Second Chance War 5 History And Tactical Maneuvers Class 1

From the barracks in the northeastern part of camp, it's about a ten minute march to the cla.s.srooms in the southwestern part of the camp. Chow hall is next to it, which is unfortunate because everyone feels sleepy after eating the slop they serve in mess hall. Thomas also found it hard to concentrate on a belly full of bad food in his previous life.

Thomas thought about it for a second, and came to the conclusion that they did that on purpose. After all, who doesn't feel sleepy on a full stomach? Coupled with the fact that you had to listen to an instructor drone on about the different tactics used throughout history and how they all apply to today? It was way too much for the old him to handle. This time though, he'll make sure to stay awake if it kills him.

It was eleven forty five and they had fifteen minutes until HTMC started. Which means in reality they had five minutes to eat, but Thomas didn't care. He wolfed down his food and a nearby recruit looked at him aghast.

"How can you eat this s.h.i.+t so f.u.c.king fast?" The recruit was a man of medium height with a hawkish looking face and piercing eyes. He wasn't the ugliest, but he wasn't pretty either. "Oh, the name,s McLaney by the way, I'm from New York."

When you listened to him speak though, it sounds like he added some letters and left some out, his accent was really rough and tumble, making it sound like he said "Nu Yawk".

"Name's Conlin, but you can call me Thomas," Thomas replied, "Oh and we have about five minutes to eat this before we march of to the tactics cla.s.sroom." Thomas was only half paying attention to McLaney, dinner was a long way away and he'd rather fill his belly full now so that he'd have energy later.

"How do you know that s.h.i.+t? What are you Jesus?" A nearby recruit snickered after overhearing their small and short conversation. It was Recruit McSnickers from earlier that morning. "The name's Joshua, not Recruit McSnickers, so don't get any funny ideas about calling me such."

This went on and on before too long five minutes had pa.s.sed and the drill sergeant walked in.

"All right ladies, empty your trays, it's time for cla.s.s!" Drill Sergeant Lloyd did not have to shout because the mess hall went silent shortly after he walked in. He now had a reputation of sorts for being a hard a.s.s and willing to go to any length to put a recruit in line, even if it meant punis.h.i.+ng everyone else with them.

Recruits McLaney and Joshua gave Conlin the evil eye as if he was bad news or something. Neither of them wanted to go to any sort of cla.s.s, they were here to learn how to be soldiers. Thomas honestly didn't want to go to cla.s.s anymore than they did.

They all got up from their tables and one by one marched out the door whilst throwing their trays into the trash can, they were disposable after all. Drill Sergeant Lloyd gave Thomas Conlin an appraising look. He felt that the recruit wasn't as simple as he seemed and his gut feeling tells him that Thomas might be hiding more than he let on, judging from how clean his plate was, to how he's been during the whole days exercise and even this morning's wake up call.

Indeed, if the drill sergeant knew about Thomas's previous life, he would probably tear his own hair off. Thomas noticed the drill sergeant's odd gaze and suddenly became alarmed. It couldn't be the drill sergeant is starting to suspect me, he thought. No, that's impossible, n.o.body could know that he's already lived through this war, in a manner of speaking. He quenched the panic, now is not the time to think about it, he could always make something up later if the drill sergeant asks him.

After marching into the cla.s.sroom, they all took their seats and waited about five minutes. It was currently five to noon, and their HTMC instructor walked in. They all stood up and saluted.

"Afternoon recruits, my name is Instructor Wilson and you will refer to me as such, you will also not speak when not spoken to, do I make myself clear?" Instructor Wilson, looked them over and nodded as he saw a few people in the cla.s.sroom who seemed to really want to be here.

The instructor himself was a tall man, about six-three and he had the muscle to go with it. He was about in his late forties, but you really couldn't tell unless you were studying him closely. If you asked anyone he looked more like a gym trainer or a bodybuilder than he did a cla.s.sroom instructor. His face wasn't handsome, but it wasn't ugly either, rather plain. He was just your average soldier, or so everyone thought.

"Listen up, I may be the instructor, but unlike yourselves, I am also a veteran of The Great War," he paused to let that sink in, it garnered a few looks of respect from some of the recruits. Thomas already knew all of this of course, but that doesn't mean he had any less respect for the man. Instructor Wilson was know for being tough, but good. As long as you followed the rules and toed the line, he would have no problems with you.

"Now, some of you may be wondering why bother to learn tactics, maneuvers, and the histories behind them. Let me remind you that training your body is not the only way to become a great soldier." He paused to take a quick breath, "brute strength can't solve everything, and when your strength fails you, your mind becomes the solution. That doesn't mean you can slack off on your physical training either." He gave a quick snort and an evil eye to some of the recruits who were only half paying attention.

"Sometimes, your mind can be a deadlier tool than your body, your rifle, or even the man next to you in the trenches. In my cla.s.s you will learn how to shape your mind into a deadly tactical tool. You will learn to read maps, to pincer the enemy, how to trick the enemy, how to trick your friends, you will learn how to think your way through a situation." Instructor Wilson gave them a giant s.h.i.+t eating grin. "Let's begin."