Graduation from Boot Camp Hell

I adapted reasonably well to training camp life. Sure, I felt the urge to smash that Hog bastard's skull a few times, but I held back. Losing control meant starting over from scratch, so I stayed cautious.

The other recruits kept their distance from me, scarred by the fear I'd imprinted on them. On top of that, I had the instructors' quiet protection.

Probably thanks to Berry Major.

After fucking Berry Major in the Type 1 warehouse, I visited the women's barracks every night. Surprisingly, the female soldiers were waiting for me. Most of them were in their prime, just like us guys, drafted into service.

Thrust! Thrust! Thrust!

"Didn't you say ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you had a boyfriend back home? This pussy's got no mileage on it, though. Tell him thanks later—said he kept your cunt in good shape."

"Hngh~!"

The first female soldier I'd fucked, Lieutenant Hanna, shook her plump ass as she took my pistoning thrusts with her whole body. She was wearing asshole panties. They'd started as standard military undies, but I'd cut them up into slutty lingerie on a whim. Camo lingerie—ain't nothing like it anywhere in the world.

"Hngh~! I'm cumming!"

I smacked Lieutenant Hanna's ass hard. She climaxed dramatically. Before me, she hadn't even known what an orgasm was. No wonder she fell so easily.

"By the way, isn't your asshole hair way too thick? Berry Major's the same. Do officers have a rule against trimming pubes or something?"

"N-no, there's no such thing. And recruit—I'm an officer. Call me Lieutenant or—"

"Shut up, you meat toilet bitch."

I slapped the cheeky toilet bitch's face with my dick.

"Hey, stick out your asshole. Time for some mowing. This jungle's overgrown."

"Ah, don't shave the lower hairs carelessly..."

"You think I'm gold-plating your asshole fur? No more bullshit—pucker up that ass. Or I'll yank 'em all out."

I neatly shaved Lieutenant Hanna's lower region. Seeing that smooth white pussy gleaming made me want to pound her again. Naturally, I did.

I racked up plenty of gains at training camp. Fucking healthy young chicks was one perk, but the real prize was something else.

Thanks to the Marksmanship skill, I could now nail headshots on targets over 200 meters—provided my stance was stable, of course.

One of the high-rank conditions was no offensive skills. Does a passive like this count?

Who knows. Either way, more skills are always better.

Graduation day, finally.

The long—or short—boot camp stint was over. After banging Berry Major and the women, it hadn't been so boring. Naturally, I topped the class.

"Citation! Private Cheonsoo. This recruit excelled in the 7th Army Training Center program, contributing to the army's combat strength. Awarded by 7th Training Center Commander Arthur Garfield."

I received the citation in front of the entire unit. I'd hoped for leave slips, but nope—just paper. Military life's a bitch.

"From now on, you're heading to hell! Morton Archipelago! You can't imagine how ugly, filthy, and terrifying that battlefield is. You'll see comrades screaming in death, malaria-riddled hellscapes, and endless Kyrria bastard airstrikes tormenting you."

At graduation, Hog spat his furious speech, face twisted in rage. The prick had a dogshit personality, but damn if I hadn't grown a bit fond. Surprisingly sensitive guy.

"But remember! If we don't crush those filthy Free Army scum, the next battlefield will be our Kaki Republic homeland! Soldiers! Use every lesson from this camp! Survive no matter what! Pin those shiny medals I never got on your chests and return in glory! I'll be waiting!"

"“Woooaaah!”"

The recruits roared in cheers, celebrating graduation. But we all knew—this wasn't some happy school send-off. It was kicking open hell's gates. Those shouts were just unconscious rebellion against the fear.

"Sigh. Wonder where I'll get posted."

"Anywhere but Morton Archipelago. Heard monsters show up there."

"Monsters die to bullets, right?"

"Dunno. Anyway, good times are over."

"Good times? Bullied by that Bulldog bastard on top of Duran Dos reaming us—this was good?"

"Better than eating bullets."

Now privates, the recruits chatted with anyone to hide their anxiety. Then came the moment they'd waited for: family visits.

"Mom! I'm here!"

"Whoa! Jenny! You came all this way!?"

"My folks should be here soon..."

Recruits buzzed, hugging families from home, eyes misty. Classic training camp scene.

A silver-haired middle-aged man in army uniform appeared before me. He flinched at the sight of me and spoke.

"Dos."

Probably Duran Dos's dad. Retired soldier? Those shiny medals on his uniform stand out. Wish my real dad was this cool. Mine's a stuffy old fart.

"Heard the news. Honestly, when I first heard you refused to pick up a gun, I worried. You've always been like that—hating to hurt others..."

"Was I?"

I smirked, and he eyed me up and down.

"You've changed a lot. Makes sense—this place changes you fast. Happened to me too."

"No mom?"

"...Your mother died 15 years ago."

"Oh, right. I meant stepmom."

"She's still in my heart. How could I remarry?"

"I see."

Honestly, I had nothing to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠say. Good thing he was quiet too. We sat wordlessly on the stands, watching reunions.

"Miss those days. Same scene when I graduated."

"You graduated here too, Dad?"

He slowly turned to me.

"Asking about my service? You've really changed."

"Just curious."

"Yeah, I did. See that guy, Sergeant Hog? My classmate."

No way. Hog—the one I'd "killed" multiple times—and Duran Dos's dad were同期? Wild.

"Hog beat the shit outta me."

"Figures. Fiery ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠temper even back then. He probably doesn't know you're my son."

He brushed off his pants and stood. His face screamed unspoken words, but his mouth stayed shut. After minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

"Dos. Come back alive."

That was it. He turned and left the camp lonely-like. Visits were short. Military trucks awaited.

"Recruits! Board now!"

Sergeant Hog's voice boomed across the camp.

The first scenario—top graduate from basic training—was a breeze. Some early trolling, but nothing tough for me. I checked my quest rank.

F to F+. Keep this up for SSS and big rewards. Gotta clear the next scenarios clean. I pulled up the follow-up.

The military truck ran for over four hours. The other rookies with me dozed off, heads bobbing under helmets.

Next to me was a recruit named Coren. He'd been my seatmate in camp too.

Not certain yet, but high chance we're posted together.

We arrived at a massive train station. A grim-faced officer in army uniform greeted us—not like Hog, more like a rabid dog.

"Rookies from 7th Training Center, huh? You know the drill—destination's Typhoon Ocean's Morton Archipelago. Head to Brown Navy Base first. Front of the line, step up one by one."

We got train tickets and canned goods each. Cans were lunch. Hilarious—no opener. Military admin at its finest?

"Fuck, how do you open this shit?"

I wasn't the only one stumped. I punched through the lid with my finger.

"Private Dos, sir—could you open my can?"

One recruit nailed the polite double-question as I'd taught.

"You idiots can't even do this?"

I became the instant can opener. These punks loosened up outside camp. No urge to stir shit, so I opened theirs too.

The cans tasted like ass. Realized modern canned food's a delicacy. With chow this shitty, can we even fight?

We ate lunch waiting for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the train.

"Train's here! 7th rookies! Board! Stragglers are AWOL!"

Canned-food munchers scrambled aboard. I joined. The train chugged over 10 hours, landing us at Brown Navy Base.