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their pact—never let each other down. Ben had even let Trent talk him into some silly Celtic ring with a design symbolizing strength, unity and courage. One too many drinks had made Ben agreeable to purchasing the ring, but not to wearing it. Still, it was their bond when they made their decision to do this together.
    His mind shifted back to the task at hand. This time he heard it coming—the dull roaring in his ears—telling him it was going to be bigger, and harder, and crueler than the rest. He timed it perfectly. A flicker out of his eye didn’t distract him. He only forced his eyes straight ahead, focused intensely. He felt it hit his feet, sucked in a fast breath as quietly as he could at the very last second, then held on tight.
    He counted off the time in his head and pushed his body down, forcing it not to move, ignoring the blaze in his lungs, and the scorching in his muscles. He was losing control, but he refused to let go. He needed to hold on, just a bit longer, only a bit longer. Was it ever going to end, though?
    Finally, freedom. The only movements of his body were his eyes opening and the slight parting of his lips while he tried to get air back into his lungs in a slow and steady rhythm. Trying to calm his racing heart, which was moving faster than a jackhammer. Surely it could be seen through his clothes. There was a bell ringing in the background. Many weren’t going to make it, but he wasn’t going to be one of those men.
    He became aware of the coughing around him, the moaning and the gagging. Then finally his commanding officer standing by his head, leaning over, eyes drilling into his. A short nod of the officer’s head had Ben shifting slightly, looking around and realizing there were only a few left. Trent on his left, the man holding onto Trent’s hand, and another holding onto Ben’s right hand, and another after him. The five of them connected with Ben in the middle.
    Now three of those five men were on their hands and knees throwing up, trying to get their breath back. Not him. He jumped to his feet and stood at attention a split second before Trent did.
    They made it. Trent was gasping and coughing, but he did it. The only sign of what they went through on Ben was the dripping uniform clinging to his body, and the slight rise and fall of his chest. The two of them stood there, ready for their next order. They were going to complete Hell Week. And then on to the next training.
    Ben woke up gasping for breath. Sucking in air like he never had before. His body was shaking and he was covered in a fine sheet of cold sweat. It seemed so real, like he had been transported back in time, feeling like he did all those years ago. His shirt was soaked, his body was shivering and he swore he was still there, on that beach as wave after wave of bitter-cold ocean crashed down on him.
    He wasn’t, though. He was home in his bed on a Monday night, and it was just another nightmare. How much longer could this go on? It had been almost a month since the last one. He thought things were getting better. Thankfully, it wasn’t anything like it was in the beginning, when he would get nightmares several times a week… if not every time he closed his eyes.
    Running his hands across his face, he threw the covers back to get a drink of water. His feet were just hitting the floor when he heard the floor squeak in a different part of the house.
    He paused, listened, and heard it again. Footsteps, quiet, but not quiet enough. He cursed the fact that he was so lost in the memories that he never heard someone entering his house. He was losing his edge.
    Grabbing the gun from under his pillow, he stood up and made his way to the bedroom door, stopped and listened for a second, reassessed, then started to move. It was coming from below him in the kitchen.
    Opening the door to his room just a crack, he slid out and walked down the hall, his back against the wall, continuing to listen. Whoever it was wasn’t trying