12:00 A.M. Surprise

"Run! Recruits, run!" Sergeant Kyle shouted as all four of us were running in the middle of the training section. It was 12:00 A.M, but the environment in the training section was as if it was 12:00 P.M with the sun right above our heads. The bottom line, it was hot and sweaty, and none of us liked it.

This was the surprise that Kohler mentioned, Kyle woke us up in the middle of the night just to run in the training section with our rifles on top of our heads. That's right, we must run with both of our hands in the air with our rifles in our hands. Each time someone dropped his hand, it would be 10 push-ups. So far, we had gotten 50.

It might be the routine here since I also saw other recruits with similar kinds of training around us. However, we were not only running in the regular section of the training ground, but we were also running in the muddy section and the simulated sandy section that the training ground provided. So yeah, we also got mud in our boots. Luckily, no water entered the interior of the boots.

"Private Rockwell, you must run faster or I'll give your whole squad 100 push-ups!"

"Aye, sir!" I shouted back as I put in more effort.

How much endurance this sergeant had? I felt sweating like the Nile here while this Sergeant was barely breaking any sweat. He looked as if he was only having a daily jog while the four of us were probably able to flood the whole Lake Mead with our sweat.

"Private Herbert, I see your hands go down again, I'll give your whole squad 100 push-ups!"

"Aye, sir!" Herbert put his hands in the air again.

I didn't know what the NCR recruits had to go through during their basic training, but I doubted that it would be this complicated considering that some of them were barely older than I did to be entirely honest, and I doubted they would be adequate enough to battle the legionaries who were indoctrinated ever since they were little.

After the run, we were given a break. What kind of break? How about push-ups? Yup, that was the kind of break in the mind of the sergeant? How many times, if you may ask? A lot. At least, I counted that we got 400 times since we let our rifle down twenty times alongside the extra because Herbert put his hands down twice.

"398!"

"399!'

"398!"

"399!"

"-399"

Yeah, I was too tired to even count how many times we had touched the Earth, but it was certainly a lot. The Sergeant was playing with us. Eventually, after everything was done and all parts of my body were sore as heck, we continued the training.

This time, it was, unironically, the worst training possible, but probably useful for training against sudden combat. Yup, with my hand trembling from the sudden muscle spasm, I was told to shoot at a target beyond 500 meters with the backup iron sight. That was right. Backup. Iron. Sight. What did I enter?

"Kid! If your aim is this bad, the Legion would kill you faster before you can call your mommy!"

Out of the two magazines that I spent, only twenty bullets hit the target. The tremor in my hands would only be comparable to someone who had Alzheimer's disease. The others didn't fare any better either. Kohler managed to score 30 holes while Callahan only managed to score 15 holes. Herbert was as same as I did.

"Shoot again!"

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

I pressed the trigger four times, and only two bullets hit the target in the middle while the other bullets hit it somewhere among the other parts of the target. Overall, the hit mark wasn't as impressive as I initially thought, then again, this was 500 meters using an iron sight.

After the four hours of training, which was closed with other push-ups, obviously, we were allowed to return to our barracks at 04:00 A.M in the morning, all sweaty and dirty. Was it fun? No. Was it necessary? Yes. The NCR was prone to Legion's ambush, so training like this was important.

The next class would start at 06:00 A.M, which meant we only had two hours before the next class began, either to do laundry, to shower, to sleep, etc. Sleeping might be important, but I chose not to do it, since I might feel drowsier in the classroom.

"Damn, Rockwell, you're pretty good," Kohler praised me.

"C'mon, don't be like that, you score better than I did," I said back.

"Nah, you deserve the score. Callahan, I hope you could do better," Kohler said.

"Boss, my skill is in here," Callahan pointed his finger at his head, to be precise, his brain, "Not here." He gave a pulling-a-trigger gesture. Well, Kohler called him a walking encyclopedia, not for nothing. He was indeed the smartest in terms of random things.

"True enough."

"What's the next class would be, Kohler?" Herbert asked.

"Survival and land navigation. It would be around what to be eaten, and not to be eaten. Land navigation using the compass, and all of that sizzle," Kohler answered.

"Hmm, sounds a little fun," I said.

"Until you come across a little survival situation. Everything is fun, to be entirely honest," Herbert said.

"Hmm?" I asked.

"Herbert was a wastelander, same as you are," Kohler explained.

"Wastelander my arse. I was a slave for the Legion," Herbert explained.

Kohler defused the situation, "Calm down, Herbert, I'm just trying to tone it down a bit, but if you don't mind telling the stories, I'd not intervene, alright?"

"Sorry, got a little carried away. So, yeah, born from a slave mother and this piece-of-shit father. Managed to escape when I was 8, got picked up by the Enclave, and here I am," Herbert said.

"How did you escape?" I asked.

"Luck, I guess? I was eight, didn't remember much about it."

"I see."

"Alright, everyone, do your sleep, and do your job, tomorrow, we have a class to attend, so get moving!" Kohler said.