"I don't know what you're talking about, 'amigo'," Izkry told Óscar, his tone cold.  Just because he wasn't as overt about it as his sister didn't mean he approved of desertion either, and the man's blatant disrespect for both officers and comrades grated on his nerves.  "Whatever comes, we shall all find out after lunch."

Dismissing the bothersome Spaniard to look after himself, Izkry took a moment to clap Johnathan on the shoulder.  "Gut gemacht.  You learn fast -- much better than me, for all I have tried."  The young man's smile was bright as he mocked his own accented English.  He grabbed his PT gear from his locker and quickly went about changing, talking as he did.  "Bel, she is the one that is good at languages -- not that she will speak much."  His time in the Swiss army meant Izkry had no trouble talking and working -- and he moved fast when he had to.  Before long he was ready to head outside.

Belasý had vanished into the ladies' dormitory to change.  In the interests of teambuilding she got the attention of both Zhanna and Maria, letting them see her PT gear long enough to draw the proper conclusions.  She rarely spoke if she didn't have to, but at least she made the effort to communicate at all.  She didn't spare them any further attention.  She was the first outside ready to go, and she started stretching while waiting for the others.  Most recruits hated the Currahee.  Belasý actually enjoyed it, always pushing herself to go just a little faster, to work just a little harder.  She took pride in keeping herself in excellent condition, and while running up and down mountains wasn't as good as swimming the steady rhythm of her steps and her heart was soothing.

Izkry joined her before too long, looking far less enthused.  "Yet another run up Cursed-rahee," he sighed, with an exaggerated look of despair.  "How many times can they make us climb it before our footsteps pound it flat, hm?"