Earth's Last Judgement Ch. 04

"Once you hear the click, you wait for confirmation. If the connection is successful, the red light will turn green." The man gestured toward the green light. "Then, and only then, do you open the flow line from the activation switch. Once pressed, the switch will lock," he went on, stepping back and releasing the handle for all the cadets to see.

Oz did his best to look engaged. You didn't get this far without having memorized the parts of a fuel injector, though. This was week two boot camp material. A few others leaned in, pretending to need a better look.

They worked their way from the lock clamp to the fuel cells beneath the ground, then they took turns clamping the practice connector in silence. There were only eleven in Oz's group. There were meant to be twelve. Someone hadn't made it to the fourth day.

Most of the cadets he didn't recognize. They were from other camps. Few from his own class had made the grades to become a pilot, and fewer still had wanted it. They had all chosen to sit on core worlds and pretend the human race wasn't on the brink. They wanted the rights and privileges of a soldier, without the actual sacrifice. The shame their parents must have felt.

When they were done with the fuel injector, their instructor, Corporal Plenge, quizzed them on the order of cleaning down the jets. They walked through the tools and chemicals, and then were sent off to service the ships in teams.

Oz was paired with a cadet that was taller, and lankier than him. He had an accent that was hard to place. They were directed to a ship called the Hellblazer. Oz climbed into the pod and his partner started the hose down below.

The pilot's pod wasn't what he had expected. The lines of it were different than the simulator's, and from his manual. This seemed cleaner, and newer. The inside was nearly spotless, but he scrubbed it cleaner and wiped it dry. He reached his hand into the side holster and pulled free the firearm last.

Dark lines traced around the last few inches of the barrel in a spiral. It weighed nearly nothing. He recognized it as an RM-91. Two modes of sonic burst, single fire and spray. Deadly up to ninety-five meters. Oz wiped it down, and slid it back into the holster. Then he went to help his partner polish the last of the frame down.

The cadets walked as a group back to the barracks twenty minutes later, rushing slightly to make their simulator time.

"Can't believe they had us working on fuel clamps again. They told us we'd be in the air by now. They've got techs to fuel that shit."

Oz shook his head, as his lanky partner continued to run his mouth. They weren't allowed to speak to each other outside of training. They all knew the rules.

"I was falling asleep," another cadet chimed in.

Oz grit his teeth and walked faster.

"Did you check out the gun?" someone in the back asked.

"Nah, he was hogging it," the lanky boy said, nodding to Oz. "Ya gotta learn to share next time, private," he grinned.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Oz growled.

The hallways finally went quiet for a moment. Then the other boys were laughing again. But not one of them spoke again as they entered the dormitory and split apart.

Amateurs, he thought.

Corporal Greaves was waiting for him in the room, reading a book. "All finished then?"

Oz nodded. They were off to the simulator room again half a breath later. Today, he faced an overwhelming swarm of enemy.

His ship was immediately ripped in half by gunfire. "If the odds are impossible, and you have command's approval, it's better to escape and fight again another day," Greaves told him. "There are fewer and fewer new ships making it to the front lines. Preserve what you can. And, if you can't, at least keep the enemy from getting any scrap of it intact."

"But I didn't have permission to escape, sir," Oz told him.

"And you still don't. Run it again."

Greaves' hand kept a steady beat against the Start button as Oz plummeted down to the virtual planet and died again and again beneath the crushing wave of fighters.

It was tedious, but Oz trusted in the system. He was certain that he was learning a lesson, at some level or another.

They broke for lunch, ate quickly, and hit the gym for two hours. By the end of it, the boy's hands were shaking and he couldn't uncurl his fingers again. Greaves sent him down to the fourth floor, where the cadet's shower room was stationed in an unused and unkempt corridor.

Oz stripped quickly, ambivalent to the other cadets chattering on behind him. He braced for the weak spray of icy water.

As the first burst spilled over his face, his air was cut off by a belt around his throat. The world exploded into white light as his head hit the tile floor. His hands went instinctively to his face just as the blows rained down across his body.

He rolled to his knees, but the belt held him in place and a flurry of kicks struck out against his belly and legs.

The belt pulled free and cracked against his back. Oz collapsed, cradling his head between his elbows. Someone tried to strike between his legs, and he rolled wildly, exposing his face and belly again. A kick to the side of his rips made him scream, and then the blows slowed, and then stopped.

"Remember private," a voice called over him. "If someone asks what happened to you, you shut your fucking mouth."

After a few minutes of a silence, he crawled up to his elbows, and found the room was empty and his shower had cut itself off. He tried to stand, but there was a sharp pain in his ribs, and he could hear his breath wheezing. He sat back down on the the drain, trying to think of what to do, and how he was going to get back up the steps. Every time he tried to think of a solution, his mind drifted off again.

Oz wiped away a dribble of blood that ran down his eye. They'd cut his scalp somehow. Thankfully, his attackers had been naked too, other than the belt. It would have been a lot worse if they had used their service boots.

The door to the bathroom opened and Greaves stepped inside. Oz saw a few other cadets behind him, peering in curiously. They weren't the ones that had attacked him, though.

"Can you stand?" Greaves asked. Oz shook his head. "Well, you're gonna have to try," the corporal muttered, bending down to pull the boy's arm over his shoulder.

There was a sharp streak of pain along his side and down his body, but that was the worst of it. They hadn't damaged his knees or feet. If it hadn't been for his rib, he suspected he could have walked it off.

Greaves guided him to the officer's elevator and flashed a badge against the reader to open it. They were on the first floor in a moment, and heading off to the infirmary.

No one asked him what had happened. Violence wasn't tolerated, but only if it was reported.

And what was the best case, Oz wondered. That the Last Judgement loses four privates? Did the Earth have that many to spare?

Strength was all that mattered. And those boys were stronger than him. They were probably outsparring him, too.

Sneaking up on them and cracking their heads open with a pipe would be satisfying, but... No, he would certainly be expelled from the program then. And the LJ's would still be down two recruits.

The doctors ran a quick scan down his chest, then sent him back to the dorms with an ice pack and a shot of pain killers. Greaves met him in the hallway outside the infirmary, carrying a sack of food. Oz ate it as they hobbled back to the room.

Gym time was cancelled for the day, and they went right back to the simulator. The G forces were dialed down to practically nothing.

"If you don't take time to heal, you'll delay us even more," Greaves snapped when the boy complained about it.

Oz didn't speak for the rest of the session unless he had to. Greaves would give commands, and Oz would follow them. One by one, they worked through the programs they could.

"You need to have passed through program twenty by the end of next Friday. On full gravity," the corporal told him. "Then there's a practical on what you've learned in your outside sessions. Then a written."

Oz nodded, and limped his way back to the dorm to study. It was all he was fit to do, it seemed.

That night, he was ordered back to the corner. He had lost his space in the bed.

There was a knock at the door before lights out. A man as tall and broad as Greaves stepped inside, not giving the boy a glance. He was at least five or six years younger than the corporal was.

The corporal was already nude, and waiting on top of the sheets. He rose and slipped his legs off the edge of the mattress to greet the man. The stranger stripped quickly and stepped between Greaves' legs.

They kissed and stroked at each other at the edge of the bed. Oz silently rose from the ground to watch. He saw them both growing more excited, until their cocks brushed back and forth between their muscled bodies.

The guest slowly lowered himself to his knees. Greaves' eyes became distant as the man stroked him with his mouth and tongue. His lips opened as he let out a sigh. Suddenly, he grabbed the stranger under the armpits and dragged him up onto the bed. He tossed the younger man down, mounted him, then turned around and entered the man's mouth.

Oz slid as quietly as he could across the floor, to get a better view. He saw the stranger's thick cock disappearing into Greaves' mouth. He saw the man's sack, tight and entirely hairless, bobbing in the air between his legs. And he saw the corporal's hips pumping in the air, burying his own cock down into the other man's mouth.

Oz's hands reached unconsciously toward his own erection. He grunted as his fingers wrapped tight around the shaft, feeling the overwhelming rush of need. He pushed out a shaky breath and, summoning the last of the day's willpower, he released his hand. He set both palms firmly to the ground and held them firm by his fingernails.

It was sacrilege to spar alone. That was how you grew weaker. It defeated everything that they were doing here.

He would have his pleasure when he had earned it.

The men grew wilder as they went. Their muscles began to bulge and ripple across their bodies. Their skin grew red. Their balls became darker as they grew tighter. They began to rock as the man beneath tried to roll and get on top. He saw Greaves' body swell as he worked to hold the man still, his hips pumping down harder.

The younger man's legs rose, gripping the corporal's head between his thighs. The man's ass bulged with muscle as he twisted. He nearly had Greaves' head pushed to the mattress. Both of their bodies looked slick with sweat. Their veins swelled and their tendons pulled tight. It seemed an even draw.

Greaves' hips pumped harder and harder. Oz could hear the harsh clap of meat striking against meat. The man below began to sink, and then he deflated completely. The fight was over.

Greaves flipped their guest over onto his belly. The man had a drunk, vacant look in his eyes as he collapsed flat against the sheets. Greaves mounted the man from behind, held him in a headlock, and finished with a deafening scream of victory.

A few minutes later, the corporal slid out of him and the stranger staggered to his feet. His eyes caught Oz's for the first time.

"Do I at least get your boy?"

Greaves sneered without turning. "He didn't earn it today."

The man shrugged as Greaves threw his legs over the edge of the bed. The man stepped backward, easing between them again. Greaves reached around and tugged at the man's cock with both hands. A few minutes later, Oz watched the muscles bulge and tense across his body again. The spray jetted out and splashed against the floor.

The stranger collected his clothes and was gone before he had even finished dressing.

The lights went out. Oz kept his palms held firmly to the ground, the pain of his ribs long forgotten. He starred through the dark, thinking of nothing, listening to the corporal's snores. Sweat dripped down to his chin, sprinkling across his leg.

Sleep and sparring were for victors. Today, he had lost. Tomorrow, the slate was wiped clean and he would try again.

He breathed in the smell of musk and seed. The nails of his fingers scratched harder against the tiles. Oz glared down at them, and waited out the night with gritted teeth.