The sharp click of Jerry's heels coming together echo slightly in the thrown together squad bay for Recruit Platoon 1001, A Company. He'd just finished administering the Drill Instructor's oath, and laying out his expectations and intentions for training. Now it was time to hand things over to the professionals and make this group of mean, green soldiers from beyond the stars into Marines.
"Chief Drill Instructor."
First Sergeant John Hightower snaps to and steps forward crisply, coming to a perfect position of attention. "Reporting as ordered sir."
The men formally exchange salutes, parade ground crisp with every motion.
"You have my orders, carry out the plan of the day."
Jerry turns on a heel and marches out of the squad bay as the tension starts to grow behind him. He can almost feel it... and heads into the Drill Instructor house through its outside entrance so he can listen in and watch the show.
"I am Marine First Sergeant John Hightower, I will be the Chief Drill instructor for A Company, including Platoon 1001. I want to make something perfectly clear to you ladies. Some of you have perceptions of men in general and humans of all genders in particular. As weak. Soft creatures. We are smaller than you on average after all. You will unlearn this the hard way.”
First Sergeant Hightower begins to walk the ranks, heels clicking sharply with every step.
“This man's Marine Corps does not care for race, species, or gender. You are either a Marine, or not. You have come to earn this position with us, and we have accepted your desire. To that end, we shall give you what you desire. This will not be fun. This will not be easy. I have trained thousands of Marines. Some of them came to me as proficient killers and warriors, as you no doubt are... I broke them all the same.”
On reaching the end of the group of recruits, Hightower performs a sharp, parade ground perfect about face.
“I don't have to train you how to fight, and that's good, because we need more Marines right the hell now and not having to teach you maggots which end of a gun is the one you point at the enemy will save my Drill Instructors untold amounts of time.”
He starts looking into the eyes of various recruits, his steely eyed gaze making more than a few of the Horchka blink, cowed by what they saw in the man’s eyes.
“This means I have much more time to make Marines out of you... and when I'm done, rest assured, you will feel you have earned your place in the warrior culture your war chief has pledged you to join. I have studied your culture. My drill instructors have studied your physiology. All the easier that most of you are Horchka."
Hightower smiles, a grin that wouldn't be out of place on a wolf.
"You girls think you're strong, but you use axiom. All of you. We are going to make your bodies worthy of the muscle a lot of you have on you. You'll be fighting through null like it's a goddamn weekend on the beach when I'm done with you.”
Hightower comes to a stop by a wooden panel with a polished brass bell. Something they’d borrowed from the SEALs, but something the Marines had decided would be a useful bit of pageantry for the Horchka.
“The first woman to wimp out and actively use axiom to enhance their strength or endurance will be peeling tubers for the next meal with the cooks. The second and every girl after her can go slum with the naval troops instead. You'll still be soldiers. Still be Undaunted. But you won't be a Marine, and if I've learned anything about your culture... every last damn one of you wants one of these."
First Sergeant Hightower's hand gestures to the Eagle Globe and Anchor insignia on top of his campaign cover.
"My sole mission is to ensure every last one of you earns it with blood, sweat and tears. If at any point you decide you don’t want my emblem, you don’t want to be a Marine, you just ring my bell, and you can go on your way. I bet the naval troops won’t even train you. Just put you in a uniform because you’re experienced fighters."
Hightower crisply turns on a heel, slowly moving the length of the seated platoon, heels clicking with every perfectly measured step.
"For those of you with the guts to stay, however, you will learn the customs, courtesies and history of the United States Marine Corps, and some of our sister Corps from across Earth. I would provide more variety, but we're still in the process of building things up for the Undaunted. Maybe some of you will help us with that in the coming years... but some things are universal to Terran Marines and by God as my witness you will learn."
He stops crisply at the door Jerry had just departed from, another perfect about face letting him face the room.
"Your Senior Drill Instructor will be Gunnery Sergeant Isabella Ramos. Senior Drill Instructor."
The familiar face of one of Jerry's most accomplished protégés emerges from beneath the shadows of her campaign cover as she tilts her chin up and steps forward, fire burning in her eyes. The average Horchka towered over the petite Latina woman, but she radiated presence, as did the green belt drill instructors behind her, who leaned in slightly now, like attack dogs waiting to be let off the leash.
"Yes, Chief Drill Instructor."
"Senior Drill Instructor, carry out the plan of the day."
"Aye aye, sir."
And with that, First Sergeant Hightower departs... and quickly joins Jerry in the drill instructor house.
"Fancy meeting you here sir."
"Top, masterfully delivered as always."
"It's a pleasure sir, now let's see what Gunny Ramos does. She wouldn't share her speech with me."
Out in the squad bay, Gunny Ramos had already introduced herself and was pacing the rows of recruits. The Senior Drill Instructor comes to a stop in front of Ghorza.
"I have authorization to be especially hard with this platoon. Most of you are slated to be the senior command cadre. Including the commander of the Marine detachment on this ship.My Drill Instructors and I are aware of your records, and we respect your previous accomplishments. But we're still going to scream at you like a bunch of shave tailed recruits because you want to be Marines and not only do you want to be Marines, you want to lead Marines... there's a price to be paid for that desire, and we will collect it from you.”
Ramo’s heels click as she comes to a stop in front of Ghorza, looking directly into her future commanding officer’s eyes. She was speaking to the platoon, but this particular part of the message was for Ghorza specifically.
“If we fail. If we slack. We'll all pay the price down the line. So expect no mercy. Because the enemies you are expected to lead us against have none.”
Ramos's head snaps to the left and to the right, eyes burning with an intensity that could pierce tank armor as she begins to walk again.
"To that end. The following standards are what is expected of you. Whatever rank you are slated to have is nothing. Whatever rank you had is nothing. Here you are nothing. Just... creatures. You'll earn the right to be a Marine, or you can go take your old identity back and be whatever you were before but in a normal Undaunted uniform instead of the Marine uniform you're here to earn.”
Ramos makes a slow loop around the platoon, making them crane their necks to keep an eye on her without breaking their seated position.
“To that end, when addressing a Marine the last word out of your tusky mouths will be ma'am or sir. When speaking, you will not use any form of personal pronouns such as "I". You are "this recruit" from now on until told otherwise.If I or one of my drill instructors calls out "Ears", you will respond with "Open ma'am!" and give the Drill Instructor your full attention. If you hear the command "Eyeballs!" You will immediately look at the Drill Instructor in question and respond 'Click ma'am!'"
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She was getting into her groove now, and Jerry smiles as he switches his attention to his newest wife, her shock of long red hair tied back in a tight braid. Ghorza was sharp, she didn't know what the fruit salad on Gunny Ramos's shirt would mean, but she would know they represented accomplishments and seniority. Jerry didn't know Ghorza all that well, but he could almost hear her wondering just how many would be Marines Gunny Ramos had trained in her time before she volunteered for the Dauntless.
"If you are asked a question, you will reply cleanly and quickly with yes ma'am, or no ma'am. If you are given an order you will reply with aye aye ma'am and do it post haste. In fact you will do everything we do here with a quickness. I want to see nothing but amphibious green blurs when orders are given during your time in recruit training.”
Gunny Ramos seems to be punctuating her statements with sharp clicks of her heels now as she walks.
“If a drill instructor gives you a task and begins to count, at the end of the count on "zero" you will freeze immediately and call out "Done ma'am!", or prepare to receive incentive training for being too slow to do what needs to be done properly. Furthermore, if you hear "Zero!" as a command in any context you will freeze until released. And by freeze I mean exactly where you are, the split picosecond you hear it. If that means hovering in mid air you will do so.”
Finally, she comes to a halt in front of the platoon again, facing them with a parade ground perfect right face.
“Your final standard orders will be on line, and count off. If you hear on line you will drop whatever you are doing and get your toes on my goddamn red line, on either side of the inboard foot locker next to your racks, before the countdown is finished. On "count off", you'll stick your hand out and a drill instructor will pass by, as fast as you can, you will crisply count your number, which is marked on your footlocker in the event you're too damn dense to remember a single or two digit number. Everyone got that?"
The freshly demoted mercenaries respond with a ragged chorus of "Yes ma'ams." drawing a snarl from Gunny Ramos.
"What in the name of Chesty Puller's green earth was that? Was that supposed to be a response?"
Gunny Ramos visibly rubs her forehead, clearly becoming angrier to any of the recruits who could see her.
"Shit sir, they're pissing off their black belt for real day one. Black Friday is usually simulated just to make the recruits sweat, but she might actually turn the kill hats all the way loose."
Jerry smirks. "Well, she's got every right to, we did tell her to hold Platoon 1001 to the highest standard possible. These are officers and NCOs in the making after all. They need to be a cut above."
"Bullshit, I still can't hear you!"
Gunny Ramos's voice was full of Latina inflection now, to Jerry and Top Hightower's ear they were half expecting the Gunnery Sergeant to shift back to the thick Chola accent they both knew she'd grown up in South Central LA with.
That her voice was still perfectly clear and her language precise despite the slight accent slipping in to distort her words in Galactic Trade let both men know their colleague was still acting and not actively intending to put a boot up the recruit's collective asses yet.
"Were you mercenaries actually breaking things and killing people or were you just particularly aggressive door to door cookie saleswomen? Because frankly I'm not sure I believe you're all hardened bad ass bitches from across the stars. The only decent volume I'm getting out of any of you is your boss... which just goes to show the ship's commanding officer ended up with the pick of the litter. Hear me now ladies. You will all learn, I will make Marines out of you or kill you trying. But, since you don't want to do this the easy way... Get on line!"
The room explodes into motion as the recruits race for their bunks, occasionally getting a bit lost in sheer confusion that was figuring out where they belonged in the squad bay.
"Five, four, three, two I... Zero! What in the hell do you think you're doing over there?"
Three recruits were trying to figure out their positions by one of the racks towards the end and more or less pushing and shoving at each other instead of actually making sure they were where they belonged.
A lip curls on the tiny human woman in charge of this mob, a sneer of sheer disgust.
"...Really? I just. Fine. EARS!"
"OPEN MA'AM!"
"EYEBALLS!"
"CLICK MA'AM."
"Better volume, but it's clear to me that you ladies need to learn the hard way. I was going to give you all the benefit of the doubt. Show some degree of credit because I'm a bleeding heart and I respect your combat records, but we can do it the way we did it down at MCRD Parris Island.”
Ramos steps up to the guide’s rack, the sole bunk in the middle, and Jerry swears he can sense Ramos consider dumping the thing and starting the Black Tuesday festivities herself. Instead she continues to speak.
“Just know, whatever happens to you. Whatever is inflicted upon you in recruit training, the only person inflicting it on you is you. My Drill Instructors and I will never punish you for sport, or for our own amusement. You're not that interesting. We are here to make you learn, and if you are not learning then we will make you strong via the quarterdeck, where my law will be carried out until your bodies burn with the desire to learn.”
Gunny Ramos performs a sharp about face and stalks her way up the squad bay, anger evident in every step.
“So. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Either you learn, and you perform. Or by whatever god you ladies believe in I will make you stronger than any Horchka has ever been before. As The Chief Drill Instructor said I will have you girls doing combat drills in null by the time my Drill Instructors are done with you... and that's just part of the standard plan for our little exercise regime. I have no issue with my Drill Instructors going further and rebuilding you into warrior demi goddesses because you're too stupid to learn any way but the hard way."
Ramos spins on a heel, the sharp clicks of those heels coming together echoing through the squad bay as she marches back to where the green belt drill instructors wait.
"Drill Instructor."
"Yes, Senior Drill Instructor?"
"Carry out the plan of the day. Today, they've decided they want to become stronger, not smarter. Oblige the recruits."
"Aye aye ma'am."
The squad bay is dead silent except for the clicks of Gunny Ramos' heels as she completes her parade ground perfect march into the room labeled as the DI house. The second the door closes behind her the squad bay explodes into a tornado of movement and sound as the Kill Hats tear into the recruits like sharks into a school of oversized green guppies.
Ramos nods curtly to her superiors. "Gentlemen, I assume the ‘show’ was satisfactory?"
Jerry chuckles, watching as the first few recruits are told to start beating their faces against the deck till the stupid falls out after failing to obey an order properly. The push ups and other incentive exercises would be brutal today.
"Gunny remind me to never get on your bad side. That was textbook perfect with your own flair. If you want recruit training duty in the future, say the word and I'll cut the orders to send you back, but I'd rather you give me the excuse to hold on to you till Cistern pries your orders from my cold dead hands."
The smaller woman smirks. "Someone's gotta show these aliens how Marines do business sir, but frankly I'm hoping this is the last recruit platoon I put through its paces. There's far too much to see out here than to have to worry about putting boot to ass in anything but the fleet again. Especially now that I’m back in a Marine uniform where I damn well belong!"
"Fair enough Gunny. On that same note... did I detect some actual anger there? What triggered that?"
The Latina woman stops for a second, contemplating. "I suppose I was a little angry sir. I could smell it."
Now it's First Sergeant Hightower's turn to contemplate. "Smell what exactly?"
"Except Ghorza, who I assume you briefed, skipper, these green and gray skinned bitches aren't showing me proper respect. It's common enough for human women dealing with xenos. We look childlike to them because we're not hauling twenty pounds of tits and ass around, and if there's one thing people ignore more than a perceived sexual inferior, it's a child. I'm sure you boys are learning all about that since we left Cruel Space."
Jerry nods slowly. "I’ve seen it. We get underestimated quite a bit as men because we're the weaker gender, meant to be coddled and protected."
"Well the other thing you coddle and protect is a child, and I look like a little girl to Xenos eyes. Doesn't help that I wasn't exactly the tallest girl back home, and these fucking Horchka all happen to top out over six damn feet. I'm going to start sweeping legs to get in their damn faces if I have to."
"With my full blessing Gunny, they're big girls, they can take a little rough housing, and if it takes an ass beating or two to ‘communicate’ your qualifications to them... well. I’d prefer you not but-"
Ramos holds up a hand. "No sir, I was just being colorful with my language, I don't think we need to do things ‘Nam style. They'll learn the modern way just fine. If I have to beat one black and blue... err. Darker green. It'll be subduing them for the MPs, not establishing dominance."
Now that puts a smile on Jerry's face, always good to know your subordinates were on the same page.
"Excellent Isabella, I’m damn proud of how far you’ve come since you were a pissed off Lance Corporal in my unit, and I'm damn glad you're running 1001.”
Isabella Ramos, freshly returned to a Marine uniform, and ascended to the mythical rank of Gunnery Sergeant purely based on Jerry’s confidence in her, a confidence born of long years of working together gives Jerry a megawatt smile he knew the recruits wouldn’t believe she was capable of, eagerly drinking in the praise.
“You got it, Skipper. Damn though. Just kinda reminded me how damn far we’ve come together though. You, me and Johnny.”
“It’s been awhile to be sure.”
The trio start to head into the corridor, when Isabella suddenly stops short.
“Hey Skipper, you’re an actual Skipper now right? Captain of a ship?”
“Yep.”
“...I gotta talk to Johnny, but you’ve… been there for us for a long time. Would you be willing to perform a wedding service for us? Been thinkin about it since the fraternization reg basically got tossed. Can’t have any green skinned bitches trying to jump my claim.”
“It’d be an honor Isabella. Now... shall we check in on Platoon 1002?"