SG Vol. 1 pt. 11

I’m not going to get the respect of my students if I’m not right here with them running these laps. Anybody can order some brats to go and run this many laps around the entire airfield, but I’d like to see how many instructors would actually put themselves through this same hell.

Six laps might be too much for these kids. I’m managing, but I know I would have passed out by the fourth if I was doing this back when I first enlisted. Not even that insane woman made us run this much.

But, when I look behind me, most of these brats are keeping pace and only two of them are starting to fall behind.

They catch up as soon as they spot me looking at them.

“Keep it up!” I shout. “Prove to me that you’re worthy of being pilots and not just some worthless maggots!”

I bet they feel the same way I remember feeling. I thought my instructor was a bitch and I wanted nothing more than to punch her in the face for how pissed off she made me – how she was constantly degrading us.

Made us into some damn good pilots at the cost of making us all fucking hate her.

“The enemy won’t let you catch your breath!” I shout at them. “You stop, you die!”

What else did she do?

That’s right.

I’m leading the group right now. I remember always running in the front – we all tried to be in the front. Why? Because she was always chasing us from behind. I guess old habits die hard since I’m still wanting to stay in front of everybody.

“Maintain pace!” I order as I slow my own pace down until I’m behind the group.

My instructor taught us that demons weren’t the only monsters on Earth. Humans can be, too.

Now it’s my turn to take on the role of monster.

“You’re winning a one-on-one sparring session with me if I catch you!” I shout at them. “Anybody I catch will also go through extra training after-hours to ensure that I don’t catch you tomorrow! That’s right! We’re doing this every fucking day! Aren’t you all excited?!”

They run even faster as I get closer to them.

“Step it up! Not a single one of you have proven you’re anything more than maggots writhing around the field! Quit your maggot squirming and run like pilots!” I shout at them.

One of the girls near the back of the group has a ponytail, and I start reaching my hands out for it as soon as I’m close enough.

She yelps and runs up to the front of the group.

Fuck me, this is fun.

Other cadets, instructors, and even some pilots are stopping what they’re doing to watch us. This is the kind of training that should be standard around here, but they phased it out years ago to place emphasis on the individual rather than beat us all down to reshape us into one solid, cohesive unit of killers.

Treating soldiers kindly and placing emphasis on the heroics of individuals might boost morale, but it does shit for turning men and women into cold, logical, machines that are needed in the fight against the demons. All that does is make them think they can be heroes until they see just how worthless they are in their first battle.

We don’t need heroes. We need a large force of machines with two goals: killing and surviving.

This is only the first step in melting these brats down before reforging them into something greater than they ever could have dreamed of becoming.

Those who can survive this first week are going to become perfect killers – perfect pilots.

I’m tempted to tell them that the first few who get back will get an extra long rest, but that’s promoting the individuals.

They need to become one.

They will be punished as one and, should they earn it, they will be rewarded as one.

I’m tempted to shout some more at them, but I think just running behind them and glaring at them whenever they look back at me is more than effective enough. Anybody who looks back here and sees just how close I am to them immediately speeds up to the front of the line.

Only one lap around the airfield is left.

“Get back into formation!” I shout. “Muscles and Ginger up in front! The rest of you worthless shits form a column behind them!”

I catch up to the center of the line and jog alongside them.

Fear was enough of a motivator to get them this far. Now, they need to finish this together – as one whole unit.

They aren’t competing with each other to see who could stay the farthest away from me anymore. They’re just trying to survive and make it through this final lap.

This is the most mercy that they will ever get out of me, and it’s only because they need to learn to work together instead of trying to survive on their own.

“Not a single one of you is worth more than my afternoon shit! But, and this is one colossal fucking hypothetical, you might prove that you deserve oxygen as much as roaches do if you work together!” I shout at them.

Together, they will try to survive my training – they will try to overcome me. That is, if they prove to be anything like me and my fellow cadets were.

Six laps later and we’re done.

They look at me, the need to stop obvious in their eyes, and I nod.

Fifteen cadets collapse all at once. Only three are left standing: Muscles, Samurai, and Valkyrie. Of those three, the only one looking like she doesn’t want to kill me is Valkyrie. She looks… happy? Fuck if I know, but she’s smiling and looking like she wants to challenge me. She doesn’t want to challenge me to a fight like Muscles tried to, but she looks like she wants to challenge me to order her to run another few laps.

She’s either a masochist, crazy, or desperate to prove herself.

I’ve seen that last one enough times to know that’s the case here. A wolf, three years in without being assigned, has never even touched a unit, and now she’s trying to get ordered to work even more?

She’s a brat who thinks she’s got something to prove. Maybe to me, maybe to somebody else, but probably to herself.

I’m not going to give her what she wants. What I will do is beat her down like all the others until she becomes the perfect pilot. I couldn’t give half a shit about whatever insecurities she’s trying to overcome.

All that matters is that she becomes a pilot.

There might be one more thing that matters.

Leaning over to pant, with that chest of hers… she looks damn good covered in sweat.

“Now then! You have ten minutes to puke if you need to, get some water, and to rest. Your training isn’t over yet,” I tell them.

Most of them look too tired to move, but they force themselves to head back to class where they left their canteens. Though, they stop as soon as they hear Ginger speak up and ask, “S-sir, what’s – what’s the point of this when we’re going to be piloting VSUs?”

Can’t say I wasn’t expecting to get this question eventually.

“Alright, Ginger. The rest of you listen up as well because I don’t plan on repeating myself,” I answer and get everybody’s attention. Some curious ears nearby are listening in as well. “You’re right. I’m training you to be killers that fly around in oversized metal suits that rain death upon our enemies. Assuming you’re good enough to survive, you’re probably never going to need the slightest amount of physical endurance nor strength to accomplish your mission. Why would you when you’re in a machine that does all the hard work for you?”

I look them over and can see it in their eyes. They’re pissed off. After all, I’m essentially calling the suffering they just went through worthless.

“But,” I continue, “war doesn’t happen like it’s supposed to. Machines break, run out of fuel and ammo, systems stop working, reinforcements don’t arrive when they’re supposed to, there are more enemies than you were told there’d be during briefing, and you won’t even get to know what the real objective is most of the time. Now, which one of you maggots wants to tell me what’s going to happen to a pilot behind enemy lines, without their unit, and without any help?”

Muscles answers, “They would be killed.”

“Why’s that?”

“Sir, because they would not have supplies, small arms are ineffective against the enemy, and they cannot be outrun on foot.”

“You’re smarter than I thought you’d be for an oversized maggot, Muscles. But, you’re still wrong. Assuming there are more important targets to go after than worthless maggots who can’t even avoid getting shot down, your only real threat on foot is Forager-class. Even a handgun can take one out as long as you know how to aim, and if you know how to survive, they’ll never be able to find you. They might be able to rip your limbs apart, but they can only do that if they find you, and they’re really fucking stupid. No, you won’t outrun them. But, you can run like fucking hell to find a better position to either hide or take as many of them out as you can.”

Muscles nods and turns around.

“One more thing,” I say, grabbing everybody’s attention again. “You all keep on thinking about the demons. Once they’re exterminated, who the fuck do you think you’re going to be fighting against? The demons are just annoying roaches stopping us from taking back our country from the real enemy, and you can bet your asses that they’re waiting for us on the other side of the Rockies. And, in case you’ve forgotten, small arms and CQC are damn effective against humans. Now, you’ve only got five minutes left. You better run if you want to get a drink and come back in time.”