CHAPTER 3 THE 0600 TRAINING BLOCK
"Company!" Alex’s voice ripped through the fog, sharp and clinical. "Atten-hut!"
The sound of three hundred heels hitting the pavement at once was a single, explosive crack.
"Mr. McClellan," Alex barked, his voice devoid of any warmth that made the Plebes in the front-rank flinch.
Patrick didn't hesitate. He didn't look at the man that held his heart; he looked through him as a superior officer.
"Aye-aye, Mr. Ko!"
Patrick stepped into the ranks, his movements heavy and precise.
He adjusted a Plebe’s shoulder, his hands never lingering, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
As he passed back to the head of the squad, his gaze crossed Alex’s for exactly one second.
It wasn't a look of affection; it was acknowledgment of the performance.
The Watchtower on the Flank
Marcus Ward stood five paces behind Alex, his hands clasped behind his back in a flawless parade-rest. He wasn't participating in the drill; as the Training Corporal, he was auditing it. His icy blue eyes weren't on the Plebes. They were on the back of Alex’s neck, watching the way Alex’s fingers unconsciously tapped against the side of his trousers.
"A very specific correction, Mr. Ko," Marcus whispered, his voice barely carrying over the wind. He stepped forward, closing the distance until he was at Alex’s shoulder.
"Most corporals would have missed three inches in this light. But you... you seem hyper-aware of the 2nd Squad’s every drift."
Alex didn't turn. "The 2nd Squad is the lead element, Mr. Ward. I’ve mentioned this before. If they drift, the company follows. It’s simple mechanics."
"Mechanics," Marcus repeated, his head tilting as he watched Patrick lead the squad into a column-right maneuver. "McClellan’s pivot was early by a fractional second. Are you going to 'fry' him for that, too? Or is the 'Standard' only applied when I am standing close enough to hear the cadence?"
The "Fry"
Alex’s jaw tightened. He knew the trap. If he didn't correct Patrick now, Marcus would mark it as a conduct deviation. If he did, he was intentionally twisting the knife into the one person he was trying to protect.
"2nd Squad, Halt!" Alex shouted.
The squad froze. Patrick stood at the head, his chest rising and falling in a steady, controlled rhythm.
Alex marched down the line, his boots clicking against the damp pavement with a predatory speed.
He stopped six inches from Patrick’s face.
Patrick didn't blink. Alex could smell the starch on Patrick’s collar and the faint, lingering scent of Patrick’s Brut aftershave mixed with the soap they shared in Room 2204.
"Mr. McClellan, your pivot was sloppy," Alex said, his voice a low, cold monotone.
"You’re leading a squad, not a civilian marching band. You will report to the Training Office at 1800 for a remedial drill review. Do you find the standard too difficult to maintain?"
Patrick’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like stone.
"Negative, Mr. Ko! No excuse, sir!"
Alex turned on his heel, his eyes catching Marcus Ward’s gaze as he marched back to the front. Marcus was smiling—a thin, snide tightening of his lips that didn't reach his eyes.
"Remedial review at 1800," Marcus drawled as Alex passed.
"How convenient. An hour behind closed doors in the Training Office. You’re very good at this, Ko. You’ve turned a fry into a sanctuary. I’ll be sure to audit the logbook to see if the logic holds up."
The bell for the end of the 0600 block began to toll from the tower, its heavy bronze clangs vibrating through the mist.
"Dismiss the company, Mr. Ko," Marcus said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate whisper.
"Before the frequency becomes so loud the whole Yard can hear it."