Unlike his first night in the apartment, Trevor slept well the second night. Perhaps because even though questions still surrounded his presence there, he felt he had direction. If he helped the people of this world fight off the invaders, perhaps he could glean some insight into the greater plan. Maybe even circumvent the Old Man's hold over him.
After a shower with weak water pressure and a breakfast of powdered orange drink and an oatmeal-like cereal, Major Nina Forest took them for a trip. They traveled by car for ten minutes to a training facility for the "Third Legion."
She gave the men gym bags containing work out clothes, towels, and soap then directed them to the men’s locker room. While Trevor fit perfectly into the sneakers, sweat pants, and tank top (no doubt from the other Trevor's closet), Johnny's outfit hugged his stocky frame a little tight, although not as tight as Nina's spandex hugged her.
When they first arrived, the place seemed nearly deserted except for a clerk and a sentry, both of whom eyed Stone suspiciously. However, with time more people filtered in for exercise and training maneuvers.
Nina led the two newcomers to one area that remained quiet; an indoor shooting range.
"Okay, boys, I’ve got a feeling you’ve handled guns before, right?"
Reverend Johnny proudly proclaimed, "If it is capable of dispatching aliens I most certainly have handled it."
"Well, okay then. Handle this."
She handed them each an assault rifle. Trevor looked it over disapprovingly.
"What? What’s wrong?" She asked.
"Bullpup…I don’t like it," he referred to the design that placed the magazine and ejector slot behind the trigger mechanism, essentially next to the shooter’s ear.
She defended, "Makes for a shorter gun. More compact."
"Yeah. Less reliable, can only be fired from one side or you take spent casing in the face; tends to jam more. Not a favorite of mine."
Reverend Johnny quipped, "True, but this baby looks way cool, Trevor."
He laughed, "Rev, don't ever say 'way cool' again and I promise not to quote scripture."
Nina said, "Well, it’s what we got. I mean, sorry it isn’t up to your standards."
"Oh no, no we’re fine," Trevor mocked. "Don’t worry about little old me."
She pointed out the rifle’s mechanisms including the safety, bolt, iron sights, rate of fire, clip ejection, and stock adjustment.
He admitted, "A little longer than the bullpup designs I've seen, but pretty light and easy to handle. The rounds are similar in size to the ones I use back home in my M4."
"So, gee, like you can put up with it for now?"
He stepped to the firing line and looked down range at a flimsy paper target twenty yards away. It took him a moment to get used to the design-the bullpup alignment meant a trigger farther forward on the barrel than his M4.
Still…very light. It felt comfortable against his shoulder.
Stone pulled the trigger. A burst of four shots hit the target.
"Hmmm, not much kick."
Trevor remembered the bruises on his shoulder the first month after Armageddon; that first month of firing an assault rifle. They would not have been as bad with this weapon.
"Quiet, too."
"Yeah, but hey-it’s a bullpup so I’m sure you won’t like it."
Was that a pout in her voice?
He fired more bursts. His aim improved with each pull of the trigger. Never perfect. Just better. He was-he reminded himself-a jack of all trades yet a master of none. The ultimate expression of human adaptability. Part of his purpose, he supposed.
"Hey, easy, ammunition doesn’t grow on trees around here."
The bolt locked open; he had ripped through an entire magazine of thirty rounds.
Johnny stepped to the line for his turn but first thumbed the fire selector switch. He then launched a storm of fully automatic fire. The barrel flash reflected off his angry eyes and a steady low grunt slipped from his lips. The target hung from its mount shredded.
"Well, I’m ready."
He returned the smoking gun to the woman.
"What’s next, Major?"
Next was a visit to the quartermaster’s shop manned by a tired-looking older fellow who jolted awake at the sight of Major Forest and her friends. The poor guy stared at Trevor, obviously wanting to say something but apparently afraid to.
Nonetheless, the man did his work. He presented a battle suit to both Johnny and Trevor. Each man entered a dressing room, put on their new threads, and then paraded in front of their hostess.
"Okay, this ain’t bad," Trevor said as studied his reflection in a mirror.
The suit fit tight and felt almost like rubber except for strategically-positioned armored plates on his forearms, legs, and abdomen. Still, he found it surprisingly comfortable and, even more surprising, wearing it made him feel stronger.
"Wow, this really feels good. What’s the trick here?"
"Special design. You’ll find it regulates your body temperature; I mean, it’s not perfect but it’ll help. Also designed to support your muscles. Your stamina is a little better in this."
Johnny did not fare as well. "Dear Lord, this thing is cutting off circulation in my ass."
For his part, Trevor said, "I'm good here."
Okay," Nina said. "Slip out of it and we’ll have it delivered to your quarters."
Johnny protested, "Hells bells, my thighs feel as if they’re being wrapped by a boa constrictor and the devil’s-"
"I think my friend here needs some help," Trevor spoke to the quartermaster who nodded and attended to Johnny.
Nina said, "Why don’t we move on. I think the Reverend is going to be tied up for a bit."
"Good Lord, I fear she speaks the truth. Carry on, Mister Stone, I will join you when-uggg-my new suit fits."
Trevor spent two minutes changing out of the armor and into his sweat pants again. He and Major Forest left the shop to the sounds of Johnny’s grunts and groans.
"What now?"
"Like I said, ammunition doesn’t grow on trees around here."
"So?"
"So," she said. "You need to learn what to do when your rifle runs out of bullets."
"Or," he joked. "When that lousy bullpup design jams."
She scowled, "Yeah, that too."
Trevor followed her through the complex. He saw more people-soldiers-walking the halls. Men and women. Most appeared to be in their mid twenties to early thirties. Some wore battle-weary expressions others looked freckled-faced and new. Regardless of the universe, it required only a glance to tell the rookies from the veterans.
Few of these people gave him a second-glance. They appeared too wrapped up in their own thoughts to worry about their surroundings.
They came to a small room with a padded floor. Nina opened a locker built into one wall that appeared to contain assault rifles but he saw them to be wooden replicas with flexible-maybe rubber-bayonets affixed to the barrels. She handed one dummy to him and retrieved a second for herself.
"Bullets are at a premium. If we can kill something with the bayonet, that’s what we do. Save the rounds for things you wouldn’t want to get close to."
Trevor’s mind paged through his mental Hostiles Database. He figured Land Jellyfish, Gremmies, Eels, maybe even Rat-Things could be dispatched using the bayonet. He would never want to be stuck without bullets against a Troll, DevilBat, or a pack of Ghouls. Then again, he remembered, it had not been bullets that routed the Vikings at the Battle of Five Armies.
"I know you’re used to your big rifles and tanks and stuff, but maybe you’ll let me show you how to fight with your hands," her words served as a shot across the bow.
He smiled. "Yeah, well, gee, don’t hurt me, okay?"
He looked at Major Forest. She had Nina’s body but so far he was not convinced she had Nina’s instincts.
"Okay, look," she instructed. "Start with the attack position."
She demonstrated by standing slightly hunched over with her left foot a step ahead of her right. This created a good center of gravity similar to a boxer’s stance.
Trevor imitated her movement.
"Make sure you’re on the balls of your feet. Yeah, that’s right. Flex your knees. Do you feel comfortable?"
"Just peachy."
"Hold your rifle diagonally across-"
She stopped because he already held his rifle across his body in the proper position.
After a moment, she continued, "Okay. Well, great. Um…the first attack you need to learn is the thrust. Now what you need to-"
He stepped forward with his left foot and jabbed the fake bayonet over her shoulder with his weight behind the strike. Again she paused, this time biting her lip and crinkling her brow. He saw a shade of red in her cheeks.
"Slash movement."
He drove the bayonet across the front of her body-not quite touching-up and down. A real blade would have eviscerated her.
Trevor laughed. He laughed because he recognized the expression on Major Forest’s face. It was the same expression that the Nina Forest of his world showed when she had tried to dupe him with tactical hand signals, only to find that he knew them by the book.
"Okay, I guess you know how to use a bayonet, huh? Did I teach you on your world?"
He shook his head and told her the truth, "Actually, I picked it up from a guy who fought for the Germans in World War One."
She, of course, did not have the slightest idea what he meant. She did not care, either.
Sarcasm oozed, "I see. Fine. Well then, maybe you can show me some pointers?"
Nina tried to surprise him, bringing her dummy rifle at him in a slashing maneuver. Trevor stepped backward and barely avoided the strike of the plastic mock up.
She continued forward with a thrust. The butt of his rifle accidentally deflected the charge.
He saw she had a head of steam going but, damn, she was going. It was possible he had underestimated her instincts.
Nina executed a perfect parry-left and knocked his mockup aside, she then slashed at his chest, followed in a fluid motion by the butt of her wooden rifle striking him in the kidneys.
Trevor fell toward the mat. Even before he hit the ground, he felt her bayonet zooming toward his exposed back.
He rolled away. Her rubber weapon hit empty mat.
Nina thrust again and again as he rolled across the floor. She made the mistake of moving too fast and lost a little balance. He took the opening and swept his foot into her calf and sent her to the floor.
That bought him one precious second to get to his feet; rifle and bayonet in attack position.
She faced off against him. "Well, you have done this before, haven’t you?" She hissed but the anger appeared to be leaving her voice. She seemed to enjoy the fight.
"Once…twice…maybe a hundred times or so, yeah."
He tried to slash at her. Nina effectively executed an upward block. The two pieces of wood thudded together then apart.
She swung the butt of her rifle toward his groin. He brought his weapon down and met it.
Nina grunted, from either pain or frustration. Trevor felt the sweat on his brow and back. Yes, he had underestimated her instincts.
More thrusts, more parries. They danced across the room, huffing and puffing and exhaling in bursts. The rifles and bayonets went high, then low. Finally they locked weapons and hesitated. The bayonet fight reached a stalemate.
Suddenly he tumbled backward with his rifle falling out of his hands, the result of a fast and effective leg-sweep.
Oh, how clever.
But, again, she acted too rash. He managed to catch her legs in a similar sweep as she closed in to drive her fake bayonet home. This time he did not go for his own weapon, he went for hers
She panted in surprise as he pried it loose from her grip. The fake gun fumbled about before spinning off to the side.
Nina scrambled to her feet and he grabbed her from behind…only to find himself going feet over head as she judo flipped him. His hand had a grasp on her shirt, however, and as he came down on the mat he pulled her along, over top of him, then rolling on the mat.
More grunts. More gasps.
The action stopped.
He held her wrists, both of them, stretched above her head as he pinned her body to the floor with his own.
She was faster and she did have good instincts, but Trevor weighed sixty pounds heavier.
His body lay on top of hers too close for a knee to the groin and her hands immobilized by his tight grasp on her wrists.
So close.
They both breathed heavily for a moment, covered in sweat.
"Well," she caught her wind. "It looks like you’ve got me."
He felt her squirm underneath…felt her leg rub and bend along the side of his…slowly…intentionally.
"What are you going to do to me?"
"There’s another difference between you and the Nina I know. She never would have let me get the best of her like this."
Major Forest smiled. "Maybe I just wanted you on top of me."
He wondered…did he have her, or was she in complete control?
Trevor huffed, rolled off, stood, and grabbed his towel.
She massaged her wrists. He had squeezed them very hard.
Trevor said, "You play a lot of games, don’t you?" There was no good humor in his voice. Not an ounce.
"Nothing wrong with a game, now and then."
He turned on her as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "I don’t play games, do you hear? I have a son back home whom I miss dearly. I have a world of my own. I want to go back there. But you brought me here. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that!"
She sat on the floor and listened with no expression.
"And most of all," he roared as the anger built. "You are just another person to me. I don’t know you! I don’t know who you are, no matter what you look like! Don’t think that you can convince me that you are anything like the Nina I knew. You are nothing like her!"
He stormed from the room.
Nina collapsed to the floor, stared at the ceiling. And grinned.
– In the center of the gymnasium stood a mock-up of a small building, perhaps a home or an office complete with several rooms, a hallway, and windows. With no roof, Trevor could see inside the structure from his seat in the bleachers as could the drill supervisor who hovered overhead in a bucket attached to a hydraulic lift.
Major Forest sat near him but he did not give her the courtesy of a glance. While part of that came from his anger with her, the exercises below also held his attention.
The soldiers divided into two groups of three and competed as offensive and defensive teams engaged in entry and clear operations. Their weapons reminded Trevor of paint ball guns but the pellets exploded in puffs of gas. That gas interacted with patches on their body armor, causing a color change ranging from light red to dark depending on estimated severity of injury.
One soldier in particular held Trevor's attention: a bombastic man standing over six feet tall with a crew cut who bossed his fellow soldiers around despite no extra rank on his sleeve.
Reverend Johnny climbed the bleachers and sat next to Trevor. He said, "At long last that fiendish tailor has managed to fit this contraption to my frame in a manner that does not cut off circulation to my nether region."
Trevor did not reply. He focused on the soldiers as they prepared for another exercise. Green team took position inside the mock building to defend while Blue team prepared to clear.
For the first time in half an hour, Trevor spoke to Nina, "What's wrong down there, Major?"
She examined the scene for a moment and then answered, "The defenders are spread out, they’re not covering each other’s backs. Each one could be isolated and overpowered."
Trevor noted, "Equal weapons and equal numbers, the defenders should win easy, every time with a little planning. But wait, don't worry," he pointed as Blue team split up and infiltrated through open windows. "The attackers have made it easy."
The Blue fighters each used separate entrances. That might have been acceptable, if they coordinated their approach. Instead, they left flanks uncovered, rooms unchecked, and did not know each other's positions.
As the teams engaged, Trevor tapped Reverend Johnny on his shoulder and pointed toward the tall soldier participating on the defending Green team.
"Look familiar?"
Johnny looked and listened. He saw that soldier angrily shove a teammate and point him to a new position then scowl at another who walked across his field of fire.
"Seems a bit like a-wait one moment, is that who I think it is? Dear Lord, that is General Jon Brewer!"
Nina cut in, "General? That guy down there is a Corporal."
Trevor said, "Then I can see why you're in such bad shape around here."
Pellets zinged back and forth as individual members of each team confronted one another. No group action, no unison of movement, no cohesive plan on either side.
A Green shot a Blue. A Blue popped a Green. A Green-Brewer-took out a second Blue as he rushed into a room.
The remaining Blue carefully crept through the building after his comrades met their fate (said fate resulting in kneeling on the floor with their hands behind their head).
Trevor watched Brewer. The man resembled his friend from pre-Armageddon days, in appearance and action. Like his former self from another world, this Jon Brewer believed in the doctrine of preemption. Instead of remaining in a defensive position, he went on the offensive, moving from the room he covered, to the hall, and then he apparently sensed a presence around a corner. Brewer ran into the room, gun blazing. He took a pellet in the chest for his trouble, but also managed to put a pellet into…the only other remaining Green teammate.
From the bucket overhead came the instructor screaming, "Brewer! Morris! You idiots! You're on the same damn team and you're both out!"
Reverend Johnny gasped to Trevor, "I cannot believe such incompetence."
Trevor threw a stern glance at Major Forest first, then answered Johnny, "It's not incompetence, Reverend. Like everything else I've seen here, they're sloppy and disinterested."
"Hey," Nina defended her comrades. "These are some of the best guys in Third L."
Trevor shot back with red in his cheeks, "And they've been hiding behind defensive walls for how long? Months? Years? How long since you people even left this city?"
She said nothing.
Trevor spat, "I thought so."
The instructor blew a whistle and lowered the observation bucket.
"All right, all right. Seems like you guys just don’t got it today. Let’s hit the showers."
Both teams exited the mock-up and gathered their gear. Brewer gave the one who shot him a shove but most of the soldiers laughed at how the drill ended.
Trevor-with his hands clenched in fists and his eyes staring at the atrocity below-marched down the bleachers like a twister spawning over an unsuspecting Kansas town. Major Forest practically fell as she stumbled to her feet to follow.
Before the group could disperse, Trevor growled, "Stop." Not so much loud, but deep.
The soldiers turned to the sound of the voice and practically froze. He saw fear, shock, surprise, doubt, and disbelief in their eyes.
"Being a soldier is more than carrying a gun and wearing a uniform. What I just watched… disgusting. You are all going to die on the battlefield."
The instructor stumbled, "Now, wait a second, I don’t know who you think you are-"
"Shut up."
The chubby man with rank on his collar looked around Trevor at Major Forest.
"Why are you looking at her? Look at me," he commanded the instructor. "You should be ashamed. You've failed your men! When their blood is spilled it will be on your hands!"
One of the rank and file objected, "It's just a basic training mission. No big deal."
Trevor turned on him. "What’s your name?"
The man-young and cocky with hair too slick to be the hair of a grunt-stepped forward in confrontation and answered, "Pickering."
"Pickering, you ever see a Crawling Tube Worm?"
"Um…I don’t think so."
Trevor brushed over the likelihood that Nina’s humans had a different nickname for that vile creature. He did not care about details at that moment.
"Do you know what it does? It swallows a man whole, digests him for a couple of days, then shits him out into a pile."
Pickering shrugged yeah, so?
"The whole time… the whole friggin’ time…you’re alive. Even after it shits you out you’re still alive. Only, you just spent a couple of days inside an intestinal tract. Skin dissolved away, most of your internal organs digested, hair and eyes and all that. Lots of blood, sure, yeah. Most of the time folks are still breathing when it takes a dump, but they’re crazy. Can’t move. No arms. No legs. They just lay there like the rest of the feces except they moan and cry until a buddy puts a bullet through what’s left of their brains."
"That’s pretty bad, man," the guy replied in that same arrogant voice.
"The point is — what I’m trying to tell you — is I’ve seen piles of Crawling Tube Worm shit that was still a better soldier than you, Pickering. And if you don’t wipe that cocky smile off your face I’m GOING TO CUT YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF."
"Who the Hell are you?" Came the familiar voice of Jon Brewer.
Trevor's head turned fast. Nina quickly interjected, "Your Legion has been briefed on this man. You know who he is."
Trevor walked over to the Jon Brewer of this alternate universe. This was not the man he knew back home, but the one from before the world went to Hell.
"You're the worst of the lot," Trevor told him. "You want to know why? Because I know you're better than what I saw out there. You're too damn cocky to realize it. You need to stop talking so much and start thinking."
"Hey, easy does it," the instructor jumped in. "I’ve trained these guys myself. A little relaxed, yeah, but this a damn good team. Best in Third Legion."
Murmurs of ‘yeah’ and ‘damn straight’ echoed amongst the troops.
"Really? Best in third legion? Okay. Prove it. Clear the building," and Trevor walked toward the dummy structure.
"Hey! You don’t have a gun!" Brewer yelled.
Stone did not turn around as he replied, "I will in a minute."
He entered through an open door then shut it behind.
The instructor looked to Major Forest who said, "You heard the man. Clear the building."
"Um," the leader stumbled. "Which team should I send in?"
Reverend Johnny yelled from the top of the bleachers, "I’d send in both if I were you!"
Nina ascended the stands for a better view. The instructor raised his platform and ordered, "Brewer, switch to Blue Team. Pickering, take Green."
Brewer and Pickering discussed strategy, the former accentuating his points with shouts and a jabbing finger. The others poked their heads into the conversation offering alternatives, debating approaches, and generally foiling any attempt to create a comprehensive plan.
Nina arrived at the top of the bleachers next to the Reverend.
"Either your Trevor has a big ego or he’s damned good."
"Perhaps a little of both. Or, maybe, a lot of both, my dear."
While the instructor refereed from the raised bucket lift, Nina and Johnny watched from the stands. They could not see everything, but they could see enough.
Brewer's Blue team entered through the door Trevor had used. The Green team circled around to the far side and headed in.
For his part, Trevor maneuvered through the cluster of rooms toward the center of the giant cube where he paused until a shadow approached from a connecting room. He darted to another room, but someone spotted his shadow.
"There he is!"
Pop-pop-pop mock guns fired plastic pellets hitting walls and fake furniture.
"Wait, where’d he go?"
Brewer followed his two team members through a four-way intersection near the center. They remained focused forward to the point that Jon did not see Trevor close in from behind. Stone reached up and grabbed the taller man around the throat with one arm and overwhelmed his trigger finger with the other.
Pop-pop-pop.
The instructor's voice yelled, "Wilson! Edgars! You’re out!"
Brewer struggled with Trevor for control of the gun, using his hands to try and muscle the weapon from his opponent's grip only to find himself letting go of the prize when a leg-sweep sent him tumbling backwards.
Pop-Pop.
"Brewer is out!"
Jon did not like that, regardless of how red his patches glowed. While Wilson and Edgars followed procedure and sat on the floor with their hands behind their heads, this Jon Brewer of an alternate universe followed Trevor along the hall. A moment later, Brewer flew out a window onto the gymnasium floor with a broken nose and an equally fractured ego.
"Brewer, you are way out!"
If Green team had not been moving with an overabundance of caution, they probably would have caught Trevor in the midst of dealing with Brewer's insubordination. Instead, by the time they reached the commotion, Trevor had moved off.
From their elevated vantage point, Nina and Reverend Johnny watched Trevor move parallel to the enemy through rooms across the hall from Green team. He stayed hidden by using his ears-not so much his eyes-to track enemy movement, until he sensed an opportunity.
The three Greens crept along a thin hall. Trevor darted in front of them and fired as he raced from one room into another. With the enemy packed so close together, he could not miss.
In a voice that sounded one-part panicked and another part sad, the referee shouted, "Pickering! You’re done!"
Trevor ran through the building in sort of a big circle, racing across rooms and allowing his footsteps to be easily heard. Clearly, this unnerved the remaining two enemy fighters. They started in one direction, stopped, and stepped in a another direction, then back again to the extent that they did not move at all; like rabbits caught in an open field beneath a circling hawk.
After a few moments of this, Trevor stopped. Everything went silent. The Greens lost any initiative. They hunkered down one each at the two internal door ways in a corner room.
Trevor exited the building on the far side and re-entered through an exterior door directly behind the two soldiers who kept their eyes staring straight as if their foe could not approach from any direction other than the two interior hallways they guarded.
Instead of taking the easy shots and shooting the two soldiers-one man, one woman-in their backs, Trevor entered the room without making a sound. He stood behind the two unsuspecting grunts and glared up at the instructor in his hovering bucket.
Nina laughed as she watched from the stands. Reverend Johnny shook his head.
Stone then clamped a hand over the man's mouth, and put his gun barrel to the fellow's temple. Next, he marched his captive to the center of the room. The red-headed woman remained oblivious to the events behind her as the hallway ahead held her complete attention.
"Boo!"
The red head turned and fired, hitting the human shield. Trevor, of course, shot her "dead" a split second later.
The match — the demonstration — ended.
Trevor exited the building as the instructor’s lift came to the floor and a medic attended to Brewer.
"Just a training exercise," Trevor spat as the defeated soldiers gathered without a sound.
Trevor thrust a finger toward the outer wall of the gymnasium but actually pointed at much more. "There is a world out there that is trying to kill you. Do you understand? There isn’t any mercy out there. They don’t use fake guns."
"We know that," the instructor mumbled.
"Then act like it! If you die, here, in this prison of a city then everything dies with you!"
Nina and Johnny descended the bleachers.
"Our city stands," one of the soldiers dared, yet Trevor heard something in the heckler’s voice that kept him from breaking the man’s neck. He heard the voice of defeat. He heard the sounds of a man who had been led down too many dead ends or who had seen too many comrades wasted. He heard the sound of a man resigned to his fate.
"It will fall. You are not getting stronger. You are getting weaker. Your walls are crumbling. The enemy is reaching for your throat."
Trevor found the eyes of every person listening and met them one after another.
"You are better than this," his tone kicked up and he walked amongst them, touching a few shoulders along the way. "I know you're tired. Your city is attacked constantly. Supplies are almost gone. The weight of the world is crushing down on you. No matter where you look, there is no sign of hope. So you have to stop looking for hope from somewhere out there. You are that hope. Don’t surrender your power to the monsters out there. Take that power and use it."
Stone maneuvered to the front of the pack, curled his arms, and made fists.
"You were great, once," he looked toward Nina as he said that. She nodded.
"Your armies were on the march. The monsters feared you. I say, make them fear us again. Let us pour out of these walls and strike terror into the hearts of those nightmares."
He heard a mumble or two of approval. Just a little. Not much. But a spark.
"We can’t march out of here," the instructor almost pleaded. "It would be suicide! Don’t fill them with empty promises. The Committee has decreed that we are on the defensive."
"NEVER! It is never enough to sit and wait for death. If death is to come for us, then I say, meet it head on! Meet it where it lives!"
"Easy to say, but we aren’t capable of launching attacks."
"No," Trevor agreed with the man this time. "Not yet. We must prepare. We must train. Before we can challenge the enemy, we must challenge ourselves. But not like what I saw here. You do your men a disservice. If you don’t expect the best then they won’t be the best."
"And what do you expect?" The instructor sneered.
"Victory."
A simple word that dared not be spoken in a long time.
"And I will accept nothing less."
The instructor shook his head. The other soldiers…they listened.
Brewer-his nose bandaged and his eyes cast down-stood among the group. Trevor walked to him and while he spoke to everyone, he looked at this doppelganger of his friend.
"You are full of potential, but you must set aside your egos. I know there is greatness inside you, there are leaders here waiting to rise. You just have to give yourself a chance."
He stepped to the front of the crowd and said, "So we’re running through this again. Blue Team, with me. Green team," Trevor looked to Nina. "Major Forest, you have Green Team."
"She’s not an instructor!" the man who was pointed out.
"I don’t need instructors. I need warriors. We need warriors."
This breech of protocol flabbergasted the drill supervisor, but he could do nothing.
"All right Green team, let’s go," Nina called.
The soldiers glanced at their instructor, then to Trevor, and then followed the Major.
With that, the exercises began anew. Again, sloppy, but Trevor and Nina took the men aside and revisited basics; the fundamentals they had not practiced in a long time. He learned the terms of their army and introduced them to terms from his; the language of war translated easily.
According to Nina, these men had been briefed on Trevor's origins and they accepted him without questions. He purposely steered clear of discussing his world, he wanted to focus on theirs. He also did not ask about the past because it made no difference now; today was a new day, the first day.
On the second pass, things improved. The third time through, better still. By the time the fourth practice run began, spectators gathered in the gymnasium, some even joined in.
They fought through the building, and outside it, even charging across the gymnasium.
By late afternoon, he and Nina turned over unit commands to other soldiers. By evening a line of people waited to be a part of the war games. To be a part of the energy. To see the man who inspired the hard work: the man who looked like…no, it could not be.
Trevor felt their thirst for direction and he met that enthusiasm with correction and encouragement.
Nina arranged for the 3 ^ rd Legion’s Training Facility to stay open late that night. Trevor told her it would need to stay open late many more nights.
But it was a beginning. He had planted a seed.