Doom Fleet: The Boot Camp Years

Sad Shape

By Cheezey

It was what Private Cossack considered a truly evil hour of the morning—before what passed for breakfast in the mess hall was even served—when Force Captain Yurak ordered his entire unit to assemble at the gym for what Vardash had warned them would be “intensive, grueling training” that would “whip you wimpy worms into shape!” Cossack, Yaklitz, and the other men of the unit all found it rather ironic and more than a little galling that their chunky lieutenant had the nerve to talk trash about their fitness while remaining tight-lipped about how his own evaluation with Nurse Urga on physicals day had gone, but orders were orders and they were but lowly privates in Doom’s royal fleet so they had no choice but to show up and do as they were told.

When they arrived, clad in standard navy blue Doom fleet issue tank tops, shorts, and black sneakers, they found their stern canine-faced force captain waiting for them with a clipboard in hand. Yurak had the standard workout gear on as well, although his shirt was the red and gold appropriate of his rank, and he did not have on the cybernetic gauntlet that he usually wore. Although it made him look less mechanical, it made him look no less mean or unapproachable, especially coupled with the no-nonsense look on his features. Beside him was Vardash, wearing a navy tank with gold trim, an accent reflecting that he held an officer rank, that was at least one size too tight and matching shorts that were about half a size too small beyond that. The lieutenant looked irritable, but that did not stop him from doing his best to look important despite that. Although Vardash did not want to be there any more than his men did, his thought was that if he was going to be miserable he would if nothing else see to it that his men were doubly so.

As it turned out, they were not alone at the gym facility. Captain Mogor, standing with his lieutenant beside Yurak and Vardash, had also been unimpressed with the physical fitness of his soldiers after their evaluation so his unit was also there, along with a handful of other officers that typically trained around that time. It had been no issue to share the space, there was plenty anyway and Mogor was in support of the idea, both because he believed in honing Doom’s newest soldiers to physical perfection and because, well, it just was not wise to argue with someone at a higher rank than his own.

Glancing over the group’s medical assessments as they arrived, Yurak nodded to Vardash, who proceeded to self-importantly sort them into pairs and assign them to an area based on their fitness evaluation. Two privates scored extraordinarily low in flexibility and as a result were ordered into the yoga room in the back. Though Doom yoga was not quite as girly and granola as the Galaxy Alliance version—more a mixture of martial arts and stretching—it was still not considered the manliest of exercises, especially because the class was at least three quarters female, led by an instructor who could very well have been Nurse Urga’s sister. The poor saps were razzed heavily as they went into the yoga class, but the laughter died out as more pairs were counted off.

Last in line, mostly because they were the last two out of bed and to arrive were Cossack and Yaklitz, who assumed that they would be paired together for the workout. “Private Cossack,” Yurak greeted them as they approached, and glanced at the sheet for a moment, “Before we begin, I’d like to point out that your stats were surprisingly good for a toad pond born idiot, and I thank you for once not being the one to be an embarrassment to the unit.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll try harder next time,” Cossack replied with a smile forced through otherwise gritted teeth at the mention of the toad pond.

Deliberately refusing to dignify the quip with a response, Yurak continued with nothing more than a warning glare. “You’ve already put on some muscle, and since your dexterity and endurance rated above average, you’re to focus on weight training. Captain Mogor is quite experienced at that, so he’ll partner with you for training today and make recommendations for a routine.”

“Captain Mogor?” he said with evident surprise, and glanced first at the stoic and sweaty captain and then with some puzzlement at Yaklitz. “Well, sure, but—”

Yurak let out a sarcastic chuckle while Mogor gave a silent nod to confirm that Cossack had heard correctly. “This is a serious exercise, Private.”

“A serious exercise about exercise, sir?”

“A serious exercise that has no business being a social event, Private Cossack,” Yurak stressed sternly, and fixed the critical stare of his cybernetic eye on the young private. “While you may be a fit fool, you and your bunkmate fall on opposite ends of the fitness spectrum. The last thing Private Yaklitz needs is more bulk; his beer gut has added quite enough already.”

Nodding vigorously in sycophantic agreement, Vardash put his hands on his hips officiously and interjected his two cents. “Besides, if we paired you two idiots together, the only exercise you’d get is wagging your tongues making stupid remarks while you stare at the women in the yoga class.”

With a snicker Yaklitz quipped, “He says that like it’s a bad thing.”

Cossack immediately grinned back at him, but before he could respond, Yurak cut in with equally unamused glower for Yaklitz. “Which is precisely why you two aren’t paired together.” He turned back to the other private. “Private Cossack, I’m sure Captain Mogor has a grueling workout for you, so save your oxygen for that.”

With noticeably less enthusiasm, Cossack replied, “Yes sir,” and joined Mogor’s side.

“What about me, sir?”

Yurak smiled thinly at the other soldier. “Private Yaklitz, you have the dubious honor of being the second most out of shape man in the unit according to your cardiovascular readings. In light of that, you and Lieutenant Vardash are both going to be under my close supervision for the duration of this exercise regime. Consider me your new personal trainer.”

Aw shit, thought the dismayed Yaklitz as Yurak then turned and beckoned for the two of them to follow, while Vardash decided that if there was one bright side to that whole exercise ordeal, it was that he could at least look forward to the hands-on instruction from his favorite force captain.

* * *

Just a short while into his workout, Cossack was feeling the burn and the sweat, not only from his own exertion, but also from his spotter. Whether Captain Mogor was in good shape or just looked it was hard to tell through all the sweat. Although he expected guys working out in a gym to perspire, Mogor sweated a lot on a cold day, and while he was pumping iron he was a veritable fountain of it. Had the captain not been in fleet-issued pea soup green shorts, a tank top, short socks, and even a sweatband all the same color—Cossack supposed that Mogor liked the custom look officers were allowed in non-formal gear as opposed to the traditional look his own superiors went with—he might have thought it was just because he always wore stuff that was too heavy. Nope. He sweated even more out of his regular uniform, which in turn led Cossack to ponder just how absorbent that fabric was.

It also seemed odd to Cossack to see Mogor without a helmet. Captain Mogor was almost always covered from head to toe, and knowing his fondness for green as that was the only color he ever saw him wear outside of a standard uniform, he half expected him to have green hair underneath it. Although uncommon to Doomites, some Drule-bloods did carry a gene for exotic hair colors, and somehow it would have fit. But no, Mogor’s hair was a whitish-gray, and cut very short, hence the reason its color under the helmet had remained a mystery.

It also did not do much to stop the sweat, which was only slightly impeded by the sweatband on his forehead, and Cossack winced as he lifted the barbell toward the captain looming above him. The wince was as much from the fresh drip he felt along the side of his face as it was from that third set of bench presses. “Phew,” he said when he finished, gladly replacing the bar on the rack so he could sit up, “Sure is hot in here, huh Captain?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Really?” Cossack answered, and glanced over in the direction of the yoga class. Originally he did that only to see what stupid position his two unit mates were being contorted into, but the sight of a pretty, leggy female classmate of theirs in a short leotard caught his attention as they assumed a position called The Screw. “Mmm, and getting hotter all the time…”

Mogor followed his gaze and frowned. “Private Cossack, we’re supposed to be focusing on a workout.”

“I am,” he assured the captain distractedly as he moved to the other side of the bench so that he could spot for Mogor without removing his eyes from the twisting body of the yoga girl.

“Our workout, Private.”

“Oh yeah, right,” he said sheepishly, and forced himself to pay attention. Assuming the proper position by the bar he looked down at the captain. “I gotcha, sir. Lift away!”

Grunting in acknowledgment, Mogor began his reps. Cossack paid attention for a few moments, but before long his eyes wandered back to the yoga class. “Nice form,” he murmured.

“Thanks,” Mogor said through another grunt, mistaking the private’s remark about the yoga girl’s physique as a complement for his weight load. The lifting was tough, a new record for him, but the captain was determined to make it through the set. On his last rep, he pushed it to the limit with considerable effort but made it nonetheless. He was too taxed to quite get the bar onto the rack without assistance after such an effort, however, so he passed it to Cossack. At that same moment the yoga class shifted positions, and with them, the student’s leotard did its imitation of a thong. Immediately Cossack’s pulse went up, and the bar went down.

Thud.

“Gah,” was all Mogor managed to get out before the wind got knocked out of him.

An oh-shit look flashed across Cossack’s features as he realized what happened, and he immediately took on the weight of the bar as Mogor struggled for an unexpected extra rep. “Sorry sir,” he babbled quickly. “But look at it this way; I’m making you work hard.”

“Just shut up and keep your eyes on the bar, Private,” the sweating, gasping Mogor grumbled as they switched places. While Cossack muttered an obedient yes sir and lay back down on the bench, bracing himself for the fresh rain of sweat, he was surprised when he heard Mogor mutter something along the lines of, “Bet she’s not half as good as the bomb dispensary girl anyway.”

* * *

The first place Yurak took Yaklitz and Vardash was over to the area of the facility that held the cardiovascular equipment. Looking to Yaklitz first, Yurak tapped the treadmill. “Running is where you’re going to start, Private Yaklitz. Few things build stamina and improve fitness faster, and the gods know that your mouth is good at running, so this should be right up your alley. Get on.”

With only a glum nod, Yaklitz climbed onto the treadmill and switched it on. Yurak glanced at the console and punched a few buttons to put in a tough program, which nearly sent Yaklitz flying off of the back before he gracelessly caught his footing and started to jog. “Good,” said a satisfied Yurak once Yaklitz began to run. “Now stay on this for an hour.”

“An—an hour, sir?” A panicked look flashed across the out of shape private’s features. “I’m not up to a whole lot of miles…”

Yurak was not swayed. “An hour, private. No less. And I had better not catch you taking any breaks.”

Yaklitz only grumbled a less than thrilled “yes sir” and continued to trot along. It was then that he noticed a remote attached to the side of the machine, and picked it up. “Hey, what’s this? Do I get a projection unit on this thing?”

“Not quite. I’ll take that,” Yurak said, and snatched it away before Yaklitz could think about protesting. “This is an override remote. It controls settings from a distance to keep the running subject from tampering with anything. Medics use them for stress tests.” The hint of a sadistic smile crossed his features. “And officers use them to make sure their lazy privates do their workout like they’re supposed to.” He clenched his fingers around it and gave Yaklitz a warning look.

“So unless you’d like to experience your own version of a stress test, no slacking!” Vardash chimed in nastily. “Got that, worm?”

“Yes sir,” Yaklitz replied with an extremely unenthused nod.

“Good!” Vardash folded his arms importantly and savored the moment of watching one of his least favorite reports endure treadmill torture. He hoped that Yaklitz would screw up, just so he could watch him get beaten by never-ending incline and speed increases. Perhaps if Yurak was willing to delegate, he’d even let him take the remote for a few minutes. Oh yes, that would be fun! A cruel smirk tugged at his lips as he envisioned Yaklitz gasping for mercy and clinging for dear life while he made him climb the treadmill equivalent of a mountain. Maybe the whole exercise deal had a good side after all…

Yurak turned to Vardash with a friendlier, but no less firm look. “Now that he’s taken care of, Vardash, it’s our turn. You and I are going to go work up a sweat together.”

And getting better, Vardash thought as he plastered a shamelessly compliant, ass-kissing smile across his face for his favored superior. “Yes sir. How will you work me out?”

“I’m going to get your heart rate up with the best physical workout I know.” He grinned at him with what seemed to Vardash a coy smile.

The lieutenant’s eyes lit up…

Raising an arm, Yurak pointed directly past Vardash with unchallengeable authority. “Get on the stairmaster.”

…and clouded in horror.

“The stairmaster, sir?” His nasal tone took on a whimper. He hated the stair machine, even more so than most other exercise equipment, and regarded it as one step off of a dungeon torture device. In fact, if he ever had a slave he wanted to punish, he would probably chain him to a stairmaster switched on “high.”

The force captain was not deterred by the lieutenant’s reaction, however, and nodded to confirm. “Best fat-burner around. Climb on.”

“But sir…”

“No ‘buts’, Vardash,” Yurak said, his voice taking on an impatient edge. “On. Now.”

“Yes sir.” All of his previous mirth evaporated, he shuffled over and climbed on. “Why couldn’t they invent the ‘elevator master’ instead?”

“Look at it this way; you’re ascending the peak of physical fitness; climbing your way to being a leaner, meaner soldier for King Zarkon!” Yurak said encouragingly as he switched on the machine next to Vardash.

Too cranky to kiss ass as thoroughly as he normally did, Vardash groused, “I’m already mean. Any of those worms will tell you that.”

“Perhaps, but there’s always room for improvement. Tell you what, Vardash… impress me with your performance as you always do,” he told the already huffing lieutenant beside him, “and I’ll consider rewarding you for it.”

“With a day off?” Vardash asked hopefully.

The force captain shook his head. “Something even better.” He held up the remote to Yaklitz’s treadmill. “Work out hard enough and I’ll consider giving you control of this sometime.” With that Yurak’s smile turned wicked once again, and he pressed a button that increased poor Yaklitz’s incline by 5%. Immediately the private let out a groan loud enough to be heard from halfway across the area, and stumbled in the effort to keep up.

Motivated by the misery of his subordinate, Vardash proceeded to climb the stairway to nowhere at double-time.

* * *

Next morning felt even earlier and twice as miserable for those in the unit as they made their way through the pouring rain of one of Doom’s classic thunderstorms to the gym as ordered. The previous day’s workout had left Cossack aching in places he had never realized he had before, while Yaklitz shuffled to the morning workout a defeated man, his sore legs already feeling somewhat rubbery in anticipation of another horrific run on the treadmill.

“I swear, we gotta come up with something to help me, man,” Yaklitz complained as they made their way in. That day the duo was among the first of their unit to show up rather than the last. “He’s going to kill me on that thing. You should’ve seen the smile on his face every time he cranked it up on me.”

Cossack chortled. “Ah come on Yaklitz, you have to be exaggerating.”

“It’s true!” the other private protested. “Why would I lie about how much it sucks?”

“Oh don’t get me wrong; I’m sure it sucked.” He patted the other soldier on the back in half-mock sympathy. “But Yurak actually cracking a smile? Yeah, right!”

Yaklitz frowned as they went in through the double doors to the gym. “I swear it, man! My worst hangovers felt better than what it was like keeping up with his sadistic idea of a workout. I’m telling you, he went out of his way to do me in. Death by treadmill, the ultimate corporal punishment!”

“Yeah well, Yurak’s an asshole, what do you expect?”

As soon as Cossack had said the words, Yaklitz cringed, for he then noticed that Yurak was already present and standing not that far away. “Keep your voice down! With ears that big, he can probably hear you.”

“Even if he didn’t, I did,” the extraordinarily pissy voice of Lieutenant Vardash piped up from behind them. The two of them turned around quickly and found them face to face with their chubby lieutenant, who scowled back at them in an accusatory and officious manner. “Were you talking badly about our force captain, Private Cossack?”

Immediately both men straightened and saluted as protocol required, although Yaklitz’s salute was followed with an “oh great” muttered under his breath that was just barely audible. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir,” Cossack replied with feigned ignorance—a state that in his opinion Vardash ought to know very well. “What did you hear?”

Their superior’s yellow eyes narrowed. “I thought I heard you speaking disrespectfully about Force Captain Yurak. Was I right? Did I hear you making a grievous insult to an honored superior officer?” His meaty hands balled into fists in anticipation of meting out discipline.

“A grievous insult, sir?” Cossack replied, continuing to play dumb. “I’m not sure what that means. What is the exact regulation, sir? For instance, if I called you an asshole, what would you do to me?”

Vardash let out a low snarl and leaned over to get in his face. “I’d have you in front of Yurak and Admiral Thlorx so fast it’d make your empty head spin, you witless buffoon!”

Nodding as if he was pondering a serious matter, Cossack then asked, “But what if I didn’t say it and just thought it?”

The lieutenant flexed his fingers together anxiously, as if subconsciously choking something, something like a miniature version of the sandy-haired, wise-assed private in front of him. “There are no regulations against what you think, Private Cossack, if indeed you think anything in that pea-sized brain of yours. As long as you keep it to yourself, there’s nothing to do about what you think.”

Cossack relaxed visibly and grinned. “Oh good, that’s a relief! We’ll just go on thinking it then, won’t we, Yaklitz?”

“Sure will!” the other private echoed, smiling despite his otherwise dour mood.

Vardash on the other hand growled and shook his fist. “Just get inside and line up, worms!” he bellowed irritably.

* * *

A short while later, the pleasure of insulting Vardash to his face without retribution had worn off. Yaklitz was once again on the treadmill from hell complete with Yurak holding the remote-key to his damnation, while Cossack remained the only man in the unit without his partner. Although men from Captain Mogor’s unit were present and had begun their routines as per instructions by their lieutenant, Captain Mogor himself was still missing. Cossack knew better than to simply sit around and bullshit since Yurak was patrolling and supervising his men while Vardash stomped away on the stairmaster, so he decided to pass the time by doing a few chin-ups on an empty set of bars.

He had done only a few sets when he noticed the leggy girl from the yoga class the day before standing by the water cooler. After a quick glance around to make sure that Yurak was busy doggedly pushing someone else on his workout, Cossack dropped from the bar, picked up his canteen, and casually strode over to the cooler to strike up a conversation. She was a pretty Doomite with short bluish-purple hair cut to just above her neckline, and tall and athletic in build with a nice set of hooters to balance out her round buns in Cossack’s opinion.

“Hey there,” Cossack greeted her in his best flirtatious tone, intending to wow her with what he considered his nearly patentable Cossack charm into meeting him for a drink that night when he was off duty. “So, you here for another yoga class?” He had noticed the yoga room was empty before when he had first gone about finding something to do, since the ability to watch women twist into kinky positions was a key factor in determining where he would station himself to exercise until Mogor showed up.

“Yes,” she answered politely. “I come every day.”

Smirking, Cossack replied coyly, “Imagine how much fun you’d have if you did it every night too.”

She raised an eyebrow as she finished filling her water and stepped back. “I wouldn’t have guessed you as the yoga type.”

“Nah, I bench mostly,” he said, and flexed for effect as he leaned over to fill his canteen. “Bet I could press two of you easy.”

“I’m not that easy,” she informed him with a pointed look. She watched as Cossack preened, and sipped at her water. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new?”

“Yeah. My unit’s been assigned to work out here every morning until we’re in shape.” He flashed another impressing smile at her. “I scored the highest of the recruits in my unit, actually.”

“Did you? That’s pretty good. There’s some buff guys over there,” she replied with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Are you a private then?”

He nodded. “You?”

“CMS, actually,” she said, referring to what was known around Castle Doom as Civilian Military Staff; namely technicians and specialists that worked in jobs outside the direct military sphere. Because they worked so closely with fleet soldiers, most CMS of a certain level were allowed access to general use facilities like gyms and mess halls on a paid basis. “I’m a robotics tech.”

“Oh, pretty and smart,” Cossack said, laying on the charm as thick as the fog blanketing the landscape outside. “So, you want to go out for a drink tonight with the fittest private in my unit?”

She flashed him a conciliatory smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry sweetie, I have a rule. I only date officers.”

Cossack frowned, mildly insulted but not thoroughly deterred, mostly because her hooters were fine and teased him in such close proximity by announcing that it was cold in the gym. “Aw, but I’ll be one someday!” He struck a proud pose. “And talk about potential—I may only be a young private in King Zarkon’s royal fleet for now, but I bet you didn’t know I’m also the first son of house Aldar’ach.”

Just when it looked as though she might be reconsidering, Yurak’s unwelcome voice chimed in from behind, “Yes, and born in a toad pond, how flattering.” Instantly Cossack’s suave smile melted into a defeated scowl, while Yurak stared down at him with a harsh glare. After checking up on Vardash to make sure he was still stair-stepping his fat into oblivion, the force captain had spotted Cossack flexing his flirtatious muscles as opposed to his physical ones over at the water cooler. “I told you this was not a social event, Private Cossack. You’re supposed to be exercising.”

He held up his canteen. “Just thirsty, sir. And since my partner wasn’t here—”

“I don’t care about your excuses, private. Go do some sit-ups and push-ups until Captain Mogor arrives.” When Cossack made no immediate move, Yurak followed it up with a stern growl, “That’s an order.”

“Yes sir,” the dismayed Cossack replied. He flashed a brief hopeful look at the girl one last time before he shuffled off to the exercise mat across the room.

Once he was gone, Yurak turned to the yoga student. “My apologies if that idiot annoyed you. I’m ashamed to say he’s one of mine.”

“No. I know how to handle his type.” She took another sip of water and smiled at Yurak, noting that he was an officer. “So is what he said true?”

“What, that he’s the first son of Aldar’ach? Yes, that’s true.”

“What about the toad pond?” she asked with amusement.

“By every account I’ve heard, yes.”

“Poor guy,” she laughed, and then stretched her long and lean body against the water cooler in a provocative pose. “So, Captain—”

“Force Captain,” Yurak corrected her with the higher rank, oblivious to her overt flirtation.

“Force Captain,” she amended with an admiring purr, “Can you answer me another question?”

Yurak nodded and met her eyes to await the inquiry while she met his eyes intently.

“Is it true what they say about men with big ears?”

His left ear twitched as he finally picked up on her coy tone. “What do they say?”

With a giggle she replied, “You know that old saying, ‘as it is above, so it is below…’”

At that a sly and smug grin spread across Yurak’s face. “Yes,” he informed her simply, his grin remaining for only a brief moment before he nodded a polite parting and returned to the floor.

On his way, he spotted Cossack over on the mat doing sit-ups as he had been ordered. Noting that his form was somewhat off—he was staying in the up position significantly longer than necessary—he paused long enough to follow his gaze. Sure enough, the yoga class had just started to warm up, and the young private’s eyes were glued to the women in the back row as they did their first stretches.

“Incorrigible moron,” Yurak grumbled under his breath, and clenched his left fist. He heard a metallic click as he did so, and it was then that he realized he still had the remote to Yaklitz’s treadmill in that hand. A strangled gasp followed by a loud thump and rumbling noise echoed almost immediately from the cardiovascular fitness area, and Yurak noticed that his thumb had depressed heavily upon the “increase speed” button, causing poor Yaklitz to flail haplessly upon the treadmill in a vain effort to run at speeds used by land vehicles.

Yurak watched the private suffer for a few more moments, and then casually turned it back down to a more reasonable level. He probably did something I don’t know about yet to earn it anyway, he thought to himself as he made his way back over to check on Vardash.

* * *

Cossack lay flat on the mat about to do another sit-up when a hulking, sweaty shadow materialized above him. “Private Cossack, good to see you got started on your abs while I was held up. We’re going to work on the lower body today.”

The private nodded and got to his feet, after casting another quick glance at the hot bodies in the yoga class. “Looks like yoga’s good for that…”

Mogor frowned. “You can worry about flexibility on your cool-down. Get over to the leg press.”

“Yes sir.” Cossack lamented that it seemed at least from the officers he knew, that being one precluded having a sense of humor. While they went over to the leg press, Cossack asked, “So what kept you today, sir? You Captains are usually punctual.”

“Had to get my weapon charged,” the captain replied, the slightest hint of a smile creeping across his face.

Cossack made a face as he climbed onto the machine. “This early? What, is there a rush at the weapons dispensary after breakfast or something?”

Mogor selected an appropriate weight for Cossack to press. “It’s good practice to keep your weapon at peak performance. You never know when something might come up to keep you from getting it taken care of. You take care of your big gun, private, and everything else will fall into order. Remember that.”

There was a gleam in his eye as he spoke that seemed almost excited, which Cossack found mildly disturbing. Man, these officers are way too into their work, he thought as he began his first set of reps.

* * *

“Am I done yet?” Vardash whined balefully to Yurak when the force captain went over to check on him.

“How long have you gone?” There was a note of suspicion in his tone.

The lieutenant looked up at his superior pitifully. “It feels like forever, sir!”

Yurak glanced at the console. “According to this you’ve only gone for 17 minutes and 45 seconds.”

“They’re very big stairs, sir.”

Another look at the stairmaster confirmed that the resistance was up fairly high, even though the overall time was low. Yurak considered his lieutenant’s position for a minute, looked up once more at his utterly pathetic pleading expression, and took pity on him given that Vardash was one of the few individuals that reported to him that he actually liked. “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll call this a warm up and let you try a little strength training today. It can’t hurt to build a little muscle to burn all that fat off.”

“Oh thank you, sir!” Vardash babbled in relief as he hopped off of the detested machine with suddenly renewed vigor. “I’m sure I burned off twenty pounds on that thing, and my buns feel like steel!” He patted his rear through his shorts to emphasize.

“I’ll take your word for that,” Yurak replied, ears twitching slightly as he turned to lead Vardash to the weight area.

“Sir?” a breathless Yaklitz panted as they passed his treadmill, “Does this mean I can get off, too?”

Yurak noted the private’s hunched posture, his winded voice, his trembling limbs, and the completely exhausted and defeated look in his eyes. Taking into consideration that he was very near his breaking point and begging for mercy with nary a shred of dignity left, he met the hapless soldier’s gaze and said, “No.”

Yaklitz’s face fell in an expression of utter despair. “But sir…”

“Think of it as working off the gut from your beer bottle bombs,” the force captain retorted gruffly, not swayed in the least, while Vardash grinned in mean satisfaction at his suffering.

Beyond desperate, Yaklitz gasped, “Can you at least turn it down a little?” He gulped and added a more plaintive, “Please, Sir?” after Yurak responded with a fiercer glare.

Narrowing his natural eye, Yurak raised the remote and lowered the incline a few percent. “Congratulations. You just bought yourself another half hour since you like this speed so much. Want to make any more complaints?”

“No sir,” he squeaked out between pants.

“Good,” Yurak replied, the hint of the sadistic smile Yaklitz had told Cossack about tugging at his lips once again. “And since I’ve had enough of your griping, Private Yaklitz, tomorrow I’m giving this to Lieutenant Vardash for the entire workout.” At that, Vardash’s satisfied smirk graduated to a full grin of truly evil delight.

An adrenaline rush of dread and horror surged through the flagging Yaklitz, and he lowered his head to focus on his now even longer run and the hell that surely awaited him the following day. As Yurak and Vardash walked off, the latter sneering nastily at him as they departed, the exhausted private indulged heavily in the thoughts about them that he and Cossack had said they would earlier that day.

* * *

Day two of the workout regime ended, and before long another grueling day of fleet boot camp was over and day three of Physical Improvement Training as Yurak had dubbed it, or PIT as some of the men had come to refer to it being that it was akin to something born in the unholy depths of the Pit of Skulls, was upon them once more. Although Cossack was only a little on the sore side from all of his recent weight lifting, Yaklitz was just a few steps shy of dead. His legs and sides ached painfully, and even though he had made damn sure he stayed quiet so as to not inspire Yurak to follow through on his threat to give the remote to Vardash, which he knew would be even worse than what he already had to deal with, he still dreaded another day of treadmill hell.

That morning both privates were up a good half hour before they had to report to the gym. Yaklitz was up because he was too keyed up in anticipation of the grueling physical torture to sleep, and Cossack because Yaklitz’s complaining had woken and was keeping him up anyway. Popping open a bottle of beer from the mini-fridge Cossack had under his bunk—a nice care package his mother had sent him a week or so prior—he took a swig and then handed one to Yaklitz. “I’ve got it, Yaklitz,” Cossack said suddenly. “The cure to your woes!”

“A can of beer?”

“A case of beer,” Cossack corrected him with a smile. “I did some thinking last night in the shower, and Quackers gave me the perfect solution.”

“Your rubber duck has the key to saving my ass from Yurak’s torture remote?” the other private said dubiously.

Cossack held up a finger. “Don’t knock the genius of Quackers. I’m telling you, beer is the answer.” He took another hearty swig, finishing almost half the can in that one gulp.

“You’re quacked in the head,” Yaklitz scoffed, although he chugged the beer anyway. “And how is beer going to get Yurak off my back?” He set his empty bottle down and helped himself to another.

“It’s not. But alcohol’s a great painkiller. Why do you think I’m knockin’ ‘em back this morning? My legs hurt like hell. Mogor must’ve put the equivalent of a Vardash and a half on the leg press yesterday, and my back and shoulders still hurt from two days ago.”

Frowning as he considered it, Yaklitz took another big gulp. “Ok, maybe you got a point there. It can’t suck too bad if I can’t feel it, right?”

“Exactly!” Cossack exclaimed proudly. Over the course of the next twenty minutes, the two of them managed to drain the remainder of Cossack’s beer stash. During that time they discussed at length how much in general the workouts sucked, and took turns talking about the high points such as the sexy yoga girls in leotards parading by occasionally to the low points such as Yurak, Vardash, and the remote and Mogor’s copious sweating all over Cossack. Over the course of those beers they also theorized about ways in which they might make the PIT suck less, and as their blood alcohol content climbed higher, their ideas seemed better and better.

“So whaddya think?” Yaklitz asked his buzzed bunkmate. “Can they shoot a man for deserting his treadmill post?”

The tipsy Cossack pondered the question as if it was one of life’s greatest mysteries. “I don’t know… but what if they did worse?”

“Worse? How could they do worse?” replied the drunken Yaklitz.

“They could have Vardash sit on you,” Cossack quipped back, and the two of them dissolved into an inebriated round of laughter. After that quieted Cossack was struck with new and sudden inspiration, and he leapt to his feet. “I’ve got it this time, Yaklitz!”

Snorting and haphazardly tossing a beer bottle to the other side of their quarters, Yaklitz said, “That’s what you said last time and all you came up with was beer.” He blinked and looked at one of the empty bottles somewhat sad that there was no more. “Good stuff by the way, man. My complements to your mom. Wish my wife’d be so generous as to send me this, but all she sends me is messages griping at me about how I don’t send her enough presents from worlds we conquer, like we peons even get much of the loot to pass on,” he grumbled.

“No, I’m serious,” Cossack said, and began rummaging around under his bunk for something. Although most nobility men who grew up with the benefit of servants had housekeeping skills that left a lot to be desired, Cossack’s were exceptionally bad and the mass of random crap stashed hidden away in his drawers, lockers, and under his bed was a nearly certifiable disaster area of sloth. After a few moments of tossing and digging, he pulled out his answer to Yaklitz’s salvation—a pair of roller skates.

The other soldier blinked. “Skates, man?”

“Uh huh!” he replied with an energetic nod. “Just put these on and roll your way to fitness. All you gotta do is stand there and look like you’re exercising while Vardash pumps up the speed. Since those treadmills have walls on the sides and front, he and Yurak aren’t going to see your feet moving unless they lean over you, and you can pretend to run if that happens.”

“That’s the craziest thing you’ve suggested yet,” Yaklitz declared, and then grinned and snatched up the skates. “It’s brilliant!”

Cossack flashed his bunkmate a fangy grin at the complement. “Why thank you! I do my best!”

“But uh, how do I keep Yurak or Vardash from noticing that I’m wheeling my way over to the treadmill?”

“Like this,” Cossack told him in a suddenly serious tone, and showed him a small switch on the side of each shoe top on the skate. When activated, the wheels retracted into the thick sole to give them the look of running shoes. When Yaklitz gave him a quizzical look, Cossack smiled. “All terrain thingies. Mom sent ‘em with me when I first went away. I used to use ‘em on the plantation grounds all the time before I enlisted. She said she heard fleet boots could get uncomfortable and thought they might come in handy.”

“Nice,” Yaklitz remarked as he tried them on. “But what do I do when they notice I’m not wearing standard issue sneakers?”

“Do I have to think of everything?” Cossack said with a melodramatic sigh. “Just tell ‘em they’re for orthopedic support or something. Yurak’s all into this PIT fitness stuff for us, convince him you went to get more comfortable gear to work harder at getting in shape. He’ll swallow that line of shit.”

The other private chortled. “True enough, he swallows Vardash’s every freakin’ day.”

“Probably every night too,” Cossack added, much to both of their amusement. “C’mon. Let’s get over there. Won’t do us any good to get there late, hammered or not.”

Snapping the second stealth skate on, Yaklitz rose to join his bunkmate. “You didn’t say what all this beer’s going to do for your workout. How’s it going to stave off Mr. Sweaty’s never-ending line of perspiration?”

Cossack shrugged resignedly. “It’s not. But at least it took the ache out of my muscles, and maybe if I luck out, I can impress that yoga chick without dog-face there to shoot me down today, and she can work up a better sweat with me tonight to make up for it.” He grinned at the thought.

“Good luck man,” Yaklitz said with a chortle.

“Luck’s in the bag,” Cossack declared confidently. “I mean with Quackers advising us, how can we go wrong?”

* * *

As it turned out, Yurak noticed Yaklitz’s new shoes right off the bat. Much like Cossack predicted however, he bought Yaklitz’s story that they were special-ordered running shoes that he wore for comfort so he could “go the distance to please his commanding officer.” Although Yurak was dubious and smelled the bullshit along with the beer on Yaklitz’s breath, he let it stand figuring that if the private pulled anything, Lieutenant Vardash would surely make his life miserable enough to compensate for it.

While everyone gathered into their assigned workout groups, Cossack waited around for Captain Mogor to finish discussing something with a few of his men. Knowing that the yoga class would begin before long, he waited near the water cooler for the pretty ladies to come and fill their bottles. Sure enough, within a few moments a petite and rather buxom girl stopped by, and Cossack smiled down at her. She was attractive, with a curvy figure that nearly popped out of her leotard up top, and a cute smile that hinted to him that she was the type who would be a firecracker in the sack.

“Hiya baby,” he greeted her with his best charming grin. “Ready for another fun class?”

“You’re not in my yoga class,” she said, and gave him a bemused look.

“I know, but I’m behind you anyway,” he said with a grin. “And may I say what a nice behind it is!”

“Wow, you’re subtle,” she remarked with a distinctly amused drawl as she filled her water bottle. “You must be the one Celdra was talking about yesterday.”

“CMS robotics tech chick?”

“Guy born in a toad pond?”

Cossack winced for a brief moment. “Yeah.”

She giggled. “That’s really funny. A first circle noble, first son of a high seat even, born in a toad pond. I’d heard about that but thought it was just a rumor.”

“Yeah well, Mom’s talented at spreading the good word,” he said through a forced smile.

“Well, don’t take it so hard. You’re kinda cute. I’m sure there are lots of girls that wouldn’t hold that against you.”

Taking that as encouragement, Cossack struck a pose that showed off his muscles better and leaned closer to her. “Too bad. The right girl holding me against her might be fun.”

She raised an eyebrow, and held up a hand politely. “Oh, I don’t think so, Private. Cute or not, you’re not my type.”

“What, don’t tell me you only date officers too?”

“Of course not. I’m not even military. I have a pass here because my brother’s a lieutenant.” She offered him a conciliatory smile. “Like I said, you’re just not my type.”

Cossack’s beer-inspired confidence was not to be budged. “Then why not give me a shot? I’m not cheap with dinners, and I’m a blast at parties.”

“I’m a stay at home type girl.”

“I love a cozy night for two alone in front of the projection unit,” he countered smoothly, “and I’m a real romantic!” To emphasize his point, he leaned forward and scooped the surprised girl into his arms, swung her around, and pressed her against the wall. “As you can see, I’m also real strong, and very flexible. A yoga chick like you should love that, and all of its possibilities,” he finished with a leer.

The last of her patience worn through, the yoga student suddenly thrust her arm forward into his gut and twisted the arm that pinned her to the wall behind his back at a sharp and not terribly comfortable angle. “I’m also a lesbian, hon,” she informed him bluntly, “and not impressed. But I’m sure a flexible guy like you can deal with all that, and twist his way out of a,” she crunched his arm further in a way that felt to Cossack as though she had doubled it back on itself at an anatomically impossible angle, “triple snake twist.”

She let go of his arm and smiled at him. “Good luck though. Like I said, you are cute. Maybe Dalini will give you a shot. I’ll let her know what a charmer Mr. Toad Pond is,” she finished, and then sauntered off into her yoga class with a deceptively sweet smile on her face leaving Cossack twitching against the wall in newfound agony that even the copious amounts of beer in his system could not dull.

He did not even have the time to wriggle back out of it before Captain Mogor came by, grabbed him by the twisted arm, and jerked it forward in the direction of the weight floor. “Enough warm-up stretches, Private. It’s time to do your shoulders.” Cossack let out an unintelligible yelp of pain and stumbled blindly behind him.

* * *

Across the room, the glum stair-stepping Lieutenant Vardash brightened considerably when Yurak approached him. The force captain was pleased to note as he passed that Yaklitz was running along smoothly on the treadmill, his fitness already showing improvement. Perhaps the threat of knowing he was turning the remote over to Vardash that day had put suitable fear into him and shaped him up in more ways than one. Yurak hoped that when evaluations were done that the same could be said of his lieutenant. “How are you doing?”

“Stepping my little behind off, just for you sir!” Vardash said with forced cheerfulness.

“It’s not little,” Yurak pointed out gruffly, and switched the machine off. “But I do have some good news for you.”

“You’re terminating the PIT program?”

The force captain laughed. “No. But getting all of you in shape did save the unit’s budget a nice amount on health insurance.” He leaned over and switched the program off on the console. “The good news I was talking about has two points. I believe I promised control of this to you,” he said, handing Vardash Yaklitz’s remote, “which is good since it leaves me free to monitor the rest of your progress. The other point is that knowing how much I know you hate the stair machine, you’ll like what I have planned for you today.”

Vardash did not need to be told twice, and hopped off the stairmaster eagerly clutching the remote with unashamed greed. He looked over and pumped up the speed by a couple of notches on Yaklitz simply because he could, and then smiled up at Yurak. “What are we going to train, Sir?”

“We’re going to start with dead lifts,” Yurak replied, and motioned for him to follow him to an empty weight station. When they passed Yaklitz, Yurak noticed again that for how much Yaklitz had been huffing and puffing the day before, he was not just doing better, but exceptionally so. “Private Yaklitz certainly is shaping up,” he mused aloud.

“Maybe he’s just not going fast enough, Sir,” Vardash suggested. “I’ll fix that.” Gleefully he increased the speed again, and watched as Yaklitz’s eyes widened with surprise. He was disappointed that the private did not gasp, flail, or otherwise visibly protest, however. “Hmm, maybe he needs more…”

“Increase the incline and be done with it for now, unless he acts up,” Yurak instructed gruffly, and motioned to an empty weight bench right across from where Cossack and Mogor were training. “I’d much rather see you bent over that bench than fooling around with Private Yaklitz for now.”

From beside them, Cossack overheard and looked over at Yaklitz, who seemed cool as a cucumber rolling along on the treadmill. Mogor also overheard, but being what he had been privy to overhearing in the past, winced at the mental images the force captain’s remark conjured. “More weight, private,” he grumbled to Cossack, who dutifully added twenty pounds.

Meanwhile Yurak finished piling weights on each end of a bar while Vardash continued to watch Yaklitz with a suspicious eye. When he saw that he was still not struggling in the least, he punched in a few more speed increases that caused Yaklitz to stumble a little, but the private still regained his pace quickly enough and looked no worse for the wear, much to the lieutenant’s annoyance. “That fast and hardly breaking a sweat?”

“You’re supposed to be breaking a sweat at the moment, Vardash,” Yurak snapped irritably at the junior officer. “Now stop staring at that fool and bend over! I want to see your ass over that bench now!”

“Yeah, but the rest of the gym sure doesn’t,” Cossack snorted under his breath as Vardash bent over and near-mooned his wide hindquarters in their direction. Mogor meanwhile nearly lost his grip on the lateral pull-down bar.

“You can say that again,” Cossack thought he heard him mutter.

Vardash let out an insanely loud grunt as he lifted the heavy bar Yurak had prepared for him. “Good,” the force captain noted as he lifted. “Keep your back straighter. Don’t hunch your shoulders. I like my men to have perfect form.”

“But not perfectly fitting shorts,” Cossack quipped with a wince of his own as he and Mogor switched positions.

“They should be glued on,” Mogor agreed, and loaded up Cossack’s weight into the pull-down machine.

Cossack smirked for a moment as he spoke from experience, “Nah, wouldn’t work.”

Mogor wrinkled his nose. “A shame.”

Across the way, Vardash finished his set of reps panting heavily and flushed in the face. “Now that’s what I like to see,” Yurak went on to say. “Working up a sweat and not giving me a hard time.”

“You know I always do whatever you ask, Sir,” the breathless Vardash replied. It was then that his eyes fell on Yaklitz, who was still trotting effortlessly along on his fast-paced treadmill. Irritated that the private was having such an easy time of exercise while he felt like his own back was going to snap, he pumped up the incline another 3% out of spite.

Cossack looked from the remote-wielding Vardash to Yaklitz, who he noticed was gripping at the handrails very tightly. It occurred to Cossack that the incline appeared rather high for someone on wheels…

“What are you staring at, Lieutenant?” Yurak’s annoyed voice commanded the attention of all those within immediate earshot.

“Something isn’t right,” Vardash seethed accusingly as he stared at Yaklitz. “Private Yaklitz is not in the kind of shape to run at that incline at that speed.”

With an impatient sigh, Yurak leaned over and examined the LCD display on the remote. “For the last time—what?” The force captain’s voice rose noticeably and his ear twitched in utter disbelief when he saw that Yaklitz was apparently maintaining a pace and incline that a seasoned marathon runner would have difficulty managing for more than a minute or two. “That has to be off.”

“I told you, Sir!” Vardash whined nasally. “I smell a weasel. Or a dirty low private up to no good at any rate!” His workout forgotten, Vardash stomped over to the treadmill with Yurak close on his heels.

“What’s going on, Private?” demanded Yurak just as Vardash got close enough to realize the reason for Yaklitz’s ease of handling speed—roller skates!

The look of outrage and fury that flashed across Lieutenant Vardash’s face was one that neither Cossack nor Yaklitz would forget until the end of their days. “That worm has wheels!” he howled at the top of his lungs. Then, without hesitating even one moment and before Yaklitz could even begin to think up an excuse, Vardash aimed the remote at him the way one would a blaster, and jammed his fat finger on the “increase incline” button so hard that it jumped by 20% instantly.

Unable to do anything but bear witness to the disaster in progress for his bunkmate, Cossack watched as the treadmill elevated to an impossible angle. As the incline went upward and the speed remained the same, Yaklitz lost the war with the forces of gravity. Within a few moments his forearms gave way and the wheeled private flew straight off the back of the treadmill, rolled several feet across the smooth gym floor, and slammed the full weight of his body into a top-heavy piece of equipment that in turn toppled two others, the last of which fell in a spectacular crash right through the pane of glass separating the weight room from the yoga class. There was an earsplitting cacophony of falling weights, crashing racks, shattering glass, and shrieks of yoga students that drowned out the groan of pain of the roller-skating private on the floor.

Furious beyond words, Yurak clenched the clipboard in his hand and snapped it in half with the brute force of his anger while Vardash stood there indignantly already declaring that it was all Private Yaklitz’s fault. Captain Mogor only sighed as a fresh bead of sweat formed upon his forehead, and made a mental note to schedule his unit for a brisk morning run the following day instead. Private Cossack, meanwhile, sighed in sympathy for his bunkmate and his impending disciplinary action, and took a swig from his water canteen.

“Guess yoga class is off tomorrow,” a husky female voice spoke up from behind him. “But maybe that means handsome Private Toad Pond has some free time in his schedule to meet for breakfast.”

Grinning and thinking that must have been the Dalini girl that the aggressive lesbian yoga student had mentioned, he summoned his most flirtatious, charming smile and said “Sure thing, baby! I’m all yours!” just as he turned around to see that he had just agreed to date the Nurse Urga-esque yoga instructor. The tank of a woman beamed and before Cossack could protest, she put a possessive arm around him, and pinched his ass.

“You and I will have fun tomorrow! I hear you’re very flexible!”

Suddenly PIT at the crack of dawn did not seem like such a bad thing after all.

The End

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