“F. Dixon,” Sergeant Tomkins called out.

  Fletcher stepped forward and received the envelope which contained his future. It was their second to last week of training—hopefully—and now it was time to receive orders. For regularly trained soldiers, they normally were sent to specialized training, but since Hotshot training was longer and included airborne tactics, the majority of the platoon was going to be sent to active bases to start their service term within a few weeks of graduation. The general rule was that only the lowest ranked quarter of the platoon would get sent to extra training, officially removing them from being active Hotshots.

  While Fletcher wasn’t the best of the platoon, he was still sitting in the upper third of the recruit rankings so he expected to be sent off to immediate duty like the majority of those surrounding him.

  Tomkins finished distributing the orders and then dismissed the recruits to personal time for the evening. Fletcher gripped the envelope tighter in his hand as he found Tara Knox, Yandri Ramos, William Frederick, and Alfonso Souza. The platoon had continued training in squads, and the five of them had grown close over the past six weeks. It helped that the other recruits started to respect Fletcher after he’d proven his worth back during the first training exercise—and continued to perform well in subsequent simulations.

  While officially Hotshot training was technically only ten weeks long, it was common knowledge to everyone but Fletcher that in practice it often went for twelve to sixteen weeks since the platoon was expected to achieve certain standards as a whole, and they would repeat training phases if the platoon’s average score on on the metrics were below what was required. So far, his platoon had only had to repeat one phase, and it was looking likely that that would be it.

  The five of them settled into a circle, and on Yandri’s count, they all tore into the envelopes. Everyone scanned the letters in a brief moment of silence before cheering sounded, from not only their group, but the other circles which had formed to perform a similar ritual.

  Fletcher was not part of the commotion, a stunned look on his face as he reread the words again just to be sure he understood it right the first time.

  He was pissed.

  “I’m going to Fort Revta, frontlines baby,” Yandri declared ecstatically.

  William was going to Fort Giza, another hot spot for fighting, Alfonso was assigned to Fort Houston—to Tara’s excitement—and Tara was being sent down to Paraty Coastal Base. Fletcher was happy for his friends, but his smile was tight when it came time for him to share his orders.

  “Rwenzori Mountain Base for Officer Training,” he admitted. While he wasn’t looking to end up somewhere like Yandri or William with their heavy fighting positions, it was a slap in the face to be handed off to training—worst of all, officer training—which meant the higher ups had decided he couldn’t hack it as a Hotshot even in a safe location like Paraty alongside Tara.

  “Ha. You’re funny.” Yandri reached forward and snatched his paper away. Her smile faded as she read the orders. “This is a joke. You’ve outperformed Knox and Souza for weeks now. If anyone was getting handed off to baby status, it should be one of them—no offense.”

  Alfnoso grumbled some Portuguese curses under his breath, but Tara nodded in agreement.

  “Who did you piss off? I mean, officer training? It’s one thing to send you to specialty training, but to send you to be a bootlicker? Deities, Fletcher, you must have screwed someone important over,” William said.

  “This has got to be some kind of mistake. Go talk to sarg about it.” Yandri motioned to Tomkins’ door.

  Fletcher took the letter back, tossing the idea around his mind. Tomkins did seem to hate him less since that first battle simulation, and Fletcher had the the skills to back up his assertion that he deserved as good of a posting as his friends.

  “Stop worrying so much and just go. Deities, Dixon. You always make things hard on yourself.” Tara shoved him backwards. “Go.”

  They all laughed as he stood up and walked to the door. He’d gotten a lot better at just doing things instead of thinking about them all the time, but he couldn’t completely let go of that part of himself, not yet.

  Fletcher arrived at the door and knocked, no longer needing to take that customary breath to steel his nerves. Tomkins responded from the other side with his usual curt, “come.”

  He entered the small office and saluted.

  “At ease, Dixon. Let’s get this over with,” Tomkins muttered, not even bothering to look up from the papers on his desk.

  “About my next assignment, drill sergeant…” Fletcher began.

  “Those orders are firm,” a new voice said.

  Fletcher turned to find Colonel Simmons—one of the chief officers of the whole base—sitting in a chair in the corner. He immediately returned to attention.

  “At ease, recruit.”

  Fletcher glanced at Sergeant Tomkins who finally decided to give up on his paperwork.

  “We expected this conversation would be happening almost immediately,” Tomkins explained.

  Colonel Simmons stood up and took the paper from Fletcher’s hand. “This letter was written before you ever stepped foot on this base. I typed it up the day I spoke with your mother about putting you in the Hotshot program.”

  “Regardless of your preconceptions, sir, I feel that I have done the work to prove myself—”

  “This isn’t about ratings, Anders. It’s about who you are.”

  Fletcher curled his hands into fists. “Just because my mother—”

  “It has nothing to do with your mother either. When Nora came through, she got sent off to Fort Rosario for less than a year before she got pulled for Officer Training.” Simmons handed the paper back to him.

  “The standard is that the bottom twenty-five percent of the platoon gets kicked from the program. I’m well above that.” Fletcher held the paper and used all of his willpower to not immediately crush it.

  “That’s a guideline, not a rule. The fact is that you were only ever in the Hotshot training because I owed your mother a few favors. If you were a standard case, you’d never have been accepted,” Simmons said.

  Fletcher crossed his arms. “But I do as well or better than the majority of those you did accept. I don’t understand why I’m being judged on who I was before training while everyone gets to be scored based on what they accomplished here. That’s not fair.”

  Simmons shook his head. “You misunderstand. This isn’t because you aren’t good enough to be a Hotshot, kid. This is because you were born to be an officer. And training only proved that. Yes, you pulled your weight and performed well, but you’re a leader, through and through. If you’d gone through the regular selection process, I guarantee you’d have been put into the combination basic and officer training right off the bat.”

  “But—”

  “Yes, fine. This also has something to do with your family. I’m not about to be the guy to send a three-star general’s bouncing baby boy off to get shot on the frontlines just because he wanted to die alongside his friends. This decision has been made, and I expect that this will be the last time I hear any kind of complaints, understand?” Simmons got close to his face, his eyes narrow.

  “Yes, sir,” Fletcher spat out. It always came back to his freaking mother, didn’t it? Even half a world away her influence was the strongest prevailing factor in his life.

  “Dismissed, Dixon.”

  Fletcher walked back out of the office, seething as he returned to his friends. His mind busied itself coming up with a believable lie for what happened in there. Just when he’d been starting to see a real future in this whole military thing, somehow it blew up in his face.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  ***

  Four days later, Fletcher stood with the others in the platoon in formation in their main training area having just received the news that the platoon had passed their final test and would be graduating the next week.

  Sergeant Tomkins stood at the head and held up a paper form. “Each one of you gets to invite up to six people to graduation. Our graduation ceremony is a private affair. The only people who even get notified are the ones who get an invite. Fill it out and have it back to me by tomorrow at twenty-hundred.”

  Murmurs of excitement passed through the platoon as the forms passed through alongside pens. Everyone split off on their own to use their personal time for the night to fill the papers out, but Fletcher couldn’t bring himself to catch the spirit everyone else was feeling.

  He had the form in hand, just like the others, but he knew he couldn’t invite his family. First off, he was still angry at Hazel Anders and the great efforts she’d gone to to screw up his life. And he was a little mad that his dad sat by and let it happen.

  But as good of a spurn as it would be to invite his dad and not his mom, he couldn’t do it. He’d worked so hard on making a real name for himself here, and he wasn’t about to throw it all away by inviting a family member who might end up spilling the beans about who he really was.

  And so Fletcher planned to leave his form blank. He had very few connections in this new life, and those he did have all tied back to Hazel. Inviting anyone, even just Addy and Jeric, would bring with it a whole set of problems.

  He subconsciously joined up with his friends as they did their nightly circle up to chat and hang out. Yandri was already hurriedly filling out the form while Tara tapped the pen against her chin.

  “This is going to be tough,” she said with a sigh.

  “What’s wrong? Can’t come up with six names?” William joked.

  “I come from a big family. Like really big. I have six siblings, but after my aunt and uncle died, my parents also adopted and raised my three cousins. That brings my immediate family count up to eleven.” She glanced down at the paper. “And whoever I don’t invite, I won’t get to see for months since I leave for my new posting right after graduation.”

  That was the same story with everyone in the group. Only those who were getting sent to training were getting any time to go back home since the other training programs’ start dates didn’t line up with Hotshot graduation. Fletcher was one of the “lucky” ones in that sense, but he still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he was getting sent to officer training.

  Everyone saw officers as a bunch of stuck-ups who were out of touch with the war and fighting and real soldiers. They were the politicians of the military, butt-kissing their way to better ranks with no regard for the soldiers they commanded.

  And now Fletcher was going to have to be one of them, the opposite of what he wanted. He liked being one of the grunts, especially now that he finally got comfortable with the basics of military life, but being an officer was going to make him an outsider. Again. He didn’t want to go through that over and over.

  Fletcher looked at his blank form and back at Tara who had yet to put a single name down.

  “Here, Knox. You can use my six tickets too,” he said, handing the form to her.

  She shook her head. “No way, Dixon. I know I’m complaining a lot, but I’m not going to take from your family.”

  “I’m not inviting anyone anyway. If you don’t fill it out, I’m just going to turn it in blank.”

  The others looked at him with surprised faces.

  “Something wrong back home? Is that why you never get letters?”

  Fletcher shrugged. “I’m just not on great terms with my family. It’s no big deal. Besides, graduation matters less to me. I’m going to officer training immediately anyway, so what does it matter?”

  Tara bit her lip. “You’re sure? Absolutely positive?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’m glad you can use it.”

  “You only have eleven family members, right Knox? Any chance I can use the extra spot on Dixon’s paper?” Alfonso asked.

  She agreed and allowed him to write down his one name before taking it back and filling it out. A few minutes later, Fletcher had the filled out form, and it felt good to hold it, knowing that it was going to help out his friends. Now all that was left was to survive the last week of training, go through graduation, and then get on the plane home.

  ***

  “Dismissed,” Colonel Simmons announced into the microphone, officially ending the graduation ceremony. Everyone relaxed as the crowd rushed from the stands to come meet the new graduates. Fletcher took his chance to shake hands with those closest to him as well as Yandri, William, and Alfonso. His plan was to hit the bar alone for the rest of the day before his flight back to Finnack since everyone else was going out celebrating with their families.

  As he tried to release Tara’s hand, she kept an iron grip.

  “Not so fast, Dixon. I’m not going to let you sulk the day away. You’re coming with me and my family. My mom’s been dying to meet you, though watch out, she might try to set you up with my sister. Or my brother, if that’s more your style.”

  He shook his head with a laugh. “I’m alright, Tara. I don’t mind getting a little alone time. And my flight leaves tonight so it’s not like I have long to sulk.”

  Sergeant Tomkins had been pissed when he turned in his graduation invitation, and Fletcher had spent an extra hour running laps after the usual PT for the rest of training as punishment, but he’d refused to give in and invite his mom to the ceremony. He liked that he was getting the chance to piss her off just a little. She deserved a lot worse than this.

  “Sorry, Fletcher. I already told my baby sister that you’d be joining us, and she’ll throw a huge tantrum unless you come.” Tara smiled.

  “I think that’s blackmail.”

  Tara rolled her eyes and dragged him over to the massive group that was approaching their position. He easily picked out her parents from the mix, but he had no way of telling who qualified as a sibling and who was just a cousin thanks to the similar appearance the others shared.

  She introduced him to everyone, but even with his good memory, he remembered fewer than half the names given to him. Tara’s siblings ranged in age from thirty to seven, with Tara being in the middle at twenty—the minimum age required to join the Mixed military.

  Just as Tara predicted, Mrs. Knox almost immediately latched onto Fletcher and began talking up her second oldest daughter’s—Terra, the twenty five year old—qualities. When that didn’t seem to catch his attention, she had him sit next to her oldest son—Gregory, the twenty eight year old—during lunch.

  The food was good, and Fletcher enjoyed being with the large family. It reminded him of being back in Alcett and going out with Javier and his family. Thinking of that made his heart ache. He missed Javier and Cami and Finn and all his friends back in the colony. And he missed Bren’it’p and Beam and the life he cultivated there.

  Hotshot training had been miserable, but at the same time he’d developed a lot of friendships among his squadmates, friendships that were about to end due to everyone going their separate ways.

  Adding in the fact that he hadn’t heard from his family in months, and Fletcher realized just how lonely he was, even as he sat in the on-base restaurant with the Knox family. It wasn’t so much that he missed his own family and the complicated relationships there, but rather that he missed feeling like he belonged and his life had meaning.

  “You alright, Dixon?” Tara bumped his shoulder.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah. Fine,” he said. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”

  “Always thinking too hard.”

  They laughed, but Tara was pulled away by a younger sibling telling her some meandering story.

  “So, Fletcher, Tara tells us you grew up in Finnack. What do you parents do there?” Gregory asked.

  “They're both in the military,” Fletcher answered.

  “Both?” Gregory whistled. “Must have been hard growing up with that.”

  Fletcher shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. Obviously nothing as fun as what you guys have in Houston. Tara talks a lot about how fun it is back there.”

  “You have no idea. I miss it like crazy. I’m stationed out at Cape Town, so at least I still get the ocean. I couldn’t stand to be landlocked,” Gregory said.

  He nodded. “That makes sense, though I can’t say I relate. I haven’t ever even seen the ocean. Are you planning to do the military for life?”

  “Deities, no.” Gregory laughed. “I’m in my fourth year. As soon as this enlistment is up, I’m going free and returning to the perfection that is Houston.”

  Fletcher chuckled, very much understanding that sentiment. A glance around showed that the family all finally finished eating, meaning it was time for Fletcher to say farewell so he could head back to the barracks to get his stuff and make it to his plane in time.

  “Thank you, Knox. This was nice,” Fletcher admitted as they stood together just outside the restaurant. Her family was already starting to wander down the hallway, their voices loud as they all tried to talk over each other.

  “Of course. And don’t be shy, Dixon. I expect you to keep in touch. You have my base address so you can’t use those lame excuses you made every week about why you didn’t write letters home.”

  He nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll see you around.”

  “Safe travels.”

  “You too.”

  Fletcher shook her hand one last time and then headed to the barracks to gather his stuff. An hour later, he was loading up on the plane headed back to Finnack. He had mixed feelings about going to see his family again, and he was worried that his dad was going to be upset that he didn't invite anyone to graduation. Not that it mattered anyway since he wasn’t really a Hotshot. It’d all been a show of his mother’s power and a way for her to punish Fletcher.

  He sat in his seat, his anger towards his mother rehashing itself now that he was so much closer to actually having to face her. If he was truly lucky, she would be pissed off about it, and that would be some consolation for everything he went through. And at this point, that was all he could ask for.