BROTHERS

Chapter II: Initiation

Training Day 1

Bill stood in line, waiting impatiently for it to move forward. He was down to his briefs, the only thing anyone was allowed to wear as they stood waiting for their uniforms.

The line slowly moved forward, and boredom seemed to come easily. Bill looked around, wondering if anyone else was getting this bored. A lot of boys had the same look of disinterest on their faces.

Then Bill's eyes caught something else, an anomaly if ever he saw one. A girl in line, waiting for a uniform with the boys. Not something Bill expected to see.

He looked around some more, and saw a few other girls. Some of them were pretty muscular looking, and others looked downright serious. But one, standing nearby, had a soft look, and seemed a bit nervous.

He thoughts were broken as his attention was called to the man in front of him. Suddenly he was first in line, receiving his outfits.

Two camouflaged uniforms, a set of combat fatigues, and a pair of white tank tops. He took the stack of clothes, amazingly the right size, and turned to exit the room and find his locker.

Before he left, he looked around again to see if he could find the nervous girl. But the lines had moved and he couldn't find her.

Maybe later, he thought. For now he had to get on an outfit and be ready for Captain Allen.

* * *

"Form up!"

Over three hundred pairs of booted feet quickly shuffled about as Charlie Company scrambled to get in line for their captain, Richard Allen. Bill made sure he was with the second squad of the first platoon, the squad he was assigned to. He was.

Once the troopers were where they were supposed to be, Captain Allen stood in front of them and looked across the ranks, then nodded. Then he began speaking, his voice coming out loud and clear, sounding almost like a war holo hero.

"You are the soldiers of Charlie Company, part of the First Battalion of the Fourth Median Regiment. You are my men now, and will follow my orders from this day forth.

"Your duty in the Imperial Guard is simple. Fight and, if need be, die for the Imperium. You will be sent to many worlds, and protect all manner of people, fight all kinds of enemy. If you keep a straight head and a sound mind, you will find that victory is not so hard a thing to accomplish."

Captain Allen turned to the right and began to pace the line, looking at the soldiers as he continued.

"There are many who would say the Imperial Guard is not a true fighting force, that it is only filler, a mass of bodies to aid the Adeptus Astartes. This is nonsense. The Imperial Guard is a fine body of men who show courage and strength in combat, and can win any battle if properly trained, equipped, and motivated.

"Motivation is important. What is our motivation, you may ask. Our motivation is the people we protect every day. When you're out there among the stars, saving the lives of people you've never known and may never know afterwards, look around at the faces you see. They are the reason we do what we do. They are the reason we are so willing to sacrifice our bodies and our lives.

"Look also at the men and women around you. Your family at home, and your new family right here. You are also fighting for them.

"I expect all of my people to do their best. I also expect respect among all of my personnel. I do not take misconduct well, nor do I accept the mistreatment of my soldiers by the officers leading them. If I find out any such thing is going on, I will personally discipline whoever is responsible.

"I give you all my solemn vow that I will look out for your best interests, and hope that you in turn will look out for each other. Only by being able to trust each other and know our fellow soldier is there for us can we hope to achieve victory. And I expect my soldiers to win."

He walked back to the front of the line.

"You will be assigned bunks later today. Congratulations on being part of the best damned fighting force in the galaxy. Dismissed."

Captain Allen tossed a quick salute to the soldiers, then left.

Bill turned to look at the people lined up around him. These were his new family, huh? Brothers, all of them... and the occasional sister. Well, he'd make sure to watch out for those who were his family, just like he always did.

And if need be, he'd even lay his life down for them.

* * *

Mel entered the bunk room with the rest of 1st Platoon. He looked around, noting how uncomfortable the bunks looked. But he had no time to linger on such thoughts, as his attention was soon drawn back to Lieutenant Dennis Becker.

Becker cleared his throat to get the attention of all the soldiers present. Once he had it, he began speaking.

"I'm supposed to assign individual bunks, but I find that to be a long process that wastes time. But I do want people grouped by squads. I've already had bunks marked according to which squad they belong to. I'll let you fight amongst yourselves for who gets what."

Becker held up a hand to stop anyone from moving. "But first, some ground rules. First, one person to a bunk. I don't care how close you want to get to each other, I don't want to see two people sharing the same bed. This is the military, not a marriage hall.

"Second, no booze. I'll allow cigarettes if I get volunteers to help buy an air filtration system. No weapons either, except those assigned to you. Beyond that, use your common sense.

"I don't want to see any fighting. If I do, I'll settle the fight personally, using my own method of mediation. That's about it for rules. I like to keep things loose, let my people get to know each other and get close. You'll be better soldiers for it, trust me.

"With that," Becker said, "I think I'll leave you to find your own bunks. My personal bunk - I will be sleeping with you - is at the end, clearly marked. Keep off of it if you know what's good for you." Becker smiled, then walked past the assembled troops and out of the building.

Then all havoc broke loose, as men rushed to grab their own bunk and make a claim on it.

Mel walked over to the 2nd squad bunks and found the bottom bunks taken. He looked up and saw the second bed's top bunk still empty. Casually he tossed his gear on the bed, then yanked his camo-top off and threw it up on the bunk too, leaving just a tank top covering his torso.

He climbed up into the bunk, and began to get his things sorted out.

* * *

Sara felt lucky, in a sense. She had managed to get a lower bunk for herself, so she had a bit more room beside her bunk for her gear and personal belongings than anyone sleeping on the top bunks.

She tossed her gear to the side, then sat down on the bed. Taking a look around, she noticed most of the other soldiers pulling off their camo-tops. She decided to do the same.

She laid back on the bunk and ran a hand through her hair, now damp with sweat. It was a lot shorter than it had been. She'd previously had hair that cascaded down past her shoulders. Nor her dark hair, black as a raven's feathers, was maybe a couple of inches in length.

She rolled on her side and opened her satchel, pulling out family pictures and setting them on the chest beside her bunk. Then she pulled out a small silver necklace with a cross she had once heard was a Crux Terminatus or something like it, and hung it around her neck. The crux had been her father's, sent to her home when she was young, and had been included with a note informing her mother of he father's death. Now she wore it as a good luck charm, hoping it'd give her more luck than it did her father.

She blinked back tears and suddenly realized she was looking at someone's camouflaged trousers.

"Impressive, aren't they?" asked a cheerful voice, and she looked up to see a red haired boy, grinning at her. "James Young," he said, offering his hand.

She took the hand and shook it. "Sara Shaffer. You with third squad?"

"Sure am," he said. He knelt down, then looked at Sara from just above her face level. "'Scuse me for saying this, but... well, you don't exactly fit in here."

Sara leaned back, looking up at the bunk above her. She let out a short laugh. "No, I guess I don't."

"So what are you doing, then? Get drafted or something?"

She looked back at James. "No, James - can I call you that? - I volunteered."

He half smiled at her. "Yes, you can. But I prefer Jim. And why volunteer?"

Sara sighed. "I'm not really sure myself."

Jim gave her a light slap on the shoulder, then stood up. "Okay, then," he said, pulling off his white tank top. He then proceeded to slide off his boots, then his camo trousers.

"What are you doing?" Sara asked.

Jim slid into the bunk beside hers, then pulled a sheet up over himself. "Getting some rest. I suggest you do the same."

She started to think about doing that, and pulled off her boots. Then she began to slide under her sheet.

Jim arched his right eye. "You always sleep in full dress?"

Sara frowned at him. "None of your business, really. But no, I don't."

"Don't worry, we don't bite. Unless you ask real nice."

Sara let out a sound of exasperation, then rolled over and closed her eyes. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Jim's light laughter.

* * *

Training Day 4

Mack stretched, trying to stifle a yawn. He still hadn't got used to getting up at four in the morning.

Lieutenant Becker stood at the front of the assembled platoon, looming over the soldiers like a school teacher looking over a class full of young students. He nodded in approval of something.

"Today," Becker began, "we will start our training. It's a simple exercise, one that will take little time and effort. At first. But we will do it again and again, until you no longer think it is such a simple exercise and you will curse me for putting you through it.

"The exercise I am speaking of is the mile run. You will be timed. Once everyone has completed their first mile, they will run it again. And again. And again. We will run a total of twenty miles today. Anyone that fails will be reprimanded."

Mack joined in the chorus of groans. He knew he wasn't going to like this.

* * *

Sweat running down his forehead like a raging waterfall, Mack ran his fifth mile. He had been averaging just over six minutes for the runs, which was pretty good.

As he ran, he passed some of the troopers that were slowing down, presumably from tiring out.

One of the runners he passed was Joe Kilney, another member of squad three. "Hey Joe," he called out, "getting a bit tired?"

"No, man," Joe said, panting. "I'm fine."

"Cool," Mack said, passing him by.

He ran a bit more, then heard someone coming up behind him. He turned to look and saw Sara Shaffer closing in.

Not wanting to be shown up by a girl, Mack quickened his pace. He didn't want to over exert himself, but he wasn't going to let himself be embarrassed like this either. He thought he heard giggling behind him, but it seemed to fall into the distance.

Not a minute later, though, he was watching as Sara came alongside him.

"Don't worry, Mack," she said, smiling. Mack thought for a minute that she looked very pretty when she smiled... and sexy when she was sweating. But the thought passed as she gave him a slap on the back and passed him by. "You're not the only guy I've passed today."

He watched her pull ahead, then came alongside Jim Young. "What's the deal with her?" he asked.

Jim laughed. "She's a track runner from her secondary school. Had a lot more practice at this than any of us."

Mack whistled in appreciation.

Jim looked at Mack and smiled as they ran side by side for a few seconds. "Is that a whistle for her talent, or are you thinking of something else?"

"Perv," Mack quipped back.

* * *

At the end of the day, Mack was lying on the ground, many of the other members of One Platoon doing the same.

Becker walked around where most of the platoon troopers could see him. He was drenched in sweat, but didn't seem anywhere near as exhausted as the young soldiers around him.

He pulled out a sheet of paper. "I've got your scores here, and I'll let you all know individually how you did. But I want to let everyone know the top three runners today.

"First up is Bill Palmer." He paused as cheers came for Bill, and not a few boos as well. Then he carried on. "Second, and this should be no real surprise to those in the know, is Sara Shaffer." Mack looked over to see Sara looking rather flushed as everyone cheered her. "Then there's Corey Ghent." A few cheers for Corey came.

Mack felt a bit disappointed, but stood up and walked over to Becker. He had to know his score.

Becker saw him approaching and smiled. "Nelson! I suppose you'd like to know where you came in?"

"Yes, sir," Mack said.

"Fifth overall. Not so bad." Becker gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder.

"Thank you, sir," Mack said.

He left the lieutenant, knowing others would want to see their scores. He saw Sara standing off to a side, and decided to talk to her.

"Hey, great placing," he said as he approached.

Sara looked up and gave him a wry smile. "Is everyone in this unit going to hit on me before the first week of training's over?"

Mack put his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I was only asking your score. But I do have to admit, you are one lovel-..."

"Ahem," Sara said, glaring at him.

"Heh, sorry. So how'd the story of you being a track runner get around?"

"We're all from the same general area. I'm sure someone recognized me from my school."

"Hard to miss," Mack mumbled. "You kind of made my time a mockery."

"Sorry if I caused you any embarrassment." Sara ran a hand through her hair. It came away wet with her sweat. "If you'll excuse me, I have to hit the showers."

"Sure, no prob," Mack said, stepping aside. He watched as she passed, moving toward the platoon quarters.

As she walked away, he couldn't help but notice a distinct slump in her shoulders. He thought of catching up and asking if something was wrong, but decided it was probably a better idea to give her some room to herself.

* * *

Training Day 18

Bob turned under the shower, letting the water run over his body as he lathered himself.

All around, the other troopers from One Platoon did the same. He was amazed at the ability to fit fifty showers into one space, and move than a little envious of the officers with their private showers, even the squad sergeants.

He finished lathering and rinsed off, then turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

He looked around, saw everyone else showering, nothing really exciting going on. So he felt it was a good time to stir up some fun.

"I see eyes wandering where they shouldn't be. Ron, Mel! Where do you boys think you're looking?" he shouted.

Mel looked over at him. "I think right now I'm looking at a guy with too much time on his hands."

Ron shouted across the room, "Hey, can I help it if my eyes don't follow orders all the time?"

"Keep those hormones in check, Ron!" Bob shouted.

A wet bar of soap came from Ron's direction and Bob handily dodged it. "Bit testy, Ron?"

"I'll show you testy!" came the reply.

Jessy Kline toweled off and stepped into the middle of the room, twirling her lithe, muscular body around. "Personally, I don't mind the attention."

More than few whistles and hollers of appreciation came at the statement.

Suddenly those noises were replaced by yelps and shouts of surprise. Several of the troopers still showering jumped outward, away from the water.

"Something the matter?" Bob asked.

"Someone made the damn water cold," George shouted, toweling himself furiously and trying to rub some warmth into himself.

A knock from the door of the shower room caught everyone's attention. They all looked and saw Becker standing beside the temperature control. "It seemed some of you needed a cold shower. I hope you got it."

He stepped forward. "Target practice is coming up today. I want you all out at the range in ten minutes." He looked over at where Jessy seemed to be trying to sneak out. "In your combat fatigues, not your birthday suit," he said, "no matter how cute they might be." He smiled at Jessy. "Get dressed, Kline."

"Sir, I'm shocked. You think I'd parade about naked?" she asked, her face showing mock surprise.

"I've heard of your antics, Kline." He stepped toward her, turned her around, and gave her a gentle push toward her locker. "Now get something covering yourself."

Becker left the shower room as everyone laughed. Bob stood an walked to his locker, still chuckling. He looked over at Jessy. "Your 'antics?'"

She smiled sweetly at him as she pulled her pants on. "If you're real nice, I'll tell you later on."

Bob pulled on his briefs, then his own pants. "How 'bout a demonstration?"

Jessy finished fastening her shirt, then leaned over. "I don't think you could be that nice, Bob," she said, then gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

"With that motivation..."

"Keep dreaming, boy," she said, standing up after putting her boots on. "You have more of a chance in your dreams."

She walked out of the shower room, slapping Mel's buttocks as he came into the locker area.

Mel looked over at Bob, who was now acting gloomy. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

"I got burned, man," Bob said, pulling his boots out of his locker.

* * *

At the range, the squads were lined up in separate groups. Each had their own range.

Bob lifted the autorifle to his shoulder and fired at the target, some two hundred yards away. He was rewarded by the sight of flashing indicators showing he'd hit the head and upper torso on his target with well over ninety percent of his shots.

Bill, to his right, looked over. "Pretty good."

Bob snorted in disgust at the comment. "Pretty good? Better than you could get, hotshot."

Bill arched an eyebrow. "Wanna make a bet on that?"

"Sure," Bob said. He was confident Bill couldn't do any better. "This weekend's R&R pass?"

"Deal," Bill said. He held his rifle up to his shoulder and squinted. Then he fired, slowly and almost imperceptibly moving the rifle as he emptied the cartridge.

"Okay, let's see how you did," Bob said.

"Holographic presentation of shots landed," Bill said, speaking toward the target computer. A holographic representation of the target showed up in front of Bill.

The target's head now had a face, and where its heart should be there was a circle with a line.

"Sweet Emperor's teeth!" Bob shouted. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Practice, Bobby boy, practice." Bill smiled.

Lieutenant Becker passed by, and looked at the target representation. "Keep up the good work," he aid, almost nonchalantly.

Bob shook his head, then looked at his own rifle, then his target. Looked like he needed a bit more practice.

* * *

Training Day 34

Becker looked at the fifty- four men in front of him and grinned. Sara knew this meant trouble. The fact they were wearing full battle gear meant that much already.

"Today, boys and girls, we are doing an exercise I have always loved. We are going to do full-gear climbing. This builds stamina and strengths in a soldier. It also aptly simulates some of the torturous conditions you'll be put through in the field of battles."

A mumble came from the back of the assembled troopers. "And our officers..."

"Especially them, and especially if you interrupt a briefing," Becker said, causing the mumbling soldier to immediately cease talking. Sara smiled for a moment, then decided not to show any mirth at the chastising of a fellow soldier. Best not to cause any resentment.

"You'll only be required to make the climb once, so I suggest you get started," Becker said.

And with that, a mad scramble was made to the five separate walls set up. One for each of the squads, with a trooper from the command squad attached to each squad going up a wall.

Sara grabbed the wall, and got a good foothold on it. She looked up, seeing the full height of the wall. Fifty feet, no carved hand or foot holds. It was going to be pure skill and strength.

She began to climb, pulling herself upwards. The weight of the pack on her back made it hard to get going, but she pushed to get herself moving upwards on the wall. Others were having similar troubles.

Eventually she got going. She was halfway up, halfway to the goal of reaching the top, when a section of the wall broke under her right foot. She lost her footing, and scrambled to find a place to grab onto with her hands.

There was none. Suddenly, very violently and painfully, she fell.

The pack, and the friction of sliding down the wall, broke her fall. But that did nothing to stop pain. She slowly stood up, her back and sides aching. Her arms, legs, and face were scraped up, her combat fatigues ruined. She was bleeding bad.

A medic rushed up to help her. Groggily, she pushed him away

"You need help," the medic said, and started to reach for her arms.

"No," Sara said, wiping at her face. Tears and blood came away, and she nearly screamed at he sweat got into her facial cuts and the salt mingled with the blood. "I need to finish this exercise."

She grabbed the wall, looking up again. Several of the troopers sat at the top, watching her. She began pulling herself up, determined not to let herself fail.

Inch by inch, foot by foot, she pulled herself up the wall. This time she did not fall. But the wall was left red with her blood.

It took almost twenty minutes, but at last she reached the top. She pulled herself, pack and all, to the top. She looked down, saw the medic still standing there, staring in accomplishment. She looked around, saw Becker smiling at her with pride, almost like a father. She looked around her on the wall, saw her squad maters and other members of One Platoon sitting there, their faces a mixture of awe and appreciation.

The faces began to move of their own accord, but nobody had made a movement in any direction. Everything began spinning about her, and Sara began to fall, almost topping right off the wall. But hands reached out and grabbed her.

She didn't even notice the pain in her arms right before she passed out.

* * *

Hours later, Sara woke up. Lieutenant Becker was sitting beside her. She was lying in a bed, with instruments attached to her arms.

"The platoon?" she asked, her voice sounding weak.

"Under the guidance of Captain Allen personally," Becker replied. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. That was good work, but not the brightest stunt I've sever seen."

Sara tried to smile. "Sorry to worry you, sir. I was just doing my duty to the Emperor."

"Yeah, well, don't do it like that again. You fall, get fixed up, then make the climb. You don't have to prove anything here, Shaffer."

Sara looked away. Nothing to prove. Was that true? Probably. But it didn't seem like that. It seemed like everyone was watching her, waiting for her to falter, expecting it of her,

"I have faith in you, Shaffer," Becker said. "You'll make a good soldier, maybe even an officer someday. But you'll never do that without your health. Get better, then join the Platoon when you can."

"Yes, sir," Sara replied.

Becker stood and left, and Sara let sleep claim her again.

* * *

Training Day 56

Mack crouched low to the ground, using his rifle for leverage. All of the troopers of One Platoon were assembled for yet another training exercise.

Lieutenant Becker appeared, and the platoon suddenly fell into ranks. Mack jumped to get in line with squad three.

"You're all going to love today's drill," Becker said, smiling. "Bayonet drill, with lovely dummies dressed up as enemy soldiers made specifically for you guys to stab over and over."

Becker pulled his bayonet from where it hung by his side, and attached it to the front of his rifle. "As you can see, fixing the bayonet to end of the rifle is very simple."

He then lunged forward, stabbing at the air in front of him, then slashing. "These are the basic maneuvers of fighting with bayonets. Nothing much, nothing elegant, just stab and slash. It may be helpful to think of your bayonet as a spear at some times and a long axe at others."

Becker stepped back, moving his rifle to his side. "Now I'd like each squad to take a dummy, and take turns attacking it. You will be judged by your squad sergeant. Don't get sloppy."

Mack watched as Becker walked away. But instead of leaving the area or standing back, as he had guessed the lieutenant would do, the big man walked to a dummy separated from the others and began attacking it with his own bayonet.

Mack hurried to get in line with squad three, then waited in line for his turn to have a go at the foam-like set ups. He rushed forward, stabbing into the dummy's chest near its heart, then pulled his bayonet out and slashed across the dummy's neck.

Sergeant Nathan George clapped. "Very good, Nelson. I hope everyone else was watching. That's a nice technique you have there."

"Thank you, sir," Mack responded. "I do my best."

Sergeant George looked at him for a second, then asked, "You done something like this before? Been practicing? Or are you just a quick learner?"

"Quick learner," Mack said, feeling a bit of pride.

"Alright," George said. "Move to the back of the line, and let the others see if they've learned from you."

Mack did as he was told, watching the others as they came around on their attack on the dummy.

His turn came up many times during the exercise, until finally it was over late in the afternoon. Then the soldiers were allowed to go back to their bunks.

* * *

Mack laid back on his bunk, lounging in his combat trousers, when Lieutenant Becker entered the bunkroom. The lieutenant came up to Mack and tossed a box on his bunk. "Special delivery."

Mack pulled the box toward himself, then realized it had been opened and resealed. He looked up. "Lieutenant?"

Becker walked over to the side of Mack's bunk. "We're away from the other platoons, resting now. I think after four weeks together I should let you call me by my name. It's Dennis, in case you forgot."

"Um, yeah, lieu-, er, Dennis." The words seemed to not come so easily to Mack; he was uncomfortable being so informal with an officer. "The box has been opened."

"That's right," Becker said. "I checked out the contents, same as I do every package that comes in here. Security concerns and all that."

"Oh," Mack said.

"Just don't let word of the contents spread to the other platoons. They'll raid this bunkroom looking for them." Becker winked, then walked away.

More curious than ever now, Mack opened the box. Inside was a large assortment of magazines featuring nude women. He glanced around uncomfortably, hoping no one else saw them.

It was too late.

Jim looked over and called out, "Mack! Hey, man, nothing to worry about. We've all had a gander at magazines like that at least once."

"Ahem!" came a call from another part of the room.

"I doubt the ladies in the platoon would agree, Jim," Becker shouted, sitting on his bed and unlacing his boots.

"Gonna' share?" asked Kyp Long, looking over from his bunk.

Mack stood up and dropped the box back on the bed. "Sure, there's enough for everyone. I've gotta get a shower. You all can dig in."

Cheers greeted the comment and a rush for Mack's bunk began as he made a hasty retreat to the shower room.

He walked through the door and to the lockers, then turned and leaned against them, closing his eyes. He stood there for a few seconds, until he realized the door closing behind him was a bit too slow to be natural.

He opened his eyes and saw Teresa Ruthman walking toward him.

"Uh, Terry, what are you doing in here?" he asked.

She stopped in front of Mack, not two feet away. "Checking on you," she said.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You looked a bit embarrassed when people saw your magazines. What's wrong? Don't like people knowing how much you enjoy looking at people with only the bare essentials?" Teresa asked.

Mack swallowed, realizing he felt a growing pressure in his throat. He heard a soft rustle. Looking down, he noticed Teresa's trousers lying on the floor and her hands moving to pull her shirt up. "Terry, I, uh, don't think that's appropriate."

"What's the matter?" Teresa asked, making her voice sound as sexy as possible. "Wouldn't you like to see a lady's body up close?"

Mack tried to move away, but he was suddenly pinned as Teresa jumped up and put her arms to his sides. Suddenly she leaned forward, wrapping her lips around Mack's Mack let out a small whimper of protest, then decided to stop resisting as Teresa pressed onward. He closed his eyes and put his arms around her waist.

A few seconds later, he heard footsteps at the door to the shower room. He opened his eyes and saw three of the other boys in the platoon looking at them. He broke off the kiss and pushed Teresa away.

Teresa turned and shouted to the others, "Close that door! Give the man some privacy here, I'm trying to resuscitate him!"

"Yeah, right!" came a couple of cries, but they all vacated the room. Teresa ran to the door and locked it.

Mack slumped to the floor, feeling tension leaving his body that he hadn't realized was there.

Teresa came and sat by his side. "Was that fun for you?"

Mack felt some of the tension coming back. "Well, yeah, but, I don't really think we should..."

"What?" Teresa asked, leaning over and putting an arm around Mack's shoulders. "'Get down to business' right here in the showers? Come on, Mack, I thought you were smarter than that."

"So what was that?" Mack asked, looking at Teresa.

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "A show. I knew I'd be followed."

"They'll talk about what they saw, you know."

"Let them talk," Teresa said, stretching out. "Me, I'm going to get comfortable and just sit and talk to you. Nothing happening but talk."

"So why let them think otherwise?" Mack asked.

"Just something to help ease up some of the tension around here. Besides," she said, smiling at Mack, "it'll only enhance your image around here."

"So, what, you planned this?"

"Of course."

"What's in it for you?"

"A little fun."

"You're good, Terry." Mack leaned back.

"That's what they tell me."

Mack closed his eyes, deciding to take the time to rest. He began to doze, then woke up a few minutes later.

He looked down and saw Teresa's head in his lap. She was snoring softly.

Best not to wake her, he thought, then he drifted off again.

* * *

Training Day 57

Jim walked up to Mack and gave him a good shake. Mack stirred, then finally woke up.

"You should have gotten some rest," Jim said.

"I did."

"Suuure, Mack. I believe you." Jim walked over to his bunk and picked his backpack up, slinging it across his shoulder. He then picked up his rifle and put it on his right shoulder, opposite the strap for the backpack.

He looked around and saw the other soldiers getting ready for the day's exercise. A five mile run in full gear? That was akin to strapping the poor troops down to a torture rack and giving them the full treatment.

Luke Johns walked by Jim, and motioned for him to come along. Jim caught up.

"'S up, Luke?" he asked.

"What's the deal with Mack?" Luke asked.

"Just helping a fellow soldier feel better, I hear," Jim answered.

Luke laughed. "You guys in squad three get all the fun. In four we're just an average lot, nothing going on."

"Make something happen," Jim said.

"Like what?"

"We're going on a run today," Jim answered. "Start a speed contest, then act like you're trying to impress the girls. Could be good for some laughs."

Luke seemed to think about that for a minute, then shook his head. "Not wild enough, man. We need something with pizzazz."

Jim moved a bit closer to Luke, then leaned toward him as they walked. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "You could always run by some of the girls and nonchalantly grab their fannies as you pass."

Luke looked over at him. "Isn't that a bit risky?"

"What's like without a little risk? 'Sides, could be fun."

"Yeah, guess so. I think that just might do the trick. Thanks, Jim."

Jim smiled. "Don't mention it. Just doing my duty to sow confusion and fun throughout the ranks."

* * *

During much of the run, Jim held back, saving his energy for the final mile. So it was that he was able to set things up so he got to witness the havoc he set in motion.

Luke and Perry came up on both sides of him. Luke called over to him, "I think we have a target in sight, Jim."

Perry seemed eager to go. "Why wait? Let's go, Luke. You in, Jim?"

"Nah," Jim said, "I've already got enough up my sleeves for fun. But don't get too far ahead of Luke. You have to do this synchronized."

"Sure thing," Perry said.

Then Perry and Luke quickened their pace. They ran up on Jessy Kline and Jill Myers. As they passed on either side of the girls, both reached out and nonchalantly grabbed the nearest cheek of each girls' buttocks.

Jill cried out in surprise, then screamed at Perry with a shrill voice.

Jessy reached out and grabbed Luke's trousers, yanking backward violently.

Luke fell to the ground, and Jessy laughed. As Jim passed, he reached out and helped pull Luke up.

"Was it worth it?" Jim asked.

"Long as word gets around, oh yeah," Luke replied. "And I don't think I will ever forget that feeling either, man."

Jim laughed, then noticed they were nearing the final mile. He began to speed up. "See you at the finish line, Luke."

"Yeah, man," Luke called after him. "If you get there!"

Jim sped up and caught up with Jessy and Jill quickly. He then ran between the two of them.

"'Scuse me, ladies," he said, hoping he came across as annoying as possible.

Jessy's voice came after him. "You put him up to that, Jim Young! I'll get you back for that!"

Jim laughed as he put more distance between himself and the girls. "I'll hold you to that promise, babe!"

"Just keep thinking you're safe," Jessy shouted. "That'll make my job so much easier!"

* * *

Training Day 128

In the early morning, no sun light even creeping above the horizon, three figures moved about, swiftly and purposefully.

One of them poured glue onto the ground at the bottom of a large wooden slab with ropes dangling from one end. He chuckled to himself, then stood and silently called out to the others.

"Mel! John! I've got the wall done."

"Good work, Bob," Mel called back. "Come help with the tires."

Bob silently crept back to the others, where they were standing at a double row of old tires. John was working with placing nails inside one of the tires. Mel was placing a plate on another, rigging it to flip up when the tire before it was stepped into.

Bob grabbed some razorwire that had been confiscated from an old obstacle course and strung it inside another tire, then tied it down. Anyone stepping through would get their ankle wrapped in the wire and stuck on the tire.

The trio finished their work, and looked on in admiration. Bob stood back and smiled, barely visible in the darkness. "Pretty good job, if I do say so myself."

John rubbed his hands together. "Oh, yeah. Three Platoon is gonna' love the modifications to their obstacle course."

Mel laughed. "Those stuck-ups deserve it. Thinking they're better than us just because they have cleaner bunks? What a bunch of losers."

"You made sure no one would know it was us?" John asked.

Bob held his hands up, then pointed to the others' hands. "Gloves leave no fingerprints. And no one else knows our plan."

Mel laid a hand on each of his fellow conspirators' shoulders. "Besides, if anyone finds out, we'll probably be famous, not trouble makers."

"Yeah," Bob said. "But now, we need to get back to the bunks."

* * *

They snuck back in, closing the door behind them so lightly it made almost no noise. Then they turned around, ready to creep to their beds.

Becker was sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, his hands on his knees, waiting for them.

"Boys," he began, "I take it your rigging was successful?"

"Rigging?" Bob asked, trying to sound as innocent and ignorant as possible.

"Don't play coy with me, Oliver. There were very few things you could have been doing on this base late at night. One of them was rigging another platoon's obstacle course. I'm guessing Three Platoon."

Mel looked at Becker. "I'm shocked, sir, to think you would believe we would do such an awful thing."

"Can it," Becker said. "I know better. Did you do a thorough job?"

Bill dropped his false ignorance. No sense trying to delay the inevitable. "Yes, sir. The works."

"I see gloves." Becker pointed to their hands. "Any other precautions taken?"

"Everything we could think of, sir," John said.

"Okay. Get your rears in your bunks and get some rest. You've got your own obstacle course to run tomorrow."

* * *

The obstacle course was rough. Run through tires, cross a raging river with only a rope and get it back to the fellow squad mates on the other side, climb wooden barricades with only a rope, cross through razorwire fields, all in full battle gear and with their training rifles.

As hard as that was on Bob, he knew it wasn't the worst. One Platoon made its way through the course with little or no difficulty, even Sara Shaffer, who'd been injured just weeks before.

But now came the kicker. A simulated battle against a fellow platoon. And not just any platoon either.

Three Platoon, now under strength from and incredibly pissed off over a number of traps left for them.

* * *

Squad two ran to a small copse of trees toward the center of an open field, taking up positions of cover and preparing fields of fire. Bob knelt and put his head, now burdened with extra gear on his helmet to detect any head shots, around the tree he was behind, aiming his rifle as he did so.

Harmless las-bolts flitted back and forth, accompanying the simulated chatter of weapons fire. A trooper with a large blue patch on their arm dashed across an opening behind two trees. That was Three Platoon's colour. He took aim and fired.

A burst of fire hit the 3P trooper and dropped him. Bob tracked other, apparently from the same squad, and sprayed their area with fire. A half dozen more troopers fell, as the others ducked back in cover, firing wildly inaccurate bursts in Bob's general direction.

He ducked back behind the tree and saw other members of the squad taking quick shots at presented targets. Their maneuver had been gutsy, but would probably pay off well. Sergeant Hoover had figured his squad could take out a good number of enemy troops if they dashed ahead, got cover, and picked off enemy from there.

It was working. Three Platoon was taking a heavy beating, and had been unable to cause significant concern to any of One Platoon's squads, even though they had managed to pick off five troopers.

Bob crouched even lower than previously, quickly turned around the tree, fired at a number of shadows in the bushes, and was rewarded with quick cries of pain. He then ducked back behind the tree.

In seconds, it was over. The few remnants of Three Platoon, a scant four soldiers, walked out from the trees and put up their hands.

One Platoon had won the day.

* * *

Sara sat on the edge of her bunk, watching the other troopers of One Platoon joking around and being comfortable. Everyone here was a friend with everyone else, even the officers.

She decided to take a stroll around the room and talk to a few of her fellow troopers.

She walked down the row of beds, then came to Jessy's. Jessy was lying back in her bunk, fully dressed from the waist down but wearing only a bra above that. Sara shrugged. Whatever made her comfortable. The other troopers were, pretty much, family, no longer the complete strangers they had been almost five months ago.

Jessy saw her standing at the end of the bed. "Hey, Sara! Come sit with me," she said, swinging her legs off the bed and sitting on its side.

Sara took up the invitation, sitting on the bunk beside Jessy. She leaned sideways against the ladder to the top bunk.

"Tired?" Jessy asked.

"Yeah. These past few months have been non stop training."

Jessy smiled. "Guess they haven't been the easiest on you. Being hurt and all. But you came back."

"I guess so," Sara said, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. "How's it been for you?"

"Pretty easy, but I have to thank everyone else for that. It's not so bad going through this stuff when you know your fellows are suffering right alongside you."

"Not to mention some of your attempted tricks."

"Not to mention them, Sara," Jessy said, smiling. She leaned forward, her short blond hair falling around her face, shadowing her eyes.

"So, why do you do all those things?" Sara asked.

"Oh, just for pure fun. We're a bit of a majority around here, us girls that is, and there's just too much tension. I don't see a problem with trying to help free it up by doing things that some people might consider a bit, well, unorthodox."

Sara nodded. Sounded like a plausible explanation.

She stood up and stretched. "I'm going to just walk around a bit. Maybe talk to some other people."

"Get to know your 'brothers'?" Jessy said, smirking.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Good luck. Tell James he has all my love, and that I haven't forgotten the five-miler."

Sara arched her eyebrow. "Something I should know about?"

Jessy smiled, but it seemed to Sara to be more of a predatory smile than a friendly smile. "I just have to pay him back for something."

* * *

Becker looked around at the soldiers and felt a bit of pride. As crazy as they acted, these were real soldiers. They pulled some wild stunts in training, but he knew they were closer for it. They'd fight for each other and even die for each other.

He just hoped it never came down to that.

He sat in a chair at a small round table that had seen a good number of card games during the small period of time the troops had spent training. His five squad sergeants sat around the table, sipping cold drinks, knowing that soon they'd be given graduation for their squads, and sent out to a war zone somewhere.

None of them spoke. Not because they had nothing to say. But because they knew, unlike the troops, that graduating training was almost never good.

Graduating only meant you were ready to be shipped off to war.

* * *

Mack leaned against the lockers, relaxing away from the rest of the squad. He didn't feel like being with them at the time. Celebrations were always better for him when he did them alone.

The sound of footsteps told him he wasn't alone. He looked to the right and saw Terry come into the locker room.

He sighed. "I'm not exactly the best company right now."

Terry walked to his side and said, "I've heard."

Mack looked into her eyes and saw genuine concern there. "So what are you doing here, then?"

"Didn't think you should be alone." She leaned against the lockers, some of her hair falling down around her face.

"Thanks." Mack was surprised to hear relief in his voice.

The two stood in the locker room, unspeaking, for what seemed like an eternity to Mack. The silence was finally broken by Terry.

"Mack?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"You want to know the real reason I'm in here?" Terry asked, stepping toward Mack.

"Sure."

She leaned forward, close enough that he could hear her whisper. "I love you."

Mack stared back, surprised.

"I'm sorry if I surprised you. It's just... I've had feelings for you ever since that day we were doing the bayonet drill, when we in here together fooling everyone else. And I just can't shake them." Terry swept her hair from her face with her hand.

Mack stepped closer to Terry and put his arms around her. "That's alright. I haven't exactly lacked feelings for you."

For one brief, awkward moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Then Mack drooped all attempts to mask his feelings any longer and kissed Terry, enjoying the feeling while it lasted.

Terry broke off the kiss after a couple of moments, then looked up at Mack's face. He could see fear in her eyes. "What is it?"

"I'm scared, Mack," she said. "Scared that we'll go out there into the stars and be sent to some awful place where we'll be killed... or maybe worse."

"Don't be scared," Mack said. "We'll be safe out there."

Terry seemed to ease up with those words, and that made Mack feel somewhat happy.

He just wished he could believe them and ease up himself.

* * *

Bob shuffled his booted feet, impatient. The graduation speech was supposed to be coming soon.

And suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts, Captain Allen appeared. All six platoons of Charlie Company stood in assembly, just as they had on the first day of training.

Allen began speaking. "Charlie Company soldiers, you have made me proud. You have earned some of the highest marks ever seen for a company at this training school, and One Platoon has recorded the highest single-platoon scores ever seen at this school, possibly in the sector."

Cheers and boos both greeted that statement, and Bob gave a wry grin. Three Platoon in particular gave nasty glares in One Platoon's direction.

"Only a few soldiers have washed out, less than two percent of you. This is a good track record for the officers and soldiers both. It means we have good leadership and outstanding and tough soldiers.

"Those of you who stuck through the training have, naturally, been successful. This is good for you, as it means you'll be put through no more training exercises. However, it also means you've graduated, passed our personal little 'course' here. I hope the education was everything you needed.

"Graduating training camp is an honour. You've succeeded at the goal of becoming an Imperial Guardsman. But it's also the first step in a long path of campaigns that you will not find friendly at all, and indeed you will soon enough be begging for the ease of training camp once more.

"You will fight through hell, I won't try to hide that with pretty words and flowery prose. You may well be injured, or see comrades killed. But do everything right, and you won't need to experience any of this, or at the very least not much of it. Remember that you are looking out for your fellow soldiers just as they are looking out for you.

"I've kept this speech short because I don't like unnecessarily long speeches and I know how much some of you are itching to get back to celebrating. So let me just say congratulations on a hell of a job, and may the Emperor guide you as you do battle in his name. Dismissed."

A loud cheer rose from the company, and everyone broke ranks at once. Soldiers turned to clap each other on the back, give high fives, shout congratulations at each other. Bob turned to Mel and shouted, "We did it, man! We are soldiers! Soldiers!"

Mel smiled. "Yep, and now we've just got to survive long enough to retire."

"Ha! No sweat, Mel. We are going to make it through this duty in a breeze."

Bob turned to find some other soldiers to talk to and congratulate, when he caught something out of the corner of his eyes. He turned to look at the back of the platoon. There he saw Mack and Terry embracing each other, locked in a kiss.

He shrugged. Their life, not his.

But as he moved to find someone to joke around with or have a good time with, he felt a nagging little feeling in the back of his mind.

Loneliness.

* * *

Jim walked around the training grounds, smiling to himself. He had made it through! He could hardly believe it. It was a great feeling.

Suddenly he heard a snap, like a twig breaking. He looked down, suddenly realizing he'd just snapped some kind of cord in half.

"Oh, shi..." he began, then was gut off as a metal rod swung down from a branch in the tree above and hit his groin with unbearable pain.

Jim fell backward, reaching down reflexively to cup his now very sore groin. He stifled a scream, and rolled on the ground, biting his lip.

He looked up when he heard someone approaching.

Just great. Jessy.

"Oh, James!" she cried out in mock worry. "You seem to be hurt!"

"You... you..." Jim tried to speak around the pain, but couldn't.

"What? Get some help? Call for aid?" Jessy asked, her voice a mask of concern.

Jim glared at her. "Y'did this, di'n't ya'?"

She leaned down and put a finger on Jim's mouth. "Of course I did, Jimmy boy." She pressed her lips against her finger, mere millimeters from Jim's own lips.

Then she stood up and ran her hands down her uniform, as if to smooth it out. "I told you I'd get you back. I hope you're not terribly disappointed in my skills."

As Jessy walked away, all Jim could do was pound the earth with his fists. "Damn it!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Then a glint of light caught his eye. She wasn't done with him by any means. A small camera hung in the tree, recording him.

Jim closed his eyes and just let his head drop. He wasn't giving advice out to anyone ever again.

END CHAPTER II
CONTINUED IN CHAPTER III: "GOING TO WAR"