Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) (9 page)

           
“Move it Recruits!” A master corporal barked at the recruits piling off of the combat shuttle. “Get some goddamn life in your bodies! I want three ranks facing me! That means three deep and spread to my right, follow the footsteps! Move it, I ain't your damned orphan mother!”

           
Mark and Tyler were amongst the first to make their way to the painted feet on the floor.

           
The Master Corporal was unrelenting as they yelled at people to find their positions. The way that she held herself and the confidence that seemed to radiate off of her would make any gang member think twice about mouthing off to her. Those that did were swiftly slapped upside the head as she singled them out. Anything else from them and she made a comment about putting their useless ass back in gravity and in the slums.

           
This combination of threats served to get people into order.

           
“I've seen spit move faster than your slum asses!” She said looking thoroughly disgusted with all of their performances.

           
“In the next three weeks I will have the pain of pushing you through basic, which basically means I have to make sure you don't fuck over the
real
fighters. You will learn how to shoot, move and survive as troopers in Earth's military forces.” She marched in front of them, her eyes finding them wanting.

           
“This training contingent will be combined with the other twenty to see if you are worthy to make planet fall with us. If you are deemed unworthy, then you will spend the entire campaign and flight in sleep, thirty or more years will disappear like a dream and you'll be dropped off on Earth. The EMF does not have the time to send your ass back to Earth.”

           
Mark didn't exactly feel a chill run down his spine but it was a close thing.

           
“First we need to see if you're going to be of any use at just carrying out your physical responsibilities!”

Chapter 4

           
EMFC Reclaimer

           
In transit from Sol to Sacremon

           
6/3136

           
The Boss had pressed in the fact that the training they had received to become Westerlies was nothing compared to the training that would turn them into troopers.

           
He was right,
Mark thought as he sat on his assigned bed or rack.

           
The Physical training wasn’t training at all; it was hell with their assigned staff, meaning Master Corporals and above, picked up on the slightest hiccup.

           
As they recovered the staff would happen to remember someone’s fuck up.

           
One person’s fuck up was everyone’s fuck up. They all dropped, staring daggers at the person who’d fucked up. Or feeling the heat and anger aimed at themselves. There’s no self-loathing quite like the kind inflicted on yourself for a minor fuck up.

           
They were given a section pod. The pod was simple, it was a barracks that held twelve people that made up a section, their bunk beds and the lockers that held everything except their armor and weapons. There was a shower and bathroom that connected to a pod on one side. The other side had a door leading out into the corridor.

Other than the rubberized black decking and white lettering on various sections of the walls, everything was gunmetal grey. It isn’t as cool as it sounds. It’s as grey and mind-numbing dull. But fuck if it doesn’t sound fucking cool as shit. Mark snorted at his thoughts.

To others it might be minimal, to the troopers it was more than they had back on Earth. Hell their beds actually had mattresses.

With the orders to check over their gear in the lockers and make the place presentable, most made excited noises about the brand new clothes and toiletries in the lockers and drawers.

           
“What in the fuck is this? Looks like a whore house filled with a bunch of genetic rejects!” Sergeant Balhauser said, barely fitting through the door with his wide frame. His eyes filled with anger and his mouth turned into a snarl, looking at the sorry excuses of flesh in front of him that might also be called recruits by others.

           
“Oh, fuck I see you eyeballing me there Fucking Diez!” Balhauser said, Tyler felt his stomach drop, fear of the oncoming punishment.

           
“Since Diez wants to eye fuck the shit out of me, you can all join her in a round of push ups,” Balhauser sounded almost conversational.

           
Balhauser turned to Cha mid-groan.

           
Twelve people got on the floor resulting in pushing and noises.

People were territorial and the bigger pushed the smaller out from between the bunks. No one gave it a second glance, the strong survived in the slums, weak died.

Balhauser, came around and kicked a larger boy in the face who hit his bunkmate.

Before the boy could react, Balhauser had him in the air, holding him by the neck.

“You fucking hit another recruit and I’ll have your fucking balls, Got me?” Balhauser said.

The boy nodded, shamed that he’d been beaten up.

The words might have been at the boy, but the message was clear to everyone. Don’t fuck with one another or the training staff would put you straight.

Ain’t the slums no more,
Mark thought.

“The fuck you rest waiting on? I said get into push-up position!” Balhauser said, releasing the boy.

People didn’t fight and got to their toes and hands. Balhauser got down with them and started doing push ups. He called out the numbers, getting the others to do the same, no one looked to Cha or the boy that Balhauser had kicked.

           
“Cha, what the fuck kind of name is that, your parents not know how to spell! Did your mother want a Chai fucking Tea and you flopped out?” Balhauser said, clearly not forgetting the former.

           
“Ser...” Cha started.

           
“That’s a rhetorical fucking question Chai Tea! We all know your mother got knocked up with you to get a damned Chai tea! Learn how to shut the fuck up and do as you’re told. Start pumping, you just added another twenty to your section,” Balhauser looked at the newly minted Chai Tea.

           
“Got something you want to say to me Chai Tea?” Balhauser asked.

           
Chai Tea pressed his lips together and got to his hands and knees to do push ups.

           
“Good,” Balhauser said, looking to Chai Tea for a few moments and then back to the room.

           
Tyler looked straight ahead not making eye contact with anyone. He could hear the yelling in the other section’s rooms.

           
“My fuck, I turn around for a second and you camel fuckers can’t even do push ups in fucking time! Let’s go for sixty fucking push ups. Follow my lead,” Balhauser dropped to the floor, his hands holding him up as he looked at them all. They copied his position.

           
Balhauser lowered himself and pushed up to the top, slowly.

           
“One,” he said, dropping down again, his eyes scanning as he reached the apex again.

           
“Two,” he said, holding his position.

           
“From now on you will call out your push ups, down will mean to hold your weak useless assess an inch off of the ground, up will mean to extend to this position,” he said, seeing he was understood.

           
“When I give you an order you recognize it with Yes sergeant, you will do the same with the other enlisted ranks, and with the officers you will address them all as sir. Am I understood?” Balhauser looked to them.

           
A mismatch of fuck ups came back, most getting it right but timing was all off.

           
“Do you understand?” He barked.

           
“Yes sergeant!” They returned, stronger and no fuck ups.

           
“Fuck a doodle fuck, there might be something in there of use to this fine Earth Military Force! Down!”

           
At any time, a person could say that they had enough, go and tap armory one’s bulkhead and they were taken to the spine of the ship, put in cryo, to be woken up when we got back to Earth and released from the EMF.

           
After the first few days’ classes came in, we learned the history of the EMF, the roles of troopers. Theory on tactics, given familiarization with our kit, from medical supplies to the plates of armor strapped over our smart clothes.

           
Fuck ups were rewarded with more Physical training, or PT. They weren’t told when their training was over and when they would become Troopers. Their flight to Sacremon was going to take nearly thirty-three years. Due to time dilation and things that Mark couldn’t wrap his head around, it would feel like thirty years. Thirty years was a lifetime.

           
Their time in the auditoriums was reduced as more time was spent in the sparring areas.

           
Mark and Tyler were the best brawlers in their section, but they weren’t in the same league as their staff.

           
Something that Sergeant Balhauser reminded them as he took Tyler down and brought Mark to a tie.

           
He’d only given Mark a small nod, Mark returning it. They might be staff member and a useless recruit, but there was a respect for the other’s skill and an understanding that they hadn’t come from sitting on their asses.

           
“Well it looks like most of you know how to fight, somewhat. Now we’re going to turn those basics into skills,” Sergeant Fredrickson said.

           
Sergeant Balhauser with Master Corporal’s Lastrade and Fei set to walking the ranks of recruits while Fredrickson displayed the right way to fight, a blend of more than a centuries worth of fighting techniques from across Earth.

           
Richter had taught Mark and Tyler the basics, but this went well beyond it. Their reactions were honed, leading to bruises and spilt blood. None of them got past without a cut.

           
Mark, Tyler and Alexis became close through training, the rest of the platoon turned to them with issues and the training staff turned them into section leaders.

           
Tyler and Alexis got a bit closer than Mark did but this was the EMF, what happened in the crews transferred to the troopers. If you needed to blow off some steam or have a relationship, go for it, no one cared as long as you did your job.

           
They trained with their issued knives, they were crude but effective, Mark and Tyler both murmured about using their own blades tucked under their arms but never brought it up. It wasn’t worth getting the platoon stuck doing PT.

           
Fredrickson singled Mark out as he fought Alexis.

           
“You scared to hit her or something?” She demanded, walking onto the sparring mat.

           
Mark stumbled over words for an explanation. Fredrickson pushed her head into Mark’s personal space.

           
“What is your fucking job?” Again Mark stumbled over his explanation.

           
“To kill recruit!” She said running over his poor attempts to cobble together some kind of explanation. “That is your sole purpose, to be made into a killing machine; the EMF and I will turn you into a killer that will make the enemy piss themselves!”

           
Her cold blue eyes stared into his own, he looked away first, not just because she was good looking. She was right.

           
“Recruit Xin, you are relieved,” Fredrickson said, pulling a blade from the small of her back.

           
Alexis bobbed her head and moved out of the sparring circle; Mark could see the other recruits were watching, the staff doing the same.

           
“You can use the blades you hide on yourself,” Fredrickson said, the center of his attention as she prowled.

           
He sheathed his issued blade and flicked his arms down and to the side, his forward facing hands now with blades in them.

           
He moved them in his hands, their familiar grips combining with the new and old training he had.

           
She squared off with him, holding her blade to the side.

           
Mark had fought a good number of people with blades. She wasn’t holding it at her side because she didn’t know what to do with it.