The following day was entirely drill, more drill, so much drill that the word 'drill' lost all meaning.Wake up, morning drill, breakfast into pods, more drill. But in mechs, that time for hours. The only reprieve we got was during the academic lessons and cultivations in the evening. I even dreamt of drill.Left turn, right turn, stand at ease, attention, by the right quick march.But we were finally starting to get somewhere with it. By the second day of it, we were able to march in formation without crashing into each other. Bumping and scraping were pretty regular, but nothing serious.I, of course, was nothing but a model citizen. Executing it perf—“Tiernan! Slow down, check your left shoulder,” Okafor called.My head swung as I realised I was moving out of time with my left man. I knew I was in time with the previous rhythm, but something had shifted in that time.God damn, recruits can’t hold their own rhythm. Well, either that or I messed up. Definitely can’t be the latter, though.I had to hold for an extra second on my next step to allow for those around me to catch up, and we were on our merry way. A merry group of troubadors marching across the galaxy. Soon enough, the torture ended, just after we managed a solid twenty minutes of “Adequate drill.”We left the pods, with a pep in our step, free from man-made horrors beyond comprehension. Next on the agenda was chow and academics.With a quick lunch, we were off to the academic block, all of us exhausted from the hours upon hours of drill. I all but flopped into my desk, not noticing who was holding our academic lesson for the day. Okafor stood at the front of the classroom, standing next to a holoprojector.“Ooo, looks like we’re getting some fancy lesson today, huh?” Sato said from my left-hand side.“How are you not exhausted, Sato?” Park mumbled, his forehead pressed firmly against his desk. (...)