Tears Mean Weakness

Chapter 1

But what really is the measure of weakness? Merely the comparison to someone else's strengths.

The sun streamed through the window, landing directly on my face and waking me up. 4:30 am. Just 30 minutes until I had to be on the field. I crawled out of my top bunk, and hopped down the ladder, avoiding the loose rung. I had reassurance that the boys were still asleep from the slow breathing that echoed around the brick walls of the room.
Just a month after my mother died, my father decided that I should move into the shack with the other trainees. Now that Mom was gone, he didn't want to be my father anymore, he was now strictly the same to me as he was to the other boys: The Sergeant Major.
I grabbed my training clothes, (a green T-shirt and darker green stretch pants), and hit the showers in the wet room.

There were 10 trainees in each shack. All of the shacks were undeniably identical, consisting of two large rooms; one containing bunks, the other containing showers. The wet room was pretty basic: 4 walls, a ceiling and a floor, 10 showers - five on each side of the room - and nothing to separate them. When I moved in, I was disgusted by the lack of privacy in the showers and the toilets. It was alright for the boys, because they were all boys, but I was the only girl and I would rather have died than shower or go to the bathroom in front of them.
Unsurprisingly, the boys felt the same about having to share the bathroom with me, so we agreed upon a system. The bathroom was mine first, I had to move quick and then it was all theirs.

I turned on my shower : the one furthest from the door and let the icy cold water run down my front. I washed quickly, giving my hair a miss until after training. When I was finished, I changed into my training clothes, used the toilet and then brushed my teeth and tied my hair back into a ponytail. After returning my toothbrush to my wash bag and placing the bag back onto the shelf with the rest, I walked back into the bedroom and put my sleeping sweats into my laundry basket. 4:45 am. I scanned all of the bunks, checking all of the boys were still asleep. I climbed back up to my bunk, and sat crossed legged, waiting for the Sergeant to come and awake the rest of the shack.

Just sitting, thinking with nothing to distract me, let my mind wander back to the days when I still lived at home, the days when I didn't understand what was going on between my parents. Thinking about a time before my mother became depressed, reminded me of a very different Lola. It reminded me of the kid Mom wanted me to be. Sweet, cute and girly, just like most of the other girls around here. It reminded me of Lola. I was very seldom addressed as Lola these days. My training shirt read : 'Jacobsen' and that was who I was known as, even by my father. I didn't like to recall the memories of my mother, and a time before she hit rock bottom, which was why army life suited me so well, because it was all 'Go, Go, Go!' with no time to think. If I couldn't think, then I couldn't recall, and if I couldn't recall then I couldn't think about Mom.

I heard a stirring beneath me as one of the other trainees began to surface. I swung down to face him, so that I was hanging upside-down over his bunk. He opened one eye and looked at me.
"Early riser, Jacobsen?" whispered Rowan. I nodded my head, still hanging upside down over his bunk.
"I thought I heard someone moving around," he said. He began to move around, getting his training clothes on. I swung back up to my own bunk, to let him change, whispering to him as he went.
"It was roasting last night, I couldn't use the sheets," I whispered to him. "I couldn't sleep either, Blair was having nightmares again." Rowan stepped on the edge of his bunk, moving up to my level. He was wearing his green T-shirt which read : 'Saunders'.
"Me neither," he replied. "I wonder what Blair is dreaming about that he gets so wound up," said Rowan thoughtfully. I thought too.
"Probably his Dad," I said after a few moments contemplation. "Wasn't he killed in action?" Rowan nodded.
"An Afghanistan war," he confirmed. Rowan looked over at Blair who was still asleep. He looked sympathetic.
"Your probably right, Jacobsen. It's not uncommon for any of us to dream about our parents," he said swinging down onto his own bunk again. "I sure have," he added. I remembered when I first moved in, how restless Rowan was at night. He got over his nightmares. But Blair, Blair was still new to the training programme. He hadn't got rid of his nightmares quite yet.