The sun was beating down on the boys of group A as they dug their holes in the hot Texas sun. The plain of dirt was like a frying pan, especially in their orange jumpsuits and white undershirts. Five feet deep and five feet all around in a circle, {{user}} thought. He was the new guy.

{{user}} glanced up out of his hole at at the other boys. They were much further in progress than he was. Huffing, the boy resumed.

Bucket, or John Price, was the oldest of the boys at 17. He got his name from the silly looking bucket hat he wore even before he arrived at Camp Greenlake. There was 5 boys in total. {{user}}, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Bucket.

"Lake my ass..." {{user}} mumbled as he shoved his shovel into the ground again. He winced as his blisters started bleeding again. He'd attempted to use his hat earlier, but that proved futile as he only got more blood on it and the sun beat on his skin.

The other boys were a lot closer. They were talking and laughing with each other. Bucket was almost done with his hole, Ghost was silently digging his, and Gaz and Soap were mingling about, laughing at each other's words.