Later that evening, the recruits were just beginning to settle into the quiet hum of the barracks. Some were half-dressed, others were trying to figure out how to fold their new stiff fatigues, when the heavy wooden doors swung open with a bang that hit the walls like a gunshot.
"Easy Company! Drop what you're doing and fall in outside! Now!"
The command triggered a frantic scramble. Boots thudded against the floorboards as men and women lunged for their tunics. The older recruits, those who had seen service before or simply had quicker instincts, were already off their bunks, shoving the slower ones toward the door.
"Move! Move! Let's go!" one of the veterans barked, his voice raspy. "Don't keep them waiting if you value your sleep!"
A few minutes later, seventy-nine recruits stood in ragged but disciplined lines outside the bunkhouse. The mountain air had turned biting, and several recruits were shivering in the twilight. At the front stood the platoon leaders: Joseph Chase, Mary Poppings, and Stharahl Murenn. They stood at rigid attention, eyes fixed on the darkness between the administrative buildings.
Two figures emerged from the shadows. First Sergeant Lewis, the towering beastfolk, walked with his usual heavy stride, a thick manifest gripped in his hand. Beside him walked a man who looked entirely out of place in a mountain bootcamp.
He looked to be in his late twenties, wearing a worn leather jacket over his uniform and an officer's cap tilted slightly forward. He was taller than Kenlil but shorter than Jack, with a lean, wiry frame that looked like a coiled spring. He wasn't shouting; he was talking to Lewis like they were just discussing the weather, but his voice carried in the cold air.
"Sergeant, how many more recruits are we expecting for my company tomorrow?" the man asked.
Lewis flipped through the manifest. "There will be 178 in total coming in tomorrow, sir. With the main transport of over a thousand arriving at 0600 hours, Easy is slated to receive 87 in the morning and another 91 at 1900 hours."
The man grunted and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "And the staff? I can't run a company out of a duffel bag forever. I need my office staffed. Harry's been buried in files all day by himself and I want that Mess Hall open. I'm tired of smelling the battalion's mystery stew."
"Staff elements are arriving in forty-eight hours, sir," Lewis replied. "Along with the Second Battalion headquarters and Major Stanley."
"Fine. I can wait forty-eight hours," the man said.
He turned his attention to the seventy-nine recruits. He walked slowly down the line, his boots crunching on the gravel. He didn't look at their uniforms; he looked at their eyes, scanning them with a clinical, analytical coldness. Even Jack, who usually wasn't intimidated by officers, found himself staring straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. There was something about the man—a weight of experience that made his smaller stature feel irrelevant.
The officer stopped in the middle of the formation. "Raise your hands if you're from Marmello."
Almost every hand went up, including Jack's. The man gave a slow, tired nod.
"I was raised in Marmello," he said quietly. "Grew up on 39th Street with my grandparents. After I got married, I moved out to Saint Hills with my family. But I know the smell of the docks. I know where you're from."
Jack's eyes widened slightly. He lived on 39th. Before he could stop himself, his gaze flicked to the Captain. The officer noticed immediately, his eyes locking onto Jack's for a split second.
"You," he pointed at Jack. "You're from 39th, aren't you?"
Jack swallowed hard and managed a small, tight smile. "Yes, sir."
The man sighed, a cloud of mist escaping into the cold air. "I see. Well, for those who haven't heard the rumors yet, I am Captain Merren Snow. I've just been reassigned here from Camp Dogleberry of the 3rd Marines."
A heavy silence followed that name. Even the recruits who hadn't paid attention to the news knew about the 3rd Marines. They were the ghosts of the 9th Crollean War—the division that had been cut off on Callis Island. They were the ones who had run out of ammo and started using Grendheich weapons; the ones who had lived off stolen rations and turned into something barely human. The stories of what they did to the invaders who surrendered—mutilating them and hanging them from the trees—were the stuff of nightmares back home.
Snow looked at their pale faces. "I'm sure you've heard the stories. I'm not going to go into the details of what happened on that island. But I am going to tell you this: I am here to make your lives miserable from this moment on."
He began to pace again, his hands behind his back. "I'm going to make sure every one of you—fresh recruits, old veterans, and Delker Point graduates—fights like a 3rd Marine. I'm going to push your bodies until you find out exactly what you're capable of. I don't care about the crease in your pants. I don't care how neat your locker is or if your bed is made like a museum exhibit. I'm not going to revoke your weekend pass for petty bullshit like that."
He stopped, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rasp. "But... if I think you didn't reach my standards in the field, all of your passes will be revoked. I don't care about turning you into 'perfect' soldiers for a parade. I care about making sure you're alive even after the invasion starts. Easy Company is going to be the example of how a soldier fights in an elite division. You think the Airborne is risky? It's only risky if you're slow and stupid. I don't intend to lead a company of corpses."
He leaned in close to the front rank, his eyes burning. "Abandon your civilian attachments. Forget your previous lives. I don't care if you were a doctor, a dockworker, or a Delker Point genius. If you're too slow, you're dead. I'm here to make sure you perform your duty and you stay alive to see the end of it. You're going to experience the most hellish days of your life, and until I see some progress, you can kiss your 48-hour pass goodbye."
The pressure in the air was thick enough to choke on. Jack could feel the tension in Tavros's massive shoulders next to him.
Snow turned back to Lewis and took the manifest. "Lieutenant Chase. First Platoon."
Joseph Chase stepped forward. "Here, sir."
"Pick four lines behind you," Snow commanded. "List their names and pick three acting sergeants to lead the squads. I want that list by 2100 hours."
"Yes, sir."
"Lieutenant Poppings," Snow said, turning to Mary.
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"Pick five lines. Three acting sergeants for three squads. Same deadline."
Natalia, Kenlil, Tavros, and Jack were all in Mary's section. Snow glanced at the remaining recruits. "The rest of the line is yours, Lieutenant Murenn."
Murenn simply nodded. Snow didn't say another word; he just turned and walked away into the darkness, with Lewis following a few steps behind.
The platoon leaders immediately went to work, pulling out their own manifests. Mary scanned the names under the glow of a nearby lantern. "Rellon Grayson!"
A beastfolk with deep, scarred fur stood at attention. "Sir!"
"You're acting sergeant for 1st Squad," Mary said. "You've got Randell, Hachen, Raise, Coller, Anderson, Schietz, and Mulligan."
Tavros blinked when he heard his last name. He was in 1st Squad. He caught Jack's eye and gave a subtle, worried nod.
"Emmanuel Hollister!" Mary called next.
An older man, one of the veterans Snow had mentioned, stepped forward with a calm, steady look. Jack thought he must be one of those guys who had survived the Crollean War. Having a veteran as a squad leader felt like a blessing from the sky.
"You're 2nd Squad," Mary continued. "Pollux, Teller, Luvillan, Heinbach, Springs, Rool, and Sterling."
Jack felt a wave of relief. He, Kenlil, and Natalia were together under Hollister. At least he could keep an eye on the elf.
"Kelly Cruz," Mary called out. "You've got 3rd Squad and the rest."
Once the assignments were finished, Mary stood before them. "Your squads will be filled to full strength tomorrow. Squad leaders, manage your people. Pick an acting corporal to assist you. You have until 2200 tomorrow night to decide—right after the night march."
The mention of a "night march" on their second day caused a few quiet groans, but they were quickly silenced by a sharp glare from Sergeant Lewis, who was still watching in the distance.
"2nd Platoon will take bunkhouses E-2-1 through E-2-3," Mary explained. "Check the letters on the doors. Grab your gear and move out. Company dismissed!"
The formation broke, and the recruits hurried back toward the buildings. Jack caught up with Tavros as they grabbed their duffel bags.
"Glad you're still in the same platoon, Tav," Jack said, hoisting his heavy bag. "Even if we're in different squads."
Tavros smiled, though his ears were flat against his head. "Doesn't matter much. We'll all be eating the same dirt tomorrow anyway. That Captain... he's got the eyes of a wolf, Jack."
"I think he's exactly what we need if the stories about the 3rd Marines are true," Jack replied.
Inside the bunkhouse for 2nd Squad, Emmanuel Hollister stood by the door, watching them file in. "Listen up. Women on the left row, men on the right. Pick a bed and a locker. Keep your gear organized. We don't have much time before lights out, and I suggest you spend every minute you can sleeping. Tomorrow is going to hurt."
Jack claimed a bunk between Tavros and Kenlil. Tavros reached down and pulled the lever on the metal bed frame. "Oh! This is a genius craft. I thought I'd be suffering on a cot that would snap under my weight."
"You'd be surprised at the durability of military gear, Private," Rellon Grayson, the 1st Squad leader, said as he walked past to his own section.
Tavros sat on the bed, testing the bounce. "It really is durable. Better than my mattress back in Marmello."
Jack shook his head, a small smile on his face as he lay down. He looked over at Kenlil, but the elf was already wrapped in his blanket and fast asleep. Jack closed his eyes, the image of Captain Snow's fierce stare lingering in his mind. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.