NationStates Jolt Archive

[OOC: Just an RP for the sake of roleplay. Comments appreciated.]

Private James Kerrigan wasn't quite sure what exactly he was doing here.

Well, no, that wasn't entirely correct; he had a vague idea of how he ended up standing in the rain in ankle-deep mud with water sloshing in his socks and covered with grime that stuck to your ribs, waiting for the trucks that would take him and his comrades the rest of the way to Tel Kaya.

One had to understand that Tel Kaya was a resort town on the western coast, famed for its beaches. One also had to understand that some sick, sick person had decided to name a primary Konanian National Army training base Tel Kaya as well. It was a cruel, cruel joke, but there was really nothing he could do about it. The initial announcment had been met with groans by the group, which in turn had been countered with a five kilometer run, as per orders from Sgt. Ivan (the Terrible). That mistake would not be made again.

And so, he and the rest of the group stood in neat rows, their duffels beside them, and all breathed an inaudible sigh of relief when the trucks were finally heard rounding the bend, roaring through the mud.

Sgt. Ivan got on board the first one and looked the driver in the eye. The two shared a very breif converasation, and much to Private Kerrigan's horror, Ivan stepped down and waved them off.

They had been "too comfortable" for the Federal Republic's recruits. Rather than accept such an insult, the company would move on foot.

Kerrigan bit his tongue angrily-- he should've guessed something like this would happen-- and fell in line behind the others for the march.

He, personally, would have preferred the insult.

[OOC: Aww, no comments?]

"You're failing. If you don't make up your credits, you won't graduate. It's that simple."

Kerrigan was standing in the counselor's office, looking at his transcript. Well, she was right: there were a lot of empty holes that needed to be filled before June. Today was May 22nd.

"So I can't get an extension on these? Of any sort?"

"No."

He took in a breath and let it out slowly. "Thanks."

The counselor nodded, and Kerrigan left to room, down the school's hallway. It wasn't really his fault-- a Series of Unfortuante Events, crafted by what seemed some sort of invisible hand, had brought him here, and now, there was nothing he could do.

He stopped walking, looking around. He wasn't really sure where he was going. That was a problem, in more ways than one.

He stepped out into the street. School had ended an hour ago, the place was mostly deserted except for some sitting on benches, reading, studying, talking to friends. He scanned the scene until his eyes landed on the Army Recruitment Center strategically positioned on the oppisite side of the street.

He groaned.

"You're going to regret this," he called, perhaps too loudly, to no one in particular has he stepped into the road.

* * *

Kerrigan stumbled at the top of the hill-- Of course, he had thought the whole way up, they had to put in a hill-- spitting the bitter taste of mud out of his mouth. Immediatly he stood up, knowing that to remain prone for too long would be seen as a sign of weakness to somebody. Apparently, some of his comrades had the same idea.

"Get up, recruits!" someone yelled. Sgt. Ivan, of course. Those who were still on the ground popped upward, standing at attention.

"Welcome to Tel Kaya Training," he continued. A thin smile. "I'm sure you'll find your stay here most.. welcoming. I will now turn you over to Sgt. Mitchell, who will explain the activities of the rest of your stay here." Ivan saluted, and took a step back.

And explain he did. Reveille was at a 0430, and it went downhill from there.

"Get yourselves situated and get back on the training ground in an hour."

Tel Kaya was more newer than most other traning stations, but was made to be as miserable as possible. In keeping with this, the barracks complex was made of eight buildings, each containing bunks for about forty recruits. The matresses, as Kerrigan discovered, were exactly 12 centimeters thick. Each bunk was accompanied with a small locker to contain what few personal effects one might have.

He dropped his duffel on a bunk.

"This your bunk?" Kerrigan looked up at the source of the voice, and found someone looking down at him.

"My slip says 12A."

"A is on top, buddy."

Kerrigan stared at him for a moment, and dragged his belongings to the upper level.
He had enough room to sit up, which was good, but the fact that he could roll off the edge very easily wasn't encouraging.

The place was beginning to crowd, and Kerrigan decided to take his leave while he could still go unnoticed.

(OOC Comments? Well I have to say that your Ivan seems kind compared to the drill sgt I had ;) )

[*grin. Note to self, make Ivan and Mitchell eeeeeeevil.]

OOC: Is this some kind of story RP? If you need weapons I have a few storefronts that are quite good.

Great stuff, hope you will continue it.

OOC:[Sino: Thanks for the offer; the KNDF has a weapons supply, so I won't be needing it, though :)

Umojan: thanks

New post coming within the hour.]

The gym facilities were nearby, thankfully. Everything took place on one large area: weight training, boxing, sparring, among other things.

Kerrigan walked across the padded room, surprised to see that some others were already here, sparring. Another glance in that direction, and, to his horror, realized that Mitchell was there as well.

He turned around, and prepared to tiptoe out of the room...

"Soldier!"

Great. He snapped to attention.

"What are you doing outside your barracks?"

James Kerrigan quickly formed what he believed was a worthy response. "I was getting an idea of the layout of the premisis, sir--"

"You--were--'exploring'?" Kerrigan jumped. He had made the mistake of standing with his back turned to Mitchell. In the time, the sergeant had crossed the distance between them and was now standing a few feet behind him. His ears were still ringing a few seconds later.

"Answer me, soldier. Were you 'exploring' the facility?"

It sounds so negative when you put it that way, Kerrigan thought. "Yes, sir."

Mitchell walked around him, facing him now. The man was actually shorter than he was. "Really. Hm." It was the first thing that he had said all day that wasn't yelled, but Kerrigan could still here the contempt in his voice. "Well." A pause. "Grayson."

Kerrigan heard the stomp-stomp of someone coming to attention behind him. "Sir?"

"Teach this guy what you were showing me earlier."

Kerrigan blinked, turning around. Was he being let off?

"Grayson" and another another person were approaching, and stopped standing about three meters in front of him. He too was shorter by almost a foot (Kerrigan found this all very amusing, he wasn't -that- tall of a guy), but was much stockier. "Basic rules, five second count," the second soldier said. Grayson nodded... and lunged at him.

Kerrigan had very little time to react. In a split second, Grayson was trying to push him downward. Kerr twisted backwad, breaking the hold, dancing back away from the guy.

By this point, a small crowd was gathering. Kerrigan swung three times, but Grayson caught him and nearly succeded in pinning him. He rolled him and jumped away again, bumping into the cheering group that was forming around them--

--and that was it. He turned around breifly, caught by surprise, and Grayson had caught his shoulder, twirling him around and against pushing him downward onto the mat.

Blinking painfully, Kerrigan looked upward at the grinning--and scarred?-- face of his opponent. "Welcome to the KNA, kid."

He pulled Kerrigan up to a sitting position with an arm, and joined the others on the way out of the room--Mitchell's deadline was near, and none of them wanted to be late.

Kerrigan sat there for a moment, and jumped up to follow.

That was James' first hint that Tel Kaya was not an ordinary training base, and would not be run in the same way as the others were. His second came a few minutes later.

It had stopped raining, but the ground was still a little soggy when he stepped outside. Most everyone had already lined up there, but Mitchell had yet to speak. Kerrigan had not seen him when he left the gym.

Standing on the parade ground, he would have been able to see more of the complex had he not been standing at attention. He desperatly wanted to turn his head, more out of a desire to see where Mitchell was than out to see what was around him. He could hear sloshing footsteps on the moist earth, but couldn't accuratly judge what direction they were coming from.

"Recruits!"

There he is. "Sir!"

"Welcome to Tel Kaya. Here you begin your second stage of training to be in National Army of the Konanian Federal Republic! The next ten weeks of your lives will be more intense than last three ever were. I know you all can fire a gun. I know you all now have an initimate knowledge of the tastes of the many wonderous varieties of mud. And now, we will find what kind of soldier you are."

"You will either be a sucess or a failure. To suceed, you will obey the spirit of every order. You will find your skills, and you will use them excellently. You will find your part of the team and you will know your place in it. You will give it more than your all. Is that understood?"

No hesitation. "Yes sir!"

"To fail, you must merely give up. The day you surrender, you can not succeed. On that very moment, you will be removed. And you will not be missed. Do I make myself clear?"

This time there was a pause-- less than a nanosecond, but the faintest detectable pause as each reflected on the meaning. "Yes sir!"

"Tomorrow at 0300 you will march the 25 kilometers to the Tip and back. You will take only what you need. You will be back before dawn. Understood?"

The hesitation vanished. This would be easy.

"Yes sir!"

"Good. Let's get to work."


[OOC: *grumble* Yeah, I know, this was really bad post... --Felix]

After spending the rest of the day in "advanced training", which, as James should have known, involved gratuitious amounts of mud and water, he didn't get to bed until around 2130, getting less than five hours of well-earned sleep.

Kerrigan soon discovered that when tired, everything seems extraordinarily difficult. Hauling himself out of bed after the early reville, he quickly cleaned himself up as best he could, turned out the door, and promptly tripped into the dirt below the barracks' bottom step. He pulled himself up and made his way toward the center area, where he assumed the "I'm up, now what do you want" position, also known as standing at attention.

And despite all his efforts, Sgt. Mitchell and his... followers... had little sympathy for the group before them.

"This is pitiful." Mitchell walked up and down the line, looking at each of them and stopping before those he found particularly distasteful. "Absolutely, unacceptably pitiful! What is this? You look like y'just woke up or something!"

Kerrigan bit his tongue. That was explainable. He couldn't figure out how the guy could say that and keep a straight face.

"Sgt. Ivan, this is the worst bunch I've seen at Tel Kaya Training in a very long time. A very, very long time." He stopped speaking, his face fixed in an abhorrant snarl.

Ivan (the terrible) began barking orders, as the group readied their packs--ranging from 25 to 40 kilos--stood single file, and prepared for the jog up the hill.

* * *

Keeping a consistant pace is the key to getting anywhere. Fatigue is mostly mental, so as long as he didn't stop, he would be fine.

You friggin' idiot, Kerrigan thought, making his way up the slope. In retrospect, his mantra of the previous night had been ludiculously naive. He hadn't taken into account how much stuff he might be carrying. By the time this is all done with, I'm gonna need some serious chiropractic work...

A rock. A tree. A boulder. A hill. The scenery didn't change that much, and at one point he was very sure that the group was going in circles. In truth, it wouldn't have surprised him. Every once in a while someone would trip, be helped up, mutter a thank you, and the group would go on as before. No was really in the mood for talking, so Kerrigan was somewhat surprised when someone tried to jog beside him on the trail:

"Nice morning--isn't it?" he asked, pausing breifly between breaths.

Kerrigan could tell that the kid was about his age and height, and had the charcacteristic accent of one who had been raised in the Canterras mountains or the Basin. He grunted an agreement.

"Moonset--soon. Sun--coming up in--couple of hours. Too bad we'll--get to the Tip--before then?"

"Don't talk--so much. You're wasting--your breath," Kerrigan responded testily. He was tired, sore, and didn't want to chat.

"Hm." The kid paused for a moment. "Eric Benton--from Akhen area--you?"

Kerrigan smiled to himself. His guess had been correct. "James Kerrigan--'round Tripera."

"Heh--big city kid."

"You could--say that."

Another pause. "Hard trail--isn't it?" Kerrigan said idly.

"Well--it's all easier--downhill, neh?"

Kerrigan nodded. The two continued in silence, saving their breath for the run.

[ooc: Comments and threadratings still appreciated]

Sunlight streamed onto the parade ground, bathing it in red-orange light. Soldiers began to trickle in, stopping near the center, half-standing or supporting one another. Ivan was a ways off, standing with his arms folded, making note of those who came in and in what order.

Kerrigan noted that most, if not all the packs returned a good deal smaller than they were when the group left. They had been told to take "only what you need", and water was the only thing anyone really needed, but most had decided to take many of the things they would be carrying in-theatre, simply to see how they fared.

It was a test they wouldn't take again. Essential equipment included their rifles, bags, tents, extra food supplies, first aid, and a shovel among other things. (Kevlar was, thankfully, left behind.) Consequentially, some equipment had been dropped, and most of the rest was now on the ground around their feet.

So began their morning workout, led by Mitchell himself, who insisted that the idea was not to "exercise both the body and the mind," as one had foolishly suggested. No, of course not. He just liked seeing them in pain.

Standing at attention quite a few pushups and situps later (and, Kerrigan was convinced, some pounds lighter), Ivan began to speak:

"Good morning soldiers!"

"Sir!"

"Today you begin your work in the Urban Training complex. This will be different from your combat training in Prelim, trust me..."

The schedule of events began to fall into place from there. Their mornings would be comprised of runs and workouts, and their afternoons of combat training. Sometime late at night, around 2300 games of... "midnight soccer"... would be held, and they were encouraged to take part.

[ooc: /shortpost. fastforwarding soon.]