Inside the 2nd Battalion Mess Hall, the air was thick with the smell of grease, wet wool, and the frantic clatter of silverware. Easy Company, still damp with sweat and shivering from the mountain air, fell upon their first military breakfast like starving wolves.
For the humans and beastfolk, the trays were piled with scrambled eggs, thick slices of bacon, salty sausages, and crusty bread. The elves had a different spread: mashed potatoes, buttered beans, and a thick mushroom stew that smelled of the forest floor.
Jay Rool shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and groaned, his eyes rolling back in relief. "Ohhh... this meal just saved my life. I think my stomach was actually starting to digest itself during that run."
Kenlil was more methodical, dipping his bread into his coffee until it was soft enough to swallow without effort. "I'm getting a second serving of the potatoes," he muttered. "I don't think this is enough fuel for whatever hell Snow has planned for 0900. My metabolism is screaming."
The table rattled as someone slid into the narrow gap between Jack and Tavros. It was Luke, looking pale and disheveled in his Fox Company fatigues.
"Hey guys," Luke wheezed. "What's up?"
Jack looked up, surprised. "Luke? Damn, glad to see you're still upright. How was your morning reveille?"
Tavros grunted, offering a small nod of his jackal-like head. "Long time no see, Luke boy. You holding up?"
Luke slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cool metal of his tray. "I feel like I'm already dead and this is just the Aether's way of playing a joke on me. Fox Company's First Sergeant is a sadist. He made us do jumping jacks in a puddle."
Kenlil chuckled, though there was no malice in it. "Yeah, that goes without saying. Welcome to the 98th."
Luke lifted his head, glancing around to make sure no officers were listening. "Hey, have you guys heard about Philip?"
Jack paused with his coffee mug halfway to his lips. "About what?"
"I heard they made him an acting sergeant over in Gulf Company," Luke said.
Kenlil's ears twitched. "Really? Already?"
"I never expected that," Tavros added, tearing a piece of bread. "He seemed... a bit high-strung for it."
"Well, who knows," Jack said, setting his mug down. "Maybe he's actually got a head for it."
"That's exactly why," Kenlil noted. "They love those guys. I heard James made acting sergeant in Able, too. They're on the fast track."
Emmanuel Hollister, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table, leaned forward. He looked at Luke with a curious, steady gaze. "Sterling, who's the friend?"
"Oh, sorry, Sergeant," Jack said quickly. "This is Luke from Fox Company. He's one of the guys who came up with us. He's my neighbor."
Hollister gave a slow, measured nod of acknowledgment.
"Neighbor is a bit of an overstatement," Kenlil added with a smirk. "We never usually saw his ass on the block. He was always off 'sightseeing' the local women in the upper districts."
The table erupted into a chorus of tired chuckles. Even Tavros let out a huffy laugh.
"Hey! Cut it out!" Luke went red, shoving a sausage into his mouth. "It was a social experiment. I was studying the demographic... or something."
An hour later, the company returned to the bunkhouse for a brief, precious window of rest. Most of the recruits simply collapsed onto their frames, but Jack was already busy. He was smoothing out his wool blanket, his fingers moving with a mechanical precision he hadn't known he possessed.
He glanced over at Kenlil, who was lying facedown on his mattress, still in his sweat-stained PT gear.
"Hey," Jack said, nudging the elf's boot. "Start making your bed and organizing your locker. Now."
Kenlil turned his head slightly, one eye peering out from under his arm. "Just leave me alone, Jack. I want to die in peace for ten minutes."
"Sergeant Lewis is coming for inspection at 0800," Jack warned. "If he sees your bed looking like a bird's nest, Snow said we're all running another six miles. You want to be the reason we're back on the gravel?"
Kenlil groaned, a long, mournful sound. "Just... ten more minutes."
Jack shook his head. He finished his locker—boots aligned, shirts folded—and stepped out onto the wooden porch of the bunkhouse to catch a breath of air that didn't smell like feet.
Hollister was already there, leaning against a post. He looked at Jack and reached into his pocket. "Do you smoke, Sterling?"
Jack leaned back, a small, tired smile forming. "Can't say I don't, sir."
Hollister tossed him a pack of cigarettes. "Courtesy of Captain Snow. He sent a carton over to the NCOs to distribute. Said it helps with the 'mountain jitters.'"
Jack's eyes widened as he caught the pack. "Oh shit. Now that's a gentleman right there."
He pulled one out, and Hollister offered a light. They stood in silence for a moment, the blue smoke drifting away in the wind.
"I saw your Spatial Logic scores on the manifest," Hollister said quietly. "Honestly, I've never seen a score that high. Not in the old war, and certainly not here."
Jack shrugged, looking out toward the horizon. "I just got lucky, sir. It felt like I was just... seeing the answers before I read the questions."
"Lucky or not, it caught eyes," Hollister said. He took a long drag and looked at Jack. "You know, I was in the 9th Crollean War. Deployed right at the tail end."
"Were you at Damer?" Jack asked.
Hollister nodded. "Rescuing the guys the Grendheich had pinned down when they took the Aurelian cities. We saw action, but it was mostly mop-up work. Still, you learn to spot things. You learn to spot the guys who can keep their heads when the lead starts flying."
"Well, we're glad to have you leading us, sir," Jack said sincerely.
Hollister let out a short, dry laugh and shook his head. "Honestly? I never asked for it. I just wanted to be back in a uniform. But since I'm stuck with the stripes, I'm going to have to burden you with some of the weight."
Jack frowned, confused. "Sir?"
"I haven't officially named an acting corporal for 2nd Squad yet," Hollister said. He turned and looked Jack in the eye. "I'm choosing you. I need an assistant, Sterling. I can't keep eleven different personalities in line by myself while I'm worrying about the Lieutenant's orders."
Jack felt a cold knot form in his stomach. "I... I don't think I can make them fall in line, sir. I'm just a guy from 39th Street."
"You don't have to make them do anything, Sterling." Hollister said, patting Jack's shoulder firmly. "You just relay the word. Keep them moving. A good leader doesn't usually wish to be one. He's called to it, and he answers the call. Besides, if you don't do it, I might have to pick Rool, and then we're all doomed."
Jack watched Hollister walk away, the Sergeant already moving to the next porch to hand out more smokes. Jack muttered to himself, "Do I really have a choice at this point?"
"Congratulations, Corporal."
Jack jumped, nearly dropping his cigarette. Natalia was sitting on a crate just behind him, her movements so silent he hadn't even heard her approach.
"For fuck's sake," Jack hissed, clutching his chest. "You startled me. How long have you been there?"
Natalia didn't answer. She just looked at the cigarette in his hand. "Do you have another?"
Jack sighed and handed her one, flicking his lighter for her. She took a long, graceful drag, looking perfectly composed. They sat there together, a rare moment of quiet before the storm of the 0800 inspection.
At 0800 sharp, First Sergeant Lewis and the squad leaders began the "White Glove" sweep. 1st Platoon took the brunt of it. Several recruits had ignored the warnings, leaving their beds rumpled or their lockers in disarray.
Snow's warning hadn't been an empty one. Within ten minutes, five men and women were assigned to a night latrine duty for the rest of the week.
When Lewis reached 2nd Platoon, the air was dead silent. Every recruit stood at rigid attention at the foot of their bunks. Jack had spent the last twenty minutes physically hauling Kenlil out of bed and helping Jay Rool straighten his locker.
Lewis walked down the line, his massive beastfolk frame towering over them. He poked at a bed with a thick finger. He checked the dust on top of the lockers.
Most passed, thanks to Jack's nagging. But Lewis had a supernatural eye for detail. He stopped in front of Jay Rool and Pollux.
"This locker," Lewis rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "It looks like a laundry basket exploded inside. And this bed... the corners aren't tucked. They're folded."
Jay Rool swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the wall. "Sorry, Sergeant."
"Don't be sorry," Lewis said coldly. "Be useful. Since you like hasty work, you can spend your free time tonight helping the maintenance crew. Paint duty. The motor pool needs a fresh coat of green."
The inspection finished with a few more casualties, but the core of the squad had survived. As Lewis left, the recruits let out a collective breath.
"Report to the supply depot!" Grayson's voice echoed through the hallway. "Prepare for the next training course! Move!"
They marched to the battalion supply depot, where the quartermasters were waiting. Each recruit was issued a second pair of heavy boots, a steel-reinforced helmet, and their training rifles.
Jack ran his hand over the weapon. It was a semi-automatic magic rifle, a training variant of the M-24. It was modified with runes that fired 8-round crystal blunt clips. It wasn't lethal, but the bruises it left were legendary.
Along with the rifle came a satchel containing dry mana cells for their flashlights, a small rune-radio, and four training clips.
Back in the bunkhouse, the atmosphere changed. The exhaustion was still there, but it was replaced by a nervous curiosity. Men and women sat on their beds, turning the rifles over in their hands.
"How do you take this thing apart?" Kenlil asked, poking at a lever on the side. "It's nothing like the bolt-actions my dad showed me."
Jack looked at the rifle. It was a complex piece of magi-tech. Even the veterans like Hollister were scratching their heads.
"These are new models," Hollister admitted, peering into the chamber. "The internals are different from the old Liberators. We'll have to wait for the instructor."
He stood up, looking at the squad. "But I'll give you one piece of advice: memorized the feel of every cell in that satchel. I want you to be able to pull a radio battery or a fresh clip in total darkness without looking. We'll be drilling that until your fingers bleed. Now, get your gear ready. 0900 is coming."