Chapter 26
The only thing worse than getting out of bed with broken ribs, was knowing I was going to have to try and carry star-forsaken sandbags up a mountain with broken ribs.
I got up early in an empty room, where to my surprise, Elio made no further attempts to keep me out.
Maybe even he was capable of empathy after breaking me into pieces for his own amusement.
I knew he might come in soon to shower, however, so I dressed quickly and dipped into the cafeteria to grab my nutritionally complete breakfast that I think was supposed to resemble a breakfast burrito.
The texture was unusually pleasant, but it tasted like a chemical version of eggs that I might have thrown back up if vomiting wasn’t more agonizing than eating right now.
If I was in any other situation, I definitely would have gone to the nurse at least to get some sort of pain killers, but knowing I had zero chance of my ruse holding up through x-rays and a rib examination, I determined that I had enough medical knowledge to make an official diagnosis and self-treat.
It wasn’t like there was anything to be done for broken ribs anyway.
All the nurse would do is confirm the obvious and send me home with some dumb advice like “try not to strain yourself.”
What a lovely luxury that would be.
I groaned internally, while I begrudgingly headed to the meet up point to start Basics. My only comfort was that at least I didn’t have to interact with Elio until it was time for bed. Even then was hit or miss.
If I never interacted with him again at all, that would be just fine with me, I told myself wistfully and naively as I entered formation, only to see him standing next to Sebastian in front of both of their respective squadrons.
I stayed in the back, because I wanted to be far enough away that they couldn’t see how much I was sweating in the perfect climate of the temperature controlled Mictlan dome.
“We’re going to try something different going forward.
” Elio opened the lecture. “At this point, you’ve likely started to learn the movements and patterns of your comrades and teammates, and stepping onto the mat and performing based on repetition and familiarity isn’t a realistic way to approach battle training.
” He tipped his chin to Sebastian, who took over like they were already a well synchronized unit.
“After warm up, we’ll be doing joint drills. My squadron will be paired with soldiers from Captain Marx’s squadron to continue to improve reactivity and adaptation in changing circumstances.”
I’d never noticed before that they were so in tune with each other. I knew they were more than just acquaintances, but they played off each other in a way that was so natural it couldn’t have been rehearsed.
“Will you be sparring with us like Captain Takeyama does?” Breaker spoke up, and that realization hadn’t hit me yet. He was smiling as he asked the question, to the point it almost sounded teasing.
“I’ll step in to help vary the matches, as needed.
” Elio confirmed for the whole class. The dread washing over me was justified and not at all paranoid.
“At some point, I’ll be sparring with each person in your unit, and Takeyama will be sparring with mine, so we can better assess and train you as individuals. ”
“How will this translate during drills?” Breaker asked next, and it really did seem like he was fishing for something, though I couldn’t say what.
He was every bit as much a part of their little group though if the way they almost always sat together at lunch was any indication, so there might have been some inside joke there.
“By adding healthy competition.” Sebastian answered that one.
“The lowest performing members of each group will be expected to perform additional training to get up to speed, assuring you are all pushing each other forward, until the lowest ranked cadets are as good as the highest, and the overall standard increases.”
Perfect. Wonderful. Brilliant idea.
Only, while I’d been comfortably lower-mid-pack since I got here, I was not likely to maintain that with broken ribs.
“I’ll personally offer my off-time to better train the bottom performer,” Elio added.
Of course he fucking would. Because he knew that was going to be me until my ribs healed.
Whyyyyyyy.
This was his plan all along. He didn’t give me the room because he was kindly having a moment of empathy.
He gave me the room because he was off plotting his revenge with his friends.
He probably had a hex circle painted on a wall somewhere, where he burned my voodoo doll to curse me for all eternity.
Joining the military was truly the worst idea I’d ever had.
If I outed myself, would he go easy on me?
This whole “men bond with their fists like primitive apes” thing was not what I expected at all.
Want to know how many friends Vann made by punching them in the face and breaking their bones? None. Fucking none.
Because we weren’t wild animals in rut.
I said this, but he did make all of his friends through his mandatory training sessions, so they may have actually bonded via beating each other up. It was entirely possible that even my darling brother was, in fact, a Neanderthal like the rest of his species.
That wasn’t the point.
The point was that I was about to be a master of pain tolerance, because I wasn’t going to be the one to get stuck on the other side of the mat with Elio Marx ever again if I could help it.
Feeling all resolved, I puffed up my chest to stand tall, only to buckle as soon as my lungs nudged that bone with the slightest pressure.
Oh, if Vann could see me now. Would he laugh or lecture me?
Lecture. No question.
“We’re going to warm up with sit-ups,” Elio said, and I cried, hopefully only on the inside.
I’d definitely be programming a ‘hide tears’ module into my A2 next.
“Then we’ll move to pushups, a mile run, and weighted inclines.
Results will be averaged across all disciplines, before we move to firearms training before lunch. ”
This was proof. His red eyes had nothing to do with being Saturn-born. They were red because he was the son of Satan.
“Two minutes, then switch with your spotter.” Sebastian said, standing at the head of the group, as we all got into position.
I spent the first two minutes as a spotter for a red haired soldier who was surprisingly heavy set considering how specific our rations were portioned.
It was hard to say if he was big boned, or if he just stole other people’s lunches.
Being part of Elio’s unit, I suspected the latter.
He probably taught them to be assholes just like he was. I bet it was part of the curriculum.
His bulk meant nothing for his ability to perform sit-ups, however, and he demolished the exercise, managing a more than healthy amount in our two minute allotment.
“Switch,” Elio demanded, pacing the perimeter of the group. His eyes met mine as I near cried trying to lower myself onto my back. I saw that glint of an amused ‘having fun yet, Mishka?’ from a mile away.
I wish I was a mile away.
Also I didn’t want to think about the fact that I was apparently now silently communicating with fucking Elio.
“Two minutes. Begin.” Sebastian said.
I laced my fingers behind my head, I tensed my leg muscles, desperate to help compensate my sit up with my hip flexors instead of using pure core, and I willed myself to lift.
Oh, the will I had. Such determination should have earned me a medal.
I made it half way up when I audibly yelped, loud, sharp, and enough to make my spotter startle, releasing my ankles by accident. Water filled my eyes, and I let my legs come off the floor enough to cheat my way up.
My spotter caught my feet again, I lowered myself down, and fuck my life, I didn’t know how I was going to talk myself into trying a second one.
“Your feet cannot leave the ground, Callan. Improper sit-ups will not be tolerated. Deduct one from his total score,” Elio shouted to my spotter.
Amazing how he noticed my half inch of movement when he was supposed to be watching all 45 pairs of soldiers.
“Yes sir, I understand, Sir.” I called back out of spite. It was a wonder that my voice didn’t break, because the pain didn’t go away now that I’d exacerbated my injury. I made a second attempt, and I felt the tear crawl down my cheek as I made it all the way up.
Three. I managed three before the timer was up, and that was its own miracle.
“Pushups. Two minutes. Begin.” My favorite person in the whole wide universe barked next, and I would find where he slept, and I would murder him by shoving my broken rib right through his esophagus.
Okay, that was dark even for me.
Satisfying to think about though.
“One.” I counted, and I was so delirious with pain, I wasn’t sure if I thought it or said it out loud. “Fucking two.” I might have said next. “Fuck you,” sounded close enough to the number three when said though gritted teeth. “For the love of the stars,” was just going to have to pass as four.
“Times up.” Elio called, and I was reaching a point where it hurt so bad I was either going to black out or go numb from nerve damage, and I was at peace with either possibility.
I would have been hard pressed to choose just one, actually.
Could I go numb AND pass out? If death was on the table, I wouldn’t say no.
Please? Pretty please?
I didn’t recall the space in time between getting out of plank and starting the mile run, but breathing was yet another thing that hurt. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to both self sooth and limit all upper body movement beyond the vicious reverberation from the impact of my footfalls.
“You would run more efficiently if you pumped your arms, Callan.” He singled me out again. I wasn’t going to specify which ‘he’ I was referring to, because I was already sick of saying his name in my head.
“Keeping my arms still targets muscles in the hip flexors and lower back, increasing core strength, sir.” I shot back, no patience for his negging. I was still a trained medic. I knew things. Don’t make me fuck you up with science.
He nodded, jogging beside me. “Considering you only managed three sit ups, improving core strength should be your primary goal and focus right now. As you were.”
Son of a bitch.
No, actually, scratch that. His mother was as dead as mine was, so she shouldn’t be blamed for his transgressions. The woman could rest. She’d probably been lovely. He was a bitch all by himself.
“There are two categories to earn points in the sand bag carry.” Sebastian explained as we moved onto the final torture session.
“Amount of weight and speed. Weight is worth more than speed, but one should strive to achieve a balance of both. Finding harmony between your physical limits and the ability to move efficiently is the goal.”
I didn’t know why I even tried to lift a set of thirty pound bags, considering I was already last in everything.
I had zero chance of coming back from my comically pathetic performance.
Though I’d almost gotten to the point that the pain was so natural to my existence, I just accepted it as part of my person.
Life was pain. I was alive. And so I felt it.
I hoisted up two sandbags, which I actually could handle fine enough by now.
The weight on my shoulders was almost comfortable, like a once feral blanket that I’d tamed into a comforter.
Two months of this training, I’d started to succeed more than I failed.
Today wasn’t a fair assessment of my progress.
As long as I stayed steady, this didn’t crush or strain my ribs like every other exercise. The posture and technique required to carry the weight of the bags kept my upper body rigid and straight. I could do this.
I started up the hill at a respectable pace, not falling behind, and feeling determined to get one single thing right today just to rub it in his face. I passed one of the men who I didn’t recognize from my normal squad, and I took extra petty vindictiveness in outperforming one of Elio’s men.
“You alright, Pipsqueak?” Breaker slowed his pace beside me with twice my weights on his shoulders.
I was pretty confident I’d seen him do more every single day, but he didn’t seem to care about winning the challenge.
Though he’d have beaten me no matter what, so it wasn’t like he was going to have to worry about coming in last.
“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, refusing to acknowledge the soreness that was radiating endlessly through my side. I’d definitely re-injured any muscles that the Recovery Pod had tried to fix last night.
“You don’t look fine. Do you need to go to the nurse?” He scrunched his nose with concern.
“No.” I practically growled out the word.
The last place I was going to go was the school nurse, where they would expect me to remove all electronics, and I’d be found out in all of three-and-a-half seconds.
I wasn’t going to get shipped home and sold because of Elio fucking Marx.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, though the pronounced wince as I lost my footing and had to slightly adjust the weight of the bag on my shoulder, didn’t help my case.
“Are you sure you’re not injured?” He wouldn’t drop it. But then, he’d been training with me for months now, and surely my especially terrible performance was obvious.
“I’m. Fine.” I said for the third time.
“I heard you beat Elio in the evaluation yesterday.” He changed the subject in a completely unsubtle way, still pressing and refusing to take the hint. Why were men so damn incapable of understanding hints?
“That was also fine.” I was being petulant, I’d admit. Breaker never meant me ill will.
“Ribs?” He asked next, a knowing half smile on his face.
“Ribs.” I admitted, no point in trying to dodge the question.
“I had a feeling.” His half smile turned into an amused full smile. “I’m glad you made it into the club.”
My expression only flattened. “How do I get back out of it?”
“Blood in, blood out, my friend.” He laughed, and I envied people who could joyfully have full conversations while hiking uphill. “If you’re not going to go to the nurse, I’ve got something that’ll help. I’ll get it for you at lunch.”
I nodded, because I didn’t have the energy to keep talking, then Breaker resumed his faster pace, and I resumed my steady one.
I completed the exercise, ranked somewhere in the eighties out of ninety-one—okay I was eighty-ninth—and that was good enough for me.
I was still dead last overall, but at least I wasn’t dead last at everything.
Thank the stars it was sharp shooting today and not hand-to-hand. Mercy existed.