About an hour later, after the shuttle had landed on a vast concrete square in the heart of Highwater Base, the soldier seated beside the pilot stood up.
"Ladies, welcome to Highwater Base. Basic training starts the second you set foot on the ground. I'd wish you luck, but you'll need more than that." His grin twisted into something devilish. "NOW MOVE!"
The bark startled Ellen into action. She grabbed her bag and practically bolted out of the shuttle, her heart racing, the others scrambling behind her.
Outside, they found themselves in the middle of a sprawling landing field alive with activity. Shuttles roared as they landed and took off in quick succession. Nearby, a massive open hangar loomed, its concrete walls a hive of organized chaos. In front of it, a large group of civilians—likely the other recruits—stood waiting.
"Excited yet?" Alex asked, throwing an arm casually around Ellen and ruffling her hair. Her trademark mischievous grin spread across her face.
"Cut it out, Alex," Ellen said, laughing as she pushed her off. The gesture made her stumble into Olivia and Lauren, who both exaggerated their irritation for effect.
"Shhh," Norah warned, glancing sharply toward the hangar. "Eyes on us. Behave."
"Yes, sir, ma'am!" Alex quipped, snapping into an over-the-top march that had Ellen stifling a giggle. They hurried to catch up with the waiting recruits, the brief levity quickly replaced by the tension of the moment.
A man with a crew cut and two jagged scars on his cheek stepped forward from the hangar's shadows. His gaze was sharp, his presence magnetic. "Ladies," he said with a clipped tone. "I hope the trip was amusing. Line up—now."
The group scrambled into formation, rows of five snapping into place under the man's withering glare. Ellen's heart pounded with a mix of nerves and anticipation. This was it. This was the start of everything she'd been dreaming of.
She stole a glance at Norah, who stood beside her. With her sharp cheekbones, icy blue eyes, and tightly tied blonde bun, Norah looked every inch the model recruit.
"Recruits!" the man boomed, silencing the murmurs around them. "I'm Major Wells, commander of this base. My word is law here. Remember that."
He let the silence stretch, studying their faces with calculated contempt before continuing.
"This is the part where I'm supposed to welcome you," he sneered. "But I won't. There are far too many of you as it is, and our job is to cut the dead weight. By the end of this week, ten of you will be gone. By the end of the month, half of you will have cracked. And in three months, we'll be left with twenty—maybe twenty-five—who are fit to call themselves Alliance soldiers."
Ellen's stomach tightened, but she didn't let her face show it.
Another man stepped into view, as imposing as Wells. He was bald, with a square jaw and a stare so intense it seemed to cut through the recruits like a laser.
"This," Wells said, gesturing to the man, "is Gunnery Chief Grayson. For the next few weeks, you'll wish you'd never met him." He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "All yours, Jack."
Grayson nodded curtly and strode down the line, scrutinizing each recruit. He stopped abruptly in front of Alex.
"Patriotism?" he asked, gesturing at the dark blue streak in her chin-length black hair that Alex had coloured into her hair just days before departure.
Alex's usual confidence faltered and her brown eyes darted to the ground. "Y-yes, Gunnery Chief."
He snorted and moved on without another word.
By the time Grayson returned to the front, the entire group seemed collectively smaller under his unyielding scrutiny. "You'll receive your gear shortly," he said. "You have fifteen minutes to settle into your quarters, then you report back here for training. Follow me!"
Ellen barely had time to exchange a nervous glance with Alex before they were marching into the hangar.
The cavernous space was alive with activity. To one side, mechanics worked on grounded shuttles, sparks flying as tools whirred and clanged. To the other, a group of Marines stood at attention while an officer barked orders at them.
"Alex," Olivia whispered, keeping her eyes forward, "ten credits says you'll get us yelled at by dinner." Olivia was the quietest of the bunch, especially since her parents passed away, but her few comments were mostly pointed and spot on. She usually wore her brown hair in a braid, and the alert gaze with which she always observed her surroundings betrayed her razor-sharp mind. However, she and Lauren had never been very interested in sports and thus not in the best shape, so Ellen worried about them the most.
"Hey," Alex shot back with a mock-wounded look. "I'm offended by your lack of faith. I'm sure I can manage that by lunch."
"Quiet!" Norah hissed. "Unless you want us to run laps."
Ellen eyed the other recruits around her curiously. There were about twice as many men as women among them, most of them tall and in good shape. That didn't surprise her since they had to be sorted out right from the start because a lot of people applied for enlistment with the Alliance. Almost too many young school graduates dreamed of flying through the galaxy and being able to explore the most diverse planets.
They came to a stop before several long tables piled with gear.
"Right for ladies, left for gents," Grayson barked. "Find something that fits. Quickly."
Ellen darted to the right-hand tables, grabbing the essentials—a stack of uniforms, boots, and a backpack. She had just found a pair of boots in her size when another recruit snatched them from under her nose.
"Hey, I—" Ellen began, but the woman—a stocky figure with cropped hair—cut her off with a smirk.
"This isn't a boutique, sweetheart."
Ellen clenched her jaw, ready to retort, but Norah appeared beside her, pressing a replacement pair into her hands. "Let it go," she muttered.
"Aw, does dolly need a babysitter?" the other woman mocked.
Ellen stiffened, but Norah's firm grip on her arm kept her from taking the bait. Together, they walked away.
"Trouble already?" Alex asked when they regrouped outside the hangar.
"It's nothing," Ellen muttered, but her fists were still clenched.
Grayson's voice cut through the tension. "That building," he pointed to a brick dormitory nearby, "is your barracks. Ladies on the first floor, men on the second. Room assignments are on the doors. You have fifteen minutes to gear up. Move!"
The recruits scattered like startled birds.
The hallway on the first floor was straight and utilitarian, lined with identical doors and fluorescent lighting that flickered faintly. Ellen walked all the way to the end before finding her name on a digital display above a door:
"Thurman, I.; Vonn, C.; Webber, E."
Her chest sank slightly at not seeing any of her friends' names. She quickly shook the feeling off—basic training wasn't a sleepover.
The door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a plain room with metal bunk beds on either side. A window framed by two lockers sat opposite the entrance. No decorations, no frills—just functional, as her mother's old training stories had led her to expect. This place wasn't for lounging; it was for collapsing into after days of relentless drills.
Ellen claimed the bottom bunk on the left and started changing into her new outfit: a blue track jacket emblazoned with the Alliance logo, a plain white shirt, black sweatpants, and boots. As she laced them up, her two roommates arrived.
One was tall and wiry, with fiery red hair pulled into a ponytail that highlighted her green eyes. She introduced herself as Casey Vonn, chattering brightly about her hometown. The other, Ida Thurman, was shorter with bushy black hair and a quiet demeanor. She nodded briefly in greeting before setting to work unpacking her bag.
Ellen sized them up. Casey's build suggested agility, and Ida's solid frame hinted at strength. They were both clearly in good shape. Ellen frowned, feeling a twinge of doubt. She'd been fit in high school from playing soccer, but now she wished she'd prepared herself more.
"How much time do we have left?" Casey asked, zipping up her jacket.
Before Ellen could check, a voice bellowed from outside through a bullhorn:
"Recruits! If you're not down in one minute, you'll run five penalty laps around the practice area!"
"Seriously?" Ida muttered, shaking her head as she strode out.
Ellen quickly followed, passing a handful of recruits still frantically pulling on their uniforms as they bolted down the hall.
Once outside, they lined up in rows in front of the hangar. Ellen caught glimpses of Alex, Norah, Olivia, and Lauren in the scattered group but had no time to acknowledge them before Grayson's barked orders snapped her focus back.
"Recruits! We're starting with an athletic assessment. Form up in twos and follow me. Let's see if you can keep up."
The march began at a brisk pace, then quickly intensified. Ellen fell in stride beside Ida, relieved to find her rhythm early. The steady crunch of boots on gravel echoed through the group as they left the base and entered the dense forest nearby.
After several minutes, they came across a large pile of backpacks stacked by the path. Grayson turned, feigning surprise.
"Well, what do we have here? Grab one. Inside, you'll find everything you'll need for the next few weeks. Don't be shy!"
Ellen stooped to pick one up and nearly fell over from the weight. Her arms trembled as she hoisted it onto her shoulders, the straps biting into her collarbone. Around her, she could see others struggling, too. Even Ida, who'd been keeping pace effortlessly, grunted as she adjusted her load.
Grayson resumed the march, his pace unrelenting. "What's the matter?" he called over his shoulder, whistling a cheery tune. "I thought you lot were supposed to be Alliance material!"
Ellen's breathing grew labored as sweat soaked through her jacket. Her legs screamed with every step, and hunger gnawed at her stomach—her last meal of cereal seemed like a lifetime ago. She kept her head down and focused on the rhythm of her boots hitting the dirt. One foot in front of the other. You've got this.
After what felt like an eternity, they returned to the practice field. As soon as Grayson signaled a halt, the recruits dropped their backpacks in unison, many groaning in relief.
Ellen's muscles burned as she sat down heavily on the ground. Norah and Alex joined her, equally spent, while Olivia helped Lauren stay upright a few feet away.
"Drink a sip and line up," Grayson commanded.
Before anyone could fully recover, one brave recruit muttered loud enough for everyone to hear: "We need a proper break."
Grayson was on him in a heartbeat. "What did you just say?"
The recruit faltered. "Uh… we need a break, Gunnery Chief."
Grayson's grin was all teeth. "Oh, you'll get your break. Strap on your pack and take three laps around the square. Corporal Dixon will keep you company."
The recruit's face drained of color as he grabbed his pack and stumbled off.
Grayson turned back to the group, his voice cutting like steel. "Let me make something clear. The enemy won't care if you're tired. They won't wait until you've had a nap. If you can't handle this, leave now. There's no shame in knowing your limits."
He prowled down the line, his sharp gaze scanning each recruit like a predator sizing up prey.
Stopping in front of Ellen, he tilted his head. "What about you? Sure you're cut out for this? You can go now if you want—no punishment."
Ellen's throat tightened, but she met his gaze. "It'd be a shame to leave before I've given it my best, Gunnery Chief."
Grayson studied her for a moment before nodding curtly. "We'll see if your best is good enough."
The next round of drills was grueling—a relentless cycle of strength exercises that pushed everyone to their limits. More than once, Ellen felt bile rising in her throat and had to fight to keep going. Around her, others weren't so lucky, stepping aside to throw up or collapsing altogether.
Grayson and his assistant moved through the ranks, handing out bright yellow jerseys to eight recruits. Ellen didn't receive one but quickly realized the significance as the wearers were singled out for "extra training" when the session ended.
Relieved but aching, Ellen limped to the canteen with Norah and Olivia. She caught a glance of Lauren among the yellow jerseys and winced at her weary smile.
"Leave me something to eat!" Lauren called, forcing a thumbs up.
The canteen was a blur of noise and clattering dishes. Ellen wolfed down her food, barely tasting it, before trudging to the showers and collapsing onto her bunk.
Ida groaned loudly from the bed across the room.
"Hey, guys!" Casey burst into the room, her energy somehow intact. "One of the jersey recruits already quit! Asked to leave the Alliance!"
Ellen's heart clenched as she thought of Lauren, but exhaustion overtook her before she could dwell on it.