The long and painfully tedious night shift was finally drawing to a close for the two young guards currently on duty. They sat, with minds constantly threatening to lose consciousness, at the highest viewpoint the city of Tadicule had to offer; a small, stone platform below the bell room of the Riley Tower. The four strong pillars that held up the roof and bell above them were the only obstructions to their view as the sun slowly began to creep over the distant horizon. The younger of the two soldiers wearily squinted towards the dusty orange hue that bridged the gap between the empty blue sky and the light yellow sand that was whipping around below, stretching beyond vision in every direction. Following a drawn out and overly elaborate yawn, he sharply jabbed his partner and motioned to the bell room above them. With a relieved sigh the elder of the pair nodded his agreement and lazily removed a worn cloak from the lid of a storage box in the corner. Watched by his young friend, he settled back into his chair and attempted to return to a contented slumber. The first guard grumbled obscenities as he made his way over to the box and clumsily clambered onto its sturdy top. Obviously trying to move as little as he could, he stretched his arms up just enough for his fingers to loosely catch the knot of rope hanging from the hatch above him. A quick yank was followed by the hatch swinging open and one end of a rope ladder falling into the soldiers face, forcing the elder soldier to look away and hide his chuckle. More expletives were thrown in silence and soon the relaxing soldier was left alone.
The now lone guard gave a smug smile as he opened his eyes and made his way to the siding, his gaze firmly set to the rising sun, east of the city. The orange glow melted into the sky and a cosmic light show ensued with the vivacity of a young child waking to a flood of birthday gifts. Ignoring the stream of swearing coming from above, the elder soldier braced himself for the inevitable. For a moment it seemed to be taking longer than usual, but before he could become truly concerned, the first long, low drone of the memorial bell rang across the city, abruptly disturbing the varied residents of Tadicule.
Delta Platoon had leapt to frenzied activity. Sheets and bedclothes had been sent flying across the room, but were now being recalled in haste to limit the mess. Every cadet in the room knew that four more brash tolls would shortly explode through the windows and, even though their 3-week stay had flown past them like the swiftest of beasts, they had already learnt what was coming. A minute or two later, the second toll drifted through the room menacingly as the young men rushed to prepare themselves. The boys, as one, spared a fraction of a second to gulp in reaction to heavy footsteps that now came from the other side of the huge wooden door at the end of the room. 39 hearts stopped beating for a moment as the footsteps seemed to stop just outside their dormitory waiting patiently for the fifth and final tone before they would enter, unannounced and ready to scrutinize the recruits.
Within hours of the young boys being abducted from their slum beds, their new daily routine had been drilled into them. Each morning, as the echoes of the fifth toll gently softened back into the eerie desert silence, one of the base’s officers would enter and inspect one of the four training dormitories. Behind each door 40 scared inhabitants were expected to stand by their beds, presenting themselves pristinely in their uniform ready for breakfast and the early morning run that followed, the length of which would vary greatly depending on the state the chosen dormitory was found in that morning – as well as how much sleep the inspecting officer had had that night.
The bell slowly pealed through the compound for a third time as the 39 boys fumbled to get into position. The lads had received plenty of practice at this quick, pressurised change of clothes and were getting close to what some of the officers would call acceptable. Right now, however, each boy could be heard softly muttering a single prayer to themselves: “Anyone but Harris!”
As the fourth bell came through the windows, the boys stood ready, albeit with a scuffed collar or a shirt corner flapping. It was now that the final recruit showed his first signs of life. Expletives came flying from the sluggish heap beneath the covers of bed 32.
Dylan Larone had never really been a troublemaker at heart, but his name had already been well known to his superiors when he had first arrived – and being one of the smallest of the new recruits Dylan was soon subjected to large amounts of ridicule from anyone in authority. Back in the government run orphanage, Dylan’s ability to make people smile, even in the worst of slum conditions, had made sure he was well liked by the staff and other children alike. The orphans who had been left behind were now experiencing a far more boring existence, even if it was less stressful. Despite being the city’s only orphanage, The Berries was just one of a number of gathering grounds for the multitudes of orphans the city contained. The slums had always found themselves teeming with life from every angle, very few women were allowed to live on the Noble Disc so many recreational trips were made to the slums – and very few cared for the women who were unlucky enough to mother the next generation.
The stocks of food and water available were barely enough to feed a fraction of the population that resulted. The best an orphan could hope for was to be found by the Tadicule Army and thrown into the orphanage. Yet, for the many years before the army became interested, they normally filled the dark and vile streets, begging for scraps. Before he had been snatched 13 years ago, Dylan was destined to join this horde of youngsters. Yet now he was considered one of the lucky ones, spared the worries of where the next meal was coming from – not that Dylan saw things that way. Being a resident in The Berries had come with the same nutritional benefits of joining the army, meaning Dylan had received enough food to build his muscles and gain the attention of army scouts. This relative luxury had, however, given Dylan more than enough free time – during which he behaved in a manner only he could understand. Rules had certainly been gently bent but Dylan had never purposely pushed the boundaries too far and never did anything worthy of being thrown back to the poverty of the slums. His behaviour was mainly kept to what the orphanage had labelled ‘minor issues relating to growing up’, always more of an irritation to anyone involved than actually harmful. Now he was a cadet in the Tadiculian Army, however, his favourite pastimes had evolved and included sneaking away from a morning run and deliberately starting heated debates with the officers, normally focused around the rules he was supposed to be keeping. Last night, however, he had found himself thoroughly bored and unable to sleep after curfew. Sneaking out of the compound was a trick he had tried a few times before, but returning to his room seconds before the first bell might have been pushing things a little too far. Presently, he was scrabbling about under his sheets attempting to hide any evidence of his night out.
The room froze. The fifth bell had rung and 39 boys now stood at the end of the room’s 20 bunk beds. Dylan had frozen as well. Still hidden by a sheet, he listened intently to the long creak that came from the old hinges on the door. With a great urgency, and muffled cursing, he quickly returned to his efforts of changing.
As one the uniformed boys saluted towards the doorway, each facing a heavily built man standing there, wearing a very neat, and obviously superior, version of their dark uniform. The deathly black hues did nothing to hide his obviously well trained figure, and the cap on his head looked as though it had been made for a man half his size. Nevertheless, in this army a hat automatically gave its wearer authority and demanded instant respect – although there had only ever been one cadet that had needed such a hint to respect Major Joseph Harris, especially when he wore the look of utter contempt that he currently did.
Slowly, but with an immense sense of authority, Harris paced down the length of the room, passing most of the boys and ignoring their efforts to please him. His eyes were distinctly focused on bed 32 this morning, and everyone there knew why. Behind him, a wave of relief flooded onto each young face and as each relaxed they took a moment to make careful moderations to each other’s collars and shirts. As the Major reached Dylan’s bunk he swiftly turned to face it and stood to a textbook stance of attention.
“Good Morning, Delta.” He growled at the room, barely loud enough for the furthest young men to hear him, his gaze never leaving the shivering heap beneath the sheet.
“Good Morning, Major Harris, Sir.” The 39 disciplined voices chorused.
“As always, breakfast is being served for you in the Mess. Be sure to be polite to the ladies, they put a lot of work into feeding you maggots.”
“Yes, Sir!” the boys said as one through knowing smiles.
The Major now spoke over his shoulder to the privates around him, still watching Dylan as his head was turned. “Dismissed.”
In a flash the platoon acknowledged the heavy atmosphere radiating from the far end of the room and moved quickly down the room and through the large doorway in a relieved scramble. The room was left practically bare. Only one brave soldier, whose perfectly executed salute stood strong as the door closed with a deep boom, remained. Zachary Murphy was the only member of Delta Platoon who would always be found in an immaculate uniform. He had already earned enough respect from the officers to have free reign when he chose to give the rest of his group orders. He found himself generally liked and admired by them despite his desires to command. Dylan, who had known him prior to his enlistment, had been quick to identify him as an arrogant jerk who was more than willing to suck up to officers if he thought he could benefit in any way. Harris didn’t feel much different, but was currently unaware of his continued presence. Zachary coughed softly to rectify this, but instantly regretted the action.
Harris’ eyes closed slowly and his head turned as he grunted under his breath. He opened his eyes to stare at Zachary with a look that froze the air between them. Zachary, although reasonably attractive, somehow managed to have more intelligence than his looks currently conveyed. He certainly didn’t need to hear what Harris was about to say before he knew what was coming. The Major’s jaw had barely moved when the door slammed with Zachary safely on the other side and halfway down the first flight of stairs. Harris snapped his gaze back to Dylan’s bed, which was still wriggling around in a vain effort to replace his casual clothing.
“Larone” Harris hissed. Layers of hatred oozed generously from every letter. He breathed again, deeply, and reminded himself just what he had gone through to save this child – and the reasons for it. As he continued, he made every effort to speak with a sense of sympathy but knew that even if he could fake it, Dylan would only take it as sarcasm. “Hiding under your sheets may have been an effective method of survival in the Berries, Dylan, but it won’t do you much good in the army! What do you think would happen if there was another attack and I ran to my room and hid beneath the sheets?” He paused briefly hoping that Dylan would acknowledge his presence somehow but the persistent silence only fed his simmering fury. He leant down towards where he thought the boy’s head was and gave up the pretence of being nice. “The whole city would be in the crapper, that’s what!” he yelled. “Now get your sorry backside out of that bed!” Gaining no response, Harris moved to the side of the bed and grabbed the sheet. Without warning he ripped it away revealing the thin boy that lay beneath.
The most obvious thing that set Dylan apart from the other boys was his flat hair, flame red in colour, which now found itself in the clutches of Harris’ hand, being painfully torn from his scalp. It was short but still often in a mess, and after Dylan’s night with friends and hasty undressing, it was no different right now.
Other than this there really was nothing remarkable about the boy, and while his muscles had drawn attention to him in the Berries, compared to most of the other boys in the army he was exceptionally thin and weak. This, along with his rare hair colouring, only added to the list of reasons he was openly mocked. He was constantly blaming small things like this for the dislike he was shown, yet more recently his ability to enrage the officers at the drop of a hat had begun the shift to outright hatred.
With his sheet on the floor, Dylan now lay in only his regulation Delta underpants. He had pushed his casual clothes into the gap at the end of his bed, but they still poked up slightly in a defiant effort to give him away. This was, of course, unnecessary. A face, red with anger, pushed itself into his own so Dylan could smell the sweat running down the officer’s face.
“Something wrong with your ears, Larone?” barked the fuming soldier, inches from the boy. “I could have sworn I heard the five bells! Yet, looking at you, I’d think it was still dark outside. So what is it Larone? Are your ears on the blink – or has the world gone completely barmy and played a nasty trick on the rest of us? Let me guess, trying to avoid the day, eh? Not up to a short run?”
Harris backed away slightly and used his grip on the boy’s hair to drag him out of bed. He stood, disgusted at the child attempting to stand in a manner that would stop any more hair being ripped out. Looking elsewhere, the Major threw Dylan back onto the bed, almost sending him bouncing off the other side. In seconds Dylan was covered by the clothes he had tried to hide as Harris ripped them from the end of the bed and threw them at the boy as if they were sharp knives.
“S-sir, I can -” Dylan attempted before being cut short by a malevolent glare from a disinterested Harris.
“You seem to be forgetting a few things, Larone.” Harris warned, staring into Dylan’s eyes. “I’m sure your pre-planned excuses are top of the line, but you don‘t fool me! You see this badge?” he queried menacingly whilst pointing to the large array of symbols and markings on his sleeve. “I went through training myself,” he continued. “I slept in this very room - I know more secrets than you could possibly dream in that perverted little teenage brain of yours!” He reached out and grabbed the short red hair again. “I know every hatch, every tunnel and every secret route in and out of this room.” He leaned in closer, forcing Dylan to try backing away, with no success. “I also happen to know every single soldier on the guard rota, rather well as it turns out. But you ... you were just incredibly careless.” Dylan could feel the disbelief in Harris’s pause. “Within the last 12 hours two separate reports have landed on my desk, directly from the night watch I might add. As I tried to settle into bed last night I was told you had decided, yet again, that the rules weren’t made for you to follow – and that you were leaving the compound to visit the worms that weren’t good enough to make it here. And then this morning, as I left my room all ready to inspect the Gamma dormitory – a messenger was waiting outside my door. Right out of breath he was! Came to find me as quick as he could, felt it was urgent that I be told something. Apparently, the same kid who’d been spotted leaving last night had only been seen again. Sneaking back in, I assume?
“Now, getting caught once, I can’t really blame you for that - even the best of us got caught occasionally. But let me tell you something strange. Never, in the history of this fine army, has anyone been caught twice on the same outing! Even my kid brother knows how to get in and out without being spotted, but trying just ain’t your style, is it boy? Come ‘ere!” Harris stood sharply and strode over to the window on the far side of the room. Dylan followed gingerly, but as he approached the window, Harris grabbed at his hair once more and thrust the boy’s head through the hole in the wall and into the sharp desert air.
“What do you see?” Harris barked each word in fury.
“N-n-nothing, Sir!” Dylan managed. “Just the wall - and … sand. Plenty of sand, Sir!”
“Really?” Major Harris questioned in his best sarcastic tones. “Then why don’t you look out a little bit further?”
The grip on his hair released but before Dylan could react he felt the rough hands of his superior grab his underwear and ankle. In a flash Harris had wrenched Dylan’s foot off the ground and used it as leverage to thrust Dylan almost fully through the window.
“Right!” He shouted so Dylan could hear over the wind that now rushed past his ears. “Anything now? Can you see anything unusual below you? Some bones perhaps?”
Dylan opened his mouth and tried screaming but nothing came out. Harris, knowing there were bones down there, took the struggle for air as a yes and heaved the child upwards a little way so he could shout at him properly.
“Go on, why not take a wild guess at where they came from?” He mocked. Dylan squirmed a little but remained silent. “Let me give you a clue.” Harris let go of Dylan’s underwear and used his now free hand to lift Dylan right out of the window. The only thing now stopping a fatal fall was the grip Harris had on his foot.
“There’s a reason we keep the new kids on the top floor, Larone! That’s a 40 foot drop just to the wall!”
Dylan knew exactly what Harris’ response would be but he could not stop the words escaping his mouth. “But, Sir, the bones – the bones aren’t on the wall!”
Harris laughed from his gut, shaking Dylan in the process. “I know!” He said with a huge grin. “What makes you think I aim for the wall? The longer they fall the more fun I get out of it!” Harris relented and pulled Dylan in with a sigh of disappointment. He continued bitterly. “The problem is someone around here seems to like you, although I have no idea why, so today I find that I’m being forced to test my creativity!”
Still holding him by the ankle, Harris dragged an emotional Dylan to the end of the room and threw him against the wall. Dylan stood as sharply as he could and prepared himself to throw an insult at the Major who shot him a simple look that advised against it. He flinched as Harris went for his hair again and just managed to avoid being caught.
“You know, I used to enjoy throwing punks like you through the window, but I’m sure my new punishments will be just as entertaining – maybe even more so.” An evil grin slowly spread over his hardened face. “Now, you need to listen very carefully and do exactly what I say. I need a little time to ... finalise my plans.” Dylan noticed a badly hidden smirk. “In the meantime, you’re going to make your bed, get yourself dressed – properly – and then you’ll join us downstairs as normal – all ready for the run of your life. By the time I get to see your ugly little face again, I will have had more than enough time to get permission for some little games.”
Dylan nodded and gave a sarcastic salute as Harris walked away slowly. As soon as he was alone, he ran to his bed and threw on his uniform.