For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

2 Timothy 1:7

First Drop

Alex and Briggs’ graduation from Drop Insertion School arrived with a mix of excitement and nostalgia. As the ceremony concluded, they found themselves receiving hardy congratulations and saying farewell to Wade and Jay, their faces a blend of pride and shiny drop wings pinned on their chest.

“Well, this is it,” Alex said, clasping Wade’s hand firmly. “Off to Earth for Ranger School.”

Briggs nodded and shook Wade’s hand, his expression serious but eyes glinting with determination. “It’s been one heck of a ride, brother. I’m sure we’ll see you at the end of the pipeline. Try not to splat on the DZ.” Jay and Wade chuckled nervously.

As Wade watched Alex and Briggs depart, the gravity of the future weighed heavily on him. His friends had conquered DIS and were now bound for Ranger School. Despite their success, a flicker of uncertainty crept into Wade’s thoughts. He reassured himself that he and Jay would soon follow in their footsteps, yet a trace of doubt lingered.

The next day dawned clear and crisp, a deceptively calm backdrop for the intense experience that awaited them, their first live medium-altitude drop.

Inside the Thunderhawk Dropship, the air crackled with nervous energy. Staff Sergeant Schwarz stood on the back ramp, his presence commanding as always, but now tinged with an even greater sense of responsibility. This was no simulation – today, lives were truly in his hands.

Beside him, a Navy Petty Officer Third Class moved with practiced efficiency, checking and rechecking the dropship and pods in preparation for the drop. Two Marine Drop Sergeants, designated as Safeties, meticulously inspected each “Jelly’s” equipment, their experienced eyes catching even the smallest discrepancy.

Wade’s heart pounded in his chest as he waited, the reality of what they were about to do finally sinking in. This was it – their first real drop. He prayed, “Lord, I need your help. Not only to survive but for the courage to actually go through with this. Help me not to embarrass myself or my buddies. Amen.”

Schwarz’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “Six minutes!”

The Jellies tensed in unison, their bodies stiff with anticipation. The dropship banked sharply, its engines groaning under the strain. As the craft decelerated rapidly, inertia pressed the recruits into their harnesses. The flight time to the drop zone was shorter than anyone expected. Below at a distance Pathfinders marked the drop zone with a billowing smoke pot.

“Outboard personnel, stand up!”

Those closest to the sides of the ship rose, movements crisp despite the nervous energy.

“Inboard personnel, stand up!”

The rest of the recruits got to their feet, including Wade. He caught Jay’s eye, exchanging a brief nod of encouragement.

“Enter drop pods!” Schwarz yelled over the din.

With practiced motions, they climbed into their respective pods. Wade’s hands moved almost on autopilot, muscle memory from countless simulations taking over.

“Check straps and data!”

Wade double-checked his harness, then triple-checked it. His eyes scanned the readouts, verifying every detail.

Schwarz bellowed, “Green if you’re OK!”

Without hesitation, Wade punched the green button. Around him, a series of clicks echoed as his fellow Marines did the same. On Schwarz’s display, a sea of green lights blinked to life.

“One minute warning!”

Schwarz’s voice carried a hint of pride as he entered his own drop pod. Wade took a deep breath, centering himself. This was what they had trained for.

Schwarz voice came over the comms, “Prepare to drop!”

A green light flared inside Wade’s pod, synchronized with every other capsule. Milliseconds later, a cascade of controlled detonations shuddered through the ship. Wade’s stomach lurched as his pod shot sideways, ejected from the racing vessel. The dropship’s thunderous engines diminished to a fading roar as it blazed onward, leaving Wade’s pod plummeting at terminal velocity. Only the intermittent bursts of retro thrusters punctuated the silence, keeping the capsule on its predetermined trajectory.

The descent was a rush of adrenaline and focused concentration. Wade’s eyes darted between his instruments and the rapidly approaching ground, the computer making micro-adjustments as needed. It was only a 12 to 13 second ride but the pod’s systems worked flawlessly, guiding him down with precision.

Full-stop retros fired just before hitting the ground with a bone-jarring thud. Wade’s pod had landed. His hand was already moving to the release before the dust had settled. As the front panel fell away, Wade emerged, rifle at the ready.

Around him, his fellow Marines were doing the same, moving with purpose to establish a perimeter around their drop zone. There was no chatter, no celebration – just the smooth execution of their training.

As Wade took his position, he felt a surge of pride and relief. They had done it – their first live drop. They assembled at the bleachers and celebrated with high fives and nervous laughter. Each one recounting their version of the drop.

Later, as they sat in the mess hall that evening, Wade and Jay could barely contain their excitement. With trays full of food, they prayed exuberant thanks for both the chow and a safe drop.

“Did you feel that rush when we jettisoned?” Jay asked, eyes wide with adrenaline.

Wade nodded vigorously. “Man, it was intense! Nothing like the sims.”

They recounted every detail of the drop, from the tension in the Thunderhawk to the moment their pods hit the ground.

“Schwarz actually looked impressed,” Jay noted with a grin.

“Yeah, but you know he’d never really let on.” Wade laughed.

Both agreed: despite the challenges ahead, they’d never felt more alive or more certain of their path.

The Red Button

The following day dawned dark and ominous, with thick storm clouds boiling overhead. As the recruits boarded the Thunderhawk, the atmosphere was tense. Lightning flashed in the distance, and thunder rumbled ominously.

As the dropship gained altitude, the turbulence was immediate and violent. The craft bucked and shuddered, tossing the Marines about like rag dolls. Wade gritted his teeth, fighting down a wave of nausea as he clung to his harness.

Sergeant Schwarz’s voice, a low growl, crackled over the intercom, somehow steady despite the chaos. “This is what real combat insertions feel like, Jellies! Stay focused!”

As they approached the drop zone, the buffeting intensified. Rain lashed against the hull, creating a deafening roar. Wade could see the strain on his fellow recruits’ faces as they prepared to enter their pods.

“Enter drop pods!” Schwarz bellowed.

They scrambled into their capsules, the familiar confines now feeling claustrophobic amidst the storm’s fury. Wade’s hands shook slightly as he ran through his checks, forcing himself to concentrate.

Schwarz shouted, “Check straps and data!”

Wade complied, his training kicking in despite the fear clawing at his gut.

“Green if you’re OK!”

Wade’s finger hovered over the green button for a split second before he pressed it firmly. He prayed silently, “Help me Jesus…” Around him, green lights flickered on, but then—two red lights suddenly blazed on Schwarz’s display.

The sergeant’s voice was cold with disappointment. “Safeties check pods 7 and 12!” The Safeties each made the cut throat sign with knife edged hands indicating there were no mechanical or data problems. These recruits were refusing to drop. Schwarz growled in a loud voice, “Pod 7 and 12, you’re done. Report to me after they deliver your sorry carcusses to the DZ!”

Wade felt a mix of sympathy and frustration for his fellow recruits. He knew the consequence of that red light—immediate elimination from the course. Their dreams of becoming Drop Marines had just ended.

As the remaining pods prepared for deployment, Wade steeled himself. The storm raged on, but he was determined to see this through. He thought of Alex and Briggs, already at Ranger School, and of his own journey. This was what separated the elite from the rest.

“Prepare to drop!”

The green light flashed, and Wade’s world became a maelstrom of wind, rain, and adrenaline as his pod plummeted through the storm-tossed sky. Other than the rough ride, it all went without a hitch.

As the rain-soaked Marines trudged back to the barracks, their uniforms clinging to their bodies and boots squelching with each step, a tense scene unfolded near the landed dropship. Off to the side, partially obscured by the downpour, Sergeant Schwarz paced in front of the two drop refusals standing at parade rest.

Even from a distance, Wade could see the fury etched on Schwarz’s face. His voice, barely audible over the pounding rain, carried a biting edge that cut through the air.

“All you had to do was man up!” Schwarz bellowed, his face inches from the first Marine’s. “You’re both cowards! I don’t want you next to me in a fire fight! I don’t even want you in my Corps! Report to admin and get out of my sight.”

The two Marines came to attention, their expressions a mix of shame and defeat. Water streamed down their faces, indistinguishable from tears. They were double timed to admin by one of the Safeties, never to be seen again.

As Wade and the others continued their soggy march, they couldn’t help but feel a mixture of relief and sympathy. They had faced the same fear, the same doubts, but had pushed through. The cost of failure was painfully clear, etched in the defeated postures of their former comrades.

Medium Drops Complete

Over the next two days, the remaining recruits completed three more drops – two during daylight hours and one under the cover of darkness. While each insertion brought its own surge of adrenaline and challenges, they were largely uneventful compared to the storm-tossed drop.

The daytime drops allowed the Marines to perfect their landing techniques and post-drop procedures in clear conditions. They honed their skills in rapidly establishing secure perimeters and adapting to various terrains. The night drop added an extra layer of complexity, testing their ability to operate effectively with limited visibility and relying heavily on their instruments and night vision equipment.

Throughout these drops, Wade and Jay found themselves settling into a rhythm, their movements becoming more fluid and confident with each successful insertion. The fear was still there, a constant companion on every drop, but it was now tempered by growing experience and trust in their training and equipment.

As the final day of medium-altitude drops arrived, there was a palpable sense of accomplishment among the recruits. They had faced their fears, conquered the skies, and proven themselves capable of handling the intense pressures of mid-altitude insertion.

The graduation ceremony for the Marine Regulars was a bittersweet affair. While proud of their achievements, Wade, Jay, and the other 23 Ranger candidates felt a mix of excitement and apprehension as they watched their fellow Marines receive their silver drop wings. They knew that their own journey was far from over.

As the newly minted Drop Marines departed, the Ranger candidates gathered, their faces a blend of determination and anticipation. Sergeant Schwarz approached them, his expression unreadable.

“Congratulations on making it this far,” he began, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of approval. “But don’t get comfortable. The real challenge begins now.”

Wade and Jay exchanged glances, a silent communication of shared resolve passing between them.

Schwarz continued, “Low altitude insertions or better known as the “Crazy-D, ” are a whole different beast. You’ll be dropped at 150 feet from the deck, no time for second-guessing or any emergency procedures. Basically, you’re just along for one very intense harry ride. But first you gotta make it through a week of High-G training which is no walk in the park. ”

The candidates listened intently, the weight of Schwarz’s words settling on their shoulders.

“Rest up tomorrow, We’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.” Schwarz concluded, a gleam in his eye that was part pride, part challenge. “Next week, we start separating the Rangers from the Regulars.”

As they headed back to their barracks, Wade felt a familiar mix of excitement and nerves coursing through him. The next phase would push them to their limits, but he was ready. They all were. The path to becoming Rangers stretched before them, daunting but irresistible.

Centrifuge Training

As Wade, Jay, and the other Ranger candidates filed into the High-G Training facility, they were greeted by a sight that made their jaws drop. The centerpiece of the cavernous room was a massive, gleaming structure that looked like something out of a science fiction movie.

The XG-9000 is a marvel of advanced technology, representing the pinnacle of high-G training equipment. At its core is a sleek, egg-shaped capsule suspended in mid-air by an array of powerful electromagnetic fields. This capsule houses a state-of-the-art pilot’s seat, ergonomically designed to support the human body under extreme G-forces.

The capsule’s exterior is a smooth, metallic shell dotted with pulsing bioluminescent sensors that constantly monitor the occupant’s vital signs. Inside, the pilot is surrounded by a 360-degree holographic display, providing real-time data and simulated visuals of combat scenarios.

What truly sets the XG-9000 apart is its revolutionary propulsion system. A network of superconducting magnets generates an incredibly strong magnetic field, allowing the capsule to hover and move with six degrees of freedom. This magnetic suspension system enables the XG-9000 to spin, pitch, and yaw in any direction with pinpoint precision, subjecting the pilot to G-forces that perfectly mimic those experienced during the most extreme combat maneuvers.

The XG-9000’s ability to rotate at high speeds while maintaining its position in space creates a centrifugal force that can reach up to 9 Gs or more, pushing the limits of human endurance. The lack of a physical connection to a central arm allows for more realistic simulation of the sudden onset of G-forces experienced during drop insertions.

Sergeant Schwarz stood before the awestruck recruits, his face set in its usual stern expression. “Welcome to the merry-go-round, ladies and gentlemen,” he barked. “This beauty behind me is the XG-9000, the most advanced centrifuge in the galaxy. It’ll simulate the G-forces you’ll experience during Crazy-D insertions and then some.”

A short, stout man in a pristine lab coat materialized beside Schwarz, thick glasses magnifying his beady eyes. “I’m Dr. Kreiner,” he announced with a whiny voice and a hint of glee in his eyes. “I’ll be monitoring your physiological responses throughout the training. Do try not to pass out too quickly; it makes the data collection so tedious.”

More PT

The recruits were immediately thrust into a grueling regimen of exercises designed to prepare their bodies for the extreme stresses ahead. Wade found himself gasping for breath as he struggled through sets of explosive squats and shoulder presses, the burn in his muscles a constant companion.

Dr. Kreiner hovered nearby, datapad in hand. “Fascinating,” he muttered, scribbling notes as Wade fought to complete another rep. “The human body is so delightfully fragile, yet so adaptable.”

Wade and the other recruits moved into the classroom where the chairs were arranged in a circle around Drop Sergeant Schwarz. He explained the Anti-G Straining Maneuver (AGSM), “You need to force air against a closed glottis, the part of the larynx containing the vocal cords, and then tense your muscles in the lower body and abdomen like this.” He demonstrated the technique, his face reddening as he pushed air against the base of his throat with a low continuous grunt. “This will keep you conscious when your body wants to shut down,” he explained. “Master it, or you’ll be kissing your Ranger dreams goodbye.”

Now it was time to practice. The circle of students performed their AGSM under the scrutiny of Schwarz and Dr. Kreiner. Wade practiced relentlessly, determined to perfect the maneuver. Jay, beside him, looked equally focused, their shared goal pushing them through the discomfort.

The candidates were fitted with sleek, form-fitting G-suits that were worn under the heavy Marine armor. It looked more like something a superhero would wear than military gear. As Wade donned his suit, he felt it come to life, sensors adapting to his body’s contours.

“These beauties,” Schwarz explained, “will keep your blood where it belongs – in your brain. They’re the difference between staying alert and becoming a useless sack of meat during insertion.”

Going for a Spin

The moment of truth arrived as Wade strapped himself into the XG-9000’s pod. Dr. Kreiner’s voice crackled through the comm system, “Beginning spin-up. Try not to redecorate the interior, recruit.” Schwarz chimed in, “In other words, if you puke in my pod, you’ll be scrubbing it out with a toothbrush until tomorrow morning!”

As the arm began to rotate, Wade felt the G-forces building. His vision narrowed, dark tendrils creeping in from the edges. He fought against the crushing weight, desperately applying the AGSM technique.

“Three Gs… four Gs… five Gs,” Dr. Kreiner’s voice counted clinically. Wade’s world became a haze of pain and disorientation. Just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, the pod slowed to a stop.

Stumbling out, Wade barely made it to a nearby trash can before emptying the contents of his stomach. He looked up to see Schwarz nodding approvingly. “Not bad for a first run, Marine. You didn’t pass out. That’s more than I can say for some.”

The remaining days blurred together in a haze of sweat, strain, and sheer determination. Wade and Jay advanced through the gradually increased Gs. They watched as, one by one, their fellow candidates were subjected to the same brutal regimen. At times it was comical. At others there was grave concern for the unconscious candidates being poured out of the capsule to be revived.

Dr. Kreiner seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their suffering, always ready with a datapad, a defibrillator, and a disturbingly cheerful comment. “Excellent work, recruit! Your retinas are only slightly hemorrhaging today. Progress!”

By the final day, it was time for the 9G push and beyond. Wade’s body felt like one massive bruise, but his resolve had never been stronger. As he strapped in for his final centrifuge run, he caught Jay’s eye across the room. They exchanged a nod of solidarity before the world started spinning once more. “Five Gs… six Gs… seven Gs,” Dr. Kreiner’s voice counted. Schwarz broke in on the intercom, “That’s eight Gs Ranger Kovacs! One more! Wade, trying to maintain consciousness, could not quite grasp what the sergeant just said, “Did he just call me Ranger…Kovacs?” The Sergeant’s excited voice came across again, “Hang in there Ranger, a little bit more! 9G! You did it! Good job, Ranger!” “He did call me Ranger” Wade thought to himself grunting under the strain. Dr. Kreiner turned the knob on the control panel to 9.3 Gs and Wade promptly went to “sleep.”

As the last candidate stumbled out of the XG-9000, Sergeant Schwarz addressed the battered but unbowed survivors. “Congratulations, you sorry lot,” he growled, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “You’ve survived High-G week. Some of you might even make decent Rangers.”

Dr. Kreiner chimed in, his glasses gleaming. “Truly remarkable data, ladies and gentlemen. Your bodies have adapted beyond my wildest expectations. I look forward to seeing how you perform in actual combat situations… purely from a scientific standpoint, of course.”

Wade and Jay stood tall despite their exhaustion, a sense of accomplishment washing over them. They had faced their limits and pushed beyond them, forging themselves into something stronger in the torture capsule of the XG-9000.

As they filed out of the training facility, Schwarz’s voice growled after them. “Rest up, Marines. Next week, we drop for real. Crazy-D awaits, and it makes this look like a walk in the park.” 

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio

Yet those who wait for the LORD

Will gain new strength;

They will mount up with wings like eagles,

They will run and not get tired,

They will walk and not become weary.

Isaiah 40:31

The Classroom

The week leading up to the drop pod simulations was characterized by the usual pre-dawn torture sessions with Sergeant Schwarz. After breakfast, they gathered in the classroom, already drained from the morning’s physical training. In this state of exhaustion, they faced the challenge of tackling complex theories and systems. Staying awake was a struggle, let alone being sharp enough to solve intricate mathematical problems. These sessions tested every recruit’s mental acuity and intellectual stamina. In stark contrast to the physical rigors of the early morning, the classroom sessions immersed them in a world of complex calculations, intricate systems, and mind-bending theories.

Drop Sergeant Schwarz, now trading his drill sergeant persona for that of a stern professor, led them through the intricate mathematics of orbital mechanics and atmospheric reentry. Wade found himself grappling with differential equations and vector calculus, calculating trajectories and descent angles with a precision that could mean the difference between life and death in real-world scenarios.

Map reading took on a whole new dimension as they delved into advanced cartography and geospatial analysis. The recruits learned to interpret topographical data, plot landing zones, and factor in geological and atmospheric conditions that could affect their drops. The pod’s computer system could do all this in seconds but every student was required to know the “nug work” behind the machine.

The drop pod computer systems proved to be a labyrinth of software interfaces and hardware components. Wade and his fellow recruits spent hours memorizing command protocols, troubleshooting simulated system failures, and mastering the art of real-time data interpretation during simulated drops.

Flight dynamics introduced them to the complex interplay of forces acting on their pods during descent. They studied the effects of wind shear, atmospheric density variations, and the intricate dance of retro rockets that would guide them safely to the ground.

For Wade, who had prepared extensively for the intellectual rigors of the program, these sessions were both exhilarating and exhausting. He found himself drawing on knowledge from his pre-enlistment studies, grateful for the hours he’d spent poring over advanced physics and mathematics.

As the week progressed, the lines between physical and mental fatigue began to blur. The recruits pushed through, their minds as taxed as their bodies, driven by the knowledge that mastery of these complex systems was crucial to their survival and success as Rangers.

The Simulator

The transition from basic classroom instruction to simulated drop insertion marked a new phase in Wade and Jay’s journey. As they entered the high-tech simulation center, the recruits could feel the electric anticipation in the air. This was where theory met practice, they had learned to master the intricate systems on paper. Now it was time for some practical hands-on training.

Sergeant Schwarz stood before a row of sleek, metallic pods. “Listen up, Jellies,” he barked, his voice carrying the weight of hard-won experience. “These beauties here are your ticket to the fight. Drop pods. Get to know them, love them, because you’re going to get closer to them than a burrito and a foil wrapper.”

Wade and Jay exchanged glances and laughed, a mix of excitement and apprehension reflected in their eyes. They had heard whispers about the infamous “Crazy-D” drops, but Schwarz quickly dispelled those notions.

“We’re starting with standard 3000-foot drops today,” Schwarz announced. “You need to master the basics before we even think about low-altitude deployment. Now, gather ’round. Let’s go through the pre-drop checklist.”

The recruits huddled around one of the open pods as Schwarz began his demonstration. “First things first – always check your harness integrity,” he said, tugging firmly on the crash restraints. “A loose harness means a broken neck. Not the way you want to start your day.”

Wade watched intently as Schwarz moved to the pod’s onboard computer. “This is your lifeline, ladies and gentlemen. You need to know how to program this thing in your sleep.”

The instructor’s fingers flew over the touchscreen, bringing up a series of menus and readouts. “You’ll input your weight, adjust for any additional gear, and set your landing coordinates. The computer calculates wind speed, atmospheric conditions, and a host of other variables to ensure a safe landing. You can leave your stubby pencil in the classroom.”

Jay raised his hand. “Sir, what happens if the computer malfunctions?”

Schwarz nodded approvingly. “Good question. In case of a system failure, you’ve got manual override controls.” He pointed to a series of switches and levers. “These babies will fire your retro rockets if the computer decides to take a vacation. You ride this bucking bull to the ground and fire all-stop retros at treetop level. But let’s pray it doesn’t come to that because there ain’t no trees on most of these planets.”

The Sergeant then walked them through the pre-drop safety checks. “You’ll run a full system diagnostic before every drop. Check your oxygen levels, ensure your comm link is operational, and verify that your emergency beacon is active.”

Wade felt a mix of excitement and nervousness as he absorbed the information. This was real, well, a real simulation. One day they were actually going to be dropping from the sky in these metal coffins.

“Now,” Schwarz continued, “who wants to be our first volunteer for a simulated drop?”

Before he could stop himself, Wade’s hand shot up. “Oorah, sir!”

Jay looked at him, a mixture of pride and concern on his face.

Wade nodded at Jay, steeling himself. “Gotta start somewhere, right?”

As Wade approached the pod, Schwarz’s expression softened slightly. “Alright, Private Kovacs. Remember, this is just a simulation. But treat it like the real thing. Run through your checks, program the computer, and prepare for drop.”

Wade climbed into the pod, the crash restraints automatically securing him in place. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. His fingers moved across the touchscreen, inputting his data, and running through the pre-drop checklist.

“Harness secure… oxygen levels optimal… comm check… emergency beacon active…” Wade muttered to himself, methodically going through each step.

“Alright,” Schwarz’s voice came through the comm. “Now set your landing coordinates and prepare for drop simulation.”

Wade input the coordinates, double-checking his work. The guidance computer lit up, displaying a dizzying array of information – altitude, descent rate, wind speed, and more.

“Initiating drop sequence,” Schwarz’s voice crackled through the com system. “Good luck, Jelly.”

The world around Wade went dark, replaced by a hyper-realistic virtual landscape. He felt the sudden lurch as the pod was “ejected” from the simulated dropship. The G-forces pressed him back into his seat, but it was manageable – nothing like the brutal Crazy-D drops he’d heard about.

As the simulated ground rushed up to meet him, Wade focused on the computer readouts, watching for any anomalies. The pod’s systems worked flawlessly, firing retro rockets at precisely the right moments but a little longer than what they had seen in the training videos in the classroom.

With a firm but controlled impact, the pod struck the virtual ground. Wade’s hand moved to the release switch and activated it.

The pod’s front panel fell away, revealing the simulated drop zone beyond. Wade emerged, his legs steady and his mind clear. Had he successfully completed his first simulated drop?

As the simulation faded away, Wade found himself back in the training center, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Schwarz stood before him, a hint of approval that turned into a sly expression. Wade had seen that sadistic look before.

“Not bad, Kovacs,” the instructor said gruffly. “You kept your cool and followed procedure. But…your coordinates were off by one number and it happened to be a big number! Had the retros had enough fuel, you would have landed on the other side of the planet. You need to triple-check, no, quadruple-check your data. Why don’t you get on down and give me a hundred push-ups.” Turning to the other very amused Jellies, the Sergeant calmly said, “Now, who’s next?”

As Jay stepped up for his turn, Wade furiously knocked out a hundred push-ups. Attention to details, that was the name of the game here. No one wanted to wind up as their name sake…Jelly.

Humiliation

The days blurred together as Wade, Jay, and the other recruits cycled through an endless series of drop simulations. Sergeant Schwarz pushed them to their limits, introducing new variables and challenges with each run.

“You think the enemy’s going to give you a perfect day for insertion?” Schwarz barked as he adjusted the simulation parameters. “Today, you’re dropping through an ionic storm. Good luck with your nav systems, Jellies!”

Wade gritted his teeth as he entered the pod for his fifth run of the day. The simulated turbulence rattled him to his core as alarms blared, warning of system malfunctions. He fought to keep his focus, triple-checking every input and decision.

As the weeks progressed, the scenarios grew increasingly complex. The recruits faced simulated equipment failures, hostile ground fire, and extreme planetary conditions. Every detail mattered – a misread coordinate, a delayed reaction, or a skipped safety check could spell disaster.

One afternoon, as Wade prepared for yet another drop, Jay caught his arm. “You look beat, man. Stick to the script, bro”

Wade shook his head, adrenaline masking his fatigue. “I’ve got this. Watch me nail it.”

He climbed into the pod, cocky from a string of successful runs. As the simulation began, Wade’s overconfidence led him to rush through his pre-drop checklist. He missed a critical indicator light, signaling a problem with the pod’s stabilization system.

The simulated drop quickly spiraled out of control. Wade struggled to correct his trajectory, but his hasty preparations left him ill-equipped to handle the cascading failures. The pod spun wildly, alarms screaming as the ground approached at terrifying speed.

Just before impact, the simulation cut out. Wade sat in stunned silence, his heart racing. Sergeant Schwarz’s voice came through the comm, cold and deadly serious.

“Everybody gather ’round. Kovacs, get out here.”

As Wade emerged from the pod on shaky legs, he saw the grim faces of his fellow recruits. Schwarz stood before them, his expression stone-like.

“What you just witnessed,” Schwarz began, “was the kind of mistake that gets Rangers killed. Kovacs here decided that he knew better than protocol. He rushed his checks, missed critical warnings, and if this had been real, he’d be nothing but a red smear on some forlorn rock.”

Wade felt the weight of his mistake crushing down on him. The Sergeant continued, addressing the entire group.

“This program isn’t about being the fastest or the strongest. It’s about precision. It’s about discipline. Every. Single. Time. You cut corners, you die. You get cocky, you die. You forget for one second the importance of every detail, every check, every procedure – you die.”

Turning to Wade, Schwarz’s voice lowered. “You’ve got potential, Kovacs. But potential means nothing if you’re dead. Consider this your wake-up call. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Wade replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I can’t hear you, Jelly!”

“Yes, Sergeant!” Wade shouted, the full impact of his actions sinking in.

Schwarz nodded. “Good. Now, you’re going to run that simulation again. And again. And again. Until you can do it perfectly in your sleep. The rest of you – back to your pods. We’re not done here.”

As Wade climbed back into the simulator, he felt embarrassed that Swartz had called him out in front of the whole platoon. The wake-up call had been harsh, but necessary. He knew there’s no room for shortcuts or overconfidence. Every detail, every check, every procedure could mean the difference between life and death.

With a deep breath, he began his pre-drop checklist, meticulously going through each step. This time, he would get it right.

As Sunday dawned, Wade and Jay welcomed the respite from their grueling training schedule. The events of the past week, particularly Wade’s sobering simulation incident, weighed heavily on their minds as they made their way to the base chapel.

The modest chapel was already filled with a mix of recruits and base personnel when Wade and Jay slipped into a pew near the back. The familiar scent of old hymnals and polished wood brought a sense of calm, a stark contrast to the high-stress environment they’d been immersed in all week.

As the service began, the chaplain stepped up to the pulpit, his weathered face bearing a kind smile. “Today,” he began, “we’re going to look at a story from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 19, verses 1 through 10. It’s the story of a man named Zacchaeus.”

Wade listened intently as the chaplain recounted the tale. Zacchaeus, a wealthy tax collector, was so eager to see Jesus that he climbed a sycamore tree to get a better view over the crowd. To everyone’s surprise, Jesus stopped at the tree and called Zacchaeus down, inviting Himself to the tax collector’s house.

“Now, imagine that,” the chaplain said, his voice carrying through the chapel. “Jesus, this revered teacher, inviting Himself to the home of someone society despised. But that’s the beauty of it – Jesus saw beyond Zacchaeus’ reputation, beyond his faults.”

The chaplain paused, letting his words sink in. “And what happens next is truly remarkable. Zacchaeus, faced with Jesus’ unexpected kindness, recognizes his own need for change. He declares, ‘Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.'”

Wade felt a twinge of recognition. Hadn’t he, too, recently faced a moment of reckoning? His overconfidence in the simulator could have had dire consequences in a real-world scenario. Like Zacchaeus, he’d been confronted with his own shortcomings and the need for change.

The chaplain continued, “Jesus responds to Zacchaeus’ declaration of repentance with these powerful words: ‘Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.'”

Looking out over the congregation, the chaplain’s voice softened. “This story reminds us that no one is beyond redemption. Jesus actively sought out Zacchaeus, despite his reputation. And when Zacchaeus recognized his need for change, Jesus declared his salvation.”

As the sermon concluded, Wade found himself deep in thought. The parallels to his own recent experiences were striking. Just as Jesus had seen potential in Zacchaeus, Sergeant Schwarz had recognized Wade’s potential despite his mistake. And like Zacchaeus, Wade had been given an opportunity to recognize his faults and commit to change.

After the service, as Wade and Jay made their way out of the chapel, Jay nudged his friend. “That hit pretty close to home, huh?”

Wade nodded, a small smile on his face. “Yeah, it really did. I guess we all need a wake-up call sometimes.”

As they walked back to the barracks, Wade felt a renewed sense of purpose. The story of Zacchaeus had reinforced the lessons of the past week. He was determined to approach his training with a new level of humility and dedication, recognizing that every detail, every procedure was an opportunity for growth and improvement.

The day of rest had provided more than just physical recuperation. It had offered Wade a chance for reflection and spiritual renewal, preparing him for the challenges that lay ahead.

Fitness Assessment

The individual fitness assessment was a grueling affair, designed to push each recruit to their absolute limits. Wade had just completed a punishing series of exercises, his muscles burning and lungs heaving as he stood at attention before Sergeant Schwarz.

The sergeant’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Wade, jotting notes on his clipboard. After a moment of tense silence, he spoke, his voice gruff but lacking its usual edge.

“Kovacs, I’ve been watching you closely these past few weeks,” Schwarz began. “There’s been a noticeable change in your performance, and more importantly, in your attitude.”

Wade stood straighter, unsure whether to brace for criticism or hope for praise.

Schwarz continued, “You’re not as cocky as you were when you first arrived. Your focus has improved, and you’re paying attention to details I wouldn’t have thought you’d notice before.” He paused, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Care to explain what’s behind this transformation?”

Taking a deep breath, Wade decided to be straightforward. “Well, Sergeant, to be honest, I’ve been making some changes in my life. I’ve realized I had a lot of growing up to do, and… well, Jesus has been helping me work on that.”

Schwarz’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting this response. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, an unusual state for the normally verbose sergeant.

“Jesus, huh?” Schwarz finally said, his tone a mix of surprise and something that might have been respect. “Well, I’ll be. I had a whole mission planned out to burn that arrogance right out of you, Kovacs. Looks like someone beat me to it.”

Wade couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Yes, Sergeant. I guess you could say that.”

Schwarz shook his head, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, whatever and whoever is making these changes, tell Him you beat me to it and keep it up. It’s making you a better soldier, and that’s what matters here.”

For a brief moment, a rare smile of approval crossed the sergeant’s face. It was gone in an instant, but Wade caught it, feeling a surge of pride and motivation.

“Don’t think this means I’m going to go easy on you, Kovacs,” Schwarz added, his gruff demeanor returning. “If anything, I expect even more from you now. You’ve shown you have the potential to be one of the best. Now prove it.”

Wade nodded firmly. “Yes, Sergeant. I won’t let you down.”

As Schwarz dismissed him, Wade felt a renewed sense of purpose. The sergeant’s grudging approval meant more than he’d expected, and it reinforced his commitment to continue growing, both as a Marine and as a person.

Walking away from the assessment, Wade silently thanked God for the changes in his life. He realized that his faith wasn’t just making him a better person, but a better Marine too. With this newfound balance of humility and determination, Wade felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead in his training and beyond. 

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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.  

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