Hell Week

Next, the whistle blows twice and we all start crawling through the slippery mud. It seeps into every crevice of my fatigues. The damp smell of earth and salt water surround me. My arms slip and slide in the mud as they try to find purchase. My grunts join those around me.

At least I'm not the only one struggling.

Three short blows of the whistle sound and we all stand up.

This sequence goes on for another ten minutes, nonstop. My whole body aches and I feel clammy from the damp mud clinging to my clothing.

Just four more days of this and it will be done.

I just want to prove to myself I can graduate BUDs. When I turned eighteen I decided I would stop being a quitter. I was sick and tired of the disappointment etched into my parents faces when I failed out of high school, never went to college and got into fights that ended with me in the hospital. I have so many regrets. But BUDs isn't one of them. When I entered the army my life changed. No more sleeping in, no more half assing, no more excuses.

I am doing this for myself, I never want to fall back into my old ways. I don't want to be that person anymore.

The men around me grunt as we all rise to our feet. George's groan is the most audible. "At this rate your class will never see Friday." Instructor Jefferson announces as if this is a fact, but really it's just his form of motivation. "Take five. For the next drill you're getting wet!"

Next to me I feel a rustle. "I don't think I can do this." It's George.

This isn't the first time I've heard those words spoken this week from other men.

"What do you mean, man?"

"I don't think I'm cut out for this. I hate this. All of it." He rakes his hands through his muddy, short blonde hair, not too different from my own.

My heart breaks for him. He seemed so confident earlier today, but this just shows how BUDs breaks people down.

As much as I want to tell him no, he can push through, it'll pass, I can't. I would be lying to him. So instead I just pat him on the back before he sulks away over to the instructors.

—

"Okay men time for surf passage. Take your boats waist deep into the water before you even think about getting in. Don't get crushed by the waves, don't abandon your team and don't start whining about the water. If you are lucky you won't end up in it." Instructor Montgomery announces before leaving us to grab our boats.

"We're down one man which isn't good. We'll have to work ten times harder to get past the surf." Frank says as we grab our boat. The thing is made out of rubber but it sure as hell isn't light. I place my hand under one of the ends of the boat and on three we heave it up onto our shoulders.

After a minute all the teams, some with four some with three men like us, line up on the shore ready to begin.

"Ready." One of the instructors yells above the crashing of the waves just barely visible in the early dawn light.

My fingers squeeze the boat in anticipation. The mud from earlier cracks against my bent knuckles.

"Set." My feet dig into the sand. Exhaustion pulls at me but I force it away.

"We got this." Frank whispers. Yes, we do. I can already feel the adrenaline pumping through my body, my exhaustion becoming a distant thought.

"Go!"

My feet strain against the sand under my feet as I start running in unison with my team. Some of the teams around us are falling behind while a few race ahead.