After our transport lands at Chattanooga Army Base, the cargo master kicks us off to wait on the broiling tarmac to be picked up. While we wait, the guy next to me sticks out his hand and introduces himself, “Hi, I’m Alan Foster.”

Taking his hand, I reply, “Joe Martinez.”

“Military brat?” I nod. “Me too. Did your parents tell you not to mention that fact to the drill sergeant?”

“Yep, they said I’d catch hell if they knew.”

“Mine too. Hopefully…”

He never gets to finish because a corporal trots up and orders us to fall in and follow him. He leads us to a parade ground, which is thankfully much cooler than the tarmac. Once there, a drill sergeant comes over, and the corporal screams, “Attention!”

The sixty of us quickly stand more or less at attention.

“Christ on a crutch,” Drill Sergeant Ruiz declares loudly with a disgusted expression as he looks us over. “We’ve clearly just lost the battle for the fucking universe. I look at you people, and the one thought that comes to mind is, ‘tremendously fucked.’ If you’re the best that the Sol system has got to offer, then it’s time for humanity to bend over and kiss our collective asses goodbye.”

Several people chuckle since DS Ruiz could have come from central casting for any military movie in history. He’s exactly what you’d expect from a drill instructor. Large, angry, and colorfully abusive right off the bat. No doubt, in the next few seconds, he would get into one of our faces, cuss them out, and demand fifty push-ups.

“Har de fuckin’ har,” Ruiz says. “Don’t believe for a nanosecond that I don’t know what you dipshits are thinking. I know you’re enjoying my performance at the moment. How delightful! I’m just like all those drill instructors you’ve seen in the movies! Ain’t this just a nostalgic scene from a fuckin’ movie you watched with yer girl!”

I’m very sure that the amused chuckles and smiles come to a sudden halt. That last statement has never been in a movie script.

“You don’t understand,” Ruiz continues. “You’re under the impression that I’m saying these things because this is something that all drill instructors are supposed to do and that after a few weeks of training, my blunt but fair façade will slip, and I will show a hint of being impressed with the lot of you. That at the end of your training, you’ll have earned my reluctant respect, and that I’ll think fondly of you while you’re off making the universe safe for humanity, secure in the knowledge that I’ve made you better fighting men and women.” Ruiz looks from person to person, glaring intensely, and then bellows, “Your impression, boys and girls, is absolutely, positively, 1000% fuckin’ wrong you moronic little fucks!”

Ruiz steps forward and paces down the line. “Your impression is fucked from the get-go because unlike you, I have actually been in the shit. I’ve seen what we’re up against. I’ve seen men and women that I knew personally get turned into hot fucking chunks of meat who could still somehow scream. On my first drop, my commanding officer was turned into a goddamn alien pincushion! I watched as those fuckers grabbed him, pinned him to the ground, and sliced him open right through his armor before I could do a goddamned thing.”

Some sniggers from somewhere behind me. Master Sergeant Ruiz stops and cocks his head. “Oh? Does one of you believe that I’m kidding? At least one of you dumb motherfuckers always does. That’s why I keep this around.”

Taking out a holographic player, he sets it on the ground in front of us and activates it.

The lifesize video appears to be from a helmet camera, which I assume is from Sgt. Ruiz. It shows several soldiers running to some buildings. Then one of the soldiers calls out over the link, ‘Here they come.’ The view searches back and forth, then settles on a group of dark-skinned aliens who had suddenly popped up out of nowhere.

What happened next happens so quickly that not even the instinctive turn of the camera’s view and aiming of their rifle was quick enough to intervene. It wasn’t pleasant to see the aliens stab their swords into the person repeatedly as he screamed over the link. Someone behind me vomits. Thankfully, the video cut off right after that.

“I’m not so fuckin’ funny now, am I?” Ruiz states as he smirks mockingly. “I’m not that happy fucking stereotypical movie version of a drill sergeant anymore, am I? And you’re not a civilian anymore. Welcome to the fucking Army, boys, and girls! The universe is a seriously fucked-up place, you coddled little idiots. I’m not talking to you like this because I’m putting on some scripted drill instructor routine. That man who was sliced and diced was among the best fighting men I’ve ever had the privilege of serving under. None of you are, or likely ever will be, his equal. Yet, you see what happened to him. Think about what will happen to you. I’m talking to you like this because I sincerely believe, from the bottom of my heart, that if you’re the best humanity can do, we are well and truly fucked. Do you believe me?”

Several people manage to mumble a “Yes, Sir,” or something along those lines.

“Sir? Sir? Do I look like an officer? I’m a fucking master sergeant, you shitheads. I work for a living! You will answer with ‘Yes, Drill Sergeant’ when you need to answer in the affirmative, and ‘No, Drill Sergeant’ when you answer in the negative. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” we reply.

“You can do better than that! Say it again!” he thunders with an irritated expression.

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” we screamed. Some clearly sounding as if they are on the verge of tears.

“For the next twelve weeks, my job is to attempt to train you to be soldiers, and by God, I am going to do it, and I’m going to do it regardless of the fact that none of you motherfuckers is up to the challenge that humanity is facing.” He pauses to glare at everyone again. “Guess what? Playtime is over. For the next twelve weeks, you’ll be lucky if you have time to play with yourselves in the shower. It’s time for you to go to work, my pretties, because I have to somehow turn you spoiled little shits into soldiers, and that is going to be a full-time job that I’ll likely fail at with many of you.”

Ruiz resumes pacing in front of the formation. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I do not like, nor will I ever like, any one of you. Why? Because I know that despite the fine work of myself and my staff, you will inevitably make all of us look bad, and it pains me to no end to know that! It keeps me awake at night knowing that no matter how much I teach you, you’ll inevitably fail those who fight with you. The best I can do is make sure that when you go, you don’t take your whole fuckin’ platoon down with you. That’s right! If you only get yourself killed, I’ll count that as a gargantuan success!

“Now, you may think that this is some sort of generalized hatred that I have for the lot of you. Let me assure you that this is not the case. Each of you will fuck up during training, but you’ll do so in your own unique way. Therefore, you’ll give me more than enough reasons to dislike each and every one of you on an individual basis.” He looks over everyone again. “Even now, each of you has qualities that irritate the living shit out of me. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“Bullshit! Some of you are still thinking that I’m just going to hate the other guy.” Ruiz shoots out an arm and pointed out toward the plain and the rising sun. “See that comm tower over there? You can just barely see it. It is ten klicks away, boys and girls. You will sprint to that fucking tower. If you are not back in an hour, this entire platoon will run it again tomorrow morning and each and every morning until every single one of you pasty-faced little fucks can do it in under an hour. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

I strongly suspect that we’ll be running it again tomorrow, and for many days after that.

He walks up to me, and states, “You, what’s your name recruit?”

“Joe Martinez, Drill Sergeant!”

“Congratulations, recruit! You can rejoice, because I’m assigning you to be the platoon leader. It is a thankless job that has no upside since you have to ride these sad-ass fucks twice as hard as I do. Because, for every one of their numerous fuckups, you’ll also share in the blame and the punishment. They will hate and despise you, and I’ll be there to give you an extra-large dose of shit on top of that. What do you think about that, recruit? Speak freely!”

“It sounds like I’m fairly well fucked, Drill Sergeant!” I yell.

“That you are, recruit,” Ruiz says. “but you were fucked the moment you landed in my platoon. Now, get them running.”

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you or be scared for you,” Alan says to me as we take off running for the comm tower. Needless to say, no one makes it in time.

Later, during lunch, the mess hall is nearly packed, but I manage to commandeer a table for myself until I’m joined by five others.

“How about we introduce ourselves?” I say. “I’m Joe Martinez, and for the moment, at least, I’m platoon leader.” I jab my thumb at Alan. “This is my second in command, Alan Rosenthal.”

“Angela McClaren,” says the woman immediately across from me. “Trenton, New Jersey.”

“Terry Davison,” says the fellow next to her. “Missoula, Montana.”

“Jackson Marks. St. Louis.”

“Sarah Ball. Boston.”

“Martin Sinclair. San Diego.”

“Well, aren’t we a diverse group of individuals,” I state with a grin. That got me a short chuckle, which is good.

We talk through lunch to get to know one another, and after we finish, we head to the barracks as I come to a decision. “I’ll be quick about this because I clearly have no idea what the hell I’m doing. Basically, I’ve chosen you five to be my squad leaders. Unfortunately for you, you’re the only ones that came up to talk to me, so you’re it.”

“Wow, thanks ever so much for sharing the joy,” Sarah says with a grin.

“You’re welcome,” I reply sarcastically. “Look, I’m not planning to be a hard-ass. Drill Sergeant Ruiz has got that job more than covered. Anyway, it’s not my style. I don’t really care how you lead your squads, but I want you to do what you need to do to keep them under control and to get them through the next three months. I couldn’t care less about being platoon leader, but I damn sure do care about everyone gaining the skills and training they’re going to need to survive this war. Ruiz’s little home movie damn sure got my attention, and I hope it got yours.”

“Christ, did it ever,” Terry says. “They chopped that poor guy up like he was a pig at a slaughterhouse.”

“I wish I’d seen that before we signed up,” Angela says. “I might have decided to not enlist.”

“It’s a frickin’ war,” Mark says, quirking an eyebrow at her. “What did you think was going to happen? That we were going to play pattycake with them?”

“Enough. Let’s just do what we can to make sure that our guys make it through things like that,” I said. “Now, I’ve cut the platoon into six squads of ten people each. I’m taking A squad; Angela, you’ll have B; Terry, C; Mark, D; Sarah, E; and Martin, F.

“Choose your second in command, and let me know by dinnertime today. Between the two of you, keep discipline and training going smoothly; from my point of view, my whole reason for selecting you folks is so I don’t have anything to do.”

“Except to run your own squad,” Martin quips.

“Ha! That’s where I come in,” Alan replies.

“Let’s meet every day after training,” I say. “We’ll eat our meals with our squads from now on. Hopefully, that will help you bond with your squads. Of course, if you have something that needs my attention, of course, let me know immediately. Although, I do expect you to attempt to solve as many problems as you can by yourself. As I said, I’m not planning on having a hard-ass style, but for better or worse, I am the platoon leader, so what I say goes. If I feel you’re not measuring up, I’m going to let you know first, and then, if that doesn’t work, I’m going to replace you. It’s not personal, it’s making sure that we all get the training we need to make it through the war. Everyone alright with that?” Everyone nods. “Excellent. Well, here’s to the 2nd of the 63rd training company. May God have mercy on our souls, and may we make it through training in one piece.”

They laugh and I think, ‘Things are looking up.’

It doesn’t take long to change that naive opinion.

A half-hour later, Ruiz and his staff enter the barracks and call everyone to attention.

“At ease, people,” Ruiz says. His team walks over and places 60 boxes on the table I’m standing at. “Those are your platoon’s wrist comms. Make sure everyone gets one and understands how to use it.”

“Of course, Drill Sergeant.”

He merely nods. Then, he and his team leave the barracks.

　◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

My wrist comm, that I’m going to call asshole from now on, blasts me with a piercing siren that startles me so much that I fall out of my bunk. Of course, it just had to be a top bunk. After checking to make sure that my ass isn’t broken, I read the holographic text floating above it.

‘Platoon Leader Martinez, this is to inform you that you have 5 minutes until Master Sergeant Ruiz and his assistants enter your barracks. You are expected to have your platoon awake and at attention beside their bunks when they enter. Any recruits not at attention will be disciplined, as will you and their squad leader.’

I immediately forward the message to my squad leaders through the message group I created for them yesterday, and then send a general alarm to the platoon’s wrist comms. Then I trot over, and turn on the barrack lights. There are a few seconds as every recruit in the platoon jerks awake to the shrill scream of their comms. Several of them fall out of bed just as I did.

Most leaped out of bed, looking disoriented and/or confused; I and the squad leaders make our way among the bunks, grabbing anyone still lying down, and yank them out, mattress and all. Within a minute, we had everyone up and standing at attention. Several squad leaders spend a minute telling their people that now was not the time to pee, dress, or do anything but stand there. Pissing off Ruiz when he comes through the door is not a good idea.

Not that it mattered. “For fuck’s sake,” Ruiz declared. “Martinez!”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“What the hell were you doing for your five-minute warning? Jerking off? Your platoon is not prepared for training! Unless you think they would benefit from training in only their skivvies. Is that your plan for the day’s training?”

“Drill Sergeant, the message only stated that the platoon was required to be at attention when you and your staff arrived! It did not specify for them to be in uniform!”

“Christ on a crutch! Martinez, wouldn’t you assume that being dressed is part of beginning the day’s training?”

“I wouldn’t presume to know how anything works, Drill Sergeant!”

“Presume? What, are you some kind of educated smartass?”

“No, Drill Sergeant!”

“Well, presume to get your platoon out to the parade ground. You have forty-five seconds. Move!”

“Follow me, A squad!” I bellow as I run, hoping to God that my squad is following. As I go through the door, I hear Angela hollering at B squad to follow her; it seems that I’ve chosen well. We make it to the parade grounds, my squad forming in a line directly behind me. Angela forms her line directly to my right, with Terry and the rest forming subsequently. The last man of F squad forms up barely before time was up.

Amazingly, around the parade grounds, other recruit platoons were also forming up, who are also in the same state of undress as the 63rd. ‘Well, at least I’m not the only one who screwed up,’ I thought and felt briefly relieved.

Ruiz strolls up momentarily, trailed by his two assistants. “Martinez! What is the time!”

I glance at my wrist comm, “Zero four-thirty three, Drill Sergeant!”

“I’m flabbergasted, Martinez. You can tell time. What time was lights out?”

“Twenty-two hundred, Drill Sergeant!”

“Now, you’ve had six and a half hours to sleep. So, explain to me why your platoon isn’t ready.”

“No excuse, Drill Sargeant!”

“Huh… Well, maybe doing PT in your skivvies will remind you to be ready from now on.”

And perform PT we did. For 2 hours, and then a run to and from the comm tower.

I never made that simple mistake again because I set my wrist comm to wake me at 4:00 in the morning from now on.

After breakfast, we’re marched over to medical.

“Alright, this morning, you’re getting your nanites. They will keep you healthy and heal you if you’re injured. They’ll also strengthen your bones and muscles. The staff will call your name, you will enter, get your shot, then come out and sit down. Some of you may have a reaction to them, although the likelihood of that is vanishingly small. If so, they’ll be deactivated, and you’ll be discharged.”

I’m happy to say that not one person had a reaction to them.

An hour later, we’re sitting down beside a pool while being lectured. “What is the weak point of the human body?” Ruiz asks as he circles around behind us. “It’s not your bodies or likely anything you might think it is. I’ll tell you what it is. It’s your blood, and that’s bad news, because we all require blood. When you’re wounded, blood clots, but often not fast enough to keep you from dying from blood loss. Although when it comes down to it, what everyone really dies of is oxygen deprivation. In other words, from not having enough blood because it’s spewed out on the fucking ground where it doesn’t do you a damned bit of good. That, my little morons, is where your nanites come into play.

“Her Majesty has wisely created these nanites to help keep your idiotic selves alive. Billions of nano-sized bots circulating through your veins that do everything your body and doctors can do, only better. You’ll live through any injury that isn’t instantly fatal. Hell, you could lose a limb and the nanites would regrow it for you within hours. It’s painful as hell, but it damn sure beats the alternative. What’s most important to you right now is that these nanites also massively increase your blood’s oxygen-carrying ability. You can not only easily breath at the top of Mount Everest without supplemental oxygen, but you could perform the most strenuous activities imaginable without any issue.”

Ruiz stops pacing and looks at us intently. “This is important to each of you right now because you’re all about to jump into a pool with sacks of sand. You will sink to the bottom. And you will stay there for no less than ten minutes. Six minutes is enough to kill your average human, but each of you can stay under for far longer than 10 minutes and not lose a single brain cell. To give you an incentive to stay down, those of you that come up early get to run back and forth to the comm tower for the remainder of the day. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“Excellent! On your feet! Pick up your sandbags! In, you go!”

Every recruit, and I do mean every recruit, has their moment to doubt what they are capable of. Mine is right this second while holding a twenty-kilo sack of sand in my arms.

None of us hesitate. We jump into the pool and sink the three meters to the bottom. I begin to freak out almost immediately because, as a child, I fell into a covered pool, tore through the cover to spend several terrifying minutes trying to get back to the surface. Truth be told, it was nowhere near long enough for me to drown. It was enough for me to develop a phobia about having my head underwater. Thirty seconds in, I desperately feel the need to get out of the water. There is no way that I’m going to last a minute, much less ten.

I feel a tug on my shoulder, and turn to see Alan, who had jumped in next to me. He mouths, is something wrong?

Phobia, I mouth in reply.

He nods, points to his eyes, and then to mine.

I focus on his eyes, and an eerie calm settles over me. Now that I’ve calmed down, I notice several platoon members panicking as well. I open my wrist comm and message the squad leaders to help their people settle down. Beside me, I can see Alan checking on our own squad.

Three minutes, then four. In Martin’s squad, one of them begins to thrash, jerking his head back and forth. Martin immediately drops his own bag and swims over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders, and slugging him in the face. It seems to help since the guy stops his thrashing around and settles down to sit cross-legged on the bottom, glaring angrily at Martin.

Eight minutes in, it’s clear that even with our extended oxygen supply, some are beginning to feel the need to breathe. At the nine-minute forty-three-second mark, one of the women in Mark’s squad drops her bag and begins heading for the surface. Mark drops his and lunges, snagging her by the ankle and uses his own weight to drag her back down. At ten minutes, I signal for everyone to surface. Waiting until everyone else has surfaced, I drop my bag, and finally allow myself to go up and take in deep lungfuls of air.

The first month of training consists of PT three times a day, lectures on military etiquette, lectures on the aliens we’ll be fighting and how they fight, along with hour upon hour of training to properly use swords and knives.

Over the next two months of training, we’re issued our AS-1 Talon Armor and taught how to use it along with the M-550. Marksmanship, combat training, engagement skills, and obstacle courses. Of course, there are simulated firefights with an OPFOR (Opposing Force) and innumerable other field training exercises.

Finally, graduation day arrives.

After that, most of us continue on to advanced combat training while others head off to train in whatever specialty they signed up for.