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"HE'D PUSH HER DOWN CURRAHEE IF HE COULD"
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A couple of weeks had gone by, the same rigorous training, the training for the medics had increased on the other hand. The medics all had to study and take short classes taught by their ranking medic, which lead to them all getting back to their cots later than any other paratrooper. Even though Sidney was ahead of all of them in regards to medical knowledge, battlefield treatment was fairly different from hospital treatment. It vaguely reminded her of her lifeguarding job. Despite the new information, her high intelligence kept her ahead of her peers.
Sure, she was getting along fine, especially since the boys had finally started to warm up to her. She finally sat with them at meals, and made fun of Sobel with them. But her exhaustion was still prominent.
After a long week of training, it was finally Friday and everyone was excited for the weekend, even if they didn't have weekend passes yet again. Their spirits were quickly stomped on when Sobel announced they would be doing another 12 mile march that night. But here's the kicker: no one was aloud to drink water this time.
The medics were oozing with anxiety, especially Sidney and Gene. They were hyper-vigilante through the first 5 miles of the March until they started to get tired weaving through the hoard of men to check if they all felt fine.
The small girl had settled behind Bull Randleman so she could keep a close eye on Christenson nearby who looked like utter shit.
It had gotten to the point where he was about to pass out until she spoke up. "Hey, Christenson," she spoke quietly to get his attention. "Take a small sip of water."
He looked back at her wearily.
"Sobel's not gonna notice a sip or two gone. It's better than having to carry you back to camp," she rationalized with him. He gave her another uncertain look before taking a sip, lifting a small weight off of her shoulders. "Just a sip, okay? Only drink a little bit and you'll be fine."
Another mile or two had passed, and the tissues Sidney used to take up the extra space on the sides of her combat boots had crumbled, leaving her feet to form painful blisters. Her split lip had mostly healed by that point, but still hurt when her lips got chapped from the Georgia sun, or lack of water. Gene has advised her to take some Vaseline from the aid station to put on her lips when that happened. After much refusal, she had finally used it and relished in the relief from the stiff, cracking scab.
She was lucky she remembered to put some on before the march, but it had worn off long ago. The one person that saw her pain was Gene. She put up a strong front for the rest of the boys.
