The harsh Florida sun beat down on the line of trainees, pulling shadows across the dry, summer grass onto the building behind them. Command Master Chief John James Urgayle, inscrutable eyes hidden behind aviator glasses that had seen more years than some of the figures before him, sucked in his cheeks in anticipation of the battle to come.

They were a ragtag lot. He hadn’t had a bunch this inexperienced in awhile. Wiry bodies at attention, they stared straight ahead as he walked the line, looking for somewhere to begin. Any hint of an infraction would do, but he liked to study the class first. Made ‘em nervous. They never knew who or what would set him off and once he started, well, it wasn’t called “Hell Week” for nothing. Back and forth, he strode leisurely, back and forth, studying each trainee individually, pausing for a glance at a uniform here, a sneer at a stance there. Their eyes were starting to follow him. Good. That meant they were worried.

He stopped pacing and struck his best “Master Chief” pose – hands clasped behind him, forearms at a ninety degree angle to his upper arms, trunk taut, legs spread to precisely twenty-three and three-quarter inches and glared at the motley formation in front of him.

Pansies, the lot of them. Weak, out-of-shape, coddled pansies. He’s seen their type before. Well, he had twelve weeks to whip them in to shape and, by God, he was going to do it. A sixty-percent drop-out rate wasn’t going to whittle this class down. They were all going to graduate, every last one of them, if he had to drag them to the graduation ceremony himself.

He selected his target and began.

“You!” he barked at the nearest body in the middle of the row. “Step forward!”

The stiff body jumped, looked confused and then turned to the teammates on either side of him for help. The taller of the two nodded and motioned the trainee forward with his head. Still hesitant, the shorter one stepped forward.

Urgayle let him sweat for a minute and then strolled slowly forward. He appeared to be walking right past his victim, but stopped directly beside him, staring into the distance and heaved a huge sigh. He turned his head and let his eyes slowly roll over the rumpled uniform down to the scuffed boots trying to hide in the too short grass.

“You call yourself ready for inspection, sailor?”

“Ye-yessir, Master Chief!”

Urgayle whipped off his glasses in the time it took for his heart to beat once and insinuated himself so far in the confused face it was impossible to focus.

“What did you say?”

“N-n-no sir, Master Chief, sir!”

Urgayle’s face pulled back a fraction, enough to put the glasses back in place, but the eyes didn’t move.

“Get back in formation,” he said quietly but with a deadly tone.

The trainee stepped back into line and Urgayle turned his attention to the female trainee next to him. Great. Another O’Neil. Just what he needed. Urgayle’s lips drew into a thin line as he strode over to face the source of his irritation. He stood facing the petite form for a moment, deciding what tactic to use on this one.

“You think you can keep up with these men, sailor?”

“Yes, sir! Master Chief, sir!”

She sounded self-assured and happy to be here. And perky. He hated perky. Well, that wouldn’t last. She was having a hard time standing at attention, too. He filed that away for suture reference. Some movement restraining exercise, he thought, would whip her into shape.

Deciding that he wasn’t going to be able to intimidate her any further at this point, he turned his back on the assembly for a few long minutes, letting them wonder what he was thinking and stared at the foremost boat pulled up on the beach in front of him. Yes, that would do. He always liked to start Hell Week with the boats. They were still silent behind him, sweating by now, he hoped, and not just from the heat. He whirled around to give the order to the boat crews to take their positions when he stopped dead in his tracks, noticing that the tallest of the front line had disappeared. What the ….??? Nobody broke formation without permission! That was a direct violation of orders and this trainee was going to pay and pay big when Urgayle got his hands on him!

A movement from the steps of the building near the assembly caught Urgayle’s eye. It was the tall one, hustling back into formation, obviously hoping Urgayle wouldn’t notice his absence. When he reached the bottom step, he looked up to find daggers staring through the black holes of the aviator glasses and slowed his pace to walk hesitantly back to his place in line.

A troublemaker. Right. Urgayle knew how to deal with troublemakers. He waited until all movement stopped and the body before him was back at attention and then he waited some more to make sure this clown was good and nervous before he approached. Stepping nearly close enough to get inside the trainee’s uniform, the Master Chief’s voice came out colder than his balls on that last Antarctic drill.

“We keeping you from something, sailor?”

The face before him took on a look of hesitation that finally resolved itself into a voice.

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

And he’d thought the female was going to be trouble. “What is it?” Urgayle barked as the face cringed against the sudden volume.

“I called Mom. She says you’re out of control. Summer vacation isn’t training camp and she’ll be home in ten minutes.” “Sir,” he added as an afterthought.