4: Drill
Nobody said much to George as he munched his way through two baked potatoes and a bowl of pasta, but there were a couple of angry red welts coming up on his chest and the spot where Rex had punched his back was starting to ache. He felt a bit self-conscious sitting there in his pants, but he knew he only had himself to blame and that there would definitely be more punishment in his future, so for now he just focused on eating, ignoring the looks he occasionally got from Jemima or Kimberley that made it clear they thought he was an idiot.
"Knight," Yeboah barked, beckoning George to get up. George shovelled a final forkful of potato into his mouth and left his plate where it was, getting up and pushing his chair back to follow Yeboah, who led him down the corridor into the room where they'd been debriefed earlier. The blind was still broken and the sun was low enough now to shine through the window, illuminating the opposite wall.
Yeboah pointed to a chair and George sat down, defiantly ignoring the pain in his back.
"What does it say in the CHERUB training manual about fighting?" Yeboah asked, looking calm.
"Any fight can get out of hand, always stay alert and remember that often the safest thing to do is de-escalate the situation," George intoned.
"If you know that, why did you fight with Rex?" Yeboah stared at George, but George just stared at the floor.
"He was winding me up," George muttered.
Yeboah tutted. "Hundreds of times I had guys in my army platoon squabble like this, fighting over petty things. These guys were the first to die because their discipline was bad. Do you know what I did to those guys, to turn them into real soldiers?"
George shrugged.
"I kept my boot on their throats twenty-four hours a day. Punishment after punishment, until they were begging to quit the army. And then I punished them more. In the end, they always learnt to be disciplined."
Yeboah was a menacing guy, covered in slabs of muscle with tens of scars and old wounds up his arms and on his face. Nobody knew much about his past, and George wondered how many people he'd killed.
"You're going back to campus," Yeboah announced. "Capstick will punish you. You've finished all the training this week so I won't fail you and make you miss going on missions, but I'll tell Capstick to go extra hard on you."
George's heart sank. He'd expected Yeboah to make him run laps or do some kind of extra training, but being sent back to campus meant heavy drill with Capstick.
"Rex is going with you," Yeboah went on, laughing when he saw George's expression. "Hopefully the two of you will patch things up while you're being punished."
The drive back to campus felt long, especially since it was just George and Rex on the bus. George sat in the back seats, sulking, listening to music on his phone and trying to pretend he couldn't see Rex sitting at the front, as far away from him as possible. George realised with a sickening feeling that if he'd just been able to control himself, then they would probably have got the bus back with everyone else and had a riot.
When they got back it was already late and Instructor Capstick met them at the campus's main gate.
"Heavy drill starts at twelve noon exactly, don't be late," Capstick said as he walked them back into the main building. "The chairwoman is away for a meeting, otherwise I'm sure she'd have something to say to you two."
George wasn't tired from sitting on the bus, but once he'd got back to his room and heated up a pie and mash in the microwave, he couldn't summon the energy to do anything else. At least if he got an early night, he'd be well-rested for the punishment the following day, so he got into bed, lying silently and cursing Rex for starting all this.
It was still dark outside when George's bedroom door clicked open. He had forgotten to put the bolt across, so he was still asleep when a hand clamped over his mouth and another body pushed down hard on his back, pinning him to the bed and sending a jolt of pain through the bruised patch that Rex had punched.
George tried to struggle, but someone expertly wrenched his arms around and secured them with cable ties, which dug painfully into his wrists when he tried to move. Resigned to his fate, George went limp, allowing the two people who'd grabbed him to tie his legs together in the same way and then carry him bodily to the door, still in his pyjama bottoms.
They paused outside Rex's door, and George could hear the sounds of a struggle going on. Being carried like this hurt his neck, so luckily it only took a few more minutes before two other figures dressed in black appeared, carrying Rex between them. Rex tried a few half-hearted kicks to get free, but he was too tightly tied up to do anything. The two of them were carried down the stairs to the ground floor and then the people carrying them broke into a jog, jolting George with every step. Even in the darkness, he'd been on campus long enough to have a fair idea of where they were, although with it being so dark it must be practically the middle of the night. They followed the paths around campus until they arrived at the dojo, where Capstick was waiting, holding the door open.
"Good morning, boys!" he boomed, making George wince. The figures dressed in black deposited him roughly on the floor of the dojo, which was lit up brightly, and then Capstick pulled out a pocket knife and cut through their cable ties.
"Welcome to Heavy Drill," Capstick said, grinning happily. "Hope you slept well."
"You said it started at noon," Rex complained, rubbing his wrists where the cable ties had left red marks.
"I lied," Capstick said simply. "Get over it. Now, the way your punishment works is simple. At three o'clock this afternoon, you'll both have to run one lap of the assault course. If either of you hasn't completed it by three-thirty, you'll fail today and have to repeat again tomorrow."
A lap of the assault course didn't take half an hour, so George realised there was going to be a catch.
"It's now three o'clock in the morning, which leaves twelve hours until your slot on the assault course," Capstick said, still smiling. "In the meantime, I've had a few ideas about how to fill up the day."
He gestured to the four black-clad figures, who pulled off their masks and hats. George was embarrassed to see that the two who'd subdued him were both black shirt girls. The other two were boys, and all four of them eyed Rex and George with disgust.
"First up, we're doing some sparring practice," Capstick announced. "If you submit, you get a one minute break. If you can't go on, you'll run laps non-stop until you can spar again. Now, I'm going to go and get some beauty sleep and leave you in the hands of my capable assistants."
With that, Capstick left the dojo, whistling to himself. George watched him go with rising apprehension, as two of the black shirts put down mats for them to spar on.
"Come on," one of the girls said, stepping up to the mat. She was wearing tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt while George was just wearing pyjama bottoms, which made him look stupid. He glanced over at Rex, who was only wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt as another black shirt manhandled him onto the mat. George stepped forwards voluntarily, but before he could get set into a combat pose, the girl launched a kick that sent him sprawling painfully onto his back, sending another spasm up from his bruise.
"Get up or submit," the girl barked at him.
George didn't want to submit so quickly, so he dragged himself to his feet, only for her to sweep his legs away and send him falling down again.
"Get up or submit," she repeated.
George preferred to lie on the mat, catching his breath. "Why are you helping the instructors? That's the lowest thing you can do as a Cherub," he taunted, so the girl lashed out and booted him up the arse.
"Get up or submit," she said once again, standing over him as he howled in pain.
When he tried to get to his feet, the girl grabbed his arm and used a judo throw to slam him onto the mat again.
"Get up or submit," she told him, smirking.
"I submit," George croaked. His back was killing him now and he didn't think he had the energy to take more of a beating, and at least a one minute break would give him a chance to recover.
The girl grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, but as he stepped off the mat to rest, she wrapped her arm around his waist and threw him to the mat again, winding him as he body slammed it.
"What…?" George wheezed, rolling into a ball. "I submitted, I'm supposed to get a break."
"Capstick lied," the girl laughed. "Get over it."
George squeezed his eyes shut as the girl stood over him, prodding him with her toe.
"Get up or submit," she said, turning the prods into kicks. "Just eleven hours and fifty-five minutes to go."
Capstick returned at seven. The four black shirts had taken it in turns to beat George and Rex up, never doing any more than just slamming them on the mats or causing bruising, but nonetheless, George was exhausted and his whole body was sore from the repeated impacts with the mat. Rex had tried to just lie on the mat and refuse to get up, but the three black shirts who weren't pushing George around had teamed up to keep lifting him off the ground and dropping him back onto the mat until he'd given in.
"You two both look fresh and full of energy," Capstick said, examining them. "Did they win any rounds?" he asked the black shirts.
The girl who'd mostly been torturing George shook her head. "Not a single one."
"Pathetic," Capstick said, tutting. "CHERUB-trained black belts and you couldn't win a single bout."
Rex managed to roll into a sitting position, gasping. "It wasn't a fair fight," he said.
"One-on-one fights, of course it's fair," Capstick replied, dismissively. "And anyway, I thought the two of you loved fighting. That's what Yeboah told me."
George couldn't even summon the energy to reply. He just lay on the mat, trying not to think about the pain he was in.
"Poor babies, all tired," Capstick said without a trace of sympathy. "Well, anyway, it's breakfast time, so I've brought the two of you something from the cafeteria."
He crouched down and handed George and Rex a chocolate chip muffin each. George could barely believe it: the muffin was still warm from the oven and smelt delicious. He was about to stuff it into his mouth when a foot lashed out and slammed into his hand, sending the muffin flying across the dojo. George moaned in pain, his hand throbbing.
"Whoops," Capstick said. "Foot slipped."
A black shirt had done the same thing to Rex, and George looked longingly at the muffin lying on the floor. If he brushed the outside off, it was probably still edible. But his gaze didn't go unnoticed, and Capstick strolled over to the muffin and stamped on it until it was a mess of crumbs.
"Slipped again," Capstick laughed. "Anyway, that's breakfast over. Come with me for the next part of the day."
For the next four hours, Capstick made them run a section of the cross-country trail at the back of campus. He used a stopwatch to keep track of their times, and each second they took over the time limit was a press-up. Despite the pain from the dojo, at first George found his legs were fresh enough to run it inside the time limit, but he quickly discovered that it wasn't going to last. Capstick kept reducing the time limit, and the press-ups were brutal when his back and arms were so sore. His pyjamas were a hindrance when he was trying to run, too, so in the end he rolled them up into shorts, ignoring the occasional look he got from other Cherubs on their way to and from lessons. After two hours, he was barely able to run the course any more, but every second he tried to rest was another press-up. Rex was the first one to give up, lying face-down on the grass as Capstick screamed at him that he still owed twenty press-ups.
"Why are you stopping?" he snarled at George. "You owe me ten."
George took a breath and tried to do the press-ups as slowly as possible to conserve energy while Capstick kept poking and prodding Rex relentlessly until he finally went back to trying. Neither of them made it the full four hours, so Capstick made them spend the rest of the time running laps of the cross-country trail non-stop, jogging after them and pushing them over if they stopped running.
It was eleven when Capstick finally let them stop. George could barely think straight. He was incredibly hungry and thirsty and the only reason his legs weren't killing him was because they were numb. Capstick handed each of them a bottle of mineral water.
"Drink before I change my mind," he snapped, and George wasted no time guzzling the entire thing. Capstick left the two of them alone for a few minutes, and Rex was the first to speak.
"I'm sorry for winding you up," he said, his voice a croak. "Nothing's worth this punishment."
"I shouldn't have hit you," George replied, gingerly touching his ribs to see how painful they were. "Capstick's a psycho."
"Mates?" Rex said, trying to hold out his hand for a fist bump but stopping and wincing when he realised how much it hurt.
"Mates," George said, smiling, in too much pain to feel relieved. "I wonder what Capstick's got planned next."