Except Hale kept inserting himself into Elliot's operational space. Direct eye contact during formation. Bunk talk after lights out. Tracking Elliot’s position during drills like he had eyes in the back of his head.
It was annoying as hell.
That morning, they formed up outside the barracks in the pre-dawn cold. Master Sergeant Chen stood at the front with his clipboard, face expressionless as always.
"Partner assignments," he announced. "Same as day one."
Elliot kept his eyes forward.
"Today's exercise," Chen continued, gesturing toward the armory. "Transport two hundred pounds of equipment from the armory to the command post. Then back. You'll find ammunition crates, radio equipment cases, water containers, all stacked on wooden pallets."
Someone down the line shifted.
"No cart," Chen added, like he'd heard the thought. "No vehicle. You carry it between you. Six hours. Clock starts when you touch the gear."
He stepped back. "Move out."
Elliot turned toward the pallets. Hale fell into step beside him without a word, and Elliot tracked him in his periphery. He snagged the equipment list off the crate, scanned it, and folded it into his pocket.
Hale watched him do it, head tilted slightly. "Any thoughts?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Any you want to share?" Hale's mouth curved.
"No."
That earned him a snort.
Hale grabbed the front edge of the pallet, hands positioned wide. He made a whole show of taking deep breaths and getting ready to squat. "Fine. On three."
"Three," Elliot said, lifting.
Hale's side came up late, the whole thing tilting before he caught up. His eyes snapped to Elliot. "You can’t just skip one and two."
He shrugged. "Details."
Hale shot him a flat look. “Details,” he muttered under his breath like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
They started moving. The path cut through dense pine, the trees close enough on either side that the light dropped. Within the first fifty meters Elliot could already tell Hale was going to burn them out before lunch. "Slow down," he said.
"We're fine."
"We need to pace this."
The muscles in Hale's neck tensed, but he throttled back without argument. Recalibrated. Matched Elliot's stride.
So therewasdiscipline under the showmanship. Elliot filed that.
The first hour passed with just the scrape of boots, the clatter of gear, and the low bark of instructors correcting form elsewhere. Elliot’s wrists burned. He adjusted his grip, shifting the load to take pressure off his lower back.
He had no intention of testing his limits on a pointless equipment haul. His mother used to say“Tu dois écouter ton corps”—you have to listen to your body. One of the few useful things she’d taught him.
At the perimeter fence, the path narrowed to single file.Hale lowered the pallet without being asked and stepped back. "Your turn to lead."
Elliot passed him and took the front position. They continued without talking, adjusting their grips every few minutes as the weight shifted. The ammunition crates kept sliding, metal scraping against wood with each uneven step.
"Hold," Hale said from behind him.
