Time (Standalone)
Mar 29, 2013 16:28:54 GMT -5
Post by Verbal, Lord of The Dreadfort on Mar 29, 2013 16:28:54 GMT -5
Corporal Malcolm Ganondorf, Squad 343, 1500 hours, Training and Physical Education Center.
The trainees ran from one part of the obstacle course to the next, ever mindful of my iron gaze, scrutinizing their movements, seeing how they performed under pressure, how they worked together to reach the end of course, taking note of things which had to be improved upon. They were soldiers, we all were, and how they preformed under stress, how they overcame obstacles together, and most of all, how easily they could do it, was essential to their survival. If District Thirteen's crucible course could chew them up and spit them back out again, what would happen to them the day the rebellion was sparked anew and they were caught in a firefight with a squad of peacekeepers, or worse yet, muttations? They would be dead soldiers, and I have less than no use for corpses. My eyes trailed to the large digital clock which stood imposingly at the top of the room, timing their progress. They were good.
But I had seen better. I had done better.
Crack! One of the soldiers tripped over a rock in the final stretch of the course. It was a rock, desertous stretch of the land which they had to traverse to make it to the end, to complete their objective. Not only that, they had to do it while being pursued by mechanical muttations. To stop meant certain death, to go back was folly, but his three comrades did stop and look at him. The mutts were hard on his tail, they would have him in no time, he had no chance. And it was here that the mistake which doomed them was made.
They went back for him.
They rushed to his aid, quick to act, their movements admirable, their decision making far less so. The mutts overtook their comrade, and got to them before they even had a chance to decide to leave him behind and escape.
And then I ended the simulation.
The mutts lets them be and crawled back into their holes (they resembles no animal I recognized, but were somewhat akin to gigantic, carnivorous lizards with razor sharp teeth,) and I walked with my hands folded behind my back, and looked at my men coldly, shrewdly, heartlessly. I walked over to the team leader, who had only moments before been pinned to the ground by one of the mutts. As he tried to push himself of the floor, I swift kicked his arm and he fell to the ground yet again.
"Well soldier, you just got you and you're entire squad killed, and failed to complete your objective, and do you know why?" I asked him mockingly.
"Because you should of left that man to die and completed your objective. He was dead before he hit the floor, and you let your heart do the thinking instead of your brain." I told him icily.
"I..." he began, looking abashed, turning red.
"Shut up." I told him before he could continue.
"Report back to the beginning of the course and prepare your men for another run. And this time, I want the job done. And if all of you have to die to do it, so be it."
"Soldier Ganondorf, report to the command center of the training room immediately." A pleasing male voice spoke over the intercom.
I looked back to my man, offered him my hand, and helped him off the floor.
"Now." I commanded as I turned to leave.
"I'll be back." I told them forbodingly.
I left the large room as the squad began to traverse the course anew, and made my way up the stairs to the command center. I took a look at the schedule imprinted on my forearm and took note that this was a rare, unscheduled moment of the day, as I was supposed to continuing training my men for another hour. I entered the cold steel room and saluted the commander, a captain with greying black hair and a strong looking yet slightly wrinkled face.
"Corporal." He said familiarly.
"Sir." I replied.
"Your trainees are doing exceptionally well. Squads you've personally trained have held the last three course records." He said, impressed.
"Thank you sir." I told him, still saluting.
"Oh ease up, corporal, you're not in trouble. This is strictly informal." He told me goodnaturedly as I reluctantly eased my stance.
He scrutinized the papers in his hands.
"You've been promoted to sergeant and I'm placing you in command of your own squad." He said, not looking up.
"I... thank you sir." I tell him, a little taken aback.
"Don't thank me, you've earned it son. You're one of the best troopers we have. If we had an army of men like you, taking down the Capitol would hold absolutely no problems for us."
He sighed and looked up at me for the first time.
"Things being as they are, we just have to make due with what we have. You're a good soldier, sergeant, and good soldiers are a commodity, even here in District Thirteen. We've been preparing for this war for long time, and we still don't even have a sixth of the strength I'd like to have going into it with." He said grimly.
"We just have to do what we can and hope the other districts can make up for the difference. But that's why we need you to get these men into shape. There's a long war ahead of us, and it won't be like anything we've ever dealt with before. Simulations, training, discipline, none of it is going to prepare these boys for what we are going to see." He told me, and then sighed yet again. He walked over to me and offered his hand.
"Just make sure their ready for when that time comes, as ready as you can make them anyway..." I trailed off and I looked at him strangely before taking his hand and shaking it firmly.
"Good luck sergeant." He told me as he looked me in the eye. There was something in his eyes, something I couldn't place. Was it fear?
Or was it pity?
The trainees ran from one part of the obstacle course to the next, ever mindful of my iron gaze, scrutinizing their movements, seeing how they performed under pressure, how they worked together to reach the end of course, taking note of things which had to be improved upon. They were soldiers, we all were, and how they preformed under stress, how they overcame obstacles together, and most of all, how easily they could do it, was essential to their survival. If District Thirteen's crucible course could chew them up and spit them back out again, what would happen to them the day the rebellion was sparked anew and they were caught in a firefight with a squad of peacekeepers, or worse yet, muttations? They would be dead soldiers, and I have less than no use for corpses. My eyes trailed to the large digital clock which stood imposingly at the top of the room, timing their progress. They were good.
But I had seen better. I had done better.
Crack! One of the soldiers tripped over a rock in the final stretch of the course. It was a rock, desertous stretch of the land which they had to traverse to make it to the end, to complete their objective. Not only that, they had to do it while being pursued by mechanical muttations. To stop meant certain death, to go back was folly, but his three comrades did stop and look at him. The mutts were hard on his tail, they would have him in no time, he had no chance. And it was here that the mistake which doomed them was made.
They went back for him.
They rushed to his aid, quick to act, their movements admirable, their decision making far less so. The mutts overtook their comrade, and got to them before they even had a chance to decide to leave him behind and escape.
And then I ended the simulation.
The mutts lets them be and crawled back into their holes (they resembles no animal I recognized, but were somewhat akin to gigantic, carnivorous lizards with razor sharp teeth,) and I walked with my hands folded behind my back, and looked at my men coldly, shrewdly, heartlessly. I walked over to the team leader, who had only moments before been pinned to the ground by one of the mutts. As he tried to push himself of the floor, I swift kicked his arm and he fell to the ground yet again.
"Well soldier, you just got you and you're entire squad killed, and failed to complete your objective, and do you know why?" I asked him mockingly.
"Because you should of left that man to die and completed your objective. He was dead before he hit the floor, and you let your heart do the thinking instead of your brain." I told him icily.
"I..." he began, looking abashed, turning red.
"Shut up." I told him before he could continue.
"Report back to the beginning of the course and prepare your men for another run. And this time, I want the job done. And if all of you have to die to do it, so be it."
"Soldier Ganondorf, report to the command center of the training room immediately." A pleasing male voice spoke over the intercom.
I looked back to my man, offered him my hand, and helped him off the floor.
"Now." I commanded as I turned to leave.
"I'll be back." I told them forbodingly.
I left the large room as the squad began to traverse the course anew, and made my way up the stairs to the command center. I took a look at the schedule imprinted on my forearm and took note that this was a rare, unscheduled moment of the day, as I was supposed to continuing training my men for another hour. I entered the cold steel room and saluted the commander, a captain with greying black hair and a strong looking yet slightly wrinkled face.
"Corporal." He said familiarly.
"Sir." I replied.
"Your trainees are doing exceptionally well. Squads you've personally trained have held the last three course records." He said, impressed.
"Thank you sir." I told him, still saluting.
"Oh ease up, corporal, you're not in trouble. This is strictly informal." He told me goodnaturedly as I reluctantly eased my stance.
He scrutinized the papers in his hands.
"You've been promoted to sergeant and I'm placing you in command of your own squad." He said, not looking up.
"I... thank you sir." I tell him, a little taken aback.
"Don't thank me, you've earned it son. You're one of the best troopers we have. If we had an army of men like you, taking down the Capitol would hold absolutely no problems for us."
He sighed and looked up at me for the first time.
"Things being as they are, we just have to make due with what we have. You're a good soldier, sergeant, and good soldiers are a commodity, even here in District Thirteen. We've been preparing for this war for long time, and we still don't even have a sixth of the strength I'd like to have going into it with." He said grimly.
"We just have to do what we can and hope the other districts can make up for the difference. But that's why we need you to get these men into shape. There's a long war ahead of us, and it won't be like anything we've ever dealt with before. Simulations, training, discipline, none of it is going to prepare these boys for what we are going to see." He told me, and then sighed yet again. He walked over to me and offered his hand.
"Just make sure their ready for when that time comes, as ready as you can make them anyway..." I trailed off and I looked at him strangely before taking his hand and shaking it firmly.
"Good luck sergeant." He told me as he looked me in the eye. There was something in his eyes, something I couldn't place. Was it fear?
Or was it pity?
