Page 41 of Loving a Warrior

Matt took his turn in the bathroom, gazing at himself in the mirror while he washed his hands. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glittering with adrenaline. With his shaved head and grim expression, he looked the very picture of determination.

He almost bumped into Shane as he exited, but to his relief Shane looked through him like he didn’t exist.

That’s it. Get in the proper headspace, clown. We can do this.

Back in the classroom Matt stretched out once again on his pallet, letting his mind drift, trying to empty it of everything but how ready he was for this, how in approximately ninety-six hours one of the greatest challenges of his life would be behind him. He pictured calling his uncle, his parents, maybe celebrating with…

No, he wouldn’t think about Shane. There was no Shane.

A few minutes later when the lights went out and the shooting started, there wasn’t time to think about anything at all.

Chapter Ten

“Welcome to hell, gentlemen!”

Huddling facedown on the asphalt of the grinder, Matt covered his ears with his hands. Instructors were firing simulated rounds over the trainees’ heads, while others sprayed them with high-pressure hoses. Flash-bang grenades exploded along the periphery of the group, whistles were shrilling, men yelling.

It was complete and utter chaos.

“Crawl to the whistle, gents! Crawl to the whistle.”

One whistle started bleating with short staccato blasts. Disoriented, Matt belly-crawled toward it, getting a face full of hose water for his trouble. Another whistle sounded behind him, so he changed direction and inched toward that one instead.

This happened over and over. Soon his elbows were raw and bleeding from the wet asphalt. The gunshots started up again, instructors stepping in and around the squirming mass of students as they fired over their heads.

“Shock and awe, baby!” Bernson yelled. “Shock and awe.”

As awful as this was, it wasn’t anything like being attacked in the classroom had been. Close-quarters gunshots, muzzle flashes, spent brass pinging everywhere—it had been utterly terrifying. He’d hit the deck, desperate to escape but unable to find an exit, in the end curling up in a fetal position and trying to protect his head.

“Focus, Soup.”

Matt had lifted his face out of his arms to see Shane on his belly next to him. His eyes were calm and steady as he cupped the back of Matt’s head and pressed his lips to his ear. “Breathe. In combat you have to work through your fear and still perform. C’mon, you can do it.”

Seeing Shane so calm, hearing him sound so rational despite the pandemonium all around them, helped Matt regain control. He just had time to squeeze Shane’s shoulder in thanks before the surging tide of humanity separated them.

By midnight they’d lost six men.

“Hell Week is only five hours old, people!” Bernson shouted. “You think you’re miserable now? How d’ya think you’re gonna feel in three days? Go ahead and quit! Avoid the rush!”

As the night wore on, they were in and out of the ocean, alternating punishing PT with surf torture. Breakfast was a welcome respite, an hour-long chance to eat as much as they wanted and drink some hot water. The cafeteria workers looked at them with pity in their eyes as bedraggled men loaded up their trays.

Breakfast in hand, Matt staggered to a table and collapsed to sitting, his chin sagging to his chest.

“Hey, Soup.”

He looked up blearily to see Shane smirking at him. “Hey,” he croaked.

Matt felt like shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe, but it seemed like Shane was having a blast. His eyes were bright and he was shoveling food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow.

“How can you eat that?” Matt asked, picking at his mound of eggs.

“How can you not?” Shane rejoined. “Fuel up. Without sleep, food is the only thing gonna keep us going.” He finished his last bite and jumped up to exhort the guys who were having trouble choking anything down, using back slaps, high-fives, threats, anything to motivate them.

At one point, Matt felt his hand on the back of his neck. “Eat,” he ordered softly. “If you die, I won’t get my night.”

“Oh, God.” Matt ducked his head to hide his laughter from the cadre. “Sex fiend.”

“You know it.” A fleeting caress of Shane’s thumb, then he was gone. Matt picked up his fork and ate methodically until his plate was clean.