3 The Recruits

The long march finally ended after they reached Eboracum, where the legion was stationed.

Ambrose found himself rudely awakened and dragged out to join the other boys in a line-up outside the soldier's barracks.

The barracks were located within tall fortress walls, lined with mortar and stone densely packed together to create more durable walls.

Gracchus paced in front of the boys. Some stood sniffling and exhausted.

"You boys have one hour to rest. Then we will begin. In the next 6 months, you will learn to act like a soldier, breathe like a soldier. You will become soldiers. If at the end of these 6 months we find that you are incapable of performing a soldier's duties, you will find yourselves attached to a whipping block, and then placed immediately back into training for another 6 months. If you desert your post, you will die. If you disobey your superiors, you will be beaten into submission. Forget who you were before. That person died the minute you were conscripted. You now have one identity, and one identity only. You're a recruit. In one hour, line up, and you will be assigned your first training exercise. Disperse!"

With that, the boys almost all collapsed. Save for Ambrose who seemed bright-eyed, and cheerful.

With a grin on his face, he approached Gracchus. "Sir! If it's possible, would you be willing to assign harsher training exercises to me than to the rest of the recruits?"

Gracchus stared at Ambrose in surprise. "You don't even know what your training is going to be and you're already asking me to make it harder for you? Do you have a death wish?"

Ambrose frowned and replied seriously. "Sir, my father taught me that an army must be cooperative and cohesive. One unit must fit seamlessly together and be able to operate on its own without any kinks or missteps caused by feelings of anger or grief or jealousy among its members. Right now, the other recruits are jealous and angry with me because I got to sleep in a cart where it was warm and comfortable while they had to march through the cold and watched others among them pass out and die from the cold. It only makes sense to "punish" me with harsher training than the others in order to ensure that their feelings of injustice and inequity are rectified and replaced with something more akin to mutual respect."

Gracchus could only stare dumbly at Ambrose in response. Ambrose logic was plausible, and the method of rectifying the issue was easily accomplished as well.

This showed a level of critical thinking and mental depth that was typically sorely lacking in kids Ambrose' age. A lopsided grin appeared on Gracchus face as he realized he had gotten an extremely good seed under his wings.

"Granted. Walk with me."

Gracchus put a hand on Ambrose' shoulder and marched him towards the group of recruits.

"Recruits! Line up!"

They did.

"From this moment on, Ambrose will be your commanding officer."

Whispers of discontent grew as this piece of news was shared between the boys.

"As such… He will be responsible for every single one of you. If one of you fails to accomplish a task, he will share your punishments with you. If one of you fails to be deemed worthy of joining the legion in six months, he will be whipped with you and will join you for another round of basic training. For the next six months, Ambrose will do twice the training that all of you do. He will sleep half the time that all of you do. If you fail, he fails. If you succeed, he succeeds. He will not pass basic training until every single one of you has also passed basic training. Is that understood?"

Ambrose was utterly floored. He hadn't expected Gracchus to go as far as he did, and now that he was in this position, he could feel the vicious glares turn into gloating stares as the boys quickly made up their minds about exactly what they were going to do to screw with him.

"Oh, shit."

Gracchus grinned broadly at Ambrose' shocked expression.

"Your first lesson, Ambrose. A leader must earn his position not only with his own accomplishments but also with the accomplishments of his men. Don't disappoint me."

"Recruits! Since you're all lined up already, we're going to start our training. First set, take a lap around the compound. In fact, take two laps. If you're not back here in five minutes, you're going to do it again. And again. And again. Until you drop. Passing out will not excuse you. Go!"

All at once the boys began running. Some ran extremely quickly, outpacing the others and laughing as they did so, thinking that they would get extra points if they pushed themselves.

Ambrose knew to pace himself however and hung out at the back of the group. He noticed a few others like himself who hung back and took their time.

Soon, everyone who raced out quickly at first were now breathing heavily and being outpaced by those who had initially hung back.

Still, Ambrose slowed his pace and made sure that he stayed behind even the slowest of the runners.

The first lap was finished without incident, and they had 3 minutes remaining. This was pretty good timing, but Ambrose knew that this second lap was where the real challenge existed. Here, everyone who had paced themselves, including Ambrose, began to breathe heavily. Those who had exhausted themselves earlier on began dropping in pace very quickly, struggling to breathe.

Ambrose found the slowest member and ran alongside him.

"Slow, deep breaths!"

The runner was too exhausted and out of breaths to reply. Ambrose began demonstrating, coaching him through each step.

"Breathe. Exhale. Breath. Exhale. Slow your pace. Let your momentum carry you into the next few steps. Breathe. Exhale. Put some more power into your strides. Breathe. Exhale. Breathe. Exhale. Let your momentum carry you. Breathe. Exhale. Breathe!"

Soon, the runners were almost all listening to Ambrose instructions. They began slowing down and speeding up in a rhythm that kept them together as a group.

They were approaching their deadline quickly. Ambrose knew that unless they sped up for the last stretch of the run that they would never make it.

He had a strong body, due to years of working the bellows in his father's forge and chasing after rabbits and foxes to collect a good meal for his family. Though he could have simply set traps, he felt that chasing them down in a hunt served to increase his basic physical abilities. His family didn't really need the extra meat, but he did it anyway. If there was ever any left over after their meals, they would share it with their nearest neighbors.

"Faster now, boys! Breathe, exhale, breath! More power in your strides! Breathe, exhale, breathe!"

The boys obeyed to the best of their ability, but one boy could no longer keep it up. He collapsed and hit the ground, throwing up as he fell.

Without taking a second to pause, Ambrose hauled the boy onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry and continued running, pushing his body as hard as he could while continuing to chant his instructions to the others.

The goal was approaching, and the deadline had almost hit.

Another boy fell. Not pausing to think, Ambrose caught him in midair and hauled him onto his shoulder. Ambrose struggled to run, moving very slowly, each step as heavy as a mountain.

Still, he chanted. "Breathe! Exhale! Breathe! Exhale! This is the last stretch! Breathe! Exhale!"

Ambrose' pace began falling significantly below that of the group. Yet, once the group noticed it, they lowered their pace and stayed with Ambrose while taking up the chant. "Breathe! Exhale! Breathe! Exhale!"

Together, they reached the goal, and collapsed to the ground, exhausted and red in the face.

Gracchus watched on, a smile on his face. He then grabbed a flogging stick and walked over to Ambrose.

"You failed. Stand. Accept your punishment."

Ambrose was confused but chose not to question it. He and the group had clearly run the laps just in the nick of time.

Ambrose removed his shirt and stood with his arms outstretched. The rod flicked through the air, cracking against his skin, making him grunt in pain.

The other's watched in stunned silence.

12 strikes of the rod, and it was done. Ambrose bit back his tears at the biting pain and donned his shirt.

"Do you understand why you failed?" asked Gracchus.

"No sir, I do not."

"You may be the commander of these recruits, but if they cannot complete their training, you cannot complete the training for them. You carried those two on your shoulders this time, but are you going to carry them on your shoulders every time they fail in the future? Doing this only weakens them and burdens the rest of your men. It may seem like bravery and loyalty, but in truth, it not only hurts you, but it also hurts them. You have one hour, go run another 12 laps. I don't care if it takes you all day long, but if you can't run all 12 laps within an hour, you will be beaten again and again. Your men will not be penalized this time, but if you make such mistakes in the future, they will share your punishments. Go."

Ambrose nodded his head seriously and began running the laps again. White fog drifted from his mouth with every breath, the hot air being expelled from his body sending out steam in the cold weather. He could afford to take his time to rest and pace himself because he knew that he had a little more time per lap to run than he did the first time around. Doing the math, he estimated he had about 5 minutes to run each lap.

He could just barely hear the commander order the boys to disperse as he ran off.

As Ambrose reached the beginning of his second lap, one of the recruits he had carried on his shoulders broke off from the group and began running alongside Ambrose.

"Why?" Asked Ambrose, confused.

"Way I see it," said the other boy, "I didn't really finish the last lap. I should've been running more laps anyway – and I owe you one. You're my commander, after all. It ain't right that you should be running all these laps while your men are standing off to the side, resting."

"I'm Ambrose!"

"Julian! Most just call me Lance, though!"

"Good to know you, Lance!"

"You too!"

Together they approached the beginning of the third lap.

A couple other boys joined in, wordlessly.

By the beginning of the fourth lap, the rest of the boys joined in and began running with Ambrose.

A warm feeling began growing in Ambrose' chest as these boys joined him.

The fifth lap.

The Sixth.

The Seventh.

By the eighth lap, Gracchus had come back around to check on the recruits, only to be stunned when he saw them chanting together and running with Ambrose.

A broad grin suffused his face, and he laughed heartily. He chose to stand nearby and wait for the boys to finish running.

The ninth lap.

The tenth.

The eleventh.

Then… the twelfth lap.

All the boys finished their laps, leaning on each other and struggling with every step while breathlessly chanting. "Breathe, exhale, breathe, exhale, breath, exhale!"

As a group, they collapsed on the ground with groans and laughs.

Ambrose glanced at Lance and bumped fists with him in gratitude.

"Recruits! Line up!"

They all struggled to their feet and stood on wobbly legs in a loose line.

"You've all learned today what it means to work as a unit. You fight together. You live together. You die together. If one of you doesn't have food to eat, none of you will eat. If only one of you has food to eat, you will all share in that food. From this day on, if one of you has a problem, you all have a problem. You are not just new recruits, you are brothers! Head to your barracks. Food will be brought to you. I expect you all to rest tonight, and we will pick up again in the morning! Disperse!

As Ambrose began heading towards the barracks with the other boys, Gracchus stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Well done, boy."

Ambrose grinned and saluted Gracchus with a fist over his chest.

"Sir!" shouted Ambrose, with spirit.

"You're dismissed."

Gracchus then walked away, a small smile at the edge of his lips as Ambrose ran off to join the other boys.