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

enlisted Marine? Well?” He stopped in front of one edgy recruit and almost shouted that last word directly into his face.
    The recruit looked nervously side to side, tried to press himself farther back into the bodies to his rear, but they were too tightly packed for him to squeeze through.
    “N-n-no, Corporal,” he finally stuttered. “My parents didn’t do that. They don’t have any political friends.”
    Singh pulled back from him, looked disdainfully at the others. “Any of you? I want to know who the political appointees are so you can be washed out of my Marine Corps now, before you have a chance to become a blight that will rot this Corps at its core!”
    Nobody spoke up.
    “You’re sure,” Corporal Singh said. “None of you are political appointees. We’ll see. I guarantee you, anyone in this room who isn’t fit to be a Marine won’t last out the training on Arsenault. Now, form up on me. Four ranks. By height. Move!”
    The recruits milled and shuffled about, but came no closer to getting into formation—nobody wanted to be in that front rank.
    “Aargh!” Singh finally cried out. “You, you, you, and you.” He pointed to the four tallest. “Over here.”
    The four reluctantly went to where he pointed and clustered against the wall.
    “You.” Singh pointed to one of the four. “Stay where you are. You,” he pointed to a second, “stand three feet in front of him. You,” he pointed at the third, “three feet in front of him. You,” the last, pale recruit, “three feet in front of him. Now,” he said when the four were lined up as he directed, “that didn’t hurt, did it?”
    Singh returned his attention to the others. “You, you, you, and you.” He pointed to the next tallest. “Line up next to them, an arm’s length away.”
    One of the four sprinted to stand next to the one against the wall. The others saw him and ran as well. The slowest looked aghast as he realized he was going to be in the front row.
    Singh turned back to the remaining recruits. “See, it’s easy. Now, look around you, see who you’re taller than, who you’re shorter than, and line up accordingly. If you don’t see anyone shorter than you, get to the end of the line.” He moved back several paces to give them as much room as they needed and stood easy with his arms folded over his chest. It took longer than it might have, but less than it could have, before they were standing in formation. It was a sloppy formation. Hardly anybody was directly behind anybody else, and their left-to-right dress was as crooked as a broken-backed snake. But it was a formation.
    “I’m not going to give you proper marching orders,” Singh said when the recruits stopped milling about and were all standing still, facing him. “You wouldn’t understand them and I’d only have to repeat myself.” He still used his parade-ground voice, but it held no trace of anger or frustration. “You will do what I say, when I say, and how I say, and we will all be on the bus in a few minutes and on our way to the shuttle port. Once we are aboard the Purdom, the next stop will be Confederation Marine Recruit Depot, Arsenault. Welcome aboard, people. Start walking through the door. You too, bigmouth.” McNeal scrambled to his feet and joined the rear of the formation.
    On the way out of the cafeteria, Dean realized that Corporal Singh had walked into a room full of noisy, energetic young men—none of whom knew him, and most of whom were bigger than he was—and gotten them all to be quiet, listen to him, and do what he said. Singh had not hit anyone nor threatened violence—he had done it all strictly with the force of his voice. Suddenly, he knew this was something he wanted to be able to do himself, he wanted that parade-ground voice—and everything that went with it.

CHAPTER
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    THREE
    When the fifty-five recruits finally boarded the shuttle and the flight attendants checked that the restrainers holding them into the