(Part 1) 5: Chapter 5 – This is not the place for you.
(Part 1) Not that the corridor was straight, exactly, but it was wide; that much I’ll give it.
The timing of this little introduction was clearly picked to make sure our misanthropic little group would be suitably impressed.
Coming the other way, marching in a tight column of three, were grown clones in red uniforms with chevrons on their sleeves.
For those few seconds, even the Master Sergeant slowed his pace, letting it all sink in.
At first the kids’ jaws dropped, then they seemed to straighten up on instinct.
The crowd started to look almost like a formation.
I got a strange flash of déjà vu, some old footage I’d seen once of a massive synchronized military parade, everyone moving in lockstep with the same face.
The uniformity was uncanny.
I remember someone back in my old unit joking once that they must be cloning soldiers over there too.
Pathetic amateurs, compared to this.
Here was the real thing, marching right in front of me.
It was already making my eyes water a little.
From our line I caught hushed, admiring whispers: “Did you see that?
I could do that.
That’s cool.” I only grinned and caught the Sergeant glancing half over his shoulder at us with the faintest chuckle.
Well, would you look at that, the little ones finally had something to talk about.
Which, logically, meant it was time to show us exactly what we were meant to strive for, while simultaneously grinding us down into the dirt.
There’s only one method the military everywhere seems to agree on for that: beat the nonsense out of every cadet at once.
Right, of course it is.
Some things really are the same no matter what universe you’re in.
That rhythm of shouting and stomping is unmistakable anywhere.
And then the corridor ended, and we stepped out into…
Hello again, old friend.
Been a while.
They walked us out onto a parade ground, the kind built for drilling half a thousand identical little green figures, all roughly the same height, into marching formation.
And now it was our turn, a drill that’s miserable to sit through but brutally effective at building reflexes and instant response to orders.
Fair enough.
That tracks.
First they lined us up in a single row along the wall, on an open stretch marked off at about a hundred meters by a hundred meters, and the Master Sergeant walked us through it, patiently and precisely: how to march in step, how to lift our legs, how to bend our limbs, where to plant each foot, and which directions not to swing our arms.
Then he formed us into a column of three, and: “March!” Left, right, left, right, le…
You there, eyes front.
Stop staring at everyone else.
“Halt!
One, two!
Clone CT-0141, front and center!” The bowlegged kid who’d been stepping on my heel yelped, “Yes, sir!” and practically sprang forward.
“Sir, Master Sergeant, sir, clone CT-0141 reporting as ordered!” “You’re a shiny, not a clone yet.
What kind of nerve does it take to shove your way to the front of the line before everyone else?
Were you dropped on your head at birth?
Answer me.” He was shaving splinters off the kid; that’s the phrase for it.
Credit where it’s due, he’d waited patiently for the first obvious mistake.
CT-0141 had gone pale as a sheet.
Looked like he might actually pass out.
Welcome to reality, kid; turns out the cartoon was scarier once you’re actually living it.
Heh.
Oh no.
“Sir, I don’t know, sir.” “I’ll teach every one of you to tell your left foot from your right!
Back in line before I put my boot through you.
Why are you slouching, CT-134?” Damn it.
“Out of the line, clone!
Assume the prone position!” I nearly flinched.
Almost.
But nobody had actually shown us that one yet.
I nearly dozed off standing there.
Hope he didn’t notice.
“Sir, Master Sergeant, sir, what is a ‘prone position,’ sir?” “You absolute— Who among you useless lot knows what a prone position is?
Nobody?
Looks like I’ve got the sorriest excuse for a platoon in this entire batch.
Fine, listen closely, because I’m only explaining this once.
On the command ‘prone position,’ your body goes flat, parallel to the ground, arms extended straight out.
Is that clear to everyone?” A ragged, uneven chorus: “Yes, yes, yes, probably.” “You lot can’t even talk properly!
Answer right, ‘Yes, sir!’ or ‘No, sir!’ I’ll ask one more time, you sorry excuses for recruits, is that clear?” A cleaner “Yes, sir!” “Good.
Listen to my command.
Prone position!
You bunch of disasters, this isn’t a joke!” He barked, catching a few of us halfway down already.
“Straighten those legs first!
There, that’s it.
Now up on your toes.” “Sir, but you said get down—” someone squeaked, confused.
Oh, you shouldn’t have done that, kid.
“Who said that?” the Mandalorian asked, with mock interest.
“Sir, clone CT-0132, sir.” “Well, aren’t you a curious one, CT-0132.
You want to get down, do you?” “Sir, that would be nice, sir.” Oh, you idiot.
I already knew exactly what was coming, and got up onto my toes right away.
Waiting for it.
“So you want to get down, do you, rookie?
Wonderful!
Then here’s how it works.
From that extended arm position, bend your elbows and lower yourselves down, slowly.
And hold it there,” he barked, spotting a few who’d already started actually lying down.
“On my count.
On ‘one’ you go down.
On ‘two’ you push back up.
And now we’re going to do a lot of these.
And one, and two, and one, and two, and down, hips lower, and up, hips level, CT-0098, keep your body straight…” Under the running commentary, it was almost fun for the first ten reps.
Then my arms started shaking; no shame in admitting it, we’d never had a single day of real strength training.
When the heaviest thing you’ve ever lifted is a spoon, no amount of shock therapy builds real muscle.
But apparently this was where that started to change.
“…and one, and two, and done.
On your feet.
Heh.
CT-134, come here.
The rest of you, laps around the parade ground!” “Sir, Master Sergeant, sir, permission to ask a question?” “What is it now, runt?” “Sir, are we running laps around the whole ground, or just the section we’ve been—” “Save it,” the Mandalorian cut in.
“CT-0100, you’re not just a zero, you’re a total zero.
Orders don’t get discussed, they get followed.
Which part of ‘run laps around the parade ground’ needs explaining?
Running.
Go.” Then he finally turned his attention to me, past the miserable faces of half the platoon.
“You.
Why didn’t you go all the way down?” You can’t read a face behind a helmet, and the vocoder flattens the voice besides.
Felt like standing in a minefield.
“Sir,” I started carefully, “it seemed like if we didn’t drop all the way, it’d be easier to get back up, and since our bodies aren’t built for real strain yet, this…
I figured the exercise itself would end up making us stronger faster…
that’s what I thought, sir.” “Sharp thinking, CT-134.
I’ll give you that, good instinct.
Go on, catch up with your brothers.” “Sir, permission for one more question, sir?” “Don’t push it, clone.
Make it quick.” “Could you show us some more exercises, so we could keep practicing on our own?” The Mandalorian actually laughed, warmly.
The first and only time I ever heard it.
“No need to rush.
Everything in its time.
Go on, get moving.” Credit where it’s due, the very next day a handful of physical training videos got added to our lesson rotation.
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