I went to bed early and woke up at the alarm at six, but... The entire base was asleep! Except, perhaps, for the sentries.
Having quickly washed my face and after toilet, I spent ten minutes making the bed and another five getting dressed. An army is an army, in army everything is done quickly.
Walking outside, I took a deep breath of still slightly cool air. Clear morning blue skies, high stratus clouds, and red-golden bright sun! Beauty! It's just embarrassing that I'm the only one on my feet. Sentries will go to bed, apparently at eight.
However, sergeant, who had also just gotten up, was calmly warming up on the training ground, and looked in immense surprise when I approached him:
— Why aren't you sleeping, private?
— Um... What do you mean? Six in the morning, "Soldiers get up!"...
— Wake-up call at seven!
Looking at sergeant, who was without armor and put his hands on his hips, I sighed:
— In the Army soldiers always got up at six in the morning, Sergeant. In pre-war times. So I follow the regime, sir.
Dornan suddenly cocked his head to the side in interest. After hesitating a little, I had to say:
— Well... Wake-up call at six, five minutes to go to the toilet and wash the face, ten minutes to get dressed, another ten to make the bed and tidy up the place. Fifty minutes to charge. Then, at seven, a ten-minute inspection, soldier must show that he keeps his sleeping and personal space in order and clean, then - breakfast. Breakfast lasts thirty minutes. From eight to noon physical activitirs, trainings, shooting and drill training. Half past twelve lunch, also thirty minutes. From one to three in noon is personal time for rest and leisure. At three thirty, ten minutes for afternoon tea. From three fifty till evening, trainings until six. At six thirty, cleaning the barracks and toilets, servicing equipment and maintaining the general area of a milotary unit. Supper at seven, also thirty minutes. At seven thirty to seven forty-five in the evening there is cleaning in the dining room, a cleaning shift in the kitchen. From seven fifty to nine is personal time. At nine, inspection of places and roll call. At nine thirty lights out. Somehow like that...
Dornan muttered something, but then straightened up.
— Outstanding! Now stand up, private! Since you're already on your feet, you'll get through the workout before everyone else! Am i clear?!
Startled by his bark, I obediently stretched out. This monster, even without power armor was so taller than me that the top of my head rested against his collarbone.
Sergeant walked around me in a circle and poked me hard between the shoulder blades, causing me to almost fly off with my nose into the ground.
Dornan poked me this way and that, and then unceremoniously raised my hand, and I was only in army pants, combat boots and a T-shirt, and almost disgustedly rubbed my flaccid, and frankly, flabby triceps:
— What is this? What is this, huh?! What kind of jelly is this?!
Sighing, I silently endured it all. In army there is no way without this. It's necessary. If anyone can get me in shape, it's these guys. And sergeant was apparently glad that he had found a suitable subject for mockery. He didn't even shout, he was like a tiger walking around me in a circle, growling:
— In order to get higher than the rank of private, you need to become much better. And this is undoubtedly impossible when it comes to someone like you.
— About someone like me, sir?
— Oh yeah! Just look at you, aspic! Fat ass, — I even blushed when the man, without much ceremony, gave me such a blow to my ass that sparks flew out of my eyes. — Flabby hands!
Yes, he would give me bruises with his sharp blows, the places were already red and burning with pain. And sergeant finally stood in front of me and not very delicately poked his finger in my stomach:
— I'm not talking about the belly.
I had to "bite the bit" and remain silent, trying my best not to let the tears flow from my eyes. It won't be pleasant for anyone to hear something like that. And even more so for a girl. But he's right. One hundred percent right. And there's no point of blaminig the mirror if your face is crooked.
Dornan looked at me carefully and chuckled with satisfaction. Yes, apparently I looked lousy, humiliated and ready to cry. He growled hoarsely, not holding back his poisonous grin:
— Oooh, the little girl was offended, right?
— No, sir!
— Stop that bullshit, private! I can see from your face that I have touched a nerve.
— There's no point in blaming the mirror if your face is crooked! — I said, and looked at the man more calmly.
And it looks like I surprised him for the second time. Because his eyebrows slowly crawled up. And judging by the absence of facial wrinkles in the form of stripes on his pale, even rather grayish forehead, he rarely did this. He growled in my face with a frown:
— What are you?
Here it was my turn to be surprised. I looked a little this way and that, trying to understand what he meant, or who. But Dornan looked at me in sullen silence. After being silent for a while, I decided to at least try to clarify:
— S-sir, I don't understand...
— Answer!!!
I closed my eyes and sighed and blurted out:
— I don't understand what you mean, sir!
— You don't understand, private?! You barge into my base, don't run away from me, the report you brought is properly written, and now you voluntarily admit that I'm right?!
Sighing, I rubbed my forehead and said when the man finally finished his tirade:
— You may not know, sir, but I have a mirror. Yes, there are no mirrors in the barracks, but I have them in my car. And I see my reflection. And I know that I put on a shitload of extra pounds! I corrected my dossier myself, because I know that in the army, if you fucked up with papers it will a guarantee your failure! And that's why I came to you, the Enclave, and didn't become a slut under some fence, because only here, in Navarro, will you make something worthwhile out of me!
Sergeant, however, chuckled with satisfaction:
— Excellent, soldier. This is the attitude you should have! Now get up your flabby ass and run laps! Ten laps for a start! MARCH!!!
Well, run so it be run. While I was running, while I was forced to do push-ups, which I couldn't do properly, and other five hundred and ten exercises, Dornan was tearing his throat. Naturally, he didn't forget to poke, spank, and verbally humiliate me. It's a offending, of course, but that's the price. And this is better than in a game where he would stupidly posted me at the hangar as a sentry. When the others woke up and wandered off to breakfast, he lifted me by the shoulder, closer to the elbow, and growled:
— Disgusting. No skills, no speed. Well, we'll fix that.
— Yes, sir!...
— What, puffing huh, lard?!
— Well, excuse me... You need oxygen too...
Sergeant unclenched his fingers, causing me to collapse into the dust again. He leaned over with a grin, but I stubbornly growled:
— Well hell no. I know... That you will now kick out me to the canteen... Like the rest. I'm not going anywhere.
— Outstanding! Emphasis lying for push-ups, start!
— Sir...
— What now?!
— Show me.
— Show you what, private?!
— How to do it right...
Sergeant first took a deep breath into his lungs, but after thinking a little, he exhaled and sank right in front of me to his starting position. Looking into my eyes, he rumbled roughly and low, baring a row of teeth:
— Ten times. You will do ten push-ups with me, and then I will get up, and you will continue, is everything clear to you, private?!
— Yes, Sergeant!
— Outstanding! One!
It's not difficult to go down on your arms. But at his bark "two!", I stretched out on terribly trembling arms. It's easier for Dornan, his muscles look like they came from anatomical manuals. And I? A jelly is a jelly indeed. Sergeant suddenly turned out to be completely different from where he was, and barked right in my ear:
— Don't sleep!!!
Startled, I sharply raised my head, hitting man hanging over me in the jaw with the back of my head, his tokens got caught in my hair, which I had braided, he safely lost his balance and collapsed on me, swearing so much and loud, that even the technicians hid in the hangar.
I tried to help somehow, but sergeant was rather spoiling everything, trying to break free. Well, if it doesn't work out this way, it will work out differently. I twisted around and had to lift my head, otherwise sergeant would have broken my nose. The truth, it turned out, well, really really bad - the chain of tokens pulled him up, after my head mooving and my braid, chain intertwined and literally now was suffocating him, and now, when I turned onto my back, he simply found himself with his face buried in my chest. Well, at least he calmed down, which gave me time to finally untangle his tokens from my hair and remove this stranglehold from the unfortunate man's neck.
Having risen on elbows, I heard and felt that man was muttering something. And he clearly growls it in anger. Having unsticking him away from me, the sergeant looked at me, he was red as an overripe radish. Oh, I don't like his look...
I mumbled, no less red than him:
— I... uh... Excuse me sir...
But sergeant just glared at me and didn't stop, even when I showed him a loose chain of tokens, in which a couple of my hairs actually remained.
He nevertheless stood up, jerked me to my feet and growled, pointing with a sharp wave towards the dining room:
— Get the hell outta here! March to breakfast!
— B-but...
— MARCH!!!
***
Hobbling into canteen, I sluggishly accepted the tray and sat down, as yesterday, at the table against the wall. Cookie deigned to come up with something like porridge today. But I felt... I couldn't eat. It was terribly embarrassing. I've got distracted and just so absurdly put the drill-sergeant in a stupid position. Oh my ass can literally smell it, Dornan isn't goint to let that off me. That's why I was dismally moving with my spoon in the mess, which just as dismally "looked" at me from the plate.
Soldiers ate quickly, and when sergeant approached, who had once again climbed into his power armor, they fled just as quickly as yesterday.
And man sat down at the table with me again. He looked at my hair and muttered, looking at the messy porridge in his plate:
— You need a haircut, private.
— Can i not, sir? — I whimpered pitifully, dropped my head on the table and covered my hair with my hands. — I'll braid it tighter next time!
Sergeant chuckled, but didn't argue. In Navarro, they really didn't cut women's hair to zero. I saw girls with hair as long as mine. But COs don't bother privates unless their hair bothers others. Then wait for an exponential bald haircut. Keep your hair braided and no one will say anything, that's all the rules. While we were having breakfast again, I was warped by the taste of this mess on the plate:
— Oh my God, how do you even eat this?!
— I already said, private, eat what is given! If you don't like it, go hungry!
Looking at Dornan, I stood up abruptly:
— Sir, permitte me to leave for ration supplies.
— I don't permitte it!!!
However, Cookie still mumbled, standing and clutching a wooden ladle in his hands:
— Sir, I wouldn't mind helping... We have...
Dornan was ready to explode, but knowing men, I simply put my hand over of the sergeant's arm:
— Okay, we get it, you're even angrier on an empty stomach, sir.
Sergeant simply remained sitting and blinking his eyes in disbelief. Doesn't anyone here treat him like a human being?
We spent the rest of breakfast in silence under the surprised glances of other guys who were secretly spying on what was going on in canteen.
***
After breakfast, sergeant again began to chase me around the parade ground, then gave me time to rest. As I suspected, he got even on me to the fullest. But other soldiers began to look at me strangely. Although Dornan took it out on me, as my observations showed, he did it less with me than with others, although he rather liked to humiliate me verbally during training rather than shout. So this way days were passing.
The result of the first week was that Dornan accepted the new routine that I told him about. Soldiers were surprised, many were angry with it, but they soon realized the beauty of such a schedule. Firstly, now sergeant couldn't make the sentries stand on posts until they fell halfdead. Now, the shifts could last only eight hours long. The results of otherwises I had to clearly demonstrate with the example of hellish swelling and bloody calluses on legs of poor guys.
Secondly, the schedule and hours on personal time allowed many to understand responsibility for their actions. Constant stress, as it turned out, had long ago shackled the entire Navarro base. With the advent of a stable dayschedule, it began to decline. And even sergeant himself had appreciated the quiet couple of hours of rest, when he could calmly laze around.
But the most pleasant thing for sergeant were precisely those who didn't make things in time. Make the bed crookedly? Catch up with twenty push-ups. Didn't have time for the parade ground and morning exercises? You will squat exactly as much as you took up the time from the others. And so on. And now sergeant was thoroughly enjoying his work. Especially with the sentries, who had to change each other on post in same time every day, so that the mouse couldn't slip through to the base. And so that your friend doesn't strain his legs for unnecessary time while you are delay.
But the most fun was weaning smokers. A strict moratorium on smoking had long been introduced at the base, which didn't suit me. I'm still a smoker after all. As a result, by simply annoying sergeant, he, gritting his teeth, agreed to allocate a place for smoking. But in order to amuse wounded male ego a little, with a chuckle, that evening I told about another army joke from the past:
— Why are you so sulky, sir, you haven't heard the most pleasant thing yet!
— And should be pleasant about allowing smoking on the base, private? — Dornan was tired today, he didn't even want to yell, he just sighed and grumbled.
— The method of punishing those, who disobeyed order of smoking area!
Here fatigue of Dornan gave way to slight interest, while I, choking with laughter, told him that in the old days, those who were guilty of smoking in the wrong place received a "special" cigarette. Well, who knows better than me, after all, I was a military man. Well, yes, just a corporal pilot, small transport aircraft, but still military. And I had to carry this "cigarette" a couple of times. But the point is that you were simply given a hefty piece of timber, painted to look like a cigarette, and you had to carry it the entire morning shift until lunch. Well, or evening before lights out.
Sergeant suddenly chuckled and barked so loudly that I jumped:
— Sentry Peterson!!!
But his scream made me jump on my place, so I got tangled up in my own legs, lost my balance and fell right on top of sergeant out of fright. Dornan calmly picked me up by the scruff of the neck, sat me on one of his legs, shackled in power armor, and the guard who entered stared at us with great surprise:
— Find me a beam! Go and chop one of those rotten pieces in the forest in front of the gate, thinner, about three hands in girth and a third as long as a vertibird, and drag it here!
— Yes, sergeant!
Dornan chuckled, and when guy run away to carry out an order and looked at me with attention:
— Well, what other punishments exists, Private Becker? For example, what should I do with those maggots If they lost armor issue?
After thinking for a moment, I muttered, ignoring sergeant's heavy hand on my waist and the hard steel of the power armor under my ass:
— Well, if you lost a bayonet knife, they usually give you a wooden one, the size from your heels to your waist. For loosing a weapon, the same thing, you are given a wooden type machine gun, no less the size of a soldier himself. Sooo... What else was there... Ah! If you lost your helmet, then walk around all day with a colander on your head, or with a ladle. It's just that before there was no power armor, it was all amde of fabric, and that was the only thing that was worn, that's it. And for loss of power armor, well, I don't know, you can dress him in a barrel. Like armor.
Dornan chuckled and slapped me on the back near the shoulder blades so hard it nearly knocked me out:
— I praise. We will improve it!
That's how it and was somehow. Well, during this time boys already carried "cigarettes" on shoulders, and pots on their heads. Once, the whole our platoon almost died of laughter due to a new recruit who spent the whole day wearing "armor" made of a barrel, a ladle on his head and "bracers" made of tin cans, with a wooden machine gun, and in the evening also with a "cigarette". Well, he did everything in one day, everything that was possible!
Another innovation after three weeks of my stay in Navarro was the constant small military forays. Dornan, as it turned out, often used to eavesdrop me explaining to guys why he's yelling all the time on 'em. Drill sergeants, also known as drill specialists, are needed to keep soldiers under the stress. To prepare them for the realities of the possible war. To make soldiers out of civilians who will prepared for the stress of the battles. But if you do this without shooting practice or small training sorties, the result will be burnout and desertion.
Actually, the head of the base gave the go-ahead for this, and from then on, once a week we went out into the wastelands, chased geckos or raiders, and fought with slave traders for couple of times, just for fun.
Guys were surprisingly happy. Sentries, who had studied every crack in the asphalt and concrete walls of the buildings in Navarro inside and out, now at least had a chance to take out their stress on the inhabitants of the wastelands. The coordinated work of the units was personally supervised by Dornan.
And now patrols leaving for the wasteland returned more and more often, more and more intact and with more and more valuable trophies.
Fighting spirit grew stronger. Soldiers now grumbled and snorted less after sergeant, and for me, at the end of the eighth week, the result was seven kilos lost and already stronger body muscles. Sergeant was already a little more pleased. Well, or so it seemed to me.