Page 1 of Stalked By the Quartermaster

CHAPTER

ONE

Caroline

Sweat trickles down my forehead, stinging my eyes as I power through another set of burpees. The early morning sun hasn't even broken the horizon, but here I am, muscles screaming, heart thundering like a drum solo in my chest. I live for this—the burn, the push, the exhilarating rush of surpassing my own limits.

"Come on, Caldwell, you got this!" shouts an instructor from somewhere behind me, but his voice is just background noise to my own internal chant.

Stronger, faster, better.

I leap into the air, arms reaching for a sky that's just beginning to blush with dawn's light, and land with precision. My legs bend, absorbing the impact like they're made of coiled springs rather than flesh and bone. Pushing off, I'm back in motion, no hesitation, no pause for breath. It's almost like dancing—a deadly, demanding ballet where every move counts, every step could be your last.

As I transition into pull-ups, my biceps flex, golden hair plastered to my skin from sweat. Who needs a gym when you've got your own body weight and raw determination? My hands grip the bar, calloused from countless hours of training, and I pull myself up, over and over, until my arms shake from the effort.

"Look at Caldwell go! She makes it look easy!" someone comments, and I can't help the smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth.

‘Easy’ isn't a word in my vocabulary. Every rep, every mile run, every obstacle conquered is earned through grit and willpower. But if they want to think it's effortless, let them. I know the truth—the relentless drive that fuels me, the fire that keeps me moving when everything else screams ‘stop.’

I drop from the bar, landing with cat-like agility, and pivot to the next challenge. My legs pump, driving me forward in powerful strides as I tackle the obstacle course. I weave through poles, scale walls, and dive under barriers. Each move is fluid, a testament to the hours of sweat and discipline I've poured into this body of mine.

And as the final wall looms ahead, towering and unyielding, I don't see a barrier—I see a promise. A promise that on the other side lies victory, lies proof of my strength and resilience. With a burst of speed, I take it on, hands finding holds, feet kicking for purchase, until I'm perched on top, triumphant.

I hit the ground running, literally, as I charge toward the next set of drills. Sweat trickles down my spine, but I push on, pumping my legs harder. The air is electric with the buzz of competition and faint curses from lips pushed to their limits.

"Keep up, Caldwell!" Sam's voice cuts through the thick morning haze, both a challenge and a lifeline.

I glance over to see her grinning at me, short-cropped hair sticking to her forehead in damp patches. Samantha "Sam" Harper, my best friend and perpetual rival on this military playground. She's the kind of friend who'll carry you home after a night of too many shots, and then kick your ass at dawn during PT without an ounce of sympathy.

"Plan on it, Harper!" I shout back, my breath coming out in determined puffs.

We hit the sprinting track side by side, our boots pounding the dirt in sync. I can feel the power in my muscles, coiled and ready to spring. We're neck and neck, two warriors with nothing to prove but everything to fight for.

"Show me what you got, Caroline," she teases, her voice steady despite the exertion.

"Watch and learn," I retort, pushing ahead with a burst of speed that has me inching forward, just barely taking the lead.

Sam is relentless though. She matches my pace, her determination a mirror of my own. We've been through hell and back together, each challenge faced making our bond stronger, like tempered steel.

"Come on, princess, don't let me win!" she goads, her tone light but her eyes serious. It’s her way of telling me she believes in me, that she knows I'm more than just a pretty face with golden locks.

"Princess?" I scoff, adrenaline spiking at the nickname. "The only crown I'm wearing today is victory."

"Then claim it!" Sam yells, and it's not just a cheer—it's a command from the woman who refuses to let me settle for second best.

Our friendly rivalry isn't just about pushing each other. It's aobut pushing each other to our limits. As the distance to the finish line shrinks, every stride is a reminder of who we are: unyielding spirits forged in the fires of discipline and camaraderie.

"Beat ya!" I gasp out triumphantly as my boot crosses the line a fraction before hers.

"By a hair!" Sam protests with mock indignation, but I catch the pride twinkling in her eyes.

"Next time, Sammy," I say, flashing her a wicked grin, already plotting the next challenge. "Next time."

"Private Caldwell!" A voice cuts through the cacophony of grunts and clanging metal. "Impressive work, but let's see you do it again!"

"Sir, yes sir!" I shout back, already back on my feet, muscles coiled and ready.

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