Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
A group of people disembarked from the vehicle within the allotted time, but there were still some who remained inside.
The Officer walked over to the side of the truck and then stepped onto a drier patch of ground. He paused for a moment, waving his hand at the subordinates standing behind him. One of the sergeants silently opened the door, climbed in, and quickly drove the truck out of sight.
The onlookers glanced around, while Freyr remained silent and did not dare to move. The Officer paced back and forth among them, as if inspecting this batch of new recruits. The more he looked, the more dissatisfaction seemed to grow on his face, his expression shifting rapidly, as if he were on the verge of losing his temper.
Losing one's temper was no trivial matter.
“Brats, fall in line!” the Officer blew his whistle and shouted.
The others, still looking around nervously, hurriedly formed a line. Even those without military experience knew that military camps were known for their strict discipline. Even the most basic standing posture had to be precise to the inch. Instructors were notorious for breaking countless soldiers; they were the nemeses of recruits and embodiments of perfectionism.
Half a minute later, four neat rows of recruits stood in formation on a weed-covered wasteland. They were not in a military industrial zone; instead, they found themselves in a desert covered in yellow sand, where desertification was severe. This area had once been a key military industrial zone, but after resource extraction, the climate had become erratic.
Soon enough, even the planted greenery began to wither. Some superstitious individuals believed that humanity had harvested treasures meant for the gods, incurring divine punishment upon the land and causing yellow deserts to spread. Consequently, this area became uninhabitable; diseases and hunger once ran rampant.
Without a rapid water supply to sustain them, the chances of humans surviving in this desert were slim. Even in winter, while it wasn't scorching hot under the sun's rays, it would still be difficult to escape from being buried in sand and turning into mummies.
Three water pumps and high-pressure hoses had also been loaded onto the truck and taken away, completely cutting off their drinking water supply.
The Officer scrutinized the four rows of recruits before him. “Hmm, much better now—only twenty-eight people. An elite group like this is never too large.”
His words quickly resonated with everyone present. Indeed, those who made it here were likely skilled individuals like Nosty; in other words, they had something exceptional about them that could help them survive on chaotic battlefields. However, ordinary people also had their own skills to some extent; even those who seemed insignificant possessed some form of expertise—they just couldn't fully utilize it.
They were a special and elite group of individuals. The Officer's earlier statement sparked pride among some faces.
“Put away your so-called pride and self-respect, you fools! Discard all of it! Oh, sorry—I misspoke; you aren't even worthy of being called fools. You are pigs and dogs—utterly incapable of survival! In the eyes of insects, you are as lowly as pig and dog feed—yes, feed! Elite ones! If you don’t want me to refer to you as pigs or dogs in the future, then prove it to me.” The Officer shook his head slightly, taking two steps forward in front of the first row before continuing: “I am your instructor, Colonel Cousins-Peterman. Here I am your authority—yes, I can also be your father.”
"Alright, Dad."
A voice that was more of a sneer than a laugh immediately responded.
"Silence!" Colonel Cousins-Peterman shouted.
After a moment, Cousins walked past everyone, his expression serious. "I can see your true feelings on your faces. Whoever just answered, step forward. If I catch you, you will definitely regret it."
"It was me, Dad."
The same sneering voice emerged again, but this time it was not out of nowhere; Cousins had appeared from directly behind and kicked the speaker in the back of the knee. The man let out a yelp and fell to one knee, clearly feeling the force of the kick. Cousins then swaggered past, shaking his massive hips.
The speaker was a buzz-cut blonde man, exuding a flashy demeanor. He had an earring in one ear, long eyelashes, and his white arms were covered in tattoos, including one of an extinct red-crowned crane. Colonel Cousins stood before him with a fierce glare, like prey under the watchful eye of a hawk, creating an oppressive atmosphere that made one shiver with fear.
"Do my words amuse you?"
Cousins' voice suddenly drizzled out like fine rain, but this was not a concession to the young recruits; it was the calm before the storm. Who knew how many harsh words were bottled up inside him, ready to burst forth.
"No, Dad."
The blonde man quickly lowered his head, unable to meet Cousins' gaze. At that moment, he no longer dared to make any foolish jokes. Rubbing his knee where he had been kicked, he stood up from the ground.
"You will all refer to me as Dad from now on. I oversee your training and your meals. Don't make it difficult for me, Brats. Do you understand? Answer me!"
"Yes!"
"If you think I'm being too harsh or unfair, or if you're missing your mommy, then get out right now. Fill out the form, sign it, and pack your bags for the path of expulsion. I don't want to waste my time on you brats, understand?" Cousins continued loudly, his voice booming.
"Yes, sir!" everyone replied in unison.
Freyr maintained a composed demeanor, his prominent goatee standing out. He made sure not to provoke any dissatisfaction from the officer. In the military camp, aside from shaving their heads, the goatee had become a symbolic mark of handsomeness for men in this era. There was no other way to express individuality; instead, this small beard had turned into a status symbol, with men considering a well-groomed goatee as a trend and hallmark of style.
Colonel Cousins looked at the silent recruits and immediately his expression darkened. "What elite group? You're all a bunch of cowards. If any of you have grievances against me, feel free to come forward anytime; military regulations won't hinder you. In fact, if anyone can take me down, I'll make an exception and give you a vacant squad leader position."
Cousins then specifically glanced at a young man with a buzz cut. "Now, who among you thinks they can take me down? Do it for the softie I just knocked over."
"Sir, I think I can," a young man from the third row raised his hand.
"Good, step forward."
"Thank you, sir."
Cousins watched as a man taller than him stepped out. He gestured for everyone to form a circle and sit down.
"Come here," Colonel Cousins extended his hand.
"No, sir. If I take you down, can I really become squad leader?"
"You think I'm lying? No, it's true. I won't hold you accountable."
"Never mind then; I'm into boxing and I'm afraid I might hurt you."
"Remember, you are soldiers. Words cannot be taken lightly. Strike back."
"Understood!"
The burly young man, dressed in a black leather jacket, charged forward like a tiger. With a swift hook punch slicing through the air, Cousins dodged and, following the trajectory of the punch, launched a surprise attack. He reached out with lightning speed to grab the young man's arm, pulling it sharply with force while simultaneously extending his other hand.
With a crack, both hands exerted pressure at the same time. The captured arm snapped like a fragile twig, and the young man let out a wail of despair. Instinctively, he clutched his injured arm, his mouth twitching as his face contorted in agony. The pain was evident on his features, twisting them almost beyond recognition.
Witnessing this scene, everyone shut their eyes. They could not bear to look at someone enduring pain so intense that it warped their expression. The distortion clearly indicated that the injury was severe; otherwise, such a twisted face would not have been revealed. They sat silently with their eyes closed, lost in their thoughts.
"Are you alright?" Cousins looked down at the injured young man, taking a slight breath as a sinister smile crept onto his lips.
"Sir, I think it's broken," the young man said, clutching his arm. His tone had shifted from earlier confidence to a weak plea.
"The pain is what you make of it. I will demand this of you: the two months of training ahead will inflict injuries on your bodies far worse than broken bones. If you're afraid, you can give up now. I won't mock you; just as I said before, you're like lambs waiting to be slaughtered—incapable of self-preservation. If that's the case, you'll only be a burden on the battlefield. So who else is willing?" Cousins challenged.
"Surgeon! We have a soldier injured during training; take him away."
Colonel Cousins glanced around at everyone, who seemed unusually quiet. He hesitated for a moment before making a decisive gesture. At that moment, a bundle of rescue ropes descended from above. A figure resembling a surgeon descended rapidly and assisted the young man, quickly securing him with ropes before returning to the helicopter.
As the helicopter vanished into the clouds, Cousins turned away and gazed out over the vast desert with a heavy heart. "Hellish training lasts for two months; what just happened was your final choice. Once that aircraft leaves, it won't return. So even for your survival, you must persevere and leave this desert as quickly as possible. What awaits you is the real training camp base. During this time, once your supply of drinking water runs out and if you still can't escape, you'll truly be lost here. The compass and survival tools are in the backpacks at the tents; you have one minute to grab your pack."
Comment 0 Comment Count