Humanity's Greatest Mecha Warrior System

When lunchtime came, Max was ready to complete the assessments of his new unit. Honestly, he expected much more trouble today, once the reality of their situation had set in than he got yesterday while they were still somewhat in shock and struggling to adapt.

They might all be graduates of the Academy, but they were also the first group in a decade that actually had to do a term of service. The graduating classes every other year joined the planetary defense force, which hadn’t been mobilized outside of natural disaster assistance in over a century. Max fully expects the reality that they are going off to fight and die to set in sometime today and lead to a wave of misbehavior.

But then, for the children of mostly impoverished farmers in a rural agricultural world, the living situation on board the Abraham Kepler might not be bad enough to seem like an actual downside. A flagship like the one they have been assigned to often gets sent on political missions, where they will be a mostly ceremonial force, and spend most of their careers on parade or in transit, with only a handful of combat engagements.

That assumption could be why they chose the younger Captain Catan to replace his retiring cousin. He has experience in personal security for political figures, like the senior officers, and as the only Special Tactics Unit on board, they would be the first ones called upon to take up that duty.

Despite Max’s fears, everyone seems to be gathered on time and without issue to complete the assessments. If anything, they seem to be more motivated now than they were before, realizing the purpose is to weed out those who can’t pull their weight and those with exceptionally bad attitudes.

Max nods for Nico to begin the training session and she steps forward, bringing everyone to attention with a glance. “I hope everyone enjoyed the luxury of an entire morning off, that doesn’t happen often in a Special Tactics Unit. There is a lot for you to learn before our first deployment that isn’t covered in any Academy or University. That’s not to say that we are task masters, Major Max is a big softie when it comes to his troops, so he has asked that I only set a half-day training schedule for you all.”_.

That sends up a round of cheers and praise for Max, who smiles, knowing what is coming next.

“And in accordance with his orders, I have set training to exactly one half of the day. Now, it doesn’t really matter which 12 hours we choose, but I prefer early, so training will start promptly at seven every morning with physical skills maintenance, and then mission-specific techniques and tactics.

Some will be easy, some will not. Some you will already think you know, but I will ensure that they are ground into your very bones so that we come back with exactly as many troopers as we departed with.” Nico informs them with a smile, her speech coming across as much less intimidating due to her stature.

It sounds like the standard-issue idle threats, but the other officers know just how strict she can be when it comes to training. They have already had a month of preparation for this moment, and they still aren’t sure they are up to her standards.

“Alright, team leaders, get your soldiers moving through the physical skills maintenance routine and I will call groups by registration number to do their assessments,” Max calls out, and the groups split into thirds, ready to face the judgment of their Commander.

Max brings them up five at a time, filling the few resistance trainers that they have reserved for their unit, and begins the exams. For the first few rounds, everything is exactly as he suspected, but in the third group, there is a repeated failure. The Pilot should have average scores in the Special Forces training class, so Max pulls him aside into one of the soundproof side rooms to have a little chat.

The first thing he notices is that the man is shaking and sweating, but not in the way of an exhausted Pilot who has just finished an exam. He looks a bit sickly, but the biological scans showed that none of the Pilots brought in any infectious diseases. Perhaps it is a lingering issue?

“Tell me, Pilot. What just happened in the resistance trainer?” Max asks, giving him the option to come up with an excuse of some sort.

“Sir, I can pass, Sir. I swear I can, I’m just not feeling well Sir.” The man gives a crisp response, as expected, but the sweat on his forehead is getting thicker and thicker.

Max pages a medic to urgently report to the unit and looks back at the Pilot, who is trying not to fidget and scratch his arms. Now Max understands what the problem is. He isn’t infected, he is going through withdrawals, the man is an addict.

“How long since your last dose, Pilot?” Max asks directly, waiting for the medic. The Abraham Kepler has a variety of treatments for drug withdrawals on board since the screenings catch almost all of the contraband that comes on board, leaving a lot of soldiers out of supply before the next stop.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you mean, Sir.” The Pilot says formally, going with the deny it and hope that the symptoms wear off quickly so he doesn’t get into worse trouble approach.

“I have called for a medic, and he will ask you the very same thing. He will do blood tests to verify, so there’s no point in lying. Get treated now, and get yourself squared away before today’s training is complete. If you do, and you pass the exam, you can stay with no repercussions. What you did before joining the Unit won’t be held against you. I come from the slums of the Capital on Kepler Terminus, I’ve seen it all before.” Max continues and the man looks a bit hopeful.

“There’s a drug on this world called Dream, made from a local flower. It’s commonly used as a painkiller by the commoners, but it seems that the scans found it all. I looked, nobody has any, or they’re not willing to share.” The Pilot finally sighs, knowing that this is his only hope of not being sent to the meat grinder that is the first wave assault units, or worse, a Penal regiment.

Max forwards the information to the medic, who sends back a text response that they have an instant treatment for the withdrawal symptoms if he wants, and then they can prescribe a pill to prevent them from returning for the rest of the week until they have faded.

“Good news, Pilot. They can cure your shakes right away, and you can go to the med bay every morning for the next week to get a pill to prevent them until you’re cleaned up. Tell anyone else who might be having the same issue to report to the med bay on their off-hours, I’ll have them approve the treatment without a formal reprimand.” Max decides, remembering how hard the Convicts had it when many of them hadn’t done anything worse than these soldiers but met with a hardline Commander.

“Thank you, Sir.” The Pilot salutes, just as the medic comes in, scanning his information before suddenly giving him a needle to the arm through his uniform.

“You’ll be fine in under a minute, but you will be exhausted if you don’t eat heavily at dinner. The treatment activates the nanobots to purify your system and it will burn a lot of energy.” The medic informs the Pilot before leaving, having hundreds of such incidents among the quarter-million recruits reported already.

It will surely get worse over the next few days, as any hidden supplies of drugs run out while the soldiers are in quarantine, but that’s just part of any recruitment, except on the most hardline of military planets like Kepler Terminus. Those planets mostly overuse military-issued stimulants and relaxants, which have been designed to work with the System to avoid lingering effects.

The unit that the Pilot came from looks a bit shocked when Max leads him back out and has him start the scenario over, retaking his exam with much better results before sending him back to the group and calling another handful over. They were sure that he was a goner, off to scrub dishes for a decade or worse, but the Commander didn’t say anything at all and sent him back to training.

There are no more unpleasant surprises that day, other than a few who struggled with the scenario that Max set, but there were also a few standouts, who had clearly not been trying particularly hard in the Academy. They came from the ranks of the enlisted soldiers, so that wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t like they had a lot of motivation to try hard with their low System affinity and single career path.

Once the unit is dismissed, Max calls the officers to him. “So, any potential sergeants among the recruits? Natural leaders, hidden specialists who have revealed themselves already?”

Max takes notes as everyone gives him the good and bad of their observations, but for the most part, the unit is exactly at the expected standard, proving that the educational system did its job. That means that all he needs to do is expand their horizons.

Max is about to inform them of the training schedule when the officers’ wrist devices all beep in unison with a Command Message.

[Emergency Deployment orders: SSV17, Local name Sigmund, planetary defense mission] is the title of the message, and they all sigh. It seems that the rebels are active again, and the Unit will be tempered in the heat of battle and not trained on board the ship. Sigmund is only a week’s journey from here, according to what Max remembers of the star charts.

[All Personnel to launch positions. Planetary Departure in 30 minutes.]