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

[FinnianBrightfur]

"Thought we were just signin’ up for some drills. Didn’t think it’d feel quite so much like boot camp..."

Finn stifled a bark of a laugh, and fumbled to keep the tension on the laces as he tied them up at the back. "Oh c'mon, it's Alwyn! What did you expect?" he said in a hushed (and yet still playful) voice. The foxkit had a slightly mischevious streak building in him this voyage, and seemed to be pushing the envelope a little with what he could get away with. Nevertheless, Alwyn had sharp hearing, and seemed to be in a mood to... creatively punish those who were stepping out of line. Finn would have to be careful. Fortunately, he was busy taking care of Vihma, and Finn was positive the whisper would go unnoticed.

Once Swift had been laced up, Finn switched places with him, and lifted his arms up over his head as the training armor was placed on him.

"You holdin’ up alright?"

"Yeh, I'll be fine as long as y'don't bash my snoot in!" he hissed back, a cocky grin spreading around the corner of his muzzle.

Trotting up to the group, Finn quickly ran a paw through his tail to make sure there weren't any tufts of fur matted together by anything. The group seemed to have caught the tacit confession from Vihma, and there was a bawdy chorus of mock surprise from the marines.

But as far as Finny was concerned, Vihma and Morgan were just really good friends.

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

Alwyn’s demonstration continued with surprising deftness as Swifttail let the deck breathe around him. The comb worked through Vihma’s fur with a care that stood in quiet contrast to the barked fury from earlier. The marines leaned in, some curious, some sheepish, some trying not to look as though they were taking mental notes.

Swift did the same in his own way.

He lifted a paw and raked his claws lightly through his chest fur, smoothing it down the grain, then ran them once through the base of his tail to settle any stray lift. He’d brushed properly that morning, but there was no harm in making sure. A quick adjustment to the line of his collar, a firm tug at one strap, and he arched his back a touch straighter.

Beside him, Finn’s earlier whisper echoed back at him.

"Oh c’mon, it’s Alwyn! What did you expect?"

Swift shot the kit a sideways look and rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Aye. That’s the trouble, innit?" he murmured under his breath.

When Finn shot back about not bashing his snoot in, Swift huffed a quiet laugh and gave him a light thump against the shoulder plate.

"Then don’t go stickin’ yer snoot in front o’ me blade, mate."

The words were playful, but there was steadiness beneath them. He let his shoulder rest briefly against Finn’s, grounding more than bracing.

"Stick close. Same as Urk."

No speeches. No drama. Just fact.

The ripple of laughter that followed Vihma’s hesitant confession carried easily across the light sea air. Swift’s ears flicked toward it, his gaze shifting without turning his head fully. He watched the flush bloom beneath her tawny fur, the way she held herself upright despite the teasing chorus.

He understood that particular heat.

Discipline was easier than affection aboard a ship — with its close quarters, gossiping tongues, and little privacy. Discipline was simpler. Cleaner. Easier to measure.

His thoughts drifted, briefly, to Morgan, and he wondered how she might take the laughter if it cut too deep. While not his place to intervene, he marked it quietly in his mind, the way he marked many things these days.

He shifted his weight and nudged Finn once more, lighter this time.

"We’ll manage," he said, low enough for only the kit to hear.

The grindstone might turn hard before the day was done. Alwyn would soon call them upward again into endless drills and strain.

Swift settled into the worn leather at his shoulders and stood ready.

Whatever came next, they would face it as they always had — side by side, steady and unbroken.

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn filed the information about Private Rhoodie away mentally to use later for motivational purposes, but decided, for now, to continue rewarding her for her obedience as she was meeting his standards. He also decided to be real with her for once, speaking from his own experience with Annabelle. Putting a surprisingly firm and comforting paw on her soldier, he gave her a gruff nod.

“Good. Gives you someone to come back to. Pay close attention to what I say, and you will have the best chance of going back to him or her in one piece.”

“Now, I want the rest of you...except for you…” He pointed once again to the fox with the incredible matting in his chest fur “...to practice combing and applying the ointments. You’ll need it for the next couple of weeks. Now, as for our matted friend here…” He offered a devilish grin as he grabbed the scissors and comb “we’re gonna get to work…”

Some time later, the group of recruits had managed to look presentable, and Alwyn stared for a moment in awe at the sheer massive, red gnarled ball of fuzz that he had cut out of the recruit’s chest with grim precision. It was so thick and twisted, he thought it might actually stop a low-powered arrow, something that he would have to try out in their marksmanship course later. The recruit, at least, seemed unharmed, and more like a normal fox than whatever kind of monster he had been before.

“Good...good…” He cooed, before stopping before the group. “And what do we say to each other, marines, so that this never happens again…?” He asked, eyes hard.

“The…standard never drops…?” The young rat from earlier asked timidly.

“That’s right, now say it like you mean it, all of you!”

“THE STANDARD NEVER DROPS!” the group responded.

Finally seeming satisfied, Alwyn nodded.

“Up on the deck in ten, in full gear. Lieutenant Tultow, make sure they’re properly dressed, if you would.”

He then proceeded to march by Swifttail and Finnian, keeping his eyes straight. He was all business today-because the time he invested now was precious, and prevented time spent writing eulogies later.

------------------------On the deck, with the assembled Marine company.-----------------------------

Once everybeast had assembled themselves...with more than a few little love whacks with batons...into something resembling a formation, Alwyn proceeded to go to just below the quarterdeck, where a large amount of sheets had been placed over something, and helpful taut rope was lined out in guardrails across the entirety of the top deck in a path formation. He then gave them all a wry smile.

“Good, now that we are finally looking like proper marines and in some….crude form...of organization…” He looked like forced those last two words out as if it physically pained him. “We are going to go on a nice, brisk run around the ship. We will go easy on you all today, since it’s your first day. A mere twenty-five laps at a nice, brisk hiking pace…”

Most of the newer recruits seemed to blanche at that, but a few of the older veteran survivors remain stone-faced, knowing there was more to come. Just how bad remained to be seen.

“...of course, what separates the Imperium, and especially its marines, from the unorganized bands of woodlanders and vermin on the Sathern Continent is our ability to remain ready to fight at all times. And do you know how we do so?”

With a dramatic flair, Alwyn nodded to his assistants, and he himself began unwrapping the white sheets, revealing wooden cutlasses, unloaded crossbows, and heavy packs-filled this time to the brim with sand and stones. He then gave them a full, grin, sharp canines and white teeth showing as he spoke.

“A marine is expected to be able to carry roughly sixty pounds worth of gear, give or take ten pounds, on a combat mission, and still remain effective and able to fight at the end of the a march to the battlefield. This includes your armor, weaponry, camp building equipment, food, water, medical supplies, and more, enough to sustain you with careful rationing for about a week’s worth of combat operations away from the ship before one must begin to forage. What I have here, including your armor, simulates that more or less. Of course, the length of our jaunt today is much shorter than it would normally be thanks to your loving instructor, but we will build up to that in time, don't you worry."

Alwyn himself then quickly, and with machine-like efficiency, put on all of the required gear, grinning as he did so. This was going to be fun, and, for him, a light task compared to what he had gone through training for the Stoatorian Guard. For the rest of the recruits however, it would be another step of tempering them into marines. He moved over to the starting line that he had arranged carefully with red cloth, then turned around.

“Marines! Pick up your gear and line up in formation behind me for the exercise. I expect you all to be done within five minutes! Any laggards get to run an extra ten laps!”

He glanced over at Swifttail for a moment, smiling internally. He had his next victim picked out and was going to test if his nickname was truly descriptive when it mattered.

But with who is after you and Silvertongue...as much training as I can cram in as soon as I can will be necessary. Who knows when-not if-we will encounter them on the seas. It could even be on this mission.

@SwifttailTheFox @Vihmastaja @FinnianBrightfur (and anyone who would like to watch or participate) @Dusk Rainblade

 

[Lieutenant Q.E. Tultow]

Tultow nodded slowly at Vihma's statement, acknowledging the bravery of her statement. The military had changed since his early days, when he'd nearly been drummed out based on rumors of his 'inclinations'. Gyles had interfered on Tultow's behalf, getting him a spot in the marines, but still, it had been a long time before he'd dared to take another lover. Now it seemed that the navy was more or less accepting of such beasts as himself, a change he was relieved to see happening for the sake of the younger generation. It had come as no surprise at all when news circulated of the involvement between the two jills who had been punished together in the crow's nest on the Urk Expedition; much like young Masters Swifttail and Songfox, the Misses Liu and Rhoodie had hardly been the most circumspect in their relationship. In fact, as Tultow glanced further down the bunks, he noticed the ferret jill watching Vihma with an anxious pride in her small smile. Tultow relayed that smile to Vihma, a bit of encouragement for the trials ahead. It seemed Alwyn, for all his posturing, was intent upon demonstrating that he had something of value to contribute to the marines, even if that was an obsession with personal hygiene.

The next part of the training earned a grimace from Tultow at the memory of this routine. In truth, when he'd completed this training, his hatred had not been for the weight, but for the tedium of the endless laps. If anything, during actual excursions he'd found that he could walk endlessly. He gripped his cane, steadying himself as he swayed, and amended that statement: used to be able to walk endlessly. He'd nearly fallen twice climbing the stairs to the deck. His days of leading troops through the jungles of Valles Mensa or Resolution were far behind him, it seemed. He watched the recruits, this time his attitude in complete alignment with the guardbeast. Physically speaking, it would be essential that all the new marines could carry everything they needed and more for hours at a time; when, not if, the next war with Alkamar arrived, they would need that endurance to carve a path from the beaches of Miklar to the Oldein Mountains. Tultow just wished he could be there to march with them.