Page 5 of Metal & Mud

Parker clapped Logan on the shoulder and told him to fall back in line.

“And apparently,” Parker continued, “there’s already a nickname for our new man. Sergeant Adams, want to share it?”

Sergeant Adams, jacked and scowling, barked, “Hollywood, sir.”

The platoon burst into more laughter. Logan felt his face flush. He’d expected a nickname eventually, just not so soon.

Parker nodded. “We usually stick to real names in official settings, but don’t be surprised if you hear Hollywood more often than Goodman. As for whether that’s a good or bad thing, you’ll find out soon enough.” He turned back to Sergeant Lincoln.

They did a quick set of warmups before dividing into fire teams, moving to the obstacle course. Logan glanced around, impressed by Fort Pickett’s setup: a quarter-mile track encircled an area packed with well-kept obstacles. The logs and walls looked solid and splinter-free.

Their group reached a six-foot wooden wall. Logan unbuttoned his uniform top, leaving only his regulation tee and pants.

Sergeant Adams had hopped the wall effortlessly, a bulging display of shoulders and arms. She pinned Logan with a hard stare. “Before you try the wall, Hollywood, give me fifty air squats.”

He resisted the urge to groan and spread his feet. As he started counting out reps, Adams matched him, squatting at a slightly faster pace.

“Is that body spray I’m sniffing?”

“It’s deodorant, Sergeant.”

“You’re in the real Army now, not some place where you’re afraid to get dirty. If you’re squeamish about sweat, you’re going to hate this job.”

“Hooah, Sergeant,” he replied, finishing the last squat despite the burn in his thighs.

She nodded at the wall. He lunged forward, grabbed the top, and hauled himself over with a determined grunt. Bron and Carter were already waiting on the other side.

Adams followed, paused, and jerked her chin at the ground. “Twenty old-school pushups, Hollywood.”

He dropped, balanced on his palms, and started pumping them out. It felt unfair, none of the others were getting singled out with extra reps, but he could guess what she was doing. She wanted to see whether he’d break. As soon as he wrapped them up, he hustled to rejoin Bron and Carter.

The next obstacle was a series of hurdles they had to clear with their hands on top of their heads.

“Hollywood, twenty flutter kicks,” Adams said the moment he stepped up.

He bit back a protest, though he noticed she wasn’t skipping any effort herself. She vaulted each log, her pelvis sliding over in a way that made him wince at the potential bruises. Once she finished, she dropped into jump lunges, making it obvious that she was pushing her own limits.

For the next hour, they ran from one station to the next: scaling walls, climbing ropes, crawling under wire. Logan’s arms and back ached, but he refused to slow down. By the last obstacle, a towering rope climb, he was drenched with sweat. He slapped the bell at the top, then slid down, breathing hard. Bron and Carter gave him discreet thumbs-up. At least he’d proven he could keep up.

Sergeant Lincoln called everyone together. “All right, gather up. Now we do relays. Four-by-four-hundred, in combat boots.”

Carter explained, “This is where Adams expects us to crush the other teams. Don’t lose.”

They headed to lane six, and Corporal Franklin set the running order: Bron, Franklin, Carter, then Logan anchoring. Bron took off first, powerful but inefficient, getting passed by a few runners. By the time he tagged Franklin, they were behind. Logan found himself yelling encouragement, the competitive spark alive in his chest. Franklin clawed back some distance, his long strides efficient. Sergeant Adams, running anchor for her own team, blazed around the track in a near-perfect stride.

Carter took their baton next, pushing them from fourth to third. Then Logan stepped up for the last leg. Lieutenant Parker waited in another lane, also anchoring. Parker shot him a sidelong glance. “You fast?”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” Logan said, heart pounding.

Parker launched first, but Logan’s adrenaline surged as soon as he felt the track under his boots. He caught the lieutenant within fifty meters, recognizing that Parker’s form was shaky. Logan had been a decent runner in high school, and he found the boots manageable for a single lap. Soon, he was in front, a comfortable lead stretching behind him.

In the last hundred meters, he realized it was just him and Parker duking it out while the rest of the pack trailed. Not wanting to completely overshadow his officer, Logan eased off and let Parker close the gap. They crossed the line nearly together. Parker’s eyes flicked with understanding, though he said nothing, and Logan figured he’d handled things diplomatically.

They broke to return to the barracks. Logan felt accomplished—he’d done well, and he hadn’t humiliated his platoon leader. But as he reached the parking lot where his truck waited, he saw Sergeant Adams leaning against his door, biceps flexed across her chest.

“Hollywood.”

“Sergeant?” He tried to sound calm, though his body was still sweaty and his stomach was growling.

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