"Eff-aye-eff-aye-eff-aye-EFF!"

The drill instructor jogged along beside us, calling out the cadence. Every syllable was accompanied by the sound of two-dozen boots hitting the ground more or less together.

"Come on ladies! Pick up the pace! Only another three miles to go!"

Only three miles? Dammit. That meant we had covered seven miles at a walk-run pace. If the rest of the platoon were in the same state as me, they were footsore with thighs screaming in pain and about ready to puke. Only three miles? I was about ready to drop, but pride kept me going - pride that I had lasted seven miles. I could do those last three miles and make it to the end of the run without having to drop out of the formation.

"Get it together, maggots!" the drill instructor yelled.

I risked a backwards glance to see how the rest of the platoon was doing. Formation was a charitable description. We were spread out, the men at the back struggling to keep up or being dragged along by others.

"What in the name of hell are you lookin' at, you puke?" The drill instructor's voice nearly blew out my eardrums. Instantly my eyes went forward. I hated him. We all hated him. Right now, I hated him because he could run and still have the breath to chew me out in front of the others. I hated him because we were dripping with flop sweat and he only had neatly-pressed pit stains.

"Sir! Nothing, sir!" I tried to sound fierce, but my voice wasn't cooperating.

"That's what I thought! Eyes front! Tighten up!" The drill instructor looked back along the trail. "Keep it up! Are we havin' fun yet?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" we chanted.

"I can't hear you! Sound off!"

"SIR! YES, SIR!"

The drill instructor nodded in satisfaction."That's better. Eff-aye-eff-aye-eff-aye-EFF!"