The Bunker Ch 14 Training Days 3And4

This is a continuation of a story I've had in my head for a few years, and been publishing for over a year. If you're a new reader, well, you probably want to go back to chapter 1 to know who all these people are. But hey, you do you.

Returning readers, thank you so much for continuing on this journey with me. The Bunker is only the second story I've ever written and published, and I'm sure it shows in the quality difference between the earliest chapters and this one. This one is a bit late getting submitted, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

All persons engaged in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

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Training Days 3 & 4

I awoke to the sounds of Sarah making offerings to the porcelain princess. Since she'd been snuggled up behind me, that left an easy egress route -- after I untangled my arms from Jen and Jess. Taking care to avoid jostling the bed as I dismounted, I padded over to the bathroom. I gave a soft knock to the doorframe as I passed within slowly.

"Hey, babe. Want me to get you some water?"

My very-not-a-morning-person lover glared at me. "I'd probably just throw it back up," she whimpered. "Why do those women talk so glowingly about being pregnant? Or have a second or third baby?"

"Some women have more than that."

Sarah winced. "Not helping."

"They're probably more focused on the middle part where the nausea subsides, but they haven't grown big enough to have trouble putting on their own shoes. The time they get to feel the baby moving in their tummy and realize this is new life they get to bring into the world."

Sarah stared at me for a bit, her expression unreadable. "I want that. I want to hold our baby." She got up from her kneeling position on the floor and rinsed her mouth.

"You will." I pulled her to me and kissed her forehead, nose, and mouth. The action brought a weak smile to her face.

"You are a hopeless romantic, sir."

"Guilty as charged, and hopelessly yours."

She snorted. "Mine and ten other women."

My face fell. "Sarah, I -- "

She put one of her pale, slender fingers to my lips. "That wasn't an accusation, Kevin. This isn't what we grew up to expect, but you've built a strong and supportive family in these crazy conditions." She folded her arms around my torso and leaned into me. Her head nestled into my chest. "You could have snagged a bunch of hot, big breasted women and had a fine old time. Instead, you picked women with skills and character. And yes, even Andrea. I noticed you weren't even considering her until the issue of her media skills came up. And if I had to guess, choosing Ellie had as much to do with how well she meshed with Connie and Jen as anything else."

When I didn't respond, she pulled her head back and looked up at me. "See? You can't dispute it. Because I'm right. And that's why I'm happy to be carrying your baby. Even if the little sucker is making me toss my cookies two or three times a day."

I chuckled lightly as I brushed a lock of her hair back. "For the record, I think each of you is beautiful."

She grinned and kissed my bare chest. "I know." Sarah gave me a wink, entwined her fingers in mine, and led me back to bed. Just as she settled onto the mattress, my alarm went off. She gave my phone a narrow-eyed glare that, if weaponized, might have been sufficient to destroy the Rock and free us all from this bunker mess.

I leaned down and she turned her head up. We kissed softly, lips only.

"I respect what you're doing. Just come back to me."

"I will."

She said nothing more as I dressed and left.

When the men assembled this morning, they did so in their assigned fireteams, with team leaders in the rightmost file. We had another good session, this time using buddy resistance techniques in the warmup and calisthenics portion. I extended the run to five miles today. Everyone held on, though a few were flagging somewhat on the last mile. They never quit, though. That was important.

The most heartening part was during hygiene time. Mike Forrester, the young man I'd chosen as my radioman, got some light teasing about 'headquarters puke' from the vets. I was already outside the shower area while it was going on, but heard the whole thing. He took it well, and they were clearly just messing around. If the men were comfortable with each other like that, they were coming together well.

Donning my uniform, I noted again just how much more comfortable these new boots were versus the old recruit boots from the 90's. Hell, they were even more comfortable than the jungle boots I'd gotten from Clothing & Sales back in the day. They didn't even need polishing! How many hours had I spent polishing those damn boots back then?

Before heading down to the drill pad, I called out to my men, "Make sure you look pretty, boys. At least some of ya have wives, sweethearts and kids coming in for the promotion ceremony." A few nods came in reply, while several others seemed to stoop to their tasks with an extra care.

Faster than I was expecting, twenty men assembled in their designated squads. Private Forrester stood to my left in the guidon position. The razzing stretched a bit, with some of the men making jokes about his 'cute ass'. More hijinks. Mike blushed and tried to stare straight ahead, giving all the appearance of not reacting to the prodding. Well, not that the jokesters could tell. I kept my face neutral as well in support of his 'let them burn out the jokes and get tired of it' approach. Remarkably mature for a fresh out of high school teen. One of the reasons I'd picked him in the first place.

A few clusters of ladies hovered in the general area. Some looked bored, most seemed intent on watching the proceedings. Wait, what? Intermingled among the women I noticed four very distinct individuals. Sarah's slowly lengthening copper locks, Jenn's luscious raven tresses, Connie's milk chocolate mane, and Destiny's auburn cascade. Each was speaking with a different group of women.

Noting the time was right, I called the section to attention. The men reacted like professionals, immediately snapping to and facing forward. They were already in the correct positions. Notably, most of the women fixed their attention either on me, or the formation.

"Gonzalez, POST!"

Henry Gonzalez quickly took one step back, looked either direction, then quickly hustled out of the formation to his own right, and made a beeline to stand in front of me at attention. Since he was prior service, I knew he would know the procedure. Hopefully, others were watching and would emulate his actions. The next promotion was also prior service army, though the third was a Marine. Their pattern was probably the same. With those three as examples, there was a good chance everyone else would get the hint.

I nodded to Forrester, who began reading from the script I'd given him. "Attention to Orders! The MidWest Bunker Authority has reposed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and professional excellence of Private Henry Gonzalez. In view of these qualities, demonstrated leadership potential and dedicated service to the Bunker Militia, Private Gonzalez is promoted to Sergeant. Signed, Major General Keith Foxlin, Commanding"

I applied the rank insignia with three chevrons to the empty patch on the front of the man's uniform top, pressing so the hooks on the insignia firmly grasped the fuzzy pile patch. Gonzalez looked mildly amused.

"You know, with the old school uniforms, I mighta had Kolson here with me so we could hammer your rank in."

Apparently, Gonzalez had enough background to know exactly what I was talking about and responded with a wry grin. He shook my offered hand and simultaneously accepted the cloth rank insignia for his cap.

"Get that sewn on tonight. Stick it in your shirt pocket for now."

Gonzalez nodded acknowledgement, saluted, and waited as I returned it before snapping his hand back down, turning, and hustling back to his spot in formation.

Once he was securely in his place, I called the next team leader. "Nance, POST!" The actual pinning went the same, though honestly, I had misgivings about this guy. He seemed to have his shit together, at least on military matters, but something about his mannerisms, particularly with the women in his family, made the back of my neck itch.

Dawson was next. One of his ladies let out a wolf whistle as he hustled forward. He maintained his stoic Marine face. When I called Balakirev up, three women cheered loudly. They cut it short when they noticed me holding my hand in a 'keep it down' gesture. His face was split with a big smile.

"Sorry Sergeant." His voice bore clear indicators of his Russian birth, but his accent in no way impeded his ability to communicate.

"Enh, don't worry about it. I'd rather ask them to hold it down then wonder if you were treating 'em right."

Why the fuck did I word it like that?

Balakirev saluted smartly and moved back in formation. His ladies cheered once more, keeping their affirmation to clapping and thumbs up gestures.

"Hoskins, Johansson, Twygger, Dolin, McClain, Murtaugh, Gordon, and De La Fe, POST!" The men I'd named raced into position, forming a line, in order, from my left to my right, in front of me. PVT Forrester moved on to the last part of the script.

"Attention to Orders! The MidWest Bunker Authority has reposed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity, and professional excellence of the following individuals. In view of these qualities, demonstrated leadership potential and dedicated service to the Bunker Militia, these soldiers are promoted to Private First Class. Signed, Major General Keith Foxlin, Commanding." He then listed each man's name as I moved from the first to the last, attaching their rank insignia and shaking their hand.

I returned to my post and dismissed the promotees. They moved quickly into the formation. "At ease." Each man took the rest position, and turned their heads to me. "That concludes our promotions. Ladies, thank you for joining us this morning. We will now continue with the rest of our training for the day." The spectators began scattering back to their vehicles and departing. All four of my partners waved after catching my eye.

"I have one correction from my announcement last night about Fireteam A. Johansson, you and Bloomberg will guard SGT Gonzalez as he goes about his duties. As PFC, that makes his safety your responsibility. Bloomberg, you'll follow his orders." Both men nodded. "Walters, that means you'll be wingman for our grenadier, PFC Hoskins." Walters nodded his understanding.

"All right boys," I said, "The cattle car will be here shortly to haul us to an open use section of the base with terrain suitable for today's training. We'll be there the rest of the day practicing moving as teams and as a section. On the command of fallout, remain in this area, but you are free to move within it, and talk. Team leaders maintain accountability. Once the cattle car appears, line up by teams and board. FALLOUT."

In those first few seconds, the formation expanded slightly, like a poorly broken rack in pool. Dawson turned to his men and pulled them all off to one side. Judging by the way he was positioning them, he started a quick lesson in fireteam formations. Balakirev appeared to do the same, though he was slower off the mark. His version of the lesson also looked ... more plodding. As if he was relaying things he'd researched, but never practiced. Makes sense. I picked him because he was resourceful. I'll bet he'd spent hours on the internet looking up US Army tactics. Gonzalez and Nance quickly circled their own teams and followed suit.

It was five minutes later when the transport showed up. Gonzalez grabbed his team and lined them up as soon as the cattle car rounded the corner. The driver stopped with his loading door perfectly aligned. By the time the driver stopped, Nance had his guys lined up behind Team A with a small gap and Dawson and Balakirev were hustling their troops into position.

Each team leader conducted a head count as we boarded, then signaled me he was 'up'. I had Forrester beside me, so once I'd gotten a thumbs up from each team leader, I passed the signal on to the driver, who moved us off a steady clip without gunning the engine at the start.

The noise level went up once we were rolling. The men kept it below a dull roar on their own. From what I could pick up, the conversations were a mix of discussing training, and talking about their families. Hearteningly, most were using the term 'family'. Mostly.

"Yeah, my bitches say they're going to dogpile me tonight to celebrate my promotion."

The third word drew my head around to the speaker. I saw Mike wince as I did so. Not sure if he was reacting to the word, or my face. The speaker was a young guy, over twenty, but not much, brown hair light tan skin. He was standing near Nance. Twygger. Team B's SAW gunner.

Nance held his hand out shoulder high, delivering a 'low five' when Twygger responded. "Nice."

"Question," his squad mate queried, "you're gonna have babies with these women right?" A quick sort in my head led me to identify the new speaker as Ben Tadiola.

"Yeah."

"And some of those babies will be girls, right?"

"Yeah." The reply sounded defeated, as if Twygger already knew where this was going. At the same time, Nance's eyes went cold.

Tadiola continued, "Do you want someone twenty years from now calling your daughter one of his 'bitches'?"

"No, no, I get it. I ... fuck it, that was stupid."

"Tadiola," Nance interjected, "you need to be careful how you address someone that outranks you. Twygger's a PFC, you're a private. Make sure you show him some respect when you talk to him regardless of your ages."

The twenty-seven year old Tadiola stiffened. "Sergeant, I -- "

"There was no disrespect, sergeant," Twygger slipped in. "He didn't say anything wrong or rude. I can take it when someone calls me on my shit." The twenty-one-year old stuck out his hand to Tadiola, who immediately grasped it.

Nance looked like he'd bitten down on a peeled lemon.

"Yeah, I mean, one of 'em is a PhD, and most have already accomplished something, so that's extra reason ta, ya know, not be an ass with my words."

PFC Dolin piped up. "PhD? Did you snag one of your professors?"

Nick blushed slightly, with a big grin. "Yeah. She called me to her office Tuesday after the lottery. I mean damn, guys, those first few days after names were announced were, um ... exciting."

Everyone in earshot laughed at that. Several heads nodded.

"Well, go on son," I said, "you got people's attention, might as well finish the tale. Just the thumbnail though, we've only got a few minutes until we arrive."

"Sure, sergeant." Now he looked flustered, realizing he had the attention of half the section or so. "Well, that first Sunday I got the word, I texted Isabella -- "

"Descriptions!" Nance urged. A few chuckles agreed with him.

Twygger managed not to roll his eyes. "Medium height, D-cup, dark chocolate skin. We've been mostly friends for about two years, dated a few times, furthest I ever got -- before the lottery -- was a hand on her ... chest while kissing. So I contacted her as soon as I got the word. She was in my room within five minutes, we talked, agreed, and she became my first concubine."

Some nodding heads showed folks were engrossed and liked his thought process on the matter.

"We were just straightening out ourselves and the room -- "

"Yeah, baby!"

Twygger blushed. " -- when there was another knock on my door. I opened it and this hot brunette, blue eyes, medium breasts, great legs just jumped me. Once the door was closed, she ripped her shirt off, bra too, then hit her knees. I'm stunned. Izzy's laughing her ass off until the newcomer rips my pants and underwear down to my ankles and hoovers my crank. Anyway, that's how the sorority president of Eta Gamma Nu wound up as my sex slave. I mean, if she's gonna go all out on a guy she doesn't know at all, and I've gotta make one woman be a slave, she kinda self-selected, ya know?"

Ben and Mike nodded at that one. They weren't the only ones. Though, a few, like Nance looked like they had other thoughts on the matter.

"Anyway, the next day, I contacted two girls I'd dated a few times and hooked up with before. They both said yes. Then Mindy, a grad student that I'd had a class with last year called that night. We talked in person the next morning and decided it could work. When I checked my inbox later that morning, there was an email from my Public Policy Analysis professor inviting me to meet her in her office."

"Bow-chick-a-wow-wow," someone intoned.

You gotta laugh at that one. We'd all seen something similar.

"Yeah, right there in her office. After talking first. Except Susana, they all wanted assurances about their status before doing the deed. I considered setting some as handmaidens, because I only knew Izzy with any certainty, but I went ahead and made all but Susana concubines. And yeah, that means they can speak in my stead on family needs, but it gives them some feeling of ... personhood? I spent a lot of time this summer with each of them talking about, ya know, the kind of stuff you discuss when you're thinking about buying a ring, or she just accepted it?"

"Susana, is that the sorority girl that jumped you?" Mike asked.

"Yup."

The transporter slowed to a stop.

I raised my voice to be heard throughout the car. "Well, Twygger, thank you for that rousing tale. Let's get to work boys!"

The men piled out in an orderly fashion. I thanked the driver, verifying the pick up time before disembarking. I emerged to find my section lined up in formation, waiting. Perfect.

"Section, A-TTEN-TION." Everyman snapped to. "Alright, our plan of the day consists of formations, both for fireteams and the section, movement techniques for both, assault tactics, and defensive preparations. That's a lot, but we are compressing a lot of training into one week. Now, since your team leaders were thinking ahead and gave you a brief rundown of team formations, instead of repeating what they've said, I'm just gonna quiz you on it. When I call fallout, I want the teams to separate. Alpha to my immediate right, Bravo to my right and back from the current formation. Charlie will mirror Bravo and Delta will mirror Alpha. I will call out one of the formations, and all teams form up accordingly."

One hand shot up, from PFC De La Fe, Fireteam D's lead rifleman and one of the veterans.

"De La Fe?"

"Is there a reward for the team that is first and correct, sergeant?"

"Sure, the team that gets it right first, doesn't do pushups." Grins and groans met my response. My shark-grin may have had something to do with it as well. "FALLOUT!"

The four ranks shot off to the designated areas.

"Wedge formation!"

Twenty men scrabbled within their groups. Unsurprisingly, Charlie -- Dawson's team -- settled into position first. Correctly, of course. The others were varying times behind, none by much, and all correct.

"All of you got the correct formation. Now, Alpha, Bravo, and Delta, drop and give me ten." Every man in those three fireteams started doing pushups.

"Come on men," Dawson cried out, "don't leave your buddies hangin'." Then he dropped and started pushing. The rest of Fireteam C looked at each other, shrugged, and dropped.

Fuck, that's fucking perfect shit right there

. So, I dropped too. After recovering, I called off additional formations. Charlie usually was the first, including the next three that I called. By then, Dawson had set a clear precedent. When Nance's Bravo Team settled into Vee formation first, they cheered, then dropped with their section mates. When we'd worked through all the formation types twice, I decided it was time to move on to the next step.