Give ear to my words, O LORD,

Consider my groaning.

Heed the sound of my cry for help, my King and my God,

For to You I pray.

Psalm 5:1-2

Attrition

The rhythmic thud of pulse fire faded into the distance as Wade’s battered squad took a momentary respite in the bombed out remains of a formerly palatial mansion obviously once owned by the wealthy. Streaks of azure residue arced across the cracked concrete walls, grim testaments to the ferocity of the latest engagement.

As the adrenaline ebb allowed fatigue to seep back into his muscles, Wade slumped against the wall beside Alex. Across the room, Briggs muttered a hushed prayer before rejoining them, his expression haggard yet resolute. The three had traded the squad leader’s position many times over the last 96 hours and the emotional weight was beginning to register.

“How you holdin’ up, brothers?” Briggs asked, struggling to catch his breath.

Wade managed a wan smile, shrugging off the streaks of ichor clinging to his scarred armor. “Honestly? I’m holding it together by a thread.”

A brooding silence stretched between them, the unspoken realities of their ordeal looming large. Four days into their crucible within the Zoo, their six-person squad had been whittled to a mere three survivors. Food and ammo dwindled critically low, fraying their mental state as the relentless engagements exacted a brutal toll.

Torry had been the first to fall, blown apart by his own plasma grenade that bounced back into his position after hitting the light pole in front of him during a vicious street battle. Klingston lingered for two agonizing hours after a Skravak bite eviscerated him. They called for a medevac but the corpsmen were powerless to halt the spread of infection. He was dead before the hovercraft lifted from their sight. And just hours ago, Smith had been snatched away, dragged into the ravenous maw of a towering Skravak Hunter before they could react.

“I keep seeing their faces,” Wade murmured, his voice edged with a tremor. “Every time I try to sleep, I see Torry’s body exploding…Klingston screaming as the infection ate him alive…” He trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat.

Wade felt a profound ache resonate within him, the echoes of Mike’s own demise adding a dissonant chord to their mounting grief.

Briggs reached out, gripping Wade’s shoulder in a steadying embrace. “We can’t lose ourselves in this,” he said, his voice rasping with the dryness clawing at his throat. “They knew the risks, same as us. We’ve gotta keep our eyes forward, focused on getting through this.” His expression hardened, a glimmer of the old tormentor surfacing briefly.

“How, Briggs? How can I just… move past watching our brothers get butchered?” He shook his head, anguish burning in his eyes. “I’m trying, man. I’m trying to be strong, to stay in the fight. But it’s like…a piece of me fractures more with every loss.”

There was no rebuke, no placating reassurance Briggs could offer. Only a weary nod of commiseration as the weight of their shared trauma bore down upon them with crushing inevitability.

Briggs’ Transformation

A heavy pause lingered before Wade found the words to pierce the veil once more. “You’re different,” he said, a glimmer of wonderment creeping into his tone despite the oppressive pall. “I don’t know how else to say it, but…you’re not the same guy you used to be.” He gestured to the battered New Testament tucked into Briggs’ chest armor, the cover stained and scuffed yet somehow enduring. “What changed?”

For a long moment, Briggs seemed adrift, his gaze distant as the burdens temporarily slipped from his shoulders. When he finally spoke, it was with a measured cadence, his words laced with a conviction that cut through the bleakness like a beacon.

“It was Mike,” Briggs said simply. “After his…after my failure, I was lost in this haze of anger and guilt. But Chaplain Bronson understood, he saw something in me that needed tending.” A rueful chuckle escaped him. “Crazy old Padre wouldn’t give up, kept talking to me about forgiveness, about letting go.”

Wade listened in reverent silence, aware that this was a reckoning long in the making for his brother-in-arms.

“I didn’t want to hear it at first,” Briggs continued. “I was so wrapped up in my own pain, my own twisted notion that I deserved to suffer for what happened to Mike.” He exhaled slowly, the memories seeming to weigh upon him like a physical burden. “But Bronson, he had this…this light about him, you know? Even in the darkest hour, he kept talking about the peace and forgiveness God offers through His Son, Jesus Christ. The more I believed, the more I had this sense of peace that just didn’t make sense.”

Alex regarded them both with somber understanding, his obsidian eyes glittering in the half-light.

“It was Mike’s faith,” Briggs said, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I saw Mike’s commitment to Jesus and the Chaplain connected the dots for me. Bronson helped me realize that despite all my sins, despite the horrible person I’d been…”

Reverential quiet cloaked the trio as Briggs gathered his thoughts once more.

“So I started reading the Bible the Chaplain gave me, just…trying to understand what drove Mike to such unshakable faith in the face of everything we were going through. And somewhere along the way, it started making sense.” He fixed Wade with an intense stare, his expression equal parts haunted and serene. “I realized that Mike’s sacrifice didn’t have to be in vain. Mike never stopped believing in Jesus and even in me. I surrendered myself to God’s plan for my life and took on the same faith Mike had. I believe that not only did Mike die for me, he was just doing what Jesus has done for me already…for all of us. I’m like a new man…reborn. I can’t think of a better way to honor Mike. “

Raw emotion swelled in Wade’s chest as the implications washed over him. In that moment, he saw his brother shed the final vestiges of the tormentor who had once made their lives a living hell. What emerged was a warrior reconstructed from the ashes, hardened by tribulation yet burnished by a newfound faith.

“I’m not the same person I was,” Briggs said, his voice catching with a ragged edge. “I can’t be. Not after…not after everything we’ve been through together.” He clasped Wade’s hand with a bone-crushing intensity, eyes glistening yet burning with a renewed conviction. “But I’m going to keep fighting. I’m going to survive this trial, for Mike’s sake. So that his sacrifice meant something, lit a path for someone as lost and broken as me.”

David vs. Goliath

The respite ended abruptly as the distant whump of ordnance detonating sent tremors rippling through the structure. Instinctively, Wade and Briggs rose, weapons snapping up as they oriented on the threat.

“Sounds like another squad caught a bad beat two blocks east,” Alex rumbled, already scanning for potential ingress points. “Won’t be long before those Skravak freaks come slithering this way looking for easy prey.”

A grim nod passed between them as their burdens were temporarily overshadowed by the drive to survive, to endure no matter the cost. There could be no more doubts, no indulgence of weakness as their path became clear once more.

“Faith or not,” Wade growled, sighting down the scope of his pulse rifle. “We’re not leaving this forsaken wasteland without a few more trophies to bring back to the DIs.”

Briggs’ laughter rang with the freedom of a man newly unshackled from the weight of his demons. “You’ve got that right, brother. Better make sure we save some for the Gunny – I hear she gets cranky if her war trophies run low.”

For a fleeting breath, their masks of hardened warriors slipped, allowing the forging brotherhood to shine through untarnished. Then the moment was gone, usurped by the clarion call of imminent battle raging ever closer.

Alex clapped them both on the shoulder as the screams of the insectoids echoed through the twilight din. “No more speeches, comprehende? Lock and load, you two – we’ve still got work to do.”

The Last Hunter

Wade crouched low, as he flanked the ruined facade of a burned-out storefront. Beside him, Alex moved with the grace of a seasoned predator, his eyes scanning the shadows for any hint of movement.

“See anything?” Wade hissed, the grip on his rifle slick with perspiration.

Alex shook his head almost imperceptibly. “Not ye-“

The words died in his throat as a thunderous crash resounded from a side alley to their left. Both Marines snapped their weapons in that direction, fingers tightening on the triggers in grim anticipation.

A deafening roar shook the air, the haunting bellow of something truly primordial. Wade felt the chill of dread lance down his spine as a towering silhouette emerged from the shadows, blotting out the dim light filtering through the wreckage.

It stood nearly ten feet tall, a grotesque mass of bulging muscles sheathed in jagged black greenish armor. Despite the myriad gouges and rents scoring its chitinous hide, the sheer lethality radiating from the beast was undeniable. Beady crimson eyes burned with malevolence as row upon row of serrated fangs parted, viscous drool spattering the pavement.

The Skravak Hunter let loose another ear-splitting bellow, flexing its wickedly hooked talons and rearing back on its powerful haunches. Wade’s mind raced, every scrap of training and battlefield experience coalescing into a singular, combat focus.

“Briggs…” he murmured into the squad comm, unwavering dread seeping into his voice. “We’ve got a big problem here.”

Seconds later, Briggs appeared on their six, his breath ragged yet his rifle trained steadily on the behemoth emerging from the gloom. “You were spot on when you said…BIG!.”

Wade appraised their predicament with ruthless pragmatism. Three Marines with dwindling ammunition against what could only be described as a Skravak Juggernaut, the apex predator of its twisted brood. He grimaced as another roar ripped through the still air, shaking debris loose from the shattered structures around them.

“Buy me ten seconds,” he growled into the comm. “I have a shot lined up, but I’ll need you to draw it in closer.”

Briggs met his gaze with a solemn nod, undaunted despite the surmounting odds. “You got it, brother. Alex and I will make some noise, get that ugly freakshow to focus on us.” His jaw set in a grim line. “Just make it count when you take the shot.”

Alex was already on the move, scooping up a jagged chunk of ferrocrete and hurling it squarely at the Hunter’s domed skull with a savage grunt. “Come get some, Insecto!” he bellowed with a feral grin, reckless bravado belying the direness of the situation.

With a speed that defied its monstrous bulk, the Hunter pivoted towards the sound of Alex’s taunts, unfurling to its full height as it zeroed in on the two Marines. Another deafening roar split the air as it charged with earth-shaking strides, opening its cavernous maw and revealing a horrifying array of fangs glistening with ropes of drool.

Wade steadied his breathing, the world around him receding into a hyper-focused tunnel as he tracked the behemoth’s movements with the reticule of his scope. He was dimly aware of Briggs and Alex blanketing a hail of covering fire at near-point-blank range, the azure lances of their pulse rifles glancing harmlessly off the Hunter’s thick armor.

A bone-rattling impact shook the ground as the creature slammed into their position with the fury of an out-of-control freight train. Wade saw Alex fly backward, his body ragdolling over a heap of rubble with sickening force. Briggs somersaulted to the side, narrowly avoiding being crushed beneath the Hunter’s stamping talons.

Every second seemed to stretch into an eternity as the beast wheeled about, its immense bulk thudding against the scorched buildings. Wade braced for the shot, compensating for the minor tremors rippling through his frame. The Hunter’s skull filled his crosshairs, the pulsing crimson glow of its eyes boring through his soul.

He squeezed the trigger and the rifle bucked in his grip, the thunderous report joining the cacophony engulfing the ruined street. Shards of chitin exploded outward as the plasma bolt found its mark, punching through one of the creature’s eyes in a gout of viscous yellow ichor.

Despite the devastating impact, the Hunter just seemed to grow more enraged, whipping its massive head back and forth as its remaining eye blazed with primal hate. Wade cursed as he realized his shot had only managed to graze the reinforced cranium, rather than severing the cerebral node controlling its body functions.

“No!” he roared, frustration and weariness fracturing his composure. That was the last round any of them had in their rifles. They gambled the entire ordnance on the one shot.

Wade was incensed and shouted – “I need to get on top of it, draw it down that alley!”

Briggs was already moving, abandoning cover as he sprinted towards the maddened juggernaut with his rifle bayonet-fixed. Alex recovered in time to join the fray, drawing his combat blade as he launched himself onto the creature’s flank in a blur of motion.

“Wade, now!” Briggs bellowed, driving the bayonet deep into the Hunter’s haunch as it reared up in agony. “Get up top!”

With a feral roar of his own, Wade charged forward with his K-bar clutched in a reverse grip. He vaulted off an outcropping of wreckage, up on a wall leading to the roofline of the buildings along the alley. His pre-Marine obsession with parkour training came into play instinctively as muscle memory took over. He launched himself onto the towering beast’s back. Punishing blows from its flailing limbs pounded against his armor as he scrambled for footing amidst the jagged plates erupting from its armored hide.

Bracing himself against the jarring impacts, he raised his combat knife high, then drove it down with every ounce of strength he could muster. The razor-edged blade found its mark, punching through the nape of the creature’s neck and sheering deep into its spinal cord.

A shudder rippled through its immense frame, quickly giving way to violent spasms as the cerebral node was severed. With a final, gurgling roar, the Hunter toppled forward in a thunderous crash.

Wade rolled clear, his limbs thrumming with the exhilaration of victory even as his muscles threatened to give out. He lay there, chest heaving, as Briggs and Alex approached with wide grins.

“That is one big ugly bug,” Alex rumbled as he sheathed his blade, extending a hand to haul Wade upright.

“You’re telling me,” Wade growled through his clenched teeth, covered in bug blood.

The massive Skravak Hunter carcass lay twitching amid the rubble. Wade regained his feet, legs wobbling from the adrenaline rush. A grin spread across his dirt-streaked face as he raised the butt of his K-Bar to his lips like a microphone. Then broke into an impromptu victory rap. Alex and Briggs joined in, adding their own verses as they danced with triumphant glee.

Yo, yo, listen up y’all

We ’bout to drop some rhymes, stand tall

This is the story of some Marine bros

Who went buck wild and smashed their foes

Alex chimed in;

We rolled up in the Zoo, suited and snooty

Skravak freaks, we kicked ’em in da bootie

Chitterin’ and hissin’, these bugs was wack

But we shut ’em down with a massive attack

Bullets blastin’, grenades erupted

Left their nasty hides disruptin’

Briggs throws down;

We cold, we hard, we mean

We a bunch of Lean, mean fightin’ machine

Took down that big Hunter, the big ol’ boss

Left it slain, and twitchin’ by Wade our hoss

As their rap concluded, the three Marines stood victorious, laughing amid the carnage.

Charlie Mike

Briggs slapped Wade on the shoulder. “Hey, just means we’ve got one more trophy for Reyes’ trophy case. Did you see the size of those fangs? I’ll bet the Sarge has been missing out on all the…”

His words died on his lips as their comm radios crackled to life. “Charlie One One, this is Mongoose 7. What’s your status, over?”

Wade shot his squadmates a bemused glance before keying his mic. “Mongoose 7, this is Charlie One One Actual. We’re beat up, out of ammo but still breathing.”

There was an inscrutable pause before Reyes’ gruff voice responded. “Roger that, Charlie One One. You dirtbags ain’t done yet! Move to Rally Point Snake-Nest for resupply.”

Wade frowned, exchanging puzzled looks with Briggs and Alex as jubilation ebbed into uncertainty once more. “Say again, Mongoose? We just took down a ten footer, are we prepping for extraction?”

Another terse pause stretched between them before Reyes’ crackling response shattered the night.

“Charlie One One, I repeat – new mission, move to Rally Point Snake-Nest! It ain’t over until every last one of you dirt-bags makes it back to Ramsey Station. Private Torres, you’re squad leader. Out.”

Wade stared at the radio in disbelief as the transmission clicked off, leaving them enveloped in the eerie silence once more. Around them, the mangled remains of their most formidable foe lay in twisted repose, its viscous lifeblood slowly congealing onto the pavement.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Briggs growled, looking at his empty magazines. “We just took down the biggest, nastiest thing this planet could throw at us! What else we gotta do?” The squad had no idea that they had just exterminated the last bug in the Zoo.

Alex regarded the dismembered hunter with an inscrutable expression, features taut. “Does not matter what we want, hermano. Rules of the dance have changed again.” He spat a thick gob onto the scorched Skrav, his flint-dark eyes glittering with a newfound intensity. “It’s time, let’s move out.”

Wade could only manage a grim nod, too weary to even indulge in the hollow bravado of their continued trials. This was a cadence burned into their very souls now – the pivot from elation to the somber reality that the crucible was not yet complete.

As they fell into vee formation and began moving towards the new rally point, Wade couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride and camaraderie amidst the bone-deep fatigue. Though battered and pushed to the ragged edge of their limits, they had endured where others faltered. For the first time, Wade allowed himself to envision a future beyond these harrowing trials – a life as a full-fledged Ranger.

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio

A time to love and a time to hate;

A time for war and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:8

Into The Zoo

Wade performed the pre-op ritual ingrained through their training, checking and re-checking his gear with practiced efficiency. Beside him, Alex, his dark eyes betraying no hint of the roiling storm lurking beneath that implacable facade, strapped on the earpiece and mic of the squad radio. Briggs, by contrast, seemed to buzz with a tightly-coiled intensity, his movements terse and economical as he slapped a fresh magazine home and chambered a plasma bolt. Though their demeanors were vastly contrasting, a unified sense of grim purpose bound the trio inextricably together – they were brothers, marching in lockstep towards the jaws of combat that awaited them.

The three were assigned to the freshly formed Charlie Company, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad. Charlie One One. Three more fresh-faced recruits – Privates Klingston, Smith and Torry – shifted uncertainly behind them, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Wade could feel the adrenaline surging as their squad lined up at the towering gates of “The Zoo.”

Staff Sergeant Reyes stepped in and circled the entire company around him. The old warhorse’s eyes bored into them with intensity.

“Alright Charlie Company, listen up! From this point forward, the kid gloves are off. You are cleared hot, weapons free to use lethal force. Keep your heads on a swivel and remember – the only thing keeping you alive is your training, your wits and your brothers beside you.” You’ve got a 5 click hump to your first Rally Point. You’ll leapfrog from there, the Tactical Operation Center will give you new objectives and navigate you through live combat scenarios.” A wolfish grin split Reyes’ scarred features. “Fair warning – you’re about to get your first taste of the real meat grinder out there. The drones were just an appetizer to the unholy Skravak abominations waiting for you. Let me be clear – if the Zoo gets the better of any one of you petunias and you tap out, kiss those Ranger dreams goodbye. If you survive, you’ll be reassigned to the grunt pool faster than you can blink.” 

With a pause and glance over the whole company, he directed their attention to the chaplain. “Take a knee, the Padre has something to say.”

Chaplain Bronson stepped forward, raising a hand. “I want to ask for God’s blessing and protection on you Marines.” The graying combat chaplain’s voice carried clearly across the assembled company.

Bronson looked out over the grim, but baby-faced trainees. Balancing on one knee, under the weight of cumbersome equipment, each recruit fixed their attention on him.

He slowly removed his helmet, bowing his head as the rest of the company followed suit out of respect. “Let us pray…”

“Father in heaven we humbly come before you as your loyal warriors about to march through the shadow of death, we will fear no evil. We ask that you guard our bodies and souls against the profane horrors and depravations surely awaiting us. Give us the strength and courage to weather the storms of battle, to never falter in carrying out our sacred duty to defend the Confederacy and the very existence of humanity itself.”

His voice grew impassioned, resonating with experience from dozens of past campaigns. “Bless our efforts and give us both the wisdom and skill to defeat our enemy. We pray all of this in the mighty name of Jesus Christ. AMEN.”

A solemn stillness was broken by a resounding “amen” as the company stood to their feet bolstered with fresh resolve. They replaced their helmets and with Sergeant Reyes’ curt hand signal, the massive gates groaned open, revealing the harsh, cratered terrain and rubble-strewn city streets beyond the threshold. The air carried the distant echoes of pulse rifle fire ringing out, no doubt the other companies already in the thick of combat.

“Briggs, you’re the first squad leader for the first leg,” Reyes growled. “Get your squad to the rally point and await further instructions. Just focus on keeping your sheep together.”

Briggs barked, “Oorah Staff Sergeant!” His bravado crumbled slightly under the responsibility thrust onto his shoulders. “You got this?” Reyes questioned with a glare. “Yes, Staff Sergeant. I’ve got it.”

As they moved into wedge formation and crossed the threshold into The Zoo, Wade felt a strange sense of calm wash over him. This is what they’d trained for. Beside him, Alex was silent but radiating a stoic readiness. He offered his brothers a subtle nod, a reminder that they were in this together.

First Contact

The distant sounds of combat echoed all around them, underscoring the severity of the situation. Smoke billowed from clusters of ruins in the distance, obscuring large stretches of the city in an acrid shroud. Wade’s boots crunched over pulverized debris, the only sound besides the faint whisper of the wind.

The crackle of Briggs’ radio broke the eerie silence as he received coordinates from the TOC. Yet as they turned down an abandoned street strewn with the charred husks of burned-out ground cars, a flurry of Insectoid screams ripped through the air.

“Contact front!” Briggs barked, dropping into a crouch behind the skeleton of an overturned vehicle. Without hesitation, the rest of the squad mirrored his movements, rifles snapping up to engage.

Wade’s heart thundered in his ears as he scanned for threats. A wave of insect-like chitter and gurgles seemed to swell from the shadowy maze of rubble like a cresting tide. Emerging into the smoke-choked haze, Skravak scouts scrambled over the wreckage, their midnight-black carapaces gleaming as they closed the distance with frightening speed.

An icy chill lanced down Wade’s spine as the monstrosities materialized before his eyes – these were no mere drones, but the lethal hunters Reyes had warned them about. At nearly seven feet tall, they dwarfed the smaller worker caste with their heavily-muscled, armored frames. Each one bristled with razor-sharp talons and serrated mandibles designed to shred flesh.

There was barely time to process the threat before the Skravaks unleashed a demonic shriek and surged forward in a wave of gnashing, flailing limbs. Smith was the first to unleash a volley of azure fire, pulse rounds stitching a path across the ground.

Besides Wade, Briggs remained calm and proficient, calling out firing directions and sectors with crisp economy. “Smith, Klingston – reinforce the right flank! Torry with me on the left!”

Wade felt a surge of confidence seeing Briggs slip so calmly into the role of a squad leader. Alex laid down a withering field of cover fire as the rest of them adjusted, bolts of plasma searing through the air.

For a breathless moment, the maelstrom of clashing forces transformed the ravaged street into a kaleidoscope of muzzle flashes and screaming plasma. Then a burst of azure fire impacted a Skravak dead center, the sheer kinetic force sheering off its arm in an eruption of ichor. The creature unleashed a shrill, agonized wail that echoed off the shattered buildings.

With that first blood drawn, the battle devolved into chaos. Smoke and dust billowed with each searing lance of pulse fire, obscuring the nightmarish figures darting in and out of the debris. Wade was dimly aware of Briggs continuing to issue calm directions over the din, but in the swirling madness of combat, all that mattered was the sight picture before him and squeezing the trigger.

As the Skravak scouts and hunters surged forward amidst shrieks and gnashing mandibles, Alex quickly recognized the need to thin their numbers before they overwhelmed their position.

“Grenade out!” he shouted, having set the digital slider on the metal ball-like explosive to “Grenade” and hurling it in a high arcing trajectory. The small spherical explosive detonated in a blinding azure flash, sending out a lethal spray of plasma that seared through the leading edge of the Skravak advance.

Ichor and scorched chitin fragments rained down as two of the larger hunter forms were blown apart, their torsos reduced to smoldering chunks of biomatter. Several more scouts were left as mangled wrecks, limbs sheared off by the brutal force of the detonation.

Wade saw an opportunity to press the advantage as the enemy’s momentum stalled momentarily and they skittered behind a large slab of concrete jutting out of the middle of the street. “Grenade! Watch your front!” he called out, lobbing his own pulse grenade against the leaning super structure of a half toppled building making a perfect bank shot into the seething mass of Skravaks. It detonated with a resounding thunderclap, scattering body parts against the wall and sliding onto the asphalt before them and disrupting any attempt to reorganize.

“Solid throws, you two! Keep pouring it on!” Briggs barked in grim approval, his own rifle becoming a continuous stream of azure lances into the melee.

Almost on cue, Torry and Smith lobbed grenades into the advancing huddle of the midnight-black hunters. They were immediately shredded apart by the blasts, viscous yellow fluids splattering the rubble. The few remaining scouts screeched in what almost sounded like pain and anger as the grenade’s destructive power tore into their ranks.

The timely explosive barrage bought the squad precious seconds to regain fire superiority and reestablish their defensive posture. Pulse rounds started cutting down the disorganized Skravaks as they tried to reform their attack waves.

The recruits moved with the muscle memory drilled into them through weeks of grueling exercises. But those pale imitations had been mere sparring bouts compared to the real thing. As another Skravak corpse struck the ground with a sickening crunch, splattering caustic ichor, Wade felt a part of himself recoil in revulsion before the training kicked back in.

His world narrowed to the ringing of his rifle and locating the next threat, one heartbeat blurring into the next in a disorienting haze of adrenaline. Pure savagery reigned in those tremulous moments of infernal baptism by fire.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the skirmish fell silent aside from the echoes bouncing off the skeletal cityscape. One by one, the squad ceased firing as the threat was neutralized, reduced to twitching heaps of viscera-slicked chitin.

“Cease fire! Ace Report!” Briggs’ voice carried over the eerie stillness as he rose from cover. Squad members reported the status of their Ammo, Casualties, and Equipment. Everything was good to go with exception of their ammo. After redistributing their magazines they discovered they had used forty percent of their pulse rifle ammo and all but six plasma grenades. Scanning their ranks, he let out a haggard sigh of relief acknowledging zero casualties among their own. The enemy didn’t fare so well. Twelve Skravak Scouts and five Hunters lay mangled in the street and rubble before them. “Alright my fellow Maggots, saddle up! We’ll bound in overwatch to Alpha on the double.”

While the rest moved to comply, Smith and Klingston exchanged a terse look, the unspoken tension sizzling in the air between them. Whatever grievance simmered, Wade didn’t have time for it before they were hustling through the shattered remains of the city once more.

As they ran, Wade felt a swell of admiration for Briggs’ steadfast leadership in the heat of battle. Months ago, he never would have guessed the former tormentor had such a reservoir of courage and capability. But then, none of them knew the metamorphosis that awaited them within the scorching heart of Carthis 7’s trials.

When they finally reached the coordinates for Rally Point Alpha – a bombed-out and fortified apartment complex – the fatigue and strain began gnawing at him. Ducking into the skeletal husk of the ground floor, Wade sank against a crumbling wall beside Alex and Torry. A quiet settled over the squad as they caught their breath and drank huge gulps of water from their canteens and ravenously ate a couple of energy bars.

Wade Steps to the Plate

Wade shoveled the tasteless ration bar into his mouth, trying to ignore the tremor in his hands as the adrenaline ebbed. Beside him, Alex was a still as a statue, his expression unreadable behind those dark, fathomless eyes.

“Not bad for our first dance with the Skravs,” Briggs said with a mirthless chuckle as he leaned against the crumbling doorway keeping watch. “Although I could’ve done without all the chittering and slashing legs.”

A terse snort escaped Smith where she crouched nearby, daubing at a graze along her jaw that oozed a thin trickle of blood. “Could’ve used a little more fire discipline if you ask me,” she grumbled, shooting Klingston a pointed look.

The wiry recruit bristled visibly. “Hey, I was just making sure none of those creepy crawlers made it into our stroll through the garden, princess.”

“Enough,” Briggs growled before the seeds of dissent could blossom further. “We’re still breathing, which is more than I can say for those Skravak freaks back there. Stay frosty – I’ve got a feeling that was just the opening act.”

Before anyone could respond, Briggs’ radio crackled to life with Sergeant Reyes’ gruff voice cutting through the static.

“Charlie One, One, this is Mongoose 7, Over.

Briggs straightened, all business.

“Mongoose 7, This is Charlie One One, Go.”

“SITREP over.”

“We’re sitting tight at Alpha, Mongoose 7. Light contact en route but we splattered a few bugs in the process. We’ll need a resupply of ammo and grenades.”

“Roger that,” Reyes replied, a hint of grim satisfaction in his tone. “Good job Private Briggs, Resupply will be cached at next rally Point…Change of leadership. Private Kovacs, you are now the new squad leader…

Wade came up on the comms. “Roger that, Mongoose 7, Over.

Prepare to copy…New objective – move to grid 417995 to clear that sector.”

Wade punched the coordinates into the wrist datapad that immediately illuminated a map on his visor designating the location with a blue pin. He felt his gut clench at those words, “you’re the new squad leader,” the first tendril of trepidation creeping in. Close-quarters battle was one of the deadliest scenarios they could face, compounded by the oppressive environs of this simulated warzone. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Alex shifting almost imperceptibly into a state of heightened readiness.

“Wilco Mongoose 7, grid 417995, clear sector.” Wade said with a measured calm that belied any inner turmoil. 

“We’re moving in five mikes. Over”

“Roger, Mongoose 7, Out”

Gearing up

As the channel fell silent once more, everyone in the squad fixed their eyes on the new squad leader. A muscle ticked beneath Wade’s jaw as he weighed his next words with care.

“Alright people, listen up. Our next phase is taking the fight to those Skravo freaks on their turf. And let me be clear – tonight we eat broiled Skravak! They got to taste better than these energy bars.”

A mirthless chuckle rippled through the squad. Wade found a grim smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite the gravity of their circumstances. Even under unimaginable duress, Wade’s leadership style had a way of steadying their nerves.

“CQB is gonna be a whole different beast,” Briggs, the former bully quipped, all hints of levity draining from his voice. “Close quarters battle, low visibility, those slashers using hit-and-run tactics in narrow corridors.

Alex, shot over his shoulder, “Then we use the blade! I want them to look me in the eyes this time as I drain their slimy bodies of junk we call blood.”

Everyone chuckled except for Alex.

“I…we gotta keep moving,” Klingston managed after clearing his throat. “Can’t let those creepy crawlers start flanking and setting ambushes. If we stay mobile, use grenades to clear rooms before pushing in-“

“And keep our corners and gaps locked down tight,” Alex rumbled in agreement. “Move as a solid unit, no one gets left behind or separated. We break, they’ll chew us up piece by piece.”

A heaviness hung over the squad as the tactical realities sank in. Wade felt a shiver of dread wriggling through him – this was what Reyes and the DIs had warned about. Taking the fight directly into the jaws of the enemy with overwhelming lethality as the only insurance against being torn apart. There could be no hesitation, no flinching.

“Alex,” Wade said, his expression inscrutable. “Take point. Briggs, you and Torry watch the rear security. Smitty – you’re on the right flank. Klingston, you and I on the left. Let’s move out.”

There was no dissent, no outcry or showboating as the young recruits absorbed their roles and began making their final preparations. A solemn understanding washed over them – like a plunge into icy waters, their childish trappings had been stripped away, subsumed by the brutal realities of the arena they had entered.

Briggs gripped Wade’s shoulder, his jawline taut. “You ready for this, brother?”

Something profound passed between them in that moment, struggles and bonds forged through blood and anguish. Wade met his gaze levelly, allowing a grim half-smile to crease his dirt-smudged features.

“No,” Wade said simply with a slight smirk spreading on his face. “But I don’t have a choice now, do I?”

Briggs returned the smile, undaunted and shamelessly proud. “That’s my little pound of insecticide!”

With a terse nod, Wade fell in beside his one-time tormentor as the squad began moving out. His rifle felt impossibly heavy, yet his grip remained steady, steadfast in the face of looming savagery.

Whatever fresh tortures awaited them in the abandoned cityscape, they were Rangehounds now. He thought about Mike. He missed his buddy and wished he was here as a part of the squad. But he would survive, persevere no matter the toll – if for nothing else for the sake of his fallen comrade.

As the suns set and darkness closed in on the squad, the muffled thunder of distant explosions rumbled as they moved deeper into the urban maze, drawn inexorably towards their next threat. Wade could feel himself growing numb to the viscera and ruin surrounding them with every step. When the shooting started again, which it would, he was ready. He was gaining experience by the hour and his metal was passing the test of the furnace of the fight.

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How have the mighty fallen,

And the weapons of war perished!

2 Samuel 1:27

Zoo Puppies

The approaching night sky was painted an ominous red by the twin suns as they crested the horizon. The wind whipped sand across the desolate landscape, slapping at Wade’s exposed skin. They were doubled timed to the edge of the camp where two instructors stood on each side of the gate. They weren’t wearing armor but they were shouldering plasma rifles. It looked a little too casual to Wade but he shrugged it off in order to stay focused. A large sign high above the massive reinforced steel gate simply said “The Zoo” in a half moon arch. They ran through the gate that was quickly closed behind them which led to another that automatically opened and shut as they passed. He huddled behind a rocky outcropping alongside Mike, Alex, and two other volunteers, Sergeant Reyes leading the small squad.

Serpent-like shadows flickered in the distance – Skravak scouts, their chitinous exoskeletons catching the dying light. Sergeant Reyes, a grizzled veteran with a thick hispanic accent, issued his orders in a low murmur.

“Remember your training,” he said. “Stay focused, stay sharp. You hesitate, you die. Let’s send these Skravak scumbags back to whatever slimy hole they crawled out of.”

With a hand signal, he started to maneuver . Wade’s heart hammered against his ribs as he followed, the sand crunching under his boots. The adrenaline coursing through him drowned out the fear, replacing it with a focused intensity.

They reached the crest of a dune and the full horror of the situation unfolded before them. A swarm of Skravak drones, clicking and chittering with primal savagery, surged towards the perimeter fence, their mandibles snapping with anticipation.

Sergeant Reyes opened fire, the blue energy bolts exploding in a shower of sparks against the drones’ carapaces. Wade followed suit, unleashing a volley from his pulse rifle. The weapon roared in his hands, the recoil throwing him back momentarily.

Chaos erupted as the firefight raged. The harsh crackle of pulse rifle fire mingled with the screech of dying drones. The air thick with the acrid stench of burnt chitin. Wade moved like a machine he barely understood, firing, reloading, taking cover, following Sergeant Reyes’ barked commands.

He saw Mike roll to the side moments before a drone’s mandibles snapped where his head had been a second ago. He saw Alex take down two drones with a single, swift motion honed from their hours of training that had turned into muscle memory.

Adrenaline masked the pain when a drone managed to bypass his defenses, its leg scraping across Wade’s arm, leaving a burning gash. But he barely registered it, his focus solely on eliminating the alien threat.

The firefight continued, a brutal ballet of death under the twin suns. Finally, with a collective groan, the last drone lay motionless on the sand. Sergeant Reyes surveyed the scene with intense satisfaction etched on his face. The Sergeant marched his squad back through the gates, with the entire company on their feet in the bleachers, cheering and whistling. Even the DIs had smirks of pride on their faces. It was just a training exercise but the cost of failure would have been the same as the real thing.

“Good job recruits,” Sergeant Reyes grunted, his voice hoarse. “But this is just a taste of what’s waiting for you out there. Get yourselves patched up and report back to the barracks. Dismissed.”

Wade slumped against the rocky outcrop, his body shaking in protest. His arm throbbed from the Skravak’s scrape, and his ears buzzed with the lingering echoes of gunfire. Mike and Alex joined him, their faces pale but their eyes alive with a mixture of terror and exhilaration. Corpsmen attended their wounds.

“That was…” Mike started, his voice trembling slightly.

“Crazy,” Alex finished, his voice low.

Wade managed a weak nod. He still had adrenaline coursing through his veins. But one thing was clear – they had survived their first taste of combat, forged in “The Zoo.” It was as real as it gets in a training environment.

They helped each other back to the barracks, a silent understanding passing between them. The camaraderie that had been simmering had solidified into something stronger – a brotherhood forged in the face of death.

Back at the barracks, the company lined the street, shouting encouragement and giving high fives. Hathras, his face unusually grim, barked orders at corpsmen to look at Wade’s wound again. He looked at the trio with an intensity that could have bore right through them. “Don’t let all this go to your head recruits. The drones are easy. You don’t want to get too excited about killing little puppies.” The reality of the Skravak threat hit Wade with renewed force. Casualties, even minor ones like his scrape, represented lives lost, gaps in the already thin ranks of the Rangers.

Later that night, huddled on their bunks, the events of the firefight replayed in Wade’s mind. He could still smell the burning chitin, hear the screech of dying drones. But amidst the fear, there was a surge of pride – a sense of accomplishment. They had faced a terrifying adversary and emerged victorious.

“Hey, Wade?” Mike’s voice, heavy with fatigue but laced with concern, broke the silence.

Wade forced a smile. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Did you know that was a training exercise when we deployed into “The Zoo?”

“I had no clue bro. I guess I had so much adrenaline flowing I was just focused on doing the right thing.” Wade sheepishly admitted.

Mike admitted, “Me too man, I had no idea!”

Alex, uncharacteristically talkative, chimed in. “Dudes! You didn’t see the sniper towers all around us? And the company. They were forming in the bleachers to watch the whole thing go down. The only thing missing was the popcorn. What‘s bugging me is how far they would have let it go before they stepped in. That gash on your arm is no joke!”

An uneasy silence settled between them, a shared satisfaction and pride filling the space between words. They were no longer just bunkmates or recruits. They were survivors, warriors who had stared into the abyss and emerged on the other side. And as they drifted off to sleep, exhaustion took them to that place of utter dreamlessness.

But that wasn’t the last they would see of the live fire range with a real enemy trying to put them in the morgue.

Disaster Strikes

In the tense air of the observation room, the platoon crowded near the monitors, their gazes glued to the scene. In the concrete mockup of an office building, Private Mike Jansen and Private Hayden Briggs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, faces etched with a mix of resolve and fear. The cameras recorded their every move from several different angles for the observers.

Staff Sergeant Hathras, a gruff counterpoint to the recruits’ trepidation, barked orders. “Briggs, you’re point. Prep the plasma grenade. Jansen, clear the room after him.”

Briggs gulped, his grip tightening on the grenade. His eyes darted to the observation room, where his fellow recruits watched in suspense.

Jansen, ever the rock, offered a steadying hand on Briggs’ shoulder. “Breathe, Marine. Remember the training. Just act, don’t think.”

Briggs nodded, his movements robotic as he armed the grenade. The low hum of the plasma core sent chills down his spine, a stark reminder of the explosive power he wielded.

Hathras’ signal sent Briggs forward, arm cocked to launch the grenade through the doorway. But nerves seized him. The grenade arced pathetically, bouncing off the doorframe and rolling back with a menacing clatter.

Time seemed to distort as Hathras reacted instantly. He shoved Briggs aside. He turned to grab Jansen, yet the younger Marine took an unthinkable step.

With a primal yell, Jansen hurled himself at the rolling grenade, shielding it with his body just before detonation. The blast slammed him against the concrete wall, engulfing him in a blinding flash.

Silence reigned, broken only by the sizzle of dying energy and the muffled gasps from the observation room where the company watched the tragedy unfold. Briggs, his face pale, scrambled to his feet and froze with anticipation waiting for Mike to emerge from the smoke-filled room.

“Jansen! Mike! Can you hear me?”

A weak cough and groan came from the other side of the room. Through the haze Briggs could see Staff Sergeant Hathras kneeling beside Mike, blood oozing from his mouth, nose, and ears. His face was half charred and his armor was scorched and mangled.

Hathras had a mix of fury and grudging respect etched on his face. “What were you thinking Jansen!? That was…” Hathras’ voice cracked and trailed off with pity and awe at the young Marines’ bravery. Mike died in the Sergeant’s arms.

Wade watched in horror on the viewing monitors and tried to exit the observation room to get to Mike. Gunnery Sergeant Harris caught him by the collar. “Easy Marine! You can’t do anything for him now. Let the corpsmen do their job.” She had seen this play out in actual combat too many times to be surprised or harsh with the young Marine’s friend. It would take some strong leadership, empathy, and firmness to get Wade to focus.

Honoring the Fallen

The camp chapel was hushed, a solemn air hanging like a shroud over the gathered Marine recruits. At the front, bathed in the glow of soft lights, rested a soldier’s tribute – polished combat boots, firmly planted, with a rifle upended and dog tags hung from the pistol grip. It was a striking memorial to Private Mike Jansen, whose ultimate sacrifice had shaken them all.

Wade stared hollowly at the display, his eyes tracing the deep grooves in the rifle’s barrel. So many memories echoed through that cold steel – their training, their struggles, their bond forged in blood and sweat. Beside him, Alex’s jaw was locked tight, his eyes glinting with unshed tears.

Chaplain Jesse Bronson stepped forward, his worn features carved by years of the spiritual discipline of following Christ amidst the brutal theaters of war. His voice carried a gentle strength as he addressed the solemn assembly.

“We’re here today to honor the life and sacrifice of Private Michael Jansen,” Bronson intoned. “A warrior whose courage in the face of death preserved his brothers-in-arms. His selfless act will echo through the ages as a shining example of the highest ideals we uphold as Marines.”

Bronson’s gaze swept over the gathered recruits and DIs, seeming to lock eyes with each of them in turn. “Yet even as we exalt Mike’s heroism, we must confront the darker truths that follow this tragedy. The burden of guilt, of self-doubt, of questioning one’s actions that cost a life – these are weights many of you will carry.”

Wade felt those words like a physical blow. The sharp pang of grief mingled with recrimination – if only he had been there, if only he could have done something. Beside him, Briggs shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders tense.

“To you marines who must bear this cross,” Bronson continued, “I say this – you must find the strength to forgive each other and yourselves. Regret is natural, even necessary to learn from past mistakes. But it cannot be allowed to consume you, to diminish the sacrifices made.”

The Chaplain’s voice took on an edge of weathered experience. “I have seen too many good men and women crumble beneath the weight of their own guilt, tormented by things outside their control. Do not follow that path. Honor your fallen brother by living without that burden.”

Bronson turned his intent gaze towards Alex and Wade. Though he did not mention the obvious friendship the trio had forged, his next words carried an unmistakable target and weight.

“Part of that healing process requires an open heart – to yourselves, and to each other. We are family, bound by codes as enduring as the bond between sisters and brothers. When we stray, when we falter or make mistakes that cost lives, we must have the courage to forgive. Not just for our own sake, but for the unit, for the mission.”

A heavy pause underscored the solemn truth of the Chaplain’s words. Briggs could feel the weight of unresolved tensions, see the subtly pained expression on Alex and Wade’s face.

“That is the greatest tribute we can pay Mike Jansen,” Bronson proclaimed. “To emerge from this tragedy stronger, wiser, and more unified in our devotion to each other and our cause. His sacrifice will be rendered meaningless if it splinters us from within.”

With that, the Chaplain stepped back, allowing a hush to fall over the proceedings. After a somber moment, a lone Drill Instructor raised his voice in a mournful roll call;

“Private Henderson!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Tillman!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Brown!”

“Semper Fi, Sergeant!”

“Private Jansen!”

Silence was the only reply. The call echoed;.

“Private Jansen!”

Still silence.

“”Private Michael, Hunter, Jansen.”

As the final words rang out, there was a long pause of silence. Then a lone bugler began playing the solemn, melancholy notes of Taps. The mournful tune seemed to reach into Wade’s soul, amplifying the gut-wrenching sorrow and loss. Tears streamed freely down his face as the poignant farewell filled the chapel.

When the last note finally faded, the heavy silence stretched eternal. Wade felt unmoored, adrift in a torrent of emotions. He struggled to reconcile the Chaplain’s words on forgiveness with the cocktail of grief and anger raging inside him after Mike’s death, finding it difficult to let go of the raw anguish in order to honor his fallen brother.

As the Marine recruits filed out in hushed contemplation, Wade resolved to seek out Alex. Together, they would share the burdens weighing them down and remember their friend by pressing on. He could not say with any confidence how he would engage Briggs, let alone forgive him.

New Comrade and New Challenges

The barracks felt eerily empty without Mike’s presence. Wade stared at the vacant bunk, a hollow ache settling in his chest. Beside him, Alex’s shoulders were slumped, his usual stoic demeanor cracked by grief.

A soft sniffle broke the silence. They turned to see Briggs seated on the bunk across the aisle, his face buried in his hands as quiet sobs wracked his body. Remorse and guilt poured off him in waves. He had been transferred into their platoon immediately after the incident. The chain of command had seen this scenario play out too many times to keep these men apart. They would be forced to work through their grief together or tear one another apart trying.

Wade felt a flicker of anger, a knee-jerk reaction to assign blame for their loss. But the Chaplain’s words echoed clear in his mind – “We must have the courage to forgive. Not just for our own sake, but for the unit, for the mission.”

Steeling himself, Wade crossed the aisle and settled onto the bunk beside Briggs. He placed a steadying hand on the other Marine’s shoulder.

“We all make mistakes, Briggs,” Wade said, his voice thick but even. “Mike knew the risks. He did what he thought was right to protect his brothers.”

Briggs lifted his head, eyes rimmed red and glistening with tears. “I…I can’t stop seeing it happen. Over and over. If I had just…manned up and threw it…I failed him. After the way I treated him…all of you…I should have been the one…I deserve…”

“You can’t change the past,” Alex rumbled, joining them on the bunk. “Learn from this Bro. Let this make you stronger.”

They sat in somber silence for a long moment. Finally, Wade spoke, his voice wavering but resolute.

“Chaplain Bronson was right. We’ve got to let this forge us tighter, not split us apart.” He met Briggs’ gaze, naked regret and determination burning in his eyes.

“I…I want to be there for you two. Like Mike was for you guys. For all of us! If you’ll have me. I want to make this right.” Briggs growled with remorse and resolve.

Wade felt his throat tighten with a surge of emotion. In that moment, the rift between them mended, their bond transcending the tragedy that had birthed it. He clasped Briggs’ shoulder with a firm grip.

“We’re with you, brother,” he said simply. “To the end.”

Back to Chapel

The following Sunday, Briggs made an unexpected suggestion as they prepared for the day’s grueling training regimen.

“I think we should attend chapel service,” he said quietly. “For Mike.”

Wade and Alex exchanged a glance, surprised but nodding in silent agreement. The memory of their fallen friend still burned.

The chapel was sparsely populated, the congregation was comprised mostly of recruits and a few DIs. As Chaplain Bronson took the podium, his words carried over the members with characteristic strength, wisdom, and comfort.

“Today, we take the path of discipleship,” Bronson said, his voice resonant yet gentle. “The journey of following in the footsteps of one greater than ourselves. To follow the example of Jesus, the Messiah. He modeled a life of loving God, loving people, and teaching others to do the same. He expected us to take up the torch of sacrifice, even into the darkest seasons of life. I know your feelings are still raw from your fellow Marine’s death but we must acknowledge that he was following the very steps of his Savior. Mike was a disciple of Jesus.”

Wade felt those words resonate deep within him. A powerful truth, made visceral by Mike’s ultimate sacrifice.

“It is a calling that asks us to turn our gaze inward,” Bronson continued. “To confront our frailties, our doubts, our propensity to stray from the path. Yet it also demands we fix our eyes on Jesus and exercise the faith for the journey ahead. To become like Jesus. The Scriptures say, ‘The one who says he abides in Him ought himself to walk in the same manner as He walked.”

As the sermon continued, Wade felt a clarity washing over him. The grief still lingered, the loss of Mike an aching void. But it was tempered by a renewed sense of purpose, a dedication to honoring his friend’s selfless act by embodying the ideals of discipleship in his own life.

When the service concluded, Wade felt as though a weight had lifted. Briggs seemed similarly buoyed, his shoulders straightening slightly as the three made their way back to the barracks.

“Thanks for coming with me, guys,” he said, his voice sincere. “I…I needed that.”

Alex responded with a simple nod, his expression unreadable yet carrying a hint of understanding. In that moment, their shared burdens seemed a degree lighter.

The Gates of Hell

The weeks blurred into months in an endless cycle of training, discipline, and hardship. The brutal landscape of Carthis 7 had forged them from raw recruits into hardened warriors. Fear transformed into a steely resolve, their bodies and minds honed by relentless instruction into living weapons.

Yet even as their skills sharpened, their camaraderie only deepened. The bond between Wade, Alex, and Briggs solidified into an enduring brotherhood, transcending the tragedies that had birthed it. What had begun as a shared anguish elevated into a rallying force, a determination to honor Mike’s sacrifice by emerging from the crucible as God-forged warriors of unbreakable spirit.

One morning, as they gathered with the company for their usual briefing, a sense of electric anticipation hung thick in the air. Gunnery Sergeant Harris strode to the front, her usual inscrutable expression betraying the faintest flicker of pride.

“Recruits,” she barked, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “The hour is upon us. You have endured the fires of training, surrendered blood, sweat and tears to master your crafts. Now…now we put that dedication to the ultimate test.”

A murmur rippled through the ranks as Harris paused for effect. Wade exchanged a sidelong glance with Briggs and Torres, feeling the weight of those words settle onto his shoulders.

“This is not another drill, not another walk in the park,” Harris continued. “This is a live fire exercise – you will return to “The Zoo” for a final rite of passage designed to evaluate your readiness for the battlefields beyond Carthis 7. Consider this a preview of the Inferno that awaits you on the front lines.”

A collective hush fell over the company as the implications sank in. This was it – the culmination of everything they had endured. The forging of Marines from the raw materials of their former lives.

“For the next seven days,” Harris growled, “you’ll experience a rotating series of combat scenarios testing your tactical abilities, teamwork under fire, and personal perseverance. Basic supplies only – water, rations, medi-kits, ammo, and your weapon. The rest is up to you.”

The company buzzed with nervous energy.

“Until now, you’ve only glimpsed the smallest section of The Zoo – those initial training skirmishes were merely an amuse-bouche to whet your appetite for the true savagery awaiting you.

“The Zoo” is actually a hundred square miles of fenced-in aggression, complete with captured Skravak hunters and drones. The terrain shifts from barren deserts to rubble-strewn urban battlegrounds. It’s a manmade replica of the war-torn colonies you’ll be deployed to soon enough”

Sergeant Reyes continued the briefing grimly, his calloused features instilled confidence in the recruits. “This is it, Marines. This is where the Rangehounds are separated from the pups. For the next seven days, you are at war.”

Wade could feel the tension thrumming, the fidgeting and undercurrent of fear from his squadmates. Torres’ jaw was locked tight, his eyes narrowed to slits. Briggs kept running his thumb over the receiver of his rifle, a nervous tic betraying his inner turmoil.

“The rules are simple,” Reyes growled. “There are no safety catches here, no snipers in overwatch towers. Your rifle and K-bar are live – meaning you are cleared to go hot. In other words, engage any Skravak scum with lethal force.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered Marines. Wade’s heart pounded in his throat. This was no scripted scenario – this was the closest approximation of true combat they would face until their boots hit the soil of an embattled colony world.

“Make no mistake,” Reyes continued, “while the Skravak drones some of you faced before were aggressively lethal, they don’t hold a candle to the Skravak hunters you’ll engage in The Zoo. They don’t carry weapons, but they are still formidable killers. They are hungry and will literally eat you alive. Underestimate them at your peril.”

He let that sobering warning hang in the air for a moment before driving the final point home.

“You will start as squad sized elements. The last four days will be on your own, solo survival! We are well aware of the inherent risks, but we will make no allowances for cowardice. If any Marine recruit calls for an emergency evacuation for any reason…your days in the Ranger pipeline are over. You’ll be reassigned to the grunt pool as a Marine Regular. We’ve whittled the company down to fifty percent of you maggots already. “The Zoo” will take her twenty percent of flesh off the top of that.”

Wade felt his jaw clench at those words, the challenge ringing loud and clear. There would be no tapping out, no safety net. Once they passed through those gates into “The Zoo’s” hunting grounds, they would be committed until their evaluation was complete or they succumbed to the evils within.

Gunnery Sergeant Harris swept an intense gaze over the company, seeming to bore into Wade’s soul with a final proclamation.

“Prove you have what it takes to earn your way to being a Marine and a shot at the next phase of becoming a Ranger. Or don’t come back at all.”

As the briefing concluded and the company dispersed to begin preparations, the gravity of the situation settled over Wade, Alex, and Briggs. This would be the ultimate trial – their initiation into the brotherhood of combat-tested Marines.

Wade felt the weight of responsibility descend onto his shoulders. So much had led to this moment – the tribulations, the loss, the soul-forging anguish that had recast their destinies. He would not fail, could not fail. Not just for himself, but for Mike.

Briggs seemed to sense Wade’s turmoil, punching him in the shoulder as they moved to gather their equipment.

“We’ve got this, brother,” the former tormentor said, his voice laced with a subtle pride. “We got this!”

Alex’s face was covered with a menacing grin. “Yeah, we do! For Mike!

Wade and Briggs responded in stereo, “For Mike!”

They turned to face the gates of “The Zoo” where their ultimate rite of passage awaited. Whatever torment Carthis 7 threw at them, they would emerge from the crucible reborn – ready for the next phase of training on their way to becoming Deep Space Rangers.

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For You have girded me with strength for battle; You have subdued under me those who rose up against me.

Psalm 18:39

Confessions in the Dark

Nightfall brought no respite. Exhausted but unable to sleep, Wade stared up at the bottom of Torres’s bunk. A million questions swirled in his mind. Was he strong enough for this? Would he be able to survive the brutal training, let alone the war that raged beyond the unforgiving surface of Carthis 7?

A soft rustle from the bunk below him pulled him from his thoughts. Mike, his face barely visible in the dim light, sat up, his voice a hushed whisper. “You okay, Wade?”

Wade let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know, Mike. This is… this is a lot harder than I thought.”

“Yeah,” Mike admitted. “But we knew it wouldn’t be easy, right? We signed up for this.”

A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. Then, Mike spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, you remember why we signed up?”

Wade closed his eyes, the image of his dad flooding his mind. Being a wounded Marine, his father had vehemently opposed any participation in the military. Their cramped apartment gave Wade no escape from his father’s constant criticism and arguing. He remembered the parting insult as he shut the door and he headed for the shuttle. He was determined to prove his father wrong, to become someone worthy of respect, in spite of the older man’s objections. Wade’s jaw set in steely resolve – he would make his dad eat those bitter words.

“Yeah,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I remember.”

“Then that’s all that matters,” Mike said, a hint of steel in his voice. “We keep pushing, for them, for ourselves. We become Rangers, and then we go kick some Skravak butt.”

A soft creak from the top bunk made them both turn their heads. Alex Torres, his face obscured by the shadows, leaned down slightly. “That’s right, Mike,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “We can’t quit now. We’re past the point of no return. Do or die, man! Do or die!”

The quiet declaration hung in the air, a silent pact formed between them in the darkness. Despite the harsh reality of their situation, a bond of shared hardship began to solidify.

Curious about Alex’s motivations, Wade spoke up. “What about you, Torres? What brought you here?”

Alex hesitated for a moment, then pulled himself up slightly on his bunk, his silhouette outlined against the faint light filtering through the window. “My village,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Destroyed. Skravaks came in the night, they burned and killed everything. My family…” he trailed off, the silence speaking volumes.

A wave of empathy washed over Wade. He could hear the unspoken grief, understand the raw anger burning beneath the quiet surface. This wasn’t just about duty or proving himself for Alex – it was about vengeance, about ensuring no one else suffered the same fate.

“My family’s back on Earth,” Mike offered, his voice softer now. “They wouldn’t let me join the military, said it was too dangerous. But I saw what the Skravaks did to the outer colonies, the stories… I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

Wade nodded, understanding dawning. While their backgrounds were different – a working-class family yearning for a better life, a survivor seeking revenge, a young man defying his father’s wishes – they were united by a common purpose. Here, on Carthis 7, they were no longer strangers from different corners of the galaxy. They were bunkmates, fellow recruits, a band of brothers.

“Yeah,” Wade said finally, finding a newfound strength in his voice. “We have to make it. We fight. For our families, for each other, for everyone in the colonies depending on us.”

A heavy silence descended after Wade’s declaration, broken only by the distant wail of a sandstorm howling across the alien landscape. They didn’t need to say anything more. Their shared experiences, whispered confessions, and unspoken dreams had woven a fragile bond of trust and camaraderie.

Ghosts of the Past

The relentless sun beat down on Carthis 7, turning the day into a furnace. Wade clutched his pulse rifle, the weight a familiar burden in his arms. Classroom sessions, once a welcome respite from the physical demands of training, had become a battle against exhaustion. Lectures on tactics and strategy blurred together in his sleep-deprived mind, the alien names and technical jargon swirling into a confusing mess.

Wade’s eyelids grew heavy, the weight of exhaustion pulling them down. He allowed himself the briefest respite, just a fleeting moment to rest. But that fragile slice of peace was shattered in an instant. Staff Sergeant Hathras’ muscular arm constricted around Wade’s neck, cinching tight like a vise, cutting off his airflow. He was trapped, immobilized, unable to breathe or utter a sound.

“You maggots won’t last long if beauty sleep is more important than your lives,” Hathras growled, his words laced with menace.

With a sudden release, the sergeant’s arm unwound, and Wade gasped, choking and sputtering as precious air rushed back into his lungs.

“Stay awake, Kovacs!” Hathras barked. “That was your last warning.”

The words hung in the air, a stark reminder that even the briefest lapse could prove catastrophic in their brutal world.

“Attention citizens,” the newscaster’s voice boomed. All Marines’ eyes turned to the huge monitors at the front of the classroom. An artificial cheer masking the underlying anxiety crackled from the speakers. “The war effort continues on multiple fronts. Our brave Marines are holding the line against the Skravak menace…”

The report, carefully curated by the government, painted a rosy picture of the war effort. Here, in the sterile classroom on Carthis 7, the truth felt far bleeker. Hathras, his eyes fixed in a stare somewhere off in the distance, as if he was lost in thought, as he recounted stories of battles lost, of entire Ranger companies wiped out. The fear that had been simmering beneath the surface of Wade’s optimism flared.

A sharp rap on the desk jolted him back to the present. Hathras stood before him, a predatory smile playing on his lips. “Private Kovacs! Daydreaming again? Perhaps you’d prefer a more ‘hands-on’ approach to learning?”

Wade scrambled to his feet, stammering an apology. Hathras’ smile widened, a cruel amusement in his eyes. The rest of the class watched, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity.

Hathras barked an order, and two hulking DIs dragged a large metal cage into the room. Inside, a creature writhed – a grotesque parody of an insect, its chitinous shell gleaming under the harsh light. Its mandibles clicked menacingly, its multifaceted eyes glinting with primal rage.

“A Skravak drone,” Hathras announced, his voice dripping with theatrical dread. “A mere scouting unit, but a taste of the horrors you’ll face on the front lines.”

Panic surged through Wade as the cage was brought closer. The creature strained against the bars, its fetid stench filling the air. Memories of news reports depicting Skravak attacks, the raw terror in the victims’ eyes, flooded his mind.

Suddenly, a booming voice cut through the tension. Gunnery Sergeant Harris stood at the back of the classroom, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

“Enough theatrics, Staff Sergeant Hathras,” she said, her voice a low growl. “Let’s not waste time on a single drone. Private Torres, front and center! What’s your course of action, Marine?”

Alex, his face impassive, rose from his seat and approached the cage. With practiced efficiency, he drew his K-bar, a combat knife, and delivered a single, precise strike between the bars to the creature’s head. Silence descended as the drone twitched once, then lay still.

Gunnery Sergeant Harris gestured to the cage. “Well done Private Torres!” She nodded at the DIs with the cage, “Now get that out of here,” she ordered, her gaze sweeping over the stunned students. “Remember, recruits, fear is the enemy’s weapon. Knowledge and discipline are yours.”

The bell rang, the harsh clang echoing through the classroom. As the students filed out, Wade stole a glance at Alex. The stoic facade remained, but a hint of something akin to pride flickered in his eyes. In that moment, Wade saw not just a fellow recruit, but a survivor, a warrior forged in the fires of his past tragedies.

The Making of a Marksman

The morning briefing delivered a new challenge – three weeks of advanced marksmanship and demolitions training. Wade could barely contain his excitement as they approached the firing range.

Rows of pulse rifles lined the weapon racks, their menacing forms glinting in the harsh sunlight. Beyond the firing line stretched a desolate landscape littered with scrap metal husks and crumbling debris – the remains of buildings, vehicles, and equipment obliterated by past explosive ordnance practice.

Sergeant Reyes, the chief weapons instructor, briefed them on safety protocols with a focus and intensity that bordered on reverence. His gnarled hands caressed the sleek lines of the pulse rifles with a familiarity born from years of use.

“These are your instruments of death,” he growled. “Respect them. Master them. They are what stand between you and oblivion on the battlefield.”

The air crackled with tension as the recruits moved to the firing line. Wade scooped up a rifle, the solid weight reassuring in his hands. He sighted down the barrel, the familiar dance of acquiring his target and controlling his breathing.

At Reyes’ command, they opened fire. The thunderous roar of the pulse rifles filled the air as brilliant azure bolts of energy lanced towards the targets. Wade’s world shrank to the front sight, his awareness honed to a razor’s edge as he walked the bursts across the plated figures.

Something primal awoke within him – not bloodlust, but a singular drive to achieve perfection. To fire true and straight, to send each bolt into the target. By the end of the first day, the butt of the rifle was searing against his shoulder, his palms blistered and calloused. But he didn’t care. All that mattered was the next shot.

Over the following days, they cycled through different marksmanship drills and ranges. Moving targets, alternating positions, structure windows, all to simulate battlefield conditions. The crackle of fire and concussive thumps of impact were the rhythms they marched to.

One day Briggs was up to his old tricks. When the DIs weren’t looking he rested the barrel of his smoking hot plasma rifle on the back of Wade’s neck. Wade let out an ear piercing scream as he recoiled away from the heat. “What’s going on over there?” one of the DIs belted. Briggs answered quickly, “Nothing Sergeant, Kovacs just stepped on a lunar viper and screamed like a little girl.” Wade glared at Briggs, writhing in pain but not wanting to rat out his fellow Marine. He would find a way to get back at Briggs soon enough. Briggs glanced at Wade with complete satisfaction with his practical joke that would have had him sent home packing had he been discovered.

Bigger Guns and Explosives

Then came the support weapons – heavy machine guns, grenade launchers, mortars. Utterly devastating but cumbersome and requiring disciplined crews to choreograph their lethal dance. They broke down and reassembled the fearsome squad automatics blindfolded until the process became second nature.

Finally, demolition instruction rounded out their education in controlled destruction. Mining charges, satchels, missile launchers – all tools to sunder fortifications and deny enemy troops sanctuary. In a carefully prepped range, Wade experienced the crushing overpressure of an artillery strike for the first time, the thunderous detonation rocking him to his core.

But the coup de grace was the line demolition range. Donning their heavy armor, they took turns calculating charge sizes, arming the explosive, and blasting through reinforced bunkers. The plasma explosive itself was a one “size-fits-all” sphere that fit in the palm of your hand. It had a primer dial on the top to set the desired parameter of force ranging from a simple grenade to a cratering charge that would make a hole in the ground as big as a football field. Wade will never forget the first time he set the explosive calibrator to max, set the timer and retreated into the protective bunker. They watch the charge go off through reinforced transparent steel. The blast completely devastated the small vehicle hulk it was placed under and sent shrapnel and dirt three hundred meters in every direction. It was the most impressive force any of them had ever seen. Wade let out a slow breath, relieved to be in the bunker.

Throughout the grueling training, Reyes and the other instructors were a constant, looming presence. Watchful eyes scrutinized every movement, every adjustment of their weapons. Harsh criticism was freely given, but so too was the occasional gruff nod of approval when a trainee displayed particular skill.

The days blurred into weeks in an endless cycle of shooting, reloading, adjusting sights, and detonating explosive charges. Tempers frayed from fatigue and the relentless pressure. More than once, Wade found himself nose-to-nose with Briggs and other recruits over a perceived slight or mistake.

But the shared adversity only strengthened the trio’s bond. In the bleary hours of forced rest, they helped each other clean weapons, massaged aching muscles, and traded the grim humor that allowed them to persevere.

As the final week of marksmanship training dawned, Wade felt a surge of pride as he looked at the performance scores. While not at the top, he, Mike, and Alex were solidly ranked among the best marksmen in the company. More importantly, they had mastered not just the weapons, but the discipline to bring that destructive potential to bear with precision.

Whatever the future held, whatever enemy they might soon face, Wade knew one thing – they were ready. These tools of war were in capable hands that would not fail when the final test came. A grim satisfaction settled over him as he cradled the rifle once more and sent a fresh salvo downrange to tear into the unforgiving Carthis landscape.

Brutal Ballet

Marine Martial Arts (MMA) was a brutal competition of hand to hand combat. The recruits were expected to fight without permanently injuring their opponents but they danced on the fine edge. The DIs watch every move. If they caught you taking it easy on your buddy, they would personally step in and show you “how it’s done.” Sweat streamed down Wade’s face as he grappled with his opponent, a wiry recruit named McKee. Each move felt instinctive, a primal dance of violence fueled by adrenaline and a healthy respect for the other fighter. Wade quickly pinned McKee in an arm bar and he tapped out.

The instructors, former Rangers with scars that spoke of countless battles, barked instructions and corrections. Their movements were a blur of deadly efficiency, a testament to years of honing their bodies into weapons.

Wade felt a surge of respect, a yearning to one day achieve such a level of mastery. But for now, survival was his primary concern. Then it happened, he was paired with Briggs, his nemesis. Briggs, fueled by an overly zealous level of aggression, landed a blow that sent a jolt of pain through Wade’s shoulder and put him on his back. Gritting his teeth, Wade sprung to his feet and countered, utilizing a maneuver he’d barely grasped moments ago.

He watched with stunned satisfaction as Briggs crumpled to the mat, the air knocked out of his lungs, he tapped out. The instructor overseeing their fight…a weathered veteran with a single cybernetic arm, grunted in approval. “Not bad, Kovacs. A little slow, but you’ll develop your technique. Keep that up.” Briggs glared at him with the obvious intent to get revenge.

The praise spurred Wade on. The next sparring session saw him paired against Mike. Their movements were a stark contrast to the brutal brawl with Briggs. Here, it was a dance of anticipation, of exploiting openings and reacting instinctively. They knew each other’s moves, having spent hours strategizing and practicing in the barracks after lights out. They knew not to take it easy on one another but at the same time they didn’t want to injure one another either. They threw in a bit of theatrics to convince the instructors they were serious. The DIs may not have fully bought the charade but let them go nonetheless.

The match ended in a breathless stalemate, neither gaining a clear advantage. They collapsed back on the mats, heaving for breath, but a grin stretched across both their faces.

“Nice moves, Wade,” Mike wheezed, extending a fist bump. “Almost got me there.”

“Not bad yourself, Mike,” Wade chuckled, returning the bump.

Suddenly, a shrill whistle pierced the air, a signal reserved for unexpected situations. The instructors tensed, exchanging a worried glance. Gunnery Sergeant Harris strode into the gym, her face grim.

“Listen up, maggots,” she barked, her voice leaving no room for argument. “There’s been a Skravak incursion on the perimeter. We’re sending a strike team. Volunteers only.”

A tense silence stretched through the room. Fear flickered in some eyes, but determination in others. Wade glanced at Mike and Alex, their faces stoic but resolute.

Without a word, they stepped forward, joining a small group of recruits who had answered the call. The instructors, a gleaming ray of respect in their eyes, began equipping them with combat armor and advanced weaponry.

Wade hefted the heavy pulse rifle in his hands, its familiar weight strangely comforting. Was this just part of the training or was this real? A sour taste rose in his mouth, he could feel his stomach and bowels tighten but it was overshadowed by a steely resolve. It was time to prove he had what it takes to be a real Marine.

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