Tag: sci_fi

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful…”

Hebrews 10:23

Confirmation 

The sterile corridors of the morgue echoed with Kristen’s determined footsteps. This was her third visit in as many weeks, each time armed with the same unshakable conviction: Wade was alive.

As she approached the desk, the clerk’s face softened with recognition and pity. “Dr. Kitzler, I’m sorry, but nothing’s changed. Corporal Kovacs’ remains aren’t here.”

Kristen nodded, her expression a mask of professional detachment. “I understand. Thank you.”

Outside, she leaned against the cool stone of the building, letting out a shaky breath. The absence of Wade’s body only strengthened her belief. She closed her eyes, remembering their last moment together, Wade’s promise ringing in her ears: “Always.”

With renewed determination, Kristen straightened her shoulders and headed back to the hospital. The war raged on, and she had a job to do. But beneath her calm exterior, a fierce hope burned.

In quiet moments between patients, Kristen found herself whispering prayers. “Lord, keep him safe. Bring him back to me.”

As weeks turned to months, doubt tried to creep in. But Kristen held fast to her faith and the memories that sustained her. She threw herself into her work, comforting those who had seen so much carnage and mending broken minds and hearts, all while holding space in her own heart for the man she knew would return.

“Always,” she whispered each night before sleep claimed her. It was a promise, a prayer, and a declaration of unwavering love. Whatever battles Wade was fighting, whatever secrets kept them apart, Kristen knew one thing with absolute certainty: their story was far from over.

Deceptive Calm

The aroma of perfectly grilled steak wafted through the air as Wade savored each bite, still marveling at the stark contrast between his current surroundings and the rustic boot camp on Carthis 7. The administrative staff at Ranger School had welcomed him with unexpected warmth, their efficiency tinged with a genuine friendliness that felt almost surreal after weeks of secrecy and tension. He knew this special treatment wouldn’t last long.

As he waited for his paperwork to be processed, Wade’s gaze drifted to the window, taking in the lush greenery that stretched as far as the eye could see. Earth had changed dramatically in the century and a half since the devastating Skravak attack. The scorched-earth tactics employed by the aliens had razed cities to the ground, slashing the global population from 8 billion to a mere 1 billion souls, now scattered primarily across rural landscapes.

The irony wasn’t lost on Wade. Humanity had been forcibly regressed to a lifestyle reminiscent of the late 1800s, with only pockets of advanced technology persisting in crucial areas like agriculture, transportation, and communication. The collective trauma of the AI betrayal that had facilitated the alien invasion left most Earthers deeply mistrustful of complex computer systems.

Wade chuckled to himself, realizing how strange Earth seemed compared to the more technologically advanced colonies. The planet’s inhabitants clung to their “backward” ways with fierce pride, their traditions a bulwark against the terrors of the past.

Yet, from this devastation had sprung an unexpected boon. Free from centuries of industrial pollutants and harmful agricultural practices, Earth’s soil had rejuvenated. The planet now stood as one of the most fertile in the entire confederacy, its economy revolving primarily around agriculture and the export of organic materials to resource-hungry colonies.

As Wade shouldered his duffle bag and made his way to the barracks, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of nostalgia. All the changes, including his new identity, felt like he had stepped back in time. An epoch he had read about in high school history books.

As Wade shouldered his duffle bag and made his way to the barracks, he was immediately paired with Ranger Metropax, a lanky, tall, awkward man with a sheepish half-smile. “Smith,” Metropax nodded, extending his hand. “Looks like we’re ranger buddies.” Wade returned the firm handshake, recognizing the look and demeanor of a Marine Lieutenant. Rangers wore no rank in training and were all considered peers, but the chasm between officer and enlisted was always apparent.

The barracks were a far cry from the sterile environments of military spaceships. The scent of polished wood and fresh linens filled the air as Wade and Metropax claimed adjacent bunks, tossing their duffels down in unison. Around them, other Ranger pairs were settling in, their faces a mix of excitement and apprehension.

The rhythmic sound of footsteps drew everyone’s attention. A barrel-chested Ranger Instructor strolled casually down the center aisle, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He sported a form-fitting black t-shirt, emblazoned with a large gold Ranger tab on the front and his white name tag proudly displayed above it. When he spoke, his voice was calm and almost friendly, belying the intensity of the training to come.

“Welcome, Rangers,” he announced, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Ranger students. “Get a good night’s sleep. We’ll get started at 07 hundred hours in the morning.”

As the instructor turned and exited the barracks, Metropax leaned over to Wade. “You’ve been through this before? You’re a Bat Boy, right, I mean.” Metropax was referring to enlisted rangers headed to an assignment in one of the Ranger Battalions. Wade nodded slightly, and in a hushed tone suppressing a chuckle, said, “07 hundred, ha. Don’t you believe it for a second!”

As they began unpacking their gear, Wade’s thoughts drifted to Kristen. He wondered what she was doing, if she was safe, if she still believed in him. The weight of the promise reassuring him – “This is the woman you’re going to marry” – settled in his heart and mind as a source of strength.

Tomorrow would bring challenges, that much was certain. Wade pulled the sheets tight and folded six inches over the blanket at the head, perfectly made to military standards. He carefully lay on top of the blanket and sheets, fully dressed and ready to move on a moment’s notice. He knew better than to get between the sheets. There would be no time to get dressed, let alone make his bed to pass inspection. As Wade lay on his bunk, listening to the quiet rustling of his fellow Rangers settling in for the night, he warned Metropax and those closest to him to do as he had done. The Lieutenant was eager to follow Wade’s lead. A few others took his advice. But most bunked up like they were at boy scout camp. Confident he was ready for the morning’s festivities, he felt a sense of purpose ignite within him. This was his path forward – to become a Ranger, to serve, and ultimately, to find his way back to Kristen.

With a silent prayer of gratitude and a renewed commitment to his goals, Wade pulled his patrol cap over his face and closed his eyes. Sleep would be a precious commodity from here on out.

The Storm Breaks

At 03 hundred, Wade and Metropax’s eyes snapped open simultaneously as a cacophony of metal against metal shattered the pre-dawn silence. They were on their feet before the trash can finished its thunderous journey down the center aisle. This was the start of what would be the most grueling week of many Rangers’ lives.

Chaos erupted as Ranger Instructors (RIs) burst into the barracks, their voices a tempest of commands and reprimands. “Get out! Get on the street now!” they bellowed, leaving no room for hesitation or questions.

“Stay close Metro.” Wade muttered as they moved through the chaos. The buddy system was already proving its worth – while other Rangers stumbled alone in confusion, Wade and Metropax quickly navigated their way through the maelstrom and found their positions in formation.

There was no time for niceties. Students were shoved, pushed, and herded out onto the street, many still in various states of undress. Some stood at attention with nothing on but their underwear. The formation that assembled outside was a far cry from military precision – a motley crew of disheveled, disoriented individuals struggling to find their assigned positions.

At the head of this chaotic assembly stood a lone RI, his face a mask of disgust as he berated the student company commander. “What in the name of all that’s holy is this?!” he roared, gesturing at the disarray before him. “You call this a formation? I’ve seen better organization on a kindergarten playground!”

As if summoned by the commotion, more RIs materialized, descending upon the platoon and squad leaders like wolves on wounded prey. Their voices joined the cacophony, a symphony of criticism and demands for perfection.

Within moments, it seemed as though the entire cadre of RIs had engulfed the formation. They moved through the ranks like sharks scenting blood in the water, their keen eyes missing nothing. Every uniform infraction, every flicker of defiance or confusion in a Ranger’s eyes became grounds for punishment.

“Drop and give me twenty!” became the refrain of the morning, punctuated by the rhythmic counting of push-ups and the labored breathing of Rangers struggling through flutter kicks.

A short, stocky RI materialized before them, eyes scanning the ranger buddies with predatory intensity. “Well, well… Smith and Metropax. The dynamic duo.” His coffee-scented breath washed over them as he searched for deficiencies. Finding none, he moved on, but not before growling, “Don’t get comfortable, studs. There’s plenty of time to royally mess up.”

Wade blinked and the RI was on to the next victim. He knew it was only a matter of time before the RIs found something to harass him for. This was merely the opening salvo of “City Week,” the crucible designed to separate the wheat from the chaff.

For the next seven days, the concept of “civilization” would be twisted into an exquisite form of torment. It was boot camp on steroids – a gauntlet designed with one primary purpose: to make Ranger students quit.

Wade steeled himself for what was to come. Right now, he stood in the eye of the storm because he was prepared. But he knew the winds would eventually circle around for him. You can’t prepare for everything. He knew the statistics – only 40% would survive this first week. But he also knew something else, something that burned in his chest with an intensity that matched the rising sun.

He had a promise to trust and a promise to keep. 

The storm of City Week had broken, and Wade Kovacs – now Ranger Smith – stood ready to weather it, come what may. His ranger buddy was a quick study and followed Wade’s cue, and together they made a good team. Metropax was smart. Not just book smart either. He had a savvy about him that Wade knew he would benefit from in time.

Survival of the Fittest

“Rangers, on the command of fall out, get back in the barracks and prepare for inspection! You have 30 seconds to be standing by your bunk! Fall out!” The command was given, and as one, the students surged towards the barracks. Inside, chaos erupted as dozens of students were cornered by RIs, forced to sign negative spot reports for infractions both real and imagined.

“Ranger Smith!” An RI’s voice cut through the commotion. “Your bunk has a thread hanging from it! Sign here.” Wade knew it was just a matter of time. The RI wrote on the top of the card, “Ranger James Smith, Roster number 47.” Wade felt an urge to correct the Sergeant but immediately recognized that would be a big mistake in two ways. First, it was his new name and second, you never correct an RI.

Ranger Smith gritted his teeth but complied, knowing each signature was a strike against his chances of completing the course. 

Back in formation, the group stood ready for PT. The air was thick with anticipation and the acrid smell of nervous sweat. As calisthenics began, Ranger Smith pushed through the burn in his muscles; he’d been here before. Reminiscent of boot camp. 

The confidence course loomed ahead, a gauntlet of twelve obstacles designed to break body and spirit. Wade and Metropax tackled each obstacle in tandem. At the Worm Pit, each one in adjacent lanes next to each other, they prepared to negotiate the obstacle. The Worm Pit was a slimy mix of mud, sawdust, and some unidentified substance that made it reek to high heaven. 

Wade took a deep breath, steeling himself before plunging in. The stench was overwhelming, threatening to gag him as he inched forward. The back pocket of his trousers caught on the barbed wire, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought he might be stuck.

“Move it, Smith! And get your fourth point of contact out of the air! You want to get your butt shot off?” an RI bellowed. “Or do you have parts to spare?” The RI obviously making a snide remark referencing his prosthetic.

Gritting his teeth, Ranger Smith wrenched his pants free and pressed on. He emerged on the other side, gasping and covered in muck, only to hear the dreaded command:

“Not good enough! Do it again!”

Three more times, Rangers Smith and Metropax navigated the Worm Pit before finally satisfying the RI’s exacting standards. Wade was embarrassed that he had let his ranger buddy down, but Metropax took it all in stride. Each obstacle that followed brought its own unique brand of misery, but both Rangers tackled them all with grim determination.

The five-mile run that followed was a study in controlled agony. Ranger Smith focused on the back of the runner in front of him, knowing that falling more than two steps behind meant failure. His lungs burned, his legs screamed for relief, but he pushed on, the mantra “Never Quit!” echoing with each footfall. Both Wade and Metropax, side by side, matched stride for stride, subtly adjusting their pace to stay together while maintaining formation standards. 

Beside him, a fellow student stumbled, falling out of formation. “Get on the truck, Ranger!” an RI screamed. The “No Go Truck” drove slowly behind the formation, loading student after student who could not keep up the grueling pace. Ranger Smith spared a moment of sympathy for his fallen comrade but kept his eyes forward. There would be time for camaraderie later; now was the time for survival.

Breakfast in the mess hall was a cruel joke. Platters of gourmet food tantalized the famished students, but there was no time to savor it. RIs stalked the aisles, their voices a constant barrage of urgency and intimidation.

“Hurry up, Studs! Woof it down! We got some bugs that need killin’ and your chow is slowin’ me down!”

Ranger Smith shoveled food into his mouth mechanically, barely tasting it. Across the table, he saw a student attempt to pocket a roll. The RI’s response was swift and merciless.

“Thinking of saving that for later, sunshine? Get down and give me fifty push-ups! Sign this major unsat spot report. Now get out of my sight!”

The day continued in a brutal parade of challenges. Marine Martial Arts training left them battered and bruised. Classes on antique weapons and explosives tested their mental acuity when their bodies screamed for rest. The principles of patrolling, drilled into their heads with relentless repetition, were adhered to with almost religious fervor.

As 2100 hours approached, Ranger Smith felt a glimmer of relief. Showers and bed beckoned, promising a brief respite from the day’s torments. But even as he stood under the lukewarm spray, scrubbing away layers of grime and sweat, he knew tomorrow would bring more of the same.

Lying in his bunk that night, every muscle aching, Wade closed his eyes and saw Kristen’s face. He remembered their last moments together, the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her smile. It seemed a lifetime ago, but the memory gave him strength.

He prayed quietly to himself, “Father, you have a plan and I have Your promise. I will stay the course. Give me strength and protect me from all that could go wrong. I believe You’re right here with me every step of the way. And Lord…please be with Kristen and give her faith in You and in me.” Sleep claimed Wade as “Ranger Smith” could be set aside until tomorrow.

Rugged Resilience

As Ranger Smith acclimated to Ranger School’s brutal routine, he marveled at its anachronistic nature. Despite being 350 years in the future, the Marine Corps had steadfastly preserved the training methods of the late 20th century. This dedication to tradition was both a point of pride and a constant challenge.

The school’s history resonated through every aspect of training. Founded in 1951 during the Korean War, it had always emphasized leadership development over pure tactical proficiency. This philosophy endured, with instructors pushing students to their limits to forge resilient leaders.

During patrolling tactics classes, Smith found himself transported to another era. The instructors used terminology that seemed pulled directly from 1980s field manuals. Despite centuries of technological advancement, the fundamentals of small-unit tactics remained surprisingly relevant.

One morning, Wade had finished personal hygiene with ten precious minutes before formation. Rather than being idle, he spotted a manual push mower against the barracks and began trimming scattered grass between pine needles and bare ground.

An RI approached, barking, “Ranger! What on earth are you doing?”

Wade’s mind scrambled. “Mowing the grass, Sergeant!”

“Well, there’s some grass that needs attention, but mostly you’re mowing dirt. Sign here, Ranger.”

Wade’s face fell as he withdrew his antiquated government-issue pen, expecting the worst. To his surprise, it was a major positive spot report, nullifying his previous negative.

“Good initiative, Ranger,” the RI growled. “Keep it up, Smith!”

Wade replaced the mower and double-timed to formation.

At chow, another lavish meal awaited them. They salivated at the prospect of even a small taste before being rushed out. Their last meal using tables and chairs was behind them.

The Ranger First Sergeant waited outside the D-FAC, bellowing, “Since you Rangers think you’re on a cruise ship taking your sweet time, rules have changed! File in the front, out the back. Whatever you eat on the way is yours, but you will not sit, stop, or even blink in my mess hall! Is that clear?”

Rangers filed past servers, grabbing food with their hands – no time for utensils. They gorged themselves, cramming their cheeks full before reaching the exit. Wade managed a decent amount, with just a banana remaining. Peeling it while holding a tray proved challenging, but he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth at the cleaning station.

Still struggling to swallow, he faced an RI at the exit. “What’s in your mouth, Ranger?”

Wade could only mumble, “Nana?”

“Drop and give me fifty, Ranger Smith!” 

Wade and Metropax immediately dropped into the prone and started knocking out push-ups. 

The RI continued, “And I’ve got something for you to sign when you finish choking that down.”

Once again, Wade was back in the negative and was the reason for his buddy’s pain. 

As they finished their push-ups, Wade signed the spot report and they were off toward the barracks at a double time.

“Sorry about that Metro… my bad,” Wade growled apologetically.

“Don’t even think about it, Smith. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it past the first day. Nothing but a thing… and for all practical purposes, ‘City Week’ is done. On to Camp Darby,” Metropax said energetically.

“For the first phase of patrolling!” Wade finished. Both of them headed into the barracks and checked their gear one final time.

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio