Arlo twitched and whimpered in his sleep, legs jerking as he tried to run. It was a long time since he’d last had a chance to sleep so deeply and long enough to be able to dream. His current position was in the shattered remains of a Republic settlement.

Not single building stood higher that a storey tall, most were utterly levelled, surviving inhabitants and battling troops forced into the tunnel and sewers beneath the settlement.

Drones flew overhead, mapping out the ruins, fortified strongpoints and trenches which marked this stretch of the front. Warfare had evolved over the millennia but it always boiled down to one thing; in order to hold ground, you have to send in the infantry.

Which was where Arlo and his regiment came in. Cave Canum was their official regimental motto in the old Tearan language of Lat Tin. Their unofficial motto was Omnia non valentes latrare videntes vana mordere, but it was much snappier in common, All Bite, No Bark.

They took pride in their motto, they were one of the best regiments in the sector and they knew it. Not once had they failed in a mission and, even when the Dominion forces had been forced to retreat, they had only been forced to do so because of the failings of others.

Arlo gave a choked shout, more of a growl than anything as he slipped deeper into the dream.

“Get a fucking move on you worthless piece of shit!” Roared his Drill Instructor, raising his las lash to encourage Arlo to run faster. As ever he was at the back of the pack of infantry recruits. All of them carried backpacks weighing 40kg and had already been running for over nine kilometres. “You stop when I tell you to stop!”

The las lash cracked next to his ear, so close that he yelped in pain and no little fear. For some reason the instructor had singled him out for his ire. Arlo constantly found himself being used to set an example even when he had succeeded where others had failed.

“Shut your yapping!” the las lash cracked near his head again and he bit down on his tongue, refusing to give the instructor any further excuse to punish him.

“Sir, yes sir!” he barked back, forcing his legs to move that little bit faster, overtaking Raymondo as he did so.

“Bastard!” growled Raymondo with little ire. They’d immediately bonded upon meeting on their induction day and their friendship had continued to grow even when they were placed in a squad with others from different areas.

A marker appeared on his retinal monitor. 500 metres left until the run was over. If they were ‘proper’ infantry they would have been given chemical performance enhancers. As it was they were in week three of training and wouldn’t even be given the implants until they graduated from basic training.

However, just the thought of chemicals flooding through his system and taking away all the pain and exhaustion helped. He’d never heard of the placebo effect, and it wouldn’t have made much difference if he had. It helped, and he practically flew the last stretch, leaving the instructor behind and managing to pass another three recruits.

“Not bad Arlo, not bad,” the instructor said as he crossed with the last of the pack. “Okay puppers, get a drink, then assemble at the range entrance.

Puppers was what every recruit was called regardless of age. It was designed to remind them that they weren’t fully infantry, weren’t fully part of the Dominion army, even though they had sworn allegiance to the Everlasting Emperor Xerxes. And they wouldn’t be until they passed basic.

Pass basic. It was a mantra they all repeated. ‘Five weeks until we pass basic’, ‘We’ll be proper soldiers once we’ve passed basic’, everything they talked about was doing their best for the Master Instructor and getting through basic so that they were no longer called puppers.

Doing as he was told, Arlo drank as quickly as he could, following the army edict of ‘eat, drink and sleep whenever you have the chance.’

*

“These blisters are getting worse, Raymondo,” whispered Arlo as he bound his friend’s foot. Tough skin covered the sole, but the continual daily pressure of now-thirty kilometre long runs was taking its toll. “You need to report to sickbay.”

“If I do that, they’ll bump me back a week and I’ll lose my place. I’m not missing out on graduating from basic with you guys,” he grinned tongue protruding as he did so. “I’ll just take more painkillers, keep the blisters popped and run you bastards into the ground.”

Arlo barked out a laugh, slapping his friend on his should. “I bet you bloody will. Make sure you keep them clean though. Morning, day and night. Clean them.”

Raymondo grinned back, teeth shining in the dim light of the barracks. They’d received augmentations to their eyes which expanded their visual spectrum. As a result, the lights in the barracks had been dimmed and the windows covered to help the puppers get used to their new vision.

“Three days left. And two days of wargames,” Red said, repeating what they all already knew. “And then basic is over.”

“You know what I’m looking forward to the most?” Arlo asked the others. He waited, relishing the attentive looks on their faces. Finally, as soon as it looked as though they’d happily bury him, he smiled slowly. “The feast. All the food we could ever eat in one sitting. Prime steak, rump, ribs. You name it, we eat it!”

The others howled with laugher as he mimed shovelling food into his mouth. Grinning, he looked around at his friends, proud to be part of their training cadre.

*

“Move it!” explosions threw mud and water into the air, forcing Arlo to duck his head as it rained down upon him. A stone bounced off his helmet with a dull tonk. Kinetic projectiles and energy pulses cracked and zipped over head as he charged forward with his squad.

Checking his retinal monitor he saw they were just over one hundred metres from their objective, an old bunker. The enemy, Training Cadre 4-3 was firmly entrenched. And between them and their objective was a stretch of shell-pocked land.

“They’ve gone all out in making this feel like the real thing!” Raymondo panted out as he lay next Arlo.

“Just make sure you don’t get hit by a simunition round. They’re designed to hurt more than being hit with the real thing,” Arlo warned as he pushed himself to feet as the instructor repeated his order, lash crackling into life.

Charging forward in pairs, the squad advanced from crater to crater. Yelps and shrieks of pain filled the air as members of their platoon were hit, their individual markers turning red to indicate they were no longer part of the exercise.

Arlo threw himself forward as mud exploded into the air, simunition punching into the churned earth at his feet. Landing heavily in a water-filled crater he immediately rolled to his right. It had been drummed into them that if they went to ground they couldn’t stay where they landed. If they did, enemy soldiers would be guaranteed to kill them. Land, roll, cover.

Poking his rifle over the edge of the crater he scanned the enemy position. Crackles of light indicated the positions of the enemy troops. Blink-clicking his retinal monitor he tagged into a drone. Using that he zoomed down into his position in order to work out the best route to the bunker.

“Raymondo!” he commed to his battle buddy. “Three metres to your right, do you see an old trench?”

There was a paused, filled with explosions from artillery fire. Whether it was theirs or the enemy’s he neither knew nor cared. It was damned scary and potentially deadly whichever side was firing. Friendly fire really wasn’t.

“Roger that Arlo. I take it you have a cunning plan?” Raymondo replied just before Arlo was about to prod him for an answer.

“I do. Coming to you.” Taking a nerve-steadying breath he pushed himself to his knees, then sprang up and over the lip of his crater into the crater his friend was sheltering in. Siminution chased him, making the hairs on his neck rise. “Emperor be praised for these augments!”

Without them he would have been dog meat. Even though his opponents had also been given augments, they hadn’t truly known his position. Although as he looked at his uniform he realised just how close he had come to being tagged.

“Bastards!” he shoved a finger through the hole in his combat jacket.

“At least that wasn’t your hide!” Raymondo said, keeping as low in their crater as he could. “You said something about a plan?”

Arlo held up a finger for patience as he checked his retinal monitor. With a sinking feeling he saw that they were the only two members of their squad still in the game. Even their instructor had been tagged.

Serves the stupid fucker right, we should have flanked them, not charged across open ground, he thought with no little satisfaction.

“This trench hooks around behind the bunker, ends up in a ruined building. I reckon we have a chance of flanking those bastards.”

He sent the map which he had marked with their route over to Raymondo’s retinal monitor.

“Better than waiting here for some instructor and their damned lash,” Raymondo said once he’d looked the route over. “I’ll take point.”

Arlo wasn’t about to argue with him. Taking point was a decidedly risky role as it meant first contact with any enemy troops and a higher chance of hitting a mine or improvised explosive device. Gripping his assault rifle even tighter, he followed his friend into the ruined trench.

*

It took them exactly nine minutes and twenty seven seconds according to his retinal monitor’s clock. Their platoon, their company even, had completely faltered in its attack, unable to proceed in the face of stiff enemy resistance. And the key point of the resistance was their squad’s objective. Bunker 3-5-1. A catchy name.

“It’s completely wrecked!” Raymondo gasped as they lay in the ruined building Arlo had seen. And it was true. Whilst the front of the bunker was intact, at some point the back walls and part of the roof had been utterly destroyed.

“I count ten, plus their Master Instructor!” Arlo practically drooled at the idea of putting simunition into the back of a Master Instructor. From the get-go recruits were trained to obey every single word of the Mis without question. ‘Sit, stand, jump, charge’ no matter what the order, it was to be obeyed. The Master Instructors were Emperors in the eyes of the recruits, the other instructors being slightly minor deities. “I’ll shoot the ones on the left and work right into the middle, you shoot the ones on the right and work left into the middle.”

“Got that,” Raymono said as he laid his sights upon their prey.

“Fire on three, two, one,” their rifles barked, three round bursts sending simunition zipping through the air to slam into the backs of their unsuspecting enemies. One after the other they pitched forward onto the floor, the Master Instructor taking shots from both of them before she fell to the ground.

“Bunker 3-5-1 clear! Sector Three clear!” Arlo commed over the company channel. Looking over at his friend, he grinned as he heard their comrades belling their war cry.

*

Arlo stood proudly at attention as the Master Commander slowly made his way long the lines of recruits. At each one he stopped and shared a few words before moving on. Finally he was stood before Arlo.

“You have been an exceptionally good boy,” the Master said, reaching out to ruffle the top of Arlo’s head. Arlo grinned, tongue lolling in happiness as the Master took the collar offered to him and slowly leant forward to clasp it around Arlo’s neck. “Welcome to the regiment.”

Stepping back, the Master raised his head and howled, joined with over a thousand other voices as the dogmen joined him in celebrating their graduation.

*

“Arlo! Shut the fuck up!” A hand cracked across his snout, making him yelp and jolting him out of his dream.

“Sorry, Master,” he cringed away from the still raised hand, not wanting to give the human further excuse to strike him. Whilst the Masters in his regiment were kind, encouraging, and treated him and his fellow chimerans well, Masters from other regiments, to which he was now attached, weren’t. They were more like the instructors in the way they relished using punishment to ensure obedience.

“Good to fucking hear it. Now, be a good boy and attack this position.”

A map appeared on his retinal monitor. Looking at the survivors of his squad, he gathered his kit and head out to battle, all memory of his dream gone.