《Starbound》


 Prologue

    Ever since I was a child, I always looked up to the stars with wonder. And with fear. The stars were numerous, mysterious, and held the potential for nightmares that my young mind could never even imagine. A normal person likely wouldn¡¯t think this way. A normal person likely would just wonder if there was some form of life out there, or if there was some neat little planet out there just like ours, we might be able to colonize at some point. Yet, I knew the truth. Somewhere deep inside of my core, I knew that the night sky was just a black veil covering up the real tragedies. Just beyond the day blue atmosphere was a wasteland.


    My father fed this fear of mine with his stories. You see, my father was a soldier, a warrior by every standard. A wooden hanging case filled with ribbons and medals was carefully, neatly hung on the wall by the order of my mother, and at his disdain. He kept a small box beneath his bed that I had once opened, only to be quietly told to put it away by my mother when she caught me. It was a box that contained a single bullet, a number of identification tags with names of men I will never meet, pictures of faces I will never see, and a handwritten note from my mother likely when she was young, with only the words ¡°Come Home Safe¡± written on it. He had no other trace of his past, and he would likely burn his medals and ribbons if my mother wouldn¡¯t throw him into the fire pit with them. That must have been quite an argument.


    But while my father kept material reminders out of sight and out of mind, he carried with him a psychological burden that would break most. My mother always told him to talk whenever he felt sad, and to share his experiences with me as a form of healing. It must have helped him, to be able to talk to his son about things he had bottled up, as he seemed to always feel a little better afterwards. It showed that he was still human behind that stone face of his. Several of his stories, though, never really matched up. My imagination filled those holes with my own fears, my own curiosities, and questions. Questions I never dared ask, lest he look at me with annoyance or sadness.


    One story he told me was of a mission where he was sent to a land he could not say. It was far away and took a long time to reach. They packed light but were promised a resupply two days after their insertion. Himself and seven others were dispatched to handle a high-valued target and were told to execute the target on sight. There was no recovery and no need to interrogate the target; in and out, that¡¯s all it was meant to be. Instead, my father said, they were met almost immediately with heavy resistance almost as if the enemy knew they were coming. The vehicle inserting them had no weapons aside from two mini guns that were light on ammunition in order to conserve fuel, and they had no supporting artillery or aerial assets in the operational area for two hours. They were on their own.


    They landed hot and engaged the enemy from a ridgeline that the insert vehicle dumped them off on. Seconds after, the vehicle was shot down and crashed into the mountainside; they were now stranded. The eight men hunkered in and went to work. With no other option but to fight, they did so with everything they had. They were able to recover one of the mini guns from the crashed vehicle and got it deployed at the front of their position, but it was exposed. Using it was a courageous affair that my father said his Team Leader choose to bare. The others provided supporting fire, exterminating any distant threats or expert shooters on the other side.


    For an hour, they fought from the ridgeline, holding their ground as the enemy attempted to push up the hill. Using explosives, the men were able to create a sort of death funnel by cutting off other ways up the mountain other than straight up at them. Men were getting injured and ammunition was running low, but then my father said their support came early. Four close-air-support based fighter systems entered the airspace and began to rain terror onto the enemy, while a fifth was a cargo vehicle that dropped off an additional team, ammunition, and supporting equipment. The secondary team took the ridgeline to hold a fallback position, while my father¡¯s team pushed into the enemy base.


    In tandem with the aerial units, the team swept through the base quickly and efficiently, ultimately pushing inside and down into what my father described as a ¡°mess of silver tunnels¡±. He described the tunnels as long, well-lit, smooth to the touch, and symmetrical all around. There wasn¡¯t a single bit out of place. The enemy was dug in throughout the network he nicknamed The Hive, and the number of tunnels and hallways made for a confusing layout. The team caught themselves moving in circles several times before they finally were able to get their bearings and push down further.


    At the final room, they were met with an overwhelming amount of resistance. He said it would have been impossible to push into the room were it not for their speed of violence and using tossed explosives. The target was found just before the escape tunnel on the other side of the room, already executed. Yes. Executed. The target was found on its knees with half of its face missing. The escape tunnel was also sealed off, from the other side. My father¡¯s team attempted to open the door, yet it was locked by a passcode, from the other side. It was a strange thing, but the team didn¡¯t have a way to breach the door. The materials were too thick for their saws, and too durable for their explosives. Instead they bagged the target and headed back topside.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The tale seemed truthful, and it fit with what I had learned to understand was his normal. However, there was something that continued to bother me. He never said he was fighting people. He never described the aircraft like he usually did, he didn¡¯t name the place he had gone or the country he was in for just a generic identifier. The details were all glazed over, as if they weren¡¯t things that I was meant to know. And this wasn¡¯t his own story. There were several where he would describe battles or deployments to far off places that were never named, and that took longer than a week to reach. When we went to the beach, he would wear shirts to cover strange burn marks, and strange cuts that weren¡¯t done by normal tools.


    This was why I feared the night sky, why I shivered at the idea of going beyond the safety of our little planet¡¯s atmosphere. Beyond that bright blue shield was a place where men died, alone, with no chance of ever returning home. At least here on the planet if I were to die, I could at least be recovered later. Out there? If I died, there was no going home. Not unless my partners could carry me out, if they were still alive to do it.


    And yet, that wasn¡¯t the only thing that made me a little bit different. As I grew up my father began to teach me things. He taught me how to live on my own, how to hunt, how to fish. He taught me how to take care of minor injuries with minimal items, and how to treat larger wounds and broken bones so that I could at least survive to reach help. Of course, I never broke a bone and treated it in such a way, but he always described it as a mental precaution should I not be able to hurry over to a hospital at the drop of a hat. I was no fool to these teachings and I learned them well. I knew why he taught me these survival tactics, why he taught me how to fire, clean, load, and adjust a weapon. I knew why he sent me off to learn how to fight and defend myself. And I also knew why he was never worried about me going to college.


    Because I had the eyes he did. My fear was my drive. I feared the stars. I feared the night. That fear was a bomb in my stomach and every time it crept into my mind, I curled up and shivered. As I aged, I stopped shivering. I started to hate. I started to hate that feeling of fear and dreaded the lurching in my gut every time it crept up on me to the point that I began to embrace it. Then, I understood why I feared it.


    I feared the night and the stars because they could kill me. In a blink of an eye the sky could fall on my head without warning. Without any kind of resistance, too. I would be killed before I could scream and before my father could put together some kind of defensive shell around the house. I would be killed like an insignificant bug on a windshield, and the same would happen to my family. And that right there was when my fear turned into hatred, and desire. I hated that I was weak. I hated that I wouldn¡¯t be able to do anything to protect my family. I hated that I would be useless and nothing more than a bag of meat in the way of the grinder should those stars ever turn on our little planet.


    My father fueled that fire and began to arm me with tools that I could use to enhance it. And when I turned sixteen, he sat down across from me at the dinner table. There was no dinner, as it was still the middle of the day, but there was a piece of paper. It was a government document that he and my mother had already signed. The last signature block was for me.


    ¡°I have prepared you the best I could. Now, the choice is yours,¡± my father said to me. His voice was steady, his eyes curious. He did not force me to think at that point, did not yell at me to move faster or to keep pushing like he did in the forests. Instead he sat and watched. Still as a stone. His face void of any expression aside from his sharp, eagle eyes watching every twitch of my body.


    Beneath that hard glare, I reached for the pen. And signed.


    Two days later, I had a bare minimum amount of clothes in a duffle bag, my head cleanly shaved, and a light smirk on my face. My mother, father, and little sister stood at the side of the curb beside my father¡¯s truck as they saw me off.


    ¡°Take this.¡± My father gave me a small trinket I had never seen before; it was an insignia of some kind, likely some form of unit symbol. ¡°It¡¯ll come in handy later,¡± was all he said about it. My mother had looked at him strangely, but she said nothing. She only hugged me a little tighter, kissed my cheek a little harder, and smiled a little brighter.


    ¡°I love you. Be safe and stay strong.¡± She whispered to me when she hugged me. When she pulled away, she smiled with tears in her eyes. ¡°Come home safe.¡± Words she had written to my father, she said to me. I clenched my jaw and held back an emotion that day I now keep close. All I did was nod before kneeling to my little sister. She looked at me with innocent eyes, knowing not that she wouldn¡¯t see me again for several years. I gave her a hug, kissed the top of her head, and told her to remember me whenever some boys tried to mess with her. She didn¡¯t understand then, but I hoped she would later.


    Then, with one final look at my dad¡¯s hard face, I turned and walked into the terminal where my plane was waiting. Six hours later, I was on a bus. An hour after that; I entered into a life that would lead me straight into those stars I feared.

 Chapter 1: Volunteering

    The sun wasn¡¯t even close to rising when the double doors to the open bay were quietly pushed open. Thirty-six double beds lined the two walls, with simple chests at the foot of each bunk. There were no pillars in the center of the room, nor were there any other pieces of furniture in sight. Two quiet figures flanked the entryway into the bay. Upon seeing three bodies stride in, they snapped to life. Their hands seamlessly moved to the smalls of their back, their legs split to shoulder width apart, and their mouths opened partly.


    ¡°At ease.¡± They whispered in unison. Two young boys wearing nothing but white t-shirts and grey shorts that barely reached passed the middles of their thighs. Cleanly shaved, bald, and eyes red from already a hint of sleep deprivation. The three men who walked in stepped up to each of the guards and eyed them from head to two. A brief, quiet inspection. The boy to the left was clean. He passed without issue. But on the right? One of the three men wearing the typical flat, wide brim smokey hat reached up and plucked something from his right shoulder.


    ¡°What¡¯s this¡­, Trainee?¡± The man growled. The boy who had failed inspection swallowed. His eyes locked onto the dust bunny that had been clinging to his shirt, the object that was about to end his life for the next hour.


    ¡°WHAT. IS. THIS. TRAINEE?!¡± The growl quickly evolved into a yell, and suddenly chaos erupted. The lights flared on and the men screamed into the bay.


    ¡°GET UP! WAKE UP!¡± The men screamed and hollered, tossing beds, shaking racks, kicking the chests out of place. The boys who had just been laying in blissful tranquility were jolted to life by the sudden eruption of vocal violence.


    After a full week of adapting to their new lives, learning how to follow instructions, going from one issuing station to another, and losing their identities as individuals in exchange for a unit identifier; Day One was beginning.


    ~ * * * ~


    I stared at my fireguard partner with disdain as he trembled across from me, his scraggly arms barely able to hold him up. We had a simple task to do for one hour, and while I didn¡¯t think it was possible to mess up, I found myself surprised to learn it was. Being wrong was something I figured I might as well get used to now that I wasn¡¯t exactly in a place with intelligent individuals. Fireguard duty was plain, boring, and it comprised solely of one long staring contest with someone who¡¯s face I couldn¡¯t see. Simple, right? I had inspected him thoroughly before our shift, checked him for imperfections from head to toe, and swept his body over with a fine-toothed comb. A level of detail I had been told would save me in situations like this. Yet he still found a way to get us screwed over. I was fine, as I ensured my uniform and face were perfect. My partner had to be told twice to shave his face again before he got it right.


    Now here we were, pushing because he couldn¡¯t take the extra second to dust himself off when he heard footsteps like I had whispered to him. If this was how my life was going to be for the next twenty weeks, I wondered whether I would go insane or get thrown out for fighting. I invited both.


    ¡°DOWN! UP!¡±


    ¡°Eight!¡± The bay echoed as we performed the eighth repetition of the push-up exercise, an exercise I was going to learn to either love or get used to. So far, the repetitions always ended at ten. Reception was easy aside from the forced sleep depravation I had been warned. With that haven behind us, we were in the wolf¡¯s den now.


    ¡°Down! Up! Down! Up! Down!¡± Called it. I held myself just above the floor, my arms flexed at a ninety-degree angle, my body stiff as a board. My abs were tight and steadied my body. I looked to my left as I heard someone grunt and fall to the floor. I clenched my jaw as one of our Drill Instructors marched over to the trainee who had quit. As the Instructor hurried over, the Trainee popped back into the lower position, hoping it would save him. Sorry, boss; it wouldn¡¯t.


    ¡°Did I tell you to rest?!¡± The Instructor shouted.


    ¡°No, Sergeant!¡± The boy shouted, his voice straining as his muscles burned. I let out a huff of air and steadied my breathing until the command to push myself up finally came. I was tired and could only imagine how it was for those who had just been jostled out of bed for some extra exercise.


    ¡°Down! Up!¡± The commands came quickly following the mistake, forcing us to move our bodies even as our muscles cried for relief. Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty. The repetitions climbed, as did the number of collapsing bodies. The Instructors didn¡¯t care and only shouted at those that fell, their voices thundering like claps of violence as they ordered the fallen back onto their hands. With each failure, five more reps were added. With every five reps, another body fell. It was a cycle that was even making me consider hitting the deck. The thing that kept me upright was the fact that there was blood in the water, especially around me. I was on duty when the infraction occurred. If I dropped, I could only imagine the hate that would be poured onto the back of my sweat-covered neck.


    ¡°Recover!¡± I stopped counting after fifty, resigning myself to simply push and keep moving my body. I tuned out the screams, the groans, and the gasps of relief. I ignored the begging for it to end and focused only on the commands given. When I tried to stand, though, my arms gave out. I flailed for a brief second before smacking my face on the floor.


    The flop attracted the eyes of the instructors, as I knew it would, but I quickly fixed myself and pushed up properly to the position of attention. It was too late, though, and I got what was coming to me. Two instructors jumped on me, one to each side of my face, and they began to shout. They shouted so loudly and practically over one another, making it almost impossible to make anything out. When one finally screamed, ¡°Respond!¡±, my motor functions caved, and I just started to yell.


    ¡°Yes, Sergeant!¡± I repeated the words, yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, until they finally told me to drop again. I quickly returned to the push-up position and moved my body per instruction, all while they shouted at me.


    ¡°This is your fault!¡± ¡°You failed your battle buddies!¡± ¡°Your battle buddies are now dead because of you!¡± ¡°This barracks was unsecure during your shift, Trainee!¡± Words that meant nothing but held the weight of everything. I had failed those I slept beside, and those that I was guarding. The enemy had breached the perimeter of our base and killed people, because of me. The implications of such a simple thing were huge, but I understood the screaming. I understood the reasons why we needed to be detail oriented and why we had to pay attention to those details. I had to understand. Otherwise I¡¯d turn into just another follower.


    The pushups and screaming eventually stopped, but not after several rounds of countless repetitions of various exercises. More pushups, flutter kicks, mountain climbers, air squats, burpees. For every calisthenic I could imagine we performed at least fifty repetitions. My body was on fire and I dripped sweat, soaking my shirt and shorts. I breathed evenly, controlling the one thing they couldn¡¯t take from me: my intake of oxygen. Steadying my mind and counting to four with each inhale and exhale, I kept my body from burning out. The guy across from me could barely stand and his mouth hung open like a fish¡¯s, heaving in air like it was all he could do to keep from dying. He and I made eye contact. I looked away first.


    ¡°Now that you¡¯re all warmed up! Outside! Time for your first event! Move! MOVE!¡± Chaos erupted in the bay as everybody inside darted for the chokepoint that was the door. I sucked my teeth at the sight and snapped over to the door. I pulled it open wide and stepped back, clearing the way for the others. As they rushed out, the Instructors continued to scream and shout, trying to get the herd to move faster.


    Across from me, someone else caught onto my bright idea and pulled open the second door. He stood across from me and nodded, holding it open patiently just as I did. Good, at least someone else here had a brain.


    After the last person was out, I looked to the instructors and didn¡¯t move. The guy across from me hesitated at that but stood by and waited for me. I had a feeling there was a trick to this and waited. The others had simply rushed out of the bay with the only instruction to go outside, there wasn¡¯t any other information given. My father warned me of those verbal tricks.


    ¡°Sergeant, where do you want us to form up?¡± I asked, daring to ask the Gods for what I hoped would be some form of safety from another session of getting my ass pushed in. The Instructors looked at each other, and two of them smirked. The third just lifted the brim of his hat and eyed me up and down.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, Trainee?¡±


    ¡°Furrow, Sergeant.¡± Following military naming conventions, I kept to my last name. The only part of my full name that mattered. The man nodded.


    ¡°Head outside to the sandpit. Form everyone up there. Four columns, shortest to tallest. You¡¯re up front.¡± He spat the instructions clearly and without breaking eye contact.


    ¡°Yes, Sergeant.¡± I looked to my partner who had stayed behind and nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    The two of us left the Instructors and hurried down the hallway to the stairs. We were on the third floor, of course, and at the furthest bay from the entrance. The sandpit, from what I recalled, was to the right of the building. It was near the obstacle course, so I could only assume what we were about to do. As I hit the last step and flew out the front door, something clicked in my head. No wonder they woke us up the way they did. They wanted us sore and tired for the obstacle course.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, man?¡± I stopped at the top of the last flight of stairs that lead to where everyone else was just standing around and looked at the man who had stayed behind with me. He was a few inches taller than me, stockier, and had some sharp green eyes. He looked much older from the few wrinkles I could see on his face. I could also see that if left alone, his beard would be thick and manly. What a hero.


    ¡°Evans. Tyler Evans.¡± He responded in a deep, gruff tone. I nodded and extended a hand to him. He took my hand in a firm squeeze and nodded stiffly once more. Even his grip was manly. What a monster.


    ¡°Let¡¯s corral the sheep.¡± I said and then turned to face the messy herd. I was about to yell when a high-pitched whistle cracked in my left ear. The mumbling, worries, and questions stopped, and all eyes turned to us. Thank you, Evans. ¡°Hey! Follow me! They want us by the sandpit!¡± I barked and trotted down the steps. I hadn¡¯t hit the bottom before questions were hurled over at me.


    ¡°How do you know?!¡± ¡°They told us just to go outside!¡± ¡°Who you think you is?!¡± ¡°We got ourselves a high-speed!¡±


    ¡°Stay if you want. Have fun pushing!¡± I shouted and started running towards the end of the building. Evans was close on my left and the two of us sprinted towards the identified destination. When we were halfway to the end of the building, I looked over my shoulder. From what I could tell, a majority were following us. Some still hung behind, likely confident in their choice, and watched us disappear around the end of the building. Looks like another session was in store for us, but I would at least try my best to minimize the damage.


    At least that¡¯s what I wanted to do. The moment we turned the corner and headed towards the field, I realized that I had been tricked. There was a sandpit, but it wasn¡¯t alone. There were five in total with three of the pits already having bodies standing in front of them already. I clenched my jaw and checked around for any Instructors. Seeing none, I took my chance. I ran up to one of the formations and headed to the front where a person stood by himself, a few paces forward and in the center of the four columns behind him.


    ¡°Hey man, which one of the other two pits doesn¡¯t have a formation?¡± I asked as I caught my breath, doing my best to both get the information and be quick. The man just looked at me, as if I was some kind of worm or other insignificant thing. I narrowed my eyes and stood up to him. He didn¡¯t move, nor did he take in a breath of air. That told me he hadn¡¯t even consider answering me.


    ¡°Buddy fucker it is.¡± I spit off to the side and moved to the next group. This time, the man greeted me with a smirk.


    ¡°Day One?¡± He asked. I nodded. ¡°Last pit. You¡¯ll work your way from right to left. Good luck.¡± He said in a whisper. Short and sweet. I thanked him and moved to the back.


    ¡°Well?¡± Evans met me when I popped out from between the formations, his face stoic again already. I told him of where we were to form up and everyone moved to the last pit as advised. I organized the group into four columns with the shortest guys up front, but the taller dudes were struggling a little behind them to get in order when the doors to the side of the building popped open. Shit.


    ¡°Delta Company! Why are you still moving!?¡± The familiar shout of our instructors boomed through the field. I let out a huff and waved for the boys to finish up. The Instructors reached the formation just as I turned around and took the position of attention. The one who had given me the order to form up at the sandpit walked up to my right and stood real, real close to me. I could feel his breath on my face as he bore his eyes into the side of my face.


    ¡°Do you have everyone?¡± He asked, his voice nearly a growl.


    ¡°No, Sergeant.¡± I responded with the truth, not daring to lie. They likely already knew the answer even though they came out a different door.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you have everyone?¡± The question made me sweat a little, but the truth was all I could stick to. Lying wouldn¡¯t help, nor would saying the terrible excuse of ¡°I don¡¯t know, Sergeant¡±. I didn¡¯t want to be crucified for my lack of diplomatic ability. I¡¯d rather be strung up for doing my best and getting those who would listen to listen than bang rocks together expecting a bonfire.


    ¡°Some didn¡¯t listen to instructions and stayed behind, Sergeant.¡± The truth would, hopefully, make the pain hurt a little less, but I was ready for it regardless.


    ¡°I see. So, they defied orders from their Platoon Leader. How nice of them. Standby, Trainee.¡±


    ¡°Roger, Sergeant.¡± The Instructor pulled the brim of his hat away from me and strode out of my peripheral vision. I heard some talking behind me, then there was silence. I turned my head a little to my left to make eye contact with the Leader of the formation beside me, and he winked. Either that was a good job sign, or he was just saying hello. I hoped it was the former.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    But I wasn¡¯t that lucky.


    A short while after our Instructor stepped out of my view, I heard yelling, counting, and more yelling. I dared a look over my shoulder, as did several others, and we watched the group that stayed behind come sprinting around the building. They looked tired already. If that was the case, then this next bit was going to suck even more. I turned around and shouted for the group to adjust the formation. Shortest to tallest again, but this time I told them that rather than scatter, to simply tap the person in front of them if they were shorter. This sped up the process and in two minutes, the formation was ready. I turned back around to face the Instructors who were impatiently standing there in their terrifying picket line, watching our every move like hawks.


    ¡°Got everybody now?¡± One Instructor asked. I bit the inside of my lip. Damn. I hadn¡¯t counted. Mentally, I ran through the number of bunks in the bay. Was is thirty-six bunks? Or thirty-two? No, thirty-two. I doubled the number; sixty-four was our total. I performed a quick turn around and did the math; four columns, eighteen rows. Eighteen? That wasn¡¯t right. I clenched my teeth and started to count again. Eighteen. Eighteen. Eighteen.


    Thirty-six bunks! I was just about to turn around when I heard the crunching of grass. Too late.


    ¡°Front-leaning rest position! Move!¡± Shit!


    ¡°You wait on us, Trainee! Not the other way around! Down!¡± The Instructors began to bark at us, swearing, shouting, and making us push. My arms burned as my ears were verbally destroyed for being slow, incompetent, and unable to count passed ten. All I could do was clench my teeth and push.


    If only I had been quicker. If only I had accounted for that. I stared at the dark brown and green grass in front of my face, glaring at it with disgust as I performed one repetition after another. We were flipped over and ordered to start kicking. There was no counting for it this time. We were just told to kick, kick, and kick some more. My abs burned, my thighs cried, and my fingertips dug into the dirt at my sides as I fought the urge to stop. A few others didn¡¯t resist that urge and dropped their feet, to the Instructor¡¯s joy. They circled like vultures, tearing us apart with their sadistic exercise routine.


    When I thought it would never end, the lead instructor checked his watch. He let out a brief whistle and the exercises stopped. We were told to stand and fix ourselves. With the formation fixed, he ordered everyone to take a knee. As we caught our breath, we were informed of two rituals throughout the day. One to mark the start, and one to mark the end. The morning ritual was the sound of Reveille, and we were told that every morning when the speakers started to play, we would face the direction of the bugle¡¯s sound and salute. At the end of the day, we would do the same thing. The only difference was that the ending song was Retreat, and the flag would be taken down. One of many traditions we would soon learn, but it was one that we were told to never fuck up unless we wanted our skulls dragged.


    Then, as if on cue, the bugle started to play. Every man snapped to attention and our lead Drill Sergeant ordered us to render our salutes. The song was short but the point was made. As the sound faded, we dropped our hands and snapped to the position of ¡®At Ease¡¯.


    ¡°Good morning, Trainees,¡± our lead Drill Sergeant barked. We responded with a greeting in turn. ¡°Today you will be conducting the obstacle course you see before you. You are expected to complete every obstacle and you will not stop until you have done so. Failure to complete the course in its entirety will result in punishment. Understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Sergeant!¡± We shouted. He nodded, then stepped out of the way.


    ¡°Begin!¡± Without ever designating the order of which we would complete the course, the order to start was a bit sudden. I didn¡¯t hesitate, however. The call to start was followed by the sound of my foot crushing grass. I stomped onto the sand and leapt onto the first obstacle; a rope that was at least ten meters up. The Instructors shouted at me and a few others as we arrived first and ordered us to touch the log at the top. Easy peasy.


    I established a foothold on the rope and climbed in a rhythm, hooking the rope and using it as both a platform and a stabilizer as I scaled the distance. The fatigue in my muscles caused my arms to ache by the time I reached the top but there was no time to think or care. I slapped the log at the top of the rope and descended rapidly, my hands moving one over the other as I slid back to the sand.


    The next obstacle was a set of barbed wire we had to crawl under on our stomachs. I dropped to my knees and then flattened out. Using my elbows and knees to drag and drive my body forward, I wiggle through the golden-brown dirt, keeping my profile as low as possible so as to not get caught in the wire. I felt the barbs reach out and snag at my shirt a few times, but I kept going and my shirt came free again each time. The discomfort set in quick. The sweat on my body proved to be magnetic and caused the sand to stick all over my body.


    Following the barbed wire was another rope, but it was attached to much more. We were told to climb, then pull ourselves over the log at the top. From there, I traversed a set of beams that were spaced out evenly until I reached a second platform. Then I had to climb at an angle up several more beams until I reached the top. The beams I climbed up steadily grew further apart until I was nearly fully extended at the last one. It wasn¡¯t so far that someone short couldn¡¯t reach it, but it was certainly dangerous if one was vertically challenged. Snatching myself up and over, I rolled over the log and descended a large rope ladder.


    By this point, I had pulled away from the others by a few paces. I was moving quickly and listening keenly to the instructions shouted at me from the side of the course. I didn¡¯t take any time to think for myself and only focused on what was next. No looking down. No worrying about fatigue. Only movement. When my feet hit the sand, I was moving again and sprinted for the next obstacle. Once more, rope was involved. However, it was simple; swing using the rope and land atop a slightly raised wooden plank without bashing in your shins.


    I ran to the rope and jumped as high as I could onto it. Grabbing high and using it like a swing, I brought up my feet and firmly planted them on the wood. Before the rope could pull me back, I released it then jumped down the other side.


    The next obstacle was a slanted wall with a rope, again, that we had to climb over. Using the rope as a balance, we were to walk up, then climb down the other side. I snatched up the rope and pulled my body forward, smashing my feet to the wood to ensure I had good footing. I zipped up the wall and then dropped down the other side very quickly. I nearly fell on the way down. My arms were burning, as were my lungs, but I had to keep going. Slow up now and I¡¯d hold up those clearing the obstacles behind me.


    The next obstacles were three walls of increasing height. The first was low, and I hopped over it easily using my palms to elevate myself over the top. The second required me to step off an imperfection in the wood before I could pull myself over. The third required a second jump, forcing me to push off the wall itself and leap upwards. I dangled there for a second, the fatigue causing my leg to fail me when I jumped, and my hands barely smacked over the top lip. I hung there for a second, heaving oxygen, before I willed my body up. I swung my legs and caught my right foot on the ledge. Using my core and my thigh, I rolled over the top and dropped back down to the sand.


    I took a second there to take a breath, then realized the next few obstacles wouldn¡¯t require as much arm strength. I didn¡¯t hesitate. Another headfirst dive had me crawling beneath more barbed wire, this time on my back. The distance was much further, and the wire felt closer than the first time. Yet as I focused on dragging myself with my shoulders and pushing off my heels, getting caught in the wire was the least of my worries. Burning out, getting tired, and accidentally breaking my form was far more distressing.


    ¡°Move, Trainee! Move! Faster!¡± Even though I had inched myself ahead of the others, my Instructor still screamed for more. I grit my teeth, locking my jaw, and slowed myself into a steady rhythm. Right, left, right, left. The sand was sticking to my face, my neck, and every other exposed piece of skin it touched. I could feel the friction between my legs with every kick. By the end of this, I would likely be chafing, or my skin would be raw in certain places. How unfortunate.


    The end of the barbed wire came, finally. I rolled over to my feet then proceeded to almost faceplant as my legs buckled beneath me. The intensity of keeping pace and exerting a tired body was kicking my ass, and I let out a growl as I punched the sand. The shout of the instructor to my right threatened me forward, and I moved. The next obstacle required quick feet and high knees. I had to step over ankle high logs rapidly to clear it. Thankfully the obstacle was short, so it didn¡¯t take much time before I was sprinting to the next. The following obstacle was the same, except it required more intensive movements. Rather than just pick up my feet, I had to side-hurdle and vault over the logs as these were waist high. Due to the difficulty, I had to pause twice to get my breath back, and to give my muscles a break.


    After was a tall wooden ladder, with the planks nearly a full person apart. I grunted as I started my climb, my body stretching from one plank to the next. I was nearly all the way to the yellow painted wood, which marked the last plank I had to cross, when I heard a shout behind me. It wasn¡¯t an instructor. I looked back to see someone laying on the ground beside the tallest wall, grabbing at his ankle.


    ¡°Keep moving, Trainee! That¡¯s not your problem! Move!¡± The instructor practically at my hip caught me staring. I looked down and made eye contact. His eyes opened wide, boring into me as if daring me to make him repeat himself. I didn¡¯t take that dare and scrambled up the last three planks, then down the other side.


    ¡°Good! Keep moving! In battle you can¡¯t stop for everyone! GO!¡± He wasn¡¯t wrong, but something in my stomach twisted at the thought of leaving someone injured behind. I couldn¡¯t do anything to help so that weighed on me somewhat. The idea of abandoning them hurt far worse, however.


    Still, this was training. There were bound to be injuries at some point. With that in mind I pushed on. Ten more obstacles were in the way. Further mixtures of rope climbing, sand diving, and wooden atrocities blocked my path. By the time I reached the end, I could barely stand. My knees wobbled and my thighs were burning to the point of near numbness. I couldn¡¯t close my hands due to the aching in my forearms and I could have sworn I couldn¡¯t feel the pinky in my left hand, yet I could move it. If I could move it, it must have just been my brain messing with me.


    The others began to finish shortly after. I wasn¡¯t too far ahead, as I had to repeat a monkey bar obstacle due to my hands slipping halfway through it and me landing on my face. Yet the difference was noticeable. Being the first one on the course was definitely an advantage. I had no one in front of me to wait on, so I could steam through every obstacle with warm, stretched muscles. Those who were in line had to wait for those slower, making for an annoying game of red light, green light.


    Evans came in at a steady jog. He looked far less beat up than I did but he had some battle scars. His hands were burned from the rope and it looked as if he had whacked his head once or twice. His shirt was ripped in a few places, too. Likely from the barbed wire. Must be rough being a big guy.


    ¡°Form up, Trainees! The fuck you think this is?!¡± One of our instructors shouted as he walked towards the end of the course where we had gathered up. I quickly started to organize everyone and reminded them to be in order; shortest to tallest. It took a few seconds for everyone to come back to life after the smoking that was the course, but they fell in line eventually. By the time the last man came crawling out of the sand, I was standing up front with everyone behind me. Our instructors ordered us to spread out and find some real estate.


    Then, we pushed.


    ~ * * * ~


    After two more hours of exercise, the sun was finally steadying above the horizon. We were showered, shaved, and dressed in our basic uniforms. Brown slacks, tan shirts, and squared off caps with wide brims. Our names were stitched into the right side of our uniforms, mid-breast and above a small pocket we were told to carry our identification cards in. Around our next, each man wore a pair of metal identification tags that had our names, numbers, blood types, and religion (for those that had one). Our shoes were black and shined to perfection. We had spent countless hours in reception prepping our uniforms to look perfect and had been given plenty of instruction on what was expected. Before we formed up, each trainee was visually inspected. Imperfections were groomed out and then we were told to head outside.


    We stood in front of our building, which was the left most building amongst three which formed a U-shape around a large concrete pad. There was no cover to hide from the elements here. It was just a massive, open slab of bad days to come. I stood at the front of our formation, with Evans to my left and just a step behind me. He carried an empty guidon pole, which I assumed would be getting our unit colors at some point.


    ¡°At ease!¡± Someone shouted in the distance. I snapped to the position and stared straight ahead; my eyes shaded by the brim I had bent slightly to better fit my head. Across from me, and a ways off, was another formation of similarly dressed personnel. There were nine formations in total, three for each barracks. Which didn¡¯t make much sense, as there were three other formations out at the sandpit this morning. Maybe I was missing something.


    ¡°Relax!¡± Someone barked from my left. I dropped my arms, going to a more relaxed version of ¡®At Ease¡¯ without completely dropping my bearing. The voice that shouted out to us was an aged man with quite a large stack of ribbons on his left breast, and many stripes on his right shoulder. If I had to guess, he was the top dog around here. He cleared his throat, folded his hands behind his back, and began to pace. He took two steps, then his mouth opened. A booming voice echoed through the open air, reaching every ear that was listening. For those that weren¡¯t, his tone demanded attention.


    ¡°Gentlemen! Let me begin my welcome by saying that I applaud you for your decision to join the finest fighting element in the United States. I am happy to see so many of you here, and I fully enjoyed vetting every one of you. You said no to those blood wading, grizzled Marines. No to the ground pounding, hard fighting Army. No to those sea fearing blubber lovers in the Navy, and no to the frilly, glittering Air Force.¡± He paused to show us all a wide grin.


    ¡°Each one of you made a decision to come here. You volunteered to be here, and I welcome you with open arms. We are the answer to every hard problem Lady Liberty cannot solve. We are the solution to every puzzle she finds. And we are the scariest motherfuckers ever to walk this earth. We are not a branch, but a unit, and this unit only accepts those who can make it. Look left. Look right. Of all the men you just looked at, only fifteen will make it. Out of all of you, only fifteen will make it. That is our statistic.¡± The weight of his words bore down on many who already had doubts, and it planted seeds in those who didn¡¯t. I clenched my right hand into a fist and squeezed my wrist with my left. My jaw clenched tight as I felt the heat of the sun on the side of my face. The odds were against us, all of us. I could only wonder how many would be cycled out just today.


    ¡°I have all the time in the world to weed out the weak, to make the quitters ring my bell, and to break the unbreakable minds of some of you. For those of you who can stick it out, who can keep up and show us that you have what it takes, I can promise you one thing.¡± The man reached the end of the concrete pad and walked up to the top of a set of stairs. He turned around and stood tall, straightening his back as he scanned the crowd of faces, old and young, staring back at him.


    ¡°War, gentlemen. You will be turned into fire breathing, lead spitting dragons whose sole purpose is to wipe the enemy off the grid square you march through. You will become unstoppable forces that will topple immovable objects. Unkillable. Unbeatable. Invincible. Through blood, sweat, and hardship; I will mold you into becoming the finest warrior God has ever dared to let us make. Worry not, gentlemen. If you came here with any other intent but to become a machine, than I implore you to leave now. By the end of this training, killing is all you will know.


    Your instructors are the best I could find. I interviewed every one of them, and they are here to ensure that the intent of this training is met. They have seen and done things you lot can only imagine. Indulge in this opportunity, because it will never come again. Good luck, gentlemen, and may God never turn his back on you. And if he does, I hope you embrace the Devil tight enough to snap his fucking neck.¡± The older man let out a whistle and our Instructors stepped forward from their positions at the back of the formations. Our three stepped in front of me and made a line, as they usually did.


    ¡°Sergeant, Delta Platoon is ready to move.¡± I snapped to attention and presented a salute as I had been taught. Our lead instructor, Sergeant First Class Ward, returned my salute and called us to attention.


    ¡°Trainees; listen up. As you have just been informed by the First Sergeant, our duty as instructors is to breed you into the fiercest warriors humanity has ever seen. If you have any doubts of this fact, any fears, or any second-guesses, you may at any time raise your hand and withdraw. There is no harm in doing so. You made a decision that millions would not even consider, and that is respectable in its own right. You are here. You made the first step of many hard ones that we will make you take.¡± Ward turned to his right and directed our attention to the small building at the top of a small hill where a building sat. The First Sergeant was reaching the top step when Ward pointed at him.


    ¡°Upon withdrawing, you will come out to this pad, up those stairs to the main battalion building, and you will ring the bell that is hanging there just outside. You can¡¯t see it from here, but you won¡¯t miss it up there. At any point in time, you are free to run up and ring the bell. We will not stop you.¡± It seemed that all the other instructors finished speaking and there was an eerie silence which fell over the concrete pad. Sergeant Ward swept his eyes over the formation, then nodded his head.


    ¡°Now, at this time, would anyone like to voluntarily withdraw from this course?¡± The question was echoed down to every formation, and my eyes opened wide. I scanned the pad, watching a wave of hands raise towards the sky. I dared to look behind me to see if there were any volunteers in my own group.


    There, to my astonishment, ten hands were raised up high.