Work Text:
They called it "training" but it meant "torture". They called it "discipline" but it meant "punishment."
Rosi knelt on the stone floor with his hands on his knees, as did every other member of his training unit. The cadre of young orphans had been too rowdy at dinner. Rosi hadn't been rowdy. He had been quiet. But the marines believed in collective punishment. In collective 'discipline'.
Rosi's head swam. They were on hour 15. Sengoku strode the rows of recruits with his stick in hand. Recruits who seemed unalert were hit harder, but everyone bore the strike across their back.
A marine needs discipline. There will be times in the field when you cannot afford the luxury of sleep. When not even the danger will keep you awake, you must have discipline.
Rosi's nails bit into his knees as he tried to focus. The present and the past kept smearing together.
They were hiding in the woods, bellies in the dirt, hands clasped tightly with each other.
"We can't sleep yet, Doffy, they might still be after us."
"It's okay, Rosi. I'll stay up. You sleep, and I'll protect you."
Sengoku's stick struck across his shoulders despite his brother's promise.