Free THE PRIZE: BOOK TWO - RETRIBUTION by Rob Buckman Page B

of nasty creatures, fighting an almost invisible enemy. He had to admit, the 'training', as he’d found out later, was very effective, as within two months their casualty rate had dropped to less than two percent. Even if it were just a simulation, it was damned effective. The battles were real, as were the pain and hardship. At the end, when the truth became known, it hadn’t lessened the feeling of pride and accomplishment they had all felt. The Empire thought that all humans were stark raving mad, and maybe they were right. They did love to fight, fight, and win no matter what the odds, obstacles, or price. Their victory over the simulated Thrakee was sweet, and without the secondary feeling of guilt over killing another human being. After all, when human wars were long over, the old soldiers asked the same question. Was it all worth it? Couldn't they have found another way? Did my brothers in arms have to die? Long after, they'd meet up with their old enemies at some reunion or other, swapping stories over a quiet drink at last, seeing them as Human Beings just like them.
    They’d fought for their cause just as hard as the other side had fought for theirs. Victory and defeat were meaningless after the cities were rebuilt and the debris of war removed. After a while, the younger generation wouldn't even remember the sacrifices made in their name, or the friends lost on some nameless battlefield. To the young, it was just something in the history books they’d have to read and remember for an exam, and maybe that's the way it should be. Right now, with a little luck and some work, the days of man killing man in the name of some principle, ideal, or flag were over. Now they fought as one species against a universe bent on destroying them. Yes, humans did love to fight, enjoying the secret feeling of satisfaction at being better than the other guy, and surviving. So, now it fell to him, and nineteen other senior NCOs’ to train a new generation of recruits from Earth and turn them into warriors. Sergeant Ben-Sharon walked up to the table in front of the bleachers, and looked at the bright young faces of one hundred men and women of the number three training squadron seated on the hard wooden benches. They’d been recruited from all over the world and given the opportunity to join the new Terran Marine Corps and fight the Imperials. They'd come in droves, climbing out of the rubble of their shattered homelands with blood in their eyes to join up. Now it fell to him to turn this bunch of individuals into a fighting force. His face now wore his most intimidating look.
    “Listen up, you pathetic bunch of wannabe Terran Marines. I am not in the habit, nor do you want to piss me off by me having to repeat myself.” Silence greeted him. His scowl deepened.
    “Your answer is 'Hurrah'!” Still no answer. “Well! Let me hear it.”
    “Hurrah.” Sharon shook his head as he pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache coming on. “Hopefully, sometime in the next few weeks and months your enthusiasm will increase.” Bashfully, the recruits looked at each other.
    “Right. Heads up and pay attention.” This is the barrel of your brand new, standard issue Mark III-c, pulse rifle. Sharon picked it up off the table and held it up for everyone to see. “The barrel fits into the receiver like so.” Picking up the receiver section, he fitted the barrel into the end, pushed down, and locked it in place with half a twist.
    “To remove, all you have to do is push down against the locking spring; half twist the barrel and pull it out.” He demonstrated inserting and removing the barrel several times. “Anyone here not understand how to install and remove the barrel of their brand new, standard issue Mark III-c pulse rifle?” This time a few answered with a 'hurrah', but most of the recruits looked bored. The task was so simple a two year old could do it.
    “Right then. Let see you remove the barrel of your brand new