Tuesday Week 1 of boot camp.

Allen’s body was rebelling. It hadn’t been used to the workout that he had each day. There were others that had it worse, but his feet were taking the worst of it. He probed them suspiciously at first, and then gave them a mild massage around the blisters, but they were few. The Advil that he had taken for his muscles was working as well as could be expected. He was wondering if they allowed it in the military. Those soldiers who had to go through boot camp and all. They were tough as nails. They signed up for that crap though. They must be in some sort of good shape when they started, right? Allen began to think that they had more in common than he’d previously thought. His respect for the men and women in uniform was rising daily.

He took the rudimentary cutlass that he had made the night before to the mess hall with him. He lay it on a table and went over and got some coffee from the machine. When he turned back toward his table, he noticed Sara was there. She handed him one of the crappy swords that they had planned on using for the show. It was cheap, nerf covered plastic with a cutlass look to the handle.

“What’s this?” he asked. Hoping that he was wrong about the plastic and foam sword she handed him, but he wasn’t. This was a prop that they were going to use for the show. It was as if the people planning the show had taken a good idea but didn’t even think of how it would play out. No way did they think this would be a viable option for a sword fight.

Just then a director came in and was grabbing some coffee. He took it black with no sugar though, so it was seconds from the time he was pouring it into his steaming cup and when he was sipping it.

“That’s what we’re using on the show.” Sara explained.

“That won’t work.” Allen announced flatly. He looked into a camera and shrugged. “This thing’s a piece of crap. It won’t hold up to a beating at all, plus you won’t even know you were hit with it unless someone gets you in the eye.” He continued incredulously.

“What do you mean?” Sandoval asked.

“Did you ever play cops and robbers with your brother?” Allen asked as he tried to figure out who the guy was.

“Allen, this is Sandoval. He’s the director.” Sara introduced.

“Nice to meet you. Ever play cops and robbers as a kid Sandoval?” Allen asked in more hushed tones. As if somebody might be trying to eaves drop, or they might be disturbing somebody by talking loud.

“I can’t say that I have.” The director said as he held out his hand to shake Allen’s.

“Cowboys and Indians?” Allen asked as they shook hands.

“Nope.”

“Well, I have. Here’s the thing. When you aim your gun, or finger, or stick, or whatever is your gun, at your brother? And you go bang or whatever? He says, you missed me. You go, no I got you. He goes, no I dodged it. You try to explain that that’s absurd. It doesn’t matter what you do. The person you hit can claim that you missed. What kind of proof do you have that you hit him?” Allen asked animatedly. The nonchalant manner that Sandoval portrayed belayed his interest. He was just tired from getting up early. He wanted to get a jump on the young engineers who were so diverse in the amount of dedication that they had that he wanted to survey the scene early.

Sandoval just shrugged his shoulders. So did Sara. She still looked angry but intrigued.

Allen took the flimsy nerf like toy sword and swung it quickly a few times in the air. The stupid thing didn’t have any mass too it at all, so it would fly through the air like crazy. The only resistance to its passage through the air is that it didn’t have any aerodynamic properties at all. Then he hit his leg with it as hard as he could. He could barely feel it. “Did you see how fake that was?” he asked, but they didn’t seem to notice what he was talking about.

Sandoval was nodding as Sara shook her head. Allen smacked her on the butt so quickly that she couldn’t react. It didn’t sting or anything.

“Did you even feel that?” he asked.

“So, what does that have to do with cops and robbers?” Sandoval asked, not waiting for her response. “I’m not making the connection.”

Allen hit the director with the fake nerf type sword. He didn’t even flinch.

“Oh you missed me.” Allen said in mock, brother fashion. And then he smacked him on the side of the other leg with the side of his new fake cutlass made of wood. It shocked all 3 of them when he did it. Allen's own surprise was suppressed so that he could show the director the point that he was making.

“Oh you missed me.” He repeated. “See the difference?”

Sandoval rubbed his leg where it was hit. He didn’t think he hit him hard but he was concerned about it now.

“Did I hurt you sir? I’m sorry if I did. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No, I’m fine. Now I see your point. So what do you suggest that we do about it? These are going out to the crews to practice with at the end of next week.”

“We need better swords. We should make some to practice with at first, and then get some better ones later on maybe.” Allen offered. “I got supplies to make some, but I didn’t think about the B team when I got them so there isn’t enough.”

Just then revelry began. Allen nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. He would have to wear ear plugs in the morning or something. That sucker was loud.

“We should turn that down a bit. That’s got to be over 105 db.” Allen said as he went and got his new American flag from the barracks. Gomer was yelling at him some more, but he ignored him. He took the flag and reverently hung it on the clips and hoisted it up. The sun wasn’t up yet, but it was close. There were no lights to shine on the flag that Allen could see so he would rather have revelry at dawn and taps at dusk so that he could reverence the flag properly. When he got the standard hoisted to the top of the flagpole he put his hand over his heart and started quietly to say the pledge of allegiance. He was surprised to note that there were many others that joined him. He raised his voice when he was bolstered

by the others. It made him proud to be an American. Well, prouder. He loved his country. Then he hoisted the Utah Utes flag and did a Utes fight song. Just a few joined him with that one, but he smiled when he noticed that Cindy was one of them. Just after they completed the song, and the colors were flapping in the small Breese, Gomer came and was yelling at him about something.

“Sir yes sir.” He shouted, and he ran in and grabbed his cutlass and coffee and came back and started on his 5-mile walk.

“You’re gonna get booted from the show.” Cindy suggested disapprovingly.

“I might, but I still have a better chance to influence the nation if I be myself than if I try to do things that will keep me on the show.” Allen said. “Besides, when I’m on TV I get paid by the minute.” He laughed at his own statement, and to her confusion.

It was true of course. He had license to be himself and damn the consequences. He was going to have the time of his life. And since he was so unique he might get more viewers to like him, and they would never want to let him go. At least he thought they wouldn’t. He smiled smugly to himself for a minute after considering that.

His wooden cutlass was becoming real heavy by the time he’d finished his run/walk. He decided to make a scabbard that he could carry it in. The other students wanted swords too, so he had them come over after breakfast to make some of their own. Surprisingly Todd was one of the first to come on board with the idea. Todd was a bit of a craftsman, and he used a tape measure and a template to get his wooden sword just so. He would carry it for a while and spin it around and swing it, and then make some adjustments with the plane or the sandpaper. In the end Todd had made a great blade for himself, and Allen had 3 good wooden blades. None were great, or well balanced. Allen’s blades all had Para cord on the handles, and they were comfortable in his grip. The paracord handles gave them definition where his hands could get comfortable. The more he held them, the more he could attune himself to them. To control them. To make them an extension of his arm. He tried to think of a way to make a comfortable scabbard with a universal catch that any of his blades could hook to, and he would have 2 available to use at any time. Two swords fighting best suited his fighting style. It was the most successful way he had found when fighting his brothers way back when he was young. If they could only see him now. He glanced up and saw that he was being observed by Danny and his all seeing eye. He gave it an over the top wink, and pretended to shoot it with his finger gun. “Bang.” He whispered.

By the time he was headed over to the artillery class he’d noticed that he should have been wearing sunscreen. He was cooked really good from working on the swords in the sunshine, and he knew it would sting by the time he went to bed. His lip seemed to get the worst of it even though he hadn’t noticed any real direct sunlight on his face. The semi rigid tricorn pirate hat would probably be his saving grace in the future. He knew he would never like sunscreen. He made a note to tell Sara to get him some sunscreen lip balm.

At class they dumped out the carbon and switched to sulfur. They would be making powder for days Allen now knew, and he went to talk with Mr. Remington when his batch was rolling.

“I have a flintlock blunderbuss.” Allen stated after they talked about black powder for a few minutes. Allen was sure that his instructor didn’t believe him. “It’s in my locker if you’d like to shoot it sometime.” Allen continued.

“That would be cool.” Remington said. He still gave Allen the impression that he didn’t believe him.

“I’ll bring it tomorrow. We can shoot it at some cans or whatever. I have manufactured loads for it. I’ve never successfully made black powder.”

When he said that Mr. Remington began to take more interest as if his mind was preoccupied at first.

“That would be great. You can make black powder that burns faster than the stuff you buy. We’ll have tons of it by the time you leave. Maybe we could try it and see if you like it.”

“That sounds awesome.” Allen admitted as a broad smile appeared on his face. “How do you get it to be better than from the store?”

“With better controls for grain size. We will be doing a side-by-side comparison at the end of class, and you’ll see that it’s better.”

“Cool. I can hardly wait.”

Allen walked around and looked at everybody’s powder. They all looked the same. The key seemed to be getting the powder ground down as fine as you could, and then mix it up together. Mr. Remington pulled out some of the other ingredients and showed how to get the right mix. He had started several batches a few days apart so that it seemed to go faster. Like those cooking shows that mom watched sometimes. They add this ingredient or that and put it in the oven and pull one that just got finished from a different oven. It helped them to see what needed to be done though, and in what order. Then he was spraying water on the final mix while it was on a sort of wooden cookie sheet until it was a clump-able paste. And then he was forcing it through a screen with a flimsy spatula which made it granular as it extruded through the mesh. Then it was allowed to dry. After demonstrating how to make it he pulled some finished product out and they went into a big well-ventilated lab to do the side-by-side comparison. There was a fine line of each of them that was joined in the middle. They were sitting on the edge of a metal welding table with a fuse that connected them in the middle. The carefully portioned powder was awaiting ignition. The one that was burning first would be the winner. Allen waited breathlessly for the end result.

“What difference does it make how fast it burns?” Shupe asked. He never seemed to get embarrassed. Allen envied that about him.

“Well, the faster the powder burns, the faster the shot comes out of the cannon.” Remington explained. Allen was excited to watch. He was even more excited to see them both fire shots from the cannon.

When the fuse was touched off it burned slowly on its way to the junction of the 2 black powder recipes. When the black powder started to burn it seemed slow if you were comparing it to gunpowder.

“How come it didn’t explode?” Shupe asked.

“Well, an explosion is just powder burning real fast.” Remington explained. “When you pack it in the barrel, and put a ball in front of it, it will go. It’s loud and smells bad and gives off a lot of smoke.”

Upon completion of the experiment, they went outside to learn about artillery. After a precursory lesson in loading the charge, priming it, and putting the fuse to it, the cannon blasted a wad of aluminum foil from the barrel so vigorously that it turned it into chaff.

They did several more experiments using both kinds of black powder to light off the cannon, and gave the students a chance to light it off. Allen had to admit that he found it very impressive.

They didn’t get back from class until late. Allen had been so caught up in the activities that he hadn’t noticed Cindy leaving. He looked for her on his way to the mess hall but didn’t see her anywhere. After the excitement of the class he longed to share some time with her. He hoped that she would be as interested as he was, but he doubted that was possible. She must have left early. Or maybe just on time. It was quite late. The sun had set, and the metal halide lights were at full brightness. Allen noticed how dry the soil was here. He wondered how long it had been since this was used as a camp. He looked over at the obstacle course as he walked. Not much light reached them. He noticed that there were lights in there, but they were turned off. There was a small crowd of smokers standing by the fence as he walked by. He was nearly on top of Todd before he noticed him. Todd blew smoke in his face as he walked by, but Allen just put his head down and ignored him for the most part, but his fight or flight response was triggered, and he could feel the adrenalin flowing through his body. The top of his head seemed to scrunch up, his knuckles whitened, and he continued his walk. Todd laughed at Allen’s lack of response. It must be somewhat gratifying to be a bully, Allen thought. He hoped that he’d never know.

When he got to the mess hall he saw Cindy just finishing up with her tray, and setting it through the pass through for dirty dishes. He walked over to her.

“Anything good?” he asked as she turned with a start.

“You startled me.” Cindy replied. “No, the food is burnt and gross tonight. Where were you?”

“I was talking with Mr. Remington. He wants to see my blunderbuss tomorrow.” Allen said. He surveyed the food and decided on some corn that was overcooked and shriveled. He noticed Sandoval in the back looking at him like he wanted to talk to him or something. He instinctively squinted his eyes as if that would help. Sandoval was pointing at something outside. Allen looked but it was dark, and the windows reflected almost everything back at him. When he looked back at Sandoval, he was making some gesture and then covering his heart and looking up. Allen practically threw his tray down and ran out to retrieve the flag. It was dark, and nobody had taken it down yet. His Dad would most likely scold him, or at least lecture him if he knew. And then Allen realized that Dad always knew. Not to mention this was all going to be on television. He unceremoniously took down the flags and folded them by himself, and then put them on his bed. He would have to get a program developed so that this sort of thing didn’t happen again. Or get some lights to shine on the flag. That would also be acceptable.

He thought it would be cool to use the cannon to signal the time to raise or lower the flag. He wondered if Remington would go along with firing the cannon in the morning and at night when it was time to assemble for the flag ceremony. Maybe. He seemed like a good guy.

He went to the cafeteria and ate alone. The corn was overcooked and firm, but there was a lot of butter and pepper on it, and he was hungry, which was the sweetest spice. There were people talking and laughing outside so he went and tried to get in to mingle for a while but gave up and went over and worked on his swords. Only then did people engage in conversations with him. While he was distracted.

When he got to his bed area in the barracks he took out his authentic replica and made sure that everything was in good working order. Except for firing it of course. He put it away and got out the other one that used 4/10 shotgun shells. He considered making a holster for it on the same belt that held his swords. He had seen a cross chest holster that held 2 flintlocks. In order to make it work he’d need to have some kind of braces, or suspenders to go between his shoulders and his waist. He wanted to get some leather to build it out of, but some tan webbing would do in a pinch. He could use it as a pattern later on. He went and found Sara and told her his idea. He’d brought the blunderbuss with him, and even though it was dark outside he had a small entourage when he found her. He would like to have it worked out so that he could carry both of them, but he would be happy enough with just one. He had 2 of his swords hanging from the belt, and he looked like he was ready to do battle. By the time he’d finished speaking with Sara about his plan there were a few people play sword fighting. There was the clack clacking of swords, and surprised expressions of “Awwwwwww, or oh man.” Whenever someone made contact. Nobody was playing for keeps. The swords were awkward and uncomfortable in their wielders grasp.

“We should have a sign that says that we’re ready to duel.” Cindy said as she sat next to Allen. “Maybe a bracelet, or armband that we can wear when we’re willing to be called out to a duel by the other kids.” Cindy continued. They were far from kids at this point, but Allen knew what she meant.

“How long would it take to get 20 or so Utes bandannas out here?” Allen asked Sara.

“2 Days if I order them tonight.”

“Order them.” Cindy and Allen said simultaneously.

Wednesday Week 1 of boot camp

Allen had some coffee in him by the time the alarm went off. He was watching the clock when it sounded, but it still scared the crap out of him.

Gomer went in again to yell, but he turned just as he got in and came back out when he noticed that Allen wasn’t in there. He marched on over to Allen started screaming something that was incomprehensible to Allen. He wondered if it was really that hard to understand him, or if he just confused the words because of some mental block or something.

“Bla bla bla bla or you will be removed from the show bla bla.” He shouted.

Allen didn’t seem to care that he couldn’t comprehend him. He hoped that it didn’t get him kicked from the show.

“Pardon me?” Allen said earnestly.

“You need to do what I say, or you will be removed from the show for good.” Gomer repeated, biting each word off as he spoke it.

Allen wondered how you could get an accent while living in California. He speculated that it might be because it was Hollywood.

“Don’t I do what you say?” Allen asked incredulously with his shoulders raised.

Rage covered the man’s face. He freaked out for a while, but this time Allen didn’t laugh.

“I’m sorry sir. I will do better.” Allen assured him with genuine sincerity.

“Well, you better. Now get your ass in line and do your five-mile run.”

“Right after the flag ceremony.” Allen compromised.

“Right now, mister.” Gomer insisted.

“Not until after the flag ceremony.” Allen reiterated.

“Right now.” Gomer said with a sort of finality. His face flushed with anger.

“Not until…” Allen began, but Sara saved him. “Trent, we’re all patriots here. We want to have the flag ceremony.”

Allen witnessed who had the power, at least in this situation. It was a calming breeze that overtook the man as he fell into line. So, Gomer had a name. It’s Trent. And he agreed to do the flag ceremony first. All good things. There was a couple dozen people looking on as the argument commenced. The situation was diffused, and they could go about their activities. And the next activity was the flag ceremony.

They went on the 5-mile walk. Gomer was driving ahead of them in the Polaris as usual. He was a real dick, and it got on everybody’s nerves. The exhaust from the Polaris bothered Allen more than it should have. Only a hint of the odor was in the air, but Allen could smell it. His mind seemed to exaggerate the odor to the point that he thought it was hurting him. Poisoning him. Todd was able to run the stupid 5 miles even though he was a smoker, and Allen had a hard time breathing the nearly perfectly clean air. Gomer seemed to be aware of it too. He hated Allen. Maybe it would be best if he did get booted. Then he could go back to school where he belonged. To be enveloped in the comfort of structure, schedule, and knowing what each day would bring.

The distance in front of them was diminishing as the miles ticked by. Those who had swords occasionally broke the monotony by having a short sword competition. It slowed the walk, but built up the comradery in the team, and strengthened the muscles in their arms and chest. Not all of them had swords yet, and he had three. He dispatched his foes quickly and with little effort. His three brothers were better than any he witnessed here. His duels with his brothers got intense sometimes. And it never helped to go tell mom because she wouldn’t let you fight any more. And Dad would say “Suck it up buttercup, and get in there and do better.” He remembered.

“Do better.” Allen said absently without thinking about it. Hoping that it was too quiet for anybody to hear.

“What?” Cindy asked. She hadn’t been privy to the conversation that had been going on in his head.

“My Dad is always telling us boys to do better.” Allen responded.

“What boys?” she asked looking around at her peers.

“Me and my bros. If we don’t do as well as we could, or we don’t do things the best that we can. He tells us to do better.” Allen said. He was pretty sure she would never understand him, or like him, if she knew that he had conversations going on in his head all the time. It would be best not to mention that.

“Sounds like a good man. Does he inspire you?”

Allen had to think about it. He had never really thought about his Dad’s stupid sayings and advice as being inspirational. “He has some sayings that kinda… stick in your head. I don’t think he really inspires me.”

She digested the information as they walked.

“Hmmm. I bet he does. You just don’t admit it.” Cindy offered.

Allen got defensive when she said it, but it did sort of ring true. “Maybe.” Was all that he could muster.

Allen and Cindy walked together and talked about their fathers. She was inspired by her father as well, but she wouldn’t admit it either. It’s a generally known fact that Dads seem to spew wisdom on to deaf ears. Allen thought he could learn more from her father than his own, but she felt the opposite. Maybe it was all about familiarity. They would never know.

When they were nearing the end of their 5 miler others that had finished up came and confronted Allen as he walked or kind of jogged beside Cindy. They had their swords ready and were ready to duel. Allen dispatched most of them out with little effort. Some took a bit more time and skills. He beat them all with his short sword in his left hand. He had become a regular dread pirate Allen. Cindy seemed enamored with his skills. He tried not to beam too much, but he liked to show off for the pretty lady.

He liked the way she looked in her sweaty outfit. She had vowed to bring her sword next time, and Allen had noticed that it made it a lot more difficult to get along for 5 miles. Even more difficult than he thought it would. He was extremely worn out by the time they had finished the walk jog. He showered before returning to camp.

Cindy was sporting some elbow and wrist straps that she had received. Allen recognized them as the type used to minimize tendonitis and tennis elbow. They were hot pink. They pinched the skin around her wrists and elbows. She appeared every bit the true warrior. Somebody must have flipped a switch in her, Allen thought. Her skin had tightened and added emphasis to her features. As her muscles and body began to tone up, her personality warmed. Allen guessed that she was either interested in him, or up to some elaborate ruse. He hoped it was the former. He was contemplating taking advantage of the situation as long as possible. He liked being on the receiving end of the feminine attention.

At artillery class they shot the cannon with both types of black powder using cannon balls. The homemade variety burned faster, but not enough to noticeably change the trajectory of the cannon ball. Not at these short distances anyway.

Allen took the opportunity to suggest to Mr. Remington about using the cannon for signaling the flag ceremony. Mr. Remington agreed that it would be fine. He would also attend. He seemed excited that there was enthusiasm for the flag ceremony like when he was younger.

“It’s become a lost tradition.” Mr. Remington suggested. Allen agreed.

For the most part they did the same things as the previous day. Rehearsing the procedures to make muscle memory. Allen wondered if the other schools where doing more of the same thing. They continued to manufacture huge quantities of black powder. Each student assembled a shot for the cannon to shoot using the black powder that they created. They were instructed as to what was necessary to get the shot extracted if their shot failed to fire. Everybody in the class was hoping for a great success for sure, but even more so than that, they were hoping that their shot didn’t fail. When the foil was wrapped around each person’s shot, Remington had them put their initials on it. They would shoot them off tomorrow.

Mr. Remington came over to Allen while the others were finishing up and cleaning their stations.

“I’m trying to think of a way to get my blunderbuss to shoot paintballs.” Allen said. “Can you think of any way to get the velocity down enough, or to divert the inertia, to shoot a paintball with a blunderbuss?” Allen asked. He didn’t seem to care if anybody was listening, and there seemed to be a camera in his face as soon as he said it.

“Have you ever tried it?” Remington asked.

“Of course I have.” Allen answered. “The shot comes apart in the barrel and a sort of paint ball spray comes out instead.” Allen explained, “And it comes out fast. Way faster than a paint ball gun. I think the weak ball can’t speed up that fast. Can you think of a way it might be done?”

“Well, I‘ve never thought about it before. Let me think about it. Maybe there’s a way we could do it.” Mr. Remington agreed. Allen wasn’t too hopeful. He’d thought about it, and it seemed impossible. Maybe a new set of eyes, so to speak? He recalled a time when he froze the paint ball in the freezer before shooting it. The ball was still frozen when it hit the target though, and it might prove lethal to get hit with such a ball. It was probably impossible.

After reaching the camp Allen worked on his sword belt some more. It was starting to shape up nicely, but he wanted to put a couple of blunderbusses on the front.

As he worked the materials he was trying to think of something that could be done to carry them. The blunderbusses were big. Bigger than a musket anyway. It was like carrying 2 sawed off shotguns with the butts of them cut short like a pistol grip. Allen wished he could look on the internet. Everything about everything could be found on the internet. When he looked up from his ponderings, he saw Danny in the barracks shooting video of him. Since he had looked right into the camera he smiled and shot the camera with both of his index fingers and said “Bang.” As he did it. Then he put his smile away and kept working on the sword belt. He thought that some sort of suspenders would be necessary. And maybe something around his back by his neck to keep the front from falling down too far. He’d have to be wary of making it so that it would dig into the back of his neck. He needed it to be comfortable to wear all day.

Before getting into bed, he decided to order up a few pairs of those squeezy thingies for exercising your forearms. A couple of all 3 difficulties would do nicely. His friends could practice up with some as well.

Thursday week 1 of boot camp.

Allen arose and went to the mess hall to get hot coffee and a stale bagel. It was worse than the usual affair, but it was merely disgusting when dunked into the coffee. The coffee was too hot as usual, but he added copious amounts of sugar and creamer to it. It still took a while to cool enough for him to drink it, but the bagel swam in it nicely.

Gomer was out in the cool morning air when he exited. Pitching some sort of fit about Him getting his act together. He grimaced and tried to follow his instructions. His accent made him difficult to understand and he didn’t like it when Allen would ask “What?” He just couldn’t bring himself to understand what he was saying. He imagined Gomer being an actor that just didn’t command the sort of respect that would be given to an enlisted man. He was so uncharacteristically unmilitary.

Allen stood at attention. It helped him to concentrate on the nonsense coming out of Gomer’s mouth. When he finished giving him a lecture about being a good example he thought about how he had actually tried to do just that. He thought he was doing an okay job of it too, but he figured Gomer was still mad about the guns. He threw him a good salute. It wasn’t great but it was good. When Gomer left him hanging he stayed in salute for a while, until Gomer actually left him there. That’s when he started to laugh.

Allen pulled the remains of the bagel out of his coffee where it had turned to a soggy mess. He powered it down and drank the still too hot coffee before getting ready for the run/walk.

When he got back inside he was speaking with the cook about his paint ball not being able to come out of the gun in one piece. He suggested putting a Jell-O type wadding in to spread the force around. That seemed like a novel idea so he went and got some paint balls for the cook to use to see if there was something he could come up with.

He went back outside to find Mr. Remington and some unknown men unloading a cannon from a trailer as the morning sky was brightening as the sun crept closer to popping over the horizon.

Flag ceremony went off without a hitch, and then the walk/run. Allen was playing with his swords as they walked, and kind of goofing off when Cameron said. “We need to put more effort in to our training.”

“What do you mean?” Shupe asked. Sweat ran from his body but he wasn’t breathing heavy like the others.

“This is a competition right?” Cameron began. “I mean, like with other schools and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, so?” Shupe asked.

“Well, we need to put in our best efforts.” Cameron continued. “We need to be more than equal to the competition.”

You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure that out, but it completely eluded Allen and the others until Cameron pointed it out.

“We need to be our best and give every task out here 100% or we won’t win.” Cameron continued. “We might give it our all and still not win, but we won’t be happy with second place if we didn’t give our best.”

“I won’t be happy with second place.” Londen stated flatly, and he started to jog instead of his fast walk. The rest hurried their pace to keep up. Allen had to hang his swords up on his belt to keep up with his buddies. He was suddenly very proud of his buds. They were going to do their best.

“Let’s make a pact. If anybody starts to slack off we should have a reminder that we all know to stop slacking and do their very best.” Cameron suggested. “Some kind of gang sign that we can flash.”

“A grimace.” Allen suggested. “Get their attention and flash them a grimace.” He gritted his teeth with lips withdrawn to show what he meant, and they agreed.

Although he was slightly winded, he led them through the Utes fight song as they jogged. They were shaky on the words at first, and Cameron and Londen were saying the lines in a sort of panting whisper, but they all knew the song pretty good by the time they stopped and coughed up a lung at the end.

The hot humid morning air had a sort of salty, coral smell to it that Allen couldn’t quite describe, and a little different than the previous days. The breeze crept across the sky like a bird. Occasionally diving and darting and changing course. It felt very pirate. He would inhale as much as his lungs could before exhaling in a cough. The heavy exercise confused his lungs that were unaccustomed to working this hard, and the hot humid, acrid air did little to satisfy his thirst for oxygen. They were having a hard time deciding whether he was supposed to be breathing or dying. They were in a sort of transitional phase. The phlegm and slime that came with hard usage was disturbing, but he pushed himself. He didn’t want to be a slacker. It was the first time in his life that his lungs were affected this way with warm air. He knew he would get over it.

After lunch Londen lightly poked Allen in the chest with his wooden sword as he offered to dual Allen. Allen knew that Londen chose him since he would have a better chance of learning something than if he went up against somebody else. Allen wanted to make this a teaching moment. He used his left hand like the dread pirate Roberts, and drew the short sword, and drew the battle out with slow side strikes and thrusts coupled with instructions to build up his knowledge and both men’s reflexes, as well as the muscle memory that was needed for combat. In his efforts to help his friend he made it look easy. The comfort of the paracord grips felt good in his hands, but his own lack of practice had made it so that when he put his muscles to this long forgotten test they would rebel with a burn of protest that his peers were unaware of. His forearm began to burn and he lost focus as well as form. In his efforts to draw the battle out he took it easy. He was trying to show how difficult it was to defend against a left hander, and at the same time improve his own skills. Londen was changed somehow since the pact. He was willing to go the extra mile, but even another extra mile after that. After fighting for what seemed like an hour Londen grimaced toward Allen. He hadn’t forgotten the pact. Allen drew his longsword with his right hand and stowed the short sword. He made it seem effortless as he changed weapons mid fight as they danced around the courtyard. It was only a few more moments until Allen dispatched him with his rested right arm. They bowed at the end of the contest, and Londen thanked him for the lesson. Both of the men had aching and throbbing muscles. Neither of them looked for sympathy. It was a good fight. He would have liked to contemplate his experiences to solidify them in his form, but as soon as he was recovered Cindy wanted to give him a try. She touched him on the chest with the point of her sword and said “On guard.”

He peered down the crude weapon to its wielder as a smile broadened across his face. Allen’s arms were sore and hot by the end of the last competition, and he hadn’t had time to recover before this one began.

She was of a slight build, and he thought the contest would take a few seconds at best if he set his performance to its highest level. He didn’t want to humiliate her, but at the same time he wanted to show off. She had a routine where she would slash a couple of times, and then thrust a few times. Allen saw her pattern immediately and she could easily be defeated. He held off a bit since he wanted her to feel like she was doing well, but at the same time she showed an indomitable will. It was like a contest between a lion and a hyena. He had the power and the skill, the ability and might, but she had a tenacity and drive that made him want her to win. To boost her morale and confidence. The problem with that sort of thinking is that he couldn’t let someone else win. If somebody was going to beat him then they had to earn it. He was the type that would massacre a child in a game of chess. Never yielding to the impulse of compassion. He would defend himself from her attacks while dishing out some quick jabs and slashes that she could defend or dodge with effort. His sweat laden hair had become whips that lashed out at his face, stinging his eyes. After a few minutes though she was done playing games and she brought a whole new level of competition. Allen’s skills were still far superior to hers though, and when he slowed due to his aching, throbbing muscles he quickly ended it. He dished out two quick thrusts and a slash in a flurry of movement that caught her off guard and penetrated her defenses. A smile crept across her face. A few moments later her entire face lit up. They shared a laugh in the moment. They were both flushed from the heat, and the physical exertion, but she was beautiful. Allen chased the thoughts of kissing her from his mind. He didn’t want to spoil this moment, and the fear of rejection would diminish his prowess.

“I’m getting better, aren’t I?” she asked through her grin.

“Way.” Allen admitted. “But you didn’t think you could beat me, did you?”

“I will.” She promised. “I’m going to be the best damn pirate you’ve ever seen.” She boasted.

Allen thought about it for a second before speaking. “I’ve never seen a pirate.”

They both laughed as they went in to enjoy another day of all the sandwiches and salad you could stand to eat. It was a just dessert.

Allen showed Cindy how her reach isn’t as long, and her power isn’t as powerful during the walk to the artillery class. She listened with the sort of understanding of a true student, and not someone who was trying to find a reason to be offended. He talked about his brothers and how they would play with swords when he was growing up. Wooden ones similar to these. The way his mother and father would react to every conflict which brought a suppressed giggle to her countenance. His older brothers would destroy him time and time again. How he hated to lose so he would practice in his mind. When he wasn’t in a fight with them, he would analyze his brothers, and their technique until certain patterns appeared. He would visualize them using their moves on him, and come up with a counterattack, or a block, or a dodge. He practiced in his mind. He practiced rolling on the grass. His friends would laugh at him for just running over and rolling in the grass for no apparent reason. He was doing it to get better at diverting the energy of a fall and using the momentum for gain. It reminded him of the movie Galaxy Quest. But in his mind, he saw a brother or 2 chasing him and he would evade, block, and attack.

Cindy was hanging on every word. Enamored by his stories and trying to learn from her new mentor. Allen recounted some of the sword fights of his youth. Sometimes he would laugh as he remembered different details. They arrived at class far too soon for Allen’s liking. He would have liked to impress her for another couple of miles, but there they were.

Sandoval met Allen at class. He was talking with Mr. Remington as he came in, and they motioned him over.

“Wassup fellas?” Allen asked as he came in closer to the director and teacher. He wasn’t as concerned about missing out on a second of airtime as he had been. These moments might have a tendency to get him some favor with the director. Part of him felt like he must be getting used to being on camera all the time.

“We like the idea of using a musket in the war game portion of the contest.” Sandoval stated.

“It’s a good thing we have them waivers then.” Allen joked. Neither of them seemed to get his meaning, but Sara stifled a laugh from off camera.

“We want to use a sort of paint ball gun that looks like a blunderbuss.” Mr. Remington stated. He rightfully guessed that Allen would appreciate the blunderbuss reference over the musket comment.

“Like, made up to look like a blunderbuss, or to shoot a paintball from one?” Allen asked.

“To look like one.” Sandoval answered.

“Well, I’m in. I like the idea of shooting a few foes while slicing up the others. What do you need from me?”

“Well, you might be able to CADD one up for us.” Sandoval stated flatly. Allen doubted he could. He was a novice with Auto CADD.

“I can draw what I like, but I don’t have a computer or anything. Maybe one of these engineers can do it, but it’s beyond my current skill level.” Allen admitted reluctantly.

“Don’t they teach that for engineers at the U?” Sandoval asked.

Was this a taunt, or just a question? Allen wondered, and then dismissed it. He probably had forgotten he was a construction management major.

“I know a guy that can draw and make one up.” Mr. Remington suggested. Allen was grateful for the diversion.

“How soon can he have one?” Sandoval asked.

“One? Probably a week. But if we want to market some, then we need to make a good product that people might want to have. Probably a dozen or so in a couple of weeks.” Remington added.

“Wait a minute.” Allen interrupted. “If we put something together then we need to have an advantage over the other teams.”

“What do you mean?” Sandoval asked.

“Like, we need to be able to use them for a month before the other teams get them.” Allen suggested. “Like a patent. We should be able to have free reign with them for a month before the other teams even get the opportunity to have them.” He suggested.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

“I don’t think I can swing that. I can probably swing a couple of weeks though. Would you go for that?”

Allen thought about it for a few long moments before agreeing. They shook hands, and Allen and Remington decided that they would draw up some plans.

As Allen and his friends walked back toward the barracks, he felt good about how things played out with the blunderbuss paintball guns so he had his guard down. As they walked past the smoking area by the obstacle course Todd stopped Allen with the point of his wooden sword. Allen actually gulped like in the old Scooby Doo cartoons. He instinctively looked down at his chest where the point of the sword was, and then up the blade to Todd who held the sword with his palm facing up, and the hilt seemed like it was lightly grasped. A good upward smack with his sword would have probably sent it a flight, but he didn’t think of it until it was too late.

“On guard.” Todd said with a calm that bit into the very fiber that Allen was made of. A shiver ran down his spine and brought a shudder to his body that betrayed his sword fighting prowess.

Todd was unafraid which made Allen wary. Without looking he reached down with his left hand and pulled the smaller of the two swords he held on the right side of his belt. It felt good in his hand. Each passing moment of practice made the comfort of familiarity grow toward his weapon. The Para cord handle gave it a good grip in his hand. The indentations where his fingers lay were perfectly spaced to give his hand the assurance that the sword was there where it belonged. That it was correct. That it would give him every advantage against his opponent. It was smaller and a bit lighter than Todd’s sword, but you wouldn’t have guessed by looking at Todd, and the way he gripped it. He made it seem effortless.

“On guard.” Allen echoed, and the contest began.

The air was humid and hot like a summertime locker room next to the showers. The sun had just set, and there was just a hint of yellow that could still be seen from its corona if anybody had been paying attention, but they hadn’t. All eyes were on the two as the dance began. Allen had the remnants of the sunshine behind him, but it didn’t make much difference. And even if it did, Todd would be able to get in to position easy enough to take away that small advantage. It hadn’t rained so the dirt had a sort of powdery dust about it that was just waiting for the smallest suggestion from their footfalls to become airborne. Allen waited for the first attack to come but it didn’t seem like Todd was ready to give up anything. Allen planned on using Todd’s momentum against him like he had his brothers all of them times, but Todd was quite poised. He held the sword out in the same position as before. His elbow bent at a 90-degree angle and his fingers caressing the wooden blade with his palm up. His head didn’t seem to bob up and down at all as he moved, and Allen tried to get in with his sword. Todd easily batted it away and moved his feet without ever bobbing his head. Allen tried a few pokes and a few slashes, but Todd just moved his hand or wrist ever so slightly and his blade went swinging either outside, or across to the other side. He whacked a few times with some strength behind his blows just to find it blocked or to find air. Todd was toying with him he knew.

Allen reached down and pulled his longer, heavier sword from the left side of his belt with his right-hand during combat. If he couldn’t penetrate Todd’s defenses with his short sword, he might be able to sneak one of the swords points in with a 2 pronged attack. He rolled his swords around like a sword fighter might do in a movie. It wasn’t effective, but it looked cool. It was one of the things he did to his brothers to psyche them out. It didn’t have any effect on Todd. Then suddenly he stabbed in with both blades simultaneously. One high, and one low. This attack never failed him in the past, but Todd brushed the attack aside like a true swordsman. Bewilderment broke across Allen’s features as his move missed its mark. The dust was rising, and the light was fading from the sky. It was not yet dark, but it wasn’t far off. The colors continued to change. Allen loved a good sunset. Perhaps as much as looking into a beautiful woman’s eyes. Perhaps even more than that. Whether this was a good one or not he may never know. He was caught up in a battle. Seemingly little was at stake, but everything was at stake at the same time. Allen began a flurry of strikes and feints. Todd countered each with a series of parrying and dodging. Allen couldn’t penetrate his defenses even though Todd used a single sword. He had bested his brothers hundreds of times, and they never gave him this much trouble. Not since he got good anyway. A cooler breeze carried itself across the scene like a bird. The clatter of wooden swords, and the shouts of the crowd inspired him on. Everybody seemed to want Allen to beat Todd. Everybody wanted him to beat the bully. He felt spurred on by the crowd. He wondered if this must be how Rocky Balboa felt. Suddenly, Todd stopped toying with him and started to bring a ferocious attack. The sunlight was fading fast now, and Allen had a hard time seeing through the gloom and sweat that seemed to be pouring in to his eyes. He was able to hold Todd off for the moment. He could counter everything that he threw at him. A look of frustration finally took a turn at appearing on Todds face. Both men were getting frustrated. Both had sweat running down their faces, their entire bodies were slick from perspiration. Todd’s long hair became seaweed that slapped him in the face when his head would change direction. Allen’s hair did the same thing, but was too short to get in his eyes. He would pause every once in a while to mop the water from his face with his forearm. His big bellowing sleeve worked good for clearing the sweat from his face and brow, but combined with the fine air born dust it was beginning to be covered in mud. One time, as he mopped his face, Todd nearly took his head off with a strike that was so close to his throat that he gasped. He jerked his head back, and then dove at Todd through the growing dust cloud, but he didn’t find purchase. Todd had evaded him again.

The metal halide lights clicked on, but it would be several minutes before they were up to strength, and it was beginning to get quite dark.

“They must be on a sensor.” Allen said absently to no one in particular. His mind was confused in the heat and his exhaustion. His muscles were still sore from the battle earlier in the day. Todd didn’t seem to notice. Their blades danced for several minutes until every eye in the place, and every camera that wasn’t in a fixed location was watching the duel. Allen was encouraged as he began to make some headway when Todd started to show some signs of fatigue. The thought of actually winning spurred him on. The crowd was chanting his name so loudly that he knew he would win. After a few minutes of getting nowhere, however, Allen began to think that Todd wasn’t getting tired, but instead toying with him. The sure grip of his good swords was covered with slippery sweat, and his strength was leaving his shoulders first, and then his arms. Todd was a machine. He kept blocking, feinting, and striking with enough force that Allen was on the verge of breaking. He thought of what London had said earlier about not being happy with second place. He redoubled his efforts if that was possible and came at Todd with his last remaining strength in a sort of do or die kind of posture with a flurry of blows that did nothing more than stir the dust, and cause the already airborne dust to move in rhythmic patterns. Todd allowed one of Allen’s blades to penetrate his defenses just enough to glance off his shoulder, and again just enough to glance off his waist. Allen’s hope was renewed, but his strength was completely sapped. He struck at Todd with both swords in a thrust to the upper chest. His feeble last hoorah was deflected as Todd spun and chopped Allen just under his right ear followed by a chop to his left neck, and a thrust to his chest just above his heart. Allen didn’t have the strength to deflect any of the 3 blows that would have killed him if the contest was for real. He didn’t even have enough strength to deflect the blow enough to change its direction. The final blow nearly knocked Allen to the dirt to the horrification of nearly everyone present. The tip of his long sword dipped and swung from his weak grasp in his right hand, and he dropped the short sword all together. All of the strength in his left arm was spent. He fell to his knees in the powdery dusty soil as a cloud of the stuff enveloped him in swirls of back light. The metal halide lights were finally at full, and they were behind Todd as he stood over Allen. The stream of stringy bloody saliva that clung to Allen’s lip as he hung his head. The crowd was silent. No one knew whether to help or get back at Todd, or call an ambulance, or what. Both men panted, but the strength continued to leave Allen as he sank down further and further in to the dust. The bruise under his ear was so red that it looked like it was bleeding as well. Allen coughed and a spray of bloodied saliva hit the ground, and some hit Todd’s shoes. More dust took flight when his cough stirred it. Allen’s breathing was labored with his body hunched over like it was. Allen dropped his other sword and was falling on to his face when Todd caught his fall, and hoisted him up. Allen had given his all, and he was going to have a hard time recovering from his ordeal. Todd’s strength was also depleted, and he had a hard time helping him up until Cindy was there to help. She climbed under his sweaty arm and grabbed his hand so that he couldn’t fall without bringing her down with him. Todd was little better off and in no condition to help him on his own so it was a good thing she was there. They hadn’t traveled more than just a few paces when the paramedics took over and helped him to the infirmary to be checked out.

Most of the students were there. Either inside the place or milling about outside. It caught them off guard when the cannon sounded for the flag ceremony. It was delayed due to the action on set, and it was going to be later still before the flag was lowered again. Allen felt like he had been through a meat grinder, but now he also felt like crap on the inside as well. Only a few people were present for flag, and they returned to the infirmary afterward. It was about an hour before they released Allen to go back to the barracks, but he still needed assistance from the others. He refused the wheelchair that they offered. Todd and Cindy helped him to his bunk and got him laying down. Cindy left him there while Todd stood by his bed.

“Wowsers, you’re good.” Allen finally said.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” Todd admitted as he looked at Allen’s neck in the well illuminated room. He winced as he examined it. Allen let out a weak laugh.

“Why were you using your left hand?” Todd asked. The concern in his voice was genuine.

“I was unaware of how good you were until I found out.” Allen answered. “But I found out.”

Todd pulled off Allen’s shoes for him and set them beside his footlocker. Then he pulled off his socks and tossed them in the hamper bag next to his headboard. It wasn’t until the dirty socks were placed that close to his head that he thought there might be a better place for his dirty clothes.

Cindy burst through the door with a plate of food for him, and another for herself. Allen tried to sit up, but his stomach and arms were in bad shape. When he made the effort she shushed him, and set her plate on the footlocker, and his plate on her lap.

“And for dinner tonight, chicken pot humble pie.” She said as she gathered up a medium sized bite and blew on it for him. Todd took the hint and vacated the premises to get his own food.

It smelled wonderful, but he thought it weird to have her blowing on his food. He imagined touching her lips. At first with his fingers, and then of course with his own. She paused and opened her mouth like you would if you were feeding a baby and put the food in his mouth. Humble pie never tasted so good.

Rachael came in as they were finishing eating. The feeling tenderness he shared with Cindy was frightened away like cockroaches in the light, but she offered to massage his sore muscles. Allen didn’t like the idea of garnering the attention of someone that would appear as a betrayal to the woman that he was falling for, but the committee overruled him. Allen needed help getting out of his filthy sweaty clothes. He thought he would be more content sleeping in them, but the ball was rolling now. He went in the other room and showered and came out in his underwear. He was refreshed by the shower. It felt good to be clean, but his bruises were bright, and big. The impact seemed to have caused double damage to his muscles that were getting copious amounts of blood to them. The massage didn’t take long until it was more soothing than painful. It was still awkward having a girl that wasn’t even a very good friend do it. Especially with the girl he was trying to woo sitting right there. She carefully avoided his bruised areas. Todd apologized profusely for hitting him that hard. His cocky attitude had eroded before Allen’s eyes. By the time Rachael had finished he had forgotten that he was dressed in his name brand underwear, and nothing else. The girls left, and Todd dragged a chair over and sat on it backwards.

“I’m real sorry about hitting you hard like that. I really didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” Todd confessed.

“I think it was more of a combination of my overexertion and heart pounding than you pommeling me.” Allen admitted. He winced as he positioned himself to talk to him. The ibuprofen was beginning to take effect as he contemplated sleep and waking up in the morning. He absently looked into a camera and then did his gun motions with his finger and said bang. Todd started to laugh.

“Why did you do that?” Todd asked.

“I don’t know.” Allen admitted. “I heard that you aren’t supposed to look straight into the cameras, but I sometimes forget, and then I do that to make it seem like it wasn’t an accident.”

“That’s funny. I didn’t know you were funny.”

“That’s because you pick on people, and they don’t want to hang out with you.” Allen said honestly. “You’re gonna miss out on a lot of things if you never change your ways.” And then he wearily looked up at Todd who seemed to be scrutinizing what he had just said and studying the floor and wringing his palms. That’s when it dawned on him that Todd might not have known he was a bully. Confusion mixed with regret chased a shadow across his face. It didn’t seem possible at first, but Allen saw him have an epiphany right before his eyes.

“You didn’t know?” Allen mused quietly, and Todd’s eyes and posture were suddenly defensive. “You didn’t. Oh, my crap man, I thought you were just being a dick.” Allen said. He probably was making things worse, but he couldn’t really back pedal at this point. “I’m sorry bro. I’ve been afraid to get around you much because I thought you were mean and hated me or something.”

“I was just being funny.” Todd offered, but Allen wasn’t convinced.

“Making fun and being funny are two different things. Didn’t your brothers make fun of you when you were young?”

“I don’t have any brothers. I’m an only child actually.” Todd admitted. That explained some of his social skills, or lack of them.

“How did you get so good with swords without any brothers?” Allen asked absently as he lay his head on the pillow. His neck felt like it wouldn’t recover.

Todd looked deep into Allen’s soul. He seemed to be trying to scrutinize the question before giving the answer.

“I wanted to take karate when I was little. My parents thought it would make me into some kind of bully.” He paused when he said that, and he only looked at Allen for an instant. He looked as if he was looking for some reassurance that he wasn’t a bully after all, but Allen completely missed the cue and said, “go on.”

“So, they enrolled me in fencing instead. I was good for my size when I was young, so they put me in harder and harder classes. I got pretty good before I gave it up.” Todd scanned the empty room and then back to Allen. “And then I had a girlfriend that liked cosplay. That’s when I made the first few swords out of wood and plastic, and foam and stuff. Not long after that I would perform at conventions, and get my picture taken with the locals. It was fun. I felt like I was an action figure.” Todd looked at the gang box behind Allen. “And then when you came here all guns a blazin, I wanted to kick your ass.” He said it so matter of factly that Allen nearly missed the whole implication.

“Well, you did just that. Now we can be buds.” Allen offered, and he thrust his hand out forgetting how sore his muscles were for a moment and wincing for his efforts. Todd smiled and took his hand and shook it.

“You should get some rest Allen. If you wake in the night just yell out and I will get you some more Ibuprofen.”

It seemed like it was only moments later when Allen got comfortable in his bed, and the next thing he knew he awoke. He was stiffening up again. He looked around the room for Todd, and then he noticed that he was sleeping right in front of him on the next bunk.

“Psssst, Todd.” He whispered. And in a couple of minutes, he had some bottled water, and a few more Advil.

Friday week 1 of boot camp.

Allen woke in the lonely darkness in the barracks before his alarm sounded. The room had cooled in the evening, but he hadn’t awoken to cover up. He felt the need to take some more Advil but thought he was already exceeding the RDA of ibuprofen. He weighed the pros and cons and decided that the FDA must have put a safety factor of some sort in to play before publishing the recommended daily allowance. He took 4 more before dragging his sorry butt into the shower and working the stiffness from his sore muscles. The water wasn’t nearly as soothing as he had hoped, but he let it do the best job that it could before venturing back into the main part of the barracks. The steamy vapors helped him to clear some of the stickiness from his lungs as the cleansing water carried it down the drain. He rinsed his sore torn cheek in the warm water before spitting the contents out in disgust from the stagnant taste of blood. He dressed in his clean pair of loosely fitting pirate pants, and a billowy sleeved pirate shirt. When he looked in the mirror, he noticed that he looked out of place with his bruises. He glanced from his mirror view to his arm where his Utes arm band had been. It felt funny to not have it there, but he was in no shape to fight a duel, so he kept it off. He was wondering if his sore muscles would do better with a rest, or with exercise and flexing. He decided on the former. He could always put it on if he changed his mind. He tucked it in his pocket just in case.

He arrived at the mess hall and struggled to get his coffee. His shoulder muscles were so bad that he had difficulty reaching up with either hand. The cook and Sara were watching him from the confines of the off-camera range, and they didn’t come to his aid although she longed to. It wasn’t worth it to get him his coffee he figured, but the cook did salute him from behind the counter as he looked on. It brought a smile to Allen’s face.

Allen blew on his coffee as he sat and stared at the clock. He was determined to not be startled by that stupid bugle sounding. It might cause him to jump, and if he jumped, he might pull a muscle, or hurt himself. He was in no shape to get startled this morning.

Revelry sounded, and Allen didn’t jump. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he was seeing stars for a few moments afterward. He stood up and was moving toward the door when Gomer came busting in and challenged him to a duel.

“Get out of my way… Gomer.” Allen said as he struggled to remember his name.

“I challenge you to a dual Mr. Bennett.” Gomer repeated. This time he was shaking his sword at Allen as if he was being courageous.

Allen moved toward the door. If left unimpeded he would have gone and gotten his swords and chopped Gomer to bits with them, but Cindy came in, followed by Todd. Todd seemed taller today.

He figured that it was his imagination, but for some reason he mused that the reason Todd appeared taller was because he must have shrunk in the night. But that was absurd. If that was the case then everyone would seem taller, not just Todd.

“He isn’t wearing any insignia.” Cindy protested. She was relieved to see that he wasn’t. At first, she feared that he would put it on no matter what. That’s how some macho men liked to be. They always got hurt because of it. She was surprised with the empathy that she felt for him. His pain caused her to feel pain. Her face flushed with embarrassment that seemed to go unnoticed.

Allen made his way outside, but he stumbled on the rough-cut wooden planks outside the door, and nearly lost his balance which would have caused him to fall off the stoop entirely. Perhaps he tripped on his own shadow. He thought. His legs weren’t working right either. He was trying to get to his swords to finally knock the crap out of Gomer.

A crowd appeared around them. Gomer put his sword up and said, “On guard.”

Before Gomer’s sword was even level Todd had knocked it from his grasp with his own sword that suddenly appeared in his hand, and Gomer’s sword went flying into the air like Allen had wanted to do with Todd last night. The sword flipped around in the sky before falling absently in to Shupe’s hand. Shupe seemed as surprised as anyone that he caught the sword as it tumbled through the air.

“He isn’t wearing his insignia.” Todd restated Cindy’s words.

Gomer looked around for some sort of backup or something, but none was there to be had. He went over and took the sword from Shupe and held it up again like he was going to give his idea another go.

“On g…” was all that came out of his mouth as his sword disappeared with a clack as before. It was tumbling through the air again, but this time Shupe had to take a step to get where he could catch the sword effortlessly again, which he did. Somebody handed Allen his swords, and he absently took them in his weak grasp, but they were heavy this morning. He began to think of how much it was going to hurt this time, but what he failed to realize was that Todd wasn’t going to let Gomer duel against him.

Gomer took a step toward Shupe to take the sword from him a second time, but this time Shupe came forward and met him in the middle and handed it to him. Gomer took a tight grip on the pommel this time so that Todd’s wooden blade wouldn’t dislodge it. Then he took a step away from Todd and lifted it toward Allen. As soon as he took his eyes off Todd his sword was hit from the bottom so hard that it hit him in the face with the midsection of the length. He still held it albeit loosely with only a finger and his thumb, and when gravity was working on both his sword and the small drops of blood that were coming from his nose, Todd knocked it to the dirt before he could react. His hand instinctively came up to his nose, and then in front of his face. There was a dab of blood on it. It appeared to Todd that looked like he was about to cry.

“You’re gonna pay for that mister.” He said as he looked at Todd, his lip had already swollen up. And then he spun and was heading for the Polaris with his wooden sword still lying in the dirt. Todd picked it up and went over to the little truck before he could leave and handed it to him and bent close to say something. Gomer looked shocked and wiped his face with his hand and presented it to Todd. Todd shrugged his shoulders and spoke some hushed words. He seemed calm and uncharacteristic for what Allen had perceived him to be. Maybe he had turned over a new leaf, or maybe he had misjudged Todd. They looked at each other for a moment. Then they both started talking at once. Gomer bowed his head and lifted it back up. He gritted his teeth and tore out of there with the Polaris. Todd had his foot on the bottom deck of the little truck as it started to speed away, but he moved it quick enough, and he calmly waved as gomer left the compound. The dust slowly made its way across the yard in the morning light, and just as the sun was beginning to rise the cannon sounded for flag.

Allen was too sore to participate in the flag ceremony, but he said the pledge of allegiance with the group and sang the Utes fight song with them as well. Many more people were learning the words to the song which made him proud. Rachael offered to give him another massage before the 5 miles, but he said he would be fine. He wound up regretting that decision before they had walked the first half mile, but he trudged along in the hot morning sun, and contemplated the cool crisp mornings that he might be enjoying if he was still in Utah. He was relieved when his thoughts wandered since it made the miles tick off more easily. His attention was peaked about half way through the walk when Gomer went flying by him on the Polaris Ranger. He missed him by about a foot, and it startled him back into his misery.

“What the?” Cindy asked of no one in particular. There was a new mob of people walking with Allen after last night’s contest. They were barely moving along, and nobody was trying to distance from Allen as he walked. He noticed that there were some people really holding back. There were people behind him making some kind of a commotion, but he lacked mobility to turn to investigate if he intended to keep trudging.

“What’s going on?” Allen asked absently. He slurred his speech as if some unknown force was sapping so much energy that he couldn’t even talk right.

“Trent just left the compound.” Cindy said as she was walking backward by his side and giving a play by play. “He tried to take the little truck out the gate and those big guards pulled him out and tossed him out the gate. He yelled something at them, and gave them the bird but they closed the gate and went back in the gate house.”

“Those other kids are headed back to camp.” Lincoln observed. “It looks like they don’t intend to finish the run.”

Several of the people turned to see what was going on. Allen kept plodding on. He had to stay focused or he would never make it. He gritted his teeth and formed a grimace for his friends to see, which inspired them to continue the 5 mile walk.

“Mr. Sandoval and a few of the interns are talking with the quitters.” Rachael said. Allen hadn’t noticed that she was even there until she spoke. “A couple of them are coming back, but most are just standing there talking to Mr. Sandoval.”

Allen was grateful for the play by play. He was curious, but still committed to finishing his walk. All of the slackers that came back were in the B team barracks, and all of them passed up Allen and company as they hurried to finish the course ahead of him. They must have had a late start, Allen thought.

After he had completed the 5 mile, he showered, and got another massage. His aching muscles were calmed by the soothing attention although it still made him uncomfortable. When it was completed, he returned to the shower. He couldn’t seem to wash the filth that he felt on himself. Part of him started to recognize that the dirt on his skin was psychosomatic. He decided to rest before brunch, but he had some more Advil before committing. What seemed like a few seconds later it was time to head over to artillery training, so he put on his garb and walked outside to meet up with his friends.

“Here he is now.” Mr. Sandoval said just as Allen came out the door. “So you 2 will be the team captains. Call it in the air.”

“Heads.” Todd said before Allen had even had a clue of what was going on.

“Heads it is.” Mr. Sandoval said as he looked at, and then picked up the coin that he had tossed into the air. “So which team do you want Todd?” Sandoval asked.

“The A team of course.” Todd said with a smile on his face.

“That means you pick first Allen.” Sandoval said as he looked at Allen.

“What are you talking about?” Allen asked. “What’s going on?”

“You and I are team captains. We are picking our teams.” Todd explained.

Allen was happy to be a team captain, but he still had no idea what was going on.

“What teams?” Allen asked.

“I am the team captain for the A team. You are the team captain for the B team.” Todd began.

“The number 1 team.” Thad corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Why are we doing this?” Allen asked.

“Those people that left. They were all from the B team.” Cameron explained.

“The number 1 team.” Thad repeated.

“Whatever.” Todd repeated.

“Yeah, so?” Allen was still hazy from his nap.

“So, we each pick so many until everybody is in the A team, or the…” Todd said, but Thad finished for him. “The number 1 team.”

“Right.” Todd said. “You pick first.”

“Cindy.” Allen chose without giving it any thought.

“Stephen.” Todd said next.

“Rachael.” Allen picked. No sense in splitting up the girls at this point.

“Kurt.”

“Shupe.” Allen said. He liked having Shupe around for morale, but he had good hand eye coordination as well.

“Blake.”

“London.” Allen was glad to get London on his team. He seemed to have some good street smarts about him. He felt lucky that Todd didn’t pick him first.

“Andy.” Andrew was picking up swordplay well.

“Cameron.” Allen was glad Todd didn’t pick him first. Probably out of respect.

“Travis.” Dang. Travis was a sailor already. He was the perfect pirate.

“Fish.” Allen said. Fish was really his last name, but Allen couldn’t remember what his first name was.

“Maddux.”

“Titus.” Allen said at last. He felt guilty picking somebody last. He wished that there weren’t any people that were picked last. But someone had to be. Titus just seemed to be relieved to be on his team. The teams were not even anymore. Titus would be the tie breaker.

When the choosing of teams was done, they gathered their books, and moved off to class as some of the guards, staff, and interns helped shuffle the students and get them moved into the proper barracks.

At class there were a couple of cannons set up on some gimbals for the students to practice with. Sandoval came over to Allen and handed him a crappy used paint ball gun. He was pleased with himself as he handed it to him, but Allen thought he was joking at first.

“What’s wrong?” Sandoval asked when he noticed the disappointment on Allen’s face.

“This is a piece of crap.” Allen blurted. “Is this really what they have in mind?” His feelings about the thing were apparent, and given with no regard to the other man’s feelings.

Sandoval nodded, and the class was instantly focused on the conversation. If they hadn’t been at first, then they sure were when Allen responded.

“Well, it was agreed that you could use a paint ball gun for 2 weeks before anybody else could get one.” Sandoval said as he tried to recover from his shock. He didn’t know anything about paint ball guns.

“Well, can I get a good one made? This one’s a piece of junk. I’m sure we can get a good one at least.” Allen assured him while absently nodding his head.

“I don’t see why not. We are engineers here. Design one up, and we can get some made up.” Sandoval suggested.

“I have a brother who’s good with AutoCAD. I can get some drawings from you and get some made up if you like.” Mr. Remington said. “I told you that yesterday.”

“I’ll work on some drawings with you right now if you like.” London said.

Allen and London looked at Sandoval, and Remington, and they agreed that they could work on it during class while the rest of the students worked on firing the Cannons from gimbals. It turned out that London was big in to paint ball guns, so he had the one that they had been given dissected and cleaned in no time. It looked as if it blew up a ball the last time it was fired, and then it sat for a few years. It was far from state of the art. Allen paid close attention as he watched London free hand some drawings of guns, and then drew a good cut away of the workings. By the time class was over they had a pile of drawings showing how it could be made, and what dimensions it needed to be. To be more authentic, it was a single shot that had to be fed from the muzzle with a ram rod that attached to the bottom of the barrel. There was an adjustable chamber inside the handle that could be made to increase or decrease the muzzle velocity by adjusting the expansion chamber size. The barrel would unscrew for cleaning and repair. It would be made of anodized aluminum to look like brass, and it even had a flared muzzle like a blunderbuss. The short stock would be crafted from a 3D printer easily enough if you could get the measurements down, which a good AutoCAD person should be able to do. It passed the scrutiny of both Sandoval and Remington, and it might be ready in time for the boats. They all certainly hoped it would.

Just as they were about to leave Todd stood up on a table and cleared his throat for attention. When all eyes were on him, he began.

“Allen and I were talking earlier, and we decided that in order to improve with our training every day, everybody will be required to wear their Utes armband until you have lost a duel. So, make sure you put it on in the morning, and wear it until you are defeated each day. Also, keep track of your losses to the other team. So, if you are in the A team, keep track of when you are beaten by the B team.” Todd began. There were shouts of, #1 team for a few seconds, but he didn’t acknowledge them. He held up his hands to quiet the crowd. “Whichever team loses the most battles with the other team gets to do flag ceremony. We will do a tally every night before flag. Since the A team is far superior to the B team we will do tonight and tomorrow morning, and then the B team can do it from then on.” Todd ignored the comments from the crowd and jumped off the table and started out the door.

“When did we talk about this?” Allen asked him as they walked toward the mess hall, and past the obstacle course where the smokers hung out.

“I thought it would be a good idea. Don’t you approve?”

“I don’t know. I guess we will all practice harder if there is a prize. I just wish you would have consulted me is all.” Allen complained.

“It’ll be fine. You guys will do flag for a few weeks, and then we’ll trade off.”

Allen didn’t know if Todd was being serious. It didn’t matter what he thought of it though. Todd was going to do what he wanted no matter what.

By the time they got to dinner there were duels going on all over the place. Everyone’s skill level had increased. Allen was already glad about the speech Todd gave other than the lie about them talking. He would always have difficulty lying. He hated lies. He wished that everybody could be honorable all the time.

He stopped by Cindy’s hooch after class, and they gathered up her swords. Then they went over, and he got his, and strapped them on his belt, and put the bandana on his arm that said he was ready to duel. Everybody knew that he wasn’t in any shape to fight, but they all pretty much knew that he wouldn’t back down from one either.

For supper they had baked or fried salmon, mixed veggies, salad, and sloppy joes. What an interesting combination of foods. After dinner Rachael started to give Allen a massage until Cindy started getting jealous. At that point Cindy took over, and Rachael just kind of explained how she should do it for a while, and then after that she went back outside to smoke. Allen liked having her touch him. If it wasn’t so painful to get his blood squeezed out of his muscles, then he would have liked it more. She seemed to genuinely like him, and he knew that he liked her as well. He thought about kissing her but there was a constant barrage of people coming and going. He thought about how much better this might have been if they had done it at her barracks. Other than the fact that it was made from a Connex box, It was more like a cabin, or a hunting lodge that your uncle might have, and you were borrowing it for a week or so. Yeah, that would have been better. It was hard to think of those things when you just go with the flow. He decided to make it a point to try to plan a bit better.

Suddenly he awoke as Cindy was whispering something in his ear. Her warm breath caressed his neck and sent a shiver down his relaxed muscles.

“What?” Allen asked. “I dozed off.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She repeated, from slightly further from his ear.

If not sooner. He wanted to say, but he was a coward when it came to such things. Instead, he pointed his finger at her, and winked one of those over the top kind of winks, and lay back down.

The other men in his barracks were trying to be quiet, but many of them were working on their swords, and speaking in hushed tones. They were wondering how they would be able to fare against the A team.

“We need to change that sign above the barracks door to read the A+ team.” Allen spoke with as much conviction as he could muster. “And we need to have nightly coordination meetings.” Allen prompted. “So, here’s how we need to do it. Every night we need to meet in the barracks right after flag. We can talk about our plans and try to help each other out. I want everybody to feel like they belong here, and they have the right to be heard. For the first few nights everybody will be required to speak. Does everybody agree?”

There were a lot of people agreeing at the same time, but Shupe spoke out. “Every night Captain, or can we have Saturday nights off?”

“Saturday nights off sounds good to me. But we still have a long row to hoe so Saturday will be optional. The rest of us will hold a meeting. Agreed?” Allen asked, and everybody present agreed. “Tomorrow morning after the 5 mile run,” He used the word run figuratively, “Whomever finishes first needs to get that sign down, and the one in front of the girl’s barracks down as well, and change them to read A+. Don’t worry about getting in trouble. Let me worry about trouble. I will take sole responsibility for everything that we do if we just follow orders. Alright?”

The plan was agreed upon unanimously with the people present. And the commotion drew some of the others from outside in as well.

“I move that from now on when people are referring to Allen, we refer to him as Captain.” Cameron suggested.

“I second that.” Londen added.

“All in favor?” Cameron asked.

Every voice was in agreement.

“Any opposed?” Cameron asked.

When there was no voice of dissent a cheer erupted that brought most of the camp in. It was no secret that Allen was the Captain. And when he looked out on the crowd from his perch on his foot locker he raised his fists and pumped them in the air a few times building the crowd into a crescendo. “We will be triumphant.” He shouted to the cheers of the assembly. When he spied a camera on the other side of the room that was staring right at him he pointed his finger guns at it and said “Bang.”

Saturday week 1 of boot camp.

Allen woke with stiff muscles again. They weren’t as stiff as the day before, but he still knew they were there. He was disoriented when he first started to stir since he was sleeping in a new place. He drank 4 Advil with some water that he had left on his footlocker for the morning, and then proceeded to get showered. The water felt good pounding the stiffness away, and the combination of hot water and slow stretching would keep him going until the Advil kicked in.

The inside of his mouth still had some tattered skin that his tongue wouldn’t leave alone, but it didn’t hurt like before.

When he got to the coffee, he was pleasantly surprised that the bagels weren’t awful. They were soft and fresh this morning. He tore one in half and poked the fluffy edge into his mouth.

Mr. Sandoval was leaning over a counter trying to get his attention, so he went over to him.

“The other teams don’t get to use paint ball guns until you guys have had the use of them for 2 weeks.” Sandoval stated.

“2 weeks, or 14 days?” Allen asked. He had been a min maxer his entire life, and he wanted to maximize everything.

“2 weeks is 14 days.” Sandoval observed.

“If you get paid 2 weeks after you start a job it might be anywhere from 8 to 20 days. Do we get them for 14 days?”

“Yes.” Sandoval nodded. “You get to use them for 14 days.”

“And then the other teams can get them? Where do they get them from?” Allen asked.

“Yes, with booty that they’ve won from taking the other boats.” He stated to a quizzical look from Allen. “From taking over the other boats. Booty that they have taken from the other boats when they took them over.” Sandoval said. He had a hard time conveying what he was thinking, and Allen was having a hard time following along, so he asked for a clarification. “So, we get to use our paintball guns for 14 days. And after 14 days the other teams get the opportunity to use some too. They buy paintball guns, like ours? And they buy the guns with Booty that they have taken from the other pirate boats during the contest. Is that right?” Allen asked.

“Yes.” Sandoval agreed. “But if you use your guns on day 1, it doesn’t matter if you use them again. The other teams will be using guns on day 15.”

“If they have booty from the other ships, they can buy them?” Allen asked. “Is that the only way to get the other guns?”

“Yes.” Mr. Sandoval affirmed.

“Where do they buy them? They just roll up to the market and give them some counterfeit money to buy them?”

“Shanty town.” Sandoval confirmed. “Every weekend the ships pull into shanty town where there is a flea market, food, fun, and games for the public to enjoy.”

“So if BYU never beats us?” Allen asked.

Mr. Sandoval looked at the counter and rubbed his chin before looking up. “If BYU never beats us for 2 weeks, I mean 14 days, they won’t have any booty to buy them with?” Is that the only way they can get them?”

Sandoval nodded.

Allen looked into Mr. Sandoval’s eyes with excitement and enthusiasm as a smile spread across his face. He raised and lowered his eyebrows and said “Precisely.”

Allen took another sip of his coffee and a bite of his bagel. He set them at the table where he wanted to sit and drew his swords in the chow hall. He spun first one, and then the other. Then he began to swing both around in a hypnotic dance. They moved faster and faster as his sore muscles loosened up. Suddenly he did a double thrust with the swords, one high and one low and struck a wooden post in the middle of the room. He half expected them to glance off of the round post but they hit solid. He wished his brothers were there. He liked fighting all 3 of them at the same time. He would be able to improve more quickly with the sibling rivalry that pushed him to be great. But they also annoyed the crap out of him.

“On guard?” Fish said as he came in and drew his sword. He was apparently going to try to capitalize on Allen’s weakened state. He most likely planned on getting him early so that he could get a point ticked off, or maybe he wanted to fight Allen since he knew he had enough control to defeat him without hurting him. He held his sword up to fight, and then Allen brought his left hand sword to bear on him until the cook shooed them outside.

The morning air was warm and humid. It had a hint of the scent of some unknown flower floating on the light breeze. The ocean could be heard crashing in the distance, and there were only a few visible stars and Venus shining its green light from the heavens. Allen and Fish held their swords at the ready.

“Begin.” Fish announced, and the contest was on. Allen had his right hand on his hip as he moved in toward Fish, and they toyed at each other with a couple of quick swipes, and jabs that fell quite short. Then when Fish came in at him with a thrust to the body he easily sidestepped it and gently slashed Fish on the ribs under his right arm. He completed the move with a push from the bottom of his boot to his butt to knock him further off balance. He didn’t fall, but he stumbled before recovering. He looked at his side where he had been hit, and then at one of the camera men who was nodding his head.

“Crap!” Fish said in his own disappointment. The whole contest lasted about 35 seconds. He thought he might be able to do better against a weakened opponent. He took the bandanna from his arm and shook Allen’s hand.

“How did you get so good at this?” Fish asked as they went in to get coffee.

“I have 3 brothers. We didn’t play Nintendo much. Our Mom liked us to be outside.” Allen explained, and he patted him on the shoulder a couple of times consolingly and pulled him over and messed up his hair.

“Please don’t do that.” Fish asked when he let him loose. Allen nodded in agreement.

“That’s what it’s like to have brothers.” Allen said apologetically. “I won’t do it again.”

Cindy and Allen were taking turns swinging swords at each other, and blocking as they walked the 5 miles. They took turns walking backward when they were fighting. It helped them to improve their balance as well as their stamina, but it took longer to get the 5 miles in. When they were just past halfway Travis challenged Cindy to a duel, and she accepted. Allen stood back to watch.

Travis was a powerful assailant who came at Cindy with great strength and force, but she moved quickly and had the advantage of being able to use a sword to block with and another to strike with. She could do either action with good accuracy, but it wasn’t great. They were both unable to penetrate the foe’s defenses until about 6 or 7 minutes into the dance when Cindy’s stamina ran out. The more powerful Travis hacked at her from his right side. She lacked the strength and mass to protect from this attack. The blow hit her pretty hard in the shoulder and glanced up to hit her at the bottom of her jaw.

“Oh crap. Sorry Cindy. I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.” Travis apologized. Cindy just stowed her wooden blades on her belt and put her hand on her jaw where the crude wooden weapon had struck her.

“Does it look alright?” she asked Allen, who nodded his head.

“Does it feel alright?” Allen asked as Travis paced by their sides in anticipation of a good outcome.

“Yeah, he hits like a girl.” Cindy lied as she winked at Travis and let him off the hook.

“I’m real sorry Cindy.” He repeated.

“It’s all right man. Don’t worry about it.” She said, and they continued with their walk.

“You gonna take off your bandanna?” Allen asked after a few steps.

“Nope.” Cindy said. “I’m going to win a few today before I take this off.” She boasted, and they both laughed.

After the walk there were many students and some carpenters making swords in the practice yard next to the obstacle course. There were some mandatory foam and cloth pieces being added to everybody’s swords to help prevent injury. When Cindy saw the efforts going in to make it safer, and yet still fun, she gazed at herself in a mirror at her jaw. There was a small scrape, and a bruise. It only hurt when it was touched though so she gave it little attention. Allen worked with both teams to help improve the swords so that everybody could have fun. Cindy and Rachael admired how Allen could inspire people without being bossy. He seemed to be a natural leader. And even though he’s the captain of the A+ team, he continued to call Todd Captain.

“Why do you call me Captain Allen?” Todd asked after spending some time working with the others to make swords. “We are both captains. You don’t need to call me that.”

“Do you prefer Admiral?” Allen asked. “You are still the one I look to for leadership, and you destroyed me with the sword remember. I still have the bruises to prove it.”

“Just call me Todd. I’m not really a captain. And neither are you. That seems like some sort of stolen valor.”

Allen thought about it for a while before speaking.

“You’re right Todd. It seems disrespectful to those who’ve earned the title.” Allen admitted. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

It was suggested that some type of fencing helmet could be worn to protect everybody’s eyes and faces, so Mr. Sandoval ordered a bunch in sizes that should fit everybody, but not enough for them to wear all at once.

When Allen heard this he went over to talk with Mr. Sandoval for a while.

“Do we have the 14 days of paintball rule in writing?” Allen asked.

“It’s written down.” Sandoval promised.

“Could I get a copy of the rules?” Allen asked.

“What for?”

“I want to follow the rules. I told my crew that I would take the blame for any time the rules were broken, and I don’t want them to get in trouble, and I don’t want to get myself in to trouble.” Allen reasoned, but that was only part of it.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Just have Sara or somebody put it under my pillow so I can look at it after class then. I want everyone to be able to do things without worry of reprisal.”

“No problem. Consider it done.” Mr. Sandoval said.

When he heard that, a smile spread across Allen’s face like a cat that had just eaten a bird. He noticed a camera watching him so he did his finger guns thing and said “Bang.” Before getting ready for class.

It became apparent that it might be difficult for everybody to have a sword battle every day, but the people that were good took little time getting several battles each by the time they made it to class. Some of the students were shy even though they were in a reality television series, and they didn’t want to get humiliated on camera. Allen tried to think of a way to get people over their anxiety.

When he finally made it to class Mr. Remington came up to Allen and showed him his laptop. There was a 3D drawing of a blunderbuss paintball gun. You could zoom through the different layers and see how everything worked. Londen came over as well, and they ooh’ed and aah’ed over it for a few minutes before class.

“So they want me to make a bunch of these, and then sell them to the show. You and Londen need to sign off on it before they’ll let me build them though.” Mr. Remington said.

“Where do I sign?” Londen was saying before Allen stopped him.

“How much money do we get for each one sold?” Allen corrected him, and Londen nodded agreement.

“Well, I don’t know. What do you think it’s worth to you?” Remington asked as he withdrew the laptop.

“I want Londen and I to get $5 each for the ones used on the show, and $1 each for ones sold to the public.” Allen said. “What do you think Londen?”

“That sounds reasonable.” Londen agreed.

“That’s ridiculous. We won’t be able to make them if they cost that much to make. You need to be reasonable.” Remington said. He had a hurt look on his face.

“Don’t be thinking you can take advantage of us just because we’re young.” Allen said. “This was my idea, and Londen’s expertise. If we had access to electronics, we could have done the whole thing on our own.”

Mr. Remington had to ponder that for a while. It looked to Allen like Mr. Remington was going to make a bunch of money off his plan. Besides, they had to produce the paintball guns so that the contract would go in to effect. And he would get money for each one sold at Shanty Town now. And they wouldn’t be buying them with real money, but booty.

“Okay, agreed.” Mr. Remington said, and they shook hands. Allen looked into Danny’s camera and winked one of his biggest winks yet. This was starting to get fun.

At the end of class they showed some video clips to the students on a big screen projection. They were shown the first round of commercials for the Utah and BYU audiences, and where they were being aired. The students were stoked when they saw themselves depicted in the commercials.

Local Commercial #1 Utah vs BYU.

The commercial started out with a split screen view of the U and the Y on the mountain sides. Then they separated down the middle and it showed footage of the auditions at the University of Utah, and at Brigham Young University. It showed the games and things that were taking place at the Saturday event, and some of the auditions of the students. The ones at the U were mostly of the people that didn’t make the cut. And the ones from the Y were probably the same. Then there was some footage of revelry sounding and people being startled out of bed on either team. Then some footage of students eating cafeteria food and a snippet of the 5 mile walk for both teams. There were some photographs that quickly flashed on the screen, but the only one that Allen recognized was Gomer on his tip toes yelling at somebody. Probably him. And then there was footage of big old nondescript Spanish galleons at sea with the wind and waves tossing them about. There wasn’t anything great, but it looked like something that the students would be interested in watching if they were back home. At the end of the commercial there was a triumphant cheer from the students and staff that were present.

They walked back to the barracks and tossed their books on the footlockers or put them away. Everybody was enthused by the commercial and felt obligated to say what they thought should have been in it.

For dinner they had steak and shrimp. Allen and Cindy sat together as usual, but they had their own table now. Somebody set up a table with cotton napkins folded like little pyramids on it, and a candle in a little glass jar lit in the center. When they entered they were shown to the table by Sara.

“Can you say awkward?” Allen said to Cindy as he sat and put the napkin on his lap.

“I think it’s sweet.” Cindy said just barely audible over the ambient noise in the place.

There were no menus of course so they sat and looked at each other while Sara went and came back with a notepad. As if she wouldn’t be able to remember what they ordered.

“How would you like your steak m ’lady?” Allen asked Cindy as he looked into her eyes. They were sort of welling up. At least it looked like they were. Allen glanced at her jaw for a moment and noticed that she had put some makeup on the bruise. If you didn’t know where to look you would have never noticed it. He also noticed a camera, and then another. He shot the one, and winked at the other. He was glad he didn’t do anything stupid. He had forgotten that he was on camera all the time.

“Medium well please.” Cindy replied. And a Michelob please.

“And you sir?” Sara asked.

“Rare. And an iced tea ma’am.” Allen said with a smile.

When he looked back to Cindy, she was blushing in about the cutest way he could imagine. Her smile confused him with her eyes welling up the way they did. moved closer to her. “Are you alright?” he asked in his ignorance of female emotion.

Cindy laughed, and when she blinked a tear jumped out of each of her eyes and went over her cheeks entirely and landed on the table in front of her. When she opened them again her eyelashes were wet, but her cheeks were still dry.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, and she was getting closer and closer to breaking down. Instead of answering she got up and rushed off to the lady’s room. Allen was concerned and was hoping he hadn’t done anything that would make her cry. He felt like an absolute heel.

Since there were few women in the place there had been a lot of attention on him, and several people were giving him what he thought were dirty looks. He was quite confused about the whole thing. When he spied Sara over by the chow line she mouthed the words It’s Okay to him, so he leaned back in his seat to where he was sitting normal instead of just using the front couple of inches. It seemed forever before she returned from the ladies room, and when she did she was wearing a nice shade of lipstick that wasn’t too thick, and some eye shadow and rouge. When she sat down, he noticed that she had some wonderful smelling perfume on that he would never be able to identify. He suddenly felt underdressed even though she was still dressed in her pirate garb.

Sara brought their food and drinks, and the food was the best that Allen had ever tasted.

It was announced that the A+ team had the honor of doing the flag ceremony that evening. There were plenty of volunteers, so it went very well. Afterward the A+ team had their meeting which was short and sweet because Allen didn’t have as much time to prepare as he thought he would. He vowed to do better in the future. It turned out that everybody was there even though it was Saturday, and they didn’t have to be. Allen told a story about when he thought he wanted to be a pilot.

“When I was in high school, I had an opportunity to take some pilot lessons.” Allen began. “My instructor was explaining how the airplane, and more specifically the wing of the airplane got its lift. He explained that the surface at the top of the wing is rounded, and that the air that traveled over the top of the wing had to travel further than the air on the bottom of the wing. When this happens, when air is moving at a higher velocity, it creates less pressure on the surface of what it is pressing against. So, when the wing is traveling through the air, the faster it goes, the more of a vacuum is created on the top of the wing. The air passing over the top of the wing actually sucks the wing up with a vacuum as the greater pressure on the bottom of the wing creates lift. Have you all heard this before?” Allen asked as his audience was enthusiastically drifting from what he was saying. He was tired, and he imagined that they must be tired as well. “Well, the angle that your wing is attacking the air is called its attitude. And the distance that your plane is above sea level is called your altitude.” Allen tried to explain, but he was even losing himself in his own speech. “So, to change altitude you can change the angle that your wing is attacking the wind, or the air. If you want to change your altitude, then you need to change your attitude.” Allen finished and sat down. He was certain that no one understood what he was trying to say, so he thought he would think of a better way of saying it for another time.

With that, everybody clapped. Mostly out of respect because his speech was not well received. A few others had some inspirational things to say, and then in the end they were starting to disperse so Allen said, “Good meeting.” Even though he thought it lacked luster and they broke up and went their separate ways.

Cindy and Allen sat on a bench looking out at the ocean as the moon shone not too brightly on the ocean and on them. The metal halide lights were at their backs in the distance, and the ocean pounded relentlessly on the beach grinding the sharp edges from the ever-diminishing sand. The salty night air mixed with her perfume was a concoction that was driving Allen crazy but he knew that Danny or some other camera man was lurking nearby, so he didn’t make any sort of move on her. He did look at her lips though. The blueish light from the night sky made her lips seem dark with the lipstick that she wore, and he was sure that he wanted to kiss her ever so softly at first, and then with more enthusiasm and passion. He was showing great restraint. He thought of something his grandfather used to say. “Don’t drive with your arm around your girlfriend. When you do that, you’re not doing either job right.” He knew he wasn’t driving, but he didn’t want to have his relationship all over the television either. “There’s no reality in reality television.” He said accidentally. Cindy just looked up at him, and then laid her head on his shoulder. Allen couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be.