He stood in line along with the rest of his training platoon. There were thirty-six of them and now technically classed as privates though the drill instructor called them all ‘recruits’. The term marine was only applied after completing training and being accepted by the Sergeant as fit and able. The title had to be earned, at least that’s what he kept saying. The group was diverse in every way. There were blacks, Hispanics, men and women. The age range was also surprising, from early twenties right up to some in their forties.
The training hall was in yet another part of the full gravity section of the ship and to all intents and purposes looked like any other training hall, apart from a slight curve in the floor. Along the walls was a selection of training tools, weights, equipment and even firearms, though they were locked in cabinets. There were no windows and the light was bright, really bright. As they stood to attention their Drill Sergeant approached, he matched almost every stereotype he’d ever heard of. The man was clean-shaven, a good two metres tall with the trim and muscled body of a man who took his job very seriously. He strolled in front before stopping in the centre and turning to face them.
“Okay, ladies, today is close quarter combat day. I am going to instruct you in the sophisticated art of using every part of the body as a lethal fighting machine. In the Marine Corps it is every marine’s duty to be able to defend himself whether you are armed or not.” He looked directly at Spartan.
Without saying anything he moved up to him and walked back and forth, examining him in detail. Like the rest of the recruits, Spartan wore a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. His body was unlike any of the others there. Some were bigger and others undoubtedly stronger but none had the mixture of muscles, fitness and scars that he carried.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Spartan!” he answered quickly.
'In the CMC it is polite to refer to me as Sergeant, Sir or Drill Instructor! Now, shall we try that again?'
'Spartan, Sir!'
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re some kind of gladiator, bet the girlies get excited when they see you.” He sneered and then shouted.
“Recruit Spartan, three steps forward!”
Spartan, without hesitating stepped ahead and the instructor walked around him.
“This is an example of a marine’s body. He looks strong, is fit and has the marks of a man who has seen action. There is one thing that makes him different though. He works alone, he is not part of a team and he fights for pleasure or money! He might look like a marine but a marine his is not!”
“You, you, you and you! Forward!” He pointed at the four weakest members of the platoon.
The two women and two men moved ahead, each looking nervous as they stood unprotected at the front.
“You four are pathetic, look at you!” The Sergeant shouted at them.
A giggle came from the back of the group where Jesus was pushed into the back row.
“Stop! Who did that?” The instructor marched up the line but nobody responded.
“So help me, God, you have five seconds or the entire platoon will suffer. Who did that?”
“I did,” came a sheepish response from Jesus.
“I did?”
“I did, Sergeant,” said Jesus as he remembered the correct form.
The instructor grinned to himself for a moment before continuing. “You snivelling piece of shit. You think learning to be a marine is funny? When you are face down in the dirt fighting those Zealot bastards are you gonna be laughing then? Let me tell you, son. In my last tour I saw smart asses like you get themselves cut in half by improvised explosives. And there was nothing anybody could do to help them! One marine is an asset and an entire platoon is unstoppable. If you treat them with contempt you treat the Corps with contempt, now get your ass to the front!”
Jesus moved quickly and joined the other four recruits. Spartan was still stood alone and said nothing though he wasn’t convinced he was going to like what came next. The drill instructor rubbed his hands together with glee.
“Now, let’s find out what you have. You are going to learn an important lesson today and if you’re smart you’ll stay out of the medical bay. You’re going to show the platoon how to bring a man like Spartan down!”
Jesus looked at Spartan and back at the drill instructor. “What the fuck?”
The instructor moved right in front of him, his look of humour having vanished.
“What’s the matter, pretty boy? You worried the big man will treat you like his bitch? What if you five are unarmed and face an enemy? You gonna cry to momma or are you going to stand up and be a marine? There are five of you. Now, get in there and show us you have what it takes!”
Spartan knew it was coming and turned to face the five of them. He was by far the biggest, but they still had the advantage of numbers, and who knows what skills or training they might have.
“I’m waiting!” barked the instructor.
Jesus, obviously feeling the pressure rushed forward as the other four looked on in a mixture of fear and confusion. The distance was only five metres but by the time he was close enough to reach Spartan, it was clear to everybody how it was going to go. Jesus ran right up to the man, presumably expecting to throw him to the floor. As he reached grabbing distance, Spartan lowered his body slamming his shoulder into the man’s stomach. The impact and speed of the strike forced the air out of his lungs nearly knocking him out. With him doubled over, Spartan brought his left elbow down to strike on his back and it was over. Jesus lay face down on the floor and Spartan stood up to face the other four. The drill instructor stood smiling as he watched.
“Bravo, bravo. An excellent lesson in what not to do.” He turned to the four that were left. “Well?” he asked sarcastically.
Three of the group inched forward but the fourth, the younger of the women, stayed back not sure as to what she should be doing. The tallest of the three was a well-built middle-aged man and he made the first move. He stepped closer though unlike Jesus he adopted a traditional boxing stance. His left foot was forward and both his hands held up to protect his face.
Spartan moved towards him, quickly closing the distance until they were within easy punching range. Unlike his opponent, Spartan had his hands much lower and he looked relaxed, almost unready. The black haired woman, with the younger man, moved to his flanks. They obviously felt more confident with the more experienced man taking the centre position. Spartan noted the way the man moved, he’d had a decent amount of boxing training at the very least. Spartan threw a couple of light jabs to get his hands up and then took two strong steps to the right to face the younger man. His face turned to stone as Spartan smashed his fist hard into the man’s jaw and sent him tumbling to the ground. Spartan turned quickly back to face the boxer when the dark haired woman moved nearer. She was trying to do something though it seemed she didn’t know what.
The boxer moved in and caught him with a punch to the arm, then moved in to try for a hit to his head. Luckily, Spartan’s reactions were fast enough that he was able to avoid the second strike but not fast enough to stop the woman jumping on him. She hung onto his shoulder and her weight pushed him off balance.
Spotting the turn of the tide the woman hit him repeatedly on the side of the head with her hands as the second woman ran over to join in, trying to hold him down. He struggled and fought but between the two of them and the big guy he couldn’t move. The man lowered himself down and punched him twice in the stomach, instantly making him gasp for air. It wasn’t enough though, Spartan had been in much worse positions. Sensing his foes thought they had the upper hand he grabbed the first woman with his legs in a strong pincer like movement. She cried out as he squeezed her, following up with a head-butt to the boxer.
He stumbled backwards but managed to stand up straight. The woman he’d locked with his legs was easily dealt with as he kicked her in the side, rolling her away from him. Blood ran down from the boxer’s nose, dripping from his lip to the floor. With this brief respite Spartan was able to strike the second woman with the base of his fist and then release himself from his position on the ground. She tumbled backwards, clutching her left arm that was at the very least dislocated. Jesus was still lying on the floor as the kicked woman lay groaning.
“Enough!” The Drill Instructor shouted.
Spartan relaxed a little as he lifted his body up straight and waited for whatever was coming next. With a couple of hand gestures three medics ran in, each checking on the injured recruits though none bothered to head for Spartan, not that he was that concerned, he barely even considered that a fight.
“As you can see, even a man like Spartan can be brought down by the co-ordinated use of appropriate
