InsaneJournal

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Fic Series: Murphy's Laws of Combat
Fandom: Final Fantasy VII
Title: Murphy's Laws of Combat: 11 - If the sergeant can see you, so can the enemy.
Rating: Australian PG - language
Summary: [...] the inevitable bellow of the sergeants: "Strife, get your fuckin' head down!"
Warnings: Duck!

Cloud was learning to hate war games, for all sorts of reasons. For a start, the most usual pattern involved them mixing up the squads for the duration of the exercise. This meant no sooner had he learned to deal with the quirks of one lot of troopers than he was forced to learn a whole new set. It also meant he wound up having to teach each group he wasn't completely incompetent, despite being smaller, slighter, and younger than the majority of people in the platoon.

The next reason involved the training grounds. These were heavy Midgar mud, clay all the way down to Hel, and Cloud would swear they watered the blasted things before each exercise. He figured he gained a whole heap of muscle weight just from trying to walk back to the barracks with about ten pounds of the stuff clinging to each boot, to say nothing of the weight of it on his uniform and in his hair. He always stood out like a sore thumb there, too - a bright blond speck against dark mud.

His third reason for hating war games was the inevitable bellow of the sergeants: "Strife, get your fuckin' head down!". This was usually followed by the stinging impact of one of the so-called "dummy" rounds the sergeants used to train the recruits in the noble art of staying low under fire.

Thankfully, this particular exercise was taking place on the Grasslands. He could live with the cries of "Strife, where the fuck are you?" if it meant less bruises at the end of the day.