(Left, Right)
(Left, Right)
(Right, Turn)
(Left, Turn)
(About face)
(At ease)
Cadets were moving in lock-step with one another, following marching orders. Every time they messed up, the march had to be repeated. If someone messed up a step, was too fast or too slow, or was even an inch off, the rep reset back to zero.
They weren't allowed breaks, any rests, nor the myriad of basic luxuries.
They marched for hours, stood at attention for longer, and stared off into space for the longest.
They had no idea what any of this meant. They just knew it would be repeated if there were any issues in the process.
It felt even worse than the training.
They hated the *abnormals*, the Cadets who stood out of the crowd. They were like robots, machines that didn't know what it was to be human. They were the primary reason for all the do-overs.
They didn't complain, merely complied.
It frustrated the others into hell and back.
Making matters worse was the overbearing sun. The heat and pressure it put on them amplified the torture.
They did this for days and weeks, seemingly with no end in sight. Some even walked off happily, as though what they did was an insignificant exercise.
The *Mad Scientist* was one of them. He had gained a reputation across the base, even in other Military Zones and Sectors. He was always wrong, sometimes right, until he was typically right.
Even though he was dealing with physics, gravity, and the theory of inferential deduction, some still went to look for advice on how to reduce the aches and pains. Some went as far as asking how to make it easier.
He obliged them every time, only asking them to pay it forward, return the kindness they received to others in the future when it was within their capability.
It was only bearable because of him. They repeated the reps less due to him. They got more rest and recovery thanks to him.
Then the day came.
Their battalion leader was respectfully standing behind Second Lieutenant Trafola.
"Good day Cadets. The past 5 months have been rather odd for sure, I bet. Conscripted into the military because of external worldly affairs, you've trained the first 3 months and then the last 2 months to try and prove yourself.
———|
Some of you have already been enrolled. You're just here to fulfill the rest of the conscription contract. However, it doesn't guarantee your safety. It's just a promise that you will get admission if you survive until the end.
———|
For the rest, you all have a chance to see what awaits you if your progress doesn't improve. This is not an annual exercise. This is an emergency opportunity that you will not only observe, but participate in. While we'll do our best to protect you, I promise that a few will die.
———|
The Limitless Truth Alliance is aggressive. They have no qualms about inciting violence or the sacrifices which follow in its wake.
———|
We've discovered that they're testing a new line of battle-suits. They're better compared to everything that exists, but they're unreliable. This battlefield is a chance for them to test and make adjustments. Our goal is to extract at least one of them for further study.
———|
You will be broken into squads, and a few will even get solo assignments. Listen to them well to decrease the chance of death.
———|
I'll be monitoring the situation from the staging base that's nearby, so I'll be watching your performance.
———|
Good luck," Trafola briefed everyone.
The mood turned serious and heavy as the term *death* lingered in the air.
"No! I'm too young to die!"
"Why?! Why is it like this? F**king Limitless Truth Alliance."
"It was supposed to be safe during the duration of this boot camp."
"Do we even know how long this exercise is?"
"Everyone, the second assessment is next month, so at best, you will return next month, unless the situation is resolved sooner. We expect the skirmish to last several months though."
They turned. The battalion leader had spoken. There was a collective sigh, but the mood was still heavy.
"Don't worry. A few of your seniors, leaders, corporals, and sergeants have volunteered on your behalf. They first decided to join to get field experience, but supporting you reaffirmed their choice"
Another collective sigh relieved the burden on their tiny hearts.
"We'll be shipped to the war zone at the beginning of next week. Get some rest until then."
Everyone relaxed, standing at attention.
"Good, good. You didn't dismiss yourselves after the red herring. Alright. Dismissed!"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
——|——|—|—|——|——
[The Day before the Beginning of the Next Week, Beachfront Temporary Command Station]
"Hit them with a non-lethal explosion near the side."
"Are you sure, Second Lieutenant Trafola?"
"Nothing ever really goes smoothly right? As long as the leaders don't saying anything, it's a good reality check," Trafola explained.
"You want to see how they react?"
Trafola smiled.
"I'll schedule a hit."
"How's the situation looking?" Trafola asked.
"Bad? Not terrible, but not good. They've expanded their territory for some reason. The bookstore and pharmacy next to the hotel have also captured."
"Is that why we were called in?" Trafola wondered.
"Yes. An initial assessment revealed that they sent in a few rookies to investigate the leads."
"Rookies against rookies?" Trafola remarked.
"Made sense. They probably sent em to to check our stats and response."
"We send in equally as inexperienced units to give em bad info," Trafola finished the sentence.
"Base's idea."
"Why can't I pass orders like that?" Trafola remarked bitterly.
"Don't we all?"
——|——|—|—|——|——
[Beginning of the Next Week]
A platoon of military tanks drove down a long highway, from the deserts of New Hope Country to the coastal perimeter of Beachfront city. The desert wasn't actually a desert, but hundreds of pounds of fine sand poured on top of asphalt. This was apparent because the tanks had windows this time, and sightseers saw the edge where it became obvious that the sand was just poured onto a flat surface.
The sand transitioned into green, grassy plains. Untouched vegetation that grew in the wild. There was the occasional deer, gazelle, and rarely a bear. The environment wasn't suitable for lions, tigers, alligator, or other natural predators.
A bustling city eventually rolled into view with signs welcoming them to Edward Minion city, a hot zone for the music industry. This was where the Musical Accolades Awards were held every year.
From Edward Minion city, they traveled through Snow lake city, Crystalite city, and several others before entering Beachfront city.
Off in the distance, other platoons of military tanks were rolling in as well.
The crowd was startled by the sight, but calmed down. Their had been a recent report about hostages being held in the James Leeren Luxury Hotel. Many doctors had been killed. It became worse. Now the military was coming in.
Beachfront city was a tourist hotspot, so the dominant industry was service oriented and catered to many foreign visitors. Culturally, it became the most diversified city in New Hope country, with variety surpassing the 8 districts in New Hope Super-Capital.
James Leeren Luxury Hotel was a few dozen feet away from the coast. It hosted many beach parties, exclusive marine rides, and other aquatic services such as a naturally controlled and heavy monitored marine life interaction pool.
On normal days it was very cheerful, vibrant, and full of life.
Today and for the past few weeks, it was a blood-filled war zone. With doctors getting exclusively targeted, everyone was on edge. If anyone got injured, no one could save them. If they tried to pass over supplies, there would be no help. Rare stress induced diseases like asthma and ulcers made the situation worse.
Those people were killed instantly. Then they stopped the complaints. They held on by the skin of their teeth, hoping help would come soon. That hope turned bleak as days and weeks passed. The security was not good enough to fend off the mercenaries.
The local manpower intervened, but barely held them back. Across a span of two days, the adjacent buildings were taken. The hostages at that time were forcefully taken into the hotel.
Hope dwindled rapidly when they heard the heavy sound of treadmills crushing asphalt.
Finally, the military had come! They only needed to hang on for a few more hours or days. Worst, a few months. These mercenaries were not your standard terrorists. They were well armed, well funded, well trained. They expected to die or be held for possibly years.
If they weren't WMRs, their capabilities and strength was close to it!
But the military had their own WMRs, and now they were here. They kicked into conservation mode and began to preserve their resources.
(BOOM)
A terrifying explosion shook the building, tossing people to the side.
In the distance, they heard the mercenaries yelling, asking what was going on. They were demanding to know who authorized the shot.
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
War had started, but the mercenaries were yelling in confusion.
——|——|—|—|——|——
[5 Minutes Earlier]
Sikhail GodFiend's heart beat slowed to a crawl as the hairs on his body bent. He opened his eyes as he took calm and steady breaths. He stretched and wriggled his fingers as he blinked. He turned to the side and looked into the distant, not through the window but through the tank.
He got up suddenly, attracting everyone's attention.
"Push all your weight against the side of the tank to flip it over unless you want to be knocked unconscious," Sikhail stated calmly but assertively.
Everyone sucked in a breath of cold air as they nodded, getting up, ramming into the side with all their might. As they felt the tank flip over, a thunderous shock wave sent them flying. They braced for impact as the tank landed on the ground.
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
(BOOM)
Not longer after they landed, gas started to fill the room as everyone got into action.