Soldiers' Wives by Fiona; Field

and got to lie down and play almost dead.’
    They ran in silence for some time, till they reached the base of Brandon Hill. The path up it was narrow, so they ran in single file to the top. There Chrissie stopped.
    â€˜I’m not,’ she said, panting heavily, ‘quite as fit as I thought I was, either. No chance for fitness training on exercise.’
    â€˜Well, if you want a running buddy…?’ offered Lee. ‘I mean, I need to get myself back in shape again too.’
    â€˜Really?’
    He nodded. ‘I’d like it. Most of the lads in my platoon want to lie in their pits at weekends. It’s nice to find someone who wants to do running other than in a squad being beasted by a PTI. And I like to run on sports afternoons too.’
    â€˜Brilliant. When we get back to the barracks we can swap mobile numbers. Jenna won’t mind, though, will she?’ asked Chrissie. Running was hardly like dating but, even so, she mightn’t be overly happy about her husband spending time with another woman, no matter how innocently.
    â€˜Jenna? God, she doesn’t even surface till lunchtime when she isn’t working.’
    Which didn’t exactly answer Chrissie’s question, but was a good enough response to shut her conscience up. But not before she noticed that the prospect of running with Lee gave her a real buzz.
    Sunday segued into Monday and the rude awakening which came with reveille and the early morning run. Immi rolled out of bed, groaning and moaning about the unfairness of being expected to do PT at six thirty in the morning, long after Keelie and Gillie, who had both returned to barracks the night before, had already got dressed and left. It had taken five solid minutes of Chrissie haranguing her before she’d finally emerged, still complaining, from under the covers.
    â€˜I don’t know why you always bitch about this, it’s part of the job description,’ countered Chrissie, as she threw on her tracksuit and stepped into her trainers.
    Immi glowered as she hauled on her sports kit. ‘It doesn’t mean I have to like it. Anyway, not all units are like this one – why did I have to be posted to one where the CO is a fitness fanatic?’
    Chrissie shook her head and glanced at her watch. ‘Hurry up, Immi. We’re going to be late.’
    Reluctantly, and still muttering, Immi followed Chrissie out onto the parade square where the troops were all gathered, lined up in their platoons and by company. Most were jogging on the spot, in an effort to keep warm, as the October morning was distinctly nippy. Just as Chrissie and Immi fell in, the RSM and the CO appeared.
    â€˜Shit, we cut that fine,’ whispered Chrissie. Arriving after either of these two equalled ‘late’ and would result in extra duties being awarded on the spot.
    The RSM bawled out the commands to bring the parade to attention before he handed over to the PTIs who were to lead each company on a squadded, three-mile run. HQ Company, Immi and Chrissie’s one, and which also included the CO and the RSM in its number, was the first to lead off.
    â€˜At least we won’t die of hypothermia, now,’ said Chrissie, slapping her arms against her sides as she ran, to get her circulation moving.
    â€˜No, I’m going to die of a combo of stitch and exhaustion,’ gasped Immi.
    â€˜You can’t be tired yet – we’ve only run a few hundred yards.’
    But Immi was already panting too hard to answer. By the time they got to the mile point, Immi was stumbling with fatigue and she and Chrissie, who was trying to urge her mate to keep going, had fallen almost to the rear of the squad.
    â€˜Keep up,’ screamed a rasping voice.
    Chrissie looked behind her. Sergeant Wilkes was pounding after them. ‘Come on, Immi,’ encouraged Chrissie once again, but she could see it was hopeless. There was no way Immi was going to be able to complete