Hayes Gym is the oldest part of the Arvin Gym complex, dating back to the early 1900s. There's still two floors of it left, the first floor which holds a pair of workout rooms, while the second floor is the gymnastics gym, where we are today. The room's totally dedicated to the gymnastics techniques that the Department of Physical Education calls “Military Movement.”

“Okay team, last year the Ironside lost a lot of time on the one rope bridge. Half of it was the setup. But,” Mike Price says, looking around, “we lost a lot more time because we moved like sloths on the damn rope. So today it's all about bodyweight movements.”

“So that's why we're in court shoes,” Betty Lawton jokes, looking down. I have to admit, ACU pants and tops with court shoes is pretty stupid looking, but we can't wear combat boots here. “Realism in training.”

“Be glad we're not in helmets too,” I tell Betty, who rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue at me. “What?”

“You're nuts, you know that?”

Mike taps his foot, shutting us up, and looks around. “Okay, okay, enough of that. Simon, I want you to take Carlyle, Gilbert, Jones, and Hunt, you're going to be doing shelf, the bar walk, the balance beam and the monkey bars. Upperclassmen, are with me, we're going to work the two sets of ropes, vertical and horizontal. In a while we'll switch.”

I take my people, the four Plebes on the team, over to the horizontal shelf. Carlyle looks at it with a bit of concern, while Gilbert, Jones, and Hunt, who have taken gymnastics, aren't so worried. “Okay you guys, review time. While there is no shelf on the Sandhurst course, you will need to maybe do this for the rock climbing, or getting on the rope. Now, to do it in pants is a little different from when you were in spazz-nastics, so watch.”

I grab the edge of the shelf overhead and pull with my arms, swinging my heel up to the side just like DPE teaches us, then getting my knee and thigh on the shelf before rolling my body over the edge. Once up, I get to my knees and look down. “Try it this way. Carlyle, you're going to have to give me a bit of a jump to grab the edge of the shelf, so the pull's going to be different for you. Show me what you've got. Carlyle on my right side, Gilbert on the left.”

Gilbert's over six feet tall, so for him the shelf is pretty easy, but Carlyle struggles at first. She's never done this before, even if she's heard about it from her family, and the sideways crunch you need to be able to do is totally unfamiliar. She tries a few times then drops off, wiping her hands on her pants. “Jones, Hunt, left side,” I command, shifting my attention to Carlyle. “Carlyle, give me your hand.”

“No way. I can do it,” she grumbles, jumping and pulling again. She almost gets it, her heel gets into the little groove of the shelf, but she's not at the right angle and dangles helplessly for a minute before dropping back down again, muttering a curse under her breath.

“Carlyle, come on. On the course helping your squadmate is normal and encouraged,” I tell her, offering my hand. “Come on.”

Carlyle shakes her head, her auburn hair shaking back and forth and there's as much fire in her green eyes as her hair. “Fuck off, sir. Course is one thing, this is training.”

I could yell at her, she did just tell an upperclassman to fuck off, but she's showing me the same heart that she did all of first semester, and I sit back, watching in anticipation as she tries it a third time. Besides, that fire is hot, and now that I’m not her squad leader, I’ve found myself looking at her a lot more. I’m going to keep myself professional, but maybe after recognition, I could see if she’s as hot inside as she is outside.

But the shelf is a lot like drowning or boxing. You go down two times, there's a damn good chance you're going down for a third and last time too.

Nobody's told that to Ashley Carlyle though, and she take a deep breath, jumping and pulling with an unladylike grunt that would impress anyone on the powerlifting team. She gets her heel up, and then pulls with her hamstring, just like you're supposed to, getting her hips closer to the shelf until she's able to get her knee and thigh in, and she rolls over the edge, on the shelf by herself. I give her a bit of silent applause, totally authentic. “You did it.”

She looks at me, her eyes sparkling, and I notice again just how pretty she is. Maybe I do want to check her out, but I really need to make sure that I don't let her know about it. She's still got three months until Recognition. “Sorry about the fuck off, sir. But thanks.”

I nod, and feel something unfamiliar on my face, a genuine smile, come out. I don't ever give Plebe girls my real smile, just my 'professional' smile. Carlyle though seems to get it out of me. “You keep performing, you can tell me to fuck off more often. Still... I've done this a few times now, don't ignore my advice, okay?”

Her smile grows and she nods. “Huah, sir. So now what?”

“Now,” I say, looking around at my Plebes, “it's time for the horizontal bar walk, then the shelf again. Trust me, all of you are going to get sick of this shelf before we switch up.”

The bar walk goes easy, it's more of a confidence thing than anything else for people who have a problem with heights, and the next time we do the shelf, Carlyle does it right the first time, still slower than the guys but close enough that I don't have to have her run it by herself. We work for about fifteen minutes before I take them across the balance beam, letting them get their muscles back for the next hard challenge, the monkey bars.

I look over at Mike, who's got the upperclassmen going across the horizontal rope, and they're doing an okay job. I can't help it, I check out how Betty Lawton's doing, but this is her sort of environment, a 'clean sweat' if that makes any sense, and she's flying across the rope nearly as fast as some of the guys.

I know I'm playing favorites here. I invited Carlyle to join the team, and maybe I just want to be proven that I'm right. She's better than Lawton when it all comes down to it, either because I've worked with her for so long, or maybe it's her family thing. It for sure can't be that she and I are about two weeks apart in age and she's... get a fucking hold of yourself, Simon.

“Okay, monkey bars!” I tell the Plebes, leading them over. I go down the ladder, hitting every bar with my hand for the training effect. “Down and walk back.”

Again, Carlyle struggles compared to the guys, but she fights, hard. Her legs are pumping and her lip lifts in a little sneer as she looks up at the next bar and the next, dropping to the mat at the end and walking back without a single complaint. We’re here to make sure that the Ironside Team is fit all around, not just runners. Mike and I agree, we want a team of overall studs.

“Last challenge,” I tell them, looking on as all the Plebes flex their tired hands. They're about to get a lot more tired, but I want them pushed to that point, so that the ropes have to come down to technique and heart, not hand strength. “Down, loop, and back. Watch.”

It's hard even for me, the idea of turning around on the monkey bars is hard. When I get back, my shoulders are aching, and the Plebes look at me with a lot more respect than they even did before. “Jones, you're up. Hunt, you're next, then Gilbert, then Carlyle. Go.”

Jones gets to the turn around but can't figure out it out and drops, cursing and shaking his hands. He's got potential, he wants to go again but I tell him to get some water instead. Next is Hunt, who disappoints me by giving up at the turn around. He could have made it, he had the hard part of the turn done, but instead he drops, and I bite back a comment. No need to bust their ass just yet.

Gilbert's tougher, getting three quarters of the way back before his forearms just seize up and his fingers let go of the bar, hitting total failure. I pat him on the back and look over at Carlyle, nodding. “Go, Carlyle.”

Carlyle, who's been watching with an intent look on her face that I know is the reason people think she's got an everpresent bitchy expression, grabs the first bar and starts. She's smart, skipping bars while she has the energy until she hits the turn around. Unlike what I did, twisting and taking a lateral grip for two swings, she takes a parallel grip on two bars and starts pumping her legs, her face a mask of pain as she inches forward and across the small gap, then starting back the other way.

I can't help it, I start cheering her on as she keeps fighting, bar by bar. “Come on Carlyle, do it. Ten more bars! Eight more!”

She's working so hard that I can see either sweat or tears trickling from the corner of her eyes, but she gets there, jackknifing her body the last foot to put her feet on the steps and standing clear and triumphant. She sticks her fists into the air, and turns, looking at me with a clear smile that takes her from just pretty to beautiful. “YES!”

I look over at Mike Price, who's stopped what the upperclassmen are doing to watch, and he gives me a little nod. He saw, and he knows.

* * *

After dinner, I head down the hall, intent on getting some homework done. I've got military history this semester, and it's actually a lot of fun. I'm just turning the corner from the stairs when I hear soft cry of pain, and I stop, concerned. I follow the sound and see that it's Carlyle's room. The door's open, and I knock softly, not with the two knocks of an upperclassman, but the three knocks of a peer. “Carlyle?”

She's holding her hands in front of her, hissing in pain as she cries, and I step in, concerned. She sees me move and sniffs quickly, tucking her hands under her desk. “Sir?”

“Show me your hands,” I tell her, coming closer and kneeling down. “Come on.”

She takes her hands out and I see that they're a mess. Huge blisters cover her palms, with one on her right hand near the base of her fingers already ruptured and bleeding a yellow-red mix of blood and fluid. “S... sir, it's okay.”

“Bullshit, Carlyle,” I admonish her gently, taking her hand. “Why didn't you tell me or Mike Price?”

“I didn't want you to think I'm weak,” she sniffs. “It didn't hurt until I tried to clean them. The... the alcohol stung a lot.”

I look at her desk, there’s an uncapped bottle of rubbing alcohol, and I shake my head again. “First off, putting rubbing alcohol on something like this is just asking for torture. Even I'm not that hard core. You got any peroxide?”

She shakes her head, her body still trembling from the pain she’s in. “Okay, well, it doesn't matter for now, the nerves are fried. Still, use peroxide instead. If you forget to pick up any, stop by my room and get some. However, in the future, you stop before you get to this point.”

Carlyle growls lightly as she shakes her head once more, this time looking up at me. “I won't stop, sir. Cadet Lawton made it look easy today.”

I laugh softly, and look around. “Mind if I take a seat? It's your room, you know.”

“Go ahead, sir. Billie... I mean, Cadet De Soto won't mind. She’s gone for a basketball game.”

I grab De Soto's chair and sit down, and look at Carlyle, who's getting back under control. I've had alcohol poured in a cut, it does suck big time. “Carlyle, let me fill you in on Cadet Lawton. She's one of the better female athletes in the company, and today she smoked everything. But Sandhurst isn't done in Hayes Gym, it's done on the ranges and hills around post. And there... well, let's just say that she fell out of both the march back from Frederick and Buckner, and she’s struggled in the field. Some people are great in the clean zone, and some can keep it going when there's dirt under their fingernails. Me personally, I asked you because I think you're the second type. You showed me that today, and you're showing it to me now. I had no idea you were hurting all during practice.”

“I... I don't want you to think I can't hack it, sir. I know they talk about motivation a lot around here, and so much of it's crap, but you've always treated me square. No looking down, and none of the sexual harassment crap that it seems is dosed out around here to every female cadet. You just... you're real.”

It's touching, and I can't help it, I smile again. Real? Yeah, well Carlyle, maybe after Recognition I’ll show you just how real I can be. “Well, we've got a long way to go to Sandhurst, Carlyle. In the meantime, put the alcohol away, and I'll bring down some ibuprofen pills that I've got in my room. They're the Ranger Candy type, 600 milligrams that the docs gave me last semester. So only one for you, got it?”

* * *

“Simon, can you follow me?” Major Campos says, a strange look on his face. The winter's starting to let go, although now instead of cold it's also rainy. That’s just as bad, especially with the competition coming up so soon. “I just got some difficult news, son.”

“What's that, sir?” I ask, confused. “Did I screw up something?”

The Major shakes his head, and takes a deep breath. “No, not at all. Actually, I think you and Mike Price have been doing a great job with the Sandhurst team, we may just get bragging rights. But that's beside the point. I got a phone call while you were in class... son, your father was in a car accident. He's.... he didn't make it. I'm sorry.”

The news hits me like a punch in the chest, and I sit, looking at Major Campos like he's an alien from another planet, not understanding a thing he's saying as he continues. Finally, I find some words. “Dad's dead?”

“Yes, Simon,” Major Campos says, his eyes full of concern. “Now, I've already talked with my higher ups, and your leave is already approved. You'll be flying out of Newark and expected back next Tuesday.”

“Tuesday? No way, sir.”

“Simon, your father just died. Don't you think....” the Major says, but I cut him off.

“Sir, the Sandhurst competition is this weekend. And Dad and I, we had an understanding. Me leaving home meant I was leaving home. He... he'd want me here, with my team, doing the competition with my brothers and sisters in the Ironside, not standing next to some grave in Colorado in my dress gray and watching as that bitch who gave birth to me pretends to cry as he's lowered into the ground. So with all due respect, sir... I'm not going on leave.”

The Major gives me a look, then nods. “Your choice, son. Still, you're excused from all military duties for the rest of the week, formations included. If you want run Sandhurst on Saturday, that's totally your choice. But I'd advise you to take some time and grieve, or at least think. It helps.”

I get up, and nod. “Thank you, sir. I'll do that. Uh, I'd prefer if the company didn't know about this, sir. At least, as much as possible. I don't need the sympathy.”

Major Campos agrees, and I leave his office, going back to my room. I sort of space out, skipping the afternoon formation to just watch out my window as the rain stops and the sun goes down. When the cold starts to creep in through my window, I change into warm PT gear, and sit back down, trying to think of something to do. I skip dinner, not feeling hungry at all, and my thoughts are interrupted only when I hear a soft knock on my door. “Sir?”

I turn around and see Carlyle standing there, also in her PTs. In the eight weeks of train up for Sandhurst, she's never let me down, and I already talked with Mike about it, she's going to be our female team member come Saturday. She deserves it, honestly. “Hey Carlyle. Need something?”

“No sir,” she says, coming in and setting a protein bar on my desk. “But you missed dinner. My Dad sent this in a care package, and I thought you could enjoy it. I hate peanut butter protein bars.”

I pick it up, and look at the wrapper. Nice brand, they're pretty expensive. “So I guess the whole company knows?”

“Not really, sir. I heard it because Major Campos was standing behind me talking to Sergeant Hardwick. I've got really good hearing. But no, no public announcement. I just... I guess I should go.”

Carlyle turns, and I sit up, raising a hand. “Wait, Carlyle. If you don't mind, I could use a chance to share some of this with someone who's willing to listen. I actually got some snacks of my own in my desk here, you mind splitting a can of honey roasted peanuts with me?”

Carlyle thinks for a moment, then grabs my roomie's chair and sits down. I open the protein bar and cut it into quarters with my scissors, setting it on a sheet of printer paper before popping the lid and seal on the peanuts. “Thanks, sir. So you're not taking leave?”

“No, this is my family now,” I tell her, munching on a peanut. “This company, the people in Sandhurst, you guys are my family now. Now that Dad's gone, I won't let my family down.”

“I didn't know you lost both of your parents,” Carlyle says, taking a peanut and munching. “What happened?”

I sigh, and rub at my face. “You asked me, way back long ago it seems, how I got this scar. Remember?”

“I do. You said I had to get a little more street cred with you to be able to get that story. Do I have it yet?”

Still so feisty, no wonder she turns me on. “You do. And keep this in between your ears, okay? Not too many folks around here know the story of Simon Lancaster and his half a Glasgow smile.”

Carlyle winces, but takes another peanut. “I thought that's what it was. I knew a guy back in school in Washington that had a full one, he got it from messing with the wrong gang in his neighborhood. You?”

“My mother,” I say simply, and Carlyle drops the peanut that's in her hand. It clatters on my desk, where it sits, totally forgotten. “When I was seven, she said I had a smart mouth, so she was going to take care of it for me. She took the kitchen scissors from the block in the kitchen and shoved them in my mouth. I thought she was just threatening me, she made a lot of threats to me growing up. Called me a lot of things that…. Anyway, when she stuck the scissors in my mouth, I thought she was just fucking around, so I didn't punch or kick her, I knew that'd just get me a beating from her that was even worse. Then... she closed the scissors by using both hands, and I had my half smile. I ran into the night, screaming so loud the neighbors took me in and got me to the hospital.”

“What… what happened to her?” Carlyle asks, and I shake my head. “What?”

“She claimed when the cops got there that I did it to myself, and the cops believed her. My mother always had a very persuasive personality, she's somehow convinced man after man, including my father, that she is a worthwhile person. It's another reason I won't go to his funeral. I know that Dad's will states she gets two thirds. I'll get a little, I'm putting it into trust, I don't need it… but yeah, that's my mother. Good ol' Brenda Lancaster.” I take a chunk of the protein bar, and pop it into my mouth, chewing. “Say, this is pretty good. Thank your Dad. To answer your unasked question Carlyle, yes, during Spring Break I'm going to go and visit the grave site. I'll talk with the lawyer, stuff like that. But until then, I'm going to focus on Saturday.”

Carlyle takes a piece of the protein bar and chews it herself, then swallows. “All right then, sir. Let's get through the rest of the week, and we can kick some ass on Saturday.”