For the fifth time today your hands slam onto the dirt ground covered in jagged rocks as you trip over your feet from running up Currahee. When hasn’t it been hard for you? You felt weaker than the others, not to mention slower too.

You lacked the energy and ability to keep up with the rest, huffing as you look at your hands. Cuts littered your palms from the sharp edges on the rocks and you internally sigh. Another loss for today besides Sobel yelling at you.

Yet you couldn’t help but feel two arms wrap around your waist to pull you up, each being from a separate pair. Donald Malarkey and Skip Muck wouldn’t watch you in agony any longer, they cared too much for that.