Page 17 of Monsters within Men
“Newman’s jealous, obviously,” said Vitt, reshuffling the cards from earlier. “He was the youngest lieutenant until Noah beat his record by three years. Also, we love Noah.” She blew him a kiss. “Mostly. But Tobias rules his squad by fear, not mutual respect.”
Noah smiled at her. Whenever he was feeling low, Vitt was always there to cheerlead him on.
When Zeke seemed poised to ask more, Noah changed the topic, lowering his voice to say, “Well done for today. You did great.”
Suspicion clouded Zeke’s face, but he mumbled, “Thanks,” before giving Noah the tiniest hint of a smile. “I also wanted to say sorry about yesterday. And this morning. I’m not usually… like that.” Zeke stared at Noah intently, his blue eyes wide, like he desperately wanted Noah to believe him.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure this is all a bit of a shock.” Noah waved his hand in the air before gently tapping Zeke’s knee. “This can’t be easy for you.”
Zeke nodded. “And thanks for rescuing me from Tobias. He really is a shithead.”
Noah roared with laughter and grinned at Zeke until he reddened and dropped his gaze. But Noah kept studying him. Zeke was undeniably cute in the warm firelight: dishevelled blonde hair, glasses askew, lips twitching upwards into a smile he was trying to suppress.
“Anytime,” Noah said, and before he could stop himself, reached out to ruffle Zeke’s hair.
The next day began like most did for Squad E. Meredith, Savannah, and Aoife completed their morning yoga in the training field, while the others went for a pre-breakfast run. Relief coursed through Noah when he saw Habib escorting Zeke to the track. Zeke followed at a slower pace, massaging his legs, but it pleased Noah that he was participating. The sooner Zeke adapted to his new life, the happier he would be. Often, the only solace the soldiers got came from their team.
Noah sent Wolf back to keep Zeke company, the dog happily trotting beside him, nudging him when Zeke slowed down. After three laps, Noah blew the whistle, and they headed to the showers.
After breakfast, Noah sent Squad E off to the sentinel duty, keeping Meredith and Aoife to assist him. They led the way back to the training field. Zeke and Frankie looked far from ecstatic at seeing it again and the lighter session Noah led them through resulted in the pair of them panting after a few minutes.
“Okay, I think you two are going to have to have extra physical training before dinner each day,” Noah said, as Frankie and Zeke collapsed on each other during a water break.
Frankie groaned.
“You’ll be thanking him when you’re legging it for your life,” said Aoife. “And don’t we do that at least twice a week?”
“That’s because you charge into the danger, Aoife, rather than away from it,” said Meredith, smacking Aoife on her arm. “When we head out, please do not follow her at any time. She has a death wish.”
“We’re focussing on weapons this morning,” Noah said, steering the conversation away from death.
Zeke stilled.
“Have either of you ever held a gun?”
“What do you think?” Zeke raised his eyebrow.
“Does caramelizing sugar using a blowtorch count?” asked Frankie.
Noah sighed. “Follow me to the shooting range.”
Ten minutes later, Noah stood facing the others, the field of practice targets behind him. He’d trained so many soldiers by now, his spiel practically fell out of his mouth.
“We stick to crossbows wherever possible, to help meet our bullet restriction quota, as well as not wanting to attract any further types with the noise.” Noah waved his own crossbow in the air, twanging on the fibreglass bow. “Five bolts before reload. But when things go south,”—as they always undoubtedly do—“we swap out.”
After a detailed rundown of the four different firearms in standard use, Meredith and Aoife demonstrated their use. Alongside him, they were Squad E’s best shooters. “Everyone has a combat pistol strapped to their belts at all times,” he said, as the two women modelled shooting the head of every cardboard target that popped up behind a metal railing. Their audience cheered.
“Bates, Fleming, let’s go.”
Noah led them over to bullseye targets. Frankie impressed him by hitting yellow three times in a row on her first round. Zeke handled the gun like it was a poisonous snake. He stared at it, flicking the safety on and off repeatedly. Raising it to the target, he pulled the trigger, squeezing his eyes and stumbling back from the recoil. Noah tried not to laugh at his expression. The shot went wide.
“Try again.”
This time, the round clipped the side of the target before sailing off into the forest behind.
“I told you I’d be useless,” Zeke said, as his third attempt went even more off-track.
“Here,” said Noah. “You’re not positioning your leg like I showed you.” He came behind him and kicked his right leg out. Then he placed his hands on Zeke’s arms, feeling him go rigid. “Turn this way. Pistol up. Look through the viewfinder.” He rested a finger under Zeke’s chin, tilting it upwards. “Fire.”
