"Fall out for the run," the Sergeant Major called out. "Inprocessing groups go to either one mile acclimation or three mile acclimation run. Everyone else, it's Friday ten mile day," The big man called out.
"Lewis, you're on three mile, Roberts, you get to join the one mile to check your progress," Sergeant Stokes called out.
Lewis groaned. She had been told to wear full BDU's, her vest, her helmet, her LBE, the M-60 assistant gunner bag, and two belts of 100 7.62mm blanks. She had her XM-16 and M1911A1 with her too, her ammo pouches full of blanks. She had been doing crunches when everyone else was doing situps since her Kevlar vest prevented her from sitting up all the way.
She felt like she'd been hit with a bat across the stomach.
Picking up her rucksack, which was fully loaded and had four 7.62mm ammunition cans full of rocks in it, she shrugged into the straps, groaned at the additional weight, and stumbled over to the three mile run group.
"If you've done this run already, or been on the two mile run, move up to the front. If this is your first time with the three mile, move to the back," Staff Sergeant Spaulding called out. Lewis was instantly jealous that he, like most of the PT formation, was in either the blue with gold edging PT uniform or whatever exercise clothing they were comfortable with.
Newsome came up, nodding, and Lewis noticed he was wearing the same thing she was, only he had the M-16 across his back and his M-60 in his hands.
"All right, we'll be Airborne shuffling this," Staff Sergeant Spaulding called out. "Medics are going to be with us. If you start to feel light headed or dizzy, fall out to the side of the road and do your breathing recovery positions. Each of you will have a running partner who is already acclimated to this hazardous environment."
"Yes, Sergeant," Sounded out. Some people sounded exhausted already.
"I'm you're running partner, Berserker," A rumbling voice said from behind her.
She know who it was before she turned around, but it was still intimidating. Sergeant William Stillwater was wearing a pair of cutoff jeans, combat boots, and a Seattle Seahawks football jersey.
"That's a lot of gear," Stillwater said.
"Yes, Sergeant," Lewis said.
"You pass out, I'll carry you. No recovery position. Standards are different for the Thugs," Stillwater rumbled.
"Yes, Sergeant," Lewis said, swallowing thickly.
"Ready?"
Lewis just nodded.
"Double-time, MARCH!" The Senior NCO called out.
Lewis groaned as she started jogging forward, following the group across the parking lot.
"See one forty rolling down the strip," Stokes called out from beside the formation.
Lewis repeated it, with everyone else. The cadence was used to keep your breathing right, keep you in step, keep you moving.
"Airborne Ranger on a one way trip," Stokes kept up the cadence.
By the time the group reached the Chow Hall, the first half-mile mark, Lewis was drenched in sweat. Her mask strap was rubbing the inside of her left thigh, her LBE was rubbing against the small of her back, and the rucksack seemed to get heavier and heavier with each step. By the mile mark she was staggering, bent forward slightly, feeling like her spine was going to snap. Several people had fallen out already, either passing out and getting grabbed by their partner.
"Stand up straight, Berserker," Stillwater said, grabbing the top of her ruck and yanking her upright. "Breathe from your gut, not from behind your tits. Control your breathing."
YOU ARE READING
Third Person - Complete
Historical FictionPFC James Roberts just wanted to serve his country, like his father and grandfather. He left his middle class life to join the military with the hope of making his family proud. Graduating top of his class in Basic Training, attending Advanced Indiv...
