When Miguel said that basic training would be tough, he totally downplayed it. Hell week couldn't be any worse, and having Tomás as drill instructor doesn't help. After we line up in front of him at four a.m. on the first day, he threatens that this training session won't end until at least one of us throws up. From the way he smirks, he's rooting for me.

By eight, the humidity is so pressing that my lungs sting as if I were breathing mud. Tomás makes us run around the compound again and again, and an hour later, he gets his wish when I'm about to collapse from dehydration. After making a fool out of myself by hurling into the bushes in front of everyone, I'm allowed a short break, during which he grins at me the entire time.

Another soldier, who couldn't be much older than fourteen, hands me a second bottle of water. "Don't let him get to you."

His smile is encouraging; I grit my teeth and push myself harder. My body is one bundle of sweat, my muscles screaming in protest as we carry our gear back and forth across the entire length of the yard. Although my legs are about to give out, I'm determined not to give Tomás the satisfaction of quitting or running to Miguel.

By noon, my arms and legs are numb and I can barely keep myself on my feet. I'm so drained that the prospect of cuddling up in bed and sulking is very tempting. A few girls have appeared to watch the training from underneath a tree, Raine, Shauna, and Bettina among them. The scornful looks I earn from Raine are enough to spur me on. I will show them that I can do this. A trophy girlfriend with nothing but time on my hands is not how I envision my future.

Lunch is a welcome treat, though I stick mostly to water and vegetable stew to keep my queasy stomach under control. About halfway through the meal, Miguel joins me. The kiss on my cheek is like a well-deserved reward for the sweat I spilled.

"How's it going, babe?"

I glance at Tomás; he has stopped eating and eyes us with interest.

"Fine." I keep my tone light. "Tomás is a great instructor. I'm learning loads."

The smirk on Tomás's lips is so wide, it has the potential of falling off his face.

Miguel's brows arch. "Well, that's good. Truthfully, I didn't think you would make it through the first day without complaining, but I guess Tomás proved me wrong after all. He said you were a born soldier."

I almost choke on my water. "He did?"

"Yes, I did." When Tomás's breath grazes my neck, I jump in my chair. "Now come along, princess. You'll love afternoon training."

Rolling my eyes, I'm convinced he was being facetious, but I'm proven wrong. We all move into the training center for weapons training, and while he might have sucked in the morning, his teaching skills on the weapons are superb. He is patient and takes his time with each soldier, explaining stance and accuracy when firing a gun. When he calls it quits in the late afternoon, my shoulder is about to tear apart, but my aim has improved significantly.

"You have a remarkable eye. Now all we have to do is build up some of that muscle tissue and make the puking stop. Then you might actually be okay." Tomás winks at me and flings his arm around Shauna's shoulder. She cringes under his touch. His hand lands crudely on her belly. "Let's go home. I feel lucky today."

For a moment, Shauna's gaze lingers on Bettina's baby bump. Tears sparkle in her eyes. I don't know what to make of it. If she's truly that unhappy with Tomás, she should complain to Miguel. Malaguay taught me that we are responsible for our own well-being.

Miguel is waiting outside the training center and inspects me from top to bottom. "You look exhausted."

Every muscle in my body aches, but the high from shooting a gun is still bubbling in my veins. "I'm a little sore, but it was a good day."

The tension in his face vanishes with a long exhale. "I can't tell you how relieved I am. I was afraid you'd hate it and change your mind. And since you worked so hard, I think you deserve a nice massage and some relaxing time in the whirlpool."

I grin. "I didn't know about the whirlpool."

"There's loads of stuff you don't know about yet." His lips find the sensitive area just beneath my ear, sending hot shivers through my body. "My dad and my stepmom are going out tonight, so we have the house to ourselves."

Now that sounds promising. If this is what I can look forward to after a hard day of training, all the sweat and pain might actually be worth it.

~~~~

After the first week, my body starts to adjust and I stop throwing up. Tomás rewards me by pushing me even harder. He loves to see the sweat running down my face. Surprisingly, his constant smirk is boosting my body to limits I never knew existed. Although I hate his training style, I like how my muscles tone, and my endurance changes for the better. The few extra pounds that have always bothered me are replaced by firm tissue; at some point, I even manage to run the five-mile parkour with full gear.

Bending over to catch my breath, I almost miss the water bottle shoved in my direction.

"That was really good."

It takes all my effort to keep my jaw from unhinging. "Since when are you complimenting me, Tomás?"

"That wasn't a compliment but praise. Compliments are usually fake, and most people only use them to make others feel better about themselves. You don't need them. You are pulling your weight just like anyone else, so I acknowledge that effort."

"Why, thank you. I never thought to hear those words from your mouth."

"You are a good soldier. Your aim is exceptional and you work hard. I doubt you'll ever use those skills, but I give credit where credit is due."

"And why wouldn't I use those skills?"

He snorts. "C'mon, Stacy. You know you'll never have the guts to pull that trigger in a real combat situation. You're not a killer and never will be, especially not with your countrymen as the enemy."

"So you hate Americans, too?"

"I dislike their politics. They supply the rebels with weapons, train them, and give their children an education. In return, they hope that people will become their pawns. All in all, it's nothing but a game. You need to learn the rules to survive and hope to be on the winning team. That's all that matters in the end."

"So how do I know I'm on the right team?"

"Someone's hero is another's villain. Only you can make that decision."

"Have you ever thought of switching sides?"

"No." He shakes a cigarette from the pack and lights it. "No offense, but you'll never understand. You were raised in a golden cage with no clue what's on the outside. For most my life, I've had to fight for the things you take for granted."

"That's not true. My childhood wasn't ideal either. You don't understand how it is to grow up in a family where everyone outshines you and your parents constantly point out your faults."

He snorts. "Yeah, that's truly tragic. I guess I don't know what that's like. My parents died when I was three."

The look he shoots me is condescending and I swallow down a reply. In a sense, he's right; I'm totally clueless about what people have to endure in Malaguay or similar countries, but admitting this to him is impossible. He would probably throw it in my face any chance he gets to ridicule me about my sheltered upbringing. The constant fear of being a disappointment to everyone because the bar is just too high to manage is totally foreign to him.

Tomás's shout signals the end of the break. Even though every muscle in my body is sore from the run, I grit my teeth once again and push on. I will prove to him that I'm just as good as any Malaguian soldier, although he's right about one thing: I will probably never go all the way and take a human life. Luckily during patrol, I'll never have to make that choice.

~~~~

The next weeks go by in a blur. The training becomes routine and my body adapts to the physical strain. Weapons training is by far my favorite. We move into the terrain and shoot at actual targets; every time I pull the trigger, adrenaline kicks in. As the rainy season approaches, the humidity is interrupted by monsoon-like rain, but Tomás doesn't ease up. He pushes us to new limits almost every day and I surprise myself by holding on. His praise is rare, though I can see in his eyes that I'm exceeding his expectations. This alone gives me another push to try even harder.

I excel over time, competing easily with the guys in my class. My confidence is booming. All those years when I felt inferior to others motivates me to perform at my best. I swear to myself that I won't allow anyone to treat me like a doormat again.

Tomás's barked orders become routine; whenever we train for combat situations, my instincts take over. My consciousness of my surroundings is heightened with every breath. Enemies could hide practically anywhere and one mistake could get me killed. Only Miguel's reminder that I'll never face a dire situation prevents total paranoia from taking over.

Our relationship is thriving and we grow closer with every passing day. Most of our evenings are spent chatting in the whirlpool or making out, though the physical closeness is almost agonizing at times. My insides melt under his experienced touch, and I can easily imagine why couples don't wait until marriage to go all the way. A few times, I'm tempted, and surprisingly, it's Miguel who reins me in. "I don't want to take advantage of a heated situation that will leave you hating me in the morning."

Things change after the first month. The president complains over dinner that his son has been neglecting his work; even though Miguel accepts the criticism with a stoic expression he proves afterwards that his father's words didn't go completely over his head by smothering himself with tasks. His meetings often extend to evenings and weekends, and I find myself hanging out with Naiara, President Rizo's wife, at the mansion after my training. One night, when I'm especially bored, I ask her if she could teach me Spanish.

"Sure, that's no problem," she says, though her smile lacks enthusiasm.

We agree to start the next day, but when Tomás assigns me to my first night-guard duty, those plans are squashed.

"It's your lucky day, cariño. Since we have an uneven number of recruits, you're partnered with me." He smirks when my smile turns into a grimace.

Training is especially hard that day. He decides on a whim to complete a ten-mile march through high terrain with full gear; by the time nightfall rolls around, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open. Having to stand up all night in the guard tower will be torture.

To my surprise, he ushers me toward a Jeep.

"Where are we going?"

"To the fields. Since I can't use the younger soldiers because of your bitching to Miguel, I'm short a couple of men."

"Well, if that means I'm saving those kids from being out there, I'll gladly do it."

"Let's see if you still say that in the morning."

With a chuckle, he starts the engine and throws the gear into reverse before I even finish fastening my seatbelt. The Jeep races through the night. He keeps up the speed and the harsh airflow drives tears to my eyes. In a few extremely sharp bends, I envision us sliding down the cliffs and my stomach flips.

"Can't you slow down," I yell over the roaring engine and angry wind.

He stares straight ahead without taking his foot off the pedal. Although there's a chance he didn't hear me, he probably just plays deaf. The vicious smirk has yet to leave his lips; it's apparent he's having fun at my expense.

He finally stops the Jeep at the edge of a forest. Grabbing a rifle off the back seat, he passes it to me. "Be alert and don't wander off. We had some rebel sightings earlier this week and it would be a shame if you got hurt."

"Don't worry. I'll stay attached to your hip."

"Now that's an intriguing thought. How exactly are you intending to do that?"

"It's just an expression, Tomás."

"Oh, that's a shame."

From his chuckle, I take it that I'm missing something. At least he's in a better mood, his lips twitching with laughter whenever he looks at me.

"I really don't get what's so funny."

"It's nothing."

"Then stop laughing." I want to add that it makes me feel uncomfortable but bite my tongue. It'll only rile him up more.

"You sometimes amaze me, Stacy, that's all. Before I met you, I never imagined that girls like you existed."

"What's that supposed—"

The snapping of a twig cuts me off. Tomás flips the safety off the rifle, the beam of the flashlight cutting through the darkness."Muéstrate."

The light catches rapid movement as something runs through the field with pounding feet. It's too fast and small to be a human.

I let out a shaky breath. "What was that?"

"Probably a fox or baby cougar that got lost." His smirk cuts into me. "First lesson: never hesitate. If that had been an enemy, you would be dead."

"You didn't shoot."

"Yeah, because I'm better at assessing a situation. Comes with experience. As a rookie, you were expected to fire."

I grunt "okay," though I'm glad I didn't fire. That little creature wasn't a threat.

We patrol the north perimeter of the field in silence, his face only illuminated by the butt of his cigarette whenever he takes a drag. The night is cool with a light breeze and I shiver more with every passing hour. The exhaustion still does a number on me; my eyelids grow heavy until they weigh a ton. I drag my feet over the dry ground. When I almost stumble, Tomás grabs my elbow.

"Let's sit down for a minute and take a water break."

I'm glad to get off my feet, although I doubt it'll be easy to get back up. "Is this all we're gonna do? Walk around?"

"What else is there to do?"

"I dunno."

"You should be grateful that it's quiet. Trust me, you don't want to be pulled into a shoot-out."

I yawn behind my raised hand. My eyes keep falling closed; sipping from the water bottle is my only distraction. A few times, my head falls forward, which jerks me back awake.

"When you went through basic training, did you have to patrol the fields?"

Tomás lights himself another cigarette. "We all have to do guard duty, but they usually only assigned me on short notice the nights it rained. I had to stand at attention by the guard towers the whole time."

"In the rain?"

His laugh is bitter. "Yes, in the rain."

"But why would they pick on you like that?"

"Let's just say they tried everything to make me quit."

"Why?"

He takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes glazed over with memories. "My parents were part of the old regime and were killed the night of the overthrow. The name Araya equated to treason. It took a long time for me to prove that I was loyal to President Rizo."

I let the information sink in. "Then why did you never consider joining the rebels?"

"I guess, in the beginning, the military gave me a sense of purpose. I wanted to be part of something meaningful, and any army could've given me that if they had convinced me I was fighting for the right cause. But then, when I learned how involved the Americans are with our enemy, I started to hate the rebels."

"Why do you hate the Americans so much?"

He smiles, tossing away his cigarette. "So inquisitive, are we?"

"Come on, Tomás, I want to know."

"Many reasons. They could've helped my family during the overthrow and gotten us out alive. They sabotage any chance we have at peace and their embargoes put hardship on the people. It's as if they want us to fight each other to our death, though none of our problems are really their business. Then there's all this help they give the rebels. I witnessed firsthand what an American-trained assassin is capable of and it isn't pretty."

"How do you know it's not all propaganda? I mean, why would the US even care about Malaguay?"

He shrugs. "Beats me, but it's not propaganda. The Americans run the rebel group. They supply their weapons and train them. Without them, the rebels would have been defeated long ago."

When a rolling engine breaks through the night, Tomás snaps his head up. Against the dark sky, I can make out a small plane circling around before heading for the field. The pilot is too high up for our shots to make a difference.

"We need to get out of here." Tomás's gaze flicks to the forest. "Let's go. There's a bunker behind that hill."

He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet; when I don't follow him fast enough, he drags me behind him.

"Tomás, what's happening?"

"They're gonna drop a bomb."

Firing erupts from inside the forest, but the plane stays on course. The pounding of my feet drowns out my panting as I race toward the tree line. A couple of times, I glance over my shoulder. The plane hovers over the field, the engine humming evenly. Tomás throws back a metal door that's level with the ground, exposing a ladder that leads into a shaft.

"Get down there, Stacy. NOW."

My feet find a rung and I catch one more glimpse of the plane. A metal cylinder falls away from its belly. Almost letting go of the ladder, my hands and feet scramble for a fast descent. When Tomás slams the metal door shut, darkness surrounds me.

The ground vibrates and some loose gravel falls on my head and shoulders. I keep searching for the next rung until I hit the bottom of the shaft. Gasping for air, I lean against the moist wall. Tomás drops down the last few feet, landing in a crouched position next to me.

"It should be safe to go back up in a little while."

I nod out of habit, although it's stupid since he can't see me in the dark.

"And I hope you believe now how much damage the Americans are causing in Malaguay. With the embargo list in place, there's no other way for the rebels to get that type of firepower."

The darkness is pressing and I focus on the sound of the even plops that hit the ground close to my foot. No matter how hard I want to fight this, the truth is hitting me right in the face. In this conflict, my home nation might as well be the enemy.

~~~~

© Sal Mason 2017

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