Side Story: A Recruiter's Perspective

Sergeant Giuseppe Umbro was no stranger to the foolhardy. Enough of them had walked through the door of Recruiting Station No. 27 over the years, wanting to sign up for the good fight.

He’d seen too many come back with shattered limbs and vacant expressions. 

The job of a recruiter was not, as some assumed, to shepherd every willing person into the military. It was to shepherd the right ones. To gently turn away the hotheads, those who couldn’t handle the pressure … or those who were joining for the wrong reasons, dodging the law, or shameful secrets from the past.

All this while staying on the right side of the political correctness brigade.

He surveyed the waiting room as he ambled over to his desk. Five candidates today. The first three looked promising - young, healthy men, ranging in height from five eleven to six three. Strong - they’d probably get through the physicals without a challenge. 

One of the men was chatting with candidate number four, a young woman who looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. He sighed, then switched on the hidden microphone.

The Italian Army recorded all conversations in the waiting room. It was mentioned in the warning when you walked in, yet people still failed to notice. Or assumed that their conversation with the recruiter was the only thing recorded.

Nobody considered the seats might be bugged. 

Which had led to some hilarious busts in the past, as would-be drug dealers trying to hide out in the Army confessed to their crimes from the discomfort of a waiting-room chair.

Plugging in his headphones, he quietly eavesdropped on the chatty couple.

“... ever been to London?” the man was saying.

“Once.”

“I did my university there, you know. The city’s awesome. Did you see Trafalgar square?”

“I was there for less than a day, actually. Didn’t get to sightsee.”

A globetrotting tourist, then. Maybe she was a fashion model after all.

Well. Best get this show in order.

“Attention,” he barked. Five pairs of eyes swiveled in his direction. “All of you. Line up for interviews.”

The four men rushed to form a queue - a sloppy one, in his view. Still, discipline could come later. 

The woman got up casually and strolled over. Heh. Slow reactions, that one.

He strolled up to the first would-be recruit. “Why do you want to join the Army?”

“Uh.” The boy stammered. “To fight the aliens, sir.”

“I’m a sergeant. ‘Sir’ is for officers. Why should we take you?”

“Ah….” The boy seemed at a loss. Definitely not officer material, that one. He sighed. “Fill out this form and wait your turn.” 

The next boy - a reed-thin specimen - got his answer out faster. “To serve my country, Sergeant.”

“Why should we take you?”

“I was top of a class at university…”

“I’m sure the aliens will appreciate the flavour of a university brain. Got a better reason?”

A snort from the end of the line interrupted him.

Ah well. Might as well get the unpleasant bit over with. “You have something to share, young lady?”

“The aliens don’t eat human flesh,” the woman said. “Human biological matter is toxic to them - as much as their flesh is to us.”

“Where did you learn that? The Discovery channel?”

“A friend told me.”

“Right. Since you were kind enough to clarify, why don’t we hear your reason for joining the Italian Army?”

A corner of her lip twisted. “My company’s been shut down. Thought this might be a good place to work.”

Oh-ho, a comedian. “The Army’s not meant to be a nice place to work, young lady.”

“Then why are you still here?”

A titter of chuckles from the recruits. 

He was tempted to admit her just for the smart mouth. Some DI would probably get a kick out of educating her in military etiquette.

But that would be wrong, and she probably wouldn’t last past her first battle. 

“So tell me, girl…”

“Donna.”

“Donna, then. Tell me, why do you want to join the Italian Army?”

The girl shrugged. “I want to join the Battle Boar Brigade. Have to be nominated by the army of my home country for that, so I’m here.”

Umbro chuckled. “The Battle Boar Brigade, huh? You do understand that in the army, you start at the very bottom.”

“Yes.”

“There are only twenty spots in the Battle Boars for the Italian Army. And one hundred thousand soldiers who’ve been here longer than you. Granatieri, Col Moschin and Alpini commandos have been turned away. Assuming you get in, why would the Army nominate you?”

The woman nodded. “The Granatieri, the Col Moschin and the Alpini, right.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small object, holding it out. “I used to wear this badge before my company shut down.”

The object was a stylized phoenix. Umbro frowned. “Is there a meaning to that?”

“My company was Phoenix Company.”

… That had to be a coincidence.

“I did go to London, as the nice boy here was asking,” the woman continued. “Wore nanofibre weave the whole time, lugged a HEPAR and used it.”

The bookworm’s jaw had dropped. “You - fought the aliens?”

“I killed aliens. The Stratospheric Guard officers we worked with gave me a note… here.” She handed over a document to Umbro.

He opened it with a sense of foreboding.

The document was brief. A summary of the professional achievements of one Donna Bartoli, mercenary in the service of Phoenix Company.

Battles participated, three.

Alien kills confirmed - four hundred and eighty-seven.

He re-read the number again. Yes, there it was. Four hundred and eighty-seven.

Contract terminated by virtue of dissolution of her employer’s firm.

Signed by Colonel Fraser, U.S. Army, and attested to be true to the best of his knowledge and belief.

The Sergeant stared at the woman. “This can’t be real.”

“You can call Fraser and check.” Bartoli shrugged. “You asked me why the Army should nominate me for a battlesuit. I have served in battlesuits before, at London, Singapore and at Second Tanisport. I have killed Raptors, Sarnak, Grizzeloids and Lynxians. Watched my friends fight and die, buried them and moved on. I have stood against Carnotaurs, thrown grenades at Xeranai Walkers, pulled children out of burning buildings, and fought back against a Hierarchy battleship when it tried to purge my city. I have been hit by plasma blasts a dozen times, been healed from them by ultras, and plunged back into the fight minutes later. And in my off time, I hunted human enemies through the jungles of South America. I have killed with laser and plasma, and with my bare hands when I needed to. I served with Agni in her last battle, and when the Xeranai killed her, I mourned. When Belessar needed volunteers to storm the bridge of their starship, I followed, and I even shot a Xeranai.

“Now, you can choose to nominate a commando who’s never worn a suit before. Or you can nominate a Phoenix Company sniper with a thousand hours in a suit, and four hundred combat kills. Your choice.”

Umbro swallowed. Hard. 

They never covered this in briefings...

“Ma’am. Would you like to join the Italian Army?”