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| - The pot-banging that signaled yet another new day of Marine Corps recruit training rebounded off the walls, echoing about the chamber. Squeak, the first to rise, covered her ears in pain as she kicked her blanket off and rolled onto her feet. It was only after the two junior DIs left that she removed them and began to dress, muttering invective to herself in her native Rodese. “This is too much!” she finally belted out in Basic as she threaded her antennae through the holes in her hat. “Can they not think of another way to rouse us?!” Nobody answered her, because at that moment the senior drill instructor entered the barracks. He crossed his arms over his uniformed chest and cast his gaze about the room, warning the rest of the platoon against replying. “Honestly, it's like they're deliberately out to make Squeak uncomforta...” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the presence of the diminutive DI. “Are you finished, slime?” he deadpanned. “Sir, yes SIR!” Squeak shrieked as she snapped to attention. “Tuffass doubts that, maggot!” he replied hotly. “Drop to the deck! RIGHT KRIFFING NOW!” By this time the rest of the platoon was up and dressed, standing at attention before their bunks in inspection formation. Laera and Miranda watched with suppressed amusement as Tuffass proceeded to stand on the small of Squeak's back. “Now, give Tuffass twenty!” “Sir?” Squeak asked, her voice muffled slightly by the fact that her mouth was touching the floor. “YOU HEARD TUFFASS, MAGGOT! DO PUSHUPS! TWENTY OF THEM! NOW!!” As the hapless Rodian recruit grunted under the strain of having to do push-ups with sixty-nine kilos of weight on her back, Laera mulled over what was in store for them. The platoon had just finished their marksmanship qualifications the previous day, and while she was proud of having earned expert on blaster rifles, the fact that she had zeroed on the final round of pistol shooting irked her considerably. Though she had still made sharpshooter, albeit barely, the thought of having missed the holy grail of dual-rate expert in such a way caused her cheeks to flush with embarrassment. But there was no time to dwell on this; with the end of weapons qualification testings had come the beginning of the final phase of boot camp, Advanced Combat and Tactical Training. “What is the private's fourth general order?!” Tuffass belted out as Squeak grunted the completion of her fourth push-up. “Sir...” she groaned, struggling with the weight on her back, “...the private's fourth general order is...to repeat all calls from posts...more distant from the guard position...than the private's own...sir!” “At least your brain hasn't blown up yet, Squeak,” Tuffass spat. “Brain! What is the private's seventh general order!” “Sir, the private's seventh general order is to talk to no one except in the line of duty, SIR!” Laera belted out. “Which means your watery-eyed wailing was in direct violation of your standing orders, you little sweat-sucking nerf-lover!” Tuffass, bending low on Squeak's back, yelled into her ear. The Rodian nearly fell over in shock and pain, but she managed to recover and pump out another push-up. The Gand kept his balance, seemingly unaware of what had just happened. “Continue the exercise void-brain! Without the bitching or, the mists help him, Tuffass will get the Clue-By-Four!” The platoon watched in silence as the Rodian did her best to comply. They were used to this practice; Laera caught glimpses of a number of others wearing pained, sympathetic looks. So far she herself hadn't had to endure this treatment, but on the whole she thought it was rather an easier punishment to bear than having to run five klicks with the sergeant perched on her back in a death grip. Eventually, with considerable effort, Squeak finished the twentieth push-up. Tuffass dismounted casually, and the recruit was permitted to rise to her feet. “Alright maggots, armor up,” he said after his latest victim had fallen in. “Report to the armory in fifteen minutes and collect spotting weapons and harnesses; we're hitting the field today.” Turning on his right heel, the Gand strode out of the room, leaving the women alone to change. As soon as the door slid shut behind him, the forty recruits began scrambling to shuck their BDUs and don their training armor, which they had received two weeks prior to the start of the second phase. It was hot, heavy and cumbersome, but it did what it was designed for; by now everyone had gotten used to the weight and bulk, if not the appearance and the sensation of being sealed inside a tin can. Laera hadn't been the first to adjust to the feeling of claustrophobia; Miranda, that increasingly irritating bundle of energy and enthusiasm, had been taken down a notch when she had discovered that vacuum ratings didn't agree with her self-confidence at all. As if that hadn't been enough to make Laera smile, the woman had also barely qualified during her marksmanship finals. As she slipped the helmet over her head, however, Laera put those thoughts aside. Today they were actually going to put what they had learned into practice, and she wasn't about to disappoint the DIs or the rest of her platoon. She wasn't completely without skills in this regard: in happier times she had often played Troopers and Raiders, a popular children's game played with cheap plastic lasers and target receptors. Among the apartment complexes and parks of her hometown, she had become one of the more sought-after teammates for her ability to sneak about the “battlefield” and pick off the “enemy” before fading into the background. Though she knew that, compared to actual military exercises, these games were but crude imitations with no real consequences, Laera took heart in the fact that she had the gumption to pull it off as well as the scores to prove that she could hit her target. Fifteen minutes later, the platoon lined up by twos before the armory counter to collect their field gear. Laera was in the middle of the right column, where she stood next to Horny, the Elomin who dwelt on a bottom bunk halfway down the barracks. The alien had proven a competent marksbeing, and she was wearing a rare smile as she waited. “Ready to get out there and have some fun, Horny?” Laera asked. “Fun...” Horny replied, as though this concept were alien to her. “Brain thinks that this is...fun?” “Well, not with that overbearing shrimp yelling at us every other second, no,” Laera admitted. “But once we divide up and go at it, he won't be able to track all of us—he's good, but he's no Jedi Knight.” “You know what will happen?” Horny asked. Her smile was long gone now, and though her expression was unreadable the words carried enough meaning. “Never mind. You are Brain, you are the one who studies, who wishes to be prepared.” “And to think, I washed out of the Youth Scouts,” Laera replied with a chuckle. “Apparently the scoutmaster didn't appreciate my sneaking up on her and pelting her with binka seeds.” “Horny hopes that she is not in your squad, then,” the Elomin replied, closing the discussion on a sour note. Laera didn't have time to stew; barely ten seconds later, the recruit before her finished collecting her gear and sauntered off to join the others who had already been similarly armed. “Name?” the bored-looking human chief petty officer manning the desk asked. “Brain,” Laera replied. “I mean your real name, dolt,” he spat. “Tuffass and his shenanigans, I swear to the Force...” Laera was thankful that her helmet was on, because the Navy noncom's muttered remark had made her break out in a toothy grin. “Laera Reyolé,” she answered after a beat. The chief punched something into his datapad, then looked back up at her, brandishing the device. “Sign here, private,” he said grumpily. “With your actual birth name, if you would be so kind.” Laera took the datapad and drew the attached stylus from a slot on its side. Scribbling her signature, she handed it back to the chief, who promptly snatched the device and disappeared. Ten seconds later another Navy petty officer appeared, bearing a medium-size plastoid box upon which a BR-7m-S spotter carbine had been set. “Training weapon number six one eight dash oh four Krill is registered to you, Recruit Reyolé,” he said dully. “As is spotter harness three nine oh dash Besh seven Resh. You are responsible for the keeping of this equipment for the remainder of your training. Do you have any questions?” The Navy man's tone indicated that he rather there wasn't, but Laera was feeling particularly perky. “Yeah,” she said idly. “Can I get a receipt with that?” “Here you go,” the petty officer said, somewhat miffed as he slapped a small piece of flimsi onto the box. “If you lose any of this stuff, it'll be your hide. Now get going.” Laera hefted her new equipment and scooted to the side, tucking the flimsi underneath her breastplate's collar and pinioning the box against the wall with her left boot as she slung the carbine across her back. Taking the box up once again, she joined the others who had already received their gear. All of them, Miranda included, were attempting to fit the harnesses over their own armor, though none seemed to know what they were doing. Laera decided against aping them, and continued to hold her own box even as the rest of the platoon did the opposite. As the last of them—the orange-and-white furred Bothan nicknamed Lassie—drew their weapon and harness, Tuffass reappeared. “Now this is truly a pathetic sight,” he said, posting his three-fingered hands on his hips and looking daggers at the assorted recruits trying desperately to master their equipment. “It seems that out of all of you, only Brain had the sense to wait until instructed before making complete and utter fools of themselves. Put that shit down on the ground RIGHT KRIFFING NOW and fall into formation! Brain, front and center with your box!” “Sir, yes SIR!” the recruits bellowed as they did as they were told. “Sir, recruit Brain reporting as ordered, SIR!” Laera said crisply as she presented herself to the senior DI. Tuffass pulled her by the arm until she stood facing the thirty-nine other trainees, then indicated her carbine. “Observe how Brain utilized her weapon's sling,” he said hotly, pointing at the sturdy strap that was connected to the carbine's butt and stock, which presently straddled her breastplate. “Since she is not using it she has slung it across her back, muzzle pointing up in a safe direction, yet readily accessible in case of emergency.” He paused, then glared at the recruits, his compound eyes glittering. “Meanwhile, each and every one of you has left your weapons on the FLOOR! Where the hell are your brains, maggots, in your asses?!” He then took Laera's box and opened it, pulling out the single-piece target harness encased within. “Brain, take a knee,” he said. “Watch and learn, bog-slime.” The Gand then began to instruct Laera in how to properly wear the thing. The two main parts of the harness were actually joined by a series of six connector straps, four of which were adjustable and connected around the sides, with the other two running over each shoulder and bearing their own target receptors. Unclasping the side straps, he draped the assembly over Laera's head and shoulders, then reconnected the fasteners around her abdomen. After tightening them down in a less-than-gentle fashion, he smacked Laera's left shoulder plate and motioned for her to stand. “If any of the rest of you void-brains can't do this simple feat on your own, then you have no place in Tuffass's beloved Corps! Now MOVE IT OR LOSE IT!” — — — Ten minutes and a shipload of obscenities later, the platoon formed up at the gates to one of the Corulag depot's all-weather training fields. Clad in full combat gear with their rifles and carbines slung over their shoulders, they made for a reasonable approximation of a professionally-trained unit. Tuffass, however, didn't seem to be at all impressed as he and the other two DIs paced silently before their charges. Laera thought that he must be thinking hard about what he was about to say or do, but all she could come up with was what she had learned from the reading she had done before and since shipping in. If she was correct, then the drill instructor was contemplating squad assignments, particularly who would be fit to become recruit squad leaders. Finally the Gand stopped, standing at the center of the formation as the other two DIs stood menacingly beside him. “Up until this point, this collection of rancid walking ground nuts has received its training as a whole. That is about to change, maggots. From this point on you will be learning what it takes to survive in combat—not just how to march, how to shoot, or how to make your racks and square away your gear. This, meatbags, is where you learn how to be Marines. “The deadliest weapon in the galaxy is a Marine and their blaster,” Tuffass continued, resuming his pacing as Sergeants Pavan and Grimski glared at the platoon. “But it is not the being, nor the weapon they wield that is deadly. It is a hard heart that kills. It takes a killer instinct in order to use that weapon to its fullest. If you scum-sucking pantywaists don't have that instinct, that desire, that need to kill the enemy, then you will hesitate. You will not kill. You will become dead Marines, and then you will be in a whole world of shit. Because Marines are not allowed to die without permission! IS THAT CLEAR!” “Sir, crystal clear, SIR!” the platoon responded. “The only way for you pukes to develop that instinct is through experience,” the sergeant continued, stopping once again between the two junior DIs. “You must learn what it is like to have someone else get the drop on you, so that you will be able to understand how humiliating it is to get shot. And Tuffass is not talking about those stupid dreams you have of waking up in primary school and realizing that you forgot to wear your clothes. No, Tuffass talks about true humiliation, the kind that makes you want to die on the battlefield right there and then! Because that is precisely what you will do if you are ever surprised in a real-life combat situation, when the other pukes have real weapons and that killer instinct!” Tuffass fell silent then, and Sergeant Pavan stepped forward. “Recruits, break up by squad as your nicknames are called, forming up there, there, and there” the enormous noncom said loudly, pointing at in turn at three posts near the gate. “First Squad will form up on myself, with Recruit Ringworm as recruit squad leader. Second Squad will form up on Sergeant Grimski, with Recruit Lassie as recruit squad leader. Third Squad will form up on Sergeant Tuffass, with Recruit Makeup as recruit squad leader...” Laera's heart skipped a beat as she listened to the sergeant calling off assignments. Makeup, a squad leader?! she thought furiously. The woman could probably knock Pavan out in the shockboxing ring, but outside of that, she's no leader! Blushing with suppressed indignation underneath her helmet, Laera listened with only half her mind as the rest of the platoon's names and squads were reeled off. “Brain!” barked Sergeant Pavan, causing Laera to jump slightly. “Are you waiting for a written invitation from the Commandant?” Laera shook her head mutely. “THEN GET THE KRIFF OVER TO THIRD SQUAD ON THE DOUBLE!” Pavan yelled. “And get a cup of caf while you're at it, maybe that'll get your head back in the game!” As the junior DI muttered imprecations under his breath, Laera did her best to hide her renewed indignation at her billeting as she strode over to where Tuffass and Makeup were waiting, deep in conversation. It wasn't so much Miranda's lack of notable martial skills that irked her, nor the woman's talkative and gregarious personality. It was the simple fact that, in Laera's estimation, the older recruit simply didn't have the presence of mind or the level of dedication necessary to be able to look out for anyone other than herself. Maybe there was something that the senior drill instructor saw in her that Laera wasn't seeing, but that didn't help her mood any. “About time you joined us, Brain,” Tuffass said in low tones. “Did your little nap help any?” “Sir, yes SIR!” Laera replied, unable to think of anything else to say. “Third Squad, fall in,” Tuffass instructed, turning away from the still-fuming Laera and addressing the thirteen recruits, continuing when they had assembled. “Makeup is now your squad daddy, you will defer to her in all matters pertaining to your pathetic existences that are not directly supervised by Tuffass or your instructors. Which means that when none of us are around, she is your parents, your planet, and your god. You will worship her as you would worship Tuffass. Is that clear?” “Sir, yes SIR!” the squad, including Miranda, replied. The Gand then turned to Miranda. “With great rank comes great responsibility, Makeup,” he said. “But woe betide any poor dumb private who thinks that this axiom doesn't apply to them! These little parasites are now your responsibility. Their actions will, from now on, reflect on you and your prospects within Tuffass's beloved Corps. Is that clear!” “Sir, yes SIR!” Miranda barked in reply, snapping off a salute. “Just what the kriff was that?!” Tuffass barked indignantly. “You trying to show off, Makeup? Didn't Tuffass tell you that a Marine ONLY salutes officers!” “Sir, the recruit apologizes, SIR!” Miranda roared. “DO NOT APOLOGIZE!” Tuffass nearly screamed, grabbing Miranda's collar and bending her over so that she was faceplate-to-mask with him. “Tuffass is starting to think he made a mistake already with you, Makeup, and you do NOT want that! Now form up your girls and hit the gate, you're going hunting!” Looking somewhat put out despite the suit of armor she wore, Miranda called for her squad to form double lines as she led them to the gate just as Second Squad finished passing through. Laera, standing at the end of the right-hand column, walked next to Squeak, whose bulbous helmet provided room for her larger ears, antennae, and spines. “Helluva way to start ACTT, eh?” she asked in a low whisper as they marched through. Nobody was paying them the slightest bit of attention, so Laera felt comfortable engaging in a little chit-chat. “Squeak now understands what you went through on the first day,” the Rodian replied sympathetically. “That vicious little bug...I knew a Kubaz who would have enjoyed preparing him for a meal.” “I've never met a Kubaz, I've heard they prefer an insect diet, but to eat a sentient species...?” “If Kubaz ruled the galaxy, there are many sentient insectoid species that they would be feasting upon,” Squeak said, a sour note to her accent. “Unfortunately, they do not.” Just then, the comlinks built into the recruits' helmets buzzed. “This is Recruit Makeup, testing Third Squad tactical frequency. Everyone report in.” The squad did as instructed. “Brain, checking in,” Laera replied after Squeak had done the same. “What's up?” “We've been assigned to proceed northwest along a low, forested ridge,” Miranda said. “There's another training platoon conducting exercises in the field today, and the three squads are supposed to be playing search-and-destroy. That other platoon is looking for us and we're looking for them.” “Sounds like fun,” said Tapeworm halfheartedly. “Just so long as this other platoon doesn't get the drop on us.” “Second Squad calling Third Squad,” the voice of Lassie said over the comm. “What's your game plan, Makeup?” “We follow orders and shoot anything that comes our way,” Miranda replied simply. “If that's how you want it,” Lassie replied dubiously. “We're going west, splitting off on the other side of the creek from your route. First Squad's going southwest through the rocks and back north along our flank.” “So they're the backup, then?” Miranda asked. “Figures Ringworm would try to sweep in and take the prize.” The Twi'lek had qualified alongside Miranda two days previously, scoring the coveted dual-rate expert while the human had had to cope with the shame of being bestowed with dual lunchboxes, as the Basic Marksmanship Badge was nicknamed. The rivalry between them had been fierce all through the Basic Physical and Basic Combat phases of training, and this latest incident hadn't helped any. Laera thought that it was all quite silly, but then she supposed that these were the sorts of things that were inevitable about military life. Despite the fact that they were bunkmates and that the older woman had helped her to get settled in, Laera did not count Miranda as a friend. What with practical training, lectures, and the reading required during off-duty hours, the young Agamarian had thus far had no time to make any real friends within the platoon. “Lassie advises against thinking that way,” the Bothan replied cautiously; everyone suspected that their communications channels were being monitored and no one wanted to get caught violating Tuffass's edict regarding personal pronouns. “Anyway, we're set to rendezvous at The Pyramid, assuming all three squads come up empty.” “Got it,” Miranda said tartly, ending the exchange. “Third Squad out.” The squad continued its trajectory, coming under the shade of the trees as the conversation was terminated. At a hand gesture from Miranda, the recruits increased their intervals to the accepted five meters as proscribed by Marine Corps infantry doctrine, which was meant to minimize casualties if a grenade or mine detonated amongst them. Most of the recruits weren't bothering to enforce much noise discipline so Laera, as the tail-end charlay of the bunch, kept her focus oriented to the rear of the formation lest anyone attempt to sneak up behind them. Nothing happened for the next half hour as they continued to march along the top of the ridge, save for various squadmates intermittently exchanging idle chatter. Horny and Phlegm were having an argument about the merits of rifles versus carbines, while Leatherhead, a Duros recruit, was verbally sniping at Ivory, the ever-surly Aqualish. Laera tuned them all out, however, and kept her focus on the forest around them, wondering why nothing was happening and why Miranda wasn't trying to maintain control of her people. As the squad walked around a large boulder that jutted up from the grass, however, Laera heard something that was distinctly amiss. “Makeup, Brain,” she whispered. “We're not alone.” “Squad, halt,” Miranda said. “What've you got, Brain?” “Not sure yet...possible bogey off to the rear on our right flank.” “Take Squeak and check it out,” Miranda ordered. “Squad, take up a defensive posture.” “Here?” Horny protested. “There's no cover but this rock!” “Just do it!” Miranda hissed. “Find something to hide behind if you're too chickenshit to stand your ground.” “I don't like this, Makeup,” Laera said as Squeak joined her in scouting out the area. “You don't have to like it, Brain,” Miranda shot back. “Just check out your noise and try not to get shot.” Shrugging to herself, Laera gestured to Squeak to fall in behind her. Moving forward at a crouch, she unslung her carbine and began playing its scope in a one-eighty degree arc before her. Quietly, the two of them picked their way through the trees toward the source of the noise she had heard earlier. It had not repeated itself, but she had a feeling that its source was still nearby, or perhaps moving parallel to her squad's line of march. Gravitating in that direction, she heard the noise again; being closer, she was able to identify it. Footfalls. Armored footfalls. “Squeak, freeze,” Laera hissed, then waited a beat. “Get behind that last tree...slowly and very quietly.” The Rodian complied without a response, which spoke of how serious she was taking this. Laera admitted to herself that Squeak was a pretty fair sneaker, as even she couldn't hear the steps as she retreated to cover. “Alright...cover me,” Laera said. “I'm going in closer.” Inching her way to the left, Laera stealthily made her way toward the source of the noises, hidden as she advanced from tree to shrub to tree again. Thirty seconds later, she arrived at the edge of a clearing, where she gently pulled back on a fern's broad, leafy stem to get a look at what lay beyond. It made a whooshing sound almost immediately thereafter as Laera spun about and quickly put some distance between the clearing and herself, thinking hard. “Brain to Makeup,” she said into the squad tactical frequency as she crouched next to where Squeak was taking cover. “Hostiles are tracking us on a parallel course, ambush suspected ahead. Recommend you fall back on my position. Repeat, hostiles tracking us, recommend we pull the squad back!” “And let Ringworm corner these clowns?” Miranda replied hotly. “I don't think so, Brain! Get your ass back here, we're continuing the patrol!” “Recommend you belay that order, Makeup!” Laera growled. “You're walking into a trap!” “You have your orders, Brain! Makeup out!” “That nerf-brained sith-spawned gornt-puncher!” Laera raged to herself. “She's going to get the entire squad killed!” “What do we do?” Squeak asked uncertainly. “We follow orders,” Laera spat. “But not the way that idiot wants us to. Follow Brain; keep your head on a swivel and your eyes peeled.” Ten minutes later, Laera and Squeak arrived at where the squad had squatted while the pair had scouted out the original disturbance. Convinced now more than ever that she was right, she had the Rodian provide overwatch from a half-obscured cut in the rock where it met the ground while she again ranged outward from their original path, this time in the opposite direction. “Squeak, you got anything?” she asked five minutes later, nestled under another broadleaf shrub as she tracked a pair of “enemy” trainees with her carbine. “A pair of bogeys came within ten meters of this position,” she answered. “But they didn't spot Squeak, and she didn't fire.” “Good, that's good,” Laera replied, satisfaction in her voice. “Are they still in view?” “Yes.” “Okay, this is where it gets tricky,” Laera said. “Brain's got two in scope as well. On her command, take out the tail-ender, then the leader; with luck, we'll get all four of them before their buddies realize they're down.” “Ready,” Squeak said after a beat. Laera lined up the trailing bogey in her sights, then began to apply pressure to the trigger. “Go.” Two seconds and two shots later, the two “hostiles” were down. Both recruits were twitching, their harnesses buzzing with a low-charge electrical current to let their wearers know that they had been “killed.” “Squeak has two down,” the Rodian reported dutifully. “What now?” “There was a fallen tree about two hundred meters up the trail from the rock,” Laera said. “Meet Brain there, then we'll catch up to the squad, hopefully before our friends decide to bring the party to them. If we're that lucky, we let Makeup think we got killed, then ambush the ambushers.” “Ambitious,” Squeak replied, the rustling of her helmet on leaves accenting her approval. “Squeak likes it.” The two met up as planned without interference, Squeak crouching behind cover with her rifle pointed to the rear as Laera looked ahead for any signs of potential trouble. Seeing nothing, the two began to follow the path the squad had been assigned, though from twenty meters to the left amidst low underbrush. Moving quickly but less than stealthily, the pair began to close the gap between themselves and their squadmates when the sound of blasterfire rent the air. “Down, down!” Laera snapped as she hit the dirt behind a thornbush. “Makeup to Brain and Squeak, where the kriff are you!” Miranda's voice yelled into the channel. “We're taking heavy fire from two s—FIERFEK!” Laera just barely managed to refrain from playing the I-told-you-so card; instead, she remained silent as she beckoned Squeak to hurry up and keep quiet. “Real cute, Brain!” Miranda called again half a minute later. “Get your candy asses up here NOW!” Laera maintained her silence, as did Squeak. The whine of weapons fire increased in pitch and volume as they neared the site of the ambush; eventually they reached a dip in the ridge, from where they could catch brief glimpses of the rosy red light of simulated shots reflected off the landscape. Laera crouched against the far edge, then toggled her helmet comlink's frequency tab to bring up the platoon channel. “Brain to Ringworm or Lassie, status report...” “Ringworm to Brain, we're hearing blasterfire about a klick north of our position,” the Twi'lek leading First Squad replied. “You know anything about that?” “It's Makeup and Third Squad,” Laera answered bitterly. “They're about two and a half klicks out from the gate along the northwest ridge, and they've walked into an ambush. It's just Brain and Squeak for the moment, and we can't take them on ourselves.” “Lassie to Brain and Ringworm, we're closer and heading in that direction,” the Bothan leading Second Squad replied. “Estimates on enemy strength?” “Squeak and Brain took out four hostiles,” Laera replied. “Possibly from different squads; we were separated by about three or four hundred meters when we took our shots. Before that, Brain spotted more about two hundred meters further east.” “Three-pronged pincer,” Ringworm remarked, echoing Laera's sentiments. “Just like what we were trying to accomplish. Suggestions?” “Squeak and Brain can cause a distraction,” the Rodian suggested. “We can fire into their back ranks, draw a few away, and buy Third Squad more time for you to relieve them!” “Agreed,” Laera replied. “Lassie concurs.” “As does Ringworm. Let's do this, ladies.” The lack of a reply from Miranda made Laera wonder, but only for a moment as she and Squeak ascended the dip and stalked the ridge looking for hostiles. They didn't have to go far; barely twenty meters away there was another dip, where another fallen tree provided some cover. From there, they could spot a half-squad of troopers attempting to flank Third Squad's position. “Tail-enders first,” Laera said, balancing her carbine on the felled bole and taking aim. “Three shots apiece, then we fall back.” Squeak replied by leveling her own rifle and assuming a one-kneed shooting stance. “Fire!” Laera's first shot winged the second-to-last hostile, but it wasn't enough to knock him out of the fight. Her second shot remedied that slight miscalculation, while Squeak's first two shots nailed her targets squarely in their backs. The two recruits spent their third shots on the same target, which went down as well. “Go!” They bolted for the relative safety of the dip as the remaining two hostiles dove for cover, hiding in the terrain features before they had a chance to return fire. At least that's what Laera hoped as she tried to figure out a way to take more heat off her comrades. That was when the blasterfire began to fall off, presumably as more hostiles detached themselves from the running lightfight to look for their antagonists. “We can't stay here,” Laera observed. “Squeak agrees,” the Rodian replied. “We could go around the other side of the ridge and reinforce Makeup from the northern flank.” “Good idea, let's do it.” “Lassie to Brain and Makeup, help is on the way!” the leader of Second Squad announced over the platoon channel. “Just give us a few more seconds...” “You've got them,” Laera hissed as she and Squeak sprinted across a clearing, blasterfire reaching out for them but tracking too far behind. “Give'em hell, we certainly will!” At that moment, Laera saw it. To her left was what remained of Third Squad; Horny, Phlgem, Ivory, Leatherhead and Tapeworm were all down, with only Miranda and a handful of others dodging incoming fire and snapping off hasty return shots. It was a supremely bad position to be in, nestled within yet another dip with high ground on all sides but their backs. Pushing Squeak out of the line of fire and into cover, Laera leveled her carbine and took aim, hitting a hostile square in his chest as he attempted to jump the squad leader. “Charge!” Laera yelled as she ran forward at full tilt, spraying simulated light packets at anything that moved. Several bolts sizzled uncomfortably close by, heading in the other direction as she sprinted toward her comrades, but their fire suddenly became wild and disorganized as she reached Miranda's position. “Second Squad's here, let's move!” Though Miranda hesitated, the rest of the “survivors” did not, and joined in Laera and Squeak's foolhardy charge toward the suddenly distracted and divided enemy force. Firing from the hip, Laera continued to drain the charge in her weapon as she ran, occasionally winging an enemy trooper. Most of her shots went wild, however they were backed up by the blasters of Second Squad and the newly-reinvigorated remains of her own, and the hostile force broke and ran for cover. Several more went down as they ran, before a very official-sounding voice resonated within everyone's helmets. “All recruits, cease fire, cease fire, cease fire. Shoulder arms and report to muster stations on the double.” Suddenly realizing how much the last hour's activities had taken out of her, Laera hunched over after slinging her carbine and began panting heavily. In her peripheral vision she could see the “dead” rising from where they had fallen as the kill-shock in their harnesses was switched off, likely done by remote control. They too grabbed their weapons and stowed them across their backs, some muttering invective under their breaths as they departed for their own gate. Laera, however, waited until the rest of her squad got back up to speed before moving. “Uh, let's not do that again,” Phlegm remarked ruefully as she dragged herself to her feet. “Horny agrees,” the Elomin said as she hefted her way back up. “She also suggests that perhaps Makeup ought to be more open to her subordinates' advice in future.” “Shut it, both of you,” Miranda replied angrily, doffing her helmet and staring daggers at Laera as she advanced upon the younger recruit. “What the stang were you trying to do, Brain, get us all killed?” “Jedi rule of thumb,” Laera said, distaste evident in every syllable. “When outnumbered, attack.” “Squeak thought you hated Jedi,” Squeak put in. “Brain doesn't hate them, she just doesn't trust them,” Laera replied as Second Squad joined the party. Together, and with First Squad quickly joining them, the platoon made its way back to their jumping-off point. “And while they are in fact self-serving hypocrites, they do know a thing or two about battle.” “It doesn't matter now,” Lassie put in as she joined Laera and Squeak. “Let's just get back to the barracks for the debrief and call it a day. Lassie is very hungry and she doesn't want to miss evening chow.” The platoon made its way back to the gate in silence, trudging along wearily for half an hour before finally arriving at where they had started. Their DIs were waiting for them; the two human sergeants were perched in the cab of an open-topped speeder truck, while Tuffass was looking down on them from the truck's cargo area. His eyes were half-closed in an expression that, on a human, could be mistaken for extreme exasperation. “In the wagon, maggots!” he bellowed. “Tuffass doesn't know why, but the brass seems to think you deserve a ride to the mess hall instead of having to march all the way there. Personally, after witnessing that cluster-knock of a field exercise, he would have made every single one of you carry fifty kilos of rocks around for the next three days!” Withering under that scorching gaze, the platoon heaved themselves into the speeder truck, which was lined with benches long enough to accommodate all of them. As the truck began to move, those recruits who hadn't already done so, including Laera, removed their helmets and wedged them between their legs. The breeze of the truck's slipstream rifled through her short auburn hair, bringing a welcome source of comfort as the adrenaline rush of battle wound down within her. It had happened, it was over, and despite what Miranda had had to say, Laera felt that she had acquitted herself well. She caught Squeak's eye and smiled, an expression which the Rodian returned. Perhaps I've made a friend after all, she thought to herself. Squeak's got a head for this stuff just as much as I do, it seems... — — — An hour later, after having showered, changed into their BDUs, and eaten dinner, the platoon gathered in the barracks. Assembled by squads, they waited for Tuffass to deliver his verdict. “Combat is, at the same time, the most fun and the most fearful experience you will ever have in all your miserable lives,” he began. “By the time we are done, Tuffass guarantees that every single one of you will have died on at least three or four occasions. No one escapes this depot without feeling the sensation of pseudo-death. No one. So don't even think about trying. Brain, front and center!” Laera, who had once again taken a place at the back of the squad, hastened to comply. “Sir, recruit Brain reporting as ordered, SIR!” “Who's your squad leader, maggot?” “Sir, the recruit's squad leader is Makeup, sir!” “Makeup, front and center!” Tuffass barked, but Miranda had to take only a few steps until she was shoulder-to-shoulder with Laera. “Do you mind telling Tuffass what the fierfek was going through your cute little numbskull when you ordered full ahead right into A KRIFFING AMBUSH?! One which you were WARNED about?!” “Sir, the recruit has no excuse, SIR!” “Pathetic,” the sergeant hissed, then resumed his bellowing. “You are hereby FIRED from squad command—get your sorry carcass out of Tuffass's sight RIGHT KRIFFING NOW!” Miranda, scandalized, retreated to where Laera, moments before, had stood. “Brain, YOU are now Third Squad's leader, with all the rights and responsibilities that the position entails. If you would be so kind, you may present yourself before Tuffass in his office at your convenience.” Laera blushed slightly as she too retreated, occupying Miranda's former spot. “Every one of you should take Brain's example to heart. She was aware. She moved with alacrity. She adapted to the situation. And because of this, she was able to anticipate how that situation could develop. She happened to be correct this time, and because of this and her actions out there today, she saved your sorry asses from being mopped up entirely. But beware, because while she was right this time, she will not always be, and that is why it is up to each and every one of you to evaluate any given situation for yourselves, acting accordingly and passing all relevant information on to your comrades. THAT, ladies, is what makes a Marine and their blaster the deadliest weapon in the galaxy—teamwork, and the willingness to do whatever is necessary in order to defeat all enemies! Fall out!” Without another word, Tuffass turned on his right heel and strode out of the barracks, flanked by Sergeants Pavan and Grimski. Almost before the door had finished closing, the recruits burst into many conversations at once. Laera, however, didn't feel like rehashing the day's activities with the others. Hands in her pockets, she made her way quietly to Squeak's bunk, where the Rodian was sorting through some personal items. “Oh, hey Brain,” she said meekly upon noticing Laera's arrival. “Hell of a battle, eh?” “Yeah,” Laera sighed. “I just wanted to thank you.” “For what?” “For sticking with me out there,” Laera said evenly. “You could have obeyed Makeup's order and left me alone, but you didn't.” “I saw what you saw,” Squeak replied, her snout drooping slightly. “It seemed a foolish thing for Makeup to do, ordering us back and continuing onward.” “Whatever your reasons, thank you. I couldn't have gotten this position without your help.” “Sure you could have.” “No, I couldn't. It takes two to make a team. And I want you to know that I think of you as a friend.” — — — The senior drill instructor's office was easy enough to find, as it was the first door to the left from the barracks entrance and was clearly labeled as such. It was with some small measure of trepidation that Laera poked the door chime and waited for a response, which came with a whoosh as the door slid open. Taking a deep breath, she strode through it and into the sparsely-decorated office. “Sir, recruit Brain reporting as requested, SIR!” “At ease,” the Gand said, sliding a desk drawer shut and standing up. “Come over here and take a look at this.” Laera followed Tuffass as he came out from behind his desk and strode over to the right-hand wall. It was bare except for a large frame, which was draped with a plain white cloth. With an uncharacteristic flourish, the DI whipped the covering off the frame, to reveal... “This is Tuffass's wall of names,” the sergeant explained. “Recruits who not only earn their name, but who have demonstrated exceptional ability, get their identities enshrined on this plaque. You have earned your name, Laera Reyolé, and Tuffass would like to put your tape onto this wall so that he remembers not only what you did today, but what you are capable of doing.” “Sir...um...” Laera stuttered, unable to think of the appropriate response. “Well don't look so shocked, Reyolé!” Tuffass replied with a small chuckle. It was an honest chuckle, and the sensation it evoked caused Laera to blush even more. “Tuffass thought you could keep your head in a crisis, don't disappoint him now!” “Sir, it's just that...well, Reyolé didn't expect...” “You've earned your name, Private, you can use pronouns now.” “Well, I didn't expect something like this...sir...” “Just don't let it get to your head, Reyolé,” Tuffass cautioned. “And don't tell the other recruits about this little shrine. They'll find out in due course if they prove themselves worthy. For now, take good care of your squad. They will know by your name that you have earned it, and what it takes to earn theirs.” “Sir, I won't, sir,” Laera replied with a nod. “Thank you, sir.” “Dismissed, Reyolé.” — — — Yes, a lot had happened to Laera since those halcyon days. Squeak, whose real name was Reeka Chorizzo, had earned her identity not long afterward during a different field exercise in which Laera herself had felt what it was like to experience a simulated death. The woman had taken over command of the squad and had managed to get them out of trouble just in time to participate in another simulated victory. Miranda...somehow she had never quite made the cut in that regard, though she did graduate. The rest of the squad, however, had eventually earned their names as well, and Laera had come to regard them as friends too. It had been a life-changing experience, going through boot camp, but it had been a change for the better. “Reeka, wherever you are, I hope you're doing alright,” Laera mused as she slipped into her rack for the night.
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