Instructor Bevin waited until David’s thrashing subsided and the man fell still. He turned to the recruits, and while their faces betrayed no emotion, he saw hints of tears in more than one set of blue eyes. He couldn’t blame them – they had trained with David for the last two years to help him pass this test. He was their brother, and they had just watched him die.

“Who can tell me why that sack of meat just died in my Tank?” Bevin yelled in disgust. There was a long pause, and he saw anger flare in several of the men.

“Sir! Because he ignored his training! Because he breathed, Sir!” one of the recruits yelled back.

“Yes, Roberts. Because he ignored his training. Training that would have saved his life, training that you drilled into him. Today, you all failed. Today, you killed your friend.”

Bevin stormed out of the chamber. He had to get away from those men. Get away from the lies he was forced to tell. He remembered the bottle of whiskey he had in his room, and he quickened his pace, eager to be numb.