'Inspection'

02-Nov-2030, 0400U

Tribunus Angusticlavius Kayla Stern, Daughter of Veritas

Legio XII Fulminata

Oakland Hills, California, USA

I stood with my fellow tribunes right outside the barracks area, trying to hide my shivering. It was in the low 50s, hours before dawn, and we'd assembled alongside the cadre in PT uniforms plus sweaters—along with "glow belts," Camelbaks, headlamps, black beanies, and a few other items acquired for the cadre in the last two days—under Evocatus Jackson's orders. The ex-praetor himself was talking with the legate, camp prefect, and the de facto head of Percy's Minions, Prefect Dakota Sanders of Auxiliary Cohort I.

"This is gonna be a hard one, considering that we don't have much sleep ourselves," Legate Reed yawned. "Hope you know what you're doing, Percy."

"I'd say so. Is there anyone not good to go?" Percy asked. After seeing nothing but shaking heads and hearing only negative replies, he nodded. "Okay... rock and roll, boys and girls."

"Let's go!" Dakota said, raising a megaphone and charging the barracks, the rest of Percy's Minions right behind him, many carrying megaphones as well. Some even carried empty metal trash cans and air horns, and one man even had some cymbals... for reasons that I still don't know (I think he was one of those overdramatic band kids back in middle/high school). Within seconds, chaos reigned in the barracks, courtesy of the cadre's rude awakening. Even from the outside, I could hear the cadre-induced cacophony:

"WAKE THE FUCK UP!!"

"INSPECTION TIME, INSPECTION TIME, MOOOOOOOOVE!!"

"MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!!"

"REVEILLE, REVEILLE, REVEILLE!!"

"WAKEY WAKEY, RISE AND SHINE, BITCHES!!"

"SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS!!"

"FIX THIS FUCKING PLACE!! HOLY SHIT, THIS IS GODAWFUL!!"

Adding to the chaos were legionaries visible through the unimpeded doorways, caught off-guard by the cadre's shock-and-awe tactics. While the evocatus, legatus, and praefectus castrorum kept discussing the day's plan behind me, the other tribunes and I decided to get a better look. Inside one barrack belonging to Cohort III, three instructors were simultaneously berating one legionary that made an error of some kind, while two others were loudly encouraging the rest of the contubernium to "SQUARE EVERYTHING THE FUCK AWAY!!" and "GET THE FUCK OUTSIDE IN FULL COMBAT GEAR!!"

Is this what the modern US military goes through? Holy shit!

"GET BACK HERE, YOU LITTLE BITCH!!" a female instructor screamed in the adjacent barrack, right after one legionary seemed to stumble out the doorway backwards. Whether an attempt at an escape or an accident, I didn't know, but the young woman paid for it dearly as she got jumped by an additional instructor. "WHY IS ALL YOUR CRAP OVER THE FLOOR?!"

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GOOOOO!!" an instructor nicknamed "Napoleon"—due to his small stature—bellowed behind me as he and two more of Percy's Minions rapidly corralled a contubernium outside with all of their equipment. However, the 5' 5" tesserarius of Auxiliary Cohort I was nothing short of a force of nature, putting the fear of God and Rome in their hearts as he disciplined the eight legionaries for mistakes in preparing their gear and themselves.

The contubernium under Napoleon's control was joined by two more contubernia that came out in full battle dress in record time. The legionaries were soon standing at attention with their furcae (marching poles) and pila above their heads, the weight of shields attached to their left arms somewhat counteracted by the weight of the equipment hanging off the furcae to their right.

Twenty minutes later, the entire legion—discounting auxiliaries, as most of Auxiliary Cohort I were instructors and Auxiliary Cohort II were kids with a completely different training program—was assembled in the field outside of the barracks, organized into their cohorts and trying to keep up with the instructors' harsh commands in the cold, dark morning. Legionaries that dropped the loads above their heads got themselves and their compatriots punished with running in place or push-ups... while still wearing their armor. Even if one single legionary committed an infraction, the entire cohort suffered the consequences.

"WHAT THE FUCK, TOO-TALL?!" one instructor screamed at a particularly large legionary in Cohort VI. "YOU CALL YOURSELF A LEGIONARY AND YOU CAN'T HOLD YOUR FUCKING GEAR?!"

"SIR, NO SIR!" Legionary Too-Tall replied.

"ARE YOU CALLIN' ME A LIAR, SON?!"

"SIR, NO SIR!"

"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING THEN?! HUH?! BE A MAN AND SAY IT!! SAY IT!! TELL ME WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS!!"

"SIR... I FUCKED UP, SIR!!"

"FINALLY, SOME GODDAMN INTEGRITY!! SIXTH COHORT, DROP AND GIVE ME TWENTY-FIVE!!"

It was the classic team philosophy: a chain is only as strong as its weakest link... just on an extreme level.

"LOUDER!! LOOOOOUUUUDEEEEER!!" another instructor screamed at Cohort VII.

"MA'AM, YES MA'AM!!" the cohort screamed back.

"ARE YOU A BUNCH OF LITTLE GIRLS?!"

"MA'AM, NO MA'AM!!"

"BULLSHIT!! MY FIVE-YEAR-OLD HAS BETTER PIPES THAN YOU WEINERS!! START RUNNING IN PLACE!! GOOOOOOOOO!!"

"KNEES UP, MOTHERFUCKERS, KNEEEEEEES UUUUUUP!!" one instructor roared at Cohort I, making them run in place while holding their gear above their heads. "PRIDE OF THE LEGION, MY ASS!! TEN OF YOU ARE MISSING ESSENTIAL GEAR!!"

"MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE!!" another instructor yelled, corralling who I assumed to be the ten errant legionaries back to their barracks—probably to retrieve their gear and be "PT'd" (or "IT'd") separately—leaving their comrades to suffer for their mistakes. "MOOOOOOOOVE!!"

Almighty... it would be a nightmare to be on the receiving end of this. Percy must be a sadist.

The fragments of the legion kept getting cycled through standing at attention, running in place, and doing push-ups (with the last two taking effect in the event that personnel made mistakes). There came a point at which I was concerned that we may have been going too far. But right before I approached Percy to ask him, he finally had the instructors stand down and back away.

It was now 5:00 AM.

"Good morning, ladies!" he cheerfully greeted with his megaphone. "Hope you enjoyed your beauty sleep. I was just informed that the last cohort has finally completed its inspection. By our timing, it has taken you fifty-eight minutes and twenty-two seconds to get into full battle rattle. You may be over nine hundred strong, but that's still a shit time. By the time your makeup is set, the ball's over and your carriages are pumpkins again... but we'll correct that eventually. For now, you've got until 5:45 to pack your gear and square your quarters away, with a barracks inspection immediately after. Cadre's then gonna conduct sick call at 6:15, then breakfast at 7:00. You'll be briefed on the day's plan afterwards. DIS-FUCKIN'-MISSED!"

With that, the Minions began corralling the (metaphorically) shell-shocked legionaries back into their barracks, loudly discouraging them from failing their incoming barracks inspection. Percy then turned towards the legion leadership team, letting out a yawn of his own—even a sadistic hardass of a sailor has to sleep, I guess.

"Well... that just happened," Steele said. "Like a fucking shark attack or something."

"Kind of an understatement, Nathan," I sighed, still freezing in the pre-dawn morning. "And the sun hasn't even come up yet."

"Yo, what the fuck did we miss?"

It was none other than Chen and Riggs—the tribunes absent from the morning muster due to their prepwork for the incoming ASVAB—joining us. Chen, like me, was shivering from the cold, while Riggs seemed positively serene despite not wearing a sweater. How, I still have no idea, considering he was born and raised here in SoCal.

"Shark attack," Hernandez summarized with a small sadistic grin, appearing to find the whole thing hilarious. "So how did you guys get the stuff? It's 5:00 in the morning now."

"W-well, I've got a b-buddy in the mortal world th-that runs a printing sh-shop, and he owed me o-one," Chen explained through his chattering teeth. "Sh-shit... fucking fr-freezing in this b-bitch."

"Dude, this is nice weather right here!" Riggs exclaimed. "Y'all are crazy, I swear."

"Your North Dakotan ass is literally from the second-coldest city in the USA," Reed grumbled. "So do us all a favor and shut the fuck up."

"Aw, that's not very nice, Patrick."

"Bart, I swear—"

"ANYWAYS," Steele loudly interrupted. "Sorry, gents, but we've got a show to run. Where's the exam happening? Because I'm not sure if we have a hall big enough for nearly a thousand test-takers."

"New Rome University's helping us out," Reed answered. "President's an old mentor. He's agreed to give us some rooms for testing. Also got New Rome K-12 and Pilum Academy to get away from each others' throats long enough to help us too."

"The established K-12 and the new charter K-12 drawing up a ceasefire? Y'know, that never happens," Hernandez noted. "I mean, you remember when Brand and Cutler were trying to verbally murder each other?"

"Joey, if we don't care, then the readers surely don't give a damn."

"It was funny though."

"Please shut up, Joey," Potter yawned. "It is too early for this bullshit. I want to sleep."

"Can't be showing the troops any weaknesses, Alex," I replied. "And to quote the words of Prefect Kahale: 'nut up and deal with it.'"

"I'm going to report your tiny ass to HR, I swear."

"We don't have HR, you stupid giant."

"This is what I love about Kayla. Despite not having a pair, she talks like she does," Steele joked, clapping me on the back. "She's either cocky as fuck or a tomboy."

"If you're all quite finished with this useless conversation, we should probably get to work," Kahale rumbled, the massive Hawaiian looking like he was cold and refusing to admit it. "Jackson?"

"We'll get going. Everyone knows what to do," Percy said, giving us a nod before walking off with the camp prefect.

"Okay... Matt, here's a list of the testing sites," Reed said, pulling a folded memo from his pocket. "You have the receipts for the print job and other test-taking shit?"

"Yeah, the s-stuff's in the car, re-receipts here," Chen replied, shaking as he pulled several slips of paper from his pocket.

"Okay, I'll get your reimbursement. All of you help Bart and Matt with getting the ASVAB shit where it needs to go. Then go get something to eat. The Minions will handle barracks inspection and sick call. Questions? ... okay, break."

We unloaded the materials: test packets, pencils, scratch paper, paperclips, staplers, Scantron answer sheets, even a few Scantron machines—I have no idea how Chen and Riggs acquired those. After splitting up the load from their SUV into two more vehicles, we broke off into pairs: Chen and Riggs would set up in NRU's Caesar Auditorium (plus a few extra classrooms), Potter and Hernandez would set up in NRK-12's Augustus Auditorium (again along with some extra classrooms), and Steele and I would set up in PA's Diocletian Auditorium (you guessed it... plus classrooms). We tribunes would share responsibility of proctoring the examination alongside the Minions.

After getting all the materials where they needed to go, Steele and I were able to run over to the mess hall and get a quick bite. In the distance, screams of instructors and legionaries were faintly audible as the latter underwent their barracks inspection. It was 5:55 AM, and the sun was yet to come up.

"Damn... wouldn't wanna be them," Hernandez muttered as he sipped his coffee. "So when does this ASVAB start?"

"Well, sick call's at 6:15, then they're supposed to hit the mess at 7:00, and something's probably gonna go wrong, so... we better be ready to go no later than 8:00," Chen calculated. "How're we proctoring?"

"Just gotta be like the Iron Lady," Steele said, looking at me with a grin. "Old Missus Richards. Remember her from NRU? The historian-librarian-archivist?"

"Still haunts my dreams," I replied, taking a bite of eggs. "But more of yours, probably."

"Oh yeah... crazy old bird. But she was smart. One of those tough-but-fair people."

"Is, Nathan, is."

"Shit, she's alive?" Riggs exclaimed. "I graduated six years before you two, and she looked like she married a Neanderthal!"

"She's surprisingly chill outside of the university," I said, recalling my recent luncheon with her. "Nice enough. Just lonely, I guess... no cats though, since she's allergic. She's actually a widow. Husband was a mortal cop, died in a shootout. Twin sons went into the Air Force and Army, and they died in combat and training, respectively. Sons had any kids with the wives, who are now estranged, so... yeah. Probably how she ended up the Iron Lady."

"That's... fucked."

"Fates at it again," Potter scoffed. "Damn hags."

"So what, Thoon the giant shoulda cut up their asses in the war two decades ago?" Steele asked.

"Sure, why not?"

"Welp, there goes our chances of a happy life. You just jinxed us, asshole."

"Well, in that case, fuck the Fates. Fuck the motherfucking Fates down to motherfucking Tartarus."

"Alex, shut the hell up."

"No, no, Potter has a point," a voice said behind me, its owner being none other than Percy Jackson, with Kahale right next to him. "But that aside, you guys ready for the ASVAB administration?"

"Yeah, we're good," Riggs answered. "Just waiting on the legion."

"Turns out they're more fucked up than we thought. Sick call's already being pushed back to 6:45. If we're lucky, we can start testing at 8:00."

"Well... that's convenient for us. What about you?"

"We've been setting up a 'hump,' as Evocatus Jackson calls it, of twenty milia passuum—ten out and ten back," Kahale explained. "In modern terms, that's eighteen miles."

"I beg your fucking pardon?" Potter gasped.

"That was the standard in the old days. They did it in just under five hours, but since we're in assessment mode, we're running a stopwatch instead of a timer."

"But... we've never done anything like that!" I exclaimed, still trying to process how they'd done it. "And it isn't as necessary as it used to be, considering we have cars!"

"True, but physical fitness is merely a helpful side effect. Our goal is to instill a higher degree of coordination and cohesion: straight ranks, proper distances, standing shoulder-to-shoulder under pressure, and so on."

"And don't worry, we've pulled out a lot of stops for safety's sake. The Minions, additional personnel from Auxiliary Cohort I, retirees from Vejovis Hospital, and a shitload of giant eagles, pegasi, and alicorns to provide rapid MEDEVACs," Percy added. "And all the Minions' packs are gonna contain medical equipment, so we're set."

"Oy vey," I muttered. "This is gonna be a ridiculous day."

"You don't say?" Steele yawned sarcastically.

As it turned out, we got really lucky, with the legionaries taking their seats in the testing sites at 7:45. After fifteen minutes of explaining the test and answering questions—including some intentionally stupid ones from our resident anarchist, Probatio Jones from Cohort V (or as Percy christened him, "Probatio Joker")—we began testing with the section labeled "General Science."

Seconds turned into minutes and minutes turned into hours as we went through each section of the ASVAB. Steele and I kept watch of the timer and stood by for any questions, while the cadre patrolled the auditorium, appearing to take note of any miscreants. After around three hours, it was over, with the legionaries turning in their paperwork and getting corralled outside by their instructors. The last one had barely stepped outside when the screaming commenced, with instructors—based on the sounds—PT-ing the crap out of troublemakers... and the rest of their cohorts, as well.

"Hell," Steele remarked at the sounds of disciplining.

"Hell," I agreed, neatly organizing the papers.

Then came the problem of actually processing the results. After a half hour of failing—including Steele inexplicably almost setting the Scantron machine aflame... somehow—we decided to join Chen and Riggs in NRU's Caesar Auditorium. As it turned out, Potter and Hernandez had the same idea, also requiring assistance. With Chen's know-how and Riggs's leadership, we were soon able to transform ourselves into a well-oiled machine.

Steele, Hernandez, and I ran the Scantrons through the machines, with Potter, Chen, and Riggs using their Leobooks to create a shared spreadsheet that contained the names, heritage (i.e., the implication of inherited skills/traits), and scores. After everything was through the machines, we got some Leobooks of our own and joined our compatriots in compiling and analyzing the data, using a list of US Army careers as our guide.

To say it took a while was an understatement. We were still analyzing the results at 4:00 PM, trying to figure out who was qualified for what. Even with Chen and Potter managing to create algorithms for the spreadsheet to help us out, there was still a lot of analysis for us to do. Riggs had to request a friend get some food for us a few hours earlier, as there was no time to break for lunch. My eyes were burning, I was exhausted, my head hurt, and my whole body ached from being stuck at the desk. Standing up and stretching didn't do much, considering we were stuck inside the damned building.

At 8:45 PM, we were still working. We continued to read and analyze, working in silence apart from a few mutterings. Nobody looked happy with this task. Heck, I was getting sick of it, and I generally excelled at this sort of thing. I was beginning to seriously regret agreeing on getting Percy's assistance.

Seriously, what were the consuls thinking, bringing in this psycho? He wasn't even in the legion for a year, wasn't even praetor for a week, and now he decides to just turn it all on its head? That bastard needs a mental hospital or something.

Speaking of the devil, the right door suddenly opened, and in staggered a filthy Percy still wearing his sweats, glow belt, black ballcap, and backpack. He carried a giant paper bag in one hand and a mini-cooler in the other.

"Hey," he panted hoarsely. "What's up?"

"Holy shit, why do you look like you're about to die?!" Riggs exclaimed, getting the exhausted evocatus a chair and freeing him of the items weighing him down.

"I'm tired as fuck, bro. Brought you some burritos. Iced Cokes in the cooler."

Sure enough, there were eight burritos inside, each wrapped in foil that had our name written on them... literally. There was also a small cardboard box of chips, salsa, and guacamole. Inside the mini-cooler were a dozen Cokes with ice between and around them.

Okay, now the Fates are just messing with me. Him showing up with dinner right after I curse him? What the crap?

"Don't worry, I got your regulars... 'least, accordin' to Juanita," Percy assured us—referring to the lady that ran the Gorditas & Gladiators restaurant (basically Roman-Mexican-American fusion). True to his word, my burrito was my favorite: roast pheasant. The delectable meal boosted my spirits, replenishing a good bit of the energy lost during this sedentary day.

"Damn... now that's a burrito," Steele said with a grin. "What are these last two?"

"I'm hungry, dumbass."

"... oh."

"Anyways, gimme a SITREP."

"If you're asking for a status update, we're still working on it," Chen replied. "We're in the process assigning each person to his or her... er, 'M-O-S' as you call it, and figuring out the movement of personnel."

"Why are we using a list of Army jobs when you've been in the Navy?" I asked.

"Based on what I'm seeing, the legion's pretty damn similar to the Army: large, heavy, slow, but very capable at building up and locking down areas," Percy explained through bites of burrito. "A bit ironic, I know, considering most of my training plan is based on that of the Marines', but still. Dad gave me a few ideas from his Army experience too."

"I see..."

"Here's the main question, though: can you do reassignments based on this information?"

"I mean, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay. Good."

"How was the hump?" Riggs asked, taking a sip of Coke.

"Ah, the hump... a lot went wrong, somehow. We had dehydration, sprains, strains, swelling, even stress fractures. No MEDEVACs were ordered unless the cadre deemed it absolutely necessary, but a decent bit of the legion still had to be MEDEVAC'd to the hospital... it was fucking ridiculous," Percy grumbled. "And aid needed to be rendered to more than half of the legion. Nothing wrong with rendering aid, but... this is a bit ridiculous, don't you think? I mean, I understand even pros get injured, but the rate at which it happens is lower! Oh, and we just got back after starting at 11:30 AM!"

"It's... 8:50 PM."

"No shit."

"So what happens now? The beatings continue until morale improves?" Hernandez joked.

"Well, morale isn't the issue at the moment. Now it's discipline and fitness. If you want to handle the morale beatings, I'll let you do that," Percy replied.

"Sick!"

"That aside, when do you think you can finish the personnel reassignment?"

"Gonna take a while," I answered, remembering that I was to take the lead in reassigning personnel. In particular, my focus was on a new experimental setup: consolidating the females into their own cohort, save for those reassigned to the clerical, medical, logistical, and (maybe) engineering/artillery sections. This was my bright idea, so I supposed it made sense that I did the work.

"We can do it," Steele said confidently. "The only thing we can't guarantee is whether we'll be functioning tomorrow."

"You wanna make up late tomorrow, you can... discreetly, that is. Just hand off the reassignments to the Minions by 4:00 AM tomorrow. Will that be possible, or should I stall?" Percy asked.

"We can do that."

"Well... you six may just have earned that late wakeup."

Sleep and burritos... I think I can work with this guy.

Finally, a chapter that's less short! I hope you enjoyed the suffering of the legionaries and administrative staff. More on Percy's Minions and the head honcho himself in the next chapter, including reassignments, bitching, discipline, and more and more PT/IT-ing the hell out of everyone and everything!

As always, thanks for continuing to read! Make sure to leave your feedback and, of course, take care of yourselves and each other.

Until next time,

- ADF-2