LEO AUREUM

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Weapons and Handling Safety was one of the classes I actually enjoyed. I hadn't been allowed to touch a weapon in months. It was a privilege that I was even able to attend and be taught in the theoretical aspect. Of all the things that had been taken away from me, drills and physical training were part of the things I missed the most.

I pushed open the two-way wooden doors, kept my head down and hurried to the back of the Hall.

Most of my rank mates were already present. Clustered in their assigned social hierarchy groups. One would think that since they were training us to be actively involved in the front lines of battle, we would have more pressing issues than who is using which iPhone and who is wearing branded combat boots.

For people that were going to be concerned with protecting people from all walks of life, classism was disgusting.

Even seating arrangements were in accordance with social standing. “ The elite” were children of high ranking officers. The offspring of the lieutenant, major and brigadier generals that decided to be God's gift to the world by enlisting in the army rather than going abroad or engaging in another nepotism-fueled past time.

Kids of lower ranking officers were treated like 5 inches above pariah. Civilians with no military background or family with remarkable political standing were treated like 2 inches above pariah.

Then there was me in the negative inches. Below pariah, the bryophyte of the plant world. I was in the position where officers would turn a blind eye if I was shoved by a rank mate or tripped by another one. Owing to how far beneath them I am, they are not able to see when my locker is trashed, when my lunch tray is knocked over or hear the cutting remarks my oh so generous course mates never fail to share with me.

I tried to avoid interactions with them as much as possible.

“Alexander!” I froze.

Hoping that if I stood as still as possible, I would disappear. A girl can dream.

“Don't try to pretend you didn't hear me.” The voice spat.

I didn't have to turn around to know which spawn the devil had sent for me. Vern Erickson stood in all her glory. Looking at me like I was the piece of gum stuck to her Prada Monolith combat boots. No, they were not standard issued.

I couldn't even look up at her. She was a whopping 5”8 as compared to my 5”3. Not much of a difference, but I promise that there is something that thinking you are better than everyone else does to your height.

I was hoping that her gold earrings attracted lightning, and she would be struck. Alas, it wasn't raining, we were inside and gold doesn't conduct electricity.

The sound of the bell interrupted my thinking. I was extremely grateful. My excellent circadian rhythm had

Once again saved my life. I mean, I hardly count a periodic verbal beat-down by one of the banes of my existence as life-threatening, but you know one has to consider the ole self-esteem. Too bad my circadian rhythm was not capable of maintaining a healthy sleep cycle.

Vern narrowed her eyes at me, then at the wall clock, then at me again. Major Lucas would come at any moment. I could see her considering if I was worth the scene. I guess she decided I wasn't.

“Attention cadets! ” Major Lucas commanded as he stepped into the classroom. Immediately we all stood up and lined up beside our desks.

Major Lucas was a man of the early fifties. The years of physical training made him look fit and younger than his age. The only feature that could give an inclination of his actual age were the strands of his hair that were graying at the sides. He had a stern face but kind eyes. Major Lucas was civil to me even though he didn't have to be.

“At ease,” he perused the room and continued.

We all went to our various seats. He turned on the projector screen and images of different sniper rifles filled the screen.

“What do you think matters the most for a beginner in relation to sniper rifles?” Major Lucas asked.

A couple of hands shot up. Major Lucas nodded at Oliver Wicksfield.

"I think a Bergara B-14 would be the best choice. It feels like a platform built for learning," Oliver began.

"Maybe for a civilian range. This is a military academy. If we're talking military history, I'd rather study the Remington M24. It's part of the legacy," Henry Harrington countered. Henry was the son of Lieutenant General Briggs Harrington, the “l word” was never too far from his lips. He was a legacy after all.

"Legacy doesn't make someone a better marksman," Oliver retorted. Oliver was the son of Senator Graham Wicksfield. His family was more loaded than the loaded fries Gladys snuck for me last week and even with that, he was still desperately trying to find his footing in the inner circle of the “elite."

"Neither does expensive equipment without prior training. I know that this is something you won't know about, since I am sure, before the academy, you have never even seen an actual rifle in real life, Civ.” Henry replied, using the term that was reserved for students that were not from military families.

Major Lucas looked away from the two boys and towards the back of the room. As we locked eyes, I knew what was coming.

"Enough!” Major Lucas interjected. “ Stephanie, what do you think?”

“ I-i think that the equipment matters, but the discipline, judgment and patience that you wield the equipment matters more; even as a beginner.” My palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy as I answered, although there was no vomit on my sweater yet. The wait for Major Lucas’ reply felt like with each second my soul was being crushed.

“Excellent, Stephanie. I asked what matters the most, not which sniper rifle you think is best. Your weapon is very important ,but in real life situations, it is critical thinking that would save you and others as well.” Major Lucas' reply made me feel worlds better.

“ Too bad the cariot would never be allowed to touch a weapon again in her life,” Oliver said. My rank mates broke out in peals of laughter and just like that, the soul-crushing feeling was back.

Major Lucas looked at me with something akin to pity.

I just hoped that the grade I would get after the humiliation ritual was enough.

“Interesting how, even with all the weapons you've been touching, Cadet Graham, you are still struggling to make it past the red line.” Major Lucas deadpanned. Another round of laughter broke out in the class.

“Remember cadets, less than 5 points, and then you are out.”

The academy boasted of its well-rounded system, ensuring that graduates were sound physically and academically. If a cadet couldn't maintain a certain GPA on the average, they would be kicked out.

My GPA had suffered immensely because of all the things I was not allowed to do; so much so that the highest GPA I can possibly achieve is a 6.

After a briefing on what we would be doing in the next class, the bell rang and Major Lucas let us out.