5th August, 2238.

ENCLAVE Oil Rig, Deck 5, Basic Training Quarters

This morning Sutler had kissed his mom goodbye and marched into imprisonment, eight gruelling weeks of boot-camp. He'd past the tests for the enlistment a few months ago, it'd been held off for two years until there were enough young people of sufficient ability to be trained and the year had finally come. He looked around the room, some of the boys here were 17 and others 18, having had to wait years for the chance to be trained to be a soldier. He'd been given a 15 second haircut and a pair of BDU's before being drilled into the boot camp quarters on deck 4, told to stand to attention by a bunk and wait. The room itself was like any other on the Oil Rig, a cramped room with a grated floor and dark metal walls, lit softly by glowing blue fluorescent's whilst the ceiling was a track of hanging conduits for pipes, wires and what-ever else was needed to keep the ENCLAVE running. The loudspeaker on the wall was ticking, once a second, usually the Oil Rig was loud enough to drown out the ticking but here, with all twelve boys stood ram-rod still and silent, the electronic tick was drilling into his head, almost slowing down time as he was made aware of every second passing.

He flicked his eyes to his extreme left and right at the other boys, another kid by his bed, his new bunkmate, stood taller than him with silvery-blonde hair and a strong jaw. He looked familiar, everyone in the Enclave did really, one of the upper-deck lot Sutler reckoned. The boy saw him looking and looked back, his grey eyes so piercing that Sutler looked away and stared ahead again at the blank wall ahead. Along the wall was a great mural depicting American serviceman from the Great Revolution of 1776 through World War II, to the Sino-American War and finally to the Enclave; besides the antiquated suit of T51b clasping a smoking minigun was the figure of the modern US Army Soldier standing tall in a suit of Advanced Power Armour, plasma rifle resting lazily against their shoulder as they looked out from the Oil Rig to the mainland. The door at the other end of the room slid open and a trooper in APA smartly marched through the opening and stepped aside.

"Eyes left!" He bellow and, on command, the recruits swivelled on their heels to face the doorway as another trooper stepped through, hands clasped behind his back. "Stand to attention!"

Everyone tried to stand stiller and taller, swaying on their heels. The man in APA marched down the length of the bunks before turning at the end of the room to march along again, pausing in the centre of the room to face them all.

"Eyes right!" Again they turned to face the man, spotting the three chevrons embossed on his arm.

"My name," he boomed, "is Sergeant Hillenkoetter, spelled B-A-S-T-A-R-D, and for duration of your training you will treat every word I say, every command I give, as though it came from the mouth of President Richardson himself! Do you understand me recruits?"

"Aye aye, sir," they yelled in response.

"Outstanding, you!" He pointed one of his armoured gauntlets at a recruit on the far end. "Identify yourself!"

"Recruit Roscoe Spencer sir," the kid shouted back.

He went down the line, eventually getting to the silvery-blonde boy besides Sutler.

"Recruit Augustus Autumn sir," the kid said in a think drawl.

Sutler held his breath in contempt, he had been right about Autumn, it had become a trend amongst the upper-deckers recently to affect pseudo accents of their original ancestor's state and this Autumn boy spoke in a thick dixie accent that grated on his ears. He scowled to himself.

"Autumn eh?" Sergeant Hillenkoetter said mockingly," Why, I do declare," his words laced with mocking pleasure; he returned to his usual bellow however. "I hope you don't expect daddy to come and save down here, there is here but cold steel and pain youth and if you can't live without plush-carpets and soft-music I will drill you out of this man's army and up to daddy's apartment to see the shame on his face myself. Do you I make myself clear recruit?"

"Yes sir," Autumn responded, his accent dulled with a notably sour hue.

"Next, what's your name?"

"Recruit Alan Sutler sir," Sutler, each syllable soaked in pride.

"Sutler eh," Hillenkoetter repeated bemused. "Son of Caleb Sutler then no doubt, KIA in 2236?"

"Yes sir," Sutler said back, his teeth gritted involuntarily.

"I remember your father," the Sergeant replied, a note of genuine sincerity breaching the tough sergeant routine, but it didn't last. "He was and died a hero and until you prove otherwise you are a stain on his memory, on his sacrifice and on his honour. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir,"

The sergeant's eyes flared for a moment and his mouth curled into a wicked smirk.

"I can see the hatred in your eyes youth," he said, yelling with gleeful malice. "Save it for the gooks and the muties, let it fuel your soul… and just maybe you'll pull through the next few months of pain. Alright next!"

Hillenkoetter proceeded through the recruits, grilling them all for their perceived failures and imperfections before turning again to face the group from before the mural.

"Once again," he began," another sorry shower of recruits stand before me, mere children whom I will mould into men or drive out. Eyes right recruits!"

Everyone turned right to face a large board on the wall besides the door that they had entered through what seemed like a long time ago. The elegant board, embossed with ornate lettering, read 'USJF Code of Conduct'.

"You will read it out verbatim," Hillenkoetter ordered.

"I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life," everyone recited in unison. "If necessary I am willing to die for my country, for my fellow servicemen and for the people of the United States of America. I will never forget that I am fighting for the American people, our way of life and for the principles that protect our nation. I will trust in my President and in my country. America prevails!"

"Outstanding," Hillenkoetter said with a grin, he smartly stepped over to the board, removed it from the wall and tucked it under his arm. "Now, anyone who cannot recite entirely your code will do mandatory PT tomorrow morning before the scheduled PT. Now get to sleep."

And with those final words, he marched out of the room and the lights went out. There was a moment of confused silence before the recruits decided it was safe to fall out and get ready for bed. Sutler slid between the white sheets and closed his eyes, silently repeating in his head what he has just read out before a head appeared, upside down, from the top bunk.

"So you're Alan Sutler," Augustus Autumn asked, his drawl no less pronounced. Sutler kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore him. The boy smirked. "Names Augustus Autumn sport."

Sutler winked an eye open to look at him, he had his hand extended.

"Yeah," Sutler said gruffly, taking his hand and giving it a tight squeeze; Autumn looked slightly perturbed but accepted the handshake. "Who are you calling sport?"

"Why, you I do declare."

"Are you really going to keep this shit up?" Sutler asked, brows furrowed.

"Why what-ever do you mean?"

"This Dixieland bullshit, fuck's sake you haven't even been to Virigina."

"Sport, the Autumn's have a noble heritage that I am beholden to continue."

Sutler scoffed and closed his eyes again.

"Fucking upper-deckers…"

"Ah yes," Autumn responded, the sneer in his voice magnified immensely by his adopted twang.

"The infamous Alan Sutler sharp wit, a whole lot of vulgar language and class-hatred. Why I do declare if that was not the reason young Danielle Ambrose dumped your sorry ass."

"What the fuck would you know about that?" Sutler asked sharply, sitting bolt up-right and staring right into Autumn's eyes."

"Why my dear Sutler, I…"

"Recruits keep quiet and go to sleep!" It was the Sergeant stood in the doorway.

"I'm going to beat your ass in sparing," Sutler whispered as Autumn's head withdrew back into his bunk.

"Why I do declare that I look forward to seeing that," Autumn said back, his voice etched with smug self-assuredness.