Prologue
-Might as well chat with the boots
-A Rifleman is only as good as his weapon
-Not here to see old scars, eh?
Nightfall just began to set in, with the icy winds from the coast passing low through the valley. While we were all in a lower dip of the valley, the hills around us did very little to shield off the wind. All around me were groups of students; new Marines fresh out of Recruit Training...I could still smell the stench of bootcamp on them. They were all huddled into little groups, trying to warm themselves with each other's body heat. Stratton and I sat off to the side against a small concrete wall, neither of us really fazed by the cold. Stratton was a hardy individual, and was used to enduring far worst. That and he probably didn't want to show the new boots any sign of weakness. For me, I was simply used to the cold. Compared to the coldest parts of my home country, the wind felt like a warm tropical breeze. I guess the fact that we had fur and they didn't probably also helped.
While Stratton and I spoke absently to one another, one of the new boots walked over to us; a red-headed kid who had probably just turned 18. The name "Allan" was sewn onto the nametape of his woodland digital cammies, the chevrons of a PFC on his blouse collar. He stood at parade rest and began to speak.
"Excuse me Sergeant, but may I please ask you a few questions about the Fleet?" He asked, looking at me. I can sense a bit of tension in his voice not unlike the others, though he still had an aire of confidence to him. Probably a squad leader or guide in bootcamp, I thought to myself.
"Certainly lad" I answered back, smiling "come and sit with us...wait...even better, bring the rest of your buddies over here with you. I'm sure all of you must have questions that you would like to ask us." The boy nodded his head slightly. "Aye Sergeant" he answered back, running off to retrieve his group.
Stratton watched the boy as he talked to the rest of fhis group, then turned his head to me. He wore the same simple splotched woodland camo blouse like me, though his face was covered by a black baklava. On the lower front of the mask which covered his mouth and muzzle was sewn the image of a maw of teeth, forming a shark-toothed grin. They always reminded me of the noseart painted on old World War II Mustang fighter planes. He wore the mask to cover his face, which was horribly disfigured by old burn wounds. He said that it was caused long ago by a trainer battle gone awry, something about a Charmander torching his face off while he was a Riolu. He had the face that only a mother could love.
"It's not like you to be so open Strauss" Stratton said, his face mask twisted into a grin. After knowing him for so long, I've gotten good at guessing his expressions without seeing his face. "You goin' soft one me or something?" I looked back at him, a grin forming on the side of my mouth as I shaked my head. "Just feeling a little nostalgic, if that's the right word." I looked over at the range, seeing the occasional combat instructor running between the Crazy Ivan targets set off into the distance. "Besides, it's not like we have anything better to do for the next few hours. Might as well chat with the boots."
The red-headed PFC came walking back up with the rest of his group in tow. Just like before, Allen stood at parade rest before speaking to us. "Good evening gentlemen, I did as you asked Sergeant." While I've started to grow used to it, I still found it strange and funny that a human would show as much respect as he was to a Poke'mon. From the way he spoke to me, I might as well have been a human Sergeant, or perhaps even an Officer for that matter.
"Thank you Allan" I answered back, a smile on my face. "Go ahead, take a seat. I'm sure you pups have a lot of questions to ask us." The boy smiled, as did the rest of the junior Marines behind him as they sat down cross-legged in a half circle around Stratton and I. "So then..." I began again "what do you think of the Marine Corps so far?" There was a pause for a moment as the Marines looked at us. For most of then, I could see the glimmer of awe and curiosity. I guess none of them have seen a Lucario before...especially one which could speak English just as well as them. "It's been tough, but I like it so far Sergeant" answered another, a muscular Private named Pattison. "That's good to hear" I said, then shifting my gaze to another Marine, a Private by the name of Owen "how about you thickness?" To be honest, Owen wasen't at all fat. If anything, it looked like he shed 60 or so pounds while in bootcamp. Still though, it's a name that I liked reserving to some of the more bigger-set guys.
Owen flinched for a moment, as if someone just insulted his mother. Looks as though my guess of him losing 60 pounds in bootcamp wasen't all that far from the truth, I thought to myself humorlessly. "Uh...good Sergeant" he answered back, looking somewhat nervous. Seems as though he isn't much of a public speaker either, as it looked like it took him every last ounce of his will to force the words out of his mouth. "Good to hear Private" I said, trying to ease up some of the tension that the others were feeling. "So then, do any of you have any questions that you'd like to ask us?" Some of the Marines looked at each other, probably waiting to see who would ask next. "I do Sergeant" said Pattison. "Alright there motivator, lay it on me" I answered back, looking at him intently. "How long have you served for Sergeant?" he asked.
"I've served for around 5 years, and actually first enlisted when I was around 5 years old." There was a look of surprise in their eyes. Guess that they never expected for an NCO to be so young...especially if it was nearly 8 years behind their youngest guy. "We age faster than you humans do" I answered back casually, gesturing between Stratton and I, along with a group of Corporals and Sergeants across the way, one of which being a Typhlosion I knew from my old unit. The rest of the NCOs were sitting by him, using the fire on his ass to keep them warm. "What might be a year or two for you is really three or four years for us."
"Well..." I continued, standing myself up and taking a deep breath of the frigid air. I could feel the cold sand and concrete of the ground beneath my feet. Like Stratton, I chose to leave my boots back at the barracks. One of the many things which set us apart from our human counterparts was that we had no real set dress code. Since by nature we wore no form of apparel or had the need to, we weren't required to wear a uniform if we chose to. The only thing we were really required to keep on us was our identification and dog tags. For most Poke'mon who served in the military, this was all they chose to wear most of the time. I always wore a green skivvy shirt and my camo blouse when on duty, much like Stratton, though I only really wore my boots when I thought it was necessary...such as during combat or long hikes. I never cared for wearing them, but I'd rather be a little encumbered and uncomfortable than get my feet fucked up by razor wire, shards of glass, or any variety of hazardous debris that you'd find on a battlefield. As it was taught to us during our training, your feet are the most important part of your body. Just like a car losing a tire, there is no quicker way to knock you out of the fight than to lose the ability to walk.
"...most of us might be younger than you in human years..." I continued, leaning against the concrete wall "but that doesn't make us any less experienced or important than our human counterparts. We've seen just as much action, if not more, than most of the other student NCOs that you see here." I saw several of the young Marines turn their heads off towards the range, watching as a Combat Instructor ran towards then, shouting "Sergeant Proctor! Sergeant Proctor!" He shouted, trying to get the attention of one of the other Combat instructors. "Sergeant Pro..." he cut off as his foot fell into a ditch, his momentum carrying him forward and onto his face, slamming into the ground. "...AGUH!!! SHIT!!!" He cursed, slowly picking himself back up and began trotting slowly towards the line. All the junior Marines, including myself, were chuckling at the demonstration that the Sergeant made. It wasen't often that you see a Combat Instructor, considering that they did everything to make themselves look as badass and unstoppable as they could in front of their students, completely eat shit like that one Sergeant did.
"Holy shit..." Stratton said, laughing comically at the Instructor's spill. "That Sergeant just got fuckin' WRECKED!!!" placing extra emphasis on the last word of his sentence. No one else could see it, but I could tell that he was grinning widely under that snarling ski mask of his. "Cheeeck!" was my only reply, though it made Stratton laugh even harder and more obnoxiously. Good thing that the other Combat instructors didn't hear him, of I was certain that they would chew his ass out for it.
"Alright gents" I finally said after a moment or so, getting the attention of the young Marines back on me. They were still chuckling among themselves, though I didn't care. "That's why you should always be careful when operating at night. Unlike us, your eyes aren't as capable at seeing in low light. Your NVGs do help, but they can only do so much..." I stopped briefly, seeing one of the young Marines with his weapon resting on the ground. While most other Sergeants would have been all over his ass for making a mistake like that, I decided not to chew him up for it. While it should have been drilled through his head to always care for your weapon, he was still new to the whole gig and deserved a little breathing room. "Hey there Devil Pup" I said, pointing to him. "Pick your weapon up. You should never have your gat lying on the ground like that." The kid quickly snatched up his weapon, setting it down on his lap with the muzzle facing the sky, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. "I won't chew your ass this time, but you need to remember to never lay your weapon on the ground like that. The M16 is a good gun, but she's not gonna work for you if its parts are choked up with dirt. A rifleman is only as good as his weapon, and let's face it, going into battle with a gat that doesn't work makes about as much as two boys fucking." The Marines laughed again at my reference to their Combat Instructor's favorite line. I chuckled to myself too, realizing with bleak humor how appropriate my joke was and seeing the reaction the others had to it. In the wild, expecially among feral Poke'mon, you never found examples of sexual relationships between members of the same sex. It always existed among humans though; a product of a "gene curse" I think...something they referred to as "sin". As humans started making us more like them in both mind and body, we started to develop almost human-like feelings, such as "emotion" and "love". With these seemingly wonderful feelings came more harmful products of the gene curse..."lust" and "desire", I think the humans called them. For some of us, the new feelings began to play havoc on our minds. The conflict between animal instinct and human reason and emotion caused some of these to lose their minds, killing themselves or giving in fully to the gene curse; satisfying their desire for blood or sexual pleasure in disgusting and despicable ways. Thankfully most of us, like me, were able to resist and control these new feelings. Something I'm grateful of...I wanna stay an ass virgin.
"Excuse me Sergeant?" Allan asked me, the laughter dying down around them. "Did you ever see combat?" I nodded my head at his question, lifting my shirt over the spike on my chest as to reveal a long scar that stretched across the left side of my chest. No fur grew over the scar, giving a stark contrast between the tan of the fur on my chest and the dark pink of my skin. The Marines eyeballed the scar, their eyes lit up with curiosity and surprise. "I have..." I answered after several seconds, pulling the shirt back down, sliding my spike back through the woven hole in the shirt. "Though you all are probably more interested in hearing war stories rather than seeing old scars, eh?" I smiled, hearing them all chime back. I rubbed my hands together in a human expression, grinning widely as all the memories of those few days came rushing back to me as though they happened yesterday. "Well..." I began "it all started four years ago during my first deployment. I was a young pup, not unlike most of you, receiving my own baptism of fire...and nearly drowned in the sea of blood that came with it."
It was then that I began telling the story of my first experience of combat; an event that would forever be known in the military history textbooks as "Violet Storm."
-A Rifleman is only as good as his weapon
-Not here to see old scars, eh?
Nightfall just began to set in, with the icy winds from the coast passing low through the valley. While we were all in a lower dip of the valley, the hills around us did very little to shield off the wind. All around me were groups of students; new Marines fresh out of Recruit Training...I could still smell the stench of bootcamp on them. They were all huddled into little groups, trying to warm themselves with each other's body heat. Stratton and I sat off to the side against a small concrete wall, neither of us really fazed by the cold. Stratton was a hardy individual, and was used to enduring far worst. That and he probably didn't want to show the new boots any sign of weakness. For me, I was simply used to the cold. Compared to the coldest parts of my home country, the wind felt like a warm tropical breeze. I guess the fact that we had fur and they didn't probably also helped.
While Stratton and I spoke absently to one another, one of the new boots walked over to us; a red-headed kid who had probably just turned 18. The name "Allan" was sewn onto the nametape of his woodland digital cammies, the chevrons of a PFC on his blouse collar. He stood at parade rest and began to speak.
"Excuse me Sergeant, but may I please ask you a few questions about the Fleet?" He asked, looking at me. I can sense a bit of tension in his voice not unlike the others, though he still had an aire of confidence to him. Probably a squad leader or guide in bootcamp, I thought to myself.
"Certainly lad" I answered back, smiling "come and sit with us...wait...even better, bring the rest of your buddies over here with you. I'm sure all of you must have questions that you would like to ask us." The boy nodded his head slightly. "Aye Sergeant" he answered back, running off to retrieve his group.
Stratton watched the boy as he talked to the rest of fhis group, then turned his head to me. He wore the same simple splotched woodland camo blouse like me, though his face was covered by a black baklava. On the lower front of the mask which covered his mouth and muzzle was sewn the image of a maw of teeth, forming a shark-toothed grin. They always reminded me of the noseart painted on old World War II Mustang fighter planes. He wore the mask to cover his face, which was horribly disfigured by old burn wounds. He said that it was caused long ago by a trainer battle gone awry, something about a Charmander torching his face off while he was a Riolu. He had the face that only a mother could love.
"It's not like you to be so open Strauss" Stratton said, his face mask twisted into a grin. After knowing him for so long, I've gotten good at guessing his expressions without seeing his face. "You goin' soft one me or something?" I looked back at him, a grin forming on the side of my mouth as I shaked my head. "Just feeling a little nostalgic, if that's the right word." I looked over at the range, seeing the occasional combat instructor running between the Crazy Ivan targets set off into the distance. "Besides, it's not like we have anything better to do for the next few hours. Might as well chat with the boots."
The red-headed PFC came walking back up with the rest of his group in tow. Just like before, Allen stood at parade rest before speaking to us. "Good evening gentlemen, I did as you asked Sergeant." While I've started to grow used to it, I still found it strange and funny that a human would show as much respect as he was to a Poke'mon. From the way he spoke to me, I might as well have been a human Sergeant, or perhaps even an Officer for that matter.
"Thank you Allan" I answered back, a smile on my face. "Go ahead, take a seat. I'm sure you pups have a lot of questions to ask us." The boy smiled, as did the rest of the junior Marines behind him as they sat down cross-legged in a half circle around Stratton and I. "So then..." I began again "what do you think of the Marine Corps so far?" There was a pause for a moment as the Marines looked at us. For most of then, I could see the glimmer of awe and curiosity. I guess none of them have seen a Lucario before...especially one which could speak English just as well as them. "It's been tough, but I like it so far Sergeant" answered another, a muscular Private named Pattison. "That's good to hear" I said, then shifting my gaze to another Marine, a Private by the name of Owen "how about you thickness?" To be honest, Owen wasen't at all fat. If anything, it looked like he shed 60 or so pounds while in bootcamp. Still though, it's a name that I liked reserving to some of the more bigger-set guys.
Owen flinched for a moment, as if someone just insulted his mother. Looks as though my guess of him losing 60 pounds in bootcamp wasen't all that far from the truth, I thought to myself humorlessly. "Uh...good Sergeant" he answered back, looking somewhat nervous. Seems as though he isn't much of a public speaker either, as it looked like it took him every last ounce of his will to force the words out of his mouth. "Good to hear Private" I said, trying to ease up some of the tension that the others were feeling. "So then, do any of you have any questions that you'd like to ask us?" Some of the Marines looked at each other, probably waiting to see who would ask next. "I do Sergeant" said Pattison. "Alright there motivator, lay it on me" I answered back, looking at him intently. "How long have you served for Sergeant?" he asked.
"I've served for around 5 years, and actually first enlisted when I was around 5 years old." There was a look of surprise in their eyes. Guess that they never expected for an NCO to be so young...especially if it was nearly 8 years behind their youngest guy. "We age faster than you humans do" I answered back casually, gesturing between Stratton and I, along with a group of Corporals and Sergeants across the way, one of which being a Typhlosion I knew from my old unit. The rest of the NCOs were sitting by him, using the fire on his ass to keep them warm. "What might be a year or two for you is really three or four years for us."
"Well..." I continued, standing myself up and taking a deep breath of the frigid air. I could feel the cold sand and concrete of the ground beneath my feet. Like Stratton, I chose to leave my boots back at the barracks. One of the many things which set us apart from our human counterparts was that we had no real set dress code. Since by nature we wore no form of apparel or had the need to, we weren't required to wear a uniform if we chose to. The only thing we were really required to keep on us was our identification and dog tags. For most Poke'mon who served in the military, this was all they chose to wear most of the time. I always wore a green skivvy shirt and my camo blouse when on duty, much like Stratton, though I only really wore my boots when I thought it was necessary...such as during combat or long hikes. I never cared for wearing them, but I'd rather be a little encumbered and uncomfortable than get my feet fucked up by razor wire, shards of glass, or any variety of hazardous debris that you'd find on a battlefield. As it was taught to us during our training, your feet are the most important part of your body. Just like a car losing a tire, there is no quicker way to knock you out of the fight than to lose the ability to walk.
"...most of us might be younger than you in human years..." I continued, leaning against the concrete wall "but that doesn't make us any less experienced or important than our human counterparts. We've seen just as much action, if not more, than most of the other student NCOs that you see here." I saw several of the young Marines turn their heads off towards the range, watching as a Combat Instructor ran towards then, shouting "Sergeant Proctor! Sergeant Proctor!" He shouted, trying to get the attention of one of the other Combat instructors. "Sergeant Pro..." he cut off as his foot fell into a ditch, his momentum carrying him forward and onto his face, slamming into the ground. "...AGUH!!! SHIT!!!" He cursed, slowly picking himself back up and began trotting slowly towards the line. All the junior Marines, including myself, were chuckling at the demonstration that the Sergeant made. It wasen't often that you see a Combat Instructor, considering that they did everything to make themselves look as badass and unstoppable as they could in front of their students, completely eat shit like that one Sergeant did.
"Holy shit..." Stratton said, laughing comically at the Instructor's spill. "That Sergeant just got fuckin' WRECKED!!!" placing extra emphasis on the last word of his sentence. No one else could see it, but I could tell that he was grinning widely under that snarling ski mask of his. "Cheeeck!" was my only reply, though it made Stratton laugh even harder and more obnoxiously. Good thing that the other Combat instructors didn't hear him, of I was certain that they would chew his ass out for it.
"Alright gents" I finally said after a moment or so, getting the attention of the young Marines back on me. They were still chuckling among themselves, though I didn't care. "That's why you should always be careful when operating at night. Unlike us, your eyes aren't as capable at seeing in low light. Your NVGs do help, but they can only do so much..." I stopped briefly, seeing one of the young Marines with his weapon resting on the ground. While most other Sergeants would have been all over his ass for making a mistake like that, I decided not to chew him up for it. While it should have been drilled through his head to always care for your weapon, he was still new to the whole gig and deserved a little breathing room. "Hey there Devil Pup" I said, pointing to him. "Pick your weapon up. You should never have your gat lying on the ground like that." The kid quickly snatched up his weapon, setting it down on his lap with the muzzle facing the sky, a look of embarrassment crossing his face. "I won't chew your ass this time, but you need to remember to never lay your weapon on the ground like that. The M16 is a good gun, but she's not gonna work for you if its parts are choked up with dirt. A rifleman is only as good as his weapon, and let's face it, going into battle with a gat that doesn't work makes about as much as two boys fucking." The Marines laughed again at my reference to their Combat Instructor's favorite line. I chuckled to myself too, realizing with bleak humor how appropriate my joke was and seeing the reaction the others had to it. In the wild, expecially among feral Poke'mon, you never found examples of sexual relationships between members of the same sex. It always existed among humans though; a product of a "gene curse" I think...something they referred to as "sin". As humans started making us more like them in both mind and body, we started to develop almost human-like feelings, such as "emotion" and "love". With these seemingly wonderful feelings came more harmful products of the gene curse..."lust" and "desire", I think the humans called them. For some of us, the new feelings began to play havoc on our minds. The conflict between animal instinct and human reason and emotion caused some of these to lose their minds, killing themselves or giving in fully to the gene curse; satisfying their desire for blood or sexual pleasure in disgusting and despicable ways. Thankfully most of us, like me, were able to resist and control these new feelings. Something I'm grateful of...I wanna stay an ass virgin.
"Excuse me Sergeant?" Allan asked me, the laughter dying down around them. "Did you ever see combat?" I nodded my head at his question, lifting my shirt over the spike on my chest as to reveal a long scar that stretched across the left side of my chest. No fur grew over the scar, giving a stark contrast between the tan of the fur on my chest and the dark pink of my skin. The Marines eyeballed the scar, their eyes lit up with curiosity and surprise. "I have..." I answered after several seconds, pulling the shirt back down, sliding my spike back through the woven hole in the shirt. "Though you all are probably more interested in hearing war stories rather than seeing old scars, eh?" I smiled, hearing them all chime back. I rubbed my hands together in a human expression, grinning widely as all the memories of those few days came rushing back to me as though they happened yesterday. "Well..." I began "it all started four years ago during my first deployment. I was a young pup, not unlike most of you, receiving my own baptism of fire...and nearly drowned in the sea of blood that came with it."
It was then that I began telling the story of my first experience of combat; an event that would forever be known in the military history textbooks as "Violet Storm."