Soldiers' Wives Part 4

'Jess is well fit.'

'Yes, she is.'

'So are you.'

'Thanks.' For a second she hoped he was referring to her looks, rather than to her athleticism, but then reality kicked in. Of course he didn't think she was fit in the 'good-looking' sense, not when he was married to the luscious Jenna. She changed the subject. 'Immi says you've been away on a load of courses.'

'The old platoon commander thought I had potential, so I've been away a lot, getting some education and stuff that I'll need, if I get promoted. Got to hope this new guy, Captain Fanshaw, thinks the same.'

'I'm sure he will.'

'And then, just before the exercise, I tried SAS selection.'

'No!' Chrissie was hugely impressed. 'Really? How did you do?'

'Failed. I went down with flu. One minute I was doing well, tabbing up the Brecon Beacons, the next I was being stretchered off with a temperature of 104.'

'No way. But you must have felt s.h.i.+te long before then.'

'I did a bit, but I thought they'd just put me down as some sort of malingering loser.'

'So it was a genuine case of man flu.'

Lee nodded. 'And if I ever get a head cold, I will never say I've got flu. Flu is evil.'

'And you're running already? s.h.i.+t, you're well hard.'

'I'm not running well though, am I? My fitness took a real knock. And that's why I wasn't much cop on the exercise and got to lie down and play almost dead.'

They ran in silence for some time, till they reached the base of Brandon Hill. The path up it was narrow, so they ran in single file to the top. There Chrissie stopped.

'I'm not,' she said, panting heavily, 'quite as fit as I thought I was, either. No chance for fitness training on exercise.'

'Well, if you want a running buddy...?' offered Lee. 'I mean, I need to get myself back in shape again too.'

'Really?'

He nodded. 'I'd like it. Most of the lads in my platoon want to lie in their pits at weekends. It's nice to find someone who wants to do running other than in a squad being beasted by a PTI. And I like to run on sports afternoons too.'

'Brilliant. When we get back to the barracks we can swap mobile numbers. Jenna won't mind, though, will she?' asked Chrissie. Running was hardly like dating but, even so, she mightn't be overly happy about her husband spending time with another woman, no matter how innocently.

'Jenna? G.o.d, she doesn't even surface till lunchtime when she isn't working.'

Which didn't exactly answer Chrissie's question, but was a good enough response to shut her conscience up. But not before she noticed that the prospect of running with Lee gave her a real buzz.

Sunday segued into Monday and the rude awakening which came with reveille and the early morning run. Immi rolled out of bed, groaning and moaning about the unfairness of being expected to do PT at six thirty in the morning, long after Keelie and Gillie, who had both returned to barracks the night before, had already got dressed and left. It had taken five solid minutes of Chrissie haranguing her before she'd finally emerged, still complaining, from under the covers.

'I don't know why you always b.i.t.c.h about this, it's part of the job description,' countered Chrissie, as she threw on her tracksuit and stepped into her trainers.

Immi glowered as she hauled on her sports kit. 'It doesn't mean I have to like it. Anyway, not all units are like this one why did I have to be posted to one where the CO is a fitness fanatic?'

Chrissie shook her head and glanced at her watch. 'Hurry up, Immi. We're going to be late.'

Reluctantly, and still muttering, Immi followed Chrissie out onto the parade square where the troops were all gathered, lined up in their platoons and by company. Most were jogging on the spot, in an effort to keep warm, as the October morning was distinctly nippy. Just as Chrissie and Immi fell in, the RSM and the CO appeared.

's.h.i.+t, we cut that fine,' whispered Chrissie. Arriving after either of these two equalled 'late' and would result in extra duties being awarded on the spot.

The RSM bawled out the commands to bring the parade to attention before he handed over to the PTIs who were to lead each company on a squadded, three-mile run. HQ Company, Immi and Chrissie's one, and which also included the CO and the RSM in its number, was the first to lead off.

'At least we won't die of hypothermia, now,' said Chrissie, slapping her arms against her sides as she ran, to get her circulation moving.

'No, I'm going to die of a combo of st.i.tch and exhaustion,' gasped Immi.

'You can't be tired yet we've only run a few hundred yards.'

But Immi was already panting too hard to answer. By the time they got to the mile point, Immi was stumbling with fatigue and she and Chrissie, who was trying to urge her mate to keep going, had fallen almost to the rear of the squad.

'Keep up,' screamed a rasping voice.

Chrissie looked behind her. Sergeant Wilkes was pounding after them. 'Come on, Immi,' encouraged Chrissie once again, but she could see it was hopeless. There was no way Immi was going to be able to complete the three miles. Obviously with most of the regiment away on exercise the previous two weeks, there had been no formal PT and Immi had taken advantage of that to bother even less than usual with her fitness levels: fitness levels which had always been borderline and which were now completely below par.

'I can't,' sobbed Immi, as she finally gave up. 'I've got to stop. You carry on.'

Chrissie nodded and ran on while Immi gave up and took the instant bawling out from Sergeant Wilkes. The words 'extra duties' floated after Chrissie, as she raced forward to catch up with the rest of the squad. Putting on a spurt she not only caught up with the squad but eased her way to the front, pa.s.sing the CO and the RSM as she did so.

Maybe the RSM was in a foul mood (and when wasn't he? It was as if it was in the job description of RSMs always to be in a foul mood) or maybe it was the sight of a woman a woman pa.s.sing him, but he halted the entire squad and made them start performing press-ups. Once they'd all, including Chrissie, given him fifty, he then found a steep side-track, and made everyone run up and down that a few times; naturally he and the CO were observers rather than partic.i.p.ants. By the time he'd finished with HQ Company, a number of soldiers were being sick in the gutters and the rest were either red, or ashen with exhaustion. Even Chrissie had her hands on her hips, her legs apart and was bent at the waist as she gulped in lungfuls of air.

While she was doing this, the other soldiers loped past, Lee amongst them. He shot Chrissie a look of sympathy having the RSM give you a hard time was no fun.

A couple of minutes later the RSM ordered HQ Company to start running again.

'And if no one beats me back the entire company will be confined to barracks for the next week and you can forget the long weekend,' he shouted, fresh as a daisy, to the still-gasping troops. 'Understood?'

'Sir,' came a ragged and lackl.u.s.tre response.

'Understood?'

'Sir!' roared back the sixty or so soldiers.

The RSM, not having performed press-ups or having been beasted up and down the hill, set off at a punis.h.i.+ng pace. Soon most of the soldiers were lagging behind. Every now and again, Warrant Officer Cla.s.s One Jenks would run on the spot and harangue the lagging soldiers 'to get a grip and put some effort into it' but most of his troops were too shattered to respond. There were only a few soldiers, Chrissie included, who were able to keep up with him. It wasn't any sort of spectacular fitness that gave her the impetus, but the certain knowledge that he wanted her to fail and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. In her limited experience of the army, she had found that there were some male soldiers who still didn't accept that women might have equal skills and fitness, and she was pretty sure the RSM was one of them. Her determination to prove him wrong was giving her a boost better than steroids or blood doping.

With about half a mile to go, and with the several hundred soldiers who had just been allowed to get on with their training run without any intervention from the RSM in sight, Chrissie kicked for home, in a move Jess Ennis or Paula Radcliffe would have been proud of. The RSM responded and managed to catch up with Chrissie, shooting her a look of smug triumph as he pa.s.sed her. Chrissie kicked again and drew level with him. By now they were starting to pa.s.s the other soldiers, the ones still running in something resembling squads.

'Go, Chrissie,' cheered a voice from the ranks. Lee.

The RSM gritted his teeth and made another effort to beat Chrissie, but she was spurred on by her lone supporter.

Other soldiers picked up on Lee's support and began to cheer Chrissie on. It wasn't that they wanted Chrissie herself to win, they wanted the RSM to lose. Even if he'd been racing Osama bin Laden, Stalin and Hitler, they still wouldn't have cheered Mr Jenks. The cheering reached the ears of the soldiers who had already completed their three-mile run and were starting to drift to their barrack blocks or homes for a shower, and they stopped to watch the spectacle of Chrissie and the RSM, pounding, neck and neck, along the road to the regimental guardroom.

The cheers, coupled with the knowledge that, if she lost, HQ Company would forfeit their long weekend, gave Chrissie the impetus she needed, and with a final, superlative effort she made it back, through the barrack gate and onto the parade square twenty yards ahead of Mr Jenks. The soldiers erupted.

She wanted to lie down she was so knackered, but pride kept her on her feet while she gulped air.

'You may have beaten me this time,' gasped the RSM, as he stopped beside her and shot a vitriolic look at the cheering troops. 'It won't happen again.'

Chrissie wasn't sure if it was a threat or a promise, but she didn't care; she was too exhausted to care about anything, except not throwing up or pa.s.sing out.

Lee, who had seen her cream past, was lost in admiration, as were most of the soldiers from Chrissie's company who pounded onto the parade square over the next few minutes, amongst them the CO, who was stunned to discover that the RSM had met his match.

Colonel Notley came to a halt next to his RSM. 'Don't tell me you were beaten, Mr Jenks.'

'I was, sir.' A lesser man than the CO might have quailed at the tone of the RSM's voice.

'And by a slip of a girl.'

The RSM glowered.

The CO turned to Chrissie whose chest was still heaving. 'Well done... er...'

'Summers, sir.'

'Yes, well done, Summers. Good effort.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'I think your efforts inspired the troops. HQ Company came home in a cracking time.'

Chrissie wondered if they had just chased after her and Mr Jenks out of curiosity. She didn't feel inspirational. But she did feel quite proud that she'd rescued the company's long weekend. It was a good feeling.

The CO drifted off to talk to some of the other NCOs and an admiring group formed around Chrissie.

'Well done,' said Lee, 'you were amazing.'

And Chrissie felt ridiculously happy to have his approval and her good feeling got even better.

'So how many did you get?' asked Chrissie. She was still puffed even though she had recovered sufficiently to climb the stairs, albeit very slowly, to her barrack room where Immi was already showered and now dressed in combats rather than PE kit.

'Five and extra PT for four weeks,' she replied glumly. 'And then I have to pa.s.s my BFT or it'll be more of the same. Honestly, Chrissie, I'm a clerk, I bash keyboards all day. Why do I have to be super-fit to open a filing cabinet?'

Chrissie grabbed her towel. 'Tell you what, suppose I have a word with Sergeant Wilkes and see if she'll let me take you for extra PT? I mean, I know I'm not a PTI but she's knows I'm fit.' She didn't add that the whole regiment knew that now. 'And you and I could have a bit of fun together as we work out. How about it?'

'You'd do that for me?' Immi was genuinely astounded.

Chrissie nodded. 'But you've got to promise me you'll make a proper effort. Just 'cos I'm not some hairy-a.r.s.ed PTI doesn't mean you can take advantage. I'll expect you to graft and pa.s.s your fitness test. First time.'

Immi nodded eagerly. 'I will, promise.'

'I'll make sure you do, if you make the effort too. So, to make sure, we're going to start with a session in the gym this evening.'

'This evening!' squeaked Immi. 'But we did a run this morning.'

'I did a run this morning,' countered Chrissie. 'You did a bit of a jog and then gave up.'

Immi gave in. 'Five thirty, at the gym?'

'See you then,' acknowledged Chrissie, as she went off for a shower, leaving Immi looking both apprehensive and miserable. Chrissie decided, as she showered, that she wouldn't be too hard on Immi for the first session that would come later.

Chrissie and Lee's paths crossed again the following Wednesday.

'Look,' said Immi, nodding towards the serving counter in the cookhouse. 'It's Jenna's bloke.' She waved. 'Coo-ee. Lee.' He turned and saw them. 'Budge up, Chrissie, make a s.p.a.ce for him.'

They watched Lee grab a plate of spaghetti bolognese and head their way. He had a broad grin on his face.

'h.e.l.lo, girls,' he said as he sat down.

Immi simpered at him. 'Hi, Lee.'

Lee pushed his plate off his tray, sorted out his drink and cutlery and began to tuck into his meal. After a couple of forkfuls he paused and looked at Chrissie. 'I was hoping to run into you. What are your plans for this afternoon?' On Wednesday afternoons, all soldiers who didn't have specific tasks or duties to carry out were expected to take part in some sort of physical activity for an hour or so at the very least.

Immi shrugged. 'Thought I'd go into town and get some new jeans.'

Lee laughed. 'I don't think the army rates shopping as a sport.'

'It is if you do it right,' said Immi, unabashed. 'Besides, I'll be doing a session in the gym with Chrissie this evening, because she's on a mission to get me fit so she's cutting me some slack now.'

'And,' interrupted Chrissie, 'I want to go on a proper run and if Immi tags along I'll only get as far as the barrack gate.'

'Harsh but fair,' admitted Immi. 'So I'm going to do some extreme shopping.'

'Trust me,' said Chrissie, 'if it was an Olympic sport, Immi would medal.'

Lee smiled at her. 'So you're going running?'

'That's the plan.'

'Want company?'

Immi's eyebrows rocketed skywards. She glanced from Lee to Chrissie. She narrowed her eyes. Was there something going on there? Nah, there couldn't be, not when Lee had Jenna.

'Yeah, why not,' said Chrissie. 'How far do you want to go? Five miles? Ten?'

'Ten miles?' squeaked Immi. 'But that's... miles,' she finished, lamely.

Chrissie laughed. 'It's not so far. We should be back in an hour and a half.'

Immi fanned herself. Jeez ten miles, that was just showing off. So maybe this pair just got a kick out of running. Weird. She picked up her empty plate. 'Right, I'm going to change and catch the bus. As it's sports afternoon and because I'm on extra PT, I'll go upstairs and sit on the top deck. How's that for exercise?'

She waggled her fingers in farewell, leaving Lee and Chrissie discussing a possible route.