John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“Single file, keep closed up, follow me,” Donahue said, stepping onto the first step.

Herzer was about a third of the way back and as he reached the steps he looked up and got dizzy; the stairs seemed to be wavering and he had a moment of vertigo.

“Keep your eyes on the steps!” a voice from the rear called.

Afraid that he’d leave a gap, Herzer put his head down and started toiling upward.

The pace was brutal and it was a long way to the top of the hill. Before he was even a third of the way up Herzer was sweating and blowing again, pushing hard against the weight of his body and the pack. He barely noticed the first person to have stopped, but when another person blocked his way he blundered into them, nearly knocking them both down.

“Get out of the damned way,” he snarled, stepping around them and hurrying to catch up to the group ahead of him. Suddenly the group stopped, just as he reached the trailing person and he nearly fell over again avoiding another collision, then the group started off again, faster than they had before and he perforce had to hurry to catch up. His legs felt as if they were on fire and when he looked around he realized that they had barely come half way.

This went on and on in starts and stops as more people fell by the wayside, panting and gasping and clutching their sides. Herzer could feel a sharp pain growing in his own side but he willed it down and concentrated on maintaining his breathing and keeping up with the person in front of him. Suddenly that person fell out as well and Herzer realized there was a gigantic gap ahead of him. He struggled to catch up to the leading figure but he could barely maintain an even pace. He didn’t dare look back, knowing that somewhere behind him was that hard-faced, gray-eyed bastard, probably hoping that he’d fall out.

His vision was starting to gray and sweat was pouring down his face to such an extent that he never even noticed when there wasn’t another step. As the wind blew across his face he stumbled forward, only to be caught and lowered to the ground.

“Take a rest,” Donahue said in an even tone, clearly not even out of breath. Herzer looked up and him and the bastard was hardly sweating . “There’s water in your rucksack. Drink it.”

Herzer nodded and slipped his arms out of the pack, looking around as his vision started to clear. They were in a clearing at a lower summit of the hill with a clear view of the river on one side and Raven’s Mill at the other. Besides the stairs they had come up, there was another set that went farther up the hill. Donahue and the man he’d identified as the gunnery sergeant were to one side of the clearing, talking. Other than them, there were only three others on the top of the hill. One of whom was Deann, who was bent over retching.

Herzer slipped his arms out of the rucksack and fumbled at the closures with fingers that felt like they were the size of watermelons. Finally he got it open and pulled out a water-bag. He sipped at the contents and then took a solid swig of the water that had been cut with wine.

“Keep your seats,” the gunnery sergeant said, walking over to the group. “Quit trying to throw up and drink some water, girl. You all may be wondering why we’re trying to kill you. It’s very simple. Someday, your enemies will be trying to kill you. There is an old saying: The more you sweat, the less you bleed. We are going to sweat you like you’ve never been sweated before. Most of the people who signed up for this thought it would be a cakewalk, like the guards in town. Nothing but standing around and looking pretty for the girls. Plenty of them had been reenactors playing at being Vikings or Picts or medieval knights. But that word is: Playing. We’re not going to play and we’re not going to be any of those pansies for sure. We’re designed to be the first line of defense for Raven’s Mill; the line that nine times out of ten is the only line the enemy will face. The line that any enemy will break its teeth upon. A line that will die in place rather than give a foot of ground.

“This training is designed to produce cadre for legions. Each of you will see your fair share of fighting, but what we’re really working to produce is the future leaders of the legions. Leaders that are harder and scarier than the hardest and scariest force on earth.

“So we’re going to winnow you out. When we’re done, we’re going to have only those who refuse to quit, no matter what we throw at them. Soldiers that are so hard that they’d rather die than surrender or give any less than three hundred percent.

“And this is not the last test, or even the worst, that you will face. But only the strongest, the hardest, the most determined, will make it.

“There are two ways down from this hill. One is the way that you just came. The other is up another hill and down the far side. In just a moment, Sergeant Donahue and I will ascend the hill. From the time we reach the top, you will have seven minutes to join us. Those that join us in less than seven minutes will put their feet on the path to being Blood Lords. Those that do not may someday join the legions, but they will never be leaders and they will never be the elite.

“It’s up to you.”

With that he picked up his pack and started up the stairs at a lope.

Herzer watched the old man trotting up the stairs and shook his head. He looked around at the small group on the top of the hill, wondering who would be the first to struggle to their feet. As it happened, Deann was already there. She just kneeled down to get her arms in the straps and then, still retching, staggered towards the steps.

“Crap,” he muttered, pushing himself up. He got the rucksack up, somehow, and followed her.

Around the turn of the first bend she was bent over, dry-heaving, but still managing to put one foot in front of the other.

“Come on,” he said, taking her elbow.

“Leave me alone,” she muttered between retches. “I can make it.”

“If you’re stupid enough to keep going, I’m stupid enough to help,” he replied, hooking an arm under her rucksack.

Weaving back and forth, they both staggered upwards towards the summit and their future.

Edmund chuckled as Gunny collapsed in the chair across from him. “You look like hell, Miles.”

It was early evening and Edmund wondered how much longer he was going to be stuck behind the desk today . The supply situation had improved somewhat, between the influx from the roundup and a few caravans from nearby towns. But the demand had increased from the Resan refugees and a steady trickle of others. Getting farms into production was a top priority, but defending them, given the reputed size of the Resan raiders, was very close to the same. And spies had reported that Rowana was definitely getting some sort of support from the New Destiny Alliance. Which meant that sooner or later the two towns were going to come to blows.

“Thank you so much,” Gunny growled, leaning back with a sigh. “I’m getting too old for this shit. Running up hills is a young man’s game.”

“Don’t tell me you took the Hill?” Edmund said, startled. “I gave that up fifteen years ago; there’s only so much medical science can do without a complete rebuild!”

“Well, I had to prove to them that I was tougher than they were,” Gunny said. “I just dread having to do this with every class!”

“How’d it go?”

“Not bad, we’re going to have sixty or seventy in the first group. The team I followed had young Herzer in it. I wanted to see if you were right.”

“Was I?” Edmund asked, reaching into a drawer. “You look like you could use a belt.”