ease.
When they reached their usual turnaround point, Cheezer kept them moving forward. They ran farther down the beach, then turned and passed through the gate, crossing onto the base. When they reached Silver Strand Boulevard, Big Blue flipped on its sirens and blocked the intersection as the elephant train bumped and stumbled across the street. This was a matter of pride for the instructors with people milling around and cars passing. Intensity contorted their faces as the instructors rained more verbal abuse down on them to keep up and keep contact.
“Get up there! Bow to stern! The whole class hits the surf if you can’t keep up!”
Hemingway suppressed a groan of anguish as the boat continued to slam against his skull. He refused to give into his body’s demand for rest, for relief. This was unreal, unbearable-the strongest form of pain he had ever willingly suffered. Sensing they were reaching their limit, Cheezer steered them behind the chow hall.
“Down boat,” he yelled.
“You all have an extra five minutes for chow thanks to the quitters.”
Inside, no one dallied, and Hemingway ate ravenously, barely pausing for conversation. Vincent rejoined them and everyone welcomed him back.
“Thanks, guys,” he said. “Cracked a rib, but I’m good to go.” He looked at Hemingway. “They told me what you did. Thank you. I would be in worse shape, maybe broken bones, even DOR’d with a medical if it weren’t for you.”
“I did what you would have done, man.” Hemingway offered his hand, and Vincent shook it.
“You’re a standup guy,” Vincent said, then dug into his food.
Hemingway bypassed coffee for simple hot water, and then indulged himself with a hot cocoa later. Shea was absent, and he wondered what had taken her away from the fun and games. He missed her presence. He remembered her gaze, the emotion in her eyes, and he sighed heavily.
He was a goner. But he didn’t get much time to contemplate that. The day shift charged in, consisting of two brutal instructors, Master Chief Kyle Mason and Petty Officer Kurt Vile. The trainees called them The Terrible Two Tag Team of Evil. Three guys up and quit on the spot. The class referred to them behind their backs as Kyle and Vile. It wasn’t that they singled Hemingway out more often than not, they just hated every one of them equally.
“Come on, pretty boy, let’s move.”
After sitting for a bit, Hemingway felt lethargic, and he didn’t move as fast as he should have.
“You ain’t sleeping, are you boy?” Kyle’s twang seemed more pronounced.
“Negative, Instructor Mason,” Hemingway said. After barking orders, they chased the trainees out of the chow hall.
“We have a full, fun day of activities planned,” he said as he followed Hemingway out. “Now would be the time to hightail it out of here. Ring that bell and quit.”
Five more guys threw in the towel, dropping them down from forty-four to thirty-nine. Professor gave Kyle dark looks like he wanted to deck him. Hemingway pretended to trip into him.
“Leave it,” he whispered.
“Up boat!” Vile said.
They hefted the boat back onto their bruised and throbbing skulls and ran in the elephant train to a hygiene check. They would receive a one-minute hot shower, their cuts and abrasions would be examined, and they would get a change of clothes.
After the heavenly hot but way too short shower and dressed in his white spandex shorts issued to all trainees to help with chafing, he was escorted by a brown shirt to the clinic.
Lieutenant Josh Lattimore examined Hemingway. The doc was an older guy, big broad shoulders, silver gray, close-cropped hair, and piercing blue eyes that twinkled.
“Those are bad scrapes,” he said, gesturing to the side of Hemingway’s right leg just below the knee and the back of his shoulder.
Hemingway looked down, dumbfounded. He didn’t even know they were there. The leg wound was red, raw and still oozing a bit. “Must have happened during rock portage.”
“I heard about that. Well done.” The doc bent down and thoroughly cleaned out his cut skin, then the one on his shoulder. When he was finished, he said, “I’m going to prescribe antibiotics. See the corpsman before you leave.”
“You know about rock portage?”
“Everyone’s talking about what you did. It was courageous. You’ve impressed Cheezer.” He grinned, his eyes dancing. “Now you’ve got to live with that.”
Hemingway barked out a laugh. “He hates my guts.”
“He hates everyone.”
Hemingway laughed softly. “Yeah.”
“Hang in there. Only four and a half days to go and at least four of those hours you’ll be