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Chapter 3

           Evenatthisdistance,thecommentarywasloudandgrating.Fingernailsonachalkboardgrating.Oh,man.Isthatacamera?Isheseriouslytakingpictures?Allright,that’sit,motherfucker.You’renextonmyKIAlist.

           Painandfatiguerackedmybody.Mybloodpumpedslowaslead.

           Thiswasgettingold.Countingmydream,thiswasthesecondtimeI’denduredthisparticularsessionofPT.NotjustPT,isopush-ups.Intrainingtheytaughtusthatevenwhenyou’reinexcruciatingpain-especiallywhenyou’reinpain-thebestthingtodowastofindsomesortofdistraction,somethingelsetofocusonotherthantheburninginyourmusclesandthesweatstreakingdownyourforehead.Carefulnottomovemyhead,Ilookedaroundoutofthecornerofoneeye.

           TheAmericanjournalistwassnappingpictures,avisitor’spassdanglingfromhisneck.Saycheese!Hewasabrawnyfellow.YoucouldlinehimupwithanyofthoseU.S.SpecialForcesguysandyou’dneverknowthedifference.He’dlookmoreathomeonabattlefieldthanIwould,that’sforsure.

           IgotthesamevibefromthoseSpecialForcesguysthatIgotfromSergeantFerrell.Painandsufferingwereoldfriendstomenlikethem.Theywalkeduptothefaceofdanger,smiled,andaskedwhattookhimsolongtogetthere.Theywereinawhole’notherleaguefromarecruitlikeme.

           Inthemiddleofthetestosteronedisplay,thelonewomanstuckoutlikeasorepinky.Shewasatinylittlethingstandingoffbyherselfashortdistancefromtherestofthesquad.

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