Chapter 11 #2
We line up in front of him and make quick introductions.
"I'd like you all to keep it simple this week with defensive and practical techniques.
I see you've got a couple on your crew experienced with this, and they can help those who lack get up to speed.
" His eyes roam over us and maybe I imagine it, but they seem to linger on me. I keep my face blank, listening.
"Pair off. I'll pair with one of you briefly just to show you where I expect you to get to, and then you can rotate." He steps closer to us, and I hold my breath, praying he doesn't pick me. He stops in front of Leo, who, instead of looking frightened, looks a little too excited.
I pair off with Berk, already having had my fill of fighting Farra for one day.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as Valo gives Leo patient instruction.
How to hold a fist, a proper block, stance.
They do this for a while before he asks if Leo is ready to spar.
Leo, sweet stupid Leo, grins like he's ready to play.
I expect the trained warrior to hold back. He towers over Leo in every way.
The Lieutenant does not hold back. He lays Leo out with such force that I run into the ring without a thought. Leo looks unconscious and I panic, checking his breathing first and his pulse second.
Leo sputters, and I grind my teeth as I whip my head and snarl towards Valo. Before I can think better of it, I spit out at him, "What is wrong with you? He's a kid. He's half your size, and unskilled. Give him a chance to train before you use your full force like that."
I regret the venom in my words the moment they leave my lips as I watch him fold his giant arms over his chest. There's a hint of a cocky smirk on his full lips.
His features are as sharp and as lethal as he is.
His eyes look like coal. I can't tell what colour they are from where I squat over Leo, but they seem bottomless.
Like they could suck in all the colour from the room and still not get enough.
"I'm doing him a favour. No one is going to coddle him outside these walls," his voice comes out a menacing growl. "They don't care that he's young or how much training he has. He won't make the mistake of being cocky around an opponent again."
He gives me one last scathing look, assessing me stoically before he turns to my crewmates. "I hope you were paying attention. Work on your defensive stances and I'll be back to test you." Then he stalks off.
I turn back to Leo, who is slowly lifting himself from the floor.
"You should see a medic. It looked like your soul left your body for a minute there," I say, trying to get him to sit up slowly.
Berk is here now, handing Leo his canteen.
"I'll be fine, just roll me off to the side," Leo says, and winces. He's probably cracked a rib with how hard he was tossed. Farra helps him up and walks him to the bench near the side. I eye her curiously. She's done this a few times now, helped when she didn't have to.
"You got a death wish?" Berk whispers to me, annoyed.
"Meaning?"
He rubs a hand over his tired face.
"Don't play hero here. The commanding officers rarely let cadets get away with talking back. The last thing I need is extra duties, or worse, a target on our backs because you think being lippy to the pretty Lieutenant over there is more important than following rank."
I shake my head. I know he's right, and usually I'm a lot better at controlling my temper. At home I made it a point to manage my feelings, but I can't help but feel that slipping here.
Ignoring all that I respond with, "Handsome?"
"I said pretty, but you've proved my point. You were gawking, along with several others." He flicks his hand around the room, and I frown. I was not gawking, I was assessing.
Part of me can't help but feel disappointed that I'm forced into another situation where my options are to watch people get hurt and do nothing, or do something and risk myself.
It feels more complex here. At home, I could see the reason for my actions so clearly, my sense of self wrapped up entirely in keeping my family safe.
I could stomach turning a blind eye to this kind of thing before.
I look in the direction Valo went, and then back to my new friend, who's grimacing as he tries to breathe, and I wonder if there's ever going to be a point where it doesn't feel like I'm being pulled in different directions.
Sweat beads on my forehead, dripping down my bowed face and onto my hands below in slow, glistening drops.
"Again!" Kethler bellows from behind me.
I can sense more fumbling from Farra beside me. Her body is tense; I can feel the anxiety pouring off her like it's my own.
So far, Farra has excelled at everything we've done. I assumed field stripping would be no different, but ten minutes into class and it was clear this would be a stark contrast to her normal performance. This is not a calm learning environment. No paper or pens, no quiet spaces to think.
Kethler began berating us as soon as he explained what we were doing.
We are to master this skill: the act of disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling our guns in the field, with limited tools, under pressure.
After a brief instruction and parts inventory of the rifles, he let us get through one practice round before the torment began.
The officers posted around the room add their own abuse, slamming weapons against desks and, occasionally the backs of our knees, whenever our hands slow.
A loud bang echoes across the room as someone behind me drops their magazine on the floor, the cadet scrambling to the ground with it.
"You're all lousy wastes of space at this point," Kethler growls, roughly picking up the fallen cadet and throwing him back into the line among the tables. "Back to starting positions!"
He walks over to the far corner of the room and grabs a log from the stack beside the woodstove, adding to the raging flames. I bite my tongue to stop the groan of protest that wants to slip my lips.
"It's my job to prepare you for what's out there.
If you think you're going to fix your weapons in a temperature-controlled room, without any distractions, when you're on duty, you're in for a rude awakening.
If you can't hack this, you might as well get in line for the noose.
I can promise you, you'll run into a lot more chaos out there than this.
" He slams the metal door to the stove and begins walking towards our line of tables.
The classroom is a smaller one. Four or five unit crews line the three rows of long tables. Unfortunately, we're at the front.
"Now, show me you're worth more than what we feed you and assemble. The. Guns!"
My eyes dart to Farra's hands as she bends to pick up a piece of her gun, her hand trembling as she tries to slip the piece back into its rightful spot.
Kethler saunters over towards her, his eyes sharp as they narrow on her.
"Denver, your father could have done this with his eyes closed!" Hateful spit flies out of his mouth at her as he shouts.
Farra's shoulders slump, and she fumbles the piece again. I pause, holding a breath, hoping she'll get it.
Leo, on the other side of Farra, tenses. I continue my work, gliding the pieces in without too much attention. Farra chokes on a sob as Kethler leans in, slamming a flat hand on the table making a slapping noise. The look on his face is vicious. He's enjoying breaking her.
Oh, fuck it.
"Can I ask something?" I say without looking at Kethler, keeping my hands steadily moving through the motions of what he's asked us to do.
He straightens, taken aback by my lack of nerves.
"What is the purpose of this... if we're not actually getting guns?
From what I understand, very few of us will wield these weapons.
We don't have a large enough armory for that.
Wouldn't it make more sense to train only those who will actually get them? " I ask innocently.
He turns towards me fully. My eyes flick up to him as my heart hammers in my chest. He steps towards me, fury on his face.
He clearly doesn't appreciate being questioned.
His eyes bounce to my hands, which begin to disassemble my weapon ahead of my peers, laying the pieces back on the cloth with ease.
He folds his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing on me, trying to find fault with what I'm doing.
He's completely forgotten about Farra at this point.
Good. I think.
He walks towards me now so that his legs bump my side of the table, no doubt trying to shake me into messing up.
"Do you think leadership here is incompetent?" he asks, an eery calm taking over his voice.
I pull in a slow, steady breath, considering my answer.
"Of course not, Captain," I respond carefully, continuing to clean the meticulously laid out pieces. "I'm simply trying to get a good understanding of our current circumstances. The best soldier is a well-trained and informed soldier, sir," I quip almost cheerfully.
Silence greets me. I chance a glance up at him and see his eyes have widened, nostrils flaring above his white moustache. And my brain cells must not be firing, because I simply offer him a sweet smile.
He seems to debate something, lurching forward ever so slightly, and then pulls away, turning from me and roars at the class, "FROM THE BEGINNING."
My eyes meet Farra's, and she gives me a confused look.
I peer down at her still trembling hands and glance at my own with a nod.
Together, I mouth to her, her green eyes meeting mine, and tears well in them as she nods.
Her breathing comes out easier as we continue like that for the rest of the class.
Kethler only makes two other cadets cry before letting us out, sweaty and drained.
We part ways outside of the class, Farra and I walking in silence up to our dorm room.
As soon as we get into the room, she whirls around on me, eyes wide and wild as she breathes heavily. I've never seen her look so... unbalanced.
"You didn't have to do that!" she snarls, arms folded across her chest defensively.
"Do what?" I ask, flopping myself on my bunk, not overly surprised by her sudden outburst. I'd seen the tension in her the whole walk up. What she's feeling, the anger, isn't actually for me.
"Help me! I told you, didn't I? I told you when you got here, I'm not here for this," she waves frantically between us. "I'm not Leo, OK? I don't need saving, and I don't want to owe anyone anything."
I sit, rolling my lip between my teeth. My lack of reaction seems to push her towards her breaking point.
She sits on her own cot across from me, head slumping into her hands as her voice cracks.
"I'm sorry. Gods, I'm sorry OK? I don't… It's just..." Her words die out, which makes her appear angry at herself, and she lets out an exasperated groan.
I can't help it. I let out a little chuckle. Her head snaps up to me, her big eyes welling with tears.
"What!?" she shrieks.
Which only makes me laugh harder. I can't help it. Watching this woman have a tantrum is so off-putting, it looks so out of place on her. She throws her pillow at me, but I catch the shake of her shoulders as my laugh turns into a full bumbling giggle.
"I hate you, you know that?" she says through her own wheezy laughs, flopping backwards.
We both release the tension through our shared insanity, laughing until we're wiping our eyes, the moisture there for an entirely different reason now.
Silence falls over the room before she finally breaks it.
"Thank you, and I am sorry for my reaction. And for putting you in that position in the first place..." she trails off again. Embarrassed.
"Don't apologize. Kethler is a prick, and I saw a way out. You don't owe me something because I showed you a moment of kindness, Farra, that's not how it works," I say sincerely.
She's quiet for a minute, then says, "he reminds me of my dad, the authority, the barely restrained rage.
Him screaming like that felt... too familiar.
Suddenly I was six, and I wanted to hide under the table.
" She blows out a shaky breath, her hands going behind her head as she gets comfortable staring at the ceiling. "So, thank you."
"I'm sorry that you felt that way. And don't thank me. There must be something very wrong with me because I actually enjoyed it."
I huff out a breath, thinking of Deacon and his accusations that I enjoyed the Games. I worry sometimes that there is a piece of me that is blackened, rotten even. A dark parcel I've kept neatly wrapped inside myself. I worry more that other people can see it.
We talk for the rest of the night. Apparently, once you crack beneath that first beautiful icy layer, Farra Denver is a big softie. A softie who will talk your ear off until you accidentally drift off to sleep, the sound of her idle chatter a familiar comfort.