Barbed Lives ☑️

12. Armour

Day 14

Last night Norman dismissed me at 0250 hours, after Neil had me weeping with bleeding Knuckles!
Hardly two hours of sleep again.
I'll go insane if this goes on.

I dragged my body to the washroom, took a quick shower, washed my clothes, changed and retired to my shop called bed - my sleeping bag outside Mr. Jerk's room.

I kept my diary near my head so that any CTO planning to kick my bottom can look at it and hopefully doesn't disturb me. If I need anything to survive right now, it is their pity. And also Norman to actually start testing me instead of torturing me.

As soon as my body got flat, I was out in a flash.

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I woke up to the sound of my alarm.
0440 hours.
I used to think that getting up early back in frozen Kravendale mornings was the hardest thing to do. But I'm proven wrong again. Getting up at 5 here is even harder despite the pleasant weather.

Twenty minutes was too much time to get ready. Almost double, yes. But only if you exclude this one task in my hand - learning German all over again, in twenty days. Norman would never give me time to read and I can't afford to not complete the task. So I have to take out time by cutting my sleeping hours.

Ten minutes of study every day and taking out a few minutes here and there revising what I learnt has worked in past few days. But it is not enough to finish the remaining days. It's impossible!

But do I have any other option?
No.

Can I try and wiggle out of it?
Not unless you want to lose your only hope.

Can I manipulate and earn some time to study?
You have eyes on you 24x7. Norman will know about it and then boom!

The fuck am I supposed to do then?
Just keep fitting in. And work hard whenever you get time.

That's all I can think of. I hope Neil sees that I tried my best.

Finishing my shower talk with self, I head out quick and get ready.
Taking the book back to washroom, I start studying.

Why washroom - you'd ask.
I genuinely don't want anyone looking at me and wasting my time asking 'What are you reading?'
'why are you reading this?'
And hundred others which make no sense.

Also, all CTOs have their bathrooms attached to their own rooms so nobody will come and disturb me here.

Getting ready for another humiliating day, I knock on Norman's door.
"Crunches."
He called from inside.

That's like a daily norm. He'll make me do sets of some workout till he gets ready. Then he'll ask me random questions to get wrong answers and kick start my insult for the day.

"Which rifle have you used the most at KMA?"
He opened his door when I had completed 139 crunches.

"M16-A2 rifle, sir."
I chilled down because I'm going to beat his ass in the viva he's going to take soon.

"Length?"
"One Hundred point six centimetres, sir."

"Weight?"
"Three point nine nine kgs with magazine, sir."

"Range?"
"Eight hundred metres for area target and five fifty metres for point target, sir."

"Muzzle velocity?"
"Eight hundred and fifty three meters per second, sir."

"Rate of fire for burst rounds?"
"Ninety per minute, sir."

"Magazine capacity?"
"Thirty rounds, sir."