Free Semper Fi by Keira Andrews

they were ordered to sit on the ground, cross-legged. They adjusted their slings until they created a small loop, through which they put their left arm until the loop was just below the shoulder. Jim followed along as the sergeant called out the instructions.
    “Put the butt of your rifle against your right shoulder.”
    The loop around his left arm tightened painfully as Jim attempted to follow orders. He could imagine the goal, and how the sling would create a stable base as he pressed the right side of his face against the butt and took sight. He grunted as he strained to get the rifle in place, his left arm feeling as if it was about to be severed.
    Beside him, Cal groaned. “This is impossible.”
    “Sure feels that way,” Jim agreed.
    Up and down the line of recruits, most of the men struggled with the awkward and excruciating position. Cal raised an eyebrow. “Are the Japs gonna give us time to sit down and set up before they attack? Would be mighty sporting of them.”
    Jim swallowed his chuckle as the sergeant appeared, and concentrated on contorting his body into the required position. Above him, the sergeant yelled. “It’s not that fucking difficult, boys! You’ve just gotta put your back into it!”
    Without another word, he turned and sat across Jim’s shoulders, the weight stretching the burning ligaments to the breaking point. Sucking in a ragged breath, Jim closed his eyes, certain his joints would snap. Then the fire subsided, and he realized the butt of his rifle was somehow nudged against his right shoulder.
    The sergeant stood up. “There you go, recruit. Now was that so fucking hard?”
    Jim had barely stuttered a response when the sergeant was already sitting on Cal, who swore loudly, garnering a hearty laugh from the NCO. “That’s the fucking spirit, recruit!”
    When the sergeant moved on to the next man, plonking his weight down with gusto, Jim murmured, “I guess that’s why they call this snapping-in.”
    Cal laughed quietly, leaning over and nudging Jim’s shoulder with his own. “As long as they’re not snapping our spines.”
    As they left the mess hall after chow a few hours later, a runner appeared. “Recruit Cunningham? Drill Instructor Tyrell wants to see you in the administration building.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Now.”
    “I’ll be right there.” Cal glanced at Jim and muttered, “Here we go.”
    Jim watched him double-time it to the office, wishing he could follow and make sure Cal didn’t do anything to get into more trouble. Although he couldn’t think of anything Cal had done that day to upset Tyrell. But it was always something.
    Instead Jim made his way to the tent. While the other men played a game of cards, he took out his pen and paper. He started his letter to Ann four times before giving up, his mind wandering back to Cal.
    When the bugle sounded the end of the day, Cal still hadn’t returned. As the last strains of taps echoed across the rifle range, Jim’s stomach tightened. Tyrell wouldn’t actually hurt Cal, would he?
    He thought of Tyrell’s face on the march to the rifle range when Cal had turned the tables on him. Fury had twisted his features. But surely there were rules? Even if Tyrell had a grudge against Cal, he couldn’t do anything too bad to him. Could he?
    Checking his battered watch every minute, Jim wound it repeatedly since the darn thing had a tendency to run slow. After an unbearably long hour, he creeped outside. Keeping low, heart pounding, he skirted around the row of tents, breath clouding in the cold night. Guards stood watch throughout the camp, but at the moment the one nearest the tents was turned away, fiddling with something Jim couldn’t make out.
    Not hesitating, Jim raced around the mess hall toward the sprawl of other buildings. He skidded to a stop as he made out Cal by the officer’s barracks. Cal stood balanced atop a small wooden stool. He held his rifle above his head, arms extended high.