“Am I clear?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll see. Fall out!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacob bent over and used the belly of his gray T-shirt to wipe the vomit from his chin. The run had been hard, but he’d finished it. Although men half his age fell out, he had managed to push through. He wouldn’t allow himself to quit or let his mind accept failure; even if he did fall into the grass to puke his guts out seconds after Masterson ordered them to halt, he was still here. And after completing the run, he knew the score… Masterson could make him miserable, he could wear him down with pushups, get in his head, and break his mind and body, but he couldn’t kill him… only The Darkness could do that.
As bad as Drill Sergeant Masterson was, he knew The Darkness was worse, and as long as Jacob stayed tough and absorbed the training, his family would be safe. Jacob wiped away the rest of the mess from his face and stood upright. He took a deep breath and turned back to the barracks. As he walked, he saw Masterson standing in the shadows, watching the recruits gather and return to the squad bay. Jacob felt the Drill Sergeant’s stare. He ducked his head and went to a jog, rushing for the door.
Inside, men had already dumped their issue bags of clothing to the floor. They scrambled to arrange uniforms and take showers, pushing their way through lines to get cleaned up and prepared for the morning chow formation. Exiting from the showers, Jacob moved to his rack, his green duffle bag at the foot of his bed. He looked across at a pair of legs dangling from the top rack. The man scooted and fell to the floor, springing up like a cat. He was at least ten years younger than Jacob, broad shouldered, greasy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He looked more like a football player than a soldier.
The man reached a large hand across the rack to Jacob. “I’m Winslow, Jesse Winslow. Looks like we’re bunkmates,” he said.
Jacob returned the handshake and tugged his own green bag open, digging for his uniform items.
“Sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night; guess I didn’t hear you come in,” Jacob said.
Jesse nodded and yanked on a brown T-shirt before hopping into a pair of camouflage trousers. “Didn’t get in ‘til way past dark. Just got word they drew my number yesterday.”
“Drew your number?” Jacob asked.
“The lottery,” Jesse said. “I was lucky enough to get drawn for military training. Damn, I’m glad to be out of the camp.”
Jacob nodded; he didn’t even know such a thing existed. He knew there were more volunteers than space for training, but a lottery surprised him. “Sorry, I was recruited from in here. I haven’t been to the camps.”
“Damn, you lucked out! They're filling up classes fast. There are lines of us trying to find ways out of the evacuation camps. Military duty is the top choice right now; most everyone else gets pushed into labor. The last resort is with the militias, but that’s just as bad as the camps, and it don’t get your family moved onto a military base.”
“You have a family then?”
“Me? No. Probably why they took me; cheaper for ’em—no extra mouths to feed. What about you?”
Jacob looked away; dodging the question as he pulled a T-shirt over his head then looked back. “I have a wife and daughter. They can stay here as long as I don’t fail,” Jacob said, his tone changing. “Who knows if I’ll ever see ‘em again?”
Jesse forced a grin and finished buttoning his uniform jacket. “Hey man, you’ll do fine, and they’ll be here waiting when this is all over.”
A door slammed behind them as, once again, men were on their feet running for the exit. Jacob tugged his bootlaces tight and scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go, Jesse, it’s chow time.”
The sun rested high over the horizon, the air brisk but clear. Jacob’s new boots crunched on the crushed limestone bed. They fell in proficiently this time, learning from their previous failures. A drill sergeant moved to the front of the formation and called them to attention. They froze, standing perfectly straight with their shoulders squared and their chests out. Jacob looked straight ahead, concentrating and not allowing his eyes to wander.
Masterson moved into view, stopping just in front of the younger drill sergeant before taking charge of the platoon. He stepped forward and stared into them. Jacob was sure they would be dropped for more pushups, but the man looked away to a high-backed pickup truck. A door opened, and a uniformed man stepped out with a clipboard.
“Listen up, turds. I told you this would be an accelerated course. When your name is called, report to the armorer and sign for your weapon,” Masterson said.
Jacob waited as men were called and fell out of formation, running to the back of the truck, signing for M4 rifles. Jacob waited his turn. After being called, he ran to the truck and stood at attention. A supply sergeant in the back looked at his name on the clipboard and grinned before turning to open a footlocker. Reaching in, he pulled out a heavy, black, scoped rifle with a synthetic stock. He turned and stepped to the back of the truck then released the empty magazine and drew back the bolt, verifying the rifle was empty.
The man stretched out his arm, offering him the rifle. Jacob put up his hands and stepped back apprehensively. “What’s that?”
“It’s your weapon, dummy.”
Jacob shook his head. “Can’t I just get one like all the others?”
“Are you Private Jacob Anderson?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Jacob said.
“Then no, you get the M14. It says so right here.” The man flashed Jacob the clipboard with one hand while tossing the rifle at him with the other. Jacob
