NOP: The Rejects of Sills (1)

Hello Everyone, this is the first fanfic I’ve ever posted, so please excuse its amateur nature. Any and all criticism is welcome.

The Nature of Predators Universe was originally created by u/SpacePaladin15.

Chapter One: Meet the Rejects

Memory Transcription Subject: Lieutenant Isaac Yankovic

Date [standardized human time]: October 25th , 2136

When bombs fell on Earth and killed a billion people, humanity finally became a united species. We put our petty differences aside and set forth into the stars with a unified goal: find the bastards responsible and stand on their necks.

Well, that’s my objective at least.

My platoon was stationed in Fort Hamilton during the battle, right at the opening of New York Bay. As the bombs detonated, I was having a mental breakdown in a basement bathroom. Being underground protected me from the blast wave and the concrete rubble that entombed me saved me from acute radiation poisoning. The rest of the platoon wasn’t so lucky. Not a single one of them left that building alive. By some divine miracle or curse, I was the sole survivor of First Platoon, Bravo Company.

With the Federation eager to try and snuff us out again, the Army had no time to reform our unit. My men were simply erased from the books. The brigade took so many losses that it was disbanded and cannibalized by other units that were understrength..

I filled out all the forms for a transfer, but no one was willing to accept me. According to command, hiding away during a crisis demonstrated “poor leadership skills” and the trauma I suffered from made me “unfit for duty.” Unfortunately for them, I’m not going to retire without getting payback for the 41 brothers I lost. And the United Nations is going to provide me with the means for that.

They lost a lot of good soldiers during Earth’s defense, and were taking anyone they could get as a result. Thus, unlike the US Army, they were willing to give me another platoon almost immediately, but not without several complications.

Complication number one: thirteen members of the platoon are aliens. Six venlil, five gojid, and two yotul to be more specific. They had prior experience as soldiers, but they got discharged from or left their own species’ militaries for various reasons. I’m no xenophobe, but I would have preferred soldiers that were made of stiffer stuff. Venlil have a tendency to faint and gojid bristle if you just give them a mean look. The yotul seem alright though.

Complication number two: the rest of the platoon is filled out with 32 dregs of society the UN shipped from Russia and dumped in America. According to their documents, half of them were criminals, the rest probably hadn’t been caught yet, and all of them were hard drinkers with sticky fingers. To compound that, our unit would be kitted out with Russian gear instead of what the UN considered standard.

The third and final complication was currently sitting in the passenger seat of my personal vehicle. Raksim, a racist old krakotl with no barrier between his brain and his beak. It was a miracle that he hadn’t died by making a casually bigoted remark to the wrong person. His only saving grace was his experience turning helpless arxur chow into semi-competent exterminators and soldiers.

Me and Raksim exhausted our tolerance for each other mere minutes after meeting, so we sat in silence as my car approached a military checkpoint. I handed the MP our common access cards through the driver side window. She put mine in her little handheld scanner, but paused when she got to Raksim’s. Her eyes wandered to the alien in the passenger seat.

“Avert your predatory gaze elsewhere,” Raksim spat.

This bird is going to be the death of me.

She looked like she wanted to say something uncouth, but she held her tongue and put his ID through the scanner, staring him down while she did it. She handed our cards back, opened the gate, and said, “Welcome to Fort Devens,” with an unspoken insult at the end of it.

As I drove through the checkpoint and onto a meandering New England backroad, I noticed hundreds of soldiers with UN and US Army uniforms ruck marching between the trees. The faint pops of gunfire could be heard in the distance, likely from men that were using the firing ranges. In every direction, drill sergeants and other officers added to the pandemonium by barking orders at their subordinates. If this tiny base in the middle of nowhere was so active, I could only imagine what a madhouse Fort Liberty and Campbell were.

My observation came to an end once we reached our destination, a muddy field that was packed with trainees doing all types of exercises. As I parked my vehicle, I spied a man in a dark green Russian uniform helping a white venlil over the confidence climb.

I stepped out of my car and signaled Raksim to follow. We slogged through the mud and the masses of privates until I came upon the assault course, where a drill sergeant was cursing out a gojid’s entire bloodline for not getting over a chest-high wall fast enough. I politely positioned myself within his field of view and waited. When he noticed me, he looked at me with hate in his eyes, but his demeanor softened immediately when he noticed my rank. “How may I help you, sir?”

“Is this Second Platoon? Company Foxtrot Uniform?” I asked.

“Yes sir. Are you the one taking charge of this band of rejects?”

“Yes I am.”

“Very good. With all due respect sir, who’s the alien bastard you brought with you?”

“I’m here to show you how to do your job better, flesh-eater.” Raksim said before I could get a word in.

The sergeant looked at the krakotl like he wanted to roast him over a fire. I was tempted to let him do so. “Don’t mind him, Drill Sergeant, he’s my advisor from the UN–to help with the aliens. But he hasn’t proved himself very useful except for creating a list of slurs that I haven’t heard before.” I gave Raksim a scornful look to shut him up. “Speaking of which, I need your honest assessment of these men. Are they up to the job?”

The drill sergeant let out a long sigh, “Sir, in my honest opinion, these men are the volunteers that the UN would rather not have. I wasn’t being funny when I called them rejects.” He pointed to the gojid he was just yelling at, “Take Brol for example, he got thrown out of the military because he abandoned his post.”

“That guy right there,” he brought attention to a Russian that was ghostly pale and didn’t have a strand of hair on his head, “he grew up in Volgograd near a chemical plant. The Russian Army wouldn’t take him because of his condition, so he joined a militia and kept his hometown safe during the civil war.”

He jerked his head toward a pair of yotul that were passing by, “Those two? They left Leirn to get medic training from the zurulians, but got turned away because they’re primitives–”

Raksim interrupted with what I was thinking. “We know this already, get to the point.”

The drill sergeant looked like he was fighting the urge to snap the old bird’s neck. “The point is that they all got rejected in one way or another. And that means that they’ve got something to prove. They’ve already been working harder than everyone else here, especially the aliens. So yes, they are up to the task.” He looked me dead in the eye, “The real question is whether you can lead them.”

For a moment, I wondered if he was doubting my skills because he knew of my service record, but I dismissed the thought a moment later. There’s no way they gave a sergeant a dossier on me. “Good. May I address them? Or will that interfere with your schedule?”

“Nah, I’m just keeping them busy because we can’t go to the firing range.” The drill sergeant drew in a deep breath before casting his booming voice out. “Attention Company Foxtrot Uniform!”

All the privates stopped in an instant, except for a venlil that was crossing the balancing logs. He ran into the human in front of him and fell face first into the mud below. The sergeant and I had to suppress a laugh. “Form up on the grass,” he shouted once again.

The privates scrambled off the obstacles, arranged themselves into columns, and stood at attention in record time. I straightened my posture and raised my voice so they could all hear. “Good evening Second Platoon. I am Lieutenant Yankovic. Tomorrow, I will officially be taking command of this unit. You Russians are right to have reservations about being commanded by an American, and you aliens probably have your own concerns about serving alongside humans. Rest assured, I don’t intend on tainting you with my predatory ways or turning you into decadent westerners. I will use the skills you have to the fullest to get us to Aafa, where we’ll hunt down the bastards who bombed Earth and put a bullet between their eyes.”

Following my elegantly crafted speech, I expected a more lively reaction, but the platoon just stared at me awkwardly for a few seconds. Then, a dumb grin crossed the Russians’ faces. “You’re American, and your name is Yankovic?” One of them asked, eliciting a laugh from all his comrades.

I sighed and didn’t fight the smile that was pulling at my lips. “Yes. Are there any more questions?”

“When we get to Aafa, can we raise a flag? Like the Red Army did on the Reichstag?” One of them queried from the back.

“Only if you behave yourselves. Now, we need to speak to Private Nedelin and Private Tiel. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The men began filing back onto the assault course. The venlil who blundered and ate shit earlier stepped forward, his entire front half was dyed brown, in contrast to the white wool on his back. A Russian with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth sauntered up next to him. An unexpectedly pleasant scent lingered around him. .

“Private, nicotine consumption is banned in this facility.”

Nedelin plucked the smoke from his mouth, pinched the end to extinguish it, and placed it behind his ear. “They are herbal cigarettes, sir. No nicotine at all.”

“Fine, just keep it to a minimum. If I understand the situation correctly, you’ve commanded a military unit before?”

“Yes sir. My boys fought rebels in Chechnya and Dagestan.

“And most of these men are from your old unit?”

Nedelin dipped his head in affirmation.

“Then you’ll be my platoon sergeant once I officially take command.”

“That is good decision, sir.”

That was easier than expected.

Raksim began his line of interrogation, “I have a question for you, Tiel.” He stalked into the private’s personal space. “How does a meek venlil like you find the courage to be in the company of so many predators?”

Tiel used a single eye to stare the old soldier down. “By having more brains than the average krakotl.”

Raksim raised his feathers and brought his talons dangerously close to Tiel’s face. “I’ve seen what’s inside a venlil’s skull, it's not very impressive.” The mass of mud and wool didn’t even blink at the intimidation display, prompting an approving chuckle from the aged krakotl.

I decided to deescalate the situation before it got out of hand. “Stop harassing the privates, old man. We’ve got better things to do right now.”

Raksim withdrew his claws and lowered his feathers. “I’m finished. If the others are anything like him, they’ll make fine soldiers.”

“Good. You two are dismissed.” I said.

The human-venlil duo saluted, but I added one more thing before they left. “Private Nedelin, find a hose and make Private Tiel presentable again. He looks like a fucking golem.”

For the first time since I met him, a twinge of a smile appeared on the Russian’s face, indicating that he would be taking the order very literally. “Yes sir.” Tiel gave him a worried look.

With that, we turned away from each other and headed in opposite directions. Come tomorrow, Second Platoon, Company Foxtrot Uniform, would officially be mine. A menagerie that was pulled together from Russia, the cradle, Leirn, and Venlil Prime. But they’ll be my rejects and if I can’t use them to make up for my cowardice, then the universe let me survive that antimatter bomb for nothing.

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