Expedition Training Voyager to Croper's Cove: I'll make a Marine Out of You!

[Alwyn Ryalor]

(Meant primarily for the marines, but others can join in for physical training, weapon training, archery, etc).

The first trickles of sunlight began to roll stream peacefully over the Hide as a few shadowy figures descended from the main deck down into the bowels of the ship. They moved with a rigorous cadence, with a sole purpose and singular destination. They moved down past the general decks of the crew, towards the middle of the ship, and, upon seeing a particular door dimly lit by the internal lanterns, paused. The leader of the group, a large fox dressed in leather armor, smiled, then removed something from his belt and handed it to a much smaller fox who accompanied him. It was a small wooden club, and the two of them shared a knowing look between the two of them.

A loud BANG then rippled through the entire compartment as the door was nearly kicked off its hinges and the fox and his small escort of the remaining senior marines from the Urk Expedition began to move cot to cot as the former bellowed orders.

“EVERY MARINE OUT OF THEIR COTS AND AT ATTENTION IN TEN SECONDS! TEN SECONDS!” He roared.

I’ll go easy on them as it’s their first day, should be five, truthfully, and hell to pay if they aren’t up by then, but ten and a few little love taps from Finnian’s baton if they aren’t will do for now.

@FinnianBrightfur @Vihmastaja @Dusk Rainblade (tagging interested people etc initially) @SwifttailTheFox.

 

[Vihmastaja]

Dreaming had never been her strong suit. Like a candle that flickers and fails in the night, quick, confused dreams played out in her mind, twisting and transforming from one strange image to another beneath the ruffled, brightly orange fur of Vihma’s sleeping head. This time she was back home, in another time, playing with a raggedy doll while her mother watched, mending cloth for her to wear.

Her mother was smiling, a rare sight from memory, and so Vihma smiled too, in her sleep, briefly but blissfully unaware of the world beyond her closed eyes, or the future - now the past - that forever tore her from moments such as this. Then, something in the memory failed, penetrated by a noise beyond the veil of waking sleep, and the vision drained away, replaced by a cold, harsh reality.

Vihma blinked away sleep, stumbling awake before she even remembered where she was. The Golden Hide. Imperial Navy - Marine Troops. Not quite the same as Morgan’s bed, but if there were any other place she’d want to be, she supposed this was it. It was the life she’d asked for, the one she’d chosen back on Urk’s frigid shores.

The tawny weasel stood straight and tall quickly enough - she’d had to wake so much faster before, back in the Slups, before the Navy - looking unkempt and ill-rested in her skivvies and the still-slow motion of her eyes and her face, but without complaint, without reservation.

She raised her chin before the fortunate few still with them from before Urk could see her looking sleepy still, chancing a short glance towards the fox who led their number into their quarters. Vihma had only heard rumors about him, hardly enough to form an opinion. Stoatorian Guard, supposedly. And a Ryalor to boot.

A frown fought its way to her face before she could still it. She’d nearly died for one of them. Once for Talinn the Traitor’s sword and a fancy hat, again for whatever fancy rock it was they’d pilfered from the cannibal shrews on Urk. Morgan had almost died. She was pretty sure he’d abandoned her mother too, back when he’d been Minister of Misanthropy, years before she’d even been born.

And the Stoatie Lieutenant was related to him, to Talinn. Some said he was even the Duke’s son.

The rest of the marine recruits stirred at various speeds, but Vihma was up and attentive before the ten seconds were out, breathing through her nose at a measured pace, eyes straight ahead.

 

[Lieutenant Q.E. Tultow]

Tultow stumbled slightly as he stepped into the room, catching himself on the doorframe before he could support himself with his cane. He cursed harshly enough to scald the ears of the ship's sailors, righting himself before he could fall to the ground. Once he was on the floor, picking himself up would become one of the ten labors of Mustecles - not to mention an excruciating, humiliating ordeal.

He followed after Alwyn, his ears flattening slightly in resentment at this Stoatie coming in and trying to teach his unit something. As if they weren't part of a tradition that dated back to the first Vulpinsulan footpaws on the beaches of Miklar. Tultow had been trained by legends in his days, had fought as a young lad, fresh out of basic, from the Miklarian hills to the Oldein Mountains, and had lived to not only tell the tale, but to pass on his knowledge to a new generation, training them up into the Imperium's elite landing force. So he'd been sidelined from command as a younger beast thanks to Colonel Khan's vendetta against him. So he'd had to work twice as hard to earn the respect of those around him with the allegations about his nightly habit dogging him at every step. So he'd only gotten his place aboard the Hide, first as leader of the ship's marine complement, now as training advisor, thanks to Gyles' intervention on his behalf. He might be half-paralyzed and wracked with pain like his every fiber was being pulled apart by wild badgers. Despite all of that, there was one thing he knew:

These. Are. My. Marines.

He bared his teeth at Alwyn's back, disguising it as a grimace of pain as he limped along. The marines were scrambling to move, unprepared for the drill sergeant tactics being leveled at them. Sure, some of them were fresh out of basic, sent to replenish their numbers, or were saltbacks (naval transfers) like Vihma, but a number were junior officers themselves, ones with years of service under their belts who had been angling for an assignment aboard the Hide for years. Several had accepted decreases in rank and/or pay for the privilege of serving aboard this storied vessel. They wouldn't complain about their treatment, of course, but it still galled Tultow to see his branch of the military treated with such indignity.

On one of the bunks, Piper was struggling to swing herself out of bed and into the wheelchair beside it. He approached, putting up a paw to stop her. "Not you, Corporal," he addressed her. "You're the quartermaster's now. You don't train with us anymore."

"Sir," she protested, still struggling to rise, "Vihma - Private Rhoodie - is still learning marksmanship from me. If she'll be training, I should be-"

"You'll train her later," he promised, patting her on the shoulder. "For now, rest. You've more than earned it."

He straightened up with a grimace of pain that distorted his whole face, limping his way along the line. Most were already at attention, though a few were subtly trying to tuck in their shirts. He spotted Vihma, already standing perfectly ready for inspection, and he gave her an encouraging smile. He knew her insecurity about her new position, but as far as he was concerned, she'd more than proven her worth on the ice of Urk. Perhaps we should add that blasted place to the damn marine anthem, he mused privately.