Turaxis

Ⅱ

"Welcome to Turaxis II, a living hell, a place forsaken by God, the worst battlefield in the entire Koprulu Sector. But you little bastards, if you like war, then congratulations. You've come to the right place."

Inside a frontline fortress on Turaxis II's northern hemisphere called "Turaxis Main," Augustus stood on a platform in the fortress's enormous underground hangar, joining the other recruits who had just disembarked from the Peace Dove transport ship to be inspected and addressed by a sergeant.

About two hundred recruits stood before the sergeant in formation, feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs, staring straight ahead without moving. The only reason they could maintain such order was that the sergeant kept "gently" correcting their posture with her iron-hard elbows and the pointed toes of her combat boots.

Meanwhile, transport craft continued landing on the airstrip, one after another, almost without pause. The underground hangar was larger than any twenty-first-century airport Augustus had ever seen. At the far end of the steel platform stood a dense cluster of domed buildings, scattered like an ant colony as far as the eye could see.

Every building had perfectly square, precise corners, unmistakably in the standard Confederate Marine Corps style.

The building materials all came from a monopolistic interstellar construction company. Its modular construction units could be efficiently air-dropped to the front lines by large low-orbit transport ships, then tightly assembled by the space construction vehicles of an airborne engineering regiment.

In just one day, a planetary fortress, along with miles of industrial outbuildings and a high-energy gas refinery, could rise from the ground under the Kel-Morians' very noses.

"Stand at ease. Heads up!"

The sergeant was a short woman with a stern expression and neatly cropped brown hair. She was about five and a half feet tall, only a little taller than Peter, the shortest recruit in this makeshift training company. No one dared underestimate her. As she passed in front of them, the recruits clenched their backsides.

Augustus, like the other soldiers, had changed into his issued training uniform. Designed for Turaxis's sandy terrain, the dark brown camouflage vest was known for its durability. The recruits were ordered to tuck their shirts neatly into their Tarsonian-style paratrooper trousers, cinched with nylon belts. They wore matching sand-colored combat boots and flat-topped caps with long brims.

Augustus was the only recruit the sergeant hadn't berated or beaten. That was probably thanks to his impeccable posture, as straight as a marker from start to finish, and his innate bearing as a soldier. He seemed born to be one.

Everyone had also been issued an M-1 pack, two Electromagnetic Grenades, Gauss Grenades, a PIG handheld personal information-gathering system terminal, a canteen, and Marine rations. These included energy bars and a mashed-potato-like liquid food that could supply plenty of energy and protein in a short time, as well as biscuits, "pies," and other foods that kept well.

The equipment, weighing dozens of kilograms, was packed onto the recruits and into their roomy B-2 Backpacks. Augustus was sure their first training exercise would be a ten-kilometer cross-country run as soon as the sergeant finished speaking.

The recruit sergeant wasn't responsible for their basic training. Her job was simply to gather up the recruits, who had been flailing about like headless flies the moment they were let loose, and tell them what lay ahead.

After that, the recruits from Korhal IV would be reassigned into new groups and trained alongside recruits from Tarsonis, Antiga, Shiloh, the planets Tyrador III, VIII, and IX, and Mar Sara.

With the rebellion on Korhal growing ever fiercer, the Terran Confederacy government still accepted Korhal's recruits, but carefully avoided placing all the Korhal-born soldiers in the same battalion, or even the same company or platoon, lest they form independent groups.

The Terran Confederacy Marine Security Division had always believed that Korhal revolutionaries were infiltrating, or had already infiltrated, the ranks of the great Confederate Marine Corps, although they had never obtained any concrete evidence.

"For a long time, the Confederate Marines have been synonymous with courage. Major Maibika, who's in charge of recruit training, believes we should build our boot camp on the front lines to adapt to this special period. We also believe that soldiers who graduate here will be better than those from any other training camp."

Though it was hard to endure, no one was foolish enough to voice an ill-timed objection or snicker.

"After twelve weeks of military training, you'll be the finest soldiers in the entire Terran Confederacy. Here, you must learn how to use your firearms and armor, or the Kel-Morians will make better use of them in your place."

"You must also memorize every regulation of the Confederate Marine Corps and follow them to the letter. Remember the authority of your superiors. If you can't do that, then at least remember the sound of the military police whistle," the sergeant said.

The recruits burst out laughing, but the sound died away like ducks being strangled under the sergeant's frozen expression.

"The Kel-Morians are destroying our planets. Their planetary excavation machines are plundering every resource they can find and shipping it back to their homeworld, Moria. The Kel-Morians are the most notorious mineral locusts in this star system. Their vile, greedy, and corrupt guild government intends to seize every resource in sight in the Koprulu Sector." The sergeant looked back and forth over their faces, as if each of them had a dozen lice on their heads.

"I know food rationing and fuel quotas have become the norm on your home planets, and you can blame it all on those Kel-Morian bastards. You need to understand that if the Confederate Marine Corps is defeated, Moria's guild government will ride roughshod over every Terran. Your parents and children will become mine laborers and the guild overlords' personal slaves," she said.

"The Kel-Morians worship bloodlines and cling to ancient traditions with almost obsessive rigidity. Under the rule of the Kel-Morian Combine, Terrans would undoubtedly become fourth-class citizens."

Augustus noticed a restless stir beside him. In the eyes of many Terrans, the Confederacy's imminent resource shortages, deflation, and stubbornly high unemployment were all the Kel-Morians' fault—not that of the war's instigators or the nobles and conglomerates sucking the blood from the giant that was the Terran Confederacy.

As the recruits burned with indignation, a group of dejected recruits walked past Augustus, about thirty of them. Two were carrying a blood-soaked stretcher.

The soldier on the stretcher was clearly a recruit too. He hadn't changed into his uniform and was still wearing his civilian clothes. A medic covered his face with a spotless white blanket. The recruits who witnessed it immediately realized with sorrow that someone had died on his first day of enlistment.

"The ship carrying them down was attacked by a squadron of three Kel-Morian Hellhounds. In the eyes of those airborne wolves, even the most heavily armored transport ship is just a juicy target."

The recruits didn't dare ask why the Confederacy's Avenger fighters hadn't escorted the transport ship. Even though they were soon to be replaced by the latest Wraith Fighters, the Avengers still had considerable disadvantages in maneuverability and firepower against the Kel-Morian Hellhounds.

Augustus, however, noticed a young man with black hair among them. His looks and build didn't stand out from the rest of the downcast recruits, but although he was still an unranked recruit like the others, he seemed to have the makings of a leader. The recruits followed him rather than the corporal leading the way.

Their eyes met briefly, and they looked away at the same instant.