At that particular moment he thought he could see Hell itself flickering behind The Sergeants eyes, and a forced march into a black hole would have been the source of less pure unadulterated terror in James mind than the man in front of him.
The Sergeant stood and smiled his small malicious smile a little longer, as if savouring his years quota of human emotion and then he spoke. He had a paper thin voice that seemed to echo to the stars and back. Vocally he was quiet, but his words seemed to boom with power.
Your regiment has been selected. Silence packed up bags and scuttled away, the tension was so great. The Sergeant repeated himself, Your regiment has been selected. James quaked. You will embark on a Percheron class transport tomorrow at 0500 hours. It will take you to Planet Harris. Small parts of James mind back-pedalled. Where was the part where he was told about his regiment?
The Sergeant continued. On Planet Harris you shall meet your parent regiment. Your biological and mental profile matches that required for the Second Gravchute Regiment. James screamed on the inside, realising the magnitude of that statement. Then he thought for a second, came to the same conclusion and continued screaming. He wasnt fit enough for any of the Gravchute regiments! The only regular exercise he got was chasing used car salesmen!
Without further ado The Sergeant turned to The Corporal. Corporal, fall Private Naylor out. The Sergeant then marched off out of the room. The Corporal turned to James with the same malicious smile that The Sergeant had briefly worn. Both he and James knew what the Gravchute Regiments did, and how dangerous they were.
Detail, Detail SHUN! James snapped back to attention, remembering the basic drill he had been taught over the previous days.
Detail! Shrieked Corporal Grimes. To the right, fall OUT! James was dismissed and promptly stacked it. The all so friendly blackness enveloped him for the god knows-th time in some many weeks.
In the serenely quiet blackness, James slowly played over what he knew about the Gravechute Regiments.
Firstly, they were one of the most physically gruelling regiments Bretonia had to offer - the Regiments chewed recruits up and spat gibbering wrecks back out. Secondly they were one of the most elite regiments Bretonia had to offer, and Bretonian ground troops were the best trained in Sirius. Thirdly, he had vaguely recalled hearing they were based on a pre-Solarian Exodus regiment called the Parachute Regiment. Finally he knew how they got onto the battlefield.
Wearing Hi-Alt suits they threw themselves out of drop ships from low orbit using Gravchutes to slow themselves down in the final few seconds of decent.
Bretonia was the only House to utilise Gravchute regiments. Other Houses used small but noisy shuttles that would break rapidly on their final decent, with each shuttle carrying around five men. This meant ground troops had about seven seconds to prepare for assault. With Gravchute attack, the decent was completely silent, meaning you wouldnt realise you were under attack unless a gravtrooper kicked you in the face on the way down or they started shooting at you.
James woke up. He was on the floor where he had fallen, with a bloody nose where he had given it a short and violent romance with the pavement. Corporal Grimes had buggered of for a mug of tea. Woozily James got up and staggered off towards his billet for his mess tin so he could go and blow all his coupons in the NAFFI, and hopefully get some sympathy from the serving ladies.
He swore to himself and cursed the army. There was a distant rumble of thunder and it started raining again. Grumbling even more James set off again.
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