A Journey Through Fire: Recruit Training

[Koenig808]

[[WARNING. Offensive language included. Mods, tell me what to remove, and I'll do so accordingly.]]

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7:05 pm, Delsauria, Route 119. 00th day of Recruit training

Dear Mom,
It’s not even the first day of recruit training, and I can already hear the DI’s screams in my ear and his fists on my face. Dad should really stop telling his children about his experience in boot camp. You should see these guys I’m riding in the truck with. There’s not one of us that looks like the guys in the recruitment ads. Hell, the most fit-looking guy in the truck has a bit of a jiggle around his midsection, and he’s the one that scored the highest in the preliminary fitness exams in our training platoon. Noone’s even talking, since I guess we’ve all got the same nagging fear that’s stopping us from engaging in even the most mediocre form of interaction. I don’t blame them. They stuck us on the back of this utility truck with our gear, and the miles upon miles of road dirt only remind us of the distance from our homes. Shit, the sound of rain hitting the canvas cover even sound like the popping of bullets that we might face further on down the road. Shit, looks like the truck is slowing down. Write to you later, mom.

P.S: Tell dad that he can kiss the fattest part of my a

7:52 pm, Delsauria, Route 119. 00th day of Recruit training

“Well, isn’t this just cozy as fuck?!” The barrel-chested drill instructor had stepped out into the road, flanked by a pair of other instructors that were of lower rank than him. The numerous medals that adorned his uniform marked him as a highly-experienced and decorated veteran, and the numerous scars and that mean look on his face only served to cement this fact.

“Welcome to the Recruit Training Depot.” His voice seemed to travel all the way to the back of the utility trucks and reverberate around the walls, it’s harshness almost causing the recruits to double-over in their seats, as if the DI’s voice was a knife that had just been plunged into their stomachs.

“For the next eight weeks, you soft civilian fucks will be forged into the iron fist that is the Marine Corps of the Star Military of the Democratic Imperium of Nepleslia. Every time you hear that, you will recite the pledge that you will see written on the walkway to your bunks. You shits will only have that chance to memorize it and will have thousands of chances to recite it, or be forced to do 50 push-ups every time that you fail to accurately repeat it, and I guarantee you, you soft motherfucking pieces of shit, we –WILL- know when you FUCK UP. Now, proceed out of the vehicle an-WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!”

The drill instructor slammed the gate of the utility truck down with a thunderous roar, and very much in the face of the recruits on board, stomped over to one recruit that stood out amongst them: he was writing a letter. “WHAT IS THIS?!” He took the letter from the recruit and started reading it aloud to the platoon. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, SOME KIND OF WRITER?! YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING RICH OFF OF MY BELOVED CORPS WITHOUT OUR FUCKING PERMISSION?! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THIS VEHICLE!”

The instructor practically spat in the recruit’s face and turned bright red, with veins popping out of his neck and eyes. “ALL OF YOU FUCKS GET OUT! MOVE MOVE MOVE!” He walked up and down the utility truck taking each recruit by the collar and pulling them up and towards the exit of the truck.

A few recruits stumbled and fell out of the truck onto the ground, and were immediately picked up and placed in line by the other DIs, who were all more or less of the same build as the main Drill Instructor, but much more reserved. Depending on who you were, that made them all the more intimidating. What followed the recruits were their duffel bags, filled with various clothing, personal effects, supplies and the like. These were then lined up before the line of recruits and emptied onto the road, soaking in the rare rains that fell on Delsauraia.

“You have been relieved of these items that tie you to the churning, fattening machine that is civilian life. From this point on, your filthy selves BELONG TO THE CORPS. NOW GET MOVING INTO THE BARRACKS! HURRY THE FUCK UP BEFORE YOU ALL LICK THE MUD FROM THE TRUCKS’ TIRES!” The recently inactive DIs all ran up and down the line and forcefully hurried the recruits down the walkway, each of them taking care to remember this phrase.

“The duty of a Marine is to sweat so that others may not. We kill so that others may not do so to our brothers and sisters. We die so that others may live, and we bleed in memory of those that have and will perish in the defense of Nepleslia and her colonies. As a Marine I pledge to uphold these beliefs that serves as the unshakable core of the Corps until death may sever this pledge.”

8:00 pm, Delsauria, Route 119. 00th day of Recruit training

The recruits were introduced to a white-walled, green-floored room full of at least twenty, 2-man bunks, all lined up right against the wall with two footlockers next to each of them. Every person’s skin was tinted a blue-ish white color, thanks to the fluorescent lights that buzzed above them. The rest of the night was spent by the recruits being issued their warm, and cold weather exercising gear, as well as a pair of khaki pants and a green coverall shirt, with their platoon letter written next to their individual number on the back of their shirt, with the battalion’s letter written on the bottom of those two.
Before the recruits even had a chance to put on these new clothes, they were immediately rushed into the next building, where they received a complementary haircut via a Caretaker’s electric shaver.

Each recruit now sported a stylish shaved head, and the variations in skull shapes amongst all the different recruits would have been hilarious, had the situation not have been so rushed.
After the shaving, they were rushed back into their bunks, where they were immediately lined up next to each of their bunks, randomly assigned to a bunk partner.

“This is your bunk partner. You will learn him by his individual number only, because you filthy fucking recruit pieces of shit have not even earned the right to wear the blood red star that marks a Marine! Once you have attained that holy-of all-holy privileges, you will be called by your last name. Until now, you are…” The Drill Instructor looked to the side at a recruit, and the look in his eye said “Give me a fucking answer. NOW.”

The recruit stammered, and attempted to spin his service shirt around on his upper torso so that he may see his individual number. This action warranted a quick knee in the gut from the DI, and when the recruit regained his composure, he was met with a vicious yelling in his ear: “DON’T FUCKING TURN YOUR SHIRT AROUND TO LOOK AT YOUR NUMBER. GET YOUR FUCKING PARTNER TO DO IT.” He stood back up once the recruit’s number was shouted, and walked down the lines of recruits. “If you shits can’t even work as a two man team to figure out your fucking individual number, how the fuck do you expect to work as a PLATOON UNDER FIRE!?” He shouted this in the face of a random recruit, who he immediately turned to face.

“What’s your name, fuckwit?!” The recruit’s jaw stiffened, and he shouted back. “Louis Chen.” The DI immediately went wide-eyed and stepped back. “Chen?! CHING CHONG NIP NON FONG, CHEN?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I’M SAYING TO YOU, OR WOULD YOU LIKE A FUCKING DICTIONARY?!” One of the Caucasian-looking recruits started snickering, and the DI immediately ran up to him to scream, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LAUGHING AT, WHITEY?! WOULD YOU LIKE SOME GODDAMN SALT AND MAYONNAISE ON YOUR FOOD FROM NOW ON, YOU IGNORANT STUPID SHIT?!” The DI then back-handed the recruit, and faced the audience. “From now on, you are no longer, white, black, yellow, or even fucking polka-dotted, for some of you freaks. You are now FUCKING GREEN. AND THE ONLY COLOR YOU BETTER SEE IN EACH OTHER FROM NOW ON IS FUCKING GREEN!”

“Hey! That’s fucking racist, sir! That’s fucked-up! How the shit are we supposed to condone racism if the country we’re protecting is against it! I’m reporting your behavior to the recruit depot CO!” This outburst would be, for the other recruits, like watching a great tidal wave approach a small tiny native village. The DI simply smiled and walked up to the recruit. “Son, I’ll dismiss your little outburst as just stress being let out. Do you want time to yourself? Do you want your fucking mommy to come and let you suck milk from her tits? Want me to spoon with you? I promise I’ll make you feel good. I’m sorry that you totally missed the point of what I FUCKING SAID.” The recruit would see a flash of black, as something was beaten into his stomach.

With the recruit doubled over, the DI put his retractable baton back into his back pocket, and the rest of the instructors went down along the line to place several metallic collars around each recruit’s neck, which was then locked. “These are collars that will keep any of you fucks from having an outburst such as what Recruit 18 just had. The head Drill Instructor, me, how you doing, will carry a remote that will cause these collars to administer a rather painful shock to all of you. And this remote makes –all- of them go off. So if one of you fucks up, you all get fucked up.”

He turned to the recruit who had long since recovered and spoke loudly into his ear, so that the rest of the platoon could hear: “Listen to me, you little fuck, the original copies of recruit names is sent to this location, and we’ve got an IPG detachment here that is –very- good at making someone disappear off the papers and off the street, understand me?” The head Drill Instructor turned to the training platoon, all visibly shaken at this revelation. And just smiled. “Bed time, girls.” At that, each recruit immediately picked his own spot in the bunk, jumped in and covered up.

Heading towards the entrance of the recruit quarters, flanked by the same two assistant Drill Instructors, the head Drill Instructor turned to face the platoon with his arms behind his back. “From now on, you will know me as Master Chief Carlson. That’s MASTER CHIEF, not just Chief. I will fuck you all up if I am called Chief.” He then turned the lights off. “Welcome to the shit, boys.” Master Chief Carlson then did an about-face and left the room, saluted by two armed Marines that guarded the outside entrance.

9:00 pm, Delsauria, Route 119. 00th day of Recruit training. Lights out.

 

[Koenig808]

5:55 am, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training.

The sweet, weightless, warm feeling of sleep that each recruit felt was soon to be broken, again, for the 4th day in a row. The previous days were spent being screamed at by the drill instructors, and already, their necks were currently sore from being shocked so many damn times from the fuck-ups that all of their peers caused . Already, five recruits had been dropped from training or sent to a recycle platoon so that they would gain the physical prowess required for them to pass recruit training. The platoon had grown smaller, but with this, they had become closer than ever, despite not even knowing each other by their real names.

“REVEILLE! REVEILLE! REVEILLE!” Master Chief Carlson’s signature booming voice was followed by the sound of his retractable baton slamming against the metal portions of the recruit’s bunk beds, which caused each recruit to automatically make their beds, and one minute later, you couldn’t tell their beds from the beds in a 5-star resort. Each recruit now stood before the inspecting DIs that moved up and down the lines checking for the smallest hygienic or organizational infraction. “Recruit 43, you’ve got some fucking stubble growin’” This caused the recruit to immediately jump down into his footlocker and grab some shaving cream and a razor. The boot of Master Chief Carlson slammed on top of the recruit’s footlocker, and the DI held his UCK out in front of him.

“I didn’t fucking say you could step down from line attention, did I, 43? Just for that fuck-up, you’re going to dry shave with this motherfucker.” He ran his thumb from side to side across the edge, not feeling that coarse feeling associated with a sharp knife. “Ooh, damn. Haven’t been keeping this one sharp.” He handed the combat knife to the stunned recruit, adding “Oh, watch out for the serrations, now. Twenty push-ups for each fucking scratch I see on that fresh, boy-virgin fucking face of yours.” Carlson then turned to the rest of the training platoon. “FIVE FUCKING MINUTES! YOU SHITS HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO GET READY FOR A NICE MORNING JOG.” With that, the recruits scurried off to shower and dress up.

9:00 am; Camp Delsauria, Mount Shitsux. 04th day of Recruit training.

“Ooh yeah, boys! Where the fuck else in civvy life would you feel so fit after a good morning jog?” Master Chief Carlson and a few of his DIs were taking a few liberal sips of water, while several recruits behind them were doubled over, taking in air like a whore takes in bodily fluids on a Friday night. One recruit in particular had been coughing for the entire week. Horrible fits of coughing that sent him doubled-over and had to preclude him from a morning jog, already. Wary of this, the Master Chief motioned for a Medic nearby to inspect the recruit. Afterwards, the Medic jogged up to the Master Chief, debriefed him and was dismissed.

“Son. Have you been smoking prior to coming to Camp Delsauria? You can tell me, boy. I’m hip.” The Master Chief had his hand on the recruit’s shoulder, and based on this suddenly strange friendly disposition that his DI took on, the recruit simply nodded, laughed, and even started going into details on what type he liked. “Nepleslian Greens, eh? Yep, those really give you a hard-hitting buzz. But shit, we’ve got fuckloads of things here that hit you harder.” Without skipping a beat, Carlson slapped the recruit across the face. Stunned, the recruit didn’t even expect the Master Chief’s kick to his diaphragm, sending him into a horrible coughing fit.

“Medic, recycle this motherfucker to the recycle platoon. He’ll have to wait to graduate with the next batch of recruits just because he can’t control a few fucking coughs.” The Master Chief turned his back to the recruits, a few of which had already, instinctively, helped carry the assaulted recruit. “Breakfast is in 10 fucking minutes. I sure hope you fucks can run 2 miles in that time.” The recruits sprinted back to the dining quarters because of that revelation, several of them gasping and panting on their way over.

11:00 am, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training

A significantly overweight recruit walked out of the dining room, his jogging uniform covered with vomit and a butt plug on a rope around his neck. Apparently, the DIs had made this particular recruit get on all fours and eat like an animal. This recruit had a problem with flatulence, and he shared his gassy smells with the rest of the platoon. Because of this, the DIs had taken a confiscated butt plug from one of the platoons and forced this poor guy to wear it around for the whole day. Worse thing, too, was they were heading to the weigh t training facility, and that was right next to the female quarters.

Weight training today was nothing really special. Because they had worked on their leg muscles the previous day, the entire day was devoted to them building upper body strength, working an aerobic routine. The DIs did not want a bunch of recruits too sore to even fire a rifle the next day. After weight training, the recruits cleared a space on the grass outside and started practicing hand to hand combat, starting out with the basic jab and straight punches, and gradually incorporating throws, chokes and groundwork into their routine. Soon, the recruits were choking each other on the ground or beating each other senseless, even as dirt was kicked up to invade their eyes and mouths, and even as the sun beat down on their poor heads.

3:00 pm, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training

Compared to the previous meal, the lunch for the recruits was rather uneventful. Sure, some poor fuck-up had probably spilled something and got berated by it. But soon, the physical and verbal assaults from the DIs had become commonplace for the recruits. In fact, each recruit was finally able to see what the DIs were; just babysitters that were authorized to give you a few love taps every once in a while. What they really feared where the collars around their necks, which caused the muscles in their necks to seize up horribly.

And they equally feared the black-clad IPG operators that were always present alongside every Marine that guarded the entrances and exits to whatever building they dined, worked out, or even sometimes slept in. Sure, the Marines were armed, but they were only armed with pistols. The IPG guards were armed with Assault Rifles, that were sure to fuck them up harder than any Marine’s pistol could, even though they were not there in as large numbers as the Marine guards. In fact, other than in-camp disciplinary duties and guard duties, none of the Marines could figure out why the camp had an IPG detatchment along with them.

4:30 pm, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training

The crack of a borrowed IPG M-1V echoed down the range merely seconds after the initial muzzle blast was heard along the line, soon followed by a very distant “PING” as the round hit it’s metal target. The target was a good 500 meters away, and although this would do little to help with PA weapon systems, this week was devoted solely to instill in each Marine basic shooting skills. “Good job, Recruit 23. Keep shooting like that and you’ll be supporting our boys at long-range engagements on the field…WHICH IS MORE THAN I CAN FUCKING SAY FOR RECRUIT 10. WHY THE FUCK AM I SEEING YOUR SHOTS FALL SHORT A GOOD DISTANCE FROM THE TARGET?!” At that outburst, the recruit immediately pressed the magazine release button on the rifle, cleared and inspected the chamber, and handed it to Carlson.

The Master Chief took the rifle from the recruit, glared at him for a second, and then looked down the bore for any sort of malfunction, cycled the action on the weapon several times, and even went so far as to check the armorer’s marks on the bullets that the recruit was using. The Master Chief then looked to the iron sights of the assault rifle…and threw the rifle into the recruit’s unsuspecting chest, nearly knocking him over. “You’ve got it set on the default fucking battle sights, fuckwad. No wonder you’re missing something 500 yards away when you’re sighting in at 300.” Annoyed, the Master Chief walked away from the firing line and signaled for the recruits to start firing again.

7:30 am, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training

Dinner was the usual meal. The indifference to the verbal and physical abuse from Master Chief Carlson and his DIs, as well as the distinct hope that these IPG and Marine guards were competent, and that they wouldn’t get shocked just because someone fucked up, again. When all was eaten and done, the recruits tiredly sauntered back to their respective quarters, ready for a few precious hours of free time before lights-out was declared. However, a squad of IPG members awaited them at the entrance to their quarters, with Master Chief Carlson discussing business with a higher-ranked IPG member.

“Since you motherfuckers are such straight-laced and squared-away recruits, it’s been decided by the CO that you’re all ready to give up any sort of free time to be…re-educated about your purpose in the Star Military of the Democratic Imperium of Nepleslia. For this, we’ve got our IPG boys here to teach you what it truly means to be a Nepleslian.” The IPG leader smirked, as the Master Chief hurried the platoon into the quarters, where a large screen was set up on the furthest wall, blocking the way into the bathroom. “S-Sir, the screen’s blocking the bathroom door, sir.” Another recruit piped up, visibly having to relieve himself. “…You’d rather take a shit or piss than learn about the history, enemies, goals and glory of our great Nepleslia, recruit? Shit, that almost sounds like treason…”

The recruit would feel the footsteps of people closing in on him from the back. Whether they were IPG or Marines, he didn’t know, or care. Like the rest of the Marines, he would simply sit down and suck it up while they watched what amounted to propaganda, all nervously eying the bathroom door at almost the same time. The entire video was on the history of Nepleslia, and such subjects included the perceived oppressors of the Nepleslian people, as well as ending with a large portion of it dedicated to the now well-known exploits of Green forces on Kennewes. Once the presentation was over, the Master Chief stood before a solemn audience, all bombarded by pictures of the heroism, hardship and horror shared by all Greens during Kennewes.

“That, my good recruits, was an example of Marines in their finest hour. Make it through this training, and someday you’ll find yourself in their same position.” At that, the Master Chief stood at attention and executed an about face to face the large SMoDIN flag that was mounted on the wall in front of them. The recruits then followed suit, with everyone in the room reciting the same pledge that they saw walking down the walkway leading to each barracks. Recruits, Enlisted, Warrant Officers, Officers. The creed that they had all seen at one point in their careers was perhaps the only thing that transcended boundaries of rank and experience, a bonding force for these men.

“Lights out, men. Week’s almost over, and it’s gonna get fun.”

9:00 pm, Camp Delsauria. 04th day of Recruit training. Lights out.

 

[Koenig808]

"SUPPRESSING FIRE!!!" Recruit 25's HUD was blinded by the momentary flash of a grenade, causing him to shrink behind the overturned car that provided the cover he was firing from behind up until now. Regaining his sight, the Recruit popped back out of cover to send several bursts of fire from his HPAR at a WATER 100 meters to the front of him, taking advantage of the PA's momentary loss of shields by firing several shots at his mono-eyes and waist, aiming to damage his means of sight, as well as aiming for the less-protected waist.

"CMON, YOU FUCKING PUSSIES!" Master Chief Carlson waded through an ocean of dirt kicked up by the recruits from the opposing team taking poorly-aimed pot shots at the Drill Instructor. Even wearing a large EARTH Power Armor, the way that the Master Chief moved, ducked to cover, and fired, caused the recruits on the other end to shrink back mid-attack. "Squad leaders, hold the line and gather on me!" With that order, each of the recruits tried to time his shots with the other's, sending a steady stream of firepower down range at the opposing team, while their squad leaders, three of them, ran up to the Master Chief behind cover.

"These motherfuckers tried to attack and were blunted by a solid defense. Good job. Now that they've lost the momentum in their attack, this is the best time to attempt to counter-attack. Alpha and Beta squads will provide suppressing fire for Delta, who will rush forward to cover, then they will provide suppressing fire for Alpha, who will hook to the left of the enemy position, who will then suppress them for Beta who will hook to the left. We will continue this until the enemy forces are surrounded. If they run, do -NOT- attempt to pursue. Pick 'em off instead. Get to it!"

The four men tapped each other's heads with an open right palm as an unofficial sort of confirmation of orders. The Master Chief took up a position behind Alpha and Beta, along with two FIREs to stay behind. "Serpentine, boys. You remember from our training." The Master Chief would go along with Delta to augment their firepower with his EARTH's. "Move!" He tapped Alpha's designated leader on the head, and the entire squad leaped out from behind cover as a chorus of heavy automatic fire sang out behind them, whizzing past and impacting on the enemy team's cover.

The rocket trails from Carlson's AOP snaked through the air and impacted on two WATERs that were running in the opposite direction of the attacking squad, which elicited bursts of fire from Delta's WATERs to be brought upon the weakened PAs, shredding through their already damaged armor. As soon as the squad got within 400 meters of the enemy formation, they would dive into cover, with Carlson and four of them in a staggered line in the center and with one Marine on the far ends of their line, more towards the main enemy lines. These flankers were given extra grenades, and would act as Beta and Alpha's point men once they arrived. For now, they would suppress the enemy forces with weapons fire and grenades, in order to keep them from flanking them.

Seeing this, Alpha would more or less copy Delta's methods of advancing while under the cover of suppressing fire from the two squads, situating themselves in a battle line more forward of Delta and further to the sides. Beta would be the last, and they would have to maneuver through a bombed out building that was about 10 meters to the left of Delta. The opposing team had placed two Marines inside this building, and Delta lost two of it's 5 members in close-quarters combat.

"Alpha in position." "Beta in position." "Delta in position." Ran through Master Chief Carlson's communication's box in his EARTH. "Alpha and Beta, advance and encircle." Upon his orders, Delta poured all they had at suppressing the force in front of them, while Beta and Alpha sneaked to the sides of the formation and engaged them with grenades and HPARs. Caught completely off-guard, the enemy's main defense line was torn to shreds, either caught in the cross-fire of Beta and Alpha's fire, or picked off by Delta's fire. Seeing this, the enemy's reserve squad began an immediate, strangely well-organized retreat.

"We've got the fuckers on the run, guys!" "Light 'em up!" The squads, caught up in the rush of adrenaline gained from destroying a rather sizable enemy position, immediately ran forward to chase after the enemy squad that had just crested a hill outside of the urban area that Carlson's platoon was fighting in. "NO, YOU STUPID BASTARDS! GET BACK! GET BACK!" Carlson jumped up from his prone position and signaled for Alpha and Beta to retreat.

Once Alpha and Beta crested the hill, they were met with hundreds of round streaking through the air towards them, as well a well-fortified, once-retreating enemy squad. With the screaming of hundreds of PAL shots announcing their arrival, Alpha and Beta immediately ran scrambling back up the hill, only to be torn to shreds by the artillery barrage, as well as the heavy fire from the enemy squad. Carlson bit his lip in frustration as every icon depicting Alpha and Beta squad members blipped off the tactical map in his HUD, as well as noticing the large platoons just on the edge of the map, firing a second barrage of artillery shells over the hill at the last remaining squad.

"MOVE FORWARD! MOVE THE FUCK FORWARD!" Carlson grabbed several recruits by the collars of their WATERs and hoisted them up and forward, leading his squad into a charge over the hill in order to avoid the second barrage. With one casualty caused by a very well-placed PAL shot, Delta crested the hill and charged towards the entrenched enemy squad, aiming to close the distance so that they could not be hit by the enemy's artillery fire. Delta suffered heavy casualties in this charge, with Carlson and Recruit 25 remaining, but with the enemy squad obliterated. Carlson and 25 were immediately obliterated by a third barrage.

"::::::::::::SIMULATION TERMINATED::::::::::::"

"Oh come ON!" Carlson stepped out of the simulation machine and practically had him and the other DIs throw the rest of the recruits out of the simulation machines while the platoon playing the opposition forces cheered in victory. "It's called fucking holding them by the belt and kicking them in the nuts! You fucks got scared by the artillery and ran from the squad, and you fucks got annihilated on the hill! Didn't you think their retreat was a bit too orderly?! You could easily have overpowered them and dispersed to lower the effectiveness of the enemy artillery scoring multiple kills on you! 'One man's a waste of ammo. Two squads is a juicy opportunity.'" Carlson sighed, seeing his training platoon doubled over in hunger. They hadn't eaten since this morning, and they'd been running sims all day.

"NO GODDAMN DINNER TONIGHT! YOU FUCKS NEED MOTIVATION TO FIGHT BETTER!" Carlson screamed at his training platoon, waving his hand to the numerous sounds of protest.

10 minutes later, the training platoon was showered and in bed, each with their pants at their ankles and given a pacifier. "Goodnight, you fucking babies!" Screamed Carlson, walking out of the platoon quarters.

10:00 pm, Camp Delsauria. 16th day of Recruit Training. Lights out.

 

[Koenig808]

"This is War Chariot. ETA to LZ Alpha, fucking soon."

The voice crackled over the squad's communication system, showing up on their HUDs as a jagged, writhing green line. Five of the recruits in the back were all holding onto the flip-down handles on top of the troop bay, all very aware that at any moment, the floor below them would open up to expose them to just another simulated battlefield.

"Roger that, War Chariot. Third platoon, we've caught a Red battalion with their fucking pants down in their goddamn HQ. IPG recon teams reported several Crooked Demon-type PAs. You see one, radio one of our ID-SOL guys to take it out." Master Chief Carlson radioed through the platoon-level communication system from another one of the Vipers that the platoon was travelling to their destination in.

"We're here! Get your asses down there!" The troop bay would immediately be bathed in a red light as the floor beneath the recruits opened up, showing at least 15 feet of space between the hovering Viper and ground, with several tracers flying underneath the craft from the Red forces. "MOVE, DAMNIT! WE'RE SITTING FUCKING DUCKS HERE!" The pilots screamed to the recruits, each of them hesitating to attempt such a jump. Letting go, the 5 recruits immediately dropped to the ground and took cover behind anything they could find.

Recruit 13 popped out from behind a strangely-placed concrete wall to fire several bursts from his HPAR at a few fleeting Demons, immediately popping back behind the concrete wall once several rounds impacted dangerously close to his mid-section. Looking 50 meters to the left further back behind the main battle line, the recruit spied two EARTHs and a VOID huddled in a circle, pointing every which way and smacking each other in the face, obviously debating the best course of action for the platoon. Nodding their heads in agreement, the VOID immediately ran up to the front and gathered about 12 recruits, scattering them more effectively to reduce the chance of them all being blown up by a well-placed grenade.

"Get your head out of your ass, bitch!" Recruit 13 would have his head slapped by Master Chief Carlson, who motioned for 5 recruits to join him and 13 behind his cover. "Senior Chief Jesus will keep about half of the platoon there to set up suppressing fire for us. We've gotta hook to the right of the facility and try to meet up with Beta squad to encircle the Reds. We're gonna cut off their escape in case they try to escape once the rest of the battalion gets here." The recruits all flinched as a Viper flew overhead, was lost in two beams of Aether as well as a large fireball as it spun violently to the earth, it's ordnance exploding somewhat safe off to the side of them. "HEY! Game faces on, motherfuckers! Lets do this!"

Carlson shook his EARTH's hand at Senior Chief Jesus, who's VOID got up from a prone position to give the thumbs up to Carlson. The VOID immediately set up several shield walls on either side of the Red's position, while his squad poured ammunition onto the Red's front lines. "MOVE IT!" Carlson kicked a recruit in the ass forward, following closely behind him. Overhead the sound of several Vipers coming in could be heard, and as they made their attack runs along the Red lines, the VOID's shield placement became apparent; he was doing it so that the Vipers wouldn't accidentally shoot up the flanking squad.

Several minutes and several dead Cyclones and Demons later, Carlson's squad and Beta squad had encircled the Red forces, who by now, had been focusing all of their efforts to escape, only to be met with a horrible surprise. "Good fucking job, Beta! You recruits are learning pretty damn we-" Beta squad's leader, as well as a WATER that was hanging nearby, were lost in a pair of aether beams, with lower torsos remaining and falling over. As the recruits recoiled in horror, the Crooked Demon responsible for Beta Squad leader's vaporization decloaked, holding his hands out in front of him to deflect any returning fire, as four more Crooked Demons joined the fray.

"WHERE THE FUCK ARE THE ID-SOLS?!" Carlson stood far behind the line that Alpha and Beta made, as a few rounds plinked harmlessly off his shields. "Shit, they were in the Viper that was shot down!" Carlson's attention was soon diverted to the sight of a utility car being thrown through the air by one of the Crooked Demons towards his squad, scattering his recruits every which way. Acquiring a lock on the assaulting Crooked Demons, Carlson unloaded all of his Extended Arrows on them, not wanting to waste it all on just a few Crookeds.

The Red PAs responded immediately by charging their aether cannons and firing them, sweeping them from side to side at the incoming rockets. One significantly damaged Crooked Demon did not have the sense of mind to extend his remaining right arm at the rest of the Extended Arrows that were incoming, and his carelessness caused him to explode in a gout of flame. The rest had their shields significantly damaged, and one more had it's pilot cooked alive inside by a barrage of HPAR fire.

Carlson's target, however, must have been the squad leader. Because it was still standing. Reacting instantly, Carlson raised his AOP to the incoming Crooked and got off one shot, before a hand reached through the explosion his AOP caused to tear his weapon from his hands. Seeing that his AOP had succeeded in blowing up one of the Crooked Demon's hands, the Master Chief immediately jumped and boosted backwards, putting space between him and the Crooked to give him enough time to pull out and charge his Warhammer. Why the Crooked did not just blast him to bits with his Aether cannons, he did not know. Maybe the Crooked's pilot just wanted a fun fight. But his Warhammer missed as the Crooked stepped to the side, immediately bringing it's vibro claws up to the Warhammer's shaft, disabling the weapon in Carlson's hand.

With a very profound kick from the Crooked Demon, the Master Chief's EARTH was knocked to the ground, with it's Vibro Claws poised to tear Carlson's head from his body. Kneeling down, the Crooked raised it's left hand...and recoiled back, as a single round impacted on it's right chest, seemingly fire far away from the hills overlooking the Red Army HQ. The Crooked Demon's priorities changed, and he started charging up his Aether Cannons to fire into the hillside, hoping to hit the supposed sniper. At the very last second, the Crooked Demon would find itself being pulled back and it's Aether streams firing into the sky.

The Crooked Demon's pilot would find itself looking directly into the face of a NOZH that had apparently been hiding for the longest time, seemingly grinning down at him as another round pierced the front of the Crooked Demon to break the knee of it's pilot. Seeing the Crooked Demon about to fire it's Aether cannons in the NOZH's face, it stood back up and jammed two Plasma Blades into either side of the Crooked's neck, ripping the head off to expose half of the pilot's head poking out from the neck hole. Standing back up to it's full height, the NOZH deactivated it's plasma blades as Carlson walked up to it.

"IPG Recon Squad." The NOZH nodded to Carlson. "You guys really need to work on your approach to kill Crookeds." Carlson looked to the left and noted the last remaining Crooked Demon was laying on the ground, riddled with holes, presumably caused by the two NOZH that had popped out of the buildings that overlooked the Crooked Demon's assault. One NOZH plugged the Crooked in the head a few more times to make sure it was dead, while it's buddy gathered up Beta's recruits to mop up the remaining Reds, who's command structure deteriorated with each single shot taken from the hills far away.

"When you guys stop hiding in the goddamn shadows while real men fight, you can talk to me about combat procedure." Carlson and the NOZH pilot pounded fists, looking on as the recruits efficiently cleared the area under the other two NOZH's guidance. "What the shit are you guys doing here, anyway? You trying to weed out possible candidates for your little organization?" Carlson watched on as a WATER kicked a Cyclone-equipped Red against a wall, soon cooking it's pilot alive inside with it's HPAR.

"Hey, you should be fucking flattered that we're taking Marine recruits in afterwards. Navy recruits just don't cut it." The NOZH sighed, reconstructing one of it's Plasma Blades into a Rail Gun. "This is a pretty good batch, Carlson." Carlson "harumph"ed, watching as the recruits from his squad run back up towards him, high-fiving along the way. "Kinda shitty you left, Chen." Carlson sighed, as the recruits from his squad gathered around him in a circle. "Good job, recruits. You managed to not fuck up this time."

"::::::::::::SIMULATION TERMINATED::::::::::::"

Carlson got out of his simulator, watching several of the IPG members doing the same and dragging a few select recruits out of the building to talk to them, possibly tempting them with service in the IPG once they gained enough experience as a Marine. Somewhat irritated by their presence, Carlson shrugged and looked to his training platoon. "Good job, everyone. Too bad that you all didn't get to see how ID-SOLs fight." He looked to the right at five extremely bored ID-SOLs, who all grunted and walked out.

"You're all doing well in maneuvering and assaulting, and performed admirably in the face of -four- motherfucking Crooked Demons. And this exercise proves that you're all qualified to perform well in an airborne assault. Looks like we'll have to see how you fucks do in defense of an objective." Carlson smiled, barely. "For tomorrow, however, we're going to be doing some in-class studying of the OpFor power armors you faced, and you are all going to learn how to take each down, especially the fucking Crooked Demons." He then looked to a few of the members in his platoon, who were approached by the IPG members.

"For some of you that have been approached by a few of our more...shadowy brothers-in-arms, tomorrow will be a lesson in basic battlefield reconnaissance. The IPG operators will be teaching you how to set up ambushes, and you will all receive familiarization and be qualified with a very interesting piece of equipment. Just know that you're still fucking Marines. You guys just have a penchant for not stirring too much shit up, I guess. At any rate, get some sleep, recruits! You've only got a week left."

Carlson ran the recruits back to their bunk quarters, overseeing them in their usual pre-bed time activities, such as a reciting of the Marine Corps oath, 50 push-ups and 60 push-ups. "Goodnight, sweethearts!" Carlson switched the lights off, and tried not to laugh as he heard "Goodnight, big daddy!" from the platoon.

10:30 pm, Camp Delsauria. 46th day of Recruit Training. Lights out.