the claim that the militia could've prevented it. Of course, it was just that–a joke. Nothing about it had been regimented. Nothing about it had been backbreaking. Nothing about it had been serious. Nothing about it had been anything like this.
Our commander, Captain Chaasa, or, for the time being, drill sergeant, sir, did not hesitate in putting us to work. As soon as she saw that at least half of us had formed up, around only fifty of us in total, far less than either the 114th or 122nd, she instructed us to follow outside of the barracks.
I caught one last glimpse of Danev where he waited in the line that had formed in front of Captain Yuzeh before I myself left the room along with those of my new brigade who were still forming in line.
The 62nd Armored Battalion. As though I had any idea of what that was supposed to mean. The number, the term, the commander, they all meant nothing to me. Everything happening at the speed it was, I imagined, was meant to ensure that we weren't given the time to think about it. The most time I'd had was while other names were being called after mine, and even then, there'd been hardly any details for me to settle my mind onto, only that I wasn't with Danev. Hell, I was hardly with anyone else, and that was clear now more than ever as our miniscule group of just a little over two-score left the barracks, hastening to keep up with our commander.
Her strides, as well as those of the two soldiers she'd ordered to attach to us, were long and fast, giving us little breathing room to keep up. She was only getting faster by the looks of it, taking us down corridors I didn't recognize, still new to this structure as I was, having spent all my time in Citadel thus far in the same damned room.
Eventually though, he came to a double door that she flung open, and there it was–the blinding yellow glow of the sun.
It wasn't only me who struggled with the glow but the others beside me as well, and I couldn't but wonder if, like me, this was their first time outside since coming here. It was hotter than I remembered. I found myself struggling to ascertain if it really had been just over a week since everything had happened on the streets as it hardly felt like a mid Spring day as much as an early summer heat that engulfed us all.
Just past the glow, I could barely make out the courtyard of the Citadel military complex: a bricked courtyard, imported trees lining the plaza, and a copper fountain in the center of it all that took the form of a bird I didn't recognize. And in front of it all, perhaps a mile or so ahead, the inner wall of the city, as seen for the first time from the inside, its curve now concave rather than convex. That was about all I had the time to take in before Chaasa's voice roared, disrupting my chain of thought, "To the wall and back! Fifteen minutes!"
We'd finished eating lunch no more than thirty minutes ago. In hindsight, it was fortunate that my stomach had been so tied up upon itself with guilt during lunch as I'd hardly eaten anything and, as such, had little inside of me to puke out as we ran. The others could hardly make that claim of fortune.
To the wall and back was two miles, and we'd been given only fifteen minutes to run it. I did the math in my head as we ran. That was 8 miles per hour for children between the ages of twelve and eighteen by the looks of us. We could all spring at that speed with ease, an acquired skill gained from having spent a chunk of our lives runnin in the slums, be it from gangers or Fire Nation, but rarely had we ever learned to run for such lengths of time, and never with full stomachs.
It wasn't too long before the runners next to me were throwing up their lunches and I was dry heaving a meal that I hadn't even eaten, struggling to keep myself conscious and my bodily fluids contained.
I would have thought that self-preservation would have rendered those of the 62nd present concerned about themselves only, but somehow still, Gan, a Rat I recognized, found it in him to try and shove me to the ground with the help of Luhing as they ran past me, playing it off as an accident, but the intent behind it clear–he knew who I was.
I'd regained my footing as I watched him continue to run ahead and allowed him to put some needed distance between himself and I. I wasn't going to try my luck and speed past him. I was unpopular enough as it was and should have just considered myself lucky that it wasn't Match who'd been put in the 62nd. The last I saw of him, he was forming in line with the 122nd, and assuming that he wasn't one of the ones that'd forgotten their roster number and taken their chances with one of the three units, then he at least wouldn't be in my direct way. That was some consolation, but in the moment, it hardly did anything to make me feel less on the verge of unconsciousness.
Running as I was, I could have tricked myself into thinking I was running away. So many times in the slums, I would walk towards that outer wall, watching it grow larger and closer, just imagining that I could keep on going down the Grain Street, past its gates, and emerge in a new world outside. But at the end of that road, the wall was always there, its gate shut, and just like I did now, I would always turn around to go back deeper into Citadel.
It was strange to think about it, but I was deeper in Citadel now than ever I had been before, but for some reason, it hardly felt anywhere near as awful. I wasn't afraid. I felt, in some strange way, that I didn't have anything left to lose. Mishi, Reek, the Hornets, they were gone. There was Danev, sure, but, aside from him, there was nothing I felt afraid of losing for myself. As for myself, the misery aside, it was different. There may still have been Rats who had their eyes out for my blood, but it wasn't those damned streets that'd taken everyone I'd known from me. It was safe here. At least relatively.
Reaching the wall now, the interior rather than the exterior, I no longer felt that same longing for the mysteries on the other side. I knew exactly what was there, and if I could help it, I would never go back there again.
I ran faster on my way back from the wall than I'd run towards it.
I wasn't the last of my unit, which was something at least, but I sure as hell hadn't made the run within fifteen minutes, which was more than clear to Chaasa who chose to make it clear.
"Congratulations! Thirty-six of you are dead! Only four of you survived! That's a ninety percent casualty rate! As far as I am concerned, all of you except for these four are dead!"
I only recognized one of the living in question–a kid named Gunji. I didn't know whether that was his name from the streets or a Fire Nation assigned one, but judging from his age, around mine, no older than me, it was likely that it was the latter. I'd only noticed him in the crowd due to how slim he was. I was frankly surprised that a light breeze hadn't picked him up during the run, but I supposed it was just as plausible that it had and he'd ridden it to the wall and back, explaining how he'd somehow gotten here minutes before any others.
I wanted to think I was at least close to the mark of fifteen minutes, only a few seconds or so behind Gan who'd slowed down, but not as much as Luhing who I'd passed as he was hunched over on the side of the road, puking his guts out. Close to the mark or not, it seemed to make no difference to Drill Sergeant Chaasa who roared, "Dead or alive, you still follow my orders! Now, on the ground!"
We looked around, as though trying to decide how to interpret her orders, and so lowered ourselves down. Some sat, some lay down, others got on their knees. There was no sense of unity, and the captain was just waiting to see who would be the first to ask as she demanded, "Now give me fifty!"
The unfortunate soul, Maso, who asked the question we all had, "fifty what?" was given a swift kick to the stomach by one of the Fire Nation soldiers as prompted by a nod from Chaasa. She'd been waiting for that very question, and her curiosity now satiated, she looked to see who would be the first to understand what she was asking for.
She would have trouble finding a clear winner though as watching Maso get beaten to the ground was enough to put our minds to work even in the state of exhaustion we were in and decide that she meant pushups.
The 'fifty' she asked for did not come easily. All except for Gunji who, once again, seemed to possess an energy that almost reminded me of Trap. Don't think about him, I reminded myself. Don't think about any of them. I put my mind to what was being asked of me in the moment and forced myself not to allow my mind to wander anywhere else. The first ten to fifteen pushups came easily enough , but it was after that where we, well, those of us who weren't Gunji, began to slow down. Our arms fatigued, our cores screamed, and some of us emptied our stomachs even more, ordered by Chaasa not to move, but to lower themselves down to their pile of vomit and back up with every rep.
It was at around number thirty-five that I could hardly push myself up anymore, met face to face with the warm stone-paved floor beneath me. I just needed a moment to lie, to let my arms recover for just a moment before doing my last fifteen before I felt an awful pain in my side that was the golden stud of a Fire Nation soldier's boot, allowing Chaasa to speak for him as she demanded, "Back up! I didn't count fifty from you!"
The pain in my side made the next ones no easier, nor did the burning pain in my arms that was nigh impossible to push through. It was some consolation that it wasn't me alone who struggled. From further behind, I hear the unmistakable sound of Luhing crying out in pain as he also came to encounter the soldier's metal toe. I gave them that much–it was incentive not to stop, even when every part of my body was telling me to.
43…44
"Who gave you permission to stop, 642962C1?!" I breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't me. I was E17. I was spared for the moment, that next kick to the ground not for me, but I didn't intend on giving any excuse for me to be the next target.
"Let it be understood," she spoke up, "that you are not boys anymore! You are soldiers!"
45….46…..
I caught a glimpse of a Fire Nation soldier finding another target, and beating him to the ground. "You are cogs in a machine, no different from the tanks that you will take into battle!"
47…
I felt the prod of a spear's butt against my back, pushing me down, forcing me to put all the more effort into rising up, just barely managing.
"Parts of a machine are not given names! They are given numbers!"
48…
I heard a crash behind me that didn't even belong to a soldier's boot. Somebody had just gone down. I couldn't see who, but by the sound of it, they'd just gone and passed out. The briefest glance I could attain afforded me a view of them face down on the ground, not moving but for their back raising up and down. They were alive at least.
Chaasa noticed. "You are numbers! You are parts of a machine! When a part fails, all of you fail!"
A soldier moved in to intercept, likely to kick the boy kid until he was awake.
49…
Just one more, I told myself. Just one more. The sound of the soldier kicking the boy's body behind me hurried me, though there was only so much I could really do with my entire body breaking down with every move I made. My stomach was cramping up, my arms were trembling, and my vision was going dark. Still, in spite of all that, all I had to do was raise myself one last time.
My arms shook, and my entire body along with them until they were outstretched, and finally, just to lower myself, and…
I lowered myself, and my arms gave out. It was done. 50. I was done.
I was hardly in the upper percentile of those to finish, because soon enough, it seemed like the others were done too. It was quite possible to though that I may have blacked out for a span of time. All I knew was that the world came back to me with Chaasa's voice that I was already learning to hate. Good!" She called out with perhaps the only positive adjective she'd used so far today.
I wondered if Danev was getting it this rough.
"Now again!"
No, I decided just as quickly. No, he isn't.
Danev
I doubted Fluke was getting it nearly anywhere this rough.
He and the 62nd had left the barracks shortly before us, but our drill sergeant, Yuzeh, seemed intent on getting us caught up as quickly as possible. We left the 122nd behind, among their ranks, Match, whose eyes followed me as I left with my own company.
The moment we were out of the barracks and into the hallway beyond, we could have been mistaken for cattle in the way we were herded, prodded along by the butts of soldiers' weapons. It was as though the hallway was narrowing around us as we were forced through it. I no doubt took a bruise or two as we moved along in a dual-file line, following Yuzeh as the soldiers, possibly other men of the 29th Brigade, our soon-to-be comrades, beat at us without hesitation. They were not going easy on us and I couldn't help but wonder if they'd gone through the self same thing and now were just eager to inflict the pain rather than take it.
It was a relief when we were finally out of the structure and met with the blinding sun outside, shrouded from us for the week we'd spent locked within the Citadel military complex.
In spite of the blazing Summer sun and the heat intensified by the clouds of smog that hung above, it was somehow cooler outside than inside, cramped running with two-hundred and fifty other recruits.
We were hardly given any time to enjoy the fresh air, however, before Yuzeh's voice boomed, "All of you! On the ground!"
We'd naturally spaced apart upon leaving the structure, now met with what seemed to be some rear courtyard more intended for carriage traffic than for human passage, much less training. I doubted our drill sergeant seemed to mind though as we dropped to the ground all together.
It was a sporadic process by which we understood what we were being asked to do. Some of the more senior among us, myself included, understood quickly enough that we were meant to be doing push ups, and so put ourselves into planking positions in preparation for the order that would certainly be given. The degree of forward thinking did not seem to be appreciated by our drill sergeant, however, who roared, "I did not tell you to get into plank position! You do what I say, when I say! Nothing more! Nothing less! Now all of you, begin!"
There was no set number we were trying to reach, nor did he seem to be counting the amount of pushups nor time. Though it was difficult to get a look of him as I pushed myself up and down, I did manage to see him finally move after a while to approach the nearest recruit, whom he asked, "What is your name?!"
"Azao!"
Drill sergeant Yuzeh gave a nod to a nearby soldier, who proceeded to stab with the blunt end of the spear at the recruit's back, forcing him to the ground with a grunt of pain.
"What is your name!?" Yuzeh asked again.
"Azao, drill sergeant, sir!"
The correction appeased the drill sergeant who now asked as the other 249 of us continued our pushups, "What is your roster number?!"
"6429114D23, drill sergeant, sir!"
The same platoon as me, and lucky enough to remember that.
Drill sergeant Yuzeh consulted a roster in his hands, verifying most likely that the name and number matched before nodding, satisfied, and moved on to the next.
Random, I told myself. Right?
"Name!" he demanded of the next soldier.
"Holan, drill sergeant, sir!" the soldier answered between the pants of his exercise. "6429114E19, drill sergeant, sir!"
Another nod to a Fire Nation soldier, and a kick right to the chin with the studded gold toe.
"I did not ask for your roster number, private! You answer what I ask of you, and that alone! What is your name?!"
"Holan, drill sergeant, sir!"
"What is your roster number?!"
"64-" the soldier coughed out a small mouthful of blood as he pushed himself back into a planking position to resume his pushup. "6429114E19, drill sergeant, sir!"
Another consultation of the list, a satisfied nod, and a move to another, and to the next in the row. Do not tell me he's going one at a time.
There were two-hundred and fifty of us. My arms were already beginning to feel exhausted, and we'd only been going at this for the first two. We were hardly a fraction of the way through and already, I could see people around me slowing, beginning to give out, exhausting. We couldn't do this forever.
Fortunately, the next recruit, a girl named Ele, one of the few among us, remembered her roster number and formalities quickly enough, 6429114B7.
Following her, it was either that Yuzeh realized going through everybody in the company would take too long, or that he had just been going through the first three in order so as to frighten us. The general sense I'd been getting from the man led me to assume the latter as inflicting fear seemed to be his top priority at the moment.
He chose his next target at random from the mass of recruits exhaustedly trying to push themselves more off of the ground. Those who grew too tired and collapsed were beaten until they rose again. I did not allow myself to fall victim to that and so, in spite of my exhaustion and desire to just lie down, figuring the beating couldn't be half as bad as the pain going through my body, I kept at it. I'd gone through worse. I could go through this.
The next two recruits also got through easily enough, but it was when the sixth was reached that things no longer flowed as smoothly. It very well could have been me who the drill sergeant was approaching, but instead, it happened to be the kid directly to my right, Chuta. I remembered his name from the barracks. For the life of him though, he could not seem to remember his roster numbers no matter how many kicks or much beratement he took.
"I asked you for your roster number, private!"
"I forgot it, drill sergeant, sir!"
He was kicked again in his stomach, this time personally by the drill sergeant. "You forgot who you are?"
"I remember my name, drill sergeant, sir!"
Another kick.
"Your name is not who you are! Your name is not who any of you are anymore! You are soldiers of the Fire Nation army. You are parts of a machine! You are numbers! What is yours!?"
"It's-," Chuta coughed. "It's 6429114B, no, -D."
A nod to the soldier and a rough prod to the back.
Some of us had made the mistake to stop and watch, figuring perhaps that Yuzeh's distraction with Chuta would buy some of us enough time to take a breather. It did not.
"What are you looking at!? The rest of you have orders do you not?!"
"Those who had stopped were summarily punished for the foolish notion of believing because they were out of sight and, therefore out of mind, but it was their own mistake for believing that Yuzeh did not have enough space inside of him to resent us all at the same time. I was not among them, and though my arms burned, I continued, not about to be emboldened by Yuzeh's back being directly to me, myself able to make out Chote's pained expression from between the drill sergeant's legs.
He looked back at Chuta. "Is it 'B' or 'D' private!?"
"B, drill sergeant, sir!"
"So what is your roster number, private?!"
"6429114B…B-"
Another kick and I could've sworn that the poor kid puked out a portion of his lunch. "You'll need to answer quicker than that! Your entire company will be here until you get it right! 114th!" He turned to all of us now. "You may stop only, and only when the private here remembers his roster number! So say it, private!"
Private Chuta was panicking, and it was impossible not to understand why. Yuzeh had just decided that the resumption of our pain and suffering was no longer dependent on himself, but on the struggling private instead. He was shifting the blame, and applying the pressure. In some cases, it could be a good thing, and force adaptation in order to survive. But in other times too, it could be too much, and could, quite simply, crush somebody. Chuta was nearing that point.
Whether it was the drill sergeant's kick once again, or another spear butt to the ground, he wasn't going to remember, all the while gaining the ever-increasing resentment of the rest of the 114th. He was best off guessing.
He managed, somehow, to pick himself back off the ground, and his eyes met mine. The entire company was being driven to the edge because of him, and because of his failed memory that didn't even remember his own roster number. It was for his sake, as well as mine, as well as everybody in the 114th, that I mouthed the simple number that was his.
3.
His eyes met mine, as though attempting to verify the number I had in fact mouthed, and so when he was ordered to say his number, he spoke out, voice quivering from the fear and pain, "6429114B3, drill sergeant, sir!"
Yuzeh's boot had already moved back for another kick, but stopped in place. He hadn't expected the kid to get it right. Not for a long while longer, perhaps just waiting for him to begin listing off random numbers between one and forty. Fortunately, for all of our sakes, it hadn't come to that.
"Company!" Yuzeh called out. "Stop!"
We did, and with much relief, nearly all of us collapsing to the ground, thankful for the endeavor to have come to an end.
That relief would not last, of course, Yuzeh lecturing to us all the while, "Private 6429114B3 has finally remembered his number. Today it was him, and tomorrow, when we do the exact same thing, it will be one of you! Remember your numbers! These are your new names from today until you are cannon fodder on the field! Now up! All of you! To the wall and back, fifteen minutes!"
Wait, what?
"Your time begins now! Move it, move it!"
It'd been a minute of downtime at most, and already, we were back on our feet, exhausted, but running anyway a distance of what must have been around 2 miles. My body was fighting me, but I was fighting back, forcing it not to stop. Not yet. I'd grown used to forcing my body to act beyond what its limits should have been. Years of fighting for my life in the slums from one day to the next, it hadn't been much of an option, nor was it here.
I knew that just on the other side of the interior wall was a life that'd been mine just two weeks ago. It was the only life I'd ever known–blood, fear, struggle, freedom, but at the same time, certain death. I'd sold that all for imprisonment, and I still couldn't decide if it was the right choice. It came back to that same question in my mind if that'd been the decision that'd sealed all our fates. I wondered if my choice to sell our souls to the Fire Nation had been that which decided we all would either die, or become slaves.
There was no putting it lightly. Me and the other two-hundred and forty-nine of us were pawns of the Fire Nation, and as Yuzeh had said it himself, cannon fodder. They would let us die at the drop of a hat the moment it became a worthwhile sacrifice on the battlefield. I knew how the game worked. I'd made decisions not too dissimilar before. We were an expendable resource to be sacrificed on a whim. I couldn't go back to the slums, not realistically, but I, and Fluke too, we couldn't stay here. It would be just as certain a death.
It was sometime during that run, finding in me a new energy that pushed me ahead, that I decided we were well and truly on death row, and to stay with the Fire Nation, wearing their colors, marching into their war, it would kill us all. There was nothing of a plan beyond that. Only an understanding.
The trouble was that the slumdogs who ran beside me seemed to believe in false notions of the future and to cling to false notions of the past. The game was no different than on the streets. It is, and always had been, a matter of survival, except that some of us were still making a key mistake–we were clinging to the same ideas of petty rivalries that had nearly gotten us all killed out there, and sure as well would get us killed in here. I saw Eraim sticking with Hilan, the two of them Rats, as though they could keep to archaic notions of allegiance. Just so, there were those too who had no such allegiances, and suffered for it. Mano was a prime example, larger in stature than most of us though we had the least idea of how that'd come to pass, enough hair on him to pass for a wild animal.
He was suffering for it now.
I came across him early on, leaning against a wall, panting for air, and had even stopped momentarily, frankly concerned the man was about to go down from heatstroke, but he waved me aside. I saw some resentment there, and couldn't help but wonder if the dismissive wave was on account of pride, or on account of my being a Hornet. He was not alone in that camp of those who despised us, and who despised me in particular, their chief enforcer.
Us Hornets hadn't made ourselves popular in the last few months in Citadel. I'd told myself it was to keep us alive. I hadn't predicted it would come to bite us in the ass once inside, though here we were.
I was back within fifteen minutes' time along with a few others.
Those who came after, constituting the vast majority, were not particularly welcomed. "Half-portions for dinner to all of you!" Yuzeh announced, ensuring those who had made time were kept separate from the others.
We went nowhere though. We were still waiting in the blazing Summer sun for those who hadn't come back yet, who had missed the thirty-minute mark. They were not many, but they were there, and one such was Mano, being helped along by Murao to both of their detriments.
"All of you who missed the fifteen minute mark, you have failed to meet time, and so have suffered! You will receive half-portions tonight. Those of you who have failed to return in even twice that time, as far as anybody is concerned, you are dead! Earth Kingdom soldiers have caught you, and have killed you! Dead men do not eat! Nor do they rest! You will not return to your barracks tonight, but will be escorted to the cells and so will reside there until you make par! Consider yourselves lucky! On the field, it will be an Earth Kingdom mass grave!"
I could catch the exhaustion in Mano's eyes. He was too tired to even be distraught. I got the impression that he would be more than capable of collapsing anywhere and falling asleep once given the chance.
And so he would have to as Yuzeh's threats were not empty. He worked us for the duration of the afternoon into the evening, demanding more of us in the way of sit ups, planks, and all manner of other physical toils that would leave us wishing we were, as Yuzeh described us, in fact already dead.
But we instead had to endure through the shared misery of this life, soldiers, no, cannon fodder. It became hard to know if it would be the Earth Kingdom or the Fire Nation to kill us first at this rate.
I could hardly put a pair of chopsticks to my mouth as I finally had the chance to sit down for supper that evening, and my stomach could hardly handle what I was being fed. I understood what it was–they were breaking us. The Fire Nation had been given over five-hundred street rats and been told to turn them into soldiers. They couldn't simply put us into uniforms, hand us weapons, and throw us onto the frontlines. They had to break us first, make us forget who we were, and already around me, I could see its beginnings taking form.
The last coherent thought I could really remember putting together that evening was a question to myself of whether I would manage to get out alive before they managed to do the same to me and/or Fluke.
Judging by how the 114th's return to the barracks, minus the 'dead men,' was in complete silence, however, all of us too quiet to talk, even to complain, it seemed that we were well on our way.
Even Fluke, already passed out on his bunk, likely having had an evening meal in a time slot before the 114th,sported no shortage of bruises that likely had come from underperformance or disobedience similar to my own. I told myself that I would ask him on the morrow to hear what his own experience with his company commander had been like, but as my head touched the mattress, I realized that if the Fire Nation were intent on breaking us as they were, they wouldn't give us that chance.
That was the strength in making us believe we were alone–we would have no world but ourselves and our commanders who gave us our orders, who decided what we did at every waking moment, and decided who we were.
If we couldn't speak, we would forget one another.
If we forgot one another, we would forget ourselves.
And if we forgot ourselves, then they will have broken us.
Fluke
I woke up inside of a dead man's body, incapable of movement, incapable of feeling anything that wasn't complete and total pain.
There was not a part of me that didn't ache.
I would have stayed in place and slept all through the rest of the week were I given the chance. I wasn't, of course, awoken by a similar horn that had, only yesterday, informed us that break time was over, and our training had begun.
"Stand at attention by your bunks!" came the voice of Eemusan, not Chaasa this time, but the entire brigade's commanding officer.
I wouldn't have thought myself capable of even moving considering the state I was in, but adrenaline had the ability to work wonders, especially when driving you to avoid pain at all costs. In this case, my body had seemed to decide that it feared another beating at the hands of Fire Nation soldiers more than the way my body might collapse in on itself if I tried to get up too quickly.
And indeed, it quite nearly did.
My leg buckled beneath my weight as I descended from the top bunk, falling on top of myself in the process, crashing to the ground. I would have just stayed where I'd fallen had not Danev, with strength that sure as hell evaded me, pulled me back up, whispering with unhidden concern, "You alright?"
"I look fucking alright?" I asked in retort.
He got the message. He hardly looked any better himself, though certainly better than me. It was clear that he'd also taken one hell of a beating from the last day. Damn near everyone in the barracks seem to have save for Gunji who had only been struck once, and actually for being too fast to get started on his situps before the order'd been given. By that point, however, I'd come to believe that Chaasa had just been searching desperately for an excuse to strike him when he'd been left out thus far.
Regardless of the pain in my spine bidding me to fold over, I stood straight, arms by my side, occasionally using the frame of the bunk to lean back against from time to time as our unit drill sergeants stalked down the hall, looking between us individually one at a time, just waiting to see who'd cracked.
They caught a few. There were some who hadn't yet gotten out of bed who they accelerated the wakeup process for, dragging them out to the floor to beat them with clubs there. There were some who were not properly standing straight, sitting down on their beds, or even committing the cardinal sin of talking to one another who also got beat. Neither Danev nor I gave them any excuse, not that it would have stopped them of course.
Fortunately though, they passed over us, figuring they had more disobedient fish to fry. When they were done, so came the second phase of our instructions.
"Uniforms on! 30 seconds!"
That got us moving.
Danev and I nearly collided with one another as we scrambled for our footlockers, throwing it open to grab our uniforms from where we'd haphazardly thrown them inside. There was no use in counting down the seconds as much as there was in moving as fast as humanly possible, and so we did.
We'd already slept in our proper clothes, leaving only the red and black vest to equip over it as well as our gloves, boots, and belt. Danev focused on his belt while I threw myself back on the bed to get my boots on, pulling them over my feet, barely managing to squeeze the first inside before Danev clumsily sat down next to me, throwing off my effort for the other.
"Everybody stand!"
Shit.
We did not dare disobey, even only half-dressed as we were. Those who did, still attempting to secure their last remaining articles of clothing, were not met with a welcome response.
"Did I tell you to continue!?" Eemusan's voice roared from beside the kid who was getting it rather rough from a well-armed soldier.
"No, drill sergeant, sir!"
"Did I tell you to stand?!"
"Yes, drill sergeant, sir!"
"Then stand!"
The boy pushed himself up, tears of pain forming in his eyes. Eemusan chose to ignore them. He had others to reprimand. He had no shortage of people to choose from, hardly anybody in the barracks fully equipped as they should have been.
The next was chosen at random. Much like Danev, he was barefoot. The colonel's eyes followed the boy up from his bare feet to his improperly tucked collar.
"Do you plan on going into battle barefoot, private?"
"No, drill sergeant, sir!"
"Then where are your boots, private?!"
"I didn't put them on, drill sergeant, sir!"
"Why did you not put on your boots, private!"
"I wasn't given enough time, drill sergeant, sir!"
Wrong answer. I cringed before the blow could come, and it did, in fact, come. He went to the grown, clinging onto his stomach.
The abuse did not end with him, but extended to a good deal of soldiers after him so as to ensure there was no question that failure would, one day or another, result in the same happening to the rest of us.
"On the field, if you are not ready in time, you will be caught in enemy artillery, you will be caught by an Earth Kingdom assault, you will be killed! If you do not have enough time to get your clothes on, then you certainly do not have enough time to eat. Line up before your drill sergeants! You will not be eating this morning!"
That was hardly welcome information, but there would be no fighting it. Last evening's dinner would have to suffice for us.
Some of us would prove to be thankful that we didn't have a full stomach for what came next though. The 62nd Armored was subjected to, pretty much, the exact same torture it'd endured the day before, only we didn't even have full uniforms on now, forced to leave with whatever we'd managed to put one, some still in their sleep wear, and me with only one boot. The same run to the wall and back that I think, in fact, more of us may have failed than the day before. We were all still carrying with us the exhaustion of the day before with none of the energy of a morning meal nor, judging by how the sun hadn't yet risen, a full night of sleep.
The sun would rise to shine on our backs as we would do push ups, yelling out our roster numbers and new identities, suffering the consequences of forgetfulness. It was an area that Gunji did not seem anywhere near as adept in, perhaps able to store inhuman quantities of energy, but not quite the same when it came to stores of information. Energetic though he was too, he was less proficient at taking a beating, which he did now, folding in on himself.
By the time we were doing situps, my core screaming at me to stop, the sun was high in the sky, beating down on us with an early Summer's strength, sparing none.
It truly made us count our blessings for what came next. Half of us had anticipated during our midday meal that we would just be puking out the food we were eating, and so we paced ourselves, fearing the worst. We were all exhausted enough that some were taking their lunch break to fall asleep with their heads on the tables. Even Gan, Luhing, and some of the other ex-Rats in my Battalion seemed too exhausted to give me shit, preserving their strength, the greatest of their offenses only to glare at me from time to time.
I could handle that. It didn't bother me much as I ate, careful to pace myself in fear of what might come after however.
Surprisingly enough though, it was not our drill sergeant that interrupted our meal. As a matter of fact, the meal wasn't interrupted at all. It ran to the end of its supposed time allotment, which was around the time that a voice echoed across the cafeteria, but not from a person. At least, not from a person we could see. The voice seemed to be coming from multiple places at once: different walls and corners of the room, all saying the same thing at once in the same female voice. "62nd Armored Battalion is to report to Classroom 312 for instruction."
Half of us were left wondering just where this 'classroom 312' was, and the other half where the hell the voice had come from, looking around the room as well as to one another to try and verify that it wasn't just them who'd heard it.
They weren't. We'd all heard the order, but could little work out if it was from the cracks in the wall, the pipes that ran across the ceiling, or somebody hiding within the walls. One way or another, we had our orders, not that we knew much of where to go.
We left the cafeteria, disposing of our trays the way we'd been instructed to before, and entered the hall. It was my own mistake from being one of the first to go as the Rats within our Battalion seemed little intent on following me. Gan shoved past me and Luhing looked back on me with a look of disdain that was unmistakable. At the very least, it wasn't the look of somebody who'd already worked out some plot of vengeance. It was a harmless resentment. For now.
The cafeteria we came out of was listed as room 110, indicating clearly enough that we were on the ground floor. The nearest stairwell wasn't too far off, and sooner or later, by process of following numbers, we found classroom 312 with enough desks to seat about five times as many as us.
"You're late," a woman at the front of the class informed us, and clearly none amused by it. "Take a seat at the front 10 desks where paper and utensils are already laid out."
Reacting to our instructions did not come easily. Gaining an understanding of just where we were in it of itself was a slow burn of a process. Its layout reminded me somewhat of the Hive's cafeteria only that the tables were shorter, to the ground, and all seemed focused on a single stand at the front of the class that a woman stood behind, in front of a blank board.
"On future occasions," she resumed. "You will expect to be here and seated before I arrive. Now, find your seats."
Hearing her demands the second time was reminder enough for us to not delay, and so we entered into the class, past a portrait of a man I didn't recognize with long white hair, a white beard, and a topknot adorned with a pendant in the shape of a flame. I ignored it for the moment, instead finding a desk that I sat at with three others, the only among them I recognized being Gunji. The Rats stuck together, of course.
"There are papers in front of each of you," she said, clearly not seeing any need in elaborating just what this was and what we were doing here. "There are quills and ink as well for you to use. Write your names and roster numbers."
This again? I wondered. Waiting to see if we'd forgotten them over the course of lunch? It was only as I reached for my quill, instinctively placing it between my fingers, that I realized none others at my table were moving, their eyes instead focused on me, perhaps having noticed that I was the only one who had a semblance of confidence in this.
I looked up. Others around the class were moving subtly, but there was no confidence in it, and it reminded me quickly enough of one of the few things that'd set me out from the rest–I knew how to reach and write.
The eyes of those at my table were on me, and a few more eyes wandering around the room in search of answers settled on me, the woman at the front of the room no exception. They were waiting.
A cold shiver went down my spine as I realized I'd made a mistake–I'd set myself out. I considered setting down the quill, or perhaps just scribbling something nonsensical on the paper, but I'd already messed up in how quickly I'd moved. I knew how to write, and they knew that I knew. I had to follow through.
I turned my focus from my fellow trainees back to the paper in front of me, and I let the quill drop, making its first mark on the paper. My hand made the first few instinctual strokes of the word, "Fluke" until I remembered that was wrong. As far as the Fire Nation, this woman, and the others in this room were concerned, that wasn't my name anymore.
Making the correction was easy enough, and soon enough, the name that the Fire Nation had given me was on the paper, written in a clearly observable column, and in the one to the left, my roster number, '642962E17.'
I set the quill done, and looked back up in the hopes that some attention had been drawn off of me and instead onto another, at least one single person in the room, who also knew how to write.
There was none.
"I see," the woman said before clearing her throat for the rest of us to turn our attention to her. "I am sensei Eeku, and you will be learning linguistics from me, both reading and writing. I see that only one of you here seems to know how it is done, meaning I will have my work cut out for me."
If I hadn't been sure that setting myself out had been a mistake, I was now positive of it. A desk in front of me and to the right, Gan, who'd been struggling with intent to figure it out, now turned his head back to look at me, an intensifying disdain in his eyes.
The teacher knocked her baton on the top of his head with a thud, turning his attention back from and center following one last glare directed towards me.
She cleared her throat. "Your drill sergeants will teach you how to become soldiers, how to fight, and how to kill to protect our Nation from those who would see it reduced to rubble, but make no mistake that it is I who will teach you discipline and how to become working parts to serve your country. Now, it seems that despite being teenagers all of you, only one of you possesses an education comparable to a Fire Nation six-year-old, so we'll have some catching up to do. Grab your quills, and let us begin."
And on that insulting note, her speech seemingly aside, our first lesson began, and though it should have felt like I finally had a moment to breathe, I was only dwelling on the simple fact that I'd just painted a target on my back.
Captain Zar'un
"I have to give you credit, colonel," Major General Demin scoffed while he poured a glass of saké for his subordinate. "I didn't give you enough credit, but seeing you and your drill sergeants at work…" he took a sizable swig from his glass, immediately calling for him to pour another. "Well," he continued. "It makes me relievedI didn't have you as my training commander."
That was about the most that anything Deming had said thus far that came close to a compliment. It was well-deserved too. A week of the 29th Brigade's training had passed, and while we had yet to see results in terms of fighting ability, that was never the purpose of the beginning of training. I myself remembered it well enough from my time at the academy. Before anything else, the intent was to make you forget who you were and drill into your head what you now are–a soldier. It was about breaking these kids down to their basest elements, and building them into something usable from there. And so far, the breaking was commencing rather nicely.
Under the overwatch of Eemusan and the rest of the 29th Brigade to boot, it'd flowed far easier than had the training, if even it could be called that, of the first benders that we'd picked up from the slums. We'd had runaways, rebels, deviants, and other malcontents who'd finally been put in their place with the arrival of Jeong Jeong as well as the 29th. For the few earthbenders we had too, conscripting a master for them had done a great deal of good, giving them the chance to hone their abilities and, by merit of the 29th, learn what it meant to become Fire Nation soldiers.
I'd stumbled upon their progress from time and time and though I wasn't one for melodrama, even I had to admit that there was something inspiring about seeing earthbenders in our uniforms. The colonies had proved that to try and erase a culture, especially one as large as the Earth Kingdom, would never work. By synthesizing them, integrating them, we could lift them up, make them more, and strengthen ourselves as well.
Though I wasn't sure that Deming shared that sentiment. "Never thought I'd live to see dirt eaters take orders like proper soldiers."
"They can be trained," Eemusan defended. "Like anybody else."
Deming scoffed. "You'll be the first to succeed then. You ask me, they're more of a use if we put 'em in our uniforms and send them to the front to run Earth Kingdom arrows dry on their own people." He laughed at that. "Guess you'll have to prove me wrong, then."
Dinners such as these had become commonplace as Deming had come to, I suppose, "accept" me as a suitable ally to have. No longer did it feel as though there were constant tensions between who was in charge as I had my city, and he his army, enjoying the last of my holding's pleasantries before his return to the front. And if reports from the 64th were to be believed, then fighting had intensified by the Dragon's host, and the 64th, under temporary leadership of Colonel Choro, had seen some of it too.
I'd asked Major General Deming if he had any concerns about his division being under the temporary leadership of another for so long, but he'd attested to Choro's loyalty, and that the man wouldn't dare usurp leadership. That hadn't answered my question. Perhaps Choro would remain loyal to Deming, but if the men who were relying on Choro right now to survive would gladly hand over their lives to another was a separate matter.
The sooner he was back to his men, the better. For both of our sakes.
"Am I free for the evening?" I asked Zhorou once the two were gone.
"Not quite," my ward answered back. "Sergeant Zarrow would like to see you."
Zarrow? I hadn't been expecting him.
"Was this scheduled?" I asked.
"No, sir. He came in fifteen minutes ago. He said it was urgent."
News about out infiltrators?
"Send him in," I said to Zarrow who left my office to go outside to the waiting room where my unexpected guest would be waiting.
In he came, a satchel around his shoulder, bearing a look that didn't seem to imply he was here for pleasantries.
Neither was I. he had something to say, and I wanted to hear it.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked.
He did not forget his formalities, always remembering to stop, salute, and stand at attention.
I waved it aside dismissively, saying, "At ease. What do you have for me?"
"Sir, my expeditions in the slums in search of remaining Earth Kingdom and Rat assets has brought me to the Nàilì district."
"The business district, correct?" I ask, wanting to be sure that my understanding of the slums' geography hadn't diminished.
Zarrow nodded. "We asked around and ascertained that a few local establishments had been conducting business with the Rats, providing supplies free of charge."
I wondered just how Zarrow had obtained this information. Were it me, I'd come to learn that spearpoint could get many answers, but then again, with these slum rats, all it took was some clean water and a warm meal. "Figure that they were running supplies to the Rats from the Earth Kingdom?"
"We considered that, and so decided to check. Most locations were clean, but one stood out to us."
Why was he stalling? Dramatic effect? No, he was adjusting to take the satchel off of his shoulder as he added, "Shop belonging to a man named Mishi."
"Haven't heard of him."
"He was well-known in the area. More than friendly with the Rats, killed by the Hornets just two days before the massacre on the Grain Street."
He set the satchel down on the table, and I couldn't help but wonder just what was inside. It didn't have the noise of a man's head so it wasn't anything like that, which begged the question, what? "A dead end?" I knew it wasn't, but I wanted to give this much to Zarrow.
"We searched his business. It was emptied, but we tore the walls apart."
He opened the satchel, and emptied it of its contents.
"We figured you might find what we found interesting."
And that I did.
Inside, items belonging to a bygone era, dusted over to completion but for a few spots where Zarrow's fingers had grabbed them. I saw papers with inventories written on them, stamped with the mark of the Earth Kingdom. I saw a patch that I knew from recognition belonged to the Dai Li. There was Earth Kingdom currency too. It wasn't much, more of an emergency fund than anything, but enough that, judging by its proximity to these other items, likely had been Earth Kingdom payment.
That was hardly the end of it. There was more. I saw folded robes, yellow and orange in color. I saw a tattered red blanket, splitting at the seams. I made out what were wooden fragments of what looked to be pieces of, what? A cane? A staff? Inside too, a necklace that contained, unmistakably, the emblem of the Air Nomads, its swirlings gusts circling around one another.
Then too, there was that which I hadn't yet looked over.
"These were hidden elsewhere," Zarrow said as I turned my eyes to them. "Buried in the foundation of the building itself, beneath the chimney. "Whatever it was, he didn't want anybody to find it." And I saw why. They were letters, pages of them, stacked high enough to have been written with frequency over the course of months, and they were addressed, and returned, from a man whose name I would never forget.
Gyani.