"What's your name!!?"

The drill sergeant shouted to the face of a young man who just came here on a truck after leaving his family for the nation. After the nationwide draft, many youths were also enlisted in the army for the new front led by Colonel Mckanthy.

The moment the words came out of his mouth, the spits also spew along with them. It soiled the young man's face yet he did not dare to wipe them.

"I said what's your name!!" The instructor yelled again. The poor boy answered in a shaky voice, "Br... Bruno, sir!"

"No!! You are private! Understand? Private!! Twenty sit-ups."

"Yes sir!"

After scaring the first kid, he chose his second target. He glared at the lad as if he would eat him alive.

"What's your name!?" He asked again.

"Kline, sir!"

The answer made the sergeant angrier though there was no reason to be angry in the first place.

"Wrong!"

He shouted into the lad's face. The spit drenched him.

"You are PRIVATE! Understand? Private. How many times do I have to say!? Twenty sit-ups."

"Yes sir!"

The drill sergeant turned to the next one. It was Vicka. Again he asked the same question. After the two earlier were drenched in saliva, Vicka answered confidently. "Private, sir!"

The sergeant raised his eyebrows. Then he closed into Vicka's face until they nearly touched. The sergeant glared at Vicka with his red eyes.

"Being smart, huh? Do you think you are so smart? If you are private then how DO I Differentiate you and those two earlier!? Huh!? Thirty sit-ups."

The reply from the sergeant baffled him. Drowned in spits like he just showered under some sticky smelly water, Vicka believed he and everyone were being ridiculed for no reason. When they said their names, the man said wrong. When he spoke what the man told, he was still wrong. The heck? This is so bizarre. This is bullying. Vicka thought to himself.

After his third victim, the sergeant turned to his fourth. This time, it was Clooney. He asked the name. Clooney straightened his back and shouted his name loud and clear.

"Private Clooney, sir!"

As soon as he heard the answer, he stomped his feet proudly. "That's right. Private CLOO~ney. That's how I can tell if you are Major Clooney who I have to kiss his ass or rat-ass Private Clooney who I told to kiss my smelly ass. One point to private Clooney."

Clooney's uncle was a retired major colonel. He got some how-to-survive-in-boot-camp tips before coming here. That was how he was not intimidated by him and could think straight. It was also Clooney who persuaded Vicka to enlist in the army when the football tournament was cancelled.

After the nationwide draft, the regional tournament was cancelled and a recruitment officer came to Plum Town for new recruits. Although it said voluntary recruitment on paper, on the ground, it was mandatory enlistment. A draft. A set number of recruits must be met or they would be taken randomly by force.

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Clooney and Dickson enlisted immediately since they had nothing to do. They believed this was their chance, their calling, to become a war hero themselves, to be part of something greater.

They called Vicka to enlist together. Vicka hated it.

He believed the war was bloody stupid and built on lies that he wanted to take no part in it.

The man from the alley said that the real reason was the oil aka the money. It was why the area around the oil field was the first place taken by massive force from Davia; not the border town of Narimé where lots of Davians were suspected to be persecuted.

Then again, his journalist career was in no progress and his family had no money to survive for the next year so enlistment would give some breather for his family. His salary would provide the tuition fees for his older brother who was in medical school in the capital.

Also, Clooney's words convinced him even more. In his exact words: _no one will read an article written by nobody. But an article by a war veteran who had served the nation with his life will be in the first column. Once you get popular, you can make anything a success._

The sergeant continued his speech with his ragged voice. He had been yelling the whole time so it become ragged. "For the first three days, you all will be given a stick. Yeah! A fricking stick because we don't trust you yet. Think of it as your gun. Understand?"

"Yes sir!"

"Now, MOVE your ass and take one each from that rack. Then get up that hill and return before noon. If anyone of you returns over the noon, all of you will say goodbye to your first lunch!"

And so, Vicka, Clooney, Dickson and ninety-seven others had to run up a huge hill without any warm-up. They also had to carry their bags which were given out to them the moment they were dropped off the trucks. They were full-combat bags.

The sergeant first class sat down by a tree bark near the field after his nonstop shouting his ass off while the lower two sergeants ran along with the recruits.

"Move it. Move. It is eleven-ten now. You lazy asses better hurry up."

The hill was farther than they thought, and steeper than they imagined. Some might even call it a small mountain. With the load on their back, it took a toll even on fit people like Dickson who had a lot of stamina. They thought it would be easy after being trained to run around for ninety minutes.

"The hell with this big ass shovel," a recruit complained, "are we making full toilet on frontline now?"

"Tell that when you have an axe on you. I don't understand why they gave me a big axe." Another one told while panting hard.

Vicka looked back at his bag. A shovel. Same with Clooney. But Dickson was carrying a toolbox. A hammer was sticking out of it.

The moment they reached the top, some dropped to the ground. A few were retching while a chubby boy was vomiting the food he shoved in during the ride. A person looked around suspiciously if anyone was watching him. Then he took out a can of food from his bag and hid it inside the bush to make his bag lighter. Unfortunately, Vicka locked eyes with him. They stared at each other for a moment. Then he realised Vicka would not snitch so he took out another one.

"Get up you sissies. Your trips aren't over. MOVE!"

The recruits resumed running again after the sergeants pushed their asses. One of the recruits shouted angrily while pointing at the chubby boy, "Hey! Someone pulled up that fat ass or none of us will get to eat."

Vicka remembered the shouting guy as Kline. Kline was already pulling up another guy. Vicka and Clooney quickly ran to the chubby boy and pulled him up from each shoulder. Dickson got his bag.

"Hey, what's your name?"

"Private Berry, sir!"

"I am Clooney. This is Dickson and Klein. We will help you so get up."

"Thank you, sir."

"Stop your 'sir'. We are recruits like you. Now get up or every starving man here will eat you alive."

And so, by helping each other, they made it by a close margin. The moment they reached the dining hall, none of us could eat right away. They needed time to breathe.

The first three days were the same routine. They ran up the hill in the morning. In the evening, they dag then refilled then do that again the next day. While some had to chop wood.

On the fourth day, they saw their first gun. It was 1909 issued bolt action rifle that could easily kill from 500m. The magazine was fitted to load 9 bullets.

"This is Dir '09, the standard rifle of our great army. From here onward, this is your new soulmate. Love it like you love your wife, a newlywed. Not twenty-years-together wife. Do not lose sight of it or you will pay dearly."

It excited the boys. That's what they were here for anyway. The guns, knives and grenades which the boys loved to play. It made them feel like the real soldiers now. Like the 'real' man.