The sun started rising on the Ravens Camp soldiers embarking on the ultimate test, Field Camp. The tens of thousands of them had marched through the roughest terrains, unimaginable to the minds of these soldiers, who could not imagine the camp had the sheer capacity to house facilities beyond the scope of a military installation. This epic finale would assess their mental and physical fortitude as defenders of their homeland.

  Each heavy step they took, with the sheer weight of their military gear resting against their backs, had started to take its toll as they slowly descended into fatigue-induced madness. Their eyelids flickered as the perspiration penetrated their eyes within the constraints of their stuffy helmets. They collectively wondered, not just as soldiers, but as curious citizens of the Federation, what the Field Camp entailed if the march was already this challenging?

  That sickening thought became the anchor that propelled the fearful soldiers forward into the unknown. They would have to pay the ultimate price if their fearful words escaped their subconscious.

  It somehow slipped past their minds on the state of their seemingly smooth transition. In a few short months since donning the uniform, they had become the unthinkable–a promise even the salesman in white told them they would never become.

  "...H-how long more?"

  Bronston panted as he tried to catch his breath, his body strapped with the Full Battle Order standard, FBO for short, a military term for soldiers to know the appropriate types of equipment to bring for their mission. He could feel the built-up fatigue wearing his body down, wondering how long they had been marching since dawn.

  “Shut up, Bron.” Finn started to drag his feet, his mind wandering into the great unknown as his blisters began to form from the wear and tear. “Don’t talk about it. It’ll only make us feel worse.”

  “Let’s talk about something else–”

  “Shut up, Bron! Just fucking march and shut up.”

  “Finn, did you just cuss, you fucking wuss?”

  “Fuck off, Bron! You’re cussing as well!”

  “You started first–”

  “Fuck off!”

  Nobody was in the mood for small talk in their current physical state.

  “Fuck, I can’t think anymore.” Dom panted, his feet gradually becoming heavier with each step, compounded by the load pressing upon his lower back.

  “Brothers, we can do this!” Bray cheered his batchmates on as his vision started to blur from fatigue.

  “Let’s go…” Dom released the hands on the rifle, patting Finn and Damian beside him in the marching formation–

  Suddenly, a bone-chilling howl from the rearguard made everyone’s neck hair stand at attention.

  “Recruit, I said, hands on the fucking rifle! Get out of your formation now! Drop ten!”

  Nobody in Batch 123 dared to turn as they continued marching. Everyone recognised the blood-curdling scream from the force-prep hours ago.

  “Oh my god, isn’t that her?”

  “Yes, it’s her, Finn.”

  Finn gritted his teeth. “Holy smokes, I never knew she had it in her. I thought model-lookalikes couldn’t possibly be this whack.”

  “Well, ever heard of the ‘crazy-hot matrix’?” Carmelo asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “The hotter she is, the crazier she is,” Carmelo answered.

  “Now we know,” Damian remarked.

  “Indeed, now we fucking know. My condolences, Dom.”

  “Shit!”

  Dom stumbled out between his batchmates, dropping himself into a push-up position on the jagged terrain. With the weight of the massive field pack pressing upon his body, Dom silently cursed under his breath. The sheer pain quaked through his already compromised back as he struggled to maintain the position.

  “Permission to carry on, ma'am!”

  “Have you forgotten about the orders I gave you during the brief? You are not allowed to have your hands off the rifle during the route march? Are you an idiot?”

  “No, ma'am. I’m not an idiot!”

  “What?! So you’re a genius? Then why did you put your hands off the fucking rifle?”

  “Sorry, ma'am! I’m an idiot!”

  “Good that you acknowledge that fact! Carry on, idiot!”

  “Yes’ ma'am!” Dom dropped to a vertical base as his lips almost touched the hardened earth.

  “ONE, MA’AM! TWO, MA’AM–”

  Lieutenant Reynolds screamed at her recruit again, with more forced anger directed at him. She furrowed her brows at the unacceptable physical standards of her recruits.

  “What the fuck is this standard? Start from scratch again! I want you to do a full-form push-up! Who the fuck taught you to do push-ups this way?!”

  “Sorry, ma'am!” Dom had run out of breath, his body losing all the strength he once had at the start of the route march.

  “I don’t think you are, idiot! Say it with conviction! Or else your batchmates will knock it down with you!”

  “I’m sorry, ma'am! I’m an idiot!”

  “Good! Carry on!”

  Neptune turned around slightly to catch a glimpse of Dom with his head close to kissing the ground.

  “We are almost there. I can smell water ahead.”

  Bray, the ever-dependable cheerleader of Neptune, joined in the motivational rally. “Ohhhh! I see it.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there!”

  “Oh…”

  “Finally, some closure…”

  Batch 123 finally saw light at the end of this tumultuous path that took them through the worst terrains imaginable to men.

  “I’m back…”

  “Yo, Dom, welcome back.”

  “You know what? I’m never doing that again.”

  And for the first time since setting off, Batch 123 laughed.

  A deep shade of azure blue entered their vision as they marched forward. Pelican Reservoir, where the soldiers found themselves marching, was where they would link up with the other batches to begin the next phase of the Field Camp. It also served as the strategic location that would mark the headquarters of this mission. The calming scent from the reservoir travelled downstream, spurring Batch 123 to fight through the pain and endure this final stretch. With the natural breeze emanating that coated the exhausted soldiers, the blistering heat from the glorious sun had finally found its match.

  “We’re almost there.”

  Neptune could feel his head spinning from the march, but chose to bite down deep and endure it a little longer. There wasn’t time to complain, for succumbing to pain would only land his batch in trouble.

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  “A little more…” One final push to the promised land.

  “Let’s go, brothers!”

  Their collective roar ignited a fire in them to march forward, momentarily forgetting the cumulative pain in their feet. Batch 123 had started marching at 5 a.m., waking up as early as 4 a.m. to finalise their packing. The force preparation procedure and the mandatory military equipment check went smoother for them.

  With preparation like this, it was no wonder the commanders were utterly impressed with their professionalism and combat readiness as soldiers. Batch 123 was the first batch setting out for their Route March, a military practice to travel over a designated route from their bunks to their location for the next mission.

  “Why are they taking so long?”

  He had noticed they needed to catch up with their unusually slower force preparation timing, an uncharacteristically odd blunder from the undisputed first-place batch. Nonetheless, Bronston only cared about arriving early to rest his feet. He was sure his fellow soldiers shared the same sentiment.

  “Oh well…Whatever.”

  *

  “Well done, Batch 123, take this time to pat yourselves on the back!”

  Captain Troy Graves, who led his batch from the front, turned around and addressed his recruits. He had found a shady spot under the trees, blocking his recruits from the sun’s intense rays.

  “Alright, everyone here?” Carmelo took the initiative to tally the total headcount before reporting to Captain Graves. “Sir, everyone is accounted for!”

  “Alright, guys, bottles out! It’s time for a water parade!” Captain Graves whipped out his green Canteen Bottle from the right side of his ILBV. “What are the seven core values of the United Atlantea Federation Armed Forces?”

  The chatter was silenced immediately. Batch 123 looked at one another as fear started rising in their belly. However, one soldier, who knew to think ahead, came prepared for a trick question like this. In his mind, when one preps at a twelve, performing at a ten comes easy. He knew this Captain would attempt a trick like this to catch them off guard, giving him a valid reason to punish them mercilessly.

  “Loyalty! Duty! Respect! Selfless Service! Honour! Integrity! And personal courage!”

  “Impressive, Recruit Smith.”

  The commander and recruit exchanged a second-long glare before raising their canteen forward. The battle-hardened visage of Captain Graves did not waver as he met his recruit’s brown eyes. Something about the young Smith felt odd, but he struggled to find the words to describe this sensation.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Bravo, let’s drink up!” Troy drank from his canteen while maintaining eye contact with his recruit, who did not let up from the exchange.

  “Drink up!” Batch 123 screamed out loud as they began devouring the contents of their water canteen.

  The sun did not give any chances with its magnificent rays as the soldiers sat on grass patches sprawled throughout the campsite. As noon approached, the reservoir’s serene, cooling aura could not compete with the glorious sun’s intensity.

  Neptune grew impatient as he watched the batches fill in from beyond, each batch slugging to drag their foot toward their first checkpoint. Everything started to make sense when he realised Batch 77’s absence; their deliberate act of taking their sweet time to assemble their force prep, too. There was no incentive to arrive at Pelican Reservoir other than to have more time to rest in the shade. However, if a batch were to leave later than the rest, preferably under better weather conditions when the sun’s rays were more tolerable, the last platoon of marching soldiers would carry out their route march under favourable conditions. He knew soldiers in GMT undergoing this military training would not have attained this knowledge of understanding the terrain that easily, for this wisdom only comes from experience in the wilderness.

  The last batch could take their time to march as slowly as they desired within the timeframe, for they knew, in the military, no exercise could proceed without the full strength of the battalion accounted for. Batch 123 was the first to arrive, but they had to spend hours sitting under the shade with their commanders stalking them to catch them faltering in their attempt to stay awake. One tiny mishap from them and the predators would swoop in, snatching their rifles and combat equipment. He knew the consequences were too dire this early during the Field Camp exercise. It wasn’t just their mind being tested, it was also an endurance trial.

  “We didn’t plan for this, boys.” Damian sighed loudly, sweat dripping down his forehead onto his soiled uniform.

  “This is just day one only, bro.” Rey took a whiff of his armpits and nearly vomited. “Heck, we smell bad.”

  “The best part is we don’t know when we’ll get to change to a new set.”

  “You’re fucking right.” Damian scoffed.

  Bray turned toward Damian and threw a sachet at him. “Big man, check this out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Try it and let me know.”

  Damian curiously bit into the sachet, and he instantly threw up–

  “What the fuck is this? Bray, what the fuck?!”

  “That’s a sample of what we’ll eat for the next few days. Bon appetit.”

  “This can’t be real.”

  “It’s what we’ll be eating here.”

  “You’re capping.”

  Neptune curiously picked up the fallen sachet and widened the hole in it. “This looks like some synthetic stew or something.” He then sniffed through the hole he widened. “Ah, no wonder. That smell is pungent.”

  “Damn, Neptune. You know this shit?”

  Neptune looked at the expiry date of the green, lifeless sachet and covered his nose. “That’s a standard-issue combat ration packet. Goodness, with how they engineered this thing, it can survive an apocalypse.”

  “Engineering? Combat Rations? Is that food? How does one engineer food?!” Damian had a horrified expression on his face.

  “It can’t be that bad, right…?” Rey asked.

  Bray and Neptune nodded synchronously. They wouldn’t want to know what goes on in the research institutes…

  “Oh god…”

  “Damian, you’re lucky I didn’t toss that insect rice thingy at you.” Neptune waved another sachet with an assortment of insect stickers imprinted on it.

  “Insect rice?! Fucking hell!”

  “I would prefer it if you stopped cussing, Damian.”

  “I didn’t even realise it. I’ll stop.”

  “What else do we have here?” Bray opened his field camp and began rummaging through its contents. “We have tons of biscuits and dehydrated packets of stuff…?”

  “That looks like isotonic powder.” Rey pointed at the packets.

  “We can just rip it open and pour it into our mouths.”

  “Nah, don’t do that now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Save it for later when we need it.”

  “Gotcha. There’s a lot of stuff in here. I can’t believe I threw things in here while force-prepping without knowing what they’re used for.”

  “Where are we going to sleep?” Damian asked, his eyes desperately surveying his surroundings for shelter.

  “Tents, perhaps? We gotta pitch them with these.” Bray raised a couple of poles.

  “Certainly hope so–”

  “Why the hell are we waiting this long?” Bronston punched the ground beneath his feet, his rifle dropping from the resting position on his shoulder.

  “Bron, watch it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get us in trouble.”

  Finn and Rey chided while Damian shook his head.

  “Just because OC ain’t here doesn't mean you can run amok!”

  “What the hell, Bron,” Carmelo shook his head while leaning back to the giant cedar tree behind him, “You could have gotten us punished, you d–”

  “Recruit Hayes, stop leaning against the fucking tree! Don’t you have a fucking backbone!”

  “We’re in for a fucking treat.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake! First Dom, now you Melo?!”

  “Shit, Carmelo!”

  “My bad!” Carmelo immediately positioned himself straight up, turning his body toward a furious Lieutenant Reynolds approaching them. ”S-sorry, ma'am!”

  At that moment, Batch 123 stopped whatever they were doing and sat as still as possible. Whatever was going through the mind of their commander wasn’t good. Lieutenant Reynolds closed her eyes as she inched closer toward Carmelo, who winced sharply before lowering his head. “Recruit Hayes, enter ‘jumping jacks position’ in your FBO! You have ten fucking seconds. Carry on!” She squatted down to scream at the top of her lungs, pelts of fluid and her voice levels shaking her recruit to the core.

  “Yes, ma'am!”

  Carmelo quickly slung his assault rifle forward. Finn, who sat next to him, assisted him in putting on his field pack as they stood up together. Carmelo thrust his rifle forward, ready to commence with the punishment.

  “Jumping jack position ready, permission to carry on, ma’am!”

  “Are you an idiot, Recruit Hayes?!”

  “Yes, ma'am!”

  “Good, at least you acknowledge it! Carry on!”

  Neptune knew Batch 123 could have gotten away if they knew how to follow orders and not do anything outside their assigned roles. All the decisions they made as a team rested on his shoulders, while they would carry out everything planned without question. However, the status quo changed when they entered the wilderness.

  Yes, the soldiers who marched from the inner sectors had ample water supplies to prevent dehydration and the odd chance of sunstroke.

  However, one last factor remained unaccounted for.

  The soldiers who arrived at Pelican Reservoir had their last meal six hours before they departed the mess hall. They had combat rations in their field packs, those pathetic slabs of processed garbage given to them a day ago, but that could not substitute the warm feeling of having freshly cooked food going down their oesophagus. There are some things that technology cannot replicate or replace.

  “What an idiot!”

  As Carmelo was getting punished, Bronston pointed his finger at him, laughing hysterically. The sheer fatigue combined with the madness of an empty stomach caused the primal beast to lose control of himself.

  “Give it a break–shit.” Dom knew it was too late as Lieutenant Reynolds began to face them slowly.

  Neptune shook his head silently, knowing their commander would take matters into her own hands. Law and order had ceased once the wilderness transformed men into savages.

  “We’re in for a treat.”