Earth's Last Judgement

The elevator rattled as it descended into the earth. The fifty young cadets didn't flinch as the last rays of light vanished, taking the last breath of fresh air along with it. They were men. They were real soldiers now. Their weakness had died along with the light.

A long stretch of darkness followed them down, until doorway opened before them. They were well into the planet's core now. The recruits marched forward in unison and came to a stop within a wide loading area. Ships lined the distance and hundreds of men in uniform were hustling between them. They were all too busy with their own chores to glance up at the new blood.

With a shout, the company came to a halt before an officer in a crisp gray uniform and matching cap. Eyes of steel scanned over them. The man scowled at what he saw.

"Welcome to The Last Judgement," the man screamed at them. "I am Major Frakes."

Fifty cadets saluted, then went rigid again.

"You have descended as weak, mortal things," the major shouted. "You will ascend from these halls as men. As warriors. As gods."

Oz did his best not to laugh. The excitement around him was bubbling over. He shared in it too, that eagerness for slaughter. For justice. But they sure as hell weren't going to be gods.

The enemy was all around them, choking the life out of the universe. The best that humanity could now do was to make any victory a bitter one. Let them remember how many of their own paid the price.

Of course, that was assuming the things were even capable of remorse. And that was a long fucking shot, at best.

"When you leave these halls, you will leave as pilots of Earth's finest flying machines. And you will be Earth's finest instruments of death. You will be cruel. You will be devious. You will kill with a relentlessness that they will not understand. Because you are human. The Earth's greatest creation. And they have fucked with the wrong solar system. Now ain't that right?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" fifty young cadets called out.

"Line up!" Major Frakes screamed back at them.

Oz stepped into place as the recruits made a line against the wall.

"This is Eye of God company, of the second battalion," the major said as five lines of ten men approached. "They've been killin' since before you learned to speak and you can be damn sure they've been out killin' while you took your morning deuce. Now, what do you say to them?"

"Thank you, Eye of God company," the cadets shouted back.

"Ya goddamn, right," Major Frakes said. "Eye of God company, line up."

Fifty soldiers in uniform lined up in front of the recruits. Oz eyed the man in front of him. He was older than him by at least a decade and was built like a wall of bricks. The man didn't even seem aware of the boy as he gazed blankly at the wall above Oz's head.

"Congratulations, recruits. You are now the property of a real soldier," Major Frakes told them. "You will clean their boots. You will fuel their ships. You will spar at their discretion alone. You are theirs. And, if you are lucky, if you do not fail them despite your own inadequacies, they will teach you to kill as they kill. They will teach you how to escape the very claws of death.

"And," the man went on, "if you fail. If you can't muster the effort to fight when the very fate of humanity is on the line, then you will go home. And you will wait there to see if better men than you have what it takes. Do you hear me?"

"Sir, yes, sir," they chanted back.

"Then march it out of here. Grub at eighteen hundred."

They made their way into formation and then crossed the main hall toward the line of stairways in the back. It took ten full minutes of marching to reach them. They descended down the far set of steps, six men abroad, with still enough room to fit just as many coming back up the opposite way.

Two floors down they turned and headed toward a sign that read "DORMITORIES 2B-2F". There was nothing else on the walls in sight. it was gray brick and white mortar, as far as the eye could see. It was everything Oz had imagined.

Inside the double doors of the dormitories, they headed past a cafeteria, three gyms, and a communal bathroom before they reached their wing. The only decoration inside was a single poster. "REMEMBER WHAT WE DIE FOR" it read in large, orange letters.

Oz followed his man to a door at the end of the hall. It opened without a key, and it shut on its own as they stepped inside. There was a hiss of sealing pressure behind it.

"Bag in the corner, back against the wall," the stranger commanded. Oz hurried to obey.

The man eyed him over for the first time, and his composure wavered for a moment. "Did you even finish school?" The man didn't say it like an insult. There was true worry in his voice.

Oz nodded. "Yes, sir," he lied.

"What's your name?"

"Oz. Oz Dering."

"Well, Private Dering, I am Corporal Greaves," the man said. "You'll find me more tolerant than most, but when I give you a command, you jump. When I give you instructions, you listen. It's my job to help you survive long enough to kill as many enemies as you possibly can. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir, corporal."

"In our private company, you are allowed questions. If you don't understand an order, tell me and I will repeat it. But you have made it this far, and you have chosen to join our ranks, so you will find no kindness from me. It is my duty to push you far beyond what you are willing to give. It is my duty to find what it takes to break you. And it is your duty to make that difficult for me as you can.

"But, first: house rules. You will sleep there if you are not needed," Greaves said, pointing to the only empty corner of the room. The rest of the cramped space was occupied by a double bed (neatly made), a dresser, and a locker for hanging dress clothes.

"If I am sent on patrol, you are to wipe down my ship, Betty's Eye. You will see that she is fueled before my next assignment. There will be an instructor later this week. There will be a lecture. They will show you how to scrub it clean, inside and out.

"After I return, you will clean my uniform and polish my boots before the next day. You will find me when I return, and I will tell you what other chores I have for you to do. You will go to meals when and if I tell you to. You will go to lectures when and if I tell you.

"When I am not on assignments, you will be my shadow. Flight simulators, flight simulators, flight simulators. Then the gym."

"Sir? Question, sir," Oz cut in. Greaves nodded. "Why the gym? We were told in basic that if it came down to ground combat..."

"That you are better off firing that gun into your own brain-pan? That is correct. But, if you want to tear yourself out of a free-falling spiral in 15G's, you are going to be thanking your merciful god that I have scheduled you for the weight room. Don't worry," he added, looking over Oz's slim frame, "we will see that you add some weight to those bones. What else?"

"When will I see the inside of a ship, sir?"

"When I say so, private," Greaves told him. "Impress me on the simulator, and then we'll talk. Don't go worrying about how fast your friends are going up. I make certain my cadets come back."

Oz nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The Corporal eyed him over again, looking skeptical. "They're sending us goddamn, kids," he said, gritting his teeth.

"I'll make 'em bleed, sir," Oz told him.

"I'll make sure of it," Greaves replied coolly. He looked over the boy again and sighed. "Well, let's see what you've got," he said, and unbuckled the clasp of a wide belt.

Oz climbed down onto his knees. The corporal pulled his underwear down with his thumbs as the Oz cupped his hands around the man's ass. He scooped the flaccid cock into his mouth and sucked his lips softly around it. Greaves grunted and grabbed at the wall with his hand.

He slid down the length of it slowly, stroking the head of it with his tongue. He sucked sweetly against the tip, then slid his lips back up the shaft slowly, peeling the thick foreskin back. The head went taught against the roof of his mouth, and the ridge of it grew harder.

Greaves sighed, and his eyes quickly shut.

Oz buried his face into the man's tangle of pubes. He sucked down the length of the man's shaft, breathing in the scent of him. The cadets that pleased their trainer properly when sparring were the ones that didn't get rushed back out the door. They were ones that stayed and got proper training. They survived long enough to become useful.

And, more importantly, they were the ones who got the most spunk. That was the power that drove a warrior on. That was what gave you strength. It was what made you a man.

Oz began to work his mouth faster. A pool of saliva was building up inside of it, and it spilled out from the corners of his lips.

"Teasing me? Fucking Christ," the man panted.

Greaves stiffened harder with every pulse of his heart. And, with every stroke, less of it was fitting into the boy's mouth. He gripped the man hard with one hand, relaxed his throat, and pulled him in further. The walls of the boy's throat stretched open as the corporal dug deeper inside.

Oz's airway cut off. Greaves pushed harder into him, driving in deeper, squeezing out the last of the oxygen from the boy's lungs. But Oz wasn't going to be the one to quit first. He pulled the man in deeper still. His chest was growing tighter, and the pressure was building in his brain. His cheeks were on fire.

"Jesus," Greaves laughed, finally sliding out. Oz choked as the head of the man's cock still batted at the edge of his throat. He gasped as tears welled in his eyes.

"Enough of that, let's go," the corporal ordered.

Oz grasped the man in two hands, then worked his lips tight over the head, stroking it quickly with his mouth. The corporeal looked into the boy's eyes and, a moment later, the man stiffened tighter again. Greaves' legs trembled, and he grabbed the boy's head in both hands, holding his small face still.

Oz heard the spray against his open mouth and tongue. "Don't spill any of it," Greaves told him. Oz knew better than that. You couldn't gain the man's strength if you let it spill on the ground.

Oz opened wider, showing off the pool of cum he had collected on his tongue. Greaves nodded, and the boy swallowed it down.

He let the boy lick him clean afterward, and then collapsed onto the bed and tugged his pants back up. "Acceptable work, cadet."

"Thank you, sir. I'll get better, sir," Oz replied.

Greaves rose up onto his elbows. "I spar with my cadets as much as I can, but you should know that they work us to the bone down here," he said. "You can ask, but know that you won't always like the answer."

"I will do all the work, sir. If you'll let me."

The corporal chuckled. "By all means, cadet. Take what you can. But-" he said quickly, holding up a hand as the boy stepped forward. "Maybe after dinner."

Dinner ended up being a slab of brown 'meat' and a plate of dirty rice. Oz ate quickly with the other new recruits. Some of them had returned with bruised faces and split lips, but not one of them spoke. For now, they needed orders to speak to each other outside of lessons.

After mealtime, Greaves brought Oz to the gym. He pushed Oz to his limit, then dropped the weight and pushed again. Two hours later, the boy's arms were too heavy to lift. With promises of his first flight simulator in the morning, they headed back to the room in silence amongst the hundreds of others.

Oz asked for permission as they both stripped for bed.

"You can try," the corporal said.

Oz slid under the covers. He tongued at the man's ballsack, getting the dense hairs of it wet as the corporal read from a magazine. After five minutes, the man was jutting against the sheets at full strength. He took the man into his mouth again, and worked the length of it slowly. Soon, Greaves was beaded with sweat and straining against the bed. The magazine was tossed aside.

Oz slid a finger against the man's hole and began to stroke him firmly.

In a blur, the man was suddenly on top of him, holding him in a headlock with effortless strength. The boy's face was pressed hard against the mattress. Greaves kicked the boy's legs open and pumped a handful of lube into his palm from the dispenser on the wall.

Oz's legs spasmed against the sheets as the man entered him. His smile grew wider.

He could feel the man's power. The muscles of Greaves' body rippled against the boy's back. The arm around him squeezed tighter. The clap of skin-on-skin rang out across the room as the corporal pumped his hips harder and faster. The man beat out a furious rhythm, and the boy's small body took it eagerly.

Greaves pressed Oz's head to the mattress painfully with a roar. The man's seed, his power, filled the boy until he spilled over.

Oz screamed in pleasure with him. He would become a warrior. He would be unstoppable. A champion of Earth's Last Judgement. A final 'fuck you' to the scum that had invaded their space. Let 'em all die, he thought wildly, his mind rolling in sweet bliss and thoughts of animal violence.

He gripped the corporal tight with the small muscles of his ass, and the man spilled out a few drops more. The power of it radiated out through every pore, he could feel it in his fingertips.

Just you fuckers wait, he thought.

When the man unmounted him, Oz scrubbed him clena, then changed the sheets quickly. The corporal was asleep by the time Oz made his own bed in the corner and curled up into a ball.

Just you wait, he thought, as he drifted away.