Brian gritted his teeth, muscles shaking, then slammed his forehead straight into Simon's nose.
"Gahk!" The crack echoed through the barracks like a gunshot. Both men went rolling across the floor, swapping chokeholds, grunting, snarling—pure chaos.
Simon spotted a metal rod lying to his left. While pinning Brian's leg with his knee, he reached out, grabbed it, and raised it high. "Time to rearrange that pretty face," he hissed, swinging down hard—
Brian's right leg shot up. "Hope you're ready to sing soprano!"
His knee connected right under Simon's belt.
"OOOHHHH SHIT!" the whole crowd screamed in unison.
Simon's face went crimson, like a cherry about to burst. "Ghhkk—You dirty mothaf…ghhah!" he wheezed, the rod slipping from his hand and clattering across the floor.
In the corner, Dan and a few soldiers were drinking and half-singing some old Mexican tune, blissfully unaware of the chaos. "♫ La alabanza, Pedro Infante—ayayayay! Yaaaay~~ canta y no llores—urp! *Burp!" Dan let out a belch and laughed, "Whoo! Best damn fight I've seen all week!"
Back in the ring, Simon lay on the ground clutching himself, rolling side to side.
"God… damn…!" he groaned, his voice cracking.
Two buddies helped him back up. He glared at Brian, trembling like a busted engine."Nice… shot," Simon croaked, squinting through blurry eyes.
"No rules, right?" Brian spat blood from his split lip. "Guess I missed the part where some rabid dog got to make 'em up. hehe!"
Simon's jaw tightened. He stumbled forward, grabbed Brian by the collar, and pulled back his fist.
"This ain't ov--a!"
BANG! BANG!
The barracks door burst open, the echoes of three gunshots ringing through the room. Every man froze. A figure stepped in—gun still smoking, eyes like fire.
"Goddamn circus in here!" Sergeant Washe barked. "Why the hell ain't you clowns in bed?! And what the fuck happened to your faces? You two rollin' in tomato or somethin'?!"
Dan nearly dropped his bottle. "Oh shit—Sarge's here! Hide the snacks!" He scrambled to stash the bottles under a cot. Everyone straightened up fast.
The soldiers parted, revealing the two bloodied brawlers still catching their breath.
The sergeant's expression dropped from fury to bitter disappointment.
"Unbelievable. You clowns want a real fight? You'll get one tomorrow. Now hit the bunks before I make you mop the shitter!"
He turned and stormed out. The door slammed behind him with a metallic BOOM.
Silence.
"Aw, hell," Matt groaned, slapping his forehead.
After that night, the two soldiers who started the brawl were called in to face the company commander. Their punishment was swift—confinement in the same military cell for two nights. They were forced to scrub toilets, mop floors, and clean every corner of the barracks together.
At first, Simon couldn't even look Brian in the eye. Every time they crossed paths, sparks flew—like two dogs ready to bite. It often took a third guy to pull them apart before things got ugly again.
But, over time, something shifted. The constant proximity broke down the wall between them. Brian started talking first—casual stuff, small talk—and somehow, that was enough to thaw the air. By the end of training, the two were no longer enemies but something closer to brothers-in-arms.
The rest of the recruits were also reaching the end of their grueling training. Ordinary civilians, molded into soldiers.