Starcross

Chapter Sixteen

Old Frederick High School

 

            “Company! Halt!” First Sergeant O’Quinn called out in his thick Irish accent, raising a freckled fist to stop them. The rest of the unit came to a ragged stop with James stumbling into the rear of formation, wheezing for breath.

            When he enlisted he didn’t think about the physical toll training would take. Every morning they rose at 5:00 AM and ran two miles before stopping for breakfast and two hours of classes.  Then they did PT, or physical training, for another two hours. Break for lunch and repeat. It had only been a week and while James was now in considerable shape, one didn’t go from sitting on ones ass playing video games and eating Doritos to being a full time soldier overnight.

            His scuffed boots, a relic from some war past, came to a stop on the trampled brown grass; deprived of water as it wasn’t deemed necessary. Thinking of water, he felt how parched his throat was and reached back to the stamped metal canteen on his hip. The cool water reached his lips and flowed down his throat, relieving him of some of the heat of this terrible mid-June day.

            While the rest of the unit, whom he was still getting to know, did the same James took a moment to shift his field pack around on his shoulders. Dressed like a man who stepped out of the Second World War, James’ issued uniform was second hand and presumable used. Pulled from some storage locker that it had been sitting in for decades. When handed the dated clothes he, among others, asked why to which they were answered that the newer stuff was in shorter supply than common sense.

            “What do you think is going on?” Adam asked, watching O’Quinn speak with an officer at the end of the field, a clustering of other Sergeants stood around listening as well.

            James took another gulp of water before replacing the canteen on his belt. “Probably telling them to train us more.”

            “Nah, O’Quinn isn’t smiling. And he always smiles.”

            James squinted his eyes but still couldn’t see that kind of detail, wondering how Adam, who wore thick glasses, did it. Perhaps his eyes weren’t that bad and the glasses magnified what he saw.   But whatever that was being discussed wouldn’t be a secret for long as First Sergeant O’Quinn came walking back to the unit.

            “Jackal Company!” He bellowed. “We are to move inside and collect weapons and ammunition, don’t forget to fill your canteens and grab some rations. We’re going into the field.” A murmur rose from the unit. Outside was where the Druidth were, where danger was. They had a little over a week of soldiering and absolutely zero weapons training. What were they supposed to do? Curse at them?

            But nonetheless and perhaps reflecting on how well the young Irishman had trained them, Jackal Company formed marching ranks and two-stepped into the rear entrance of the school. The long glass hallway lead toward the front with only four doors along its length: the wrestling room, the second entrance to the larger gym, the music room, and the theater. Once inside the air conditioning cooled the sweat on their foreheads and James breathed an easy sigh.