Summer, 1996 – Parris Island, South Carolina
The swampy heat clung to Jack's skin like a second uniform. Sweat rolled down his forehead as he ran, boots slamming into the dirt, pack biting into his shoulders. His lungs burned. His legs screamed.
Although he trained with Koa, they'd only focused on strength—never cardio.
"Move, Recruit Hale! Move!" The drill instructor's voice bellowed like thunder, rattling inside Jack's skull.
"C'mon, man!" a familiar voice beside him shouted. TJ's afro was gone, shaved down to the same high-and-tight cut Jack now wore. "We ain't dying on mile six! We finish this together!"
Jack clenched his teeth and forced himself forward.
Days blurred into weeks.
The Marines didn't care about who you were or what dreams you carried. It only cared about breaking you—and then forging what was left into a Marine.
Week Two. Jack fumbled with his rifle, nearly dropping the magazine. The drill instructor was on him instantly.
"Recruit Hale, if you drop my weapon, you're giving me a hundred miles!" the DI screamed in his ear.
Jack's hands shook—until TJ, standing next to him, deliberately dropped his rifle to the dirt.
"Recruit Jabari! You're giving me a hundred miles now!"
"Yes, sir!" TJ barked, then jogged off toward the track. He glanced back at Jack, grinning as he waved. The gesture calmed Jack's nerves just enough to steady his hands.
Later at the range, Jack lined up his shot—then flinched at the recoil, missing wide.
"Damn it," he muttered, lowering his weapon. His hands trembled.
"Breathe, Hale. You can do this," he whispered to himself, giving a shaky pep talk.
He tried again. This time, the shot landed closer. Not perfect, but better.
Week Five. The obstacle course. Rope climb. Jack's arms burned halfway up, sweat stinging his eyes. His grip slipped, his body almost dropping.
"Don't even think about it!" TJ shouted from below. "If you fall, I'll catch you, idiot! Now climb!"
Jack growled, forcing himself higher. Every muscle screamed, but he slapped the top beam with a trembling hand. He didn't let go.
That night, Jack collapsed onto his bunk, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'm never gonna be good enough," he muttered.
"Bullshit," TJ said from the lower bunk. "You're already better than half the guys here. You just don't see it yet."
Jack smirked faintly, but before he could answer, a drill instructor burst into the barracks.
Everyone scrambled upright, standing at parade rest. The barracks fell silent as the instructor prowled the rows like a predator.
"Mail call!"
Names were barked out, envelopes slapped into waiting hands. Jack almost didn't believe it when his was called.
"Recruit Hale—mail."
Jack stiffened into attention, receiving the envelope. His chest tightened when he recognized the handwriting. Rebecca.
TJ leaned over immediately, smirking. "Well, well, lover boy's got a fan club."
"Shut up," Jack muttered, carefully tearing the letter open.
Inside was a short note, written in neat, precise script.
Jack,
I hope you're doing okay. Don't slack off. I mean it.
I started training too—with RPD. I had to move to Raccoon City. It wasn't easy, but I think I'm where I'm supposed to be. I hope you find your path, Jack.
—Rebecca
Tucked into the letter was a photo.
Rebecca stood in a two-piece green sports outfit with R.P.D. stenciled across the top. One hand rested on her hip, the other held a basketball. Her hair was shorter now, tied back with a red bandana.
Jack's breath caught. He knew that bandana.
My old handkerchief… He remembered pressing it against her scraped knee back in middle school. She'd told him she lost it years ago.
"I thought you said you lost it…" Jack whispered to himself, thumb brushing the edge of the photo.
He tried to tuck it away, but TJ leaned over, whistling. "Damn… She looks official. You really need to lock in and lock her down, bro."
Jack shoved him away, scowling, but his grin lingered. He slipped the picture carefully into the most secure corner of his locker, where he'd see it every day.
Fall, 1996 – Graduation Day
The drill instructors placed the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor into each recruit's hands—the symbol of what they had become.
Jack clenched his tightly, pride swelling in his chest.
Beside him, TJ raised his high with a wide grin. "Told you we'd make it."
Jack laughed, for once letting himself believe it.
But in the back of his mind, Rebecca's letter echoed. I hope you find your path, Jack.
He stared at the emblem in his hand. Maybe, just maybe, he had.
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina – School of Infantry (SOI)
Graduation was short-lived. Almost immediately, Jack and TJ were shipped to SOI, where the real work began.
For TJ, the path was clear—0311 Rifleman. The backbone of the Corps. Every exercise, every lesson was about mastering the basics: fire teams, patrols, squad tactics. TJ absorbed it all like he'd been born for it, reliable as always.
Jack's assignment was different.
0351 Assaultman.
Demolitions. Breaching. Anti-armor.
His pack was heavier, his gear bulkier. Satchel charges, rocket launchers, breaching kits—his job wasn't to hold the line. It was to break it open.
And Jack… struggled.
The first time he set a satchel charge, his hands shook so badly that the instructor yanked the detonator from him.
"You trying to blow us all to hell, Hale?" the sergeant barked.
"No, sir," Jack muttered, heat rising in his cheeks.
"Then get it right. Or next time, the only thing you'll be carrying is a body bag."
Later that day, when they had free time, TJ found Jack sitting on an ammo crate with his head low, staring at the picture of Rebecca before carefully tucking it away.
"You're thinking too much," TJ said, tossing him a canteen.
Jack scoffed. "Easy for you to say, mister I'm-good-at-my-job."
TJ grinned, bumping his shoulder. "Said the guy who's blind to how lucky he is right now." His eyes flicked toward the place Jack had hidden Rebecca's photo.
Months passed quickly. Jack's body hardened, his aim steadied, and his confidence grew—slowly, but surely.
Breaching drills: He learned to set charges with speed and precision, clearing paths for his squad.
Anti-armor training: He hefted the SMAW launcher onto his shoulder. At first, his bones rattled when he fired it. By the tenth time, he barely flinched.
Urban operations: Kicking down doors, storming through with satchel charges on his back—Jack finally felt like he belonged.
Still, his weaknesses lingered. His stamina wasn't the greatest, but it was manageable. His hands sometimes trembled when the pressure was highest. But with TJ covering him at every turn, he made it through.
Early 1997 – Deployment Orders
The day came when the company commander gathered them in formation.
"Listen up, Marines! You're shipping out to Africa for a peacekeeping mission. You're there to stabilize, secure, and show the flag. Light footprint, but eyes sharp. You'll be representing the Corps."
Jack's pulse quickened.
TJ elbowed him, grinning. "This is it, bro. Time to see the world."
Later that night, Jack pulled Rebecca's photo from his pocket. Her short hair, the red bandana—his bandana. He traced the edge of the picture with his thumb.
I'm finally walking my own path… hopefully.
He tucked the photo into his chest pocket, close to his heart.
The next morning, Jack and TJ boarded the transport plane, ready to see the new world.
Not knowing that on the far side of the ocean, his path would twist into something he could never escape.