Chapter Three #2
Matt snapped his head up. “You know my uncle?” he croaked.
“I know of him,” Salazar replied, “and I’ve worked with guys who’ve served with him.
This is a small community, son, and I know if Rick’s had any influence in your life that you’re better than this.
Teamwork. Attention to detail. Looking out for your buddy.
Instead of stepping over that guy who fell out, why didn’t you help him?
Why didn’t you show the spirit that Hovland did despite the punishment I dished out to him?
That’s what’s gonna get you through this, spirit and teamwork, not focusing on yourself and your failure. Do you understand?”
“Hooyah,” Matt whispered, nauseated by the shame swirling in his gut.
“Now get out of here.”
By the time he reached the mess hall, it was closed, but Elias approached him and held out a banana. Noah brought him a greasy biscuit wrapped in a napkin, and Shane handed him a carton of orange juice.
“Thanks, guys,” Matt managed, fighting back some ridiculous tears.
Noah patted him on the shoulder. “It could’ve been any one of us,” he said quietly. “Today it just happened to be you. We’re all in this together, Soup. Let’s not lose sight of that again.”
How could he have lost sight of that in the first place, especially after what Shane had done for him next to that pool? Like it or not, Shane was his fucking swim buddy, and Matt had better get it together. Fast.
The evolution that afternoon was an introduction to the world-famous obstacle course—fifteen sections of rope ladders, bridges, cargo nets and other sadistic apparatus that they were expected to get through, past, under and over. All timed, of course.
“Operational SEALs come train on this course when they’re in town for workups,” Salazar informed them. “That’s how tough it is. You guys need to bring your A-game, because in each phase the qualifying times will come down.”
To Matt’s enormous relief, the O-course was a smaller guy’s kingdom. He zipped along while bigger guys like Shane struggled to haul their heavier frames up, down and around.
Some of his confidence restored, he couldn’t help but aim a cocky grin at Shane as he flew past him.
“Asshole,” Shane muttered with a roll of his eyes. Matt flipped him off and continued on his way, Shane’s deep chuckle following in his wake.
At last Salazar released them to make their final preparations for room inspection. Matt stayed behind to help rinse off equipment and put it away, hoping to redeem himself a little in Salazar’s eyes.
Finally he made his way to the barracks in the cool, damp evening air, the marine layer rolling in to block out the stars.
Matt breathed in deeply, bone-tired and sore.
At least he knew his room was in order. When he’d left it that morning, the floor was polished and immaculate, so clean the instructors could eat off it.
His uniforms hung in the closet, starched and pressed, boots lined up neatly.
As he approached his building, he wondered why there were so many people milling about on the stairway and landing outside—Jesus! Was that his door ajar?
“What the fuck?” he yelled, rushing up the last flight of stairs. He’d closed and locked that door, he was positive of it! The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, faces averted, except for Shane, whose eyes were filled with a horrified sympathy.
What the hell is going on?
Matt shoved his way into his room and let out a bellow that could probably be heard across the bay.
It was trashed. No, trashed wasn’t the word for it—it was fucking destroyed.
His bedclothes had been stripped from the mattress and thrown on the floor, wet sand dumped on them.
His pristine uniforms were now heaped in the bathtub, which was full of murky water and threatening to overflow.
Footprints were all over the once-immaculate floor, muddy handprints were on the wall, trash was strewn everywhere…
“Who did this?” Matt roared. “Which of you fuckers did this?” He whirled in a circle, glaring at each of his classmates in turn. “Who?” He was shaking with rage. It would take hours to fix the damage and get the room ready for inspection again. “I want to know—”
“Dial down the accusations. Now.” The voice was quiet, but authoritative, and Matt swung around to face Salazar. “Your teammates had nothing to do with this.”
Matt’s chest heaved as he fought for air.
He clenched his fists at his sides, wanting nothing more than to take two huge steps forward and punch his instructor’s lights out.
If he hadn’t done this himself, he sure as fuck knew who had, most likely with his blessing.
Salazar’s face was impassive, but his eyes were watchful as he crossed his arms over his barrel chest—the same stance he took in the classroom right as he was about to say something important.
This is a test. Matt almost choked on the horrified realization. A fucking test to see how I handle adversity, and unfairness. To see how well I adapt and overcome.
And he’d just blown it big-time. Fear surged into his throat, and he took a deep breath, striving to keep his voice steady. “Roger that, Instructor.”