"Keep going!" U scread from the bottom of his lungs, almost reaching the point where he would be foaming at the mouth. "Slash! Shield! Poke! Shield! Slash! Shield!"
Today was a joyous day for all the recruits.
They’d finally moved on from purely stamina-building exercises, received their training weapons, and were learning the basics of swinging them around!
Obviously, the introduction of the new exercises didn’t an the lessening of their usual training regin - this new practice was cramd into what little free ti they had, limiting their rest periods just to the single period from the quick wash in the small river near the training field and until the end of breakfast the day after.
’At the very least, they are feeding us well,’ Chris thought, swinging his sword to the rhythm of U’s orders while secretly trying his best to observe the situation.
He was the oldest recruit in the whole bunch, the lone otherworlder beyond the pristine age of a young adult.
By all ans, his job experience as a college lecturer shouldn’t make things any easier for him in the military...
But as a reconstruction-oriented freak, he was more than familiar with the burden of wearing armor, holding a heavy shield up, or swinging around several kilos’ worth of a tal stick.
’Who would’ve thought the hours I’ve spent on random HEMA events would pay off in this way,’ he thought while limiting his moves to just the absolute minimum required from the formation-based combat.
It didn’t take long for him to realize that most of the stuff he learned to participate in the historical European martial arts tournants was designed not to be effective in real combat but to look great when recorded by caras. And while the basics of combat remained the sa - swing, poke, raise - the way in which those were strung together and reinforced by footwork couldn’t be more different.
In HEMA, it was all about pushing the opponent, overwhelming him.
In here, in a training camp where swords and shields were the tools of war rather than trade, the priority was sowhere else entirely.
"You can’t fight if you are dead! That’s why your first and most important task is to stay alive! It’s best to miss a chance than to risk falling for a feint or a trap!"
U’s words, while tackling issues way beyond the level of any of the recruits, continued to ring in Chris’ ears.
"None of you will be good enough to face the actual soldiers. Which is why we are not going to send you to fight proper soldiers," U continued to lecture the whole regint, otherworlders, newbies, and all, while walking across the stretched-out line of the exercising n and won. "The ones you will be fighting are going to be the sa kind of untrained recruits as you. And only those who survive that hell, only those who prove themselves worthy, shall continue on the soldiering path!"
Those words carried different aning for different people.
For the people Chris saw at the training camp from the very mont he first visited it himself, those were words of encouragent.
They were all volunteers, after all, either seeking to serve their country, to find glory or - in line with an age-old adage - trying to avoid starvation. They knew they were going to be t with all sorts of bullying and dehumanization... but at the very least, a soldier wouldn’t have to fear starvation, a fate most commoners faced through sothing as simple as a local drought or, conversely, a series of unfortunate floods.
Then, there were the recruits that started to join the camp after Chris and his class did, people who clearly didn’t want to be there.
At first, their appearance served as a great demotivator for Chris’ forr students - even those people who were quite clearly forced to join the army turned out to be in a better physical state than pretty much all of them, with so very few exceptions.
Then, however, the difference changed.
Old recruits?
They trained for a cause, to be better at their jobs, to better serve their country, to build a better and longer-lasting career.
Otherworlders, or as U would call them - guests?
They trained harder than anyone else, all for the sake of catching up in terms of basic stamina and strength. But as days passed and the cycles of hellish training continued, the reality started to change.
It took a week for Chris to catch up to the old recruits, and another week for his students to do the sa, reaching a point where they could quite consistently complete their full stamina-training regin.
Their training, however, only intensified at that point, pushing them to their newfound limits with a greater variety of activities.
And now, an entire month after their summoning?
"Okay!" U called out, stopping his patrol right in front of the very middle of the group. "Old recruits, you are off to a marching practice. New recruits, today is your last chance to get yourself well-rested before the hell will begin. As for our honored guests..." U’s eyes drew towards Chris and the students that naturally gravitated towards him.
There were a few exceptions to that rule, most of which the drill sergeant already picked up and offered preferential treatnt to. Most, but not all. Because no matter how hard U tried, he couldn’t get one of those outliers to fall in and take the bite off the preferential treatnt bait.
"Rejoice!" U raised his voice again, filling his face with an obnoxious degree of smiles. "Today is finally the day you will be all starting your individual practices!"
’Huh?’ Chris squinted his eyes. ’It’s been only a week since we’ve started using weapons for more than just getting used to their weight while running, and they are already bringing us to an individual practice?’
From the results of the last week, it was clear that the "guests" were growing at a much faster rate than the new, half-willing recruits or even the volunteers of old. But still, to make the jump in just a week?
Chris didn’t have the ti to ponder over the topic for long, though.
Everyone on the training field knew better than to linger around and wait for the drama that didn’t involve them to unfold. And within just a few heartbeats, the old recruits rushed out for their marching practice while the new recruits ran to get whatever rest they could. In the end, only U and the otherworlders remained behind, making Chris wonder just what the hell this new hellish exercise was going to be.
"Okay, listen up everyone," U’s voice - quite surprisingly - softened. "As I bet you’ve all noticed, you are all growing at a much faster rate than even the most talented of recruits. It is our belief that it’s because you’ve received Jahel’s blessing so late in your life it’s not trying to compensate for all the years you’ve lived without it."
’Wait, what the hell is going on?’
Contrary to his students, who almost all leaned in, their curiosity leading them straight into U’s trap, Chris and Lukas pulled back, their resistance to the ntal tricks only growing the mont they noticed the simple ploy.
"The truth is, I’ve received orders to ship you all out at a crawl rate no later than in a week. That ans, after just one more week of training here, you will be sent out at the slowest speed possible. It is the belief of the headquarters that it’s still possible for n to train when moving at half the daily tempo. But that..."
U’s voice trembled, broke, as if he struggled to push the next words out of his throat.
As if this seasoned drill sergeant finally found the limits of just how far he could wring those foreign souls in a bid to turn them into proper soldiers.
"That ans," U coughed into his fist before putting on a hardened look on his face, "that ans I only have one week left to teach you how to survive out there, in the atgrinder. And even more importantly than that," U’s face suddenly turned all dark, "is that I only have one week to prepare you all for the role you will play out there."
’That sounds... ominous.’
What Chris initially took for just a psychological ploy was now quickly shaping into the impossible - an actual sense of concern and hesitation in that hellish drill sergeant?
"Once you are deployed, each of you will be assigned as an elite of your private unit. In other words, you will each join a group of twelve soldiers, their officer, and their magus. And while they will be out there fighting, it will be your job to support them to the best of your ability!"
’Oh shit...’
Chris gulped his saliva down.
By now, he’d learned enough terminology to understand the truth of what U was talking about.
Crawling pace? Shipnt? Joining units?
What those words ant was that now both he and every student of his would join an existing unit, likely composed of fresh recruits, and then spend the next month traveling, training, and living with them. An extrely bonding experience full of shared troubles, tis, and exercises.
Only for this country to then take those recruits hostage, either by forcing the "guests" to go on increasingly difficult missions to keep their "friends" off the lines... or by directly putting the entire unit on the frontline and then forcing their assigned guest to run around in circles, desperately trying to save his "friends" from dying a dog’s death!
’So that’s why...’ Chris gulped his saliva down as he looked over at U... and even managed to lock eyes with the man for a fleeting second.
But a second long enough for them both to understand the other.
For Chris to finally understand the reason why he could see a distant sense of disgust in U’s eyes. And for U to realize there were so who saw right through the actual goal of this devious plan devised by the HQ.
But Chris understood sothing else, mostly because he just happened to stand near Lukas enough to catch his whisper.
"Just how bad does the situation have to be for them to resort to such desperate asures?"
Reviews
All reviews (0)