Fifth Week

Augustus stepped onto Assembly Platform T-338 in Barracks 24 of the training camp. Around him stood four concave curved walls and a bronze-colored airlock door, while mechanical arms methodically assembled the components of his Power Armor around him. The entire process took less than twenty-four seconds, like a factory assembly line canning food.

When Marines needed to remove their Power Armor to rest, the disassembly process worked in reverse. In battles and prolonged campaigns far from bases and barracks, Marines could not remove their armor by themselves, and they might be stuck inside that shell of iron for months.

The armor contained a specially designed internal circulation system, so the wearer did not need to worry about using the bathroom. However, the designers had been utterly indifferent to another physiological need crucial to Marines: scratching an itch.

Augustus could almost feel the limitless energy contained within the fusion reactor in the armor's chest. In his own era, such controllable miniature nuclear fusion technology had still existed only in science fiction novels and films.

He only needed to raise a hand slightly for the servo system to respond at once. He could lift a Gauss Rifle one-handed with barely any effort, and when the wearer ran, even sprinting twenty kilometers would not leave him exhausted.

At first, during the era of the CMC-100 and even the earlier Unit One, mechanics had used cranes to stuff trainees into armor weighing several hundred pounds.

Back then, Power Armor was less Power Armor than a giant robot suit that used gas-fuel thrusters on its back for high-speed maneuvering. After the technology was initially realized, it ran into multiple insurmountable technical bottlenecks, and more than twenty pilots died during that period.

Both the theoretical and experimental sides had hit a wall, so scientists and engineers pessimistically estimated that humanity would be unable to build safe, reliable Power Armor for another two hundred years. That changed only when the revolutionary servo system and the seemingly black-tech miniature cold fusion reactor were unveiled.

Kel-Morian Power Armor remained at the stage of crude imitation. All usable Kel-Morian Power Armor came from battlefield captures and an unknown quantity of smuggled goods.

Rumors claimed that several Old Families on Tarsonis were secretly selling military supplies rerouted through gray-market channels to the Kel-Morians at exorbitant prices. Soon afterward, those "false and treasonous" claims quietly vanished.

The transport platform then carried Augustus into the transfer platform on the barracks' lower level. While it moved, two more mechanical arms respectively hung a well-maintained, gleaming E-9 Electromagnetic Rifle on his back and two high-explosive pulse grenades at his waist.

Nearly two hundred Company D Rookies stood on the transfer platform. After patching and repainting their armor themselves, their freshly repainted Power Armor was far shinier than when they had first received it.

Augustus followed the blue tide of steel toward a descending retractable staircase on the transfer platform. At the very front, four standard-bearers carried brand-new red-and-blue Confederacy flags. Each Marine ahead of him had an individual designation on the back of their helmet, usually formed from the initials of their battalion, company, platoon, and squad, plus their personal ID number from the database.

At the end of the stairs stood a heavy airlock door that slowly opened with the roar of pressurized gas. The light outside was dazzling, as though it came from heaven.

Many Marines could feel an intense sense of duty and glory as they walked out of the barracks. Just as the Marine Corps Conscription Office claimed, they truly were invincible.

Augustus felt they were somewhat lacking in the self-awareness expected of cannon fodder.

The barracks had been built in the upper structural district of Turaxis-Prime Base, above ground. Thus, as Augustus stepped outside, he saw the planet's pure blue sky. A warm golden sun shone upon the land, and the wind carried a faint scent of rust.

Several dozen yards from Augustus, two Goliath combat walkers trudged toward a heavy transport ship that was landing. The hum of the Goliaths' servo motors and the thunder of the ship's engines reached his ears through the sound receivers in his visor.

Augustus opened the HUD panel on his visor and brought up the built-in computer interface. Data such as the base's internal temperature and humidity already appeared in the lower right corner. The time was 7:00 a.m. on May 4, 2488.

He could use the built-in computer to activate other Power Armor functions, such as the visor's infrared night vision, thermal imaging, and targeting assistance. Augustus could also activate the Stimpack unit through the control panel, and the Stimpack injector would complete the injection instantly under pressure.

Military Stimpacks were a mixture of synthetic adrenaline, endorphins, and a drug that enhanced mental focus. Soldiers injected with them gained greatly improved speed and reaction time, shed fatigue, and returned to peak condition in a very short time. Their side effects were equally alarming. Because their ingredients were highly addictive, Marines could easily develop drug dependence.

A Stimpack's effects could last three to six hours. The side effects of long-term use included, but were not limited to, insomnia, weight loss, mania or hypomania, convulsions, paranoia, hallucinations, internal bleeding, and brain necrosis.

Military regulations clearly restricted Stimpack use—no more than five injections during the same engagement. More often than not, Marines fell into extreme agony after five consecutive Stimpack injections.

Yet no one worried about such matters in war. Both ordinary Federal Marine Corps soldiers and battle-hardened generals shared the same view: the more you fight, the longer you live.

All these operations displayed before his eyes were performed by the hands inside the armor. The sliding and tapping of his fingers could be transmitted to the display through the Haptic Feedback System, as if he were remotely operating a control terminal.

The back of the CMC-200 Power Armor also contained an embedded water tank that could store two to four gallons of purified water. Whenever Augustus needed hydration, he could operate the control panel on his display and drink through a flexible tube extending from the back of the armor's neck.

This had been designed for Marines operating in extremely harsh environments. On scorching lava worlds such as Char and Redstone, liquid water exposed to the outside would evaporate within seconds and disperse into the thin atmosphere.

This water was independent of the liquid cooling device and life-support circulation system. Although the chief designer considered it unnecessary, market researchers believed it would reassure Marines that the water they drank did not come from urine or bile.

"Assemble! Form ranks!" Augustus heard the voice of Company D's commander through the communications channel in his helmet. He stood perfectly still as all the Rookies of First Squad, Second Platoon gathered around him. Within seconds, the previously chaotic group of Rookies had formed into an orderly line.

"Forward march!"

"Say, boss, the bets are in. How many points do you think Jim will score on today's marksmanship test?" Harnack suddenly said over First Squad's communication channel.

"Three. No more than that. A bottle of seventy-eight Porter wine, from the Santiago Summer Estate on Korhal," Augustus answered.

Jim Raynor's performance when he had first started shooting made it difficult to connect him with the future commander of Raynor's Raiders. Calling it utterly terrible would not have been an exaggeration. Without Power Armor, he could miss a target from ten yards away. In Harnack's words, he could shoot better than Raynor with his eyes closed.

"Today will definitely be better than yesterday. My dad always said—" Before Raynor could finish, the channel erupted in laughter, brimming with delight. He usually used the excuse that he had never handled a Gauss Rifle before, but today no one could wait for him to finish before laughing.

"Damn it, one day you'll all be forced to marvel at my godlike marksmanship!"