15h
I strongly believe Kyle is a formula one enjoyer. He’s also making fun of the guys for watching footie and getting all emotionally involved with the games.
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I strongly believe Kyle is a formula one enjoyer. He’s also making fun of the guys for watching footie and getting all emotionally involved with the games.
In a job so violent, it feels wrong to talk about his child. No one is in the mood to hear about a baby boy with pudgy little legs who wriggles like he has somewhere better to be.
But Kyle so desperately wants to talk about his baby boy. He doesn't like having to leave him at home with the missus, missing what little time left he has of the newborn scrunch and soothing him at night when his wife is asleep.
When he finds himself approached by Nikolai, he expects to have his last fag stolen from him or find himself entangled in a joke he'll have to adamantly pretend wasn't funny the next time he sees his captain.
"So, you're a father? If his name isn't Nikolai, I'm going to be disappointed, Sergeant. I'd assumed we were over the mishap with the heli."
Then again, Nikolai is a man of many surprises.
"Sorry to disappoint, Nik, but his name is Ethan."
The pilot sighs, loud and dramatic, but his smile is hard to disguise under all of his feigned anguish. The hand on Kyle's shoulder grips tightly, and suddenly Kyle is aware that he isn't getting out of the conversation. Better yet, he doesn't want to.
"Ah, like Mission Impossible. Acceptable. What's fatherhood like? I assume it's mostly piss, spitting up and crying. And then there's the baby."
His son is actually named after his wife's brother, but the idea of naming an infant after a Tom Cruise character is infinitely funnier.
Chapter Eight — Blue Phase
Chapter Eight — Blue Phase
The recruits had made it through Red Phase. They had survived the screaming, the wall lockers, the endless corrections, the PT that started before sunrise and seemed designed by people who hated knees. They had made it through White Phase too. Weapons familiarity. Accountability. Range days. Cleaning rifles until their fingers cramped. Learning that marksmanship was less about looking cool and more about breath control, discipline, and not doing anything stupid with something that could kill someone.
And now, with bruised shoulders, sharper movements, and a little more confidence in their eyes— They entered Blue Phase. The Forge Phase. The final stretch. Hozhoni stood at the front of the formation just before dawn, campaign hat low and uniform crisp despite the cold bite in the air.
Ramirez stood to her right. Cooper stood on her left. Bennett paced behind the formation, silent in the way that made every recruit suddenly remember all their sins. The trainees stood in full gear, rucks at their feet, faces tight with exhaustion and anticipation.
They knew what was coming. Long road marches. Field problems. Tactical movement drills. Leadership lanes. Convoy live-fire exercises. Then The Forge itself. Days in the field. Minimal sleep. Heavy packs. Long miles. Stress. Pressure. The test of whether they could keep moving when they were too tired to think.
Hozhoni looked over every face. Some were confident now. Some were trying to look confident. Some had that familiar distant expression of someone realizing this was no longer a game they could muscle through with attitude alone. Then Hozhoni squared her shoulders.
“Listen up.”
The recruits snapped still.
“Blue Phase does not care what you know in a classroom.”
No one moved.
“Blue Phase cares what you do when it is dark, your feet hurt, your shoulders are burning, and the soldier beside you is struggling.”
She walked slowly down the line.
“You are going to ruck farther than you think you can. You are going to move faster than you want to. You are going to be tired, hungry, irritated, and sick of looking at each other.”
A few recruits swallowed.
Hozhoni stopped in front of one private whose ruck straps were visibly too loose.
“You are going to learn that leadership is not a rank.”
The private stared straight ahead.
“It is not yelling the loudest. It is not being the strongest. It is not being the fastest person on the road march.”
Her eyes moved over the entire formation.
“Leadership is noticing when someone is falling behind. Leadership is checking your battle buddy’s water. Leadership is speaking up when something is wrong. Leadership is doing the right thing even when nobody is watching.”
For the first time that morning, her voice softened. Not much. ust enough.
“Because the person beside you may be the one who gets you home.”
The formation stood silent. Then Ramirez stepped forward.
“Blue Phase starts now!” he shouted. “Get your rucks on!”
The field exploded into motion. Straps snapped. Boots hit dirt. Recruits groaned as packs settled onto aching shoulders. Hozhoni moved through them, checking buckles, tightening load-bearing straps, correcting the way hands sat against chest straps.
“No loose webbing.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Your waist belt is useless where it is, Private.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“You’re carrying the weight too low. Fix it.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
One recruit fought with their ruck for nearly thirty seconds, frustration building fast. Hozhoni stopped beside them.
“Look at me.”
The recruit froze.
“You know how to do this.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“You’re tired.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“That does not mean you forgot how to think.”
The recruit breathed in. Hozhoni crouched beside the pack, showed them the adjustment once, then stood again.
“Try it.”
The private did. This time, the straps settled correctly. Hozhoni nodded once.
“Good. Now move.”
The first road march was supposed to be an assessment. It became a warning. The sun was barely up when the formation hit the road, boots striking in uneven rhythm under the weight of their rucks. The air warmed quickly. Sweat darkened uniforms. Faces tightened as the miles began to add up. Ramirez stayed at the front, setting a punishing but manageable pace. Cooper moved along the outer edge of the formation, correcting spacing and posture. Bennett walked the rear, watching anyone who started to fall back. Hozhoni moved everywhere. One minute she was near the front, checking a recruit whose shoulder strap had rubbed raw through their uniform.
The next, she was in the middle of the formation, telling two battle buddies to stop whispering and focus on their breathing. Then she was at the back, walking beside a recruit whose gait had started to break down.
“Feet under you,” she said.
The recruit panted. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Don’t stare at the road ten feet ahead.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Pick a point. Get to it. Pick another one.”
The recruit nodded, breathing hard.
“That’s it,” Hozhoni said. “You don’t need to finish all the miles right now. You need to finish the next stretch.”
The recruit looked at her. Recognition flickered across their face. It was the same thing she had said during White Phase. One task. Then the next. Hozhoni kept walking beside them.
“Can you make it to that sign?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Then make it to that sign.”
They did. By the time the formation reached the training site, the recruits looked wrecked. But they were still standing. That mattered.
“Drop rucks!” Cooper called.
The sound of packs hitting dirt rolled down the line.
“Hydrate!”
Water bottles came out. Hozhoni watched them drink, watched hands shake from fatigue, watched battle buddies check each other without being told. A private noticed another recruit’s canteen was nearly empty and immediately offered theirs. they waterfalled from the canteen. Hozhoni saw it, shuttered with disgust shouldnt be sharing but to each their own. She did not smile. But something in her chest eased. Maybe they were learning. Maybe the lesson was landing. Later that afternoon, the recruits moved into tactical movement lanes. The mood shifted. No more roads. No more obvious finish line. Now it was low crawling through dirt, moving in pairs, responding to commands, learning how to communicate without shouting over each other.
“Move!”
The recruits pushed forward.
“Cover!”
They dropped.
“Bound!”
One element moved while another held security. Hozhoni paced behind them, voice clipped and precise.
“Watch your sectors!”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“You are not sightseeing, Private!”
“No, Drill Sergeant!”
“Your battle buddy moves, you move!”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
A recruit hesitated during a simulated contact drill. Just one second too long. Hozhoni was beside them immediately.
“Why did you freeze?”
The recruit’s eyes widened.
“I—I didn’t know if I should move, Drill Sergeant!”
“Then what should you have done?”
“Communicate, Drill Sergeant!”
“Exactly.”
Her tone stayed hard, but not cruel.
“Uncertainty does not excuse silence. You do not have to know everything. You do have to communicate.”
The recruit nodded quickly.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Again.”
The lane reset. This time, the recruit called out clearly, moved when directed, and stayed connected to their team. Hozhoni watched them finish.
Then, quietly enough that only they heard, she said, “Better.”
The recruit’s face shifted. A tiny thing. But it gave them enough energy to keep moving. By the second day, everyone hurt. The recruits hurt. The drill sergeants hurt. Even Troy, when he passed them near the range complex, looked at Hozhoni’s field gear and gave her a sympathetic wince.
“Blue Phase?” he asked.
Hozhoni adjusted her gloves. “Obviously.”
“You look thrilled.”
“I am thrilled.”
“You look like you want to throw someone into a ravine.”
“I can be thrilled and want that.”
Troy laughed.
Kyle stood near a recruiting vehicle a few feet away, arms folded, watching her with an expression that immediately irritated Hozhoni.
“What?” she asked.
Kyle’s mouth curved.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“Observing.”
“That is worse.”
“I think you look good.”
Troy groaned instantly.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Hozhoni’s eyes narrowed under the brim of her campaign hat.
“In field gear?”
Kyle’s grin deepened. “Especially in field gear.”
“Garrick.”
“Yes?”
“You are in public.”
“Very aware.”
“You are going to get smoked by association.”
Troy pointed at Kyle. “I’m not taking responsibility for him when you do.”
Kyle looked entirely unbothered. Hozhoni tried to glare at him. She really did. But then he glanced down at the dirt smeared across her cheek, and his expression softened. That was worse. Much worse.
“You eating?” he asked quietly.
Her eyes narrowed again. “Yes.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
“Sleep?”
“No.”
Troy snorted. Kyle’s face stayed serious.
“Hozhoni.”
“I’m fine.”
“Did you eat?”
She hesitated. Kyle’s brow lifted.
Troy laughed under his breath. “Caught.”
“I had coffee.”
“That isn’t food,” Kyle said.
“It is if you believe in it.”
“That is not how nutrition works.”
Hozhoni crossed her arms. “You recruit privates. You are not my medic.”
“No,” Kyle said. “I’m the guy asking whether you ate today.”
The words landed softer than she wanted.
Troy looked away, suddenly busy checking his watch.
Hozhoni’s jaw flexed.
“I’ll eat at chow.”
Kyle held her gaze. “Promise?”
She hated that she wanted to say it. Hated even more that she did.
“Promise.”
Kyle nodded once.
“Good.”
Then he stepped back before she could accuse him of hovering. The restraint made her chest feel strange. Hozhoni looked away first.
“Go recruit somebody.”
Kyle smiled. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Troy watched Kyle walk off, then turned to Hozhoni with a look that was entirely too knowing.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it loudly.”
“He likes you.”
“He likes irritating me.”
“Both can be true.”
Hozhoni adjusted the strap on her vest.
“Your formation is waiting.”
Troy grinned. “Deflection. Classic.”
“Marshall.”
“Alright, alright.” He started walking backward. “Eat, Kraken.”
She glared. He laughed and disappeared around the range building. That evening, the recruits moved into convoy live-fire familiarization. The instructors gave the commands. The trainees listened. Every movement was controlled. Every piece of equipment accounted for. Every correction immediate. Hozhoni stood behind the line, watching recruits work through drills under pressure. The sharp crack of weapons fire rolled across the training area in controlled bursts. The recruits flinched at first. Then adjusted. Focused. Moved. One private completed a drill cleanly for the first time and looked up like they could not believe it. Hozhoni met their eyes and nodded once.
“Keep that standard.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
Another recruit got overwhelmed by the noise. Hozhoni saw the tension in their shoulders before anyone else did. She stepped beside them.
“Eyes on your task.”
The recruit nodded.
“Not the whole range. Not the noise. Not everyone watching.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“One task.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Do it.”
They did. Afterward, the recruit looked at her with startled relief. Hozhoni moved on before they could say thank you. That was not why she did it.
But she heard the whispered, “Thank you, Drill Sergeant,” anyway.
By the end of the week, the recruits had changed. They were still tired. Still clumsy sometimes. Still capable of making mistakes that made all four drill sergeants question the future of the Army. But their formation was tighter. Their gear was better. Their eyes were sharper. They checked on each other now. Not perfectly. But more often. More naturally.
And when someone struggled, another recruit would step in before cadre had to. Hozhoni noticed every time. The night before The Forge, the drill sergeants stood at the edge of the training area looking out at the recruits’ temporary field site. Small red lights glowed in the darkness. Gear was laid out. Boots were checked. Water bladders filled. The recruits moved with quiet urgency, knowing tomorrow would start before they were ready. Ramirez took a drink from his canteen.
“They’ll make it.”
Cooper shrugged. “Most of them.”
Bennett looked toward a group of recruits struggling to secure a tarp. “Some of them will complain until graduation.”
“That’s tradition,” Ramirez said.
Hozhoni stood quietly, arms folded over her chest. Troy had wandered over from his own section of training. He watched her for a moment.
“You good?” he asked.
Hozhoni looked toward the formation.
“They’re nervous.”
“They should be.”
“They think The Forge is about not quitting.”
Troy nodded. “It is.”
“No,” she said softly. “It’s about learning what to do when you want to quit.”
He looked at her. Hozhoni’s gaze stayed on the recruits.
“One of them is going to look at me tomorrow like they can’t take another step,” she said. “And I need to make sure they know they can.”
Troy’s expression gentled.
“You will.”
She glanced at him.
“You think?”
“I’ve watched you for years, Hozhoni.” He nodded toward the field. “You’ll make them hate you before breakfast. You’ll make them carry more than they think they can. You’ll scare the hell out of them.”
Hozhoni’s mouth twitched.
“But when it matters,” Troy continued, “you always know when to be their drill sergeant and when to be the person who gets them through the next mile.”
For a moment, she said nothing. Then Kyle appeared beside Troy, carrying two MRE heaters and a small bag of snacks. Hozhoni eyed him suspiciously.
“What is that?”
Kyle held out the bag.
“Food.”
“I said I’d eat at chow.”
“You did.”
“And?”
“You ate approximately four bites of chicken and one roll.”
Troy’s face split into a grin. Hozhoni stared at Kyle.
“Were you watching me?”
Kyle looked entirely too calm.
“Observing.”
“Creepy.”
“Concerned.”
“Same thing.”
Kyle handed her the bag anyway. Inside were protein bars, crackers, trail mix, and a bottle of water. Hozhoni looked down at it. Then up at him. “You brought snacks.”
“You’re in a multi-day field training exercise.”
“I know.”
“I know you know.”
Troy sighed. “God, you two are exhausting.”
Hozhoni took the bag. Not because she needed it. Obviously. But because Kyle had noticed. Because he had remembered. Because he had not made it into a big thing.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Kyle’s smile softened. “Anytime.”
Her eyes flicked to his. That word again. Always the same. Always dangerous. Troy looked between them and groaned dramatically.
“I’m going home before one of you starts slow-dancing beside a Humvee.”
Hozhoni threw a protein bar at him. He caught it easily and laughed as he walked away. Kyle stayed. The field was quiet around them. The recruits were being herded toward their sleeping areas. The drill sergeants were finishing final checks. Tomorrow, Hozhoni would be Kraken again. She would march them hard. She would demand more. She would make them prove to themselves that exhaustion did not get the final say. But tonight, with the weight of The Forge waiting just beyond sunrise, she stood beside Kyle in the cool darkness and opened the bag of snacks. Kyle watched her unwrap a protein bar.
“You eating because I told you to?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’m eating because I’m smart.”
“Of course.”
“And because I need energy.”
“Definitely.”
“And because if I pass out, Marshall will be unbearable.”
Kyle laughed softly.
“Also true.”
Hozhoni took a bite, then looked toward the dark field.
“They’re going to hate me tomorrow.”
Kyle stood beside her, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers once.
“Maybe.”
“They’ll be miserable.”
“Probably.”
“They’ll complain about me at graduation.”
“Absolutely.”
Hozhoni’s mouth curved.
Then Kyle looked at her.
“But years from now,” he said, “they’ll remember you were there when they thought they couldn’t keep going.”
Her smile faded into something quieter.
She looked down at the protein bar in her hand.
“You always say things like that.”
“Only when I mean them.”
Hozhoni breathed out slowly.
Then she nudged his shoulder with hers.
“Go home, Garrick.”
Kyle smiled.
“You first.”
“I have duty.”
“Then I’ll let you work.”
“That was not an invitation to stand there staring at me.”
“Observing.”
“Annoying.”
“Still not boring.”
Hozhoni shook her head, but she smiled as she turned back toward the field.
Tomorrow, the recruits would begin The Forge.
Tomorrow, they would hurt.
They would doubt.
They would want to quit.
And Drill Sergeant Hozhoni “Kraken” Vargas would be there in front of them, campaign hat low, voice loud enough to carry through the dark.
Not because she wanted to break them.
Because she wanted them to discover they were harder to break than they believed.
Chapter Seven — No Campaign Hat
By late afternoon, the heat had started to settle over the base in slow, heavy waves. Hozhoni had spent the entire day in uniform. Campaign hat. Rank. Boots. The voice. By the time she got back to her quarters, she felt like every inch of her skin had been wrapped too tight. She showered longer than usual. Not because she needed to. Because she needed a few minutes where no one could ask her a question.
No recruit could snap to parade rest. No cadre could pull her into another briefing. No one could look at her like she had every answer. When she finally came out, she stood in front of the small mirror over her dresser with a towel around her shoulders and stared at herself.
Her hair was down. Her face was bare. No uniform. No name tape. No rank. Just Hozhoni.
She pulled on black jeans, worn boots, and an oversized dark green sweatshirt. Nothing military. Nothing sharp. Her hair stayed loose over her shoulders. Then she grabbed her keys. Her phone buzzed as she reached the door.
Kyle: You heading somewhere?
Hozhoni stared at the message. She had not told him about Bell’s transition appointment. Had not told Troy either. She typed back.
Hozhoni: Maybe.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Kyle: That means yes.
She rolled her eyes.
Hozhoni: You recruit for a living. Stop profiling me.
Kyle: Not profiling. Observing.
Hozhoni: Annoying.
Kyle: You said that already.
She slipped her phone into her pocket before he could send another message. The building Bell was waiting in sat on the quieter side of base, away from the barracks and training fields. It was not dramatic. No flashing lights. No big signs that shouted something happened here.
Just a clean administrative building beside behavioral health and the transition office. A place where soldiers got redirected. Paused. Helped. The waiting room was nearly empty when Hozhoni stepped inside. One receptionist sat behind a desk. A duty NCO stood near the hall with a clipboard.
And Private Bell sat in a chair near the window with a duffel bag at their feet. Out of uniform. That was the first thing Hozhoni noticed. No PT shirt. No boots lined up just right. No name tape. Just jeans, a gray hoodie, and tired eyes. Bell looked younger without the uniform. Not like a failure. Just young. They were staring out the window when Hozhoni entered.
They glanced over once. Their eyes passed over her. No recognition. Good. That was the point. Hozhoni had asked the duty NCO for five minutes. No records. No counseling. No pressure. No official conversation as their drill sergeant. Just five minutes. The duty NCO had looked uncertain at first. Then, after seeing her out of uniform, had nodded. Bell looked back out the window.Hozhoni approached slowly and stopped a few feet away.
“Mind if I sit?”
Bell looked up. Their expression was guarded. Polite. They clearly thought she was another person waiting for an appointment.
“Uh… no, ma’am.”
Hozhoni sat in the chair beside them. For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything. Neither did Bell. The quiet was different now. No recruit bay. No yelling. No pressure to answer correctly. Just the low hum of an air conditioner and a clock ticking too loudly above the receptionist’s desk. Bell looked toward the duffel bag.
“I’m getting recycled,” they said.
Hozhoni nodded slowly.
“Yeah.”
Bell glanced at her again, confused by the answer.
“They said I’m going to get some time to reset,” they continued. “Then I’ll go into the next cycle.”
“That sounds right.”
Bell’s mouth tightened.
“I messed everything up.”
Hozhoni looked down at her hands. Then back at them. “You had a bad night.”
Bell swallowed. “I almost didn’t.”
“I know.”
The recruit’s eyes flicked to her face again. This time, they looked closer. Hozhoni kept her voice soft.
“You did the hard part.”
Bell gave a hollow little laugh. “I failed basic training.”
“No.”
Bell looked at her. Hozhoni met their eyes. “You paused training because you needed help. That is not the same as failing.”
The words seemed to sit between them. Bell looked down.
“I don’t know if I can come back.”
“You don’t have to decide that today.”
“What if I can’t?”
“Then you keep taking care of yourself until you know what comes next.”
Bell twisted the drawstring of their hoodie around their fingers.
“You sound like someone I know.”
Hozhoni’s mouth almost curved.
“Maybe I just have a familiar face.”
Bell stared at her. Then their eyes widened. Not all at once. Slowly. Their gaze moved over the loose hair, the sweatshirt, the bare hands without a watch or rank, then back to her face.
“Drill Sergeant?”
Hozhoni exhaled quietly.
“Off-duty,” she said. “So today, just Hozhoni.”
Bell stared at her. “You came here?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
The question wasn’t accusing. It was genuinely confused. Like they could not understand why the woman who had torn apart their locker and made them stand in front of the entire bay had gotten in her car, changed clothes, and come to sit in a quiet room beside them. Hozhoni leaned back in the chair.
“Because I said I’d check on you.”
Bell’s eyes filled immediately. Hozhoni looked away for a moment, giving them privacy as they wiped their face.
“I didn’t think you meant it,” Bell whispered.
“I did.”
“You were mad at me.”
“I was mad about the locker.”
Bell looked at her.
“Not at you,” Hozhoni clarified. “There’s a difference.”
The recruit’s face crumpled a little. Hozhoni’s voice stayed firm, but gentle.
“Bell, you made mistakes. You’re going to make more. Everybody does. But none of that means you deserve to be left alone when things get bad.”
Bell looked down at their hands.
“I was scared you’d hate me.”
Hozhoni’s throat tightened. She looked at the young soldier beside her and saw all the things Bell probably believed about themself. Too weak. Too far behind. Too broken to come back. She hated every one of them.
“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly.
Bell’s breathing hitched.
“You scared me,” Hozhoni admitted. “But I don’t hate you.”
The honesty landed better than a false promise ever could. Bell nodded, wiping at their cheeks.
“I’m sorry.”
Hozhoni tilted her head.
“What did I say about apologies?”
Bell gave the smallest, shakiest smile.
“No apologies for surviving.”
“Exactly.”
The waiting room stayed quiet. Then Bell looked toward the duffel bag again.“What happens when I come back?”
“You’ll have a new cycle.”
“New drill sergeants?”
“Probably.”
Bell went pale. Hozhoni noticed.
“They won’t know you as the recruit who had a bad night,” she said. “They’ll know you as Private Bell, starting training again.”
“What if everyone judges me?”
“Some people might. Some people judge because they’re scared of things they don’t understand.” Hozhoni’s eyes sharpened slightly. “That says more about them than it will ever say about you.”
Bell looked at her.
“You really think I can do it?”
Hozhoni considered that. She could have said yes immediately. Could have made it sound easy. But she would not lie to a recruit just to make a moment feel better. “I think you can try again,” she said. “And I think you deserve to try again with more support than you had before.”
Bell swallowed.
“That’s not the same as saying I’ll pass.”
“No,” Hozhoni said. “It isn’t.”
The recruit nodded slowly.
“But it means you don’t write yourself off before you find out.”
That got another shaky smile.
A staff member appeared in the hallway with paperwork in hand.
“Private Bell?”
Bell stood, their shoulders tense. Hozhoni stood too. For one second, Bell hesitated. Then they stepped toward her. Not close enough to assume anything. Just waiting. Hozhoni opened her arms. Bell folded into her carefully, holding on like they were trying not to cry again. Hozhoni hugged them back. Not long. Not enough to make it complicated. Just enough.
“You stay,” she murmured near their temple. “You hear me?”
Bell nodded against her shoulder.
“One day at a time.”
“One day at a time,” Bell whispered.
They pulled back.
Bell looked at her one last time.
“Thank you, Drill Sergeant.”
Hozhoni shook her head gently. Then they picked up their duffel bag and followed the staff member down the hall. Hozhoni stayed where she was until the door closed behind them. Only then did she let out the breath she had been holding. Her phone buzzed. She already knew who it was.
Kyle: You alright?
Hozhoni stared at the message for a second. Then typed back.
Hozhoni: Bell is safe.
The reply came almost immediately.
Kyle: Good.
Another message followed.
Kyle: Are you?
Hozhoni looked toward the hallway where Bell had disappeared. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then she answered honestly.
Hozhoni: I think so.
Kyle’s response took a little longer this time.
Kyle: Honest enough.
Hozhoni’s mouth twitched. She typed one more message.
Hozhoni: Don’t get emotional.
His answer came back.
Kyle: Too late, loser.
For the first time all day, Hozhoni smiled.
Chapter Six
Chapter Six — White Phase
Morning arrived far too fast. By 0430, the trainee barracks were awake. Boots hit tile. Lockers slammed. Showers hissed. Cadence started somewhere outside, too loud and too early, while recruits stumbled through the first minutes of another day pretending their bodies didn’t ache.
But something was different. Private Bell’s bunk was empty. Their mattress had been stripped and remade by cadre before most of the bay had even woken up. Their locker was secured. Their name tape remained where it belonged. Nothing was left out for the others to stare at.
Still, recruits noticed. Of course they did. They noticed the empty space during accountability formation. They noticed when one less voice answered roll call. They noticed the silence where Bell’s nervous jokes normally lived.
No one asked. No one whispered. Not after the previous day. Not after the barracks had been torn apart over an unlocked locker. And not after Drill Sergeant Vargas stepped onto the PT field looking like she had slept maybe twenty minutes, if that. Her campaign hat sat low. Her uniform was perfect. Her face gave nothing away.
“Formation!” she called.
The recruits snapped into position. Kyle stood at the edge of the field with Troy and the other drill instructors, coffee in hand, watching the formation settle under the cold gray morning. Troy glanced at him.
“She looks rough.”
Kyle kept his eyes on Hozhoni. “She is.”
Troy nodded once. Across the field, Hozhoni paced in front of the recruits. Normally, her presence alone made them brace for impact. Today, they still did, but something in her voice was different. Still sharp. Still commanding. Just… measured.
“Today,” she said, “you will run because you are soldiers in training. You will push because your body needs to learn it can do more than your mind tells it. You will not quit because quitting is contagious.”
The recruits stared straight ahead. Hozhoni stopped in front of them. “But you will also pay attention to each other.”
A few eyes shifted. Her gaze cut across the ranks.
“You are not invisible just because you are tired. Your battle buddy is not invisible because you are focused on yourself. If something is wrong, you speak up. You do not mock it. You do not ignore it. You do not wait until it becomes someone else’s problem.”
No one breathed. Kyle watched several recruits swallow hard. Hozhoni’s jaw tightened.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“I said, understood?”
“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!”
“Good. Start moving.”
PT began. And the other three drill instructors apparently decided mercy was a weakness. Drill Sergeant Ramirez took the lead on the run, cadence booming across the track while recruits struggled to keep spacing.
“Pick your feet up!” he yelled. “You are not jogging through a mall!”
Drill Sergeant Cooper stalked the edges of the formation, finding every slumped shoulder and every lazy arm swing.
“If you can complain, you can breathe! If you can breathe, you can run!”
The fourth drill instructor, Staff Sergeant Bennett, was somehow worse. Quiet at first, which made the recruits nervous. Then one private slowed. Bennett appeared at their side like a nightmare.
“You tired, Private?”
“No, Drill Sergeant!”
“Great. Then run faster.”
The formation groaned collectively. Hozhoni didn’t join in. Not fully. She stayed near the rear, correcting stride, adjusting pacing, making sure no one fell too far behind. When one recruit stumbled, she caught their elbow before they hit the ground, steadying them only long enough to keep them moving.
“Eyes up,” she told them quietly. “You’re alright. Breathe. Keep going.”
The recruit nodded, startled by the lack of yelling.
Then Hozhoni raised her voice for everyone.
“DO NOT MAKE ME REGRET BEING NICE BEFORE SUNRISE!”
The formation found another burst of speed. Troy watched her, arms folded over his chest.
“She’s trying not to scare them.”
Kyle glanced at him. “That’s still her version of trying?”
Troy snorted softly. “You should’ve seen her two years ago.”
Kyle looked back toward Hozhoni. Even exhausted, even carrying last night behind her eyes, she was still watching every recruit. Every pace. Every wobble. Every head that dipped too low. She was not letting another person disappear in front of her. After PT, the recruits were given exactly enough time to shower, eat, and get their gear before being marched toward the training lanes.
White Phase had begun. The energy changed the second they reached the training bay. Red Phase had stripped them down. White Phase started putting them back together. The recruits sat in rows with training manuals, notebooks, and blank expressions that tried desperately to look motivated. On the wall behind the instructors was a large board listing the weeks ahead:
Weapons Familiarization.
Maintenance and Accountability.
Marksmanship Fundamentals.
Map Reading.
The M4 rifle racks stood at the front of the room, secured and orderly. The recruits looked at them with a mix of fear and fascination. Hozhoni stood beside the instructor’s podium, arms folded behind her back.
“Listen carefully,” she said.
Her voice was not loud. It didn’t have to be.
“This phase is not about pretending you are already warriors. It is about learning the responsibility that comes with becoming one.”
The room went quiet.
“You will learn your weapon system. You will learn how to care for it, account for it, and respect it. You will learn the fundamentals you need before you ever step onto a qualification range.”
A recruit near the back sat a little straighter.
“You will learn land navigation. You will learn to read terrain instead of trusting a screen to tell you where you are. You will learn combatives.”
Her eyes moved across the room.
“But you will not cut corners.”
Nobody moved.
“You will not play with equipment. You will not make jokes when someone is learning. You will not treat any of this like a game because the consequences outside this building are not theoretical.”
Kyle stood near the back of the classroom beside Troy, technically there to observe the transition briefing for recruiting coordination. But he barely heard the officer speaking beside him. He was watching Hozhoni. Her tone was different than it had been the morning before. Still hard. Still exact. But the recruits were listening in a different way. Not just because they were afraid of her. Because they understood she meant every word. A private raised a hand.
Hozhoni looked at them. “Speak.”
“Drill Sergeant… is Private Bell getting recycled?”
A heavy silence dropped over the room. Every recruit stayed facing forward, but Kyle saw the tension in their shoulders. Hozhoni didn’t answer immediately. She looked at the empty seat Bell should have been in. Then back at the recruit.
“Private Bell is getting help,” she said.
Her voice stayed controlled. Professional. But not cold.
“Their training timeline will be assessed according to policy. That is not your business beyond this: you will not gossip about them, you will not speculate, and you will not make their absence into entertainment.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“If Private Bell returns to training, they will be treated like every other soldier in this formation. If they recycle into the next cycle, they will still be treated with dignity.”
The recruit nodded. Hozhoni’s eyes hardened.
“And if I hear any of you using their name as a joke, you will learn exactly how long a day can be.”
“No, Drill Sergeant!”
“Good.”
She turned back to the front.
“Bell is not weak for needing help. Understand that now, before you leave this room and repeat the same mistake somewhere else.”
That one landed. Kyle saw it. The recruits didn’t look scared this time. They looked ashamed. Thoughtful. Older than they had thirty seconds ago. Hozhoni’s shoulders squared.
“Now. Open your manuals.”
The lesson continued. The recruits learned terminology, safety expectations, parts identification, and the seriousness of weapon accountability. Their instructors moved through the rows, correcting posture, asking questions, making them repeat procedures until the information stopped feeling foreign. Troy leaned toward Kyle.
“She’ll have to recycle Bell.”
Kyle nodded slowly. “One missed day?”
“One missed day in this phase can snowball,” Troy said. “They can’t skip required training. Bell will likely be placed with the next incoming cycle once medical clears them.”
Kyle’s jaw tightened.
“That’s rough.”
“It is.” Troy looked toward Hozhoni. “But it’s not failure. Sometimes the Army acts like timelines are everything. Vargas knows better than that.”
Kyle watched Hozhoni walk past the empty seat again. Her hand brushed the edge of the desk for half a second. Then she kept moving. Later, outside near the training lanes, recruits practiced basic movements under close supervision. Their equipment remained secured. Their instructors stayed near. Nobody was left alone with their thoughts for too long.
Hozhoni hovered near the edge of the formation. Not obviously. But Kyle noticed. A recruit struggled with their confidence, hands shaking as they tried to focus. Hozhoni stepped beside them. The recruit stiffened, expecting fire. Instead, Hozhoni crouched slightly so her voice could stay low.
“Look at me.”
The recruit did.
“You’re thinking too far ahead.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“You’re thinking about doing everything perfectly.”
The recruit swallowed.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Stop.”
Their eyes widened. Hozhoni tapped two fingers against the side of their training manual.
“One task,” she said. “Then the next. You don’t have to carry the whole week in your head.”
The recruit nodded slowly.
“Can you do one task?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Good. Do that one.”
She stood, her voice carrying over the rest of the lane.
“Attention to detail is not panic. Discipline is not panic. You will learn the difference.”
Kyle felt Troy look at him.
“What?” Kyle asked quietly.
Troy smirked. “You’re in deep.”
Kyle didn’t deny it. Because he was. The day dragged into afternoon. By then, the recruits were exhausted, sunburned at the edges, and taking in more information than their minds could comfortably hold. But White Phase had begun, and for the first time, some of them looked less like terrified civilians in matching uniforms. They looked like they might become soldiers. Near the end of the day, Hozhoni called the formation to attention. The recruits snapped still.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “we continue.”
A groan threatened to rise from the ranks. Her eyes narrowed. It died instantly.
“You will come prepared. You will arrive on time. You will know your assigned materials. You will respect your instructors, your equipment, and each other.”
Her gaze lingered briefly on the empty place Bell had occupied in formation. Then she looked at every recruit in front of her.
“You do not leave people behind because they are struggling. You get them help. You keep moving. You hold the standard.”
The formation stood silent.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Dismissed.”
The recruits marched off toward chow. Kyle waited until the last of them had gone before approaching Hozhoni. She remained standing in the dust near the training lane, arms crossed, campaign hat shadowing her face.
“You were easier on them,” he said.
Her eyes slid toward him.
“No, I wasn’t.”
Kyle smiled faintly. “You were.”
“I was professional.”
“You were both.”
Hozhoni looked away.
Her voice came out quieter. “They need to learn.”
“They are.”
“They need to understand that Bell isn’t a joke.”
Kyle nodded. “They do.”
She exhaled slowly, eyes on the distant barracks.
“They’ll recycle Bell.”
“Yeah.”
“They’re going to think they failed.”
Kyle stepped closer, but not too close.
“Then when they’re ready, someone needs to tell them recycling isn’t the same thing as being discarded.”
Hozhoni’s eyes lifted to his.
For a second, the hard line of her mouth wavered.
“You always have an answer?”
“No,” Kyle said honestly. “Just opinions.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
She huffed a tiny laugh.
Kyle looked at her more carefully.
“You okay?”
Her immediate instinct was visible. The shrug. The deflection. The joke. Then she stopped herself.
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
Kyle nodded.
“That’s honest enough.”
Her gaze softened.
“Marshall say that?”
“Maybe.”
“Of course he did.”
“He’s annoyingly wise.”
“He’s divorced.”
Kyle laughed. Hozhoni’s mouth curved, small and tired but real. Then she looked back toward the barracks.
“Bell’s evaluation is in 48 hours.”
“You going?”
“If they’ll let me.”
“They should.”
“They don’t need their drill sergeant hovering.”
Kyle was quiet for a moment.
“Maybe they need the person who found them to remind them they weren’t abandoned.”
Hozhoni’s throat moved. She looked down at the dust around her boots.
“Maybe.”
Kyle didn’t push. He just stood beside her in the late afternoon sun while the last echoes of training faded across the field. And for a few quiet seconds, Kraken didn’t have to be the loudest person on base. She just had to be there.
"They sent us in half-assed… so everyone can just keep pretending we're not at war."
Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Grunge! Reader
Head cannon
Kyle who meets you in a record shop that you worked in and you wrote your number on the receipt coz of a dare your coworker had given you to write
“Call me xxxxxxxxxxx”
On the next recipe you gave out. You confessed this to Gaz on the first date and honestly he didn’t care coz once he asked you out again you said yes.
Kyle who takes you to a roof top for your second dates to listen to music, dance, talk and smoke because he wanted to get to know you deeper than he could in a crowded cafe
Kyle who lets you draw all over his gear in white permanent marker because he knows your a creative person and also because he wants everyone to know how talented his partner is
“See what she did? Ain’t she the best artist you’ve ever seen?”
“Gunna ask her to customise my gun and comms next.”
“I can get her to commission some art for you if you want.”
Your number one promoter
Kyle who the first time you have sex gets so nervous about impressing you he completely missed your hole and ends up in your backside. Luckily you’re okay with it or it could have ended badly.
Kyle who is a slut for Anal since the first accidental time you had it. He loves cumming in you but is too scared to become a dad so always cums in your arse so he can still fill you take every drop from him
Kyle who’s more subby then dom because he loves seeing you pushing him against the wall one leg resting on the table next to him and the other steadying you as you push him in and out of your pussy or arse.
“That’s it baby take what you want just take it.”
“It’s yours all yours.”
“I’ll be a good boy just don’t fuckin’ stop.”
Kyle who keep a Polaroid of you taped to his gun so everytime he pulls the trigger he grazes over your face and remembers who he’s doing this for
Kyle who respects you not wanting to move in with him while he’s still in the task force. And settles for you living him with while he’s home and going back to your own flat while he’s deployed. He knows you need your own space where everything doesn’t remind you of him (since he refuses to go to your apartment so he doesn’t make that space difficult for you too)
Kyle who asks you to marry him 1 year into dating. You say not yet and he respects it and doesn’t make it awkward.
Kyle who buys records from your shop every week just so then it never goes out of business and takes every record back to base and tortures the task force with oasis at 4 o’clock in the morning when he can’t sleep and is missing you. Ends up singing Talk tonight (horribly out of key) just coz it reminds him of you. Keeps it on repeat till some twats on his wall yelling at him to turn it off
Kyle who ends up in a horrific accident and has to come home and thinks you’ll stop loving him since he now has burns over half his body but ends up even more in love with you (if that’s even possible) when you quit your job to take care of him full time. Keeping his wounds bandaged and treated till they heal properly, helping him with his confidence and even attending therapy with him when it gets to hard for him .
Kyle who says yes when you propose to him on the roof you had your second date on and ends up adopting 2 kids with you coz in your words
“Why make more kids when there’s already so many out there who deserve loving homes.”
He takes your last name
Cozy.
