The plan had utterly failed as the pantry was wiped clean. John felt like there was a micro blackhole in his stomach, eating everything and anything. Any vestiges of his sanity had long gone save hunger. He did try to distract himself with math but it was like trying to plug a broken dam. A doomed effort.

A door chime recalled a bit of his mind back, “Boss? You’re in? This is da-Gunther.”

“Y…yeah. I’m, uhh…” John laid flat on the floor, “Gun…Gun-ter? Do you have, rations?”

“Boss! What happened to you?!!” As the door opened, Gunther rapidly propped him up.

John clutched his aching stomach, “Urgh, hungry, Gun-ter. Very…”

“Wait a-sec, you ate all da-rations?” Gunther carried him to the bed and then accessed his kitchenette, “All of it, Boss?!”

John can only give an awkward smile, “Yeah. All forty…of them. Can you give me…rations?”

“Hol’up, I’ll bring boss to da-mess hall.” Gunther frowned and offered a shoulder to him, “Can you stand up, Boss? I will carry you there.”

“No…. just give me something to eat, please. Uh-” John replied before a terrible headache hit him, flooring him cold. He heard Gunther panicking before all turned silent.

John lost track of time and awakened by a baritone male voice sometime later, “Hmm…this is worse than I expected. How do you feel, Recruit John Smith?”

“M... major. I’m…hungry. Very…hungry.” He knew that voice, Karamazov. Am I in the triage wards again? Where’s…Gun-ter?

There’s another person next to the Major, “Well Major, at least he’s spiffy and up! Do you want to continue with the tests?”

“No. Too risky.” The Major replied to the side and then turned to face John, “Recruit, listen to me.”

“Umm…yeah?” John suppressed his stomach from rumbling.

Karamazov put his burly hands on John’s left hand, “I want you to focus, on controlling your hunger.”

“How…how, Major?” John shuddered, “I am too hungry.”

“Orderlies, do it. Give him the serum.” The Major grimaced, “Take a deep breath, Recruit.” He shook his head, “Then think how would you solve the tenth chain of Mth-Series Equation after you wake up.”

“Ye-yes, Major. I will do eet-” John replied before fainting.

Karamazov then dismissed the triage personnel, “Thanks for your work. You’re right. He’s a box of wonders all right.”

It took five days for John to wake up from the induced slumber. Again...? What’s wrong with me? At this moment, he felt like he was living in a nightmare as he was tormented by endless hunger and lapses in memories. Nevertheless, a few pats revealed his stomach was no longer voracious, for now.

“Major.” John noticed Karamazov was at the entrance of the triage ward.

His superior nodded at him, “No need to salute me, Recruit John Smith.”

“Am I…okay? Really okay?” John had weary eyes.

Karamazov lightly sighed in return, “You should, five days ago. But…we fixed you now, I think. I hope.”

“Is this due to the ‘noggin’-thing, Majo-”

“Yes and no. Well, you’ll be given new orders instead, Recruit John.”

“New orders, Sir?” He raised his eyebrows at Karamazov, “But you said I should train my muscles, Sir.”

“Yes, I did but, change of plans, Recruit.” The Major soured at his gaze, “That’s all what you need to know, for now.”

“Okay…. your orders…., Sir?” As he saw the Major’s frown, John didn’t press the issue further.

Karamazov answered after a slight pause, “Take this day off. Tomorrow, go visit the Specialisation Station. Details in your comms and slate.”

“As ordered, Sir.” The thin man nodded at Karamazov.

The burly Army Major then left John in haste, “Choose wisely. Take care of yourself, young man.”

John wanted to ask more but refrained; Karamazov looked quite busy himself. Therefore, he placed his attention about the ‘chip’ in his brain. Perhaps extreme hunger was one of the side-effects? Will there be additional terrible consequences? His mind was swaying between curiosity and incuriosity.

“Huh, you okay, Boss?” A few hours of silence later, Gunther greeted John in person.

He half-smiled at the burly guy, “I think? I’m not in the recycler, at least.”

“You look okay to me, Boss.” Gunther leaned closer and whispered to him, “We’re going to get ano-da partner in our team, Boss. A Specialist.”

“Specialist? Who, with us?” He slowly moved his head backwards since Gunther was too close. Too close!

The blond-haired man faked a cough and moved the opposite of his bed, “Yup. Specialist. We’re supposed be da-four men team. Specialist Larial. Major Karamazov told me to tell boss.”

“Uh…okay. Then?” John scratched his nose.

Gunther repeatedly shook John’s shoulders, “A specialist, Boss! Hard to find! Gold from moon!”

“Okay, okay. Please, uh, stop shaking me, uh, Gun-ter.” He tried to push the brawny man away.

“Let I explain, Boss. Usually we recruit are like me noble-thinga-majit and, boss conscriptet. Then-” Gunther complied, “da-specialist allow our team to specialise!”

“You mean, we can pick what we want to do?” He tried to figure out what was Gunther was getting at.

Gunther fisted the air, “That’s it, Boss! We’re special, Boss! We can be da-pilots, stuff and more!”

“What’s the catch?” He had some suspicions; it sounded too good to be true.

His burly friend pouted, “About that…. yeah. More difficult. Practices and tests are more difficult. Service records too, da-bar’s higher.”

“I see. So, what are you doing now, Gun-ter?” John copied the same face expression.

Gunther gave the air some short jabs and punches, “Heh, heh, heh. Da-Great Tandar, Gunther, is doing three-dee maneuver! Got me in da-top two hundredth placing, Boss!”

“Wauu, top two hundred out of thousand?” John was somewhat envious. He read about the challenging discipline. Tens of recruits taking it had broken bones for first few days of trials.

Hearing his praise made Gunther even prouder, “That’s right, Boss! I was like, pew, then pew-pew- pew! Da-competitors had no chance against da-Great Tandar!!!!”

“Shh! Not too loud! We’re in the wards.” John shot him a glare and then continued, “About the specialisation thing. Major Karamazov told me to go to Specialisation Station tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Great, I wait Boss there. Use da-communicator.” Gunther pointed at his left ear that had a platinum-coloured device.

John agreed, “Okay. The communicator, right? I’ll call you then, Gun-ter.”

As a parting gift, Gunther left him a couple of ration blocks. The first challenge had come; he pinched his stomach lest he began eating too much and end in the triage wards again. In a way, he perceived Major Karamazov thought he was a failure. And failures usually don’t last long in the Army, any Army.

Thus, John asked a nearby triage personnel to whisk the rations away and permission to return to his quarters. It took tens of minutes of convincing until he was released; he did a battery of physio tests and even a weird dance before allowed to be discharged. He suspected the last part was unnecessary.

Right, the bevy of chuckles from nearby personnel were totally his figment of imagination. Upon reaching his quarters, John rapidly slotted a training rod on his pantry shelving to block its access. Next came tens of papers, written furiously with scribbles from the tenth chain of Mth-Series Equations.

The mind was willing but the body was left wanting; John eventually dozed on stacks of papers. As the next day descended, he got a rude awakening from his pen that somehow entered his left nostril. Ouch! Six A.M already? He liberated himself from his mess and began preparing. Gunther was waiting.

Indeed, Gunther was just outside of his quarters. “Boss! Ready yet?” He pressed the door chime again, “Boss didn’t call me!”

“Ready!” Ten minutes passed before he replied to Gunther. The chimes were deafening.

The muscled recruit extended his right arm to stop John from slamming into him, “Boss, you okay? What’s da-rush?”

“Uh, time management?” John found purchase and managed to stand on his two feet. “Sorry for forgetting to call you.”

Gunther threw his arms upwards, “Eh, no biggie. But, no rush. Eat da-breakfast?”

“Later, Gun-ter. I don’t want to end in the ward again.” John looked left and right, “So, who else coming with us?”

“Lucas, and da-specialist.” His partner, the burly man led the way to a nearby electric four-wheeler.

John entered the vehicle after Gunther, “Lucas? Isn’t he…reluctant?”

“Orders from da-top. We’re in the Army, Boss! Orders’ orders.” Gunther tapped his own broad chest in response.

“Uh, okay. So…. I hope we can get along, Gun-ter. Oh, who’s Specialist Larial?”

“Pew-pew Specialist. She’s good. Beaten me bum, Boss.” Gunther snarled when he remembered about it. Larial completely demolished him in a simulated training before. “Da-best in her field. Specialist!”

John shrugged in response, “Er…okay? How long will a specialisation take?”

“Two week to a month for da-cert, Boss.” Gunther crossed his arms, “Wait, don’t tell me Boss didn’t read da-info? Again?”

“Ahaha-ha…I was doing some math…” John shrunk his neck. This was awkward.

Some minutes later, they had arrived. The burly man exited the transport first. “Huh, what if da-order came suddenly?” He pointed at his head, “You da-leader and do most of da-thinking. Be alert, Boss!”

“Okay, I am sorry Gun-ter.” John nodded at him, with shame.

Gunther replied, “Yeah, Boss. Let’s go.”

Even in the far off Specialisation Station, the 141st Martial Army’s base remained in clockwork motion. Recruits and veterans bumped shoulders here, to train and refresh their expertise. Barbed walls abound, paired with armed robots and soldiers. Buildings were blocky, modular and functional to a T.

Even here there were trucks of all kinds, bringing and whisking materiel, men and god knows what. One passing truck paused John in his steps; the ten-wheeler was unloading some power armours. They were tad larger than normal exo-skeletons but with tank-grade defenses and city-destroying firepower.

The humanoid machines were one-storey high, equipped with a tower shield of some kind and a large caliber weapon that looked like an oversized, drum-fed light machine gun respectively. John peered at one such weapon; it had a bore the size of his head, or larger. Behind each respective power armour was several linear aerospike nozzles. These...machines can fly?!!

A stone-throw away were oodles of tanks and number of wheeled vehicles. These death machines were smaller than power armours yet they remained just as deadly. The tanks had just a single blocky barrel and a smaller co-axial. John suspected the long boxes on the armoured vehicles were missiles. The wheeled ones on other hand were more diverse.

A few had similar weapons as the tanks but more compact. Several were almost under-armed, presumably just a troop transport. Some carried an impressive cannon, hinting at their usage to hunt tanks and power armour. Curiously, John didn’t see any spacecraft here, presumably because this was an Army base and not Deep-Spatial Forces.

“Seen enough, Recruit?” Someone tapped John’s left flank.

His salute was everywhere but concise, “Uh, yes, Sir! Recruit John Smith greets Major...”

“Glapov, Boss. Major Glapov Vilmich.” Gunther whispered to his right ear.

The bald Major didn’t mind John’s mistake, “Well met, Recruit. Now, why are you here?” His eyes were on his data slate, “To hit the sims?”

“Uh, Recruit Gunther greet da-Major Glapov too.” Gunther also threw a salute, “For da-specialisation, Major.”

“Oh, I see. At ease, Recruits.” Glapov gave them a brief glance before leaving, “I heard what happened from Major Karamazov, Recruit John. Take it easy.”

“Yes…yes, Sir.” Contrary to Gunther, John kept his salute until the Major had left.

Gunther elbowed him after Glapov shifted his attention somewhere else, “Boss, da-salute finished. Come on, Boss. Our team are waiting inside.”

“Err…okay.” John followed Gunther since he was new to this place. He pointed out to a large object, “Gun-ter, do you think I can pilot that power armour? The red one?”

“Da-power armour, Boss? No offense but…Boss need strong muscles. Boss wouldn’t last a second in it.” Gunther shook his head as both made their way to a rectangular building.

Their conversation was joined by a female voice, “The brute’s right. I don’t see how ya can, Leader?”

“Um, well met…Specialist Larial?” John turned around and found a black-haired woman that was five meters away from him.

This woman, somewhere between Gunther and John in size eyed the ex-slum dweller with her brown irises, “That’s me, represent. To pilot one, ya need to take Three-Dee Maneuver cert and others. Couple of months’ worth of bojos.”

“I got that cert. How do you like that, girl?!” Gunther flexed a bit until he was lectured by other personnel for blocking their way.

Larial stuck out her tongue at the muscle brain, “Yet I whooped yer ass in Three-Dee Combat. Ha, me, meh.”

“Uh, okay. So…. where’s Lucas?” John felt the woman was more approachable than Gunther if not sharp-tongued. At least she wasn’t as bulky as that demon Lieutenant Sasha. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“That guy?” Larial had a condescending tone, “Ran away into the sims. I beat him too.”

“Uh yeah, Lucas at it again. Now we here, let’s look around, Boss.” Gunther pointed John to lines of people.

He agreed and moved closer, to the lounge area. In front was number of counters and flanked by meeting rooms. Soldiers of all stripes and ranks purchased the front, some were jubilant, some were despairing. No less were some shown the door or escorted to it. Recruits outnumbered the veterans.

“Recruit John Smith?”

John’s communicator flared to life, “Yes…uh, well met Major Karamazov?”

“Well met. This’s brief. You’re forbidden from taking any suit pilot courses. The rest, up to your abilities.”

The link ended abruptly, “Major, wai-”

“Boss?” Gunther waved his right hand at him.

It took John a few seconds to notice it, “Uh, Major Karamazov contacted me.”

“What did he say?” Larial eventually joined both men sitting at the side chairs.

John was slightly surprised. When did she get here from there? “No suit pilot courses.”

“For ya, Leader.” Larial’s face morphed, “I’m taking it.”

“Yeah, Boss. But we have others in here.” Gunther continued, “Not everything in da-Army are about da-suit piloting.”

John looked down for a second, “Then…but we have a specialist, right? And I need to pick specialisation for our, uh…what do they call it, flame-squad?”

“Fireteam, Leader.” Larial was nonplussed at his ignorance. “Don’t tell me ya dunno this, huh.”

Gunther ignored her jab and pointed John at the lines of people yet again, “Boss, there’s da-trial and test from them. Auto-assess and interview.”

“Can I really pick for you guys?” John was a bit hesitant, “What about Lucas?”

“Make up yer mind, Leader. I don’t have all day, yanno.” Larial twirled her hair.

The squalid man looked at them and then at the counters, “Umm…Gun-ter. What do you think?”

“Remote Ops? Or Analytics?” Larial answered in Gunther’s place. She wasn’t convinced John can do physical labour. “Or Mess. But probably not Mess duty.”

In a rare occasion, Gunther agreed with some of her points. “Boss seems smart. Da-analytics?”

“Uh, okay. I’ll go see both then. Who’s coming with me?” John nodded at the answer. He was still green at this stuff.

Gunther rose, “I go with you, Boss. Specialist Larial go until da-counter.”

With that said, the trio alighted at the first line of people that led to the commons counter. When it was their turn, Larial gave her working card which led the trio to a meeting room. Three of them had talks with the interviewer and it had been established that John’s specialisation took higher priority.

True enough, the specialist left both men and hit the simulators again. Therefore, John and Gunther followed the focal person, a male training sergeant that went with the name Kalos. Much to John’s dismay, Kalos upheld Major Karamazov’s directive that he was to be barred from suit pilot simulations.

Their first stop was an enclosed shooting range where Kalos told John to shoot any firearm for a few times. There were three weapons available; an automatic pistol, a bullpup assault rifle and a cylindrical-fed light machine gun. Further out were steel targets, moving overhead by ceiling’s railings.

The mustached sergeant pointed at a nearby steel locker with said weapons. “Recruit John, pick one of these and shoot.”

“Um…here goes.” John picked up the pistol and shot. Two of five hit the target plate that was ten meters away albeit off-center.

Gunther wanted to do the same, “Boss sergeant Kalos, can I shoot?”

“Okay, a bit…lower than average.” Kalos commented at John and then raised his eyebrows at Gunther, “You already did the last time, Recruit. Pick a slot later.” He added another comment, “And it’s Sergeant, not Boss Sergeant. Don’t get it wrong.”

“Urgh, okay…” Gunther grunted and negotiated said time.

John was still reeling from the shock, “So…did I pass?” His hand was trembling, “Should I shoot with the other two?”

“Pass? Nah, just letting you have the feel.” The sergeant put a stop to it with a hand wave. “We’ve wasted enough time, let’s go.”

The next stop was a hall full of boxy simulators, ones used to emulate operation of some of Army’s ground vehicles. They were assault tank, support tank and infantry fighting vehicles’ simulations. The hall was more popular than the firearms gallery, perhaps due to the recruits being familiar with similar games.

“Is this perhaps, a vee-arr, Sergeant?” It was all too familiar to John. He scavenged one before!

Kalos was swiping his data slate left and right, “Almost. But in real ops, you’re shooting someone else. Someone breathing.” He urged John to pick any of them, “Have ten minutes in it and then tell me how do you feel.” Kalos gave Gunther a measured nod, “Yeah, you go too, Recruit Gunther. Team up with John.”

“Awesome! Thanks, Sergeant!” Gunther was jumping in joy. “Let’s try da-tank, Boss. Ops A.”

“Okay. Ten minutes, right?” John entered the simulator pod.

With a clunk sound, the two person-wide pod closed off. Displays took real estate, followed by a center seat that resembled the real thing. There were sure lot of buttons that even John didn’t know which was which. The steering wheel however was familiar, a broad U-shaped thing with number of buttons.

“Boss? Did you de-link da-communicator from sims?”

“Gun-ter, is that you? How do I do it?” Images came alive in front of John. “I should turn it off, is it?”

“Yeah. Ops A don’t allow use of da-communicator. Press yours for three seconds. Use da-pod comms, da-blue radio button.”

“Okay.” John did so. The mission was starting.

The scenario was that enemy armour had moved into City A and he was tasked to destroy them. A simple mission in theory but he needed to do it all by himself; there were no friendly recon and he was required to cooperate with Gunther. Screens beyond him suggested he was placed under a bridge.

“Hmm, which button do the shooting?” John was familiar enough to move around as the controls were intuitive. “Gun-ter, which button for shooting?”

“Eh boss! Don’t call me up, we can get shot! See surroundings!”

Gunther jinxed it; John heard a shell whizzed his left side. He didn’t know what was that but it detonated a small house ten meters away. Oh no! Move, move, move! He pressed the pedal in panic, sending his view into clouds of dust. More shells came after him, that seemingly knew where he was.

“Gun-ter?! What should I do?!” John mashed the blue radio button regardless. “Gun-ter? Where are you?!”

“Hol’up, keep pedalin’! Break LOS! Break LOS!”

His speed meter was now fifty kilometer per hour and rising. A lucky shot disabled some of his sensory feeds. John wrestled with the controls, barging through numerous walls and car wrecks. It was like driving a big lorry without brakes. Worse, the enemies were still shooting and he cannot return fire.

In his panic, John mashed all the buttons with mixed results; one button opened a cup holder and another deployed smokes. He was blinded as combat damage had disabled much of his alternate modes of vision. By chance, one of the buttons caused his pod to shake. Finally, a button for shooting!

“Boss-bzzt-move out-bzzt-of da-ece-em-bzzt-cloud!”

“What?” John managed to exclaim before his screens turned black. He was terminated!

The simulator pod then turned level and displayed his performance. Mission failure at two minutes and forty seconds. The cause of death? Hostile railgun shot from his left flank. His heart almost leaped out of his throat throughout the ordeal; it was too fast, too chaotic. Death when he least expected it.

His pod died down and automatically opened its door. Kalos greeted him, “Hmm, not bad for a novice. Come on, come out.”

“I…uh…what about Gun-ter?” John wasn’t happy in the slightest. If it was the real world, he would be dead.

Gunther didn’t fare any better, terminated a few seconds later. “Aw, Boss. I died too!” He was a little furious, “Me shot one enemy tee-dee though! Nasty buggers!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now, you want to go to Analytics, Recruit John?” Kalos beckoned Gunther to come out, “Which Section?” he perused his data slate again, “Signals? Logistics or something else?”

“Me have an idea, Boss.” Gunther met with the duo on the sidelines, “see what were wrong in tank pew-pew?” the burly man turned to face Kalos with exaggerated hands motion, “tank sim pod too small, Sergeant. Tin can! I no sardine in a can!”

“Standard issue, Recruit. I can’t do anything about it.” Kalos shrugged at Gunther before glancing at John, “Well? Thought about it yet?”

John answered after Gunther gave him a slight nudge. He was thinking too long. “Uh, I’ll go what Gun-ter suggested, Sir.”

“You want to do a combat review of your sims?” Kalos rubbed his chin with left hand while the other held his data slate, “Are you sure about it, Recruit? I doubt there’s much to find out.”

“I…I will do it, Sir. Math is my strong suit.” John said.

The Sergeant led them both out of the simulation section, “Hmm, box of wonders indeed.”

“Sir?” John asked in confusion.

Kalos shook his head, “Nothing, just mumbling.” He looked at his data slate again, “I can only give you ten minutes, Recruit. There’s lot more Recruits waiting for me.” He then stared at Gunther, “Do you want to join him, Recruit Gunther?”

“Uh, I don’t get math but where Boss go, I go too.” Gunther didn’t feel like it but he was worried about John, “How hard can it be?”

“First time I heard about that!” Kalos snickered, “Anyhow, I’ll lend you a room here and I want you to compile a report about what went wrong,” he paused for emphasis, “and ways to counter it. No pens for you though, Recruit John. We don’t have much time.”

“Uhm, okay. Ten minutes was it? I’ll do it, Sir.” John agreed to Kalos’s proposal.

Kalos opened an empty room for both, “Do your best, Recruit.”

After the door closed, John and Gunther found themselves in a well-lit room. There were two tables here, ringed by four chairs. One data slate on one of the tables and a drinks’ dispenser on the far side. How will I review it? John thought. Gunther on the other hand visited the dispenser for refreshment.

“How about this, Boss.” Gunther chugged a glass of drink down, “See from eye bird view, then find out.”

“Good idea, Gun-ter. Sergeant Kalos said we need to find out what went wrong, right?” John willed the data slate to project floating holograms.

Gunther got himself another glass of beverage, “Don’t be angry, Boss but first fault was, Boss too hasty.” He spitted it back since it was plain bizarre, “Important to know rue, rie or thinga-majig.”

“Uh, yeah…sorry Gun-ter.” John stuck out his fingers in the holograms, drawing some red lines in mid-air. He was guessing where the shots were coming from, “I got a bit, uh, nervous. Rule of Engagement, Gun-ter?”

“That’s it, Boss. Rules of Engagement. What, where, how.” Gunther nodded at him. “Found anything yet?”

“Well,” John drew some more lines and began doing some mental calculations, “It seems there was three or four enemies in previous sims.”

“Oh, how do you know, Boss?” The burly man was surprised, “I thought there were ten or sumtin’!”

“From what I see here, they were shooting at long range and used the environment,” John stopped his fingers in disbelief, “to….bounce their shots around. They also probably set up some traps and decoys.”

“Right, I thought there were two of em when me shoot that itty tee-dee,” Gunther said while being confused what was drawn by John, “so they fooled me, the Great Tandar!”

“Yeah, we got our asses handed to us.” The ex-slum dweller perused some more mathematical equations. How could they avoid such failures in the future? It would be a matter of life and death in the real battlefield.

“Uh, I don’t know Boss. All this are complicated.” Gunther shrugged and sat on the side. “My brain not da-smartest in math.”

John was fully focused on his task, “You said I am the leader, right? I will try to do all these number crunching at least.”

“Uh-huh, Boss. We got like, three minutes left. Better wrap it up.” Gunther nodded twice at him.

Three minutes passed like three seconds; Kalos had arrived, “Well boys, time to go out. Leave the data slate behind.”

“Ah! But I!” John almost jumped when the Sergeant suddenly appeared in front of his face.

The mustached sergeant was amused, “Hey boys, orders are orders. Come on, let’s go.”

“Yeah Boss. Time’s up.” Gunther didn’t feel like leaving as well; the blue beverage was too tasty. But what can he do?

Kalos stared at them, “Don’t think too much, Recruit. We’re done here, are we clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Both replied albeit reluctant for differing reasons; John felt he could do more while Gunther liked the free-flow drinks.

The sergeant led them to the lounge area again, “Keep in mind to follow orders, Recruits. We’re not a daycare but an Army. Remember that.”

“When we can know the results, Sergeant?” Gunther asked.

Kalos gave them a business smile, “Two or three days, on your slate and communicator. Now then, run along. I have more work to do.”

A full minute passed before John spoke up, “Was it always this way, Gun-ter?”

“Oh yeah? Yeah. This base alone test thousand like us.” Gunther pointed one finger, “Me thinks there are more out there, in other Army bases.”

John’s stomach rumbled at this point, “I…uh, let’s go back.”

His burly companion agreed as it had been a long day. John didn’t see either Larial or Lucas anywhere and presumed they were deep in their trainings. I am hungry again, hopefully nothing goes wrong. His mind was heavy. He broke into harsh Army reality, was a frequent visitor of triage wards and uncertain of his future.