My WW3 Fiction Story (WIP) (Please Provide Constructive Criticism.)

[Tyrex]

The Beginning

Date: 5/3/17, Log 1.
I’m going to start these logs, decided it might be a good idea.
My name is Nick Sandborn.  I live in the United States, Florida.  I am African American, six foot, one inch.  I weigh two-hundred and fourteen pounds and am nineteen years old..  I live alone with my mother, my father divorced her years ago…

Date: 8/12/17, Log 2.
I got engaged to my fiancé today.  Her name is Alyssa.  Long brown hair, brown eyes.  The love of my life.

Date: 9/15/17, Log 3.
I found out Alyssa is pregnant.

Date: 11/5/17, Log 4.
My mother passed away today from a stroke…

Date: 2/2/18, Log 5.
Alyssa’s baby was a miscarriage.

Date: 2/24/18, Log 6.
Alyssa dissolved our relationship, we are no longer together…

Date: 12/17/19, Log 7.
It’s been a while, I forgot I had this thing… My life has been tragic…  The American government is predicted to crash, resources are becoming scarce.  Miniature wars are constant in the Middle East.

Date: 1/1/20, Log 8.
A new year has come, I have no one to celebrate it with…

Date: 2/10/20, Log 9.
World War 3 has officially started.  United States, Canada, Great Britain, Mexico, and Australia are allied.  We are in a war with other top countries allied together; China, Russia, Africa, and the rest of the Middle Eastern countries. 

Date: 3/13/20, Log 10.
I’ve been recruited into the United States Marine Corps, maybe it was for the best…

Date: 4/20/20, Log 11.
I’ve just been accepted as a recruit into the United States Marine Corps.  I don’t think I’ll be writing these as often…

Drill Sergeant

   The Drill Sergeant walks in the hallway, the room breaks into silence as the recruits see him, they stand at attention.  Nick stands straight, staring into the distance, as if something is there.  “So, I assume y’all came here for a reason…”, the Drill Sergeant walks up and down the hallway, the lights casting shadows along his path.  He approaches Nick, staring at him with a bluffed face, his eyes gleaming.  “What brings you here…” The Drill Sergeant stares at the nametag on Nick’s chest, raising an eyebrow, “Sandborn…?  What kind of last name is that?  Was your mommy giving birth to your ass in the middle of a desert?”  “My mother is dead, sir,” Nick says, still staring straight, appearing to be oblivious of the male in front of him.  “Did I ask you to tell me your sob story about your ‘mommy’ dying?” The Drill Sergeant blurts out. “No, s-” “That’s what I thought, ‘cruit.  Now, what brings your sorry ass here?”  “I was drafted, sir,” Nick says, sighing slightly.  The Drill Sergeant nods, “Your training is going to be hell before you become a Private, first thing in the morning, tomorrow at six.  You better be ready.” Nick nods, staring straight as the Drill Sergeant walks to another recruit, blinking as he hears yelling.  Later, Nick walks into the recruit barrack, a metal enclosure, cramped with old bunk beds and rusty lockers along the back wall, objects protruding out of them.  The room contains very little lighting and a small wooden table with chairs in the middle.  Inside, he meets another recruit for the real first time, this recruit is about five foot, nine inches, has brown short hair, and a full close shaven beard, “Sup?”  He looks the male over, examining his nametag, “Err… Johnson?” “Just call me Mark, Sandborn?”  Mark says.  Nick raises an eyebrow, “Yeah, where you from, Mark?”  Mark smirks, “Straight outta Texas.”  Nick rubs his eyes, nodding, “I’ve gotta get some rest now, supposedly being trained tomorrow, bright and early in the mornin’.”  He walks off into his assigned bunk bed, looking on top, spotting someone laying there.  He walks over to his locker, taking out a set of ragged clothes, swapping them on.  He hops into the hard bunk bed, it emitting a slight squeak from himself adjusting, trying to get as comfortable as possible.  He whispers, “Drill Sergeant is a douche,” to reassure himself.  He shrugs, “Oh well, one day down, I hate to say it, but I’m somewhat excited for the training tomorrow.”  He closes his eyes and starts to lightly snore.

Agility Course

   A loud horn is heard as Nick stretches, rolling, desperately tired, out of the bed.  He walks over to his locker, yawning, slamming it open.  Nick grabs a new fresh set of clothes, putting them on.  He glimpses around the room, his eyes squinting from the light adjustment.  He then casually walks outside into the hallway, looking at all the other recruits, spotting Mark, nodding.  They are all lined up against the wall, waiting in anticipation for the Drill Sergeant to make his arrival.  Thirty-minutes or so pass, the Drill Sergeant walks in, smirking, “I’m late, silly me.”  A recruit coughs slightly, trying to cover it up.  The Drill Sergeant quickly turns to him, “What was that, ‘cruit?”  A faint, “Nothing, sir,” is heard.  As the Drill Sergeant walks up and down the hallway, his boots make a clanking sound, “So I assume y’all understand somewhere in your puny heads that you need trainin’ before you can advance towards your next rank…”  He stops walking in front of Nick, cocking his head towards him, “So, tell me ‘cruit, are you ready to begin training in hell?”  Nick nods, wondering why the Drill Sergeant pick on him so often.  “Good ‘cruit, you better hope your ass is in shape,” the Drill Sergeant smirks, “Let’s go!”
Nick follows the Drill Sergeant, looking at all the unknown surroundings, they walk outside, the sun shining brightly on them.  “So,” the Drill Sergeant explains, “This is the agility course, I’ll be watching you progress through this in the fastest time possible.”  Nick somewhat ignores the words, amused by the strewn about tires, ropes, towers, walls, ladders, and other obstacles, almost confused on what to do.  “Sandborn, get your ass to the starting line.” Nick walks over to the obvious starting point, “Tell me when you want me to go, sir.”  The Drill Sergeant shrugs, “Go.”  Nick darts towards the first obstacle, a wide array of tires, he weaves in and out of the tires quickly sprinting towards the rope hanging from the wall.  He jumps, grabbing onto the rope, climbing up, then throwing himself to the other side over the top, sliding down.  Nick runs towards a low net with dirty mud underneath it, going into a prone position, crawling underneath it.  He finishes, running as fast as he can to the finish line.  “Good work, Sandborn,” the Drill Sergeant yells, holding his thumb up.  Nick smirks, surprised at the compliment, as he walks towards him, “Thank you, sir.”  The Drill Sergeant gives a blank expression, “Alright, go hit the showers, and meet some other of the ‘cruits.”

Private Sandborn

   Nick comes out of the shower hall, freshly cleaned, and walks towards the lunch hall.  He opens the door, surprised by the mass amount of units and noise.  He looks around, spotting Mark Johnson sitting down at a table with other recruits, he walks over and sits down next to him, “Yo, Mark.”  Mark nods back, “Sandborn, what’s up?”  “Nothin’ much, just waiting for my promotion, hopefully it will be soon,” Nick responds.  Mark nods as a loud echoing voice comes from the intercom, “All recruits who preceded through the physical training, go to the mess hall immediately.”  Nick smirks, standing up along with several other recruits in the lunch hall, walking outside.  The Drill Sergeant returns, standing straight, waiting for the recruits, “This better be all the ‘cruits, if not, too bad.  Anyways, today you ‘cruits are going to do gun training.  I’m going to pick a random ‘cruit to demonstrate for us.”  He scans along the line, spotting Nick, “Sandborn, you’re demonstrating, don’t fuck this up.”  He nods, as the Drill Sergeant yells, “Everyone on me, we’re going to the shooting range!”  The group of recruits follow, in an unorganized pattern, Nick being in the front.  They later approach a large, brightly light room, rows of empty windows with targets in front of them.  The only sounds were the sounds of loud, randomized gunshots, one after another, and the pinging of shells ejecting.  There were units from low ranks and high ranks, all shooting almost in a symphony, hitting their targets one after another.  “Alright, Nick over to this window, I’ll be right back,” the Drill Sergeant says as he walks to the armory.  Nick walks up to the window waiting, peering at the many eyes staring at him.  The Drill Sergeant comes back, holding a standard M4A1 in one hand and a 5.56 ammo box of magazines in the other hand, he gestures the M4A1 towards Nick, “Take it Sandborn, don’t fuck around with it yet,” he slams the ammo box on the table.  Nick grabs the rifle, holding it in his hand, waiting.  “Okay Sandborn, shoulder the rifle, keep it aimed down range.”  Nick holds the rifle stock up to his shoulder, adjusting it into place, he places his hand on the pistol grip, readying his fingers, then places his hand on the foregrip, moving his feet into a position.  He tilts his head to the right, closing his left eye, prepared.  “Good…  Now flick the safety off, and fire single-shots down the range.”  Nick reaches his trigger finger towards the safety, flicking it down.  He pulls back the trigger as the recoil kicks back on his shoulder.  The shells eject, flying out of the corner of his eyes, the loud bangs and booms from the gunpowder igniting are heard.  “Now empty the rest of the magazine with fully automatic fire,” the Drill Sergeant yells.  Nick nods, flicking the safety up twice, readying his body into position again.  He pulls this trigger back, holding it this time, the recoil steadily rising.  Nick takes his forearm, dragging the barrel down to eliminate the recoil.  Nick continues to fire as a faint click is heard, no more bullets come out.  He waits for further instructions.  “Well, well, Sandborn, better than I expected,” the Drill Sergeant opens up the ammo box, pulling out another 5.56 magazine of ammunition, “Now, reload your weapon.”  Nick press the clip release on the rifle, letting the magazine hit the below table with a thud, he quickly grabs the new magazine, bringing it up into the rifle, hearing a click, he flicks the safety on, lower the rifle,  “How’d I do, sir?”  “Good Sandborn, we will be promoting recruits later today, I hope your ass shows up.”  Nick smirks, “I’ll be there, sir.”  Later, Nick walks out into the mess hall as the intercoms repeat, “All recruits report to the mess hall immediately.”  He looks around, smiling slightly in eagerness, looking at all the recruits communicating with each other, noticing Mark, “Hey Mark, hopefully we’re going to be Privates, I’m tired of this ‘cruit status,” Nick explains.  “Yeah, I am too,” Mark says in agreement.  The Drill Sergeant walks down the mess hall, as everyone goes silent, standing against the wall in unison.  The Drill Sergeant smirks, holding a large amount of dog tags and patches in his hand.  He walks down, stopping in front of each recruit, saying unrecognizable words as he shakes their hand, giving them a patch and dog tag, the dog tags seeming to be in order by last name.  He finally reaches Nick, “Sandborn, last on the dog tags, but not the least, congratulations, Private Sandborn,” he hands Nick the dog tag and insignia patch, nodding.  “Thank you, sir,” Nick says as he puts the dog tag around his neck.

The First Mission

[Tyrex]

Finished Drill Sergeant.

[Tyrex]

Added Private Sandborn Agility Course.

[Tyrex]

Finished Agility Course. Added Private Sandborn.

[429ghost]

I see you used the name of your char from outlands, same person with same background by any chance?

[Tyrex]

I see you used the name of your char from outlands, same person with same background by any chance?

Lol, sorta, do you like it so far?

[Tyrex]

Added some more to Private Sandborn, this will be a decent length chapter.

[Tyrex]

Finished Private Sandborn.  Added The First Mission.  Word Count: 1,949 words.

[General Bourneco Moskvin ??­]

Good job on the story, I like it.