Chapter 6

Training Camp – Day 2

After yesterday's training session, the dorm was a scene of exhaustion. No one spoke as we limped back to the barracks, muscles sore and tired. The moment we entered, bodies dropped onto bunks, each of us too drained to do anything other than breathe. The one good thing about yesterday was that I didn't struggle to sleep this time. 

Now, as we dressed for day 2, the air was definitely thick with dread.

Fairley, my bunk-mate, was quiet as usual. I could see her hands trembling slightly as she laced up her boots. I considered saying something, but my body was too sore to muster the energy for reassurance. Across the room, Jefferies swore under his breath, wincing slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head.

"He's a prick," Jefferies muttered, his voice low but sharp. "No human should enjoy torturing people that much."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. I stay silent, my mind replaying yesterday's scene on the treadmill. Styles' voice had been right in my ear, taunting, daring me to quit. But I didn't. Somehow, I'd found it in me to keep going.

"Do you think today will be any better?" Fairley asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I considered lying and giving her the reassurance she craved, but I'm not sure that would be fair.

I didn't have to answer as the door banged open, and all conversation died. 6AM. The day begins.

_________

The sun was shining bright as we followed Styles outside to the empty parade square. We line up in formation, standing to attention. Styles stands before us, arms behind his back, his posture rigid and intimidating.

"Today," Styles begins, stepping back to address us all "we move on from the gym to something a little more... physical." His voice holds power as his eyes continue to scan the group.

"Hand to hand combat." Styles announces. I swear I can literally feel my soul leaving my body. "Hand to hand combat is a vital skill in any soldier's locker. Yesterday, I tested your strength and endurance. Today is about power and precision. It's about guts. It's about the ability to keep your head in the game. If you hesitate, you're dead. If you hold back, you're dead. You either dominate, or you get dominated. In here, it's survival of the fittest." His gaze flickers to Fairley, who has lost all colour from her face. He rolls his eyes.

Styles begins to pair us up, working his way down the line. When he reaches me, his eyes double take, lingering a second longer than necessary. A flicker of amusement flashes across his face.

"You" he calls, his voice dripping in condescension. "Against Jefferies."

My mouth drops and I can hear a few of the other recruit's gasp quietly. Jefferies was a 6ft brick shit-house. So far, his matches had seemed relatively fair. Styles leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Let's see if you've got more than just stubbornness keeping you on your feet, Holton." His voice was low, mocking. "What was it you said yesterday?" he continues. "Loving it, sir?"

I curse myself for making such a stupid remark. Styles is bad enough as it is, I don't need to be giving him any extra ammunition. I should have known he wouldn't have let it pass without proving a point first. My fists tighten at my sides. He wants to see me fail. I won't give him the satisfaction.

As Styles finishes pairing off the recruits, I stand in front of Jefferies, mentally preparing to take a beating. My gaze shifts over his shoulder. Hawkins, who had been paired against Fairley, was stretching her shoulders and cracking her knuckles, a smug grin on her face. She thinks she has this in the bag, she was made for something like this.

"Begin!" Styles bellowing command abruptly brings me back to reality. I quickly make eye contact with Jefferies who mutters a pitiful "sorry" before beginning to attack. He comes at me fast, fists flying. I dodge the first strike. But the second? The second strike knocks the wind out of me as his shoulder connects with my chest. I stumble back, trying to stay on my feet.

Styles prowls through the pairs as we begin to lay into each other. The sound of grunts and groans play out over the parade square. He stops beside Private Daniels and Private Connolly, who are locked in a tense struggle.

"Come onnnn" Styles drags out. "Stop fucking cuddling and start hitting."

Meanwhile, Jefferies hasn't let up on me. His fist lands another blow, this time catching me on the jaw. Fuck it hurt. I'm dazed now and my vision is blurring. Perhaps it's a blessing, as I don't notice Styles making his way over to witness this disaster. Tired, sore, disorientated I swing my fist out aimlessly in front of me. I don't want to give up, not yet.

"Sloppy, Holton" Styles voice catches my attention. The last thing I fucking need. He circles us like a lion circling its prey. "Try again."

I follow his command and once again throw my fist out in front of me. I'm not even sure where Jefferies is.

"Weak. Too predictable. No power" he commentates. I muster up every bit of strength I have left and swing my leg out, hoping to catch Jefferies off guard. Unfortunately for me, Jefferies, who was yet to take a hit, saw me coming and reacted instinctively. He whips his foot out, catching underneath my leg and sending me toppling backwards. Jefferies head snaps to look at Styles, who rolls his eyes but nods. Jefferies immediately reaches down, extending an arm to help me up.

"Still loving it?" Styles quips, before walking off to observe the final recruits.

________

When Styles eventually called the drill to an end, I was physically and emotionally drained. My cheek was throbbing and my pride had definitely taken a bruising. We were back in line and standing to attention once more. Tears prick my eyes, but I fight them back, determined not to let anybody notice. I'm not going to make it through this camp, never mind one day in open warfare.

"Can't say I'm surprised at how that went" Styles address us all. "Even those of you who did win your fights lacked any real strategy or precision." He turns slightly to face Daniels and Connolly. "Daniels. You were too slow locking it in. If Connolly had half a brain, she'd of broken your hold before you got the chance to finish the job."

"And you-" he turns to face Hawkins. "Putting all your weight behind that punch like you're swinging a sledgehammer. Rookie mistake."

Hawkins squared her shoulders. "But Sir, I thought—"

"You don't think," Styles cut her off, stepping in close. "You react."

"Try to punch me." Styles commands.

A few of the recruits look at each other. Did he really just say that? Hawkins hesitates for a moment before throwing a swift jab. Styles deflects it effortlessly, guiding her momentum past him as she stumbles forward.

"That," he says, "is how you redirect an attack. You don't meet force with force—you use their own weight against them. Takes half the effort, twice the damage."

He turns again, this time his eyes landing on Kelso. "Come here."

Kelso reluctantly steps forward. Styles head turns once more and this time he locks eyes with me.

"Holton, come here". He smirks, tilting his head to the side. I can feel the tears pricking at my eyes again. I don't think I can take another beating, especially a public one.

"Sir-" I hopelessly try to protest.

His smirk fades and his stern demeanour returns. "An order is an order Holton".

I step forward, standing next to Kelso. I feel Styles step behind me.

"First mistake people make in a fight? They let their opponent make the first move." Styles' hand suddenly shoots out, gripping my wrist and shoulder. Before I can react, he twists sharply, knocking me off balance and forcing me down. My knees hit the dirt hard. He crouches down beside me, still gripping my arm in a firm lock.

"See? You let them control the fight, you're done." He lets go and stands up. I ungracefully clamber back to my feet.

"Now, pay attention." He moves on to Kelso, yanking him forward. "If someone grabs you like this," he demonstrates, gripping Kelso's wrist. "You don't panic. You break the hold." He twists his own wrist sharply against Kelso's thumb, forcing the grip open. "The thumb's the weak point. Always. Someone grabs you? Don't pull back. Rotate against their thumb and break free."

Kelso flexes his hand, eyes wide. "That actually works?"

Styles grins. "Try it."

Kelso grabs Styles' wrist, just as Styles had done before. In one swift movement, Styles breaks the hold and uses Kelso's momentum to yank him forward. Before Kelso could react, he sweeps a foot behind his ankle and sends him sprawling onto his back.

"Rule number two," Styles continues, ignoring Kelso on the ground. "Always stay on your feet. The second you hit the ground, you're at a disadvantage." He nudges Kelso's ribs with his boot. "Get up, you look pathetic."

"Holton" his attention comes back to me.

I met his gaze, bracing for whatever was coming.

"Try me" he orders.

I swallow my nerves and lunge forward, aiming for his midsection. He sidesteps it easily, but this time, I was ready—I twisted, grabbing for his arm.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face as I latch onto him.

"Better," he murmurs, before he counters effortlessly, sweeping my legs out from under me. He crouches down beside me again. "But not good enough."

His voice drops low, only to be heard between the two of us. "I know you've got some fight in you, but right now, it's buried underneath something. I don't know if it's stubbornness or nerves, but you won't get anywhere with that. Show me you're not just a pretty face."

He stands up, addressing the group. "Head back to the barracks for lunch in the mess. It looks like we're done here".