Livgardist
Inactive Member
It was over. Today had been the last day, and each of the recruits that had passed Hell Month had been given a handshake by Master Sergeant Sherev, their drill instructor for the last five months - an elite soldier and former sniper who had spent twenty five of his forty five years of life in the Marines. Now, the entire platoon had gone into Funky City to relieve some stress.
Everybody of course except for - as always - Private Jaron Nasif.
Top of his class, he had shown not only discipline, but quickly acquired skill at his job during every day of the last five months. One reason was because of his complete lack of interest in anything outside of the Corps, including getting drunk or laid.
The base seemed abandoned now, with almost every single recruit either being out on exercise or out on town, and most officers and NCO's being at home. Nasif sat on his bunk in the empty barrack, leaned against the wall, his latest orders in his hand. He had been recommended by Sergeant Sherev - a legend whose word weighed heavily on such decisions - for the Sniper Qualification Course, one of the most elite combat training regimens of the Nepleslian military.
He was exhausted. His body was numb with muscle ache, his brain pleasantly clouded by exhaustion. But in his chest his heart beat with pride over what he had accomplished during his five months there. Even in this time of pride, though, he did not waver in his duty and discipline. In front of him on the floor sat his various pieces of equipment splayed out, including things like a canteen, clothes, boots, and a gas mask. Each item had been polished to perfection. His last project of the day was to repack his backpack with combat gear.
After a moment's rest, he put down the assignment orders, and went to work. He started by placing a black plastic trash bag inside the backpack. This was called "waterpacking"; in case of rain, putting everything in a plastic bag inside the backpack ensured that even if the backpack became soaked, the equipment inside of it would not be. Even in this day and age, with the high tech weaponry the military had access to, they had not yet been able to develop a water proof backpack.
Into the backpack went each piece of his equipment. Field kitchen, several changes of clothes, extra water, field rations, weapon cleaning kit, nightvision goggles, a sleeping bag, and rain clothes. All in all, clothes took up most of the space. On the outside went a field shovel (that could also second as a weapon) and a one man tent, nicknamed "the cocoon" among grunts. After he was finished and zipped his backpack closed, it weighed in at around twenty five kilos.
After putting it in his locker, he looked over the rest of the equipment there, ensuring that it was all stacked in an orderly fashion. After a moment, he grabbed his gym clothes, and quickly changed into shorts and a tank top and sneakers. All done with his cleaning regimen, it was time for his physical regimen. He had a couple of more hours left to kill before it was time to go to bed.
He stepped out of the barracks, and slowly started into a light jog around the barrack square. Every hundred meters, he stopped, and did twenty pushups, intervalled every ten times with twenty burpees. His wiry body was soon covered in sweat from the workout, his breath getting more and more labored, but the young marine recruit pressed on undeterred.
Everybody of course except for - as always - Private Jaron Nasif.
Top of his class, he had shown not only discipline, but quickly acquired skill at his job during every day of the last five months. One reason was because of his complete lack of interest in anything outside of the Corps, including getting drunk or laid.
The base seemed abandoned now, with almost every single recruit either being out on exercise or out on town, and most officers and NCO's being at home. Nasif sat on his bunk in the empty barrack, leaned against the wall, his latest orders in his hand. He had been recommended by Sergeant Sherev - a legend whose word weighed heavily on such decisions - for the Sniper Qualification Course, one of the most elite combat training regimens of the Nepleslian military.
He was exhausted. His body was numb with muscle ache, his brain pleasantly clouded by exhaustion. But in his chest his heart beat with pride over what he had accomplished during his five months there. Even in this time of pride, though, he did not waver in his duty and discipline. In front of him on the floor sat his various pieces of equipment splayed out, including things like a canteen, clothes, boots, and a gas mask. Each item had been polished to perfection. His last project of the day was to repack his backpack with combat gear.
After a moment's rest, he put down the assignment orders, and went to work. He started by placing a black plastic trash bag inside the backpack. This was called "waterpacking"; in case of rain, putting everything in a plastic bag inside the backpack ensured that even if the backpack became soaked, the equipment inside of it would not be. Even in this day and age, with the high tech weaponry the military had access to, they had not yet been able to develop a water proof backpack.
Into the backpack went each piece of his equipment. Field kitchen, several changes of clothes, extra water, field rations, weapon cleaning kit, nightvision goggles, a sleeping bag, and rain clothes. All in all, clothes took up most of the space. On the outside went a field shovel (that could also second as a weapon) and a one man tent, nicknamed "the cocoon" among grunts. After he was finished and zipped his backpack closed, it weighed in at around twenty five kilos.
After putting it in his locker, he looked over the rest of the equipment there, ensuring that it was all stacked in an orderly fashion. After a moment, he grabbed his gym clothes, and quickly changed into shorts and a tank top and sneakers. All done with his cleaning regimen, it was time for his physical regimen. He had a couple of more hours left to kill before it was time to go to bed.
He stepped out of the barracks, and slowly started into a light jog around the barrack square. Every hundred meters, he stopped, and did twenty pushups, intervalled every ten times with twenty burpees. His wiry body was soon covered in sweat from the workout, his breath getting more and more labored, but the young marine recruit pressed on undeterred.
