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Her recruiter had told her what to expect, but honestly... she didn't think it was going to be like this.

Fucking bastard lied.

After arriving by bus at the welcome center of FT Littleton, nothing could have prepared her for the greeting she and the other recruits received. The second the charter bus door opened, Emma and the rest of the young men and women who were going to go through boot camp together were welcomed by a group of about sixteen Drill Sergeants, shouting at the top of their lungs to 'move their asses, fall in and form a line'.

After much scrambling around, they'd managed to form up in several long rows but the shouting and insults didn't cease. They were told they were 'too slow', a 'disgrace to the uniform they hadn't even put on yet', they 'were weak, sniveling, undisciplined'... basically, they were nothing more than shit. For a full fifteen minutes, the verbal insults continued as each Drill Sergeant walked around putting their faces within millimeters of each and every recruit, spittle flying everywhere, personal attacks on their appearance being made...

She tried to remain still and keep to herself but it was of no use. Emma already suffered her share of the insults when she came face to face with what would become her worst nightmare... Sergeant Dolan.

"Well, well, well," he jibed sarcastically. "What do we have here?"

His tousled brown hair was the first thing that threw her off; the second was his stunning good looks. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, inhumanly perfect lips, the bottom one so full and kissable she momentarily forgot she had a boyfriend back home in San Francisco. And those eyes, possibly the most amazing shade of dark chocolate she'd ever seen. Their intensity was captivating, lending themselves to his incredibly strong presence, drawing her in to marvel at their beauty. They pierced hers, hypnotizing her with his heated stare. She was told earlier not to 'eye-ball' any D.S. by staring directly at them, so she quickly looked down. Like all the other Drills, his uniform was heavily starched with a weird looking belt about his waist. It was green, wide with metal lined holes set at even intervals and bunched the material of his long camouflage top, accentuating the fact he had a slim waist. The sleeves to his uniform were rolled up, revealing lean arms covered with tightly corded muscles, strong bulging biceps and forearms that reminded her of a swimmer's build; this man was fit. Good lord, it wasn't like she was purposely checking him out, but when he placed his hands on his hips, she couldn't help but think he had the most beautiful hands she'd ever seen. She was a big 'hands' person and his were just, well, perfect.

Stop it, Emma. For God sake the man is your Drill Sergeant and you have a boyfriend.

She answered him with what she hoped was the correct response. "Private Chamberlain, Sir."

He went off on her, yelling the entire time. "I am not some spoilt, sniveling pretty-boy with a degree hiding behind some desk pushing paper all day. I work for a living and wear stripes for rank," he pointed to his collar where the insignia was sewn onto his uniform. "...and that means you WILL address me as Sergeant. DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?" he shouted so loud his face was red from the effort.

"Y-yes." She stammered nervously. He had a formidable, dangerous air about him that spoke of nothing but harsh contempt, much stronger than that of the previous Drill Sergeants. He scared her to her shaky core. It was clear she had pissed him off on some personal level.

"Yes, SERGEANT, is the appropriate response after anything you say to me or any of the other Drill Sergeants you see here in a brown hat."

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Why are you whispering? Are you flirting? Trying to hit on me? Asking me out on a date or something?"

"NO... Sergeant." Her eyes flew open wide, what the hell was that all about? She quickly answered him again, this time a little louder. "No, Sergeant."

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