1 - Heritage 2 - Luna Marine - MIS Series 1 by Douglas Ian

Author:Douglas, Ian [Douglas, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction - High Tech, Science Fiction - Space Opera, Fiction - Science Fiction, Mars (Planet), High Tech, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Space Opera, Fantasy - General, Fiction, Science fiction, Fantasy, Adventure, Life on other planets, General, Science fiction; American
ISBN: 9780380788293
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1999-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Recruit Platoon 4239

Parris Island Recruit Training

Center

1510 hours EDT

“Move it, move it, move it, recruits!” Gunnery Sergeant Knox yelled. “Hit that wall! Up and over! We don’t have all freakin’ day!”

Jack ran down the path, taking the muddy stretch in two steps, then leaping, high and hard, slamming against the wooden barrier, his outstretched arms snagging the log at the top three meters above the ground. He chinned himself, dragging his body up and over. Couldn’t have done that ten weeks ago, he thought, a little wildly. As he straddled the barrier, the next recruit behind him leaped and slammed; Lonnie Costantino’s hands were muddy from an earlier fall, and he nearly lost his precarious handhold. Without thinking, Jack reached down with a hard, forearm grip, helping the other recruit over the top.

“Thanks, man!” Lonnie gasped.

“Semper fi, man,” Jack repeated, dropping down the farside of the wall. Technically, each recruit was being timed on this run, with the results entered in his final record. In fact, the average time of the entire platoon was what counted toward the awards and honors ceremonies at graduation next week. It was one small part of the not-so-subtle process of indoctrination here. You could run the obstacle course as fast as you could and get the best personal time possible. Or you could help your platoon win.

By this time, the recruits scarcely needed to think about that. They were a unit, a team. The good of the platoon came before the good of any individual.

Knox was still shouting as more recruits came over the wall. “What’re you ladies waiting for? I don’t wanna see nothing here but amphibious green blurs!…”

Amphibious green Marines. It was an old concept, dating back at least to Vietnam. There were no black Marines, the saying went. No white or yellow or red Marines. Only amphibious green Marines. Recruit Platoon 4239 was down to fifty-one men now, and they made up a fair cross section of American society. Twelve were African-American, seven were Asian, fifteen were Latino. One, John Horse, was Lakota, while Gary Lim was Polynesian. Such distinctions, though, had been lost on the recruits a long time ago, lost in their step-by-step metamorphosis from civilians to Marines.

Another hard, quick run, a leap, a grab. Jack snatched hold of the Cable, a massive rope, stretched at an angle across the mud pit, which bounced and swung dizzyingly as he gripped it with hands and legs and began working his way along it, head down. If he slipped and fell, tradition demanded that he emerge from the mud singing the “Marine Corps Hymn” at the top of his voice; he’d done that a time or two in weeks past and knew it would knock precious seconds from his score.

He didn’t slip, not this time. He hit the ground running, as Knox made a notation on a PAD and kept on shouting. “Go-go-go-go!”

Jack attacked the final line of obstacles with a second wind that was more of the spirit than in his lungs.

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