But the seed in the good soil, these are the ones who have heard the word in an honest and good heart, and hold it fast, and bear fruit with perseverance.

Luke 8:15

One Day at a Time

The blaring PA system pierced the pre-dawn stillness, “First Call, First Call! Rise and shine Jellies! Day 4 is one step closer to glory!” Wade jarred from a fitful slumber. He groaned, every muscle in his body aching from the previous day’s exertions. Beside him, Jay was already up and dressed, a serene expression on his face as he quietly prayed and closed his Bible.

“C’mon, brother, time to get moving,” Jay said, giving Wade a gentle nudge. “We don’t want to be late for PT.”

Dragging himself out of his rack, Wade quickly hit the latrine for personal hygiene, dressed and in 10 minutes followed Jay and the other Jellies to the sprawling Physical Training fields. The morning chill cut through his thin workout gear, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. As the company formed up, the menacing figure of Drop Sergeant Schwarz emerged from the shadows – muscles looking like they were going to burst through his PTs. His face twitched, having consumed five cups of coffee before the recruits even woke up. He mounted the PT platform and towered over the troopers.

“Listen up, Jellies!” Schwarz’s booming voice carried across the field. “For the last three days we’ve been taking it easy on you. Today we start the real artwork so I can turn your pathetic bodies into my sadistic little masterpieces. I will sculpt you into lean, mean, fighting machines – or I will chisel you into a million pieces and ship you home in a crate of shards. The choice is yours!”

With that ominous declaration, the brutal regimen began…

If the punishing calisthenics and endless runs weren’t enough, Sergeant Schwarz seemed to take a perverse delight in devising new and innovative ways to torment the recruits’ bodies. One particularly dreaded ritual was Log PT – a sadistic series of exercises using massive logs similar to those used by Navy SEALs and Recon in the ancient days.

The logs themselves were ungainly behemoths, rough-surfaced plasta-crete easily twenty feet long and over a foot in diameter. Just lifting one was an exercise in sheer muscle and willpower, blistering the neck, shoulders, and hands as teams of six recruits for each log strained to perform various exercises testing strength and teamwork.

“Listen up, Jellies!” Schwarz would bellow, his voice carrying across the field. “Today, you get to make friends with an old friend of mine – the Log. Maybe she’ll teach you grapes a thing or two about suffering.”

With that cheerful introduction, the nightmarish gauntlet would begin. Shoulder presses, overhead lifts, lunges, squats – each excruciating repetition forced the recruits to engage every fiber of their being, pushing their muscles far beyond the limits of what they thought possible.

Sweat poured from their bodies in streams, mixing with the grime and mud that caked their skin. Veins bulged from reddened foreheads and trembling arms as they struggled to maintain their grip on the unyielding logs. Spines screamed in protest, every vertebra feeling like it might snap under the immense strain. Some recruits failed to pull their weight, forcing others to shoulder more than their fare share. Team dynamics disintegrated into outbursts of anger and moans of agony.

And always, Schwarz prowled among them, his raptor gaze zeroing in on any hint of weakness, any faltering in their Herculean exertions. “What’s the matter, Kovacs? The log too heavy for your scrawny chicken arms? Maybe we should get you a nice little twig to play with instead!” Wade forced a smile and shouted “Bring it on Drop Sergeant!” The Sergeant looked at him half amused and half revengeful. Schwarz would test Wade’s arrogance.

By the time the torturous session finally ended, even the strongest recruits were reduced to shuddering, quivering wrecks, their bodies utterly depleted after battling the merciless logs. As they stood in formation, chests heaving, barely able to maintain the position of attention, Schwarz’s mocking laughter would ring out over the field – the sweet music that signaled the end of another successful day in the forging of warriors.

The days quickly blurred into a relentless cycle of physical torture. Before the first rays of dawn had crested the horizon, Wade and Jay found themselves drenched in sweat, muscles burning from endless repetitions of push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups. Their legs felt like lead weights as they pounded out mile after grueling mile, lugging enormous rucksacks on their backs.

Obstacle courses designed by sadists pushed them to their limits, forcing them to crawl through mud pits, scale towering walls, and haul their bodies over vertigo-inducing rope bridges. More than once, Wade found himself retching into the dirt, his body rebelling against the inhuman demands placed upon it.

And Sergeant Schwarz’s ever present piercing gaze bored into them, his harsh insults and unforgiving punishments driving them ever harder. “Is that all you’ve got, Jellies? My grandma could run circles around you! Pathetic, just pathetic!”

At night, Wade would shuffle into the mess hall, utterly spent, barely able to muster the energy to shovel food into his mouth. After chow he headed straight for his barracks and collapse onto his rack. Before drifting into a dreamless slumber his mind whirled with thoughts of doubt. How much longer could he endure this agonizing pace? He wondered how in the world Alex and Briggs hit the streets every night. “This has got to let up…” he thought to himself. He managed a short prayer before he drifted off to sleep…”Thanks for helping me survive another day, Lord. Help me make it through tomorrow.”

Rock Steady

Wade had initially maintained his usual bravado, convinced that his experiences on Carthis 7 had more than prepared him for the rigors of DIS. However, as the days ground on, his hubris steadily eroded, replaced by a growing sense of dread and self-doubt.

Worse still, Sergeant Schwarz seemed to take a perverse delight in singling Wade out, heaping scathing criticism and extra punishment upon him at every opportunity. The man’s sheer presence was enough to send tendrils of fear snaking through Wade’s gut.

While Wade floundered, consumed by self-doubt and the ever-present specter of failure, Jay remained a pillar of strength and composure. Though the grueling regimen pushed him to his physical limits, the sailor’s unwavering faith and ironclad discipline allowed him to weather the storm with a quiet fortitude that left Wade in awe.

Each morning, Jay would rise before reveille, his voice a gentle murmur as he recited passages from his worn Bible. No matter how exhausted he was, he never compromised on his daily devotions, finding solace and strength in his spiritual practices.

And when the torturous training sessions threatened to break their spirits, it was Jay who would offer a reassuring smile and a word of encouragement, reminding them of the higher purpose that drove them forward.

“Stay strong, brothers,” he would say, his eyes shining with conviction. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. That’s in the Bible men. Grab hold and believe!”

Watching Jay’s unwavering resolve and witness to the other recruits, Wade couldn’t help but feel humbled and inspired. Here was a man who embodied the true essence of a warrior – not through brute force or bravado, but through his faith in God, and an indomitable spirit that refused to yield, no matter the adversity.

The Quitters Inquisition

From the moment Sergeant Schwarz had laid eyes on Wade, the seasoned Drop Instructor had recognized the telltale signs of overconfidence and hubris on the outside but fear and doubts lurking on the inside – the very traits that often proved an individual’s undoing in the crucible of Ranger training.

Schwarz was a Ranger on assignment to DIS as a liaison and a sort of “Quality Control” for the regiment. He had seen it countless times before: cocky young recruits who strutted in, acting ten feet tall and bulletproof but their core was plagued with the stuff that got them and those around them killed when plasma started flying. His job was to identify these weak links, swiftly and mercilessly disabuse them of their delusions, and see if they were still redeemable. And he took a perverse pleasure in breaking such individuals down, shattering their egos, and remolding them into the humble, disciplined warriors they needed to become or sending them packing to a regular Marine unit.

With Wade, Schwarz sensed a prime opportunity for such a transformation. The young Marine’s swagger and nonchalant attitude grated on the sergeant’s nerves, He saw through the facade and he made it his personal mission to wipe that insufferable smirk off Wade’s face.

One morning, Sergeant Schwarz mounted the stand and bellowed, “Who wants to quit?!” The recruits stood paralyzed at parade rest, not daring to give in after making it this far. Schwarz scanned the formation for any sign of weakness. Then he asked with a growl, “Who here quit High School, raise your hand?!”

Wade shot his hand in the air as an automatic response to commands, as he had been trained, before realizing the agenda behind the question. As he surmised the situation, he thought, “Surely there are several of us who joined early.” But he was the only one out of a hundred who had raised his hand.

Schwarz leaned over the PT stand precariously, balancing on the edge to get as close to Wade as gravity would let him. Pointing at Wade with all five fingers tightly pressed together, forming a flat “knife hand,” he said, “You, Mr. Kovacs, are a quitter! That’s all you will ever amount to, a quitter! And I am the Marine’s instrument of destiny to make sure you quit here too! You will not make it here or anywhere!”

At first, Wade was embarrassed. But then his red face turned another shade as rage took over. He thought of his dad, Lieutenant Venn, and now Schwarz. He would never quit. This just got personal, and he was determined to never quit anything in life again. He would prove Sergeant Schwarz wrong and show that he was not a weak washout. The incident became personal, and Wade channeled his rage and determination into his training, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.

Seed and Soils

As the grueling weeks ground on, Wade found himself clinging to any glimmer of hope, any source of solace that could sustain him through the unrelenting trials. It was during these dark moments that the weekly chapel services became a beacon of light, offering a respite from the physical and mental anguish.

The base chaplain, a kind-faced man with a gentle demeanor, would welcome the weary recruits into the sanctuary, his voice resonating with warmth and understanding. On this particular Sunday, as Wade and the others filed into the pews, the chaplain’s gaze swept over them, his expression one of paternal concern.

“My fellow warriors,” he began, “I know the hardships you have endured these past weeks. The road ahead is fraught with challenges that will test the very limits of your strength and resolve.” Almost on cue, the chaplain turned to catch a sliver of light streaking through the stain glass and reflecting off the silver dropship wings pinned above the row of ribbons on his chest. Like Chaplain Bronson, he had seen his share of war and carnage. Wade felt warmth rising in his chest as he admired the chaplain for his comradery of suffering. He was indeed a fellow warrior.

He paused, allowing his words to sink in, before continuing. “Today, I would like to share with you the Parable of the Sower, as recounted in the Gospel of Mark. For in this timeless story lies a profound truth that may offer you solace and guidance in the trials to come.”

With that, the chaplain launched into the familiar story, his rich baritone painting vivid pictures of the sower casting his seeds upon different types of soil – the hard-packed path, the rocky ground, the thorny patch, and finally, the fertile earth.

As the story unfolded, Wade found himself drawn in, his mind’s eye conjuring images of the tiny seeds – some withering and dying, others struggling to take root, and a precious few flourishing and bearing fruit.

“The seed,” the chaplain explained, “represents the Word of God, the divine truth that nourishes our souls and points us to Jesus. And the different types of soil represent the various states of our hearts and minds – hardened by cynicism and doubt, rocky and shallow, choked by the thorns of worldly distractions, or fertile and receptive to the seeds of His Word.”

Wade shifted in his seat, the chaplain’s words striking a chord deep within him. He thought back to his moments of weakness, when the relentless hardships had threatened to break his spirit, and he had teetered on the edge of surrender. He thought back to boot camp and Mike’s commitment to God. He reflected on how he, Alex, and Briggs wanted to grow spiritually and follow in their fallen comrade’s footsteps.

“In the trials you face,” the chaplain continued, his voice gentle yet carrying a note of steel, “it is all too easy to allow your hearts to become hardened, like the path or rocks where the seeds wither and die. The adversity you endure may tempt you to lose faith, to succumb to doubt and despair. It’s too easy to be distracted by the allure of this world and forsake the One who gives true fulfillment.”

Wade felt the burn of shame. How quickly they had abandoned the faith for a few nights of unbridled debauchery. He wondered about his standing with God. Was he still in the darkness? Was he the first, second, or third soil? He was certain he was nowhere close to the good soil the chaplain was talking about.

A hush fell over the chapel as the recruits hung on the chaplain’s every word, their expressions ranging from rapt attention to furrowed brows of contemplation.

“But mark my words, my brothers and sisters,” the chaplain said, his gaze sweeping over the assembly. “If you can cultivate your hearts to be like the fertile soil, nurturing your faith and perseverance, you will reap a bountiful harvest – a harvest of strength, courage, and joy in the midst of trials and tribulations. And to add to all that, you will become an inspiration for others to follow as you walk in the footsteps of Christ.”

As the sermon drew to a close, Wade felt a strange sense of peace and conviction, a desire to follow Jesus and strive to do better. The chaplain’s words had struck a chord, reminding him of the deeper purpose and he wanted to be that fourth soil. But how?

Beside him, he could see Jay nodding in silent affirmation, his expression one of serene conviction. It was an expression that gave Wade comfort. He had a friend who knew the way. Jay could guide him. He just needed to ask for help. He resolved to have a serious discussion about the faith. He had to stay on track.

As the congregation rose to their feet, joining in a closing hymn of praise and unity, Wade felt a newfound strength coursing through his weary muscles. He turned to Jay and said in a low voice, “We need to talk, bro.” Jay smiled, “Sure thing my fellow Jelly. Gently elbowing Wade in the gut. “Let’s get some chow.”

The trials would continue, of that Wade was certain. But now, questions for his brother in the faith were more pressing and he would find the answers.

The Question

After shuffling through the cafeteria-style line and filling their trays with heaps of much-needed fuel for the grueling day ahead, Wade and Jay found a quiet corner to sit. As they settled in, Wade’s mind raced with the questions that had been brewing since the chaplain’s sermon. He turned to Jay, his expression a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Jay,” Wade began, his voice low, “about those soils the chaplain was talking about… I know the seed on the path doesn’t make it, but what about the rocky and thorny soils? Do they still get into heaven?”

Jay paused mid-bite, his eyes widening in surprise. It was the first time Wade had seen his usually composed friend caught off guard.

“Wade,” Jay said carefully, setting down his fork, “think about what you’re asking. Would you ask Sergeant Schwarz what the minimum standards are to pass? Or would you strive to excel?”

Wade shifted uncomfortably, realizing the implications of his question. Jay continued, his voice gentle but firm, “We’re not here to scrape by, brother. We’re training to be Rangers – the best of the best. Shouldn’t we approach our faith with the same dedication?”

The words hit Wade like a splash of cold water. He’d been so focused on his own struggles and doubts that he’d lost sight of the bigger picture. Jay’s analogy to their training drove the point home – this wasn’t about meeting minimum requirements, but about striving for excellence in all aspects of life, including his walk with Jesus.

“You’re right,” Wade admitted, a mix of shame and determination coloring his voice. “I should be aiming to be good soil, not just… settling for less.”

Jay nodded, a small smile of encouragement on his face. “That’s the Wade I know. Remember, brother, we’re not just training our bodies here. We’re refining our spirits too.”

As they resumed their meal, Wade thanked Jay for his honest but kind rebuke. He was growing in his faith. For the first time his calling to serve God and humanity in the military started to make sense. He couldn’t separate the two. He needed to pursue both with equal vigor.   

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Pride goes before destruction, And a haughty spirit before stumbling.

Proverbs 16:18

Landing on Rinart 3

The Dominion’s thrusters roared to life, signaling the final descent into Rinart 3’s atmosphere. Wade peered out the observation deck, his heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This was it – the next step in his journey to become a Deep Space Ranger.

As the mammoth starship broke through the cloud cover, the sprawling expanse of the planetary training facilities of the Flight Academy came into view. Vast complexes of buildings and landing pads stretched across the verdant landscape, interconnected by a network of roads and transport rails. Lush green forests and fertile farmlands surrounded the military installation, a stark contrast to the barren dust bowl of Carthis 7. A small town, obviously supported by the military’s presence, housed the families and businesses catering to the needs of the personnel stationed here – a typical GI town.

Aircraft of all kinds making circuits over the immense starship port made it obvious to the casual observer that many pilots were in training. In the distance, Wade could make out the outlines of dropships and armored personnel carriers, no doubt utilized for simulated combat exercises against the backdrop of rolling hills and fields of grain swaying gently in the breeze.

A voice crackled over the ship’s intercom, announcing their imminent arrival. Wade turned to see Jay approaching, a warm smile on his face.

“You ready for this, brother?” Jay clapped him on the shoulder. “Dropship Insertion School is going to be no joke.”

Wade nodded, a confident grin spreading across his features. “I was born ready! After everything I’ve been through, this will be a cakewalk.”

Jay chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t get too cocky, my friend. I’m sure they have unique ways to put us through our paces”

A sudden realization dawned on Wade. “Wait, are you saying you’ll be joining me for DIS?”

“That’s right,” Jay replied, his expression turning serious. “I’m what they call a ‘walk-on’ for the Rangers.”

Wade’s brow furrowed in confusion. “A walk-on?”

“It means I’ve served over two years as a regular sailor with distinction,” Jay explained. “And I passed the grueling Ranger Selection Process – a four-week course designed to weed out anyone who isn’t ready for Ranger training.”

Wade let out a low whistle, impressed. The Ranger Selection process was renowned for its intensity, with a staggering 70% washout rate. For Jay, a junior enlisted sailor, to have not only attempted but succeeded at such an endeavor was nothing short of remarkable.

“I didn’t want to tell you before,” Jay admitted, a hint of sheepishness in his tone. “I was still trying to discern if this was God’s will for me. Our nightly prayer times played a big part in that confirmation.”

Wade clapped Jay on the back, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Bro, that’s incredible! I’m stoked to have you by my side for this next phase.”

Reunion

As the Dominion settled onto the landing pad with a gentle shudder, Wade caught sight of two familiar figures waiting to greet them – Alex and Briggs, his brothers in arms from the harrowing trials on Carthis 7.

“Wade!” Alex boomed, enveloping the younger Marine in a bear hug. “It’s good to see you, hermano!”

Briggs wrapped one arm around Wade’s shoulders and tugged at the rank on his sleeve, with his trademark grin in place. “Look at you, Private First Class! We’ve all stepped up a little since we last saw you.” Wade laughed, basking in the warmth of their camaraderie. He turned to introduce Jay, but the sailor had already stepped forward, extending his hand.

“Jay Ringler,” he said with a respectful nod. “Pleased to meet you both. Wade speaks highly of you guys”

Alex and Briggs exchanged a glance, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“A sailor in the Ranger pipeline?” Briggs remarked, arching an eyebrow. “That’s the first I’ve heard of that!”

“Jay’s a walk-on for the Rangers,” Wade explained, unable to keep the pride from his voice. “He made it through the selection process.”

Alex gave a grunt of approval. “Yo, hermano. Impressive stuff, man.”

Briggs nodded in agreement before turning his attention back to Wade. “Listen, we’ve got to give you a heads up – DIS … they ain’t messin’ around. The instructors here are brutal in their own sadistic ways. They’re sticklers for details. They don’t have to haze you here. You make enough mistakes on your own to be doing push-ups from sunup to sundown. I’ve done more push-ups in three days here than all of Boot.”

“Dude, that’s because you ain’t the sharpest knife in the drawer bro.” Alex chimed in. They all laughed. “We’re three-quarters of the way through, and let me tell you, it’s been one rush after another. Better than the rollercoaster at Seven Banners on Jubilant VI.”

Wade felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. This was now familiar to him having been in the pressure cooker before. After everything he’d endured on Carthis 7, he thought he was more than ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

“Bring it on,” he declared, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “I’ve been through the wringer already. This should be a walk in the park.”

Jay, Alex and Briggs exchanged a knowing look, their expressions a mixture of amusement and concern.

“If you say so, Ese,” Alex said with a chuckle. “Just don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

As the group made their way towards the barracks, Wade couldn’t help but feel a sense of elation. He was surrounded by his brothers, united in their shared dream of becoming Rangers. And with Jay by his side too, he was brimming with confidence.

A Night on the Town

“Hey, listen,” Briggs broke in, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Since you won’t be starting DIS for another week, how about we show you around town? There are some great spots to let off some steam after a long day of training.”

Wade’s heart skipped a beat at the prospect of experiencing a taste of freedom, of pressing into his newfound adulthood. He opened his mouth to respond, but Jay beat him to the punch.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll spend some time in prayer and hit the rack early,” the sailor said, his tone respectful yet firm. “You all have fun.”

A pang of guilt gnawed at Wade’s conscience. He knew he should follow Jay’s example, especially in light of some of the things he was praying for. His walk with Jesus had become pretty meaningful. But the allure of camaraderie and a glimpse of civilian life proved too tempting.

“Nah, man, it’s all good,” Wade replied, forcing a nonchalant grin. “I’ll tag along with you guys. No sense in wasting my last week of freedom, right?”

Jay’s expression remained impassive, but Wade couldn’t help but detect a flicker of disappointment in his friend’s eyes. Nevertheless, the sailor simply nodded and excused himself. Wade followed Alex and Briggs to the main gate to catch an AeroRide.

As they ventured further into the town surrounding the military base, the quaint storefronts and family restaurants gave way to a seedier side of the local community. Neon signs flickered in the dimly lit streets, advertising bars, brothels, and other unsavory establishments.

Wade felt completely out of place as he witnessed the debauchery unfolding before his eyes. Drunken brawls erupted spontaneously, while shady deals were conducted in hushed tones in the shadowy alleyways. This open display of vice and moral decay was a harsh juxtaposition to the disciplined environment of the Marines.

He had heard rumors of such places existing on the outskirts of military installations, but the unabashed depravity still managed to shock him. The trio ducked into the first bar they found, not wanting to get too far from the moorings the base represented.

But as the evening wore on, Wade found himself swept up in a whirlwind of revelry. Alex and Briggs seemed intent on showing him the best that Rinart 3’s nightlife had to offer, from raucous bars to vibrant clubs pulsing with music and energy.

At first, Wade reveled in the newfound freedom, indulging in the thrill of adulthood without the constraints of military discipline. But as the hours ticked by, a nagging sense of guilt began to gnaw at him. He couldn’t help but wonder what Jay was doing. Wade knew he was off track and sure God wouldn’t be pleased with his choices.

The following morning, Wade awoke with a pounding headache and a churning stomach, the consequences of his overindulgence weighing heavily upon him. As he dragged himself out of bed, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed – not only for his actions but for the grief he knew he was causing his Lord.

Yet, as the day wore on and the evening approached, the cycle repeated itself. Alex and Briggs would come knocking, all grins and bravado, and Wade found himself powerless to resist the siren call of revelry.

Sunday morning arrived, and Wade slept in, ignoring his conscience that he should go to chapel. He knew he needed the fellowship and instruction, but the allure of rest and recovery from his week of carousing proved too strong.

Monday morning rolled around too quick. At 0545 he was standing in formation with 200 other Marines and sailors. Mostly Marine Regulars that would attend the first three weeks of training. He and his Ranger candidates would stay for another six weeks of indoctrination and drops for the Low Insertion part of the training. Wade thought to himself, “whatever that means.” Jay shoved his way next to Wade just as the First Sergeant stepped in front of the company. Wade couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. He had allowed himself to be swept up in the moment, indulging in freedoms that had ultimately distracted him from his true purpose. But Jay’s expression was one of understanding and acceptance, reminding Wade that he had a friend. He had to do better. He would do better.

The First Sergeant belted, Company! Ahhhtennnn…shun!

The Demonstration

Sergeant Grimshaw marched the fresh crop of DIS candidates across the bustling military installation to an open field on the outskirts. “Fall out, Jellies, and take a seat in the bleachers!” he bellowed.

The new recruits, dubbed “Jellies” by their instructors, exchanged bewildered looks as they shuffled into the stands. What new torment awaited them during this phase of training? A hulking figure in the uniform of a Drop Sergeant stomped up to the portable podium and tapped the microphone, his jaw set in a perpetual scowl.

“Listen up, Jellies! Fix your eyes on those dropships!”

They squinted into the brilliant morning sunshine but saw nothing at first. Then, like a trio of metallic banshees, three massive armored dropships blazed by only 50 feet above their heads in tight V-formation. The deafening roar of their engines blasted the recruits, whipping some caps from their heads.

Gasps and curses erupted as the behemoth ships rapidly climbed at an impossibly steep angle, rolling over, belly-up first and then at 3,000 feet, they leveled out, sleek anvil shapes parallel to the ground.

A series of small explosions rippled along the flanks of the dropships as they disgorged a total of 36 individual pods. All but one descended in a controlled glide, retrorockets firing in sequence to guide them to designated landing zones scattered around the field. The remaining pod tumbled erratically, its rockets misfiring as it spun end-over-end, until it slammed into the hard-packed earth with a sickening crash. It skidded and rolled to a stop just yards from the front row, a crumpled, smoking heap of twisted metal.

The other pods touched down in unison, their simultaneous impacts shaking the ground. It was a choreographed dance of fire, metal, and billowing smoke. Marine assault teams instantly poured forth, weapons at the ready as they dropped into a defensive perimeter around the drop zone.

All except the lone crippled pod, which lay utterly still and lifeless amidst the chaos.

The three dropships hovered menacingly overhead like giant cobras poised to strike. In a display of pinpoint precision, they jetted forward as one and executed a vertical landing just 20 feet behind the perimeters established by the Marine assault teams. Their massive V-TOL engines kicked up choking clouds of dust and debris as they slowly cycled down.

A stunned silence fell over the recruits in the bleachers. Even the most brazen among them could only gape in awe at the spectacular show of cutting-edge flight and firepower they had just witnessed.

The Drop Sergeant allowed the tension to build for a few beats before breaking into a slow, approving clap. “Well done, Marines! Recover!” he barked,

Most of the Jellies quickly joined in the thunderous applause, whooping and hollering their approval. Others remained frozen, eyes wide, still trying to process the overwhelming assault on their senses.

First Sergeant Grimshaw stepped up to the podium, his face an inscrutable mask. “Jellies, you’ve just had the privilege of meeting your drop instructors,” he announced, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the heavily-armed Marines.

He let his words hang in the air as all eyes were drawn to the mangled, smoldering wreckage of the errant pod. Its grotesque form seemed to embody the ever-present specter of death that haunted these training exercises.

Grimshaw’s voice took on a menacing growl. “So…who wants to quit before we really get started?”

Twenty-five hands meekly rose. The first sergeant’s lips peeled back in a feral grin. “Sergeant Hayward, escort this worthless garbage heap out of my sight. Get them reassigned to something more…gentle. I don’t have time to mess with quitters”

The grim-faced Hayward snapped a crisp salute. “You heard the man, quitters! Fall out and form up on me!” He gestured contemptuously at the pitiful cluster of raised hands…

Dropship Familiarization

Wade giggled like a 3rd grader. Jay elbowed him to quit with his own excited grin from ear to ear.

First Sergeant Grimshaw continued, “Now we are down to 175 or so but that’s not the end of the blood letting. Give your attention to Drop Sergeant Schwarz!”

Sergeant Swartz double timed to the still smoldering defective drop pod. Pointing to it with his hand like a knife, he announced with contempt, “And this is why we call you Jellies! You fail to pay attention and follow each and every one of our extremely precise instructions and we’ll be spooning your remains out like strawberry jam to send back to your mammy. So until you graduate, Jellies, that’s your name. A not so subtle reminder that you better stay alert to stay alive. Now as for the unfortunate Marine inside this here pod, ain’t none! We just like to get your attention right up front and weed out the weak. Are there any questions, Jellies?

The whole bleachers erupted with, “No, Drop Sergeant!”

“Then let me tell you about the mighty Thunderhawk dropship…

The Thunderhawk is a flying armored personnel carrier capable of planetary insertion from high orbit or just above the trees. Its avian shape cuts through the atmosphere for extreme low-altitude hot drops behind enemy lines.

The hardened ceramic-steel nose can withstand scorching re-entry conditions. Twin laze-cannons below the cockpit provide anti-armor firepower.

Four massive plasma burn engines arranged at the corners give the Thunderhawk incredible thrust for high-speed aerial maneuvers and deceleration during drops. They also enable vertical takeoff and landing.

The main troop bay at the rear can carry 36 fully-equipped infantry in individual side drop pods with retrorockets. Alternatively, it can deploy vehicles directly into hostile zones.

For defense, the Thunderhawk has permacrete-busting cluster missiles, an ion cannon turret, ablative shielding, and electronic countermeasures to brave enemy airspace.

As for those drop pods,” Swartz explained, “they line the troop bay in rows of 6. These steel and ceramaplas coffins are open on one side with a reinforced outer cage. For standard deployments, we just drop ’em from 3,000 feet up so the personal retrorockets can do their job and you make a controlled landing.”

He shook his head. “But some of you who like living…or dying…on the edge, all you crazy Ranger candidates, will participate in five extreme low-altitude drops, commonly known as the “Crazy D.” The Thunderhawk comes in just 150 feet from the deck, really haulin’. There is no time for emergency procedures for the “Crazy D.” If anything goes wrong, you just crash and burn. You gotta be outta your mind to hit the ground and immediately engage the enemy like that.”

First Sergeant Grimshaw stepped in and looked out over the fresh-faced recruits. “Most of you will not see that level of training. It’s only for the Rangers. But let’s just worry about getting through the basic phase, eh. Everyone of you who makes it…well, you’ll be the toughest hombres in the galaxy!”

Jay and Wade smirked at one another, picturing themselves as elite operators. Most of the Jellies, however, suddenly felt very small and wondered what kind of nightmare they had signed up for. 

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Be on the alert, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.

1 Corinthians 16:13

Renewed

As Wade recovered physically, mentally, and spiritually over the weeks, he started noticing the demons were less tormenting. Instead, he felt a strong sense of hope and purpose. More than once, Wade thought he saw his fallen friend Mike but he remained fixed in reality. The chaplain’s talks about light and darkness, good and evil, had helped Wade go through this transformation. He felt the heavy burden of despair and loneliness falling away, replaced by a strong sense of destiny.

Then after five long weeks, new orders came to Wade’s datapad. The military jargon was thick but his eyes fixed on the words, “You are hereby reassigned to Flight Academy on Rinart 3 for Dropship Insertion School.” As he thumbed the pad to the next correspondents, he was also greeted with the orders promoting him from Private to Private First Class. He tried to hold it back but a wide grin crept from ear to ear. His first promotion. His recovery was complete – he was being reassigned to rejoin his brother Marines Alex and Briggs. The next step in becoming a Deep Space Ranger.

The smile broadened even more as the implications hit him. No more suffering alone in medical purgatory, his sanity being chipped away. He was back in the action, back in the training pipeline.

A profound sense of freedom filled Wade as he left the infirmary behind. He could still taste lingering sorrow for the fallen. But he felt he could put their sacrifice into perspective and use their memories as a springboard to justify the price they paid.

Even the memories of the monstrous Skravak Hunter’s crimson glare couldn’t shake Wade’s resolve. He met them head-on, the old fears fading behind him. Wade breathed out steadily, and the Skravak seemed to unravel into dust on the winds that created it. All its fearsome, soulless power was only a temporary vapor destined to be forgotten.

“Where there is darkness, the light of Christ must also abide,” Chaplain Bronson’s words echoed. The path ahead was still obscured and difficult – but he would endure it with the same resilience as those before him. Wade breathed deeply again, exhaling into the churning possibility before him. Let the prize blaze anew!

Fresh Meat

Two days later, Wade found himself being ushered through the sterile corridors of Ramsey Station to the landing pads, his duffel slung over one shoulder as he tried to absorb every detail of his surroundings. The rhythmic pulse of ordnance fire that had become such a pervasive backdrop was noticeably absent, allowing the din of activity to rise unimpeded.

Several ships were loading and unloading cargo on various landing pads. Technicians and ground crew hustled about their duties with an almost frenetic intensity, attending to the harsh realities of the war machine’s logistical demands. Ammunition carts were trundled to and fro, while hazmat-garbed figures tended to ominous containment pods being offloaded from the grav-sleds.

Wade felt his pulse quicken as his gaze settled upon one pad with threatening cargo being offloaded with extreme care. The unmistakable contours of the Skravak specimens lurking within the reinforced stasis chambers. Despite the precautions and safeguards in place, an air of menace seemed to radiate from the vile creatures, their sinuous forms pressing against the resilient transparisteel in silent, mindless rage. This was fresh meat for the Zoo.

He tore his gaze away from the grisly cargo, as a formation of baby-faced recruits marched past him, DIs yelling and screaming. This was the new crop being delivered to the merciless crucible they called boot camp. A leaden weight settled in the pit of his stomach, he knew the harsh reality that awaited these naive souls.

Soon, they would be baptized in the same horrors that Wade and his battle-hardened brothers and sisters had been forced to embrace upon arriving here green and idealistic. They would be thrown into the unforgiving melee, left to be forged into hardened warriors by the searing flames of combat or consumed by its insatiable hunger.

The cycle was perpetual, replenishing the ranks as quickly as the Zoo depleted them. Wade could only watch stoically as the fresh recruits marched wide-eyed toward their grim initiation, blissfully unaware of the nightmare into which they were being recruited. He knew the idealism would soon be scoured from their eyes, replaced by a thousand-yard stare that betrayed the soul-crushing tribulations they would endure.

The ISC Dominion

Wade squared his shoulders and approached the landing platform where his transport awaited. The gentle thrum of repulsor fields caused the deck plating to shudder in subtle undulations, heralding the imposing presence of the immense vessel standing sentinel over the other smaller ships.

Wade’s breath caught in his throat as the full magnificence of the newly-arrived starship came into view. This was no mere troopship or heavy gunboat – this was the vanguard of humanity’s defiance. The epitome of cutting-edge engineering and an unmistakable statement of their species’ refusal to be cowed by the relentless Skravak threat.

The ISC Dominion. Just the designation alone carried a reverential weight, its very utterance seeming to resonate with the legacies of those who had come before. Heroes, pioneers and the brightest minds that the Confederation could muster – all had played their roles in shaping this pinnacle of human achievement.

Over two kilometers of sleek length, at 150 meters in width, the ship’s interior housed ten acres of flight deck for her fighters. With its predominant arrowhead contours, the Dominion exuded an unmistakable aura of power and purpose. Layer upon layer of reinforced armor plating sheathed the outer hull, an impregnable bastion deflecting even the most punishing pulse missiles. And bristling along its flanks were enough banks of autocannons, rail-batteries and missile pods to decimate any enemy with ill intent.

Yet for all its snarling aggression, there was an undeniable grace and elegance to the starship’s form. Almost as if it were a living sculpture, a defiant statement hammered into being by the creative force of its engineers and builders. This was no mere juggernaut, no mindless dreadnaught consigned to bludgeoning its foes through overwhelming force alone.

No, the Dominion blended power and purpose into a transcendent unison, radiating an unmistakable sense that its occupants were part of something far more sophisticated than met the eye. A self-contained world united in its singular directive – to defeat that darkness called the Skravak.

Aboard the Dominion

Wade swallowed hard as he approached the Dominion’s boarding ramp, duffel slung over his shoulder. A trim figure in a white Navy uniform waited at the base of the ramp.

“Private First Class Kovacs?” the petty officer asked crisply.

“Yes, ma’am,” Wade replied, snapping to attention.

“Petty Officer Third Class Susan Greer. You don’t have to be so formal, I’m only one grade above your’s. Just call me Susan and relax. Follow me and I’ll show you to the enlisted men’s berth.”

“Yes Ma’am…uh…I mean Susan. I’m Wade. Pleased to meet you.” Wade was taken back by the encounter.

She turned sharply and Wade fell into step behind her. After the harsh formalities and brutal discipline of boot camp, Susan’s friendly demeanor and casual manner were a shock to Wade’s psyche. Her understanding tone and simple kindness reminded him of another life, life before the crucible. Trying not to gape too openly at the Dominion’s luxurious interior, they made their way through the corridors. The spacious berth was an open bay of bunks, but far more accommodating than the cramped, stark quarters on the transport ship Argus.

“Not exactly what you were expecting, is it Wade?” Susan gave a thin smile as Wade looked around in awe.

“No, ma’am.. uh I mean… Susan…this is…I mean I didn’t think I’d rate such accommodations as a Private.”

“Well, you’ve earned it Private First Class Kovacs.” Susan slapped the side of his arm. “Says here you’re one of the few survivors from Carthis 7, and just completed recovery at the Ramsey Station infirmary.” She glanced at the datapad. “Quite a difficult path for someone so junior in their training pipeline.”

Wade felt a lump in his throat but forced himself to keep his composure. “It was…challenging. I lost a lot of good friends, like Mike Jansen. But the chaplain helped me work through it. Helped me find my way again.” Wade wondered why it was so important to mention the chaplain and his struggles to a stranger. He winced.

Susan nodded. “The fire that doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger, as they say. You’re being reassigned to Dropship Insertion School on Rinart 3 to rejoin your mates. Your next step to becoming a real Deep Space Ranger. The Dominion just happened to be enroute and you scored a ride on the finest ship in the fleet. You must be doing something right in the good Lord’s eyes”

A proud smile broke across Wade’s face. “Uh…yeah…I’m trying to figure things out. My friends Alex and Briggs are there. It’ll be good to link back up with them, keep pushing toward our dream.”

“Well, you’ve earned a ride on our comfortable machine of death.” Susan said with a snicker. “Just take it easy for now and get your mind right for the next phase. The Dominion will have you planet-side before you know it.”

Wade nodded eagerly. “Thank you, Susan. I can’t wait to…”

A nearby comm whistled and Susan glanced at her wrist unit. “Duty calls, Wade. Just find an empty bunk and get stowed. You’ll be briefed on routine and duties once we make the jump. Take a look around but don’t get lost.”

With that, she turned and strode off down the corridor, leaving Wade to soak in his new surroundings. He hefted his duffel onto an open bunk, a profound sense of lightness filling his chest. At long last, the nightmare was fading into the past. A new future beckoned, the path stretching out bright and clear before him once more.

Wade ventured to do his own little recon of the Dominion as they prepared to depart Carthis 7, he was amazed by its interior. While the outer shell looked harsh, the inside was warm and inviting. Soft lighting and fabrics created a relaxing atmosphere, meant to help people feel calm during long journeys in space. The hallways had huge windows giving incredible views of the massive ship’s engines and outer structure.

Even though the Dominion contained unbelievably powerful engines and energy sources, the living areas remained perfectly peaceful. Advanced systems isolated those sections, making them feel like a quiet island despite the awesome forces contained within the armored outer hull.

Wade felt proud to be one of the few allowed aboard such an incredible vessel. The Dominion was like something from his childhood dreams of exploring the galaxy. But this was very real – as real as the harsh training that had toughened his spirit during boot camp.

Vote of Non-Confidence

Wade felt the spaceship Dominion vibrating as its powerful antimatter engines fired up. He was about to jump through a slipstream – a tunnel through space that would let them travel incredibly fast. As the Dominion accelerated into the jump, the stars outside blurred into streaks of blue light.

Making his way back to the male berths, Wade found the area buzzing with activity as other passengers settled in. A gruff-looking Navy Chief stood at the front, calling for attention.

“Listen up, people! You’re guests aboard the finest ship in the fleet, but that doesn’t give you a pass to be idiots. There’s a short list of rules you need to follow…”

The Chief launched into a no-nonsense briefing on policies, restricted areas, emergency protocols and general do’s-and-don’ts for their stay aboard the Dominion. Wade listened intently, not wanting even the slightest misstep.

As the briefing wound down, a wiry Marine Lance Corporal shouldered past Wade. “You the NG from Carthis 7?” he grunted, eyeing Wade dismissively.

“NG?” Wade asked, thrown by the jargon.

“Newby Grunt,” the Lance Corporal sneered. “I’m Lance Corporal Connelly. Don’t get too cozy on this luxury cruiser, kid. The Dominion will just be dropping our sorry carcasses back into the meat grinder soon enough.”

Wade stiffened at the harsh assessment. “I’m headed to Rinart 3 for Dropship Insertion School, to join the Deep Space Rangers.”

Connelly barked out a mocking laugh. “Oh yeah? Well good luck with that, Newby. I tried out for them Rangers a while back. Washed out after the first week – they chewed me up and spit me out like a bad meal.”

Leaning in, Connelly’s eyes bored into Wade with a penetrating stare. “Based on what I see, you don’t have what it takes, kid. That stint on Carthis 7 broke you already.”

With that, Connelly gave Wade’s shoulder a contemptuous shove and stalked off, leaving the younger Marine fuming. Wade clenched his fists, a surge of anger and determination rising within him. He’d prove that jaded knucklehead wrong.

Stewing over the encounter, Wade made his way to the Dominion’s mess deck to grab a meal. The amenities were indeed plush, a far cry from the stark rations and meal preps of boot camp and Ramsey Station. Savory aromas and the sizzle of fresh-cooked cuisine wafted through the air as attendants in crisp uniforms oversaw the serving stations.

Settling at a vacant table with his tray, Wade gazed at the thick steak, veggies and potatoes feeling a twinge of guilt. So many still suffered in the war zones while he dined in relative luxury.

Prayer Buddy

After finishing his meal, Wade returned to his bunk, reaching into his pocket for the New Testament Chaplain Bronson had given him. The worn, creased cover felt familiar in his hand – a tangible link to the wisdom that had guided him through his darkest hours.

Thumbing open the book, he searched for familiar passages, yearning for that same sense of solace and purpose they had once provided. Deep down, Wade knew the coming days at Dropship Insertion School would test his mettle like never before. But this time, he was determined to prevail – and maybe, just maybe, find answers to the questions still gnawing at his soul.

The pages fell open to 1 Corinthians 16. Wade’s eyes scanned the text, not really sure where to start. It felt almost like rubbing a genie’s lamp, waiting to make a wish. So new to his walk with Jesus, he had no traditions to provide direction. If he did get one wish, it would be for Chaplain Bronson to be there, guiding him.

His gaze settled on verse 13: “Be on the alert, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong.” That’s what he needed – to stand firm, be a man. Don’t let anyone doubt his abilities like that jaded Lance Corporal Connelly.

“What’cha reading there?”

Wade looked up, a little embarrassed, as a sailor approached. But remembering the verse’s admonition, he responded firmly, “The Bible.”

The sailor smiled and asked, “You up for a little discussion on it?”

Wade nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, definitely.”

The sailor, Jay Ringler, opened Wade’s New Testament to John 16:24 and had him read aloud: “Until now you have asked for nothing in My name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be made full.”

Jay nodded thoughtfully as Wade listened intently about prayer. “One simple way to structure your prayers is using an acrostic called A.C.T.S.,” he said.

“ACTS stands for Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication. It provides a framework to help guide your time with the Lord.”

Adoration – “Start by adoring and praising God for who He is – His holiness, majesty, power, and love. Express your awe and reverence for the Creator. The Psalms are full of wonderful examples.”

Confession – “Next, come humbly before Him in confession. Acknowledge your sins, shortcomings, and need for His forgiveness and grace. Lay your heart bare, holding nothing back.”

Jay gave Wade an encouraging smile. “Don’t be afraid to get specific. The more open and honest you are, the more God can work in your life.”

Thanksgiving – “After that, enter into thanksgiving. Express gratitude for His countless blessings – life, relationships, provisions. An attitude of thankfulness helps reframe our perspective.”

Supplication – “Finally, bring your requests before God in supplication. Pour out your heart’s needs, burdens, and petitions. Remember that verse – ask and you will receive. He delights to hear from His children.”

Jay placed his hand on Wade’s shoulder. “Start simple, from the heart. Adoration, confession, thanksgiving, supplication. Let ACTS be your guide as you begin this journey of walking with the Lord daily through prayer.”

Wade nodded slowly, letting the acronym’s meaning soak in… ACTS, a clear pathway to approach his Creator and cast his cares upon Him. With Jay’s help, he felt equipped to begin this new lifestyle of consistent, meaningful prayer.

Wade realized he had wished the chaplain was there to guide him, but God knew his needs even before he voiced them. His prayer, even though he labeled it a wish, was answered in the form of a young sailor named Jay.

After explaining the ACTS prayer model, Jay made Wade an offer. “Listen man, I know this is all new to you. Why don’t we meet up each night for the next 7 days before we reach Rinart 3? We can pray together and I can help you get into the habit.”

Wade’s eyes widened at the incredibly kind proposition. “You’d really do that? Spend time with me each evening?”

Jay clapped him on the shoulder. “Of course, brother. We’re all in this together, right? The Bible tells us to build each other up and walk alongside one another. I’m just trying to obey those instructions.”

A lump formed in Wade’s throat as gratitude washed over him. After so much hardship and loneliness, to have someone personally invest in his spiritual growth was almost overwhelming.

“Thank you, Jay. That would mean… more than I can say.” Wade stammered out, unable to fully express his appreciation.

“Don’t mention it,” Jay said humbly. “I’ll meet you here at 1900 every night. We can start building that prayer routine.”

Wade committed the details to memory, his heart bursting with newfound hope. Not only had God provided wisdom through the Scriptures, but also a caring mentor in Jay. This was going to be an important week.

As Jay headed off, Wade felt resolute determination settle over him. He would utilize every moment with Jay to lay a strong foundation of consistent prayer. Then, by the time they reached Rinart 3, he would be locked and loaded – armed with the spiritual vigor needed to pursue his dream.

Wade opened his New Testament once more, underlining the verses that had spoken to him that day. This book would be his source of truth and power from now on. With the Lord’s guidance, he would succeed. Chaplain Bronson’s words echoed in his mind: “Where there is darkness, the light of Christ must also abide.” Wade realized the light God brought into his life was Jay Ringler.  

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio

The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.

John 1:5

Awake

Wade’s eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming in and out of focus as the world gradually reassembled itself around him. The first thing he registered was the stark, antiseptic scent hanging heavy in the air – a fragrance he had become all too familiar with over the past…

How long had it been? His mind felt clouded, adrift in a disorienting fog as memories ebbed and flowed in fragmented vignettes.

He tried to move, to sit upright, but a lead weight seemed to permeate every fiber of his being, anchoring him to the cot. An I.V. line trailed from the crook of his arm, the steady drip of fluids replenishing his dehydrated form.

Carefully, Wade turned his head, squinting against the harsh glare of overhead fluorescents. The space around him resolved into the hazy medical bay, rows of cots arranged in tight formations with privacy curtains providing a modicum of seclusion.

He was in the Ramsey Station infirmary, the pieces gradually slotting back into place like tumblers in a lock. The harrowing final sprint through that forsaken alien wasteland, driven by a spiritual force to report in before the deadline…

A gruff chuckle from the adjacent cot roused Wade from his reverie. “Figured you’d be coming around sooner or later, brother.”

The gravelly timbre was unmistakable, and Wade felt a surge of relief crest through the lingering disorientation as he recognized the familiar silhouette beside him.

“Briggs…” he rasped, his throat feeling as raw as if he’d gargled with shards of glass. “What…how long was I out?”

Wade shifted, the creak of the cot’s frame accompanying his movements as he propped himself upright with a wince. In the sterile glow afforded by the overheads, Wade could make out the harsh lines etched into Briggs’ features, broadcasting the toll their odyssey had wrought. He was still in his Marine dress uniform having paraded in the graduation ceremony two hours prior.

His eyes shone with a quiet intensity, the gleam of a tempered soul that had been scoured clean and reforged amidst the crucible. He looked all the part of a Marine.

“Three days,” Briggs replied, offering a wan smile. “Doc said you were pretty far gone when they found you – dehydrated, malnourished, man you were delirious as all get out.” He shook his head in a mixture of awe and concern. “They’re not sure how you managed to keep going, let alone finish. We all put money on you, that somehow you would find a way to march with us today. It didn’t feel right not having you there. But they did mention your name as one of the distinguished graduates anyway. Staff Sergeant Reyes made that happen.”

A fleeting bout of disquiet interrupted Wade’s swelling pride. Phantom images flickered across his consciousness as half-remembered visions resurfaced – feverish spectors stalking him across the seared barrens, tormenting him with visions of his failures, his deepest insecurities laid bare.

But through the lurking shadows loomed a single, brilliant radiance – he had made it, he had overcome the demons to be reborn as something…more.

“I don’t know, man.” he said at last, the words feeling leaden on his tongue. “Some…force just kept driving me forward. Kept me from quitting, even when every instinct was screaming at me to lay down and let it end.” His gaze drifted across the infirmary, alighting on the other occupied cots with a pang of regret.

“What about the others? How many…” He trailed off, unable to vocalize the question that weighed so heavily.

Briggs seemed to register the unspoken query, his expression sobering further as he cast his eyes downward. “We lost eight more in those final days,” he said, each word carrying the weight of mourned comrades. “Heatstroke, injuries, lost and dying of dehydration…the planet itself picked ‘em off one by one.”

A profound silence stretched between them, a reverent acknowledgment of the sacrifices rendered to attain their shared objective. Wade felt a lump form in his throat as the shadows of their fallen Brothers in Arms materialized, ghostly sentinels keeping their solemn vigil.

“Twenty-four of us made it through the gates, Wade,” Briggs continued, his voice hushed yet edged with a fierce pride. “Out of the company that entered the Zoo, only twenty-four have earned the right to graduate as Marines and continue our journey to be Rangers.”

“Alex?!” he ventured, suddenly conscious of the glaring absence of their stalwart brother.

As if conjured by the mere mention of his name, the burly figure of Alex emerged from between the curtains, his obsidian eyes glittering in the half-light. A faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he regarded his squadmates, brimming with pride and a serene confidence in his Marine dress uniform.

“The conquering hero returns to the land of the living,” he rumbled in that deep baritone that could soothe or unnerve with equal efficacy. “Welcome back, hermanos.”

Wade felt a sense of profound peace settle over him as the trio was reunited, their unbreakable brotherhood transcending the boundaries of the nightmare realm they’d so recently been submerged within.

Yet even as the joy of their deliverance washed over him, nagging tendrils of a harsh reality once more asserted themselves. For not all would be able to bask in this first light of glory. He missed Mike. He ached for his fallen brother. He wished it was four of them…together… enjoying this moment of comradeship.

Alex interrupted his thoughts, “We are shipping out tonight. Sorry to leave you high and dry.” Pointing to Wade’s I.V. and they laughed, very conscious that they might be disturbing other injured Marines around them. “But I’m sure you’ll catch up to us on Rinart 3 for Dropship Insertion School.” Briggs clasped hands with Wade. “Get well and quit taking a break, Marine!” They laughed again, Alex gave him a fist bump and the two strowed out of the infirmary with a noticeable swagger in their step. Wade closed his eyes and drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Armless

Wade’s eyelids slowly peeled open, his vision blurry as he blinked away the haze of deep sleep and disorientation. The stark, clinical atmosphere of the infirmary gradually came into focus around him with rows of cots occupied by other Marines.

As Wade attempted to move, he felt fatigue like a heavy cloak hanging on him and the I.V. line still dripping beside him. His mind was foggy, memories trickling back in fragments of their final days in the Zoo and the farewells with Alex and Briggs.

“Morning Marine!” A sympathetic voice of a corpsman beside him, startling Wade. He turned to see the combat doc attending to his meds and adjusting the pillows beneath Wade’s head. The sight of the occupied cot next to him caught his eye – a Marine laying deathly still, most of his features obscured by bandages except for the jagged stump of his left arm.

“Private Baringger,” the corpsman supplied, following Wade’s line of sight with a somber nod. “Caught the wrong end of a Skravak claw during the first engagement. Docs did what they could, but…” He shook his head slowly, the import of Baringger’s plight evident in his silence.

As if roused by the murmurs of their conversation, the prone form stirred, eyes opened to reveal a pair of haunted yet determined eyes. Baringger regarded them each in turn before focusing on Wade, his expression a rictus mask of anguish and resolution.

“Doesn’t matter,” he rasped, the words grating from a long time under the influence of anesthesia. “Made it this far…further than most.”

Wade felt his chest constrict as the magnitude of Baringger’s sacrifice crystallized. Even having lost a part of himself in the most visceral sense, the Marine Recruit had persevered until the bitter end of his training – that is the end that Skravak scout inflicted on him denying him of the ultimate prize that they aspire to.

“Hey, Baringger,” Wade ventured, his voice hushed with solemn respect. “What…what are your plans now? After…”

The ruined Marine regarded him for a long moment, something hauntingly inscrutable flickering behind those dark hollow eyes. Then, with tangible effort, he lifted his remaining hand, clenched his fist and pumped in the air.

“Still want to be a Marine,” he growled, every syllable carrying a universe of intestinal fortitude. “Just…taking a detour. Got an appointment next week to start getting fitted for my ‘loaners’.” The ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, mordant humor undercutting the grim reality awaiting him. He would be fitted with a cybernetic arm and be offered a medical discharge. If he still really wanted to be a Marine, he would have to start bootcamp all over again as a Marine Regular. His chances of ever being a Deep Space Ranger were slim to none.

“Gonna show those meatbags how a cybernetically-enhanced Marine gets it done.” His gaze shifted, tracking across the assembled remnants with an intensity that seemed to burn straight through to Wade’s soul.

“This ain’t goodbye, brother,” the armless Marine vowed, his voice filled with grim determination. “Just a reassignment while I get my new kit squared away.” His jaw set in a hard line. “Then I’ll be rejoining the dance, you can bet your mom’s peg leg on that.”

Wade felt a surge of admiration for the Marine’s incredible resolve in the face of such a devastating injury. To lose a limb in battle yet still be focused on returning to the fight – it spoke volumes about his strength of spirit.

However, the corpsman tending to the wounded Marine turned his head toward Wade, giving him a look of skepticism and pity. The corpsman’s expression seemed to say that while the Marine’s tenacity was admirable, the reality of his situation may be more dire than he was letting on.

Wade could only nod slowly in response, hoping against hope that the Marine’s fortitude would see him through the difficult recovery and reassignment process. He knew all too well the relentless demands of their duty – a robotic arm was not all this young Marine would need to face the future. The Marine’s only path forward was to adapt and overcome physically, mentally, and spiritually.

Alone

The oppressive silence was suffocating Wade from all sides, like a heavy fog draining the life from everything around him. He lay perfectly still on the infirmary cot, staring blankly at the empty rows of cots with their starchy linens pulled taut in crisp hospital corners.

Alex and Briggs had shipped out four days ago for the next phase of their training on Rinart 3. All the other wounded or injured Marines had been shipped out for assignments as a Marine Regular, further medical treatment or the worse, discharged back into civilian life. Without them, the infirmary felt like a gaping void, empty of any camaraderie. The steady cadence of life support monitors and the intermittent squawk of the med-staff’s comms provided the only ambiance, sterile white noise underscoring the vacancy and the penetrating loneliness.

Wade turned his head, exhaling slowly as he looked at the sickly glow filtering through the reinforced windows. Even the blazing twin suns of Carthis 7 seemed dim and gloomy, casting a depressing pall over the entire outpost.

He’d tried distracting himself with virtual reality simulations and brain-computer training programs, but they all felt hollow and artificial, making him itch for the grit of the real world. The staff encouraged him to get up and move about, so he would do laps around the small infirmary, carting the I.V. pole in one hand and datapad in another. The boredom of lap after lap became unbearable in itself.

So he just lay there, alone in medical purgatory as the days blurred together monotonously. The med staff came and went, checking his vitals and adjusting his nutrient I.V., but they said little, their businesslike manner as emotionless as the bland supplement drips.

Wade found his mind turning inward with increasing frequency. Replaying the crescendo of violence and mayhem from their trials in the Zoo, unpacking every traumatic vignette in an endless loop of self-reflection. The faces of the dead materialized vividly – Smith getting torn apart…Torry exploding in a ball of fire from his own grenade…

He could almost smell the reeking carnage on his armor, taste the acrid plasma burns in his throat. The sensations were so intense, like living nightmares blurring reality and his psyche into one.

Sometimes, he thought he saw ghostly shapes in his peripheral vision, swirling half-formed silhouettes of the brothers and sisters who had fallen. These phantoms accusing him with their death rictus faces: You failed us. You’ll always be a failure. Sometimes he even thought he saw Mike, mouthing empty words Wade could not understand as much as he tried.

Wade squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, trying to block out the haunting voices eating away at his sanity. But they wouldn’t stop, that inner Greek chorus mocking him from the depths of his shame and regret.

A Welcome Visitor

Wade jolted awake from a restless sleep to a deep, steady voice. “You look like you could use some company, son.”

Blinking, Wade sat up straight to see the calm, friendly face of Chaplain Bronson. “Chaplain,” Wade croaked out. He wasn’t used to using his voice for several days. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

The older man smiled warmly as he took a seat on the cot next to Wade’s. “Heard you were stuck here recovering awhile. Thought you could use a friendly face to break up the monotony.”

Wade understood the chaplain wanted to comfort his troubled mind and spirit too, not just keep him company. There was no criticism in the man’s voice, just an open offer of support.

Over the next few days, Bronson visited daily at 9am sharp with stories from his years in the Marines and Deep Space Rangers. He told tales of tough battles on distant worlds where unexpected heroes emerged through great courage and sacrifice. But the chaplain focused less on the violence and more on the inspiring acts of bravery and compassion that shone through the darkness.

“The universe holds more evil than most admit,” Bronson said solemnly. “There are only two kingdoms. The kingdom of darkness and the kingdom of light and they’re at war with one another.” He paused, looking intensely at Wade to let the words sink in.

“Unfortunately, we’re all born into the kingdom of darkness and the king is Satan, the devil, pure evil. But Satan is a liar. He tells us that we don’t have to serve him but we can serve ourselves. But, in the end, Satan and his kingdom only leads to darkness, destruction, and death. On the other hand, there’s the kingdom of light, the kingdom of God. His Son, Jesus Christ is the King. God the Father loves us so much that he sent His Son Jesus down to the earth, He lived a perfect life and He died on a cross for everything we’ve done wrong. Our selfish rebellion against Him. The Bible calls this sin. Jesus was buried but then three days later he rose from the dead, proving that He is the King over everything, including death. Now, if we turn from our own selfish ways and accept Jesus’s forgiveness and serve Him as our King, we can enter into the kingdom of light. In God’s kingdom there is light, love, and life for all eternity.

Wade nodded with understanding, his mind drifting to the evil he had experienced in the Zoo. Wade hung on the wise chaplain’s every word.

The chaplain continued, looking Wade square in the eyes as though he were looking into his soul. “So we live in this little bubble we call life and when it pops, when we die, whichever King we served is where we will spend all eternity. If we serve ourselves and ultimately Satan, we will spend all eternity in darkness. If we serve Jesus as our King, we will spend all eternity with Him in the kingdom of light.

Once again the chaplain paused to let the truth sink in…”So here’s my question Wade, which King do you serve?”

Wade was caught off guard by the question. He had become so engrossed in the story that he failed to realize he was an integral part of one of these kingdoms himself. It didn’t take long, however, for the stark realization to dawn on him – his entire life had been a pursuit of self-interest. Even his military aspirations stemmed more from personal ambition than a desire to serve others. With a resigned sigh, he muttered, “I think we both know I reside in the kingdom of darkness, chaplain.”

Bronson broke in, “Wade, what would keep you from choosing the kingdom of light? Choosing Jesus as your King? Do you believe God loves you?”

Wade, squirmed uncomfortably on the cot. “Chaplain, I want to believe…but I just don’t know.”

“Well, Wade, it’s the most important decision you’ll ever make. Give it some more thought.” Bronson gave Wade a friendly clap on the shoulder and started to make his way out of the infirmary. He looked back at Wade, “Same time tomorrow?”

Wade stood to his feet, assumed the position of attention and snapped a salute. “Yes sir!” his voice stronger than it had been in weeks.

“Good, see you tomorrow!” Bronson returned his salute.

Over the next few days, Chaplain Bronson continued to weave his thought-provoking stories into the circumstances of the young Marine’s life. Wade’s depression started to lift. The older man imparted such profound truths – Wade was understanding more and more the difference between light and darkness, good and evil, and the spiritual struggle within him was more real than he could have ever imagined. 

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Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil, for You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

Psalm 23:4

Farewell to Comrades

Wade clenched his jaw, a grim smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he recalled the final instructions Staff Sergeant Reyes had issued with typical gruffness:

“Listen up, Maggots. From this point on, you are released for solo survival in the Zoo. You are to fend for yourself. Your objective is to reach the Ramsey Station in one piece. You don’t have to worry about the Skravak, you killed them all. Your new enemy is the planet. You have four days to navigate your way back to the station without any assistance from cadre or your fellow Marines. If you are caught fraternizing with anyone but Carthis 7, you’ll be immediately washed out. If you get into trouble, you can call for evac and we’ll come and get you. But you will be disqualified from any further training as a Ranger. You’ll be allowed two quarts of water, purification tabs, and one protein bar. Don’t eat anything from the wild, no matter how good it looks. It will kill you. Don’t drink any liquid without first purifying it, it too will kill you. You have your coordinates and routes. If there are no questions, see ya in four days!”

Reyes had paused then, allowing his piercing gaze to settle on each of them. The few that were left that is. They entered the gates of the Zoo seven days earlier with a company of 123 Marine recruits. Many had been injured or outright killed. A few had even quit and were shipped out to who knows where. Staff Sergeant Reyes was looking at the remnant of 24 survivors.

“Alright then, four days of bootcamp remaining. It will seem like a lifetime. Let’s see who can hack it.” the Staff Sergeant had growled. “You’re on your own. Move out!”

With that parting challenge lingering in the air, Wade, Alex, and Briggs exchanged the warrior’s gesture of farewell. They each grasped the other’s hand firmly, pulling their armored bodies together in a firm but reverent bump that made a hollow thud as their breastplates met. They nodded with assurance and parted ways.

Forward

Wade squared his shoulders with the savage landscape stretching before him, a desolate expanse of shattered terrain and lurking perils. Jagged outcroppings of rock jutted from the ground like the teeth of some ancient, slumbering beast, while deep crevasses crisscrossed the land, their depths obscured by shadow. The air was thick with the tang of sulfur, and the distant horizon shimmered in a haze of scorching heat.

Wade’s world narrowed to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sweat stinging his eyes, and the endless march of desolation that awaited him. Yet his gaze never wavered, his spirit never splintered. He cast his mind forward, allowing the singular objective to burn away the encroaching doubts and phantoms: he would reach the Ramsey Station, no matter the cost.

As the first day drew to a close, Wade’s canteens ran dry, the last precious drops of water long since consumed. Up ahead, a glimmer of hope materialized in the form of a twisted, alien structure. It rose from the ground like a misshapen monolith, its surface rippling with an iridescent sheen. Tendrils of vapor coiled from its apex, curling and dissipating in the arid air.

Cautiously, Wade approached, his throat burning with thirst. As he drew closer, he saw that the structure was composed of intricately woven strands, each one pulsing with a faint, bio-luminescent glow. At its base, a pool of viscous liquid had collected, its surface undulating gently. Kneeling beside the pool, Wade dipped his hand into the liquid, recoiling at its viscous texture and the sharp, metallic scent that assailed his nostrils.

He rummaged through his kit, his heart sinking as he realized his purification tabs were missing, lost somewhere along the day’s march behind him. But his thirst was overwhelming, and with a grimace, he submerged his canteens, filling them to the brim with the alien liquid.

He knew the risk he was taking so he fought back the urge to drink the putrid juice, but after two more days of trudging beneath the relentless glare of Carthis 7’s twin suns, the temptation became too great. His lips cracked and bleeding, his tongue swollen in his mouth, Wade succumbed, raising the canteen to his lips and drinking deeply of the contaminated water.

Once he got past the smell, the liquid was surprisingly sweet to the taste. But it didn’t take long until Wade vomited the entire contents of his stomach. He crumpled to his knees with dry heaves wrenching until it felt like his intestines were in his throat. He lay with his face in the dust drooling and wishing he was dead. Finally, after an hour, he will himself to stand and stumble forward.

The Edge of Sanity

Wade prayed. “God, if you’re up there, I need your help! I’ve really messed this up. I really need your help. If you get me through this, I’ll change my ways. I’ll go to church and try to be a better person…just get me through this Hell.” Wade had never addressed God in a way that didn’t resemble a curse word before this moment but he was a desperate man.

Wade stumbled onwards, every step a monumental effort as he crested the barren ridge overlooking the final rally point. His vision blurred and narrowed, the arid landscape seeming to spin in dizzying arcs around him. Waves of nausea roiled through his gut, the bitter taste of vomit lingering on his cracked lips.

He was dying. Deep down, he knew the truth – whatever foul microbes had tainted the stagnant pool he’d desperately drunk from were now ravaging his body from within. If he didn’t find relief soon, didn’t receive medical treatment…

A ragged cough racked Wade’s frame as he pressed on, boots scuffing across the parched earth. There, in the valley below – he could make out the shapes of armored vehicles and field tents erected around a makeshift command hub. He was so close, yet the distance may as well have been an eternity for how his body was rapidly failing him.

Through the encroaching haze gripping his mind, Wade became aware of figures in the distance waving him down. A burst of adrenaline lent him a final surge as he lurched the remaining meters into the perimeter, collapsing in a boneless heap at the feet of the silhouettes.

“Stay with me, son,” Sergeant Reyes’ gruff timbre cut through the fog as the grizzled DI knelt beside him. “We’ve got a corpsman inbound. Just keep breathing.”

Wade managed a feeble nod, his throat feeling as though it was being shredded with each shallow gasp. Dark spots began creeping across his vision, the edges of reality blurring and receding.

He was distantly aware of being loaded onto a stretcher, of urgent voices echoing around him. Then a familiar presence burned through the gathering murk, vibrant and anchoring in a way that transcended his faltering physicality.

“You’re one tough son of a gun, Wade.”

The voice was warm, comforting as a favorite blanket in its familiarity. He turned his head, blinking away the creeping darkness to find none other than Mike manifesting beside him with a crooked grin.

“Mike?” Wade rasped, confusion warring with elation at seeing his brother’s visage. “But how…?”

The ghostly vision seemed to consider him for a long moment before chuckling softly. “I’m here, man. Doesn’t really matter how, just that I’ve got you.”

Wade sagged against the stretcher as coherent thought began slipping away. “I…I don’t know if I can keep going, Mike. This trial, everything we’ve endured…” Images of the last harrowing days flashed across his mindscape – blood and viscera, the screams of the dying echoing like accusatory shrieks ripped from the maws of doomed souls.

“It’s too much,” he wheezed, despair weighing heavily upon his every syllable. “I’m not strong enough for this.”

Mike’s expression softened further as he reached out, his essence feeling impossibly solid yet ethereal as he gripped Wade’s trembling hand. He offered that signature grin, the one that had buoyed Wade’s spirits through so many seemingly insurmountable challenges.

Wade could only stare, transfixed, as the world around them seemed to flicker and contort. Abruptly the blasted terrain of the Zoo materialized in vivid, lurid detail. The stench of char and death hung thick in the air as the specters of their fallen comrades rose around them in silent accusation.

As abruptly as the waking dream had manifested, it imploded upon itself in a swirling vortex of darkness. When Wade’s vision cleared, he found himself sprawled in the dirt. He was hallucinating. Every fiber still ached with an intensity bordering on the metaphysical, yet…something profound had shifted within his core. Something immutable, an iron reserve of determination hardened by the scorching trials he had endured.

Endurance from Above

Channeling what tattered scraps of vigor remained, Wade forced himself into a sitting position. Hours had passed. His mouth felt as dry as the scorched battlefields beyond their sanctuary, but he managed to croak out a single word.

“Water.”

Wade managed to stand and press onwards, his boots leaving a solitary trail of prints scored into the parched earth. The setting suns cast harsh shadows that danced and distorted across the ravaged terrain, mocking figments that could almost be mistaken for spectral sentries keeping vigil.

He walked until his feet were scoured raw with blisters. His face, a chapped, peeling mess by the stinging winds whipping across the badlands. He walked until the sweat and salt stains etched patterns in his t-shirt as he dragged his chest armor and weapon behind him like a sled. Dehydration tugging at the edges of his consciousness once more.

At times, Wade couldn’t be certain if the shapes flickering at the periphery of his vision were heat-spawned mirages or the harbingers of fresh torments conjured to test his mettle. Shadows took on ominous forms that seemed to swell and shift in time with his ragged breaths. More than once, he wheeled with his knife at the ready, eyes desperately searching for any hint of hostile movement only to find…nothing.

The phantoms stalked him through those scorched barrens. Lingering dementia gripped Wade’s mind, the veneer of reality wearing dangerously thin as hallucinations encroached upon his battered psyche. At one point he could have sworn Mike materialized beside him again, that familiar swagger and cocksure grin blazing with incandescent intensity before winking out like a snuffed candle flame.

The Gauntlet’s End

There was no distinction between the waking world and the realms of fevered delirium any longer. It was all one terrifying, unbroken continuum that threatened to unhinge Wade’s sanity by increments. He pressed on through the visions, through the shapes that may or may not have been the butchered remnants of his former squadmates, exhorting him to turn back from this nightmarish road while he still could.

Then, when his knees finally buckled and Wade slammed face-first into the gnarled, dusty earth, the pain blossomed with welcome lucidity. As the first rivulets of blood seeped through the gashes now creasing his brow and cheek, the hallucinations receded like routed specters fleeing from the brilliance of the truth.

Wade blinked, struggling to rise on limbs that burned with protest from the inside out. Lancing shards of clarity pierced the disorientation and delirium as he stared at the smears of crimson wicking into the ochre soil beneath his splayed palms.

This pain, as crippling as it was, anchored him in the Now. It was tangible, unrelenting…and eminently, unshakably real.

And there, cresting the ridge in the distance, the beacon from Ramsey Station’s water tower shone with celestial radiance through the swirling dust and thermals. Wade clawed his way upright, driven by that single incandescent lure.

His legs felt like twisted remnants dangling beneath him, tendons screaming in protest with each lurching stride. Yet he would not be deterred, not now – not when salvation blazed so tantalizingly close.

The pain… it was his talisman, his lifeline keeping him moored as the dregs of madness threatened to subsume him once more. With every anguished gasp of superheated air searing his throat, Wade could feel the phantoms receding further into the realm of nightmare from whence they had crawled.

He was real. This agony was real. And through the torment of blood, sweat and shattered pride, he would find his way to deliverance.

In the distance, the silhouette of the outpost materialized, a stark contrast against the smoldering skyline. Wade squinted, his vision blurring, but there was no mistaking the harsh angles of the prefabricated structures, the glint of floodlights cutting through the encroaching darkness.

A renewed surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins, propelling him forward with a burst of speed. His lungs burned, his heart thundering in his ears, but still he pushed on, each ragged breath a defiant proclamation of his resilience.

As he drew nearer, the outlines of figures began to take shape, silhouetted against the harsh glare of the floodlights. He could make out the distinctive form of Sergeant Reyes, his imposing frame standing rigid, arms folded across his chest.

Beside him, a team of corpsmen waited, their medical kits at the ready.

Wade’s pace faltered, his legs threatening to give out beneath him, but he refused to surrender. With a final, herculean effort, he staggered across the threshold of the Ramsey Station, collapsing to his knees mere meters from Sergeant Reyes.

The burly Staff Sergeant regarded him impassively, his weathered features inscrutable. Then, with a curt nod, he glanced at his wristwatch, the seconds ticking down inexorably.

“Cutting it close, Marine,” he rumbled, his voice carrying a hint of grudging respect.

The corpsmen surged forward, their hands steadying Wade as the world tilted precariously around him. He could taste the bitter tang of the alien liquid on his tongue, his stomach roiling with each shallow breath.

But he had made it. As the final seconds of the fourth day bled away, Wade felt a sense of grim triumph wash over him. He had conquered the savage expanse of Carthis 7, his indomitable spirit prevailing against the relentless onslaught of the alien world.

As the corpsmen worked frantically inserting IVs and cutting away his clothes to tend to his wounds, Wade allowed himself a bloodied, supremely weary smile. He simply prayed, “Thanks God.” He had walked through the valley of shadow and death, steeled his soul against the disintegration of his very sanity…

…and he had emerged victorious, unbroken,

a Marine. 

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