Relentless March to Victory
“If you fall behind like this, you’ll have to go back to the barracks and face your classmates! You wrecked someone else’s life with your own hands!”
“Ah… no, what’s the big deal about falling behind in a march?”
“Yeah, keep giving up and living easy like that. Then just head to the front lines and die together. Looks like dying and starting over might be better.”
“We’ll walk! We can just walk!”
The cadets, on the verge of quitting amid the curse-like barrage, staggered back to their feet.
“Your selfish actions wasted our time, so no breaks. Get your heads straight and follow me.”
Derek strode ahead without another word.
The cadets wanted to complain, but with their gear slung over Derek’s back, they couldn’t utter a peep.
“Hurry up!”
“O… okay, we’re coming, so please slow down a bit.”
Whether it was the sun-rising morning or the chilly evening air,
Derek’s platoon marched on without stopping.
They caught up, fell behind, caught up, fell behind.
The inhuman intensity left even the watching instructors and assistants shaking their heads in awe.
“Someone’s gonna drop dead at this rate. We just gonna watch?”
The assistant attached to Derek’s platoon voiced his concern to the instructor where the cadets couldn’t hear.
“They’re giving it their all—why interfere? That kid, though… he’s a gem. Leadership like that at eighteen? Born soldier.”
The instructor’s eyes gleamed unnaturally as he watched Derek.
“Just twenty kilometers left, right?”
Day three of the march.
Barring any surprises, they’d make it back to the training camp by tonight.
“Cough! Cough! I’m dying here.”
“I just want to lie in bed. And I’m starving.”
Not even a week in, yet the cadets looked like they’d been roughing it for a month.
And it was all because the cold nights sapped their appetites.
They’re practically begging to catch a cold. Idiots.
Want to know what’s even worse?
Despite the colds, they hadn’t touched their combat rations.
Tasted fine to me.
Palan hadn’t mentioned it, but it was just mildly spicy fried rice.
This is why nobles are nobles.
He’d always figured noble brats were clueless about the real world,
but this march hammered it home.
Most were gold-spoon kids who’d shine on TV.
“Lunch break’s over. Gear up and let’s move.”
Palan shouldered his pack and stood.
“Feels heavier now.”
As platoon rep, he hid the strain, but honestly, he was beat.
Tonight, it’s lights out early, no matter what.
If they tried classes right after return, he might just stage a mutiny.
“Alright! Back to camp, let’s go!”
Adelph Military Training Camp
The knowledge that the end was near fueled their final push.
They made it inside the military zone before sunset.
“Haa.”
Legs like jelly.
Finally there, Palan exhaled the breath he’d held and collapsed to the ground.
“We’re first, right?”
“Yeah, asked the sentry on the way—no one’s checked in yet.”
Ion’s intel made Palan’s lips curl up involuntarily.
First by main force standards.
But Derek’s platoon hadn’t arrived, so no popping champagne yet.
Please, just get here soon.
With Derek, they wouldn’t quit midway, but too late meant no points anyway.
“If we go in now, we’d be first on time but last overall, right?”
“Definitely.”
Derek’s group alone had 83.
Nearly a hundred stragglers? Outcome’s obvious.
His guess, but in military training, stragglers outweighed time.
“Come on already.”
One hour, two.
No sign, then 2nd Battalion appeared first.
“Freedom! It’s over!”
“Why aren’t they going in?”
“Doesn’t that make us first?!”
2nd Battalion marched straight into the parade ground.
Later word: 61 stragglers.
“Insane.”
“Should we go now?”
“They’ll be after dark at least.”
Platoon leaders fidgeted around the finish line, but Palan held firm.
“Too late anyway. Let’s trust and wait.”
Faith crumbling by the minute, but what choice?
Entry now was pointless.
“1st Battalion! I’m proud of you all! It’s done!”
“Waaaaa!!!”
“Let’s go in! Great job, everyone!”
1st Battalion arrived an hour after 2nd.
47 stragglers.
Low, somehow.
Unless thirties… we’re sunk.
Half would’ve been miracle; now expectations rose.
“Not easy.”
Glances of blame turned his way as two battalions finished.
Derek, where are you?
Minutes dragged like hours; couldn’t even look back.
“We suffered for last place?”
“Screw it, barracks sound good. We’re toast.”
“Shouldn’t have split platoons. Tired ones slow everyone. Tsk.”
Cadets vented frustrations with sighs.
Valid gripes, but last place was his fault regardless.
Prep a public apology?
As he braced for reality,
a tiny shadow appeared far off.
“Wha… what?!”
It grew, numbers swelling visibly.
Sitting cadets jumped up one by one.
“No way…”
“Our battalion?”
“That’s almost everyone?!”
Confirmed, they rushed out cheering before anyone spoke.
“Give me your gear! Almost there!”
“Urk, save me.”
“Right in front! Push!”
They hauled packs, propped up the collapsing, dragged them to the parade ground.
How many is that?
Over sixty easy.
We did it! We’re golden!
Euphoria surged; fists clenched tight.
“Hyung, not late, right?”
Derek stood before him, exhaustion etched in his hoarse voice.
“Perfect timing. Great work. Thanks.”
Palan hugged him fiercely, pounding his back.
“Ha… haha, nearly died.”
“You’re the hero. Let’s go in together.”
Arm over Derek’s shoulder, he turned to the battalion.
“Alright! Let’s go! It’s over!”
“Waaaaa!!! Finally, this damn march!”
“We’re number one!”
Morale skyrocketed.
All linked arms, no stragglers, and entered the parade ground.
“With the last battalion in, march training ends.”
Sun fully set.
Instructor mounted the podium, announcing closure.
“Straggler counts confirmed. Rankings now, then barracks.”
The pivotal moment.
Cadets stared silently at the instructor.
“First, cadets: When I said this was possible at the start, who believed?”
Palan had, but atmosphere killed raising a hand.
“Yet you did it. Most of you. To those who finished: Don’t limit yourselves. Tempted to quit or run in service? Remember today.”
Buildup screamed rehearsed.
Palan empathized from the grind, but it rang hollow.
If it sucks and you wanna bolt, bolt. Sticking it out just breaks you worse.
Am I too jaded?
Glancing around, most cadets looked moved.
“That’s all. Now, rankings. Lowest overall: 2nd Battalion.”
No criteria revealed; last place hit like a bolt from the blue.
2nd’s high spirits crashed to funeral gloom.
“We’re screwed.”
“Last…? After all that?”
Despair and more on their faces.
Their rep collapsed fully, shocked.
Suck it up. What can ya do.
Harsh, but glad it wasn’t him.
“First in was good, but stragglers too many.”
Stragglers key, as expected.
So 3rd Battalion’s rank?
“Not second… announcing top platoon.”
Instructor smirked knowingly, eyeing Palan and 1st’s rep.
“Top platoon this class: 3rd Battalion, minimized stragglers beyond even my imagination.”
‘3’ dropped; Palan thrust his fist skyward.
Seconds later.
.
.
.
“YAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!”
Cheers exploded across the parade ground.
“We’re top!!!”
“Palan, you monster!”
“Thought we bombed, boo-hoo.”
Joy and tears mixed; training ended triumphantly.
Unaware it’d bite back later.
1st: Ion Belburn
2nd: Palan Oclo
3rd: Aisa Lintun
.
12th: Derek Rahila
.
.
“Heh.”
Eve of graduation.
Post-morning eval and dinner, rankings posted on the board.
His: 2nd.
Bliss and relief melted his brain.
I lived. Lived!
2nd: rear, even rearmost if seats open.
Survive till war’s end, discharge, count. Perfect.
World tried to screw him into service, but who’s he?
640-day spec-ops vet.
No match for these rookies. Ace.
“Us two, 1st and 2nd. Where you headed?”
Perfect-scorer Ion sidled up.
“Check postings. East ideal, but spots scarce.”
Wartime special class.
Rear yes, ultra-rear like east? Doubtful.
“Yeah.”
“You?”
“Dunno. Planned rear, but rethinking.”
“Suddenly…? You busted ass for rear.”
Like cramming med school then ditching post-exam.
Instructor gaslighted patriotism into him…?