Sacremon (Harmony War Series Book 1) by Michael Chatfield

all the recruits, he looked over them all, silence stretching as Mark’s back tightened up and he had to move his feet as blood pooled uncomfortably in his shoes.
                “Let’s see who survives to be Troopers, begin the final training exercise,” he walked away, the staff yelling their platoons into action.
                “Two Platoon, get your gear! You have ten minutes!” Fredrickson barked, her face hard lines and eyes.
                Tyler’s section led the way, Mark and Alexis following with their own.
                “Vests and helmets first!” Mark yelled, agreement came back as they rushed into the armory, their lockers opening showing their armor, helmet, weapons and rucksacks that carried extra ammunition, plus water and food paste.
                They pulled on their gear, calloused fingers used to the motions from discipline and training.
                Few spoke while they suited up. Only a few asking for help with a strap they couldn’t get, doing the same service to their friend afterwards.
                Before they wouldn’t have asked for help, they were proud members of varying gangs, different sectors, complexes, no one trusted anyone. Now they were troopers, trust was automatic, even if they were from another platoon or section they trusted them to have their back.
                “Two platoon get moving for the city!” Balhauser barked.
                People moved in a flurry of confusion, flashbacks of the first weeks coming to mind. No one wanted to be last.
                Mark pulled his helmet down, hearing it connect to the collar of his armor and smart clothes, ripping his rifle from its rack and moving to follow the others.
                “Get into sections!” He barked through the Platoon’s chat and his helmet’s speakers.
                People started moving automatically, they all knew their spots and who was around them, even in their armor. Only a few of them didn’t have their helmets and vests on.
                Most did and at least another piece of armor on their legs or arms.
                Mark got to two sections. Tyler rushed past getting to one and sorting them out. Two platoon was sorted out as they got to the hatch that would lead to the city scenario.
                “You think you’re going to just run across the planet! You’re going to need to have a combat shuttle to drop you in!” Lastrade yelled.
                Tyler led, heading for the simulated hangar deck a few decks above.
                One and three section filed into one combat shuttle as Mark filed onto another that was filled with a holographic weapons section. Hosting mortars, tripods for their repulsor’s and ‘screamers’, high velocity missiles.
                Mark counted everyone off slapping their back’s as they went past. He took the last seat on the craft, checking his rifle was slung and putting it on the clips near his stomach. He grabbed his harness and pulled it down.
                “Everyone good?” Mark asked, he got a list of green lights down the side of his HUD, all of them had their helmets.
                Mark threw a stick of gum in his mouth as the ramps pulled up and the rear hatch closed.
                It took off, rising up and pushing forward.
                Nice and smooth. Mark thought, soothing his mind.
                Some yelled out as they hit atmosphere.
                “Damn masochists!” Mark growled, getting a few laughs. They were in a tense situation, getting them to ease up would give them confidence.
                The buffeting was the universes’ worst turbulence, they rose up and dove down, while going side to side and moving in three hundred and sixty-degrees, the simulated pilot evading incoming