Two

Ok, people, fall in!" S.S.C. Ramirez started, "training mission to recover the flag from several locations, each team will meet different challenges than the others. Keep in mind, this is to be covert. Nobody is to know of your presence there. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!" came the chorus.

Ramirez continued, "None of you are new to this life, and as so, have earned a measure of respect. Despite that fact, you have not yet proven the discipline required of our combat-ready heroes. The men and women that have shown, and that have demanded acknowledgement such as the fine officers in charge of molding recruits like you."

A spray of red fluttered from the tree line, swirled and faded into the brush. "Phoenix." She thought. "Life through death. or rather... life from fire."

"Private Greene, perhaps we are boring you?" the mock question jolts her from the daydream.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." She straightens up.

Snickers go through the teens behind her. "This is not to be a live-fire exercise. Officers will be patrolling the cove. One shot will 'wound', two shots will constitute a 'kill.'" Ramirez continued his mission-briefing, "teams of two will take turns recovering, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" shouted the chorus again.

"Here you will display combative tactics, and strategy implementation. It's your last practice, so make me look good. You're dismissed!" He finished.

Chatter fills the air as she starts making her way from the group. She hasn't worked well with partners before. Someone gets hurt, usually not her.

"H... hey Amber! Wait up!" she turns to see the Blonde boy jog up to her. "Sorry about last night, I didn't know it was you. I just heard a few people talking about it. I'm nick. So, you're a bomb expert? I looked up pyrotechnic." He stated proudly.

Her eyes seemed to have rolled by themselves. "Not like that, idiot. I've just always been able to make things get hot. Since I was a baby..." her voice trailed off for a second. "I think 'fire' and things burn. Don't tell anyone or... ill end you." She gave him a serious glare, sending a shiver up his spine.

They walked quietly for a while.

She broke the silence, "You ever have something just… DEFINE you? Nobody remembers your name, just bad teeth, or a stutter... I WISH I just had an overbite."

He looked at her seriously, "second grade, a guy dropped my shorts in gym. Never lived those Spiderman tighties down." He stared, in the moment.

"Spiderman tighties?" she laughed.

"Hey! He shouted in mock offense, "Those wounds don't heal!"

She stopped, "this isn't a pantsing and 3rd degrees don't heal. They never really stop hurting. My first memory is burning flesh, and I'll never get past that. My first, and no doubt, it will be my last." They entered the Recreation room marked with a "Rec" sign, which someone had carved a 'w' in front of making it say "WRec", they entered together but for a long while she sat by herself.

"Hey, you been assigned a partner yet?" a short brunette asked while pushing up her thick, dark rimmed glasses.

"Ah, no. not yet. I figure maybe I'll just wait until mission-start and be picked last, you?"

Glasses smiled, "I was asking if you wanted to be my partner."

"Oh," amber sat up, "uh, thanks, but I never work well with partners."

Disappointed, Glasses smiled politely, "well if you need one let me know. I'm usually available." She turned and walked back to her table.

            Amber crumpled up her doodle-page and dropped it in the trash on her way out. Class was about to start, and she liked to limber-up a bit to counter her poor posture during lectures. For a few hours she stared out the window as an instructor droned about standard operating procedures, military etiquette, and the list goes on. A sharp tone sounded the end of class, and they were formally excused before rushing out.

            Drills were next and everyone hated them. For three and a half hours they ran or did push-ups, sit-ups, or pull-ups... and all she wanted was to lay DOWN. Her arms, legs and core were sufficiently jellified. Her chest heaved as lungs ached for oxygen, and finally, by the grace and mercy of a god she hadn't decided to believe in or not... they yelled "hit the showers!"

"Five… minutes," She thought, "I'll lie down for five minutes." She flopped into the grass panting, sweaty, exhausted, and her hair half in its sagging ponytail. She didn't even bother to brush away the strands stuck to her face and neck. Minutes passed as seconds, the sun was going down, and someone was watching her. She could feel it.

"Go. Away." She said without even opening her eyes.

A familiar voice muttered back, mockingly, "No. Way." And busted up laughing, "get up lazy bones! There is ass to kick, and records to set!"

She cracked an eye at the blonde annoyance, "I'm just killing time until I can get out of this life. Screw records."

He started jogging off toward the Trench, "well at least shower. You stink."

Finally pulling herself back to her feet she made her way to her bunk in the Trench. "Lights-out" was in two hours and she still had to prep her space for night inspections. And god she really did need a shower. The flies were dying around her. She took her bed-set and finished pulling them tight. Then pulled a spare set of gray and green clothes from her footlocker and unlaced her boots. The shower knob squealed until she found the right temperature, she liked her showers 'cool' instead of 'steaming hot.'

Letting her hair down always felt good and made her continue the daydream of someday wearing tennis shoes and not thinking of a faster speed for cleaning and reassembling firearms. A 'normal' life.

"Oh, God." She sighed happily as the water streamed down her back. "Someday I'll soak in a tub all day, and not even think about getting up until noon..." she confessed to nobody.

She finished, dried-off, pulled on her bra, shirt, and shorts. The lines were already forming when she got back from the showers, but she managed to straighten the last few wrinkles as inspections began. Her things were neater than she had left them and noticed nick smile, nodding slightly as a way of saying, "you're welcome." Lights out was called, finally, and she gave him an appreciative fist-bump before sliding under the covers for a few hours' sleep. Somebody started singing a few rows over but was silenced by "shushes" and being struck with a pillow. Darkness claimed her and carried her aching body to sleep in its warm embrace.