Chapter 5

Training Camp - Day 1

The gym smelled like sweat, rubber and maybe a hint of blood. Either that or misery. The harsh fluorescent overhead lights doing absolutely nothing to hide how rough I must look at this ungodly hour.

All of us soldiers were stood in a line, anxiety building. My bunkmate, whose name I've yet to learn, breaths heavily beside me from the jog over to the gym. I can't help but think to myself, she's absolutely fucked. Nevertheless, I must make an effort to get to know her later. If anyone needs a friend here, it's her.

Styles strolled in behind us like he owned the place. I suppose in a way, he does. His boots echoed against the polished floor. His hands tucked causally behind his back, he stared us up and down. He looked at us as though we were dirt on the bottom of his shoes.

"Fuck me, you all look terrified" his deep voice echoes around the gym. "Not surprising, half of you probably haven't seen the inside of a gym since high school P.E." He laughs, clearly amusing himself, his tone possessing that arrogance I've come to be familiar with. "Our time in the gym is important. You lot are civilians playing solider. That changes today. You don't train properly in here, you die out there. Simple as that. Strength, endurance, discipline. I can scream commands at you until I'm blue in the face, but I won't be there to drag you through shit on the battlefield. When your body says you've had enough, that's when you've got to find something else to pull from."

If I wasn't so familiar with his personality already, I'd almost mistake this speech for having a shred of concern for our wellbeing. But I know better.

"Anyways" Styles continues, lightly shaking his head. "We'll start simple. Push ups. If you can't manage those, well there's no fucking hope for you."

Silence descends upon the gym. Me and my noodle arms are not going to come out of this one great.

"Was that instruction unclear? Get the fuck down!" Styles barks out his order.

Scrambling, we all drop to the cold hard floor. My forehead is already beading with sweat. I'm starting to panic.

"Get going then, and if I see anyone half-arsing it, we reset and start again" Styles shouts.

I braced myself. Pushing all of my weight onto my two arms, I rose up onto my tiptoes. I slowly lowered myself into the first rep. Immediately, I could feel my arms beginning to tremble. He's going to annihilate me.

In my peripheral vision I could see Private Jefferies powering through, smashing out rep after rep. However, I could also see my bunkmate, and she was struggling more than I was.

"Pathetic" Styles spat out as he snaked through us. He stopped at one recruit further down the line.

"Jesus Christ, Barnes. Is that the best you've got? My grandmother could do better, and she's been dead fifteen years" he taunts. The private, Barnes, emits only a grunt in response as he pushes on.

Styles keeps moving. I'm acutely aware of his presence as he edges ever close to me. Eventually he was standing right beside me. He stopped walking. My arms were on fire now. A puddle of sweat was collecting on the floor beneath me, dripping off of my forehead. My heart rate spikes as I feel Styles crouch down next to me, but determined I keep going.

"You going to make it, private?" He murmured. His voice was low enough, only I could hear. This fucking bastard. I clenched my jaw and found something within me to keep going, arms ablaze.

When your body says you've had enough, that's when you've got to find something else to pull from.

My mind replays Styles words in my head. Part of me curses myself for actually taking inspiration from him. The other part of me is forgiving. Right now, my something else to pull from is sheer and utter spite of him. I will not let him get the better of me, not yet.

Without my response, Styles stand up and moves on.

"Right, enough warming up. On your feet. Time for something fun." A smirk is plastered on his face.

"I've tested your strength, now it's time for endurance." He leads us over to a row of treadmills. He pushes a button, and the treadmill whirs to life. He stands at the front, arms crossed, and that same fucking smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"This is simple. You run and you keep running. You stop, you fall, you fail. If you fail, you regret it."

A few nervous glances were exchanged between us recruits.

"Well?" Styles asks. "Who's first?"

————-

So far, 8 recruits have taken to the belt.

"Some of you look like you've never ran a mile in your life. I mean seriously, Private Cairns? Did your mother carry you everywhere as a child?" Styles hurls an array of insults at the soldiers as they take on the test.

I'm broken out of my daydream by Styles voice, and the whir of the treadmill coming to a decline.

"Fair enough, Private...." I look up at the treadmill and notice that he is talking to my bunkmate. The girl who has not stopped sobbing since she got here.

"Fairley, sir" she replies timidly.

"Private Fairley. Well, I have to say I didn't know you had it in you." He says nothing more as he nods his head to the side, indicating for her to get off the treadmill. I think that was his version of a compliment. I'm happy for Fairley. She needed this. Who knew running was her thing?

"Next!" Styles yells.

I look around. There are only 4 of us left to run. I definitely don't want to be last.

"Me, sir" I feel the words coming out of my mouth before I have time to overthink them.

I step forward onto the treadmill. I can feel Styles' gaze burning through me, but I keep my vision locked straight ahead as he clicks start on the machine. My feet begin to move as the belt picks up pace. The speed wasn't unbearable - yet.

I continue to keep my focus locked ahead. I try to control my breathing as best I can. Styles was right. This isn't about strength, it's endurance. I don't need to have anything. You can have all the muscles in the world but if you don't have your head locked into the right place, you'll never be able to outrun anything. This is a mental game and I'm read to play.

Styles didn't say anything at first - just watched. His intense gaze added an uncomfortable layer of pressure, but I do my best to zone it out. I refuse to react.

Finally, he speaks. "Enjoying yourself, Private?"

"Loving it, sir" I reply through staggered breaths. A wave of panic crashes over me. Would he consider my response sarcastic, out of line? Would he scream in my face, or make me pay for my dissent.

But to my surprise, he doesn't say a word. He simply huffs out a quiet laugh and presses up on the speed of the treadmill.

Another click of the button. The treadmill sped up again. The impact on my feet was starting to take its toll. My breath, once controlled and strong, now short and desperate. My thighs burned and my lungs were strained.

I wasn't the weakest here - far from it. But I wasn't the strongest either, and Styles could see that.

"Come on, private" he muttered in that low voice. His tone sent shivers down my spine. Again, pitched low enough that only I could hear.

"Give up, make it easy for yourself" he teases.

"No, sir" I reply. I know the rest of my comrades will be intrigued.

Styles hums like he isn't convinced.

At this point, Private Kelso, who had fallen off the treadmill after pushing himself too hard began to sway.

"Um sir, Private Kelso isn't looking too good." I hear Private Jefferies voice call from behind me. Styles doesn't even acknowledge it. His focus never leaves me.

"Five more minutes" he says, turning up the speed one more notch. My stomach drops. Shit. Five minutes. I can do this, I think?

Five long, slow, torturous minutes pass. True to form, officer Styles never once takes his eyes off me. He presses stop on the treadmill and I exhale a sigh of relief like nothing I had ever experienced before.

"Good." He says. He doesn't say anything else. He simply walks off to join the rest of the group, leaving me with a pounding pulse and the unsettling realisation that he was enjoying watching me suffer.

"Someone take Kelso to the medic" he calls, finally giving a very pale looking Kelso some attention.

"Deadweight" he says under his breath, rolling his eyes.

The final 3 recruits complete their runs with varying degrees of success. The gym was filled with the sound of ragged breathing. Some recruits had barely made it. Others had failed outright, collapsing before the task was done.

Styles stands before us, disturbingly unaffected by the sight of our pain.

"That" he drawled "was fucking disgraceful."

"You think the enemy is going to wait for you to catch your breath? Do you think Southside are going to care if your legs hurt? No. They'll shoot you in the fucking head and move on."

A few of the soldiers swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably.

"This-" he gestured around the gym, "-this is the easy part. If you can't handle this, you're not fit to wear the uniform. Now lucky for some of you, even though you might be okay with failing, I'm not. I don't do lost causes."

He takes a step forward, lowering his voice to make it feel like a warning. "Tomorrow you'll be better. Or, you'll be broken. Either way, you'll learn."

Fuck me, get this boy on Pinterest he'll have a field day with motivational quotes.

A smirk washes over his face as he steps back."Now get out of my sight."

Just like that, the session was over. We scampered back to the dorms before he could change his mind. We all knew, this was only the beginning.