Millennia: Beginning

by Thunderblast


3. Boot Camp - Part I

In a surge of adrenaline, I jolted awake to a multitude of sounds occurring all at once. First was a nightstick banging against the door frame loudly, each hit sending a startling crack through the lengthy room. Behind that was a cadence of trumpets outside, significantly quieter than the racket in here.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up!” grunted a hardened stallion standing in the door, continuously smacking his baton until he saw everybody was stirring. Right then and there, every light imaginable blasted our eyes with a migraine-inducing glare that had me squinting for some time.

After a few seconds, I was up and out of bed, choosing to and regretfully ignoring the fact that my sheets were now halfway off and draped across the floor as a result of my hasty movement. Some others in the barrack suffered a similar fate, which at least provided some sense of hope that I would not be alone in the coming lecture.

I could have whipped around and threw the blankets back on quickly, but the risk of being caught out of line was too great while everyone else is stood at attention on the right of their beds beside their trunks.

It wasn’t more than a couple of moments when the roughened, uniformed, ranger-like hat-wearing stallion strolled slowly down the aisle between our racks. With disgust, he groused, “Pah, look at all a’ya! Ya know what I see, Conscripts?!”

“Sir, no, sir!” replied everypony in unison, including myself. It was as if all of the lethargy from having been abruptly woken had vanished in exchange for a fear-fueled vigor, which took varying forms per pony.

“What was that?!” he roared, the volume of his voice practically vibrating the floor beneath our hooves.

“SIR, NO, SIR!” was our response; energetic, motivated, and proud.

The fury-filled, hate-bent stallion raised his voice by many decibels. Each word spoken was like the combined barking and snarling of an angry pit bull, primed and ready to tear into someone’s flesh mercilessly. “Ah see a pack of pussies, that’s what! All of ya! Every. Single. One of ya! Disgusting!”

Thankfully, he failed to notice my mess for a different target. Instead, his enraged cores set solely on a light yellow unicorn, whose every muscle locked up at that moment forward as the incandescent pony neared him. “Ya look like yer in the wrong place, Conscript. What’s yer name?”

“Conscript Solar Wave, SIR!” the unicorn responded, keeping his tone even but firm. Judging by a brief glance in his direction, he looked less intimidated by this pony.

“What in the hell kind of fancy-prancy, sunshine and rainbows name is that?! This is the fucking Lunar Marine Corps, not Celestia’s Sunny Sunshine Cupcake-fucktards!” retorted the menacing pony, practically looming over that unicorn with his shadow, who managed not to flinch.

But that all changed when the larger earth pony winded his hoof back and thrust it directly into the unicorn’s cheek, knocking his head completely to the side and, with enough force as a result, hurled his form to the floor with a thud and a pained groan. “On your fucking hooves, Conscript!” he demanded afterward.

“Y-yes, sir…” As instructed, the unicorn, Solar Wave, shakily rose to all fours and returned to a feeble attention posture.

When he redirected his scowl, the relief I momentarily felt faded. “You! Don’t think I didn’t notice you first thing!” he pointed toward me, stomping over. “What in the holy fuck is this?!” he hollered, gesturing now to my bed in its disarrayed state.

Against what I hoped to do, I stuttered out, “I-I’m sorry, sir—”

“I am sorry, Conscript, did I give you permission to open your fat trap?! Speak only when spoken to properly, dipshit! Clean up this god forsaken atrocity at once!”

I threw myself around and grabbed my sheets by the fallen end, tossing them into the air and snapping back to face the furious-looking pony before they could fall flat to the bed, no longer splayed on the tile below. All of this while he shouted into my ear. “Move it, move it, go, faster, GO!”

“Now, you look like Lunar Marine material! State your name and rank!” he demanded, face only inches apart from mine.

“Star Shooter, sir!”

“What, Star Shooter, sir?!”

“I—” Right then and there, I froze with confusion, my jaw hanging slack as words failed to leave my mouth.

This garnered a blow equal to that dealt to the unicorn across from me. It might have been part of my expectation after watching that, not to say it still didn’t hurt like hell regardless. The cuff was powerful enough to completely jerk my head sideways, but not throw me off my hooves like it did the other pony, which I soon found to be to his annoyance.

“That’s Conscript Star Shooter, sir! Rank before name, you uneducated pile of shit!” he barked, inadvertently sending droplets of his spit onto my now-bruising cheek. Now that is just plain gross. “Don’t think ah’ll go easy on ya just ‘cause ya look like a night guard straight from Canterlot, ya filthy noble!”

That wasn’t much of an insult. Not to me, anyway, for the simple fact that I could not be farther from the title of a Canterlot aristocrat.

“What, are ya gonna cry? Are ya sad that yer fancy father in his coat and top hat ain’t here t’save ya? Or ya diamond necklace-wearin’ bitch of a mother? Well, cry me a fuckin’ river, ya degenerate!” he continued. He’s relentless! This came only because my nose twitched! “Fuckin’ disgusting-ass regal!”

None of that really made any sense. Maybe he was blind to race? Last I checked, I had wings, not a horn, and pegasi are also typically not considered nobles in Canterlot if there are any. Man, if these are his insults for the next three months, I could do better than that!

After leaving me, he strolled back down the open floor between us. “Conscripts, ah am Gunnery Sergeant Huss, yer senior drill instructor. You shall address me as Gunnery Sergeant, or sir at all times! Is that clear?!”

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic! Ah’ll be extra careful to make this yer most painful, most stressful, most miserable time you will have ever endured, for that is the duty ah have been put on this earth to carry out!”

Oh boy.

“Now, get yet shit on and line up on me! We are headin’ out!”

***

Irides of essentially every pony contracted upon taking in the sight of an enormous dirt loop, similar to that of a track made for racing. It boasted lengthy straightaways and 180 degree turns at both ends just like one, as well.

Just moments prior, one of the other recruits had spoken without permission, and of course it drove the instructor into doubling the number of laps to two hundred. That is, he did right before he threw the pony to the ground with a cuff to the snout. Way to go, other conscript. You earned yourself that one, and now you screwed us all over.

While the distant horizon showed signs of approaching sunrise, it was still particularly dark outside overall. A good portion of the eastern sky illuminated with brightening shades of blue that gradually darkened the further west you look, so there was that, and we could see where we were going without the need of spotlights.

As we stood there in formation, a shock hit me the moment my stomach rumbled. It managed to grab the gunnery sergeant’s attention, much to my alarm. My still-aching muscles tightened further than they already were in an attempt to straighten my posture out a bit and avoid attracting the gunnery sergeant any further in my direction.

In the middle of his lecture, he stopped upon hearing the noise and began scrutinizing our group. One or two beads of sweat collected along my temple as a result of this intimidating stallion making his way down the right side of our formation. Thankfully, he soon returned to what he was doing before. Wait a minute, I haven’t been listening!

“Is that clear?!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, piercing the air with that terrifying voice of his.

“Yes, Gunnery Sergeant!”

The grizzled stallion’s chin tipped in a single nod, before he said, “Good.” He started toward the back, only to pause halfway and turn over his shoulder. “Well, what in the fuck are y’all still doin’ here? Go, damn it!”

Hooves scrambled on the dirt surface as every pony there then began galloping down the track as fast as their legs could move. My start had me maintaining a respectable pace, although as I rounded the first corner the energy feeding my hooves the speed necessary to run was already depleting. On the second straightaway, I succeeded in regaining some of my momentum and using it kept me going, sticking with a few of the faster recruits who were also giving it their all. This, in turn, left well over half of our division in the dust.

Coming around the second corner and reaching the start point, once more I found myself struggling to maintain that particular speed and thus placing more distance between me and four others who remained ahead from the start. My breath demonstrated a light pant to it, quickened to keep up with the gallop.

"Come on, sissies! Faster, faster!" the drill instructor shouted to one pony as he rushed up beside him, then darting past to catch up with the next pony in front of them. "Faster! FASTER! It'll be next year by the time y'all reach lap ten!"

He probably wasn’t kidding there. For how long of a track this was, I couldn’t imagine completing two hundred laps, especially in a short time period like what the gunnery sergeant presumably expected. I didn’t see myself accomplishing that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. There is simply no feasible way.

By lap twelve, my neck was drenched with sweat and I was on the verge of losing my breath. I had managed to prolong a steady pace that, while slower than some of the others, wasn’t awful. If this is what I need to get through this, to persevere through 188 more laps, it will have to suffice.

For how cool the morning breeze was, it had no effect on the heat my body radiated. I felt as though my body would melt away like a bag of ice left out at noon under a mid-summer sun, except the sun still had not yet crest the horizon. The idea to slow down when I am far away, or Gunnery Sergeant Huss isn’t looking sat up above, yet it went neglected by a louder voice telling me to keep pushing—and it didn’t belong to him.

Somewhere around fourteen, I lost count of the laps due to exhaustion. My legs were beginning to lag behind, thus losing pace. At this point I nowhere near expected to make fifty, let alone a hundred, or even two hundred. As I rounded the fourth turn, a lower-ranking Marine stood beside the gunnery sergeant called out to every pony that ran by, “Lap forty!”

The words hit me as a complete shock, having thought to only be nearing twenty by now. It provided little comfort nonetheless. I still had 160 to go, without any clue as to how I would accomplish that.

As I turned to look over my shoulder, I did so just in time to witness one of my fellow conscripts quite literally collapse into the dirt after his forehooves seemingly latched on and wouldn’t let go. He tumbled forward, landing flat on his back as a result. That was it for him.

I pitied the colt, contemplating for a moment or two whether or not to turn around and help him. For as much as I did, the disadvantages far outweighed the positives, despite the policy of leave no stallion behind. It pained my chest a little to abandon him, especially since no one else helped him for a short while until an enlisted Marine came down to haul him off the track.

Just past the 42nd lap, I momentarily blacked out, shaking my head in attempt to keep myself alert. My own weaknesses were getting the better of me. Aches lingering from the week prior, as well as strain in seemingly every joint caught up at last. I crashed to the ground between losing perception a second time, and the next thing I knew was I now lay flat on my stomach, with all hooves out from underneath either behind or spread on my sides.

In that instance, everything was a blur; like an artist had taken a brush to wipe the world off their canvas and smeared the color in the process. My chest heaved with every deep breath I drew in, torturing my air-deprived lungs from previously rapid respiration, to now long, full inhales. Without the ability to properly move any limbs, without any energy remaining in my system, I felt like closing my eyes and dying right there.

What noise there was had gone muffled too, like somepony had put on noise canceling headphones. All that could be made out was an overbearing pounding of a heartbeat in my ears. I blinked slowly as something cold and wet trickled through my sweat-dampened mane and down the back of my neck, as well as over my eyes and down to my muzzle. I tried lapping at it and did manage to gulp some of it down, mere moments before I passed out right there on the ground.

A strong, nagging hunch I had persistently told me that I wasn’t dead. Of course, I would imagine the first thing you see upon death is a white light. That wasn’t the case here, as everything was pitch black. Is heaven dark, or am I going to hell? I thought to myself. These judgements carried on for some time in my head, right until I felt a pinch in my left cubital.

Almost immediately afterward, a cold sensation circulated through my veins. Once burning with immense heat, my body drastically lowered in temperature over the course of a few minutes. At least, that’s what it felt like when I did finally come to.

My senses didn’t take long to recover from the shutdown, and I recognized my surroundings rather quickly. In my arm stuck a needle attached to an IV bag hanging on a pole above the cot-like bed I was laying in. Upon scanning beyond the bed, I took note of three others in the room, each occupied with one of my fellow recruits in a similar situation.

I made a slow attempt to adjust myself upright, but found I could not move a muscle. Literally. Every inch of my body ached and stung. At this point, even a habitual task such as breathing was painful, like a billion tons of quick-hardening cement had been poured over my chest and gut. I could not possibly name off what parts of me didn’t hurt. As I fell back, I bellowed a heavy grunt, followed by a low groan.

Pained screams from an adjacent room pervaded above a faint thumping in my ears, and the gentle breathing of four ponies combined. The sudden noise instinctively made me jolt, which in turn amassed further pain throughout my body. I cringed utterly upon catching on to what sounded to be either bones snapping in or out of place, or breaking altogether. Recollection of memory confirmed it was former, as one pony behind did dislocate his leg when he tripped somewhere before the tenth lap. The sound was likely caused by medics relocating the joint in the only manner possible.

Shifting attention to myself, I took notice of the fact that my shirt was missing, and the sheets didn’t cover any part of my body, presumably due to my body temperature being so dangerously high whenever I was brought in here. Then, a thought hit me: Did anypony even make two hundred laps?

Followed by another: What kind of insane-in-the-membrane pony thought it was a good idea to force newly-enlisted conscripts run two hundred laps on their first day?

Of course, there was always the possibility that it was merely a test to see where everypony’s limits were, like what Hardstaff had been having us do during P-Days. Last I recall, I made roughly forty laps in all. I think. My mind was still in a thick fog from it.

The door to the room swung open as the handle twisted downward, sounding a rather loud click throughout. I snapped my head to the right to see who it was, watching as a pure white pegasus Marine—not a medic, one bit—entered and strolled up to my bedside.

The first thing he said took the form of a question. “How are you feeling?” he flatly asked.

What words did I have to reply? I couldn't think of the best possible term to describe my state of pain.

“Horrible,” was the more appropriate way I could conceive.

“I must say, you did quite well out there, for a conscript. Do you practice?” he asked.

I really didn’t. Before now, and MEPs, especially. That did not mean I never walked around Canterlot a few times, although that was usually to run errands. “Yes, sir.” Why on earth did I say that?!

The pony didn’t smile, nor did he frown. “How often?”

“Four times a week.” No, no, I didn’t. Stop it, mouth!

“For how long?”

“An hour and a half.” The urge to throw a punch at myself and risk potentially breaking my own jaw from how fragile my bones felt was rising with each passing second, and every word I uttered.

“That would explain you making forty-five laps,” the Marine began, pulling out a chair to sit beside my bed. “You retained a decent pace, and you were one of the last to give up.”

“Really?” I blinked, surprised.

“Yes. That said, Gunnery Sergeant Huss ordered me to inform you that he is not impressed, and that you can do better.”

“Oh," was all I could say to that.

“Of course, this is only the first day. Nothing stupendous is to be expected of you regardless, although more effort would be greatly appreciated.” I honestly didn't know how to reply. For once, my mouth kept shut. “Now, rest up. You will be back at it again in a few hours.”

I nodded slowly in response, watching the Marine get up and quietly leave, before facing forward—in my case, that was straight up at the ceiling. At that moment, I felt myself heating up again. Not just because the room was unnecessarily warm, but for the fact that my blood had begun to boil like magma inside a volcano, furious at myself for agreeing to sign up for such torture. I couldn't move at all, and after today, I upheld the belief that I would not be able to move for a whole week, perhaps less if I'm lucky.