This, she thought, was not how it was supposed to go. She muscled herself up and over the wall, easily chinning up and then extending her arms straight so that the top of the wall was at her waist; then she flipped her legs up and over and lowered herself down the other side. Obstacle seven, down.
She turned to obstacle eight, which was a long mud pit slung over with guy wires and cammy netting. As she flopped down in the mud, she despaired. This was all so depressingly familiar: it was exactly the same as every other obstacle course she’d ever been on in the Army; even worse, she was so far ahead of the other runners that she couldn’t even hear them struggling anymore.
This was supposed to be an elite unit. She’d struggled to be included, fought to be accepted, to what was supposed to be the most hard-core light infantry in the world, maybe second to the Seals but not if you asked anybody here. She’d overcome personal hardship, dyslexia, and, yes, femaleness to be here.
She made it through the mud pit with depressing ease, perfect form sending her gliding under the wire. There was a short run to a ridiculous rope swing, then a simple balance beam, and she was at the finish.
Maybe there’d been some sort of mistake. She’d arrived late; maybe she had joined the wrong group? As the only female participant, she’d had her own room, which was a blessing and a curse -- on the one hand, it meant that she had her own room; on the other hand, it made her responsible for getting her own sorry ass up and out of bed.
No, she’d checked in with the post commander when she’d gotten in last night -- he was out, but his adjunct was there... A suspicion narrowed her eyes. How sure was she, really, that this was real? That the whole thing -- the assignment here, the training -- could it all have been a, a setup? A practical joke?
She’d kill... no, Captain Barnes had talked to her about it, and if he was in on it, then she couldn’t trust anybody or anything in the world. So what the hell was going on?
The rest of the puffy, out-of-shape course-runners came into view, crawling out of the mud, huffing and out of breath. She watched them come toward her, and along side them, a pair of sergeants, one of them leaning forward and shouting... encouragements... as the men made their way through the last little bit. Three of them fell off the balance beam.
These cannot, she thought, cannot be Ranger school candidates.
The sergeants walked straight up to her, the big, loud one still yelling over his shoulder. The other one looked her up and down.
“That was a very impressive run.” Critical eyes traveled over her muddy uniform. “I can’t help but think you might be in the wrong place.”
She glanced over at the other men and couldn’t help but agree.
“I wonder,” the quiet sergeant said, solicitously, in a helpful and innocent tone that was designed to make every soldier who heard it glance around nervously for the other shoe, “I wonder if you might not be looking for the Ranger course.”
“Ah,” she said, “Yes. That is...”
“A lost Ranger?” The big, loud sergeant had gotten his platoon lined up and made his way over to where his fellow non-com was quizzing the odd-woman-out. “Soldier, this is the Danger course, for the basic wilderness school. I believe that you want the Ranger course, which was straight ahead on the road.”
Panic seized her. How, she thought, could she possibly have fucked this up.
“Yes sergeant,” she said.
“Get going, you might make it in time to just get an ass-chewing.” She glanced up at him. “Move,” he said, loudly but not meanly.
She moved.
As she disappeared through the trees, the larger, louder sergeant grinned uncharitably. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “You believe that? In the Rangers, too.”
“Shouldn’t even be allowed in the Army, if you ask me,” said the smaller, quieter sergeant. She turned her head and spat, as though getting something out of her mouth. “Going to get somebody killed.”
Her companion nodded. “Fucking dyslexics,” he said.
She turned to obstacle eight, which was a long mud pit slung over with guy wires and cammy netting. As she flopped down in the mud, she despaired. This was all so depressingly familiar: it was exactly the same as every other obstacle course she’d ever been on in the Army; even worse, she was so far ahead of the other runners that she couldn’t even hear them struggling anymore.
This was supposed to be an elite unit. She’d struggled to be included, fought to be accepted, to what was supposed to be the most hard-core light infantry in the world, maybe second to the Seals but not if you asked anybody here. She’d overcome personal hardship, dyslexia, and, yes, femaleness to be here.
She made it through the mud pit with depressing ease, perfect form sending her gliding under the wire. There was a short run to a ridiculous rope swing, then a simple balance beam, and she was at the finish.
Maybe there’d been some sort of mistake. She’d arrived late; maybe she had joined the wrong group? As the only female participant, she’d had her own room, which was a blessing and a curse -- on the one hand, it meant that she had her own room; on the other hand, it made her responsible for getting her own sorry ass up and out of bed.
No, she’d checked in with the post commander when she’d gotten in last night -- he was out, but his adjunct was there... A suspicion narrowed her eyes. How sure was she, really, that this was real? That the whole thing -- the assignment here, the training -- could it all have been a, a setup? A practical joke?
She’d kill... no, Captain Barnes had talked to her about it, and if he was in on it, then she couldn’t trust anybody or anything in the world. So what the hell was going on?
The rest of the puffy, out-of-shape course-runners came into view, crawling out of the mud, huffing and out of breath. She watched them come toward her, and along side them, a pair of sergeants, one of them leaning forward and shouting... encouragements... as the men made their way through the last little bit. Three of them fell off the balance beam.
These cannot, she thought, cannot be Ranger school candidates.
The sergeants walked straight up to her, the big, loud one still yelling over his shoulder. The other one looked her up and down.
“That was a very impressive run.” Critical eyes traveled over her muddy uniform. “I can’t help but think you might be in the wrong place.”
She glanced over at the other men and couldn’t help but agree.
“I wonder,” the quiet sergeant said, solicitously, in a helpful and innocent tone that was designed to make every soldier who heard it glance around nervously for the other shoe, “I wonder if you might not be looking for the Ranger course.”
“Ah,” she said, “Yes. That is...”
“A lost Ranger?” The big, loud sergeant had gotten his platoon lined up and made his way over to where his fellow non-com was quizzing the odd-woman-out. “Soldier, this is the Danger course, for the basic wilderness school. I believe that you want the Ranger course, which was straight ahead on the road.”
Panic seized her. How, she thought, could she possibly have fucked this up.
“Yes sergeant,” she said.
“Get going, you might make it in time to just get an ass-chewing.” She glanced up at him. “Move,” he said, loudly but not meanly.
She moved.
As she disappeared through the trees, the larger, louder sergeant grinned uncharitably. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “You believe that? In the Rangers, too.”
“Shouldn’t even be allowed in the Army, if you ask me,” said the smaller, quieter sergeant. She turned her head and spat, as though getting something out of her mouth. “Going to get somebody killed.”
Her companion nodded. “Fucking dyslexics,” he said.
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