It took a few weeks before Doc was comfortable releasing Roadblock from the infirmary. It had taken a while to get the insulin dosages sorted out. There had also been a few rounds of antibiotics to deal with infections. Perforated intestines were notorious for that kind of trouble. Once, fully released from the infirmary, Roadblock was still to report back on a regular basis to get his sugar levels checked.

After a month, Roadblock was starting to feel almost normal. He had finally been cleared for regular PT. He had been permitted a limited exercise regime for a while, but was looking forward to getting back into the full swing of things. Doc had finally stopped pestering him about his blood sugar levels every day, and was content with checking his logs once a week.

It had appalled Roadblock to see food reduced to stats on a page, broken down into: protein, starch, milk, fruit, vegetable, and fat. Food was a celebration of taste, textures and smell. It should not be reduced to numbers. Then Nurse Maggie had pointed out that he should look at his log as recipes. Keeping track of food in terms of cups and spoons did make things a bit more acceptable to the chef.

One thing that Roadblock still felt weird about was pricking him self for the blood tests and the insulin injections. He did it in the privacy of his room, or in the bathroom stall.

As he ran the five mile course, he was trying hard to put all thought of diabetes out of his mind. He focussed on going as fast as he could. However, a little voice at the back of his mind kept nagging him about not having had any breakfast. Everyone knew that the secret of getting through Beach Head's PT was to do it on an empty stomach. Besides, the mess hall would not be open until 20 minutes after the end of PT. Roadblock had dutifully checked his blood sugar before leaving his room, and it had been okay.

It was great to feel the burn of muscle as they were pushed. The morning breeze against his face was more refreshing than a hundred showers. Roadblock concentrated on filling his lungs with the cool crisp air. The tug of his new scar was easy to ignore. He kept at the head of the pack and out of Beach Head's yelling range.

At the PT course, Roadblock got a few minutes to catch his breath as Beach Head gave the instructions for the obstacle course. They were to go through it in alphabetic, putting Roadblock in the last quarter.

As most of the other waiting soldiers, Roadblock kept on moving. He jogged in place, stretched, and worked through basic katas, to keep his muscles supple and warm. As the time passed, he grew aware of people around him talking, whispering about him. Roadblock became irritated and glared at them. Then he tried to ignore their stares back. He turned his attention to the course, but could feel the eyes on his back. Those on the course were doing horribly! Beach Head was yelling and making them go through again. That meant that Roadblock had to wait for his turn that much longer. He got even more irked. He wanted to yell at the pogues too! He wanted to tell them to move their asses.

Roadblock was about to step onto the field to toss Shipwreck over the last climbing wall to make him go faster when a hand came down on his shoulder. He almost jumped out of his skin, turned, caught the arm attached to the offending hand, and twisted it behind its owner's back.

"Easy Man!" Gong Ho said. "Are you okay? You look a pale."

Roadblock let go, and wiped his clammy hand on his shirt. "I am fine." He growled. "Why is every one staring at me?"

From the start line of the obstacle course, Beach Head yelled: "Roadblock, your up. Come show me you did not go soft spending all that time in Doc's company."

Roadblock jumped onto the course, determined to tear through it. He was not going to give Beach Head anything to complain about. He channelled all his angry energy on to the course.

He flew up the first wall, bouncing off the small footholds like they were stairs. He easily jump the ten feet over the mud pit and bounced into the tire course. He went through as agile as any ninja. Roadblock felt like he was flying through the course. Beach Head was even yelling encouragement to him.

Halfway through the course, Roadblock hit the rope ladder like it was a brick wall. He suddenly realised that his hands were slippery and cold with sweat. He had a hard time gripping the ropes. 'The Jackass greased them!' He thought, but managed to drag himself to the top.

The next step was a horizontal foot rope with perpendicular short ropes hanging down for hand holds. Beach Head had come up with it to add challenge to those who had enough balance to walk on the foot rope without help. Now, they had to work around the dangling ropes. Most, grabbed one hand hold rope then the next.

Roadblock reached for the hand rope, and moved his feet. The darn wind had picked up, making to ropes move. The movement made them shimmer. 'What kind of paint did he use?' He thought as he reached for the next rope, that shimmered out of existence.

The world turned black.

TBC

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