The West Sea

Chapter 3: First (Part 1)

Arman thought long and hard about how he ended up cleaning the camp's lavatory on the night of his first day of recruitment while the rest of the platoon slept soundly in the barracks across from him. He remembered entering his assigned billet with such enthusiastic vigor that every single one inside, all thirteen draftees from all over New Republic, stopped what they were doing and focused their gaze upon the last-minute addition to their platoon.

Arman recalled waving his hands at them, hailing more of their attention as he smiled and introduced himself with candid delight. Then everything seemed to go down hill after that, he thought to himself as he scrubbed the moldy crevices of the bathroom tiles.

Arman Bruno, the late trainee who had just entered his platoon's barracks was met by a fellow recruit named Marcus Sakai, who had greeted Arman with joyous eagerness; His short, brushed up brown hair complimented his rugged look and well built frame, like a generic template for perfect soldiers.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! You must be the one we've been waiting for! When we heard someone was joining us, we all chipped in and made sure that your spot was perfectly ready for your arrival!"

Marcus, threw his arm on Arman's shoulder, like that of an old friend, and nudged him into taking the first bed by the side of the front doors. It was a black metal bed frame with a modest white mattress covered in navy blue sheets that tucked everything neatly.

"Here you go," continued Marcus. Arman was hesitant at first but Marcus and the other recruits jeered him on to taking it nonetheless. He unpacked his items, which for some reason had no where to be placed. No drawers, or cabinets, or anything. Even tenement rooms have a bit of furniture, Arman remarked to himself as he kept the items and tucked it under the bed.

The young man from the tenements had no idea that everyone was looking at him. Smirking and snickering among themselves as if there was a joke Arman wasn't a part of. Marcus, who was standing in front of his bed the whole time, then added

"Oh, yeah. You should also wear the uniform hanging there by the wall. We all did that before to, you know, try and fit it and all." Marcus had a very positive demeanor that Arman found quite charmingly helpful.

A chorus of voiced agreement filled the barracks shouting "Wear it! Wear it! Wear it!" The group chanted louder and louder. Arman, not wanting to feel left out, decided to wear the uniform as previously offered.

As he was halfway through his jumpsuit, Lieutenant Andreus de Sol came in through the front door and shouted, "What in God's name is going on in here?!"

The trainees rapidly formed two lines across one another and firmly placed their closed right fist on their chest, a typical salute for all enlisted in the Division. The Officer-in-Charge entered the room with authority as he tried to make sense of all the commotion happening in his watch.

Lieutenant de Sol's enraged eyes scanned every crevice of the room but was immediately met with a half-dressed Arman, struggling to fit into his jumpsuit by the left side of the door.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?!" The officer stomped his way towards Arman who had stopped wrestling with his uncooperative uniform and did a salute as well; his jumpsuit dropped to his ankles as his white underwear proved to be the only garment covering his body.

"I was.." Arman stuttered nervously.

"What are you doing in the first bed, recruit?!" Officer Andreus was now fixed directly at Arman. "Who gave you permission to use the first bed?! Answer me!"

Arman looked around and stared briefly at Marcus but then decided to reply in a boisterous voice, "No one, sir! I thought this was my bed, sir! I apologize, sir!"

The officer asked again as he was unsatisfied and knew that one of the recruits, or maybe all of them, had goaded the little imbecile into ruining the first bed.

"Who do you think you are, recruit?! Are you God's gift to the world?! Are you the messiah chosen by the Almighty to take the most sacred of space in this entire billet and make it your own? Listen here, you insignificant piece of filth! You are what I say you are and you do what I say you do. Now answer me! Who told you to. Use.This.Bed?! Who?! Give me a name son and I promise you I'll let this slip by like nothing ever happened! I'll let bygones be bygones and forget the fact that you have your nuts hanging out here, half naked as you are, inside my house if you tell me right here, right now."

Arman hesitated but stood firm with his previous answer. "No one, sir! It was me, sir!"

Lieutenant de Sol was quick to remark the incompetence of his late trainee.

"You insignificant lying garbage! You shut your lying mouth while I give you a barrage of informational wisdom your fellow recruits had already been blessed with earlier. Do you know what this bed is? Why it's left perfectly separate from all of you brats? Why it has to be completely spotless and untouched?! This bed represents the perfection you are now failing to attain. This bed is for the best of the best. The one perfect specimen that will rise up to the ranks and earn that spot. Of which none of you are ready to fill! This small corner of the barracks represents success in the division camp. If you can replicate this bed with your own everyday for the rest of your life, then you are one step closer into your transformation from a useless pile of garbage into a useful pile of trash. Do you understand, recruit?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" shouted Arman in complete obedience.

Officer de Sol looked at the first bed and saw Arman's unpacked luggage tucked beneath it.

"Get your damn gear out of the first bed and throw it in the bin. Now!"

Arman did as he was told, he had no time to react and think about all of his possessions being thrown out.

"Now fix this bed and go back to your space, there, at the end of the barracks, suit up, and get back here in front in one minute. Go!"

Arman took of the first bed's assigned uniform, hanged it, fixed the crumpled bed sheets of the first bed, and hurried across the barracks floor, wore his own assigned white jumpsuit uniform and got back to the officer in front with 2 seconds to spare.

***Thank you for taking the time to read my work. It would really mean a lot if you could leave some comments as I would like to hear what you have to say about the chapter. You can also vote and share this to your friends and help spread the story of The West Sea.***