First to Fight by Dan Cragg, David Sherman Read Free Book Online

didn’t really know any more about the Marines than his companions, probably less since he’d made the decision to join the Marines only the day before.
    Clearly annoyed that the recruits were lingering so long after breakfast, but unable to do anything about it, the civilian cafeteria workers tried as best they could to prepare for the noon meal.
    At 10:45 a voice cracked over the hubbub. “Attention on deck!” About half of the new recruits continued their conversations.
    The man who had called for attention was a sharp-looking corporal who’d entered the cafeteria quietly and unnoticed. When he saw he didn’t have the room’s full attention, he sighed and jumped onto a chair and from there onto an empty tabletop. “SILENCE!” he bellowed in a voice that carried more than two hundred years of parade-ground authority. Startled, the recruits turned their attention to him. The civilian workers had all heard this routine before and, since it wasn’t directed at them, ignored it.
    “That’s better,” the corporal said in a voice still powerful and penetrating but several decibels lower. He was of average height and build, with a dark complexion. His main distinguishing feature was a fierce, sweeping, black mustache. But with all eyes in the room fastened upon him, he seemed somehow larger than his actual physical size. Dean recognized the voice he’d used. His father had often projected his own that way and he called it his “command voice.” He also realized that this corporal was a man used to commanding and being obeyed.
    “I am Corporal Singh, and you are in my charge. From this moment until you finish your training on Arsenault—those of you who survive it—I will be with you, day and night.”
    “Oooh, one powerful, take-charge bozek, that corporal!” McNeal whispered into Dean’s ear.
    Somehow Singh heard. “Who said that?” he shouted. Again the recruits jumped at the sound of the corporal’s parade-ground voice. The cafeteria workers continued about their business. “Now you people listen up,” Singh shouted. “Two things I do not want to hear from any of you while I’m talking: your chow hole and your asshole!” The “hole” of “asshole” echoed in the comers of the room and out in the hallway, and people passing along the corridor on the floor above wondered idly who was doing all the shouting about holes. The silence that now descended upon the recruits was profound.
    “Now listen up! You people may think you’re about to embark on some kind of camping trip or big adventure. Well, I’m here to set you straight. My Marine Corps has been around for 225 years and we proudly trace our lineage all the way back to the United States Marine Corps, and through them to the Royal Marines of the United Kingdom—two of the fiercest bands of warriors ever to grace humanity. My job is to see that none of you screws up my Corps, and by all the prophets, I will see to it! We are warriors! That’s our sole reason for existence. We fight and we kill. Believe me, that is no kind of camping trip or big adventure. For more than two centuries we have fought in campaigns and wars everywhere there has been fighting.” As he spoke he paced back and forth on the tabletop. The recruits slowly edged closer to each other for protection from this suddenly very fearsome man. “Not once in our history have we been bested on the battlefield. Some of the fiercest fighters in Human Space have surrendered by the thousands without a shot being fired rather than risk being defeated by an eleven-man squad of Confederation Marines.
    “People, you are about to be tested,” Singh continued. “Shake all the civilian dust from your shoes. We are a proud force. We can go anywhere in Human Space and do more with less than anyone else. We go to places no one else has ever been. Beginning right now, we are going to find out which of you are good enough to qualify for membership in my Marine Corps.”
    All eyes were