In the dim light of the hallway Jerry Bridger checks over himself one more time. He'd had to have his uniforms retailored slightly. He'd been slack in some areas he hadn't known he was slack. Had apparently grown a few inches of height back. There was no denying that the healing coma had left him a brand new man.

The philosophy of it wasn't quite resolved, that was certain, but the mechanical effects. Well. Jerry couldn't complain. He checks his neatly groomed beard with a smile. He didn't quite have as much of a show to put on today as Black Tuesday a few months ago... but this was nonetheless an important moment. His first duty appearance after his healing coma. He settles his uniform, and triggers the door in front of him.

"Captain on deck!"

"As you were!"

Jerry barks as he strides into the simulator command room, joining the command team of his little hip pocket boot camp. First Sergeant John Hightower and Gunnery Sergeant Isabella Ramos, have broken out the black belts of authority from their drill instructor days to make the Horchka into the first non-human Marines.

The sharp campaign covers complimented the crisp patent leather belts that marked them as senior drill instructors. Mother and father to their extremely green would be Marines. Their lead green belt drill instructor, a man of African heritage, Staff Sergeant R.E. Swann, was clearly in the middle of briefing the senior SNCOs.

"Top, Gunny, Staff Sergeant, I hope I haven't missed the show."

First Sergeant Hightower grins wickedly. "You're just in time for the initial fireworks, Skipper. Your spec ops guys and a bunch of our other opfor volunteers are taking their positions now."

Jerry nods. "Brief me on the plan of the day from the top if you don't mind."

"Of course sir. Staff Sergeant."

"Aye aye sir, aye aye Top. Skipper, this is the final training exercise in our little abbreviated boot camp. Since they're combat trained already and highly experienced they can skip most of boot camp, and we instead focused on breaking them down and giving them challenges to conquer. Limiting axiom use to bare minimums, and focusing on the alien weak spot, endurance, gave us a wide degree of latitude in this regard. Thankfully we also have the danger room. As you know skipper, the training room in the Tear is set up for company scale exercises with shifting terrain and holograms. Some of the more technical minded Marines and some of the intel guys prepared something of a greatest hits list for the Horchka to fight their way through, with Marines providing the opfor so they have something besides shadows to fight."

Bridger watches intently as Swann brings up a series of video clips from previous training exercises ranging from the march to the fortress of Derna during the war with the Barbary pirates to fierce urban fighting of a decidedly more modern vintage.

"Kinda surprised they didn't break out the lava monster for them to fight."

Swann offered his commander a toothy smile. "It was considered, but we figured actual events were a bit more important."

"How long have they been in there?"

"Bout a week more or less sir. We have a bivouac set up in a set of rooms that enter into the danger room. It'll be a locker room, storage and some other things eventually, but it was a tertiary modification job to be completed en route within the next couple months, so we decided to borrow it for the time being."

"Right. So what have you thrown them through?"

"We started with the March on Derna. Just an endurance march with an easy fight at the end. Then we ramped things up with Phantom Fury 2. That was more of a combat skills test than anything. We wanted to ease them in with something that'd be hard... then ramp up the challenge for endurance's sake. They did okay in Fallujah once they figured out that sim rounds hurt like hell and the boys we had playing Johnny Jihad were absolutely doing their best to "kill" them. Corporal Malik Shakir-Mussah did an admirable job playing our terrorist leader, and our local friendly tribal elder. He also did an excellent rendition of the Adhan and other related broadcasts so we could set the mood properly."

That got a curt nod from Bridger as a storm of emotions briefly raced across his face. He'd done tours in the sand box once upon a time, and the ever present sound of the Muslim call to prayer had ended up being oddly comforting after a long enough time in country.

"Make sure that the Sergeant receives my compliments, and congratulations, both on the successful exercise and on his promotion. What after that?"

"Chosin."

Bridger winced. "Fuck. Chosin?"

Swann grins.

"Chosin. With Chesty Puller himself giving the brief. Heh. Sure it was mostly an SI algorithm fed all his speeches and writings, video, audio, and so on, but damned if he didn't have the Horchka's attention like he'd grabbed every last woman by the short n' curlies. I bet they're praying to Chesty now."

"Like any good recruit should."

The four Marines chuckled together and intoned "Good night Chesty, wherever you are." with the same energy as a group of Catholics would cross themselves.

"Make sure the Chesty SI gets refined further and passed on to Recruit Training Command. The Army guys might not want it, but the UDMC absolutely needs it."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Already working on that angle Skipper. Back on the exercise, we've been focusing on battles that either teach specific skills we want to evaluate them on, changes in fighting style to get them doing things our way, and engagements with a significant need for all the endurance training we've been forcing them through."

"Hence the march on Derna and Chosin."

"Nothing quite like a route march through hellish hot and freezing cold to really make you appreciate what their forebears went through right? As you know, they're about to start the final training evolution. It'll be another couple of days... maybe shorter if they really kick some ass. We've been telling them stories about this one to prepare them properly. Living the history of their new warrior cult has them all keyed up enough to chew through battleship armor. Major Bridger's a hell of an officer too. She’s got them all whipped up to a fever pitch. We’re gonna have to have the OpFor cheat like hell to make this a proper challenge."

"Glad to know the missus is living up to her new family name. The Corps has had a lot of Bridgers in my line, only seems right a Bridger leads a brand new type of Marine into the loving arms of Mother Corps."

"Heh, and these ones are literally green, not just metaphorically green." Gunnery Sergeant Ramos grins. "Now that these girls know you don't need watermelon sized jugs to be a woman, and smaller than you doesn't immediately mean 'Can't beat your ass into new shades of green'. Well. Frankly sir, for all the bitching some of the girls on the Dauntless have done, I'm appreciating living in a properly female dominated world. Girl power all the way and I'll slap my husband's ass and tell him to make sure dinner's ready on my way out the door. These girls just needed to learn a little... respect."

Another round of chuckles.

"So what's the final simulation?"

"See for yourself sir."

Staff Sergeant Swann offers Bridger a pair of goggles, and he suddenly finds himself riding on Ghorza's shoulder.

The world shifts around them as holoprojectors kick in, and the sounds of naval gunfire echo in his ears. They're all crouched in what Bridger recognizes as Higgins boat.

"Alright you dumb bimbos. We know what this place is. What it means. We want what the Corps offers us, it's at the top of that mountain."

Jerry's point of view swings as Ghorza gestures to the mountain in the distance. He didn't need to see more than an outline to know exactly where they were. He knew this island. This battle. Every Marine did. They were heading towards the black sand beaches of Iwo Jima.

The Eagle Globe and Anchor device that these alien women who were born so far from Iwo Jima's sulfur sands desired awaited at the peak of the towering Mount Suribachi.

"I'm still not entirely sure about making aliens Marines on some level sir. I get why, and I've seen them drill, these girls kick ass. But can we really make them... well. Us?"

Swann expressed a moment of doubt. Of concern. This was new territory after all. It would either make them all legends within the traditions of human Marines... or villains for all time. Or at the very least equivalent to unprintable army types.

Jerry leaned back for a second, considering the holo display a moment before he finally spoke.

"Well Staff Sergeant, that's just a matter of ensuring our standards are high enough and we're tough enough." Jerry smiled softly. "In the end, people have been saying Marines aren’t human since long before we left Earth. We all know the old saying, and I'll amend it for the circumstances. It doesn't matter if they're the old breed or the new breed, the human breed or an alien breed, so long as they're the Marine breed."

The assembled NCOs watch as their boss sets the viewer aside, noting the grin gracing his now much younger features.

“Top, there room for one more in the sim? Maybe a spare uniform kicking around? I speak a decent amount of Japanese so I can yell at some people realistically enough.”

Top Hightower glances at Gunny Ramos and the two exchange a nod.

“Actually skipper, I was going to go in and take command as Rikugun-Chūjō Kuribayashi Tadamichi. However you have more experience with commanding troops in the field than I do. Would you like to take command of the defense?”

Jerry’s face lights up with an almost childlike glee. “You have a katana for me I assume?”

“And whatever other gear you might want.”

“Let’s do it. Get me a comm channel while I’m changing, I need to brief the troops and issue orders and they’re already heading in.”

“Maybe ten minutes till they hit the beach, they’re following the original defense plan to the letter.”

“That’ll do perfectly for now, the girls won’t be expecting us to draw them in and then hit them. We’ve been honing them to a fine edge to be proper shock troops, but that can make us… a bit bullheaded.”

“Us? Not them?” Gunny Ramos arches an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Gunny if there’s a day when Marines aren’t described as loud mouthed, swaggering, arrogant, aggressive and bullheaded, the Corps has truly fallen and our kind will have died out from this universe. But that day isn’t today… We have at least another three hundred years on the clock from Iwo Jima, and with our new mean and green recruits, I aim to show the whole galaxy why. Top, with me. The rest of you, carry on!”

And with that, Jerry is out the door, with Hightower hot on his heels.

Swann gapes a bit in the dust of his commander rushing off towards the locker rooms.

“Is he always like that? He’s gung ho as hell for a squid.”

Gunny Ramos chuckles.

“You clearly ain't seen his dress uniform if you think the skipper is just a squid. He’s one of us, and on top of that, he's a goddamn Raider, Staff Sergeant. You should know they’re all the most gung ho motherfuckers in the Corps, even when they’re jaded and broken, even if they don’t want to admit it. Even if they've been exiled to a squid's uniform. They still love the Corps, and the Corps loves them… and the Skipper? He never got jaded… and even if he had. Well. We’re out on the greatest adventure our species has ever been on. That’ll heal the most jaded spirit. And that’s before some of you boys end up neck deep in alien trim.”

“Hah. Fair enough Gunny. Though, you’re a raider too aren’t you?”

Ramos nods. “You’re goddamn right I am, and I’m gung ho too. Right, enough blathering like old biddies, you all heard the skipper, let’s make sure these boots know they earned it when they get to the top of Suribachi!”