Shannon nodded, and he returned the gesture. No words. Just recognition. Then he disappeared into the stairwell.
BASIC CADET TRAINING – DAY 12
It started with a weight run.
Weighted vests. Fifteen pounds, evenly distributed. Not enough to injure but enough to turn every step into resistance. Cadets were divided into pairs and sent on a staggered loop through the hills behind the north field. The air was dry, the trail uneven, and the sun offered no grace.
Shannon’s vest sat tight across her shoulders. She didn’t complain. No one did. Complaining wasn’t part of the culture, and anyone who tried was ignored.
She was paired with Cadet Thompson, a broad-shouldered boy from Nevada who ran like he had something to prove. They hit the first incline in silence, breath already laboring. Shannon kept pace. She always did.
By the third incline, her legs were beginning to shake. Thompson pulled ahead slightly, his breathing ragged but determined. Shannon matched his stride, willing herself not to fall behind. Her thighs burned. Her vision started to blur around the edges.
She told herself it was just the heat.
At the final checkpoint, a cadre stood waiting with a stopwatch.Krueger. He didn’t look up from the device as they passed but made a small note and called out, “McKenna, ten seconds slow on your incline pace.”
Shannon couldn’t respond. Her lungs felt heavy, her arms numb.
Krueger finally raised his head. “Sloppy.”
Shannon stumbled slightly. Thompson looked back, concern flickering across his face, but he didn’t slow.
Shannon kept going. By the time she reached the last bend in the trail, the vest felt like it was cutting into her spine. Her vision swam again. She blinked hard, trying to clear it. The trees shifted around her. Her legs buckled once, then caught.
Someone ahead called out a time. Another whistle. And then, her body stopped moving.
She hit the ground hard. The world tilted sideways. Gravel pressed into her cheek. Her mouth was dry. Her eyes wouldn’t stay open.
Voices moved around her, urgent but muffled. Then one voice cut through: “Move. Now.”
A shadow dropped beside her. Hands checked her neck, her breathing. A hand on her shoulder, pressure on her back. “You’re alright. Stay where you are.”
She blinked and tried to speak but couldn’t. She knew the voice.Olivo.
Someone else moved in. “Sir, she?—”
“I’ve got it.” There was steel in Olivo’s voice, but not panic. He was calm, with anchored command. “Vest off. Hydration pack now.”
She shivered as cool water hit the back of her neck. He pressed two fingers against the inside of her wrist. “She’s overheating. Pulse is shallow.”
“I…” Shannon tried again, throat raw.
“Don’t talk. You passed out for less than fifteen seconds. You’re going to be okay.” He looked up sharply. “Who was running her rotation?”
No answer.
He stood slowly, the quiet force of someone who did not yell but was always heard. “I want names,” Olivo said. “Now.”
Later,after medical cleared her and confirmed it was dehydration combined with exertional heat fatigue, Shannon sat in the shade near the field, vest off, water bottle clutched in both hands. Mia sat beside her, silent.
Across the yard, Krueger stood near a group of cadre. His expression was unreadable, hands behind his back. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t need to. She already knew.
That evening,a quiet knock at the squad bay door pulled her from her bunk. She opened it to find Olivo standing there. “Come with me.”
She followed until they stood beneath one of the walkway arches, out of earshot. The light overhead buzzed faintly.
“Have you had any issues with that cadet since our first conversation?”
