~Could-have-been~
Author’s reasoning:
So I abandoned this, mostly because the idea of writing a story about basic training just… made me bored more than anything. It was going to be a set of short stories with this being the first one and then so on and so on and so on… and ending with Wutai. It was also an experiment with Flidget about last names. Everyone who writes a Zack-fic runs head first into the problem of what the hell to call him. She proposed we give him a Greek last name to make him stick out a little… that and we both read that Sandman story with the Greek family body-guarding Dream’s son, and they all had shaggy messy hair so we were inspired or something. So I suppose the other reason I vetoed this fic was “Zachary Sarantos” never stuck for me. Something is off with the flow and later I ditched it and reused the ideas to write ‘SeaLion Blues’ where Zack picked up the oh-so-normal family name of ‘Thomson.’ It’s easier to spell for one.
Some day I may come back and kick this, or just absorb it all together into something else, but I don’t have the heart to delete it, some of the dialog still makes me laugh.
--Lunar. (
*****
The hallways passed quickly beneath his ground eating stride as he cleared the lobby and headed for the elevators. His aide was almost jogging to keep up but hardly could complain. The general’s schedule for the morning was tight enough that even one additional delay could sent it, and the pale man’s temper into dangerous territory. Someone had thoughtfully left one of the tubes empty and waiting, either that or they had simply surrendered it in favor of the next one. Riding in an enclosed space with Shin Ra’s most promising and cold-blooded general was not something that was highly encouraged. Sephiroth flowed in to the elevator and settled himself against the back wall with an angry snap of leather on Plexiglas. The corporal hurried after him fumbling clipboard and case to tap in the appropriate code to get them on their way.
“How long for inspection.”
“Thirty minutes, sir.”
“… thirty minutes… for over a hundred new recruits… ludicrous.” The general abused the moment of semi-privacy to try and rub the beginnings of his daily headache away. It wasn’t critical that he get to know the new privates well; or even look them over at all. Every one of the young men down in the training complex was guaranteed to meet with the highest standards that Shin Ra could manageably uphold. They would be the pool from which potential SOLDIER candidates would be recruited from. They had to be the best.
// Physically, anyway… there are always the morons who manage to slip through the tests somehow. They’ll get funneled out eventually, maybe make it as high as sergeant but never into officer training. //
He had really already put of inspection for as long as possible. The new recruits were already several months old, some even ready for their first promotions. If he waited any longer they would be a good chance that some potentially qualified soldier would get funneled off into a different division before he could do a sweep for the best of a bad lot. With only thirty minutes however, he’d be lucky to see if /anyone/ made an impression.
// Which means that I leave it in the hands of the warrant officers and medical misfits to select people who have the appropriate scores and adaptability, and I get stuck with a bunch of useless grunts who lack the creativity to think their way out of a paper sack. I need qualified officers, not boot lickers or human-tanks. A battle is more than just pumping a man full of chemicals until he is the biggest strongest thing around and handing him a gun. There’s a little thing called /strategy/… //
There was no use getting angry. It was only
“Corporal.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do feel you could do your duties more efficiently if you had a subordinate?”
The graying man blinked, and blinked again. It was obviously unusual for him to have his opinion solicited on anything. Even after two years as the young general’s chief of staff he still jumped a little when queried directly about his duties.
“…I can manage, sir.”
“I didn’t ask if you can manage. I know you can manage otherwise I’d have said something long ago. I’m asking if we are starting to get over-run with the new shit coming down the pipe.”
“An assistant… wouldn’t hurt... sir?”
“File the appropriate paperwork and see that you get one then, just make sure he doesn’t get reduced to tears at the sight of me, and that his record is clean.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Aside from that pick whoever you damn like.”
“Thank you, sir”
“And stash them someplace outside my office. It’s cluttered enough already.”
“Yes, sir.”
The doors opened with a well-oiled hiss and the general took it as his cue to pick up the pace once again. “Time?”
“
“thirty minutes, hmmm?”
“The meeting with Miss Scarlet has already been postponed once.” It was neither a rebuke nor a hint. The corporal was incapable of either.
“Well then, let’s see what the warrant officers have scrapped of the street this time, shall we?” The question was rhetorical, and they both knew it. Sephiroth’s heavy boots created strange echoes as he turned down the scuffed hall leading to the arena. The mechanism on these doors was in less good repair, rattling slightly as the wide entrance was revealed.
“Attention! Right-face to greet your General!”
Ready and waiting, row after row of blue-uniformed enlistees dropped the butts of their riffles into the sand as their other arm came up for a sharp salute. It looked good. It ought to have. The young men had probably been practicing just that move for the better part of a week.
// Even a trained ape can salute… but can any of these spit-heads /fight/? //
He crossed the packed dirt floor of the inspection field with a little more attention to precision than usual, remembering to return the stiff salute of the duty sergeant and nod that he could continue with the presentation.
“Companies B, C, and D. Return to your assigned training sections! Company A, remains here for first inspection!”
In the furor of the groups breaking away from the field and quick marching to their stations, Sephiroth leaned over for a private word with the gruff man. “Simmons, right?”
“Yes sir?”
“Has anyone else come by to take a look yet?”
“The President was here for the official…” The man stopped seeing that wasn’t what the general was interested in. “General Hovik was down last week, took some names. I haven’t received any official transfer orders yet…”
‘He hasn’t filed any, I checked. But then there is nothing ‘officially’ allowed until after they’ve completed six months of basic training… Shit. Did you note, by any chance who Hovik seemed interested in?”
The sergeant grinned slightly. “Yes sir. No surprises there sir, there are some interesting characters in this lot.”
“Are there now... Anything workable?”
“I think so.”
“Do me a favor and point them out as we go then. Can’t let that old man get /all/ the goods now can we.”
The grizzled sergeant’s face twitched again, a less disciplined man might have smiled. Sephiroth met the curious gaze with his usual impassive mask. “Yes sir.” Sergeant Simmons turned back to the fidgety line of young men still waiting. “Prepare for inspection by the General!”
*****
Stripping off their jackets into tidy bundles on the waiting bench, Company B breathed a collective sigh of relief. Judo practice was almost vacation compared to the alternative. General Sephiroth was nothing like the other brass who had come to stare them down earlier in the week. He was a /doer/. You could tell just by looking at the man. He and the SOLDIER program were flagged as both the most prestigious and most dangerous career path that a recruit could hope to pursue after enlisting. Most of the privates were split evenly into two camps, those who were jumping at the chance to be tested on the slim chance that they would pass and be tapped for the elite squads, and the other group who were already plotting just how they would make sure to /fail/ said exams in order to follow more mundane routes to greatness.
Zack shrugged off his uniform jacket with silent delight before folding it back into its crisp lines. The high-buttoned collar always felt as though it was slowly strangling him. Apparently it was something a person got used to in time. Lining up with his teammates he tried hard to behave while they were paired off for sparing practice. The urge to kick the heels of the chattering soldier in front of him was high, but getting involved in an altercation within line of sight of the sternest commandant Shin Ra had to offer seemed like a bad idea. It turned out his patience was rewarded. The drill sergeant took care of the trouble-maker for him via the simple expedient of cracking the man and his conversation partner across the shoulder with his nightstick and issuing five demerits for each.
// If you’re not going to take your training seriously, what the fuck are you doing trying to get into the advanced programs anyway. Just fail out and stop wasting the rest of our time. //
The young man saluted his officer when his name was called, and jogged of to his assigned grid location. He was greeted by a half smile from the second private already in position. The curly haired soldier was about a year older than him, but it was hardly unusual. Most of the men in his company were at least a year older. Luckily, he wasn’t the youngest, or the smallest, so most of the bullies didn’t notice he existed. Zack got his fair share of ribbing and jokes about being a ‘country boy’ but the one man who had tried to make something more of it had soon learned the error of picking a fight with the usually cheerful recruit.
// And he failed out two weeks ago. No surprise there, he had monkey crap for brains. //
“Bow to your opponent!”
“I’ll get you back for those bruises, Zack-my-man.”
“I think I hear your mother calling, Dave… she says you forgot to pack your /dress/.”
There was no real malice in their jibes, just the expected grandstanding between two young men who were about to be graded on their ability to wipe the floor with one another. When the whistle blew the spiky-haired youth easily lunged forward and flipped his partner to the mat. The taller youth countered with a sharp leg swipe, which was avoided, and a knee-grab, which was not. Zack fell hard, his only real asset being that he fell /on/ his persistent friend. After a quick scramble they were both on their feet.
“So /that’s/ the /amazing/ Sephiroth, huh… I dunno, he doesn’t look all /that/… Doesn’t even wear a proper uniform. Jeez, put a shirt on… ya know?”
“I don’t know anything about that, but a man doesn’t walk around with seven feet of steel strapped to his back if he doesn’t know how to use it. Maybe if you’ve got mako instead of blood you don’t feel the cold like normal people.”
“Stupid if you ask me. Getting pumped full of chemicals… have you heard the mortality rates?”
“I saw the numbers.”
“Dude, I’d take General Hovik over suicide for that prima-donna any day.” They fell silent as an instructor paced by, exchanging punches and kicks in an energetic way.
“Hovik seems… a little boring for my tastes.”
“Well he sure as hell seemed interested in /you/… I was in the dispensary the other day and sorta... you know… was looking around…”
“You’re going to get kicked out one of these days.”
“Well aren’t /you/ the momma’s boy… Like you haven’t done worse.” A sharp hit to the chin stalled him a moment and he glared at his partner. “/Anyway/ the rumor is the old man Hovik has you flagged for Special Ops… not to shabby huh?”
“I’d have to go through basic /and/ commissioned training first even if that was more than a random rumor. Nothing I can do about it now…”
“You are so…” He caught another punch, this time in the chest. “Shit, will you knock it off?!”
“You’re not paying attention.”
“Stupid Jungle-brat.”
“City-fed fat ass.”
Grinning they battled until the whistle.
*****
The sergeant waited until A Company was filing off to the artillery range before adding his own commentary to what the general had already observed. Sephiroth signaled his aide to make note of a few of the more interesting candidates. The files would be pulled for his inspection by tomorrow afternoon. Waiving that the older man should lead the way, the white-haired general watched a second group of new soldiers go through basic hand combat drills. The rattle of sporadic gunfire from the other side of the room did little to improve his headache and he almost lost the first commentary his guide had to offer.
“… and there are a pair of cousins from Junion who both did very well on the entrance exams… came in with some basic skills too, that’s always a plus.”
“Small arms and…?”
“Mechanics, surprisingly. They’re fair behind the wheel too.”
“Hmmm.” He watched the younger of the two men spar only to be distracted as a shaggy-headed teen flipped his opponent to the mat with easy grace. “What about that one?”
“Private Sarantos? He’s definitely one of those ‘interesting characters’ I was telling you about…”
“Sarantos? Must be from Gonga with a name like that.”
“Hell yes. If he wasn’t so damn likable the city kids would have had him in a locker or head down in an air vent on his first day. Came straight out of the bush from the sounds of it.”
“Isn’t there a Captain Sarantos?”
“An uncle I think, sir.”
“Ah… and what can the boy do?”
“Well, like most of the country lads, he’s got a good head start on the physical skills. His stamina is good, and he has a good understanding of small arms and hand-to…” The old man winced at the youth tossed his opponent again.
“His reflexes are good.” Sephiroth hadn’t meant to be so complimentary. There was something curious about the young man’s easy smile. “… I suppose what perks he has in muscle are compensated for by being blindingly illiterate? Isn’t that how it goes with the farm-bred ones?”
“Usually… but Zack seems pretty sharp… you’ll see his scores on the entrance exams I’m sure… he may be no Professor Ghast… We’re talking mid-level official schooling if anything beyond what his parents taught him… but he is a reader, and is rather proactive about things. ‘Motivated,’ you might say, sir.”
“He looks like a trouble-maker.”
“No more wild than most his age… a bit of a comedian, but only on his own time, sir.”
The general allowed a ghost of a smile. “You seem quite fond of him.”
“Best of the lot in my opinion, sir. With a little luck, he’ll go far.” The wrinkled sergeant scratched his head in thought. “Of course, I told the same thing to the other general.”
“Of course.” The next whistle brought all the men up to the front, standing at attention as best they could. Sephiroth silently glanced down the line his sharp eye catching the occasional fidget as the winded soldiers fought to remain immobile. Up close, the sergeant’s star pupil had even wilder hair than expected. The regulation hair cut was almost lost completely by the fly-away nature of the black mess; giving the man the appearance of recently having an accident of an electrical nature.
// I wonder that he doesn’t just shave it off… It must be damn near impossible to pass morning inspection like that… // He didn’t miss the twinkle apparent in the young soldier’s otherwise impassive eyes.
// ‘Motivated’ hmmm? Definitely a prankster I’ll bet… // Still, he decided, it would be interesting to see what the file would say. Someone, Simmons most likely, would flag the man for officer training if he qualified, and that would either make or break the trooper’s career. There was nothing wrong with a little ambition after all, provided it was channeled in the right direction.
“Next Company, Sergeant.”
“Yes sir.”
*****
It was test-time again. The exams flipped back and forth, paper then practical, then paper again. Zack listened to the swearing all around him as the fake reveille looped over on itself for the third and last time. There was no sense in getting up until a person absolutely had to. He rubbed his face, grumbling as his bunk-mate almost stepped on him in clambering down off his bed.
“Watch where you put those elephant-feet Pierson.”
“Get out of bed you lazy jackass.”
He had a comeback, a good one, snappy and ready to go. It was far too early however, to squabble with people. There were more important things to do anyway, like wash, and eat, and be fit for inspection. The soldier vainly tried to flatten his hair into something that didn’t resemble a bird’s nest.
// Why the hell did they have to cut all my hair off… damnit, gravity was the only thing keeping it even remotely manageable… // He had briefly toyed with getting it cut shorter this time, but somehow he figured that it would only exacerbate the problem. His hair wasn’t entirely nappy -- so it couldn’t be called an afro in complete accuracy -- but it was certainly close enough.
// Cutting it shorter would mean that instead of being mop-like, it would just Stick. Straight. Out. Yeah… no thanks… I don’t want to be known as the human puffer-fish. //
“Come on /ladies/! We have an early start today, if you’re not on that jeep by oh-seven-hundred, you might as well go home to your family because you won’t be needed here!”
“Yes, sir…”
A quick shower forced his hair to behave long enough to pass muster, and then it didn’t matter. They were donning helmets and paint guns before being pushed on the trucks to take them out into the field. He grimaced at his supposed breakfast. The little compressed ration bar consisted of something vaguely ‘fruit and grain’ like but had an aftertaste more akin to pesticide.
// Probably /is/ pesticide. //
“What I wouldn’t give for scrambled eggs.”
“Better hurry up and become a general, Sarantos. Get yourself a private mess-hall and everything.”
“Shut up, Foster.”
“Dude, I wouldn’t mind a private mess… or hell, I’d settle for /any/ mess-hall… it’s a good a reason as any to get picked up by special forces… at least they eat /real/ food…” Listening to the others in his truck pick up the thread of conversation, each waxing eloquent on their favorite food only made him hungrier.
“Right, it’s decided. The first one of us to get tapped for a better job… treats all the others to a night of fine dining at ChocoBob’s barbeque. Beer optional.” He balled up his wrapper and bounced it off the blonde critic who happened to be sitting across from him. “What do you say, Mister-Private-Second-Class-Rob-Foster-sir?”
“Sure, I’m in… Once you start officer training you get better pay anyway.” The idea of getting actual /pay/ instead of the meager allowance they all currently drew caused a collective sigh. The crew-cut man grinned. “Besides, one more promotion, and I’ll be getting out of this weenie outfit anyway… those bastards better send me up for advanced training… if I’m made a sergeant, I’ll kill something.”
“Amen to that.” After six months of basic training, getting drilled on daily on things he had mastered on the second try, Zack was ready for a change.
The truck rattled its way along the last stretch of city highway and bumped onto the dirt roads of the great Midgar plain. Some of the soldiers stared at the open dirty landscape around them in wonder, having lived in the city for their whole lives. Those who had come from beyond the great metropolis looked around with less enthusiasm. The dark-haired soldier noted some random bikers in the distance. Any thugs or locals would have to be out of their right minds to try and stir up trouble with a troop convoy, but then it could be said that the bikers weren’t exactly /sane/ either.
// It would almost be fun to pick a fight… except all they gave us is the damn training guns… damnit I want my sword back. //
Like many of the trainees from more rural areas, he had come already equipped with a blade. When you had to fend for yourself outside of town on a daily basis it just made sense to have a weapon at hand. The less you had to reload it, the better the weapon was. He didn’t consider himself to be any sort of expert, but he knew he was easily better than half the men in his squad. It didn’t hurt that he had probably had his the longest, or had real teachers once or twice in his past. The memory of his uncle visits as a boy reminded him that he was over due to visit the man himself. Far more urban than his brother, the older Sarantos had made a life for himself in Midgar, climbing the ranks of the Shin Ra army in a way that Zack’s father had often grumbled was ‘immoral.’ His father thought a lot of things were ‘immoral.’ Zack had stopped listening to the man years ago.
// Just call me a bad seed… // He grinned wolfishly at the morning sunshine. It was a hell of a day for a fight.
*****
“You, Sarantos… you’re on ‘Team 1’. Everyone, when your team is assembled, choose a single commander and have them report here for briefing.”
Grabbing his toy-gun, the dark-haired soldier slid out of the back of the truck to join his group. Ten people in all – drawn by random lots – he was pleasantly surprised at the mix. They might just have a chance of winning this thing. The group of young men looked around at each other for a silent moment.
“So…” His prompt only seemed to make the others jumpier. “… Anyone going to volunteer to be the heroic leader?”
Pierson, looking more than a little grey under the pressure, turned to give him a twisted smile. “Sure… I’ll volunteer /Zack/ as team leader. All in favor?” His smile grew broader as the rest of the trainees immediately chorused their ‘aye’s.
“You’re kidding.”
“Get to it, leader-boy.”
Shouldering his gun with a shrug, the private simply laughed. “Suit yourselves. If I get you all killed you’ll know better next time.”
The rules of the ‘game’ were actually quite simple. Various teams would take turns attacking and defending key points, points given for kills, teamwork, strategy, and success in actually defeating the enemy. As far as he could tell it was almost like one massive ‘capture the flag’ tournament. Eventually there would be one team left who would out perform the others enough to deserve the paltry prize of food and beer. After all the discussion of the ‘ideal breakfast’ in the truck, Zack was by no means going to turn down the chance to have a proper steak dinner.
// If I work it just right… I might even be able to ‘acquire’ one of those big screen TVs from the conference rooms and we could maybe catch a game… // Defeat was not an option. He had lived the life of ‘long suffering recruit’ more than long enough.
// Amazing how a man will gleefully consider murder when offered the chance at some good food after a few months of eating crap. // The soldier looked around at his soon-to-be-enemies and smiled.
// Oh but this is going to be fun. //
*****
does it need a battle scene? Probably.
*****
“So there’s no question of the officer training… the question is… under whom, and to what end?”
“Exactly.”
“He’s Special Ops. There’s no question. He already shows that he has the required moral flexibility… You /saw/ him on the field today… That boy understands the meaning of ‘get the job done’… He ran five simulations and only lost two men.” The field sergeant sat back in his chair with a satisfied huff.
The two doctors on the board looked over the trainee’s stats and then up at the screen where his image and other information were displayed. “He posses above average tolerance levels, and adaptation indexes. Combine that with a well-balanced psyche and he is a prime candidate for the SOLDIER program.”
“Have any groups expressed special interest in him?” Warrant Officer Molly Grant was looking more awake than she had in a while, contemplating the cheerfully grinning face on the display.
“All three of the generals have requests on file.”
“Figures.” She rubbed her face. There were at least twenty more placement decisions to be made before the end of the week and it was rare that a situation came up where groups were actually /fighting/ over an applicant. Usually her problem was more getting the general in question to accept another young officer into their ranks. “And whoever doesn’t get him will probably be pissed as hell…”
Molly flipped through the names on her list. “Rollo probably wants him for some deep-sea ops…. Hovik is to be given priority for anyone willing to do dirty work… and Sephiroth… he’ll be a grumpy bastard no matter how many we give him.”
“The boy is biologically suited for the SOLDIER program.”
“Is he…?” She looked up at the handsome young face on the screen. Even in a still shot, there was something horribly charismatic about that wide grin. Most of the photos that flashed by her desk were, pompous, arrogant, or just plain lost-looking. This one looked almost as if it was a candid. If it weren’t for the official background on the image, identical to all the others, she might have assumed it was some sort of prank.
// Such a happy looking guy… // It wasn’t that she had anything against SOLDIERS or the program involved. The ‘super army’ project and its successful poster-child general were obviously good for the company, and so good for her. There was no way she could forget however, that for every six men who began the training, only four survived the chemical changes required.
// and that is /with / the intensive screenings… //
There was every chance that Private Second Class Zackary Sarantos would make it through the entire ordeal with flying colors. She looked at the smiling face and balked at the idea.
// I don’t want to be the one responsible… if he doesn’t make it. At least on a SWAT squad he won’t have to worry about whether he’s human or not… and he can always be re-evaluated later… //
“Put him on Hovik’s team.”
“But sir!”
“My decisions are final. Get the man into school and forward his papers onto Hovik’s office.”
“Yes sir.” Both of the scientists looked like they had been fed whole lemons.
// Hah, and there’s the other reason. I’d do just about anything to make sure you bastards don’t take over our army. Sit on your stools and spin, you oily geeks. //
One last look at the cheerful ID photo told her that she had made the right choice. “Right then, I’m going to go get a smoke. Meet back here in ten.”
*****
*****
*****