Chapter 33 That's HSPC For You

• Brice groaned. What the hell was Ponce doing at his door? Sure, it wasn’t late, it was only a couple of hours after dinner chow, but still, Brice didn’t expect the trainer. He didn’t expect anyone. He glanced at the clock and groaned a second time.
• Knotting his towel tighter, Brice strode to the entrance of his apartment. He realized what a fucked-up plan it was to have sex with a recruit, but stubbornly, he ignored the voice saying he should be the model head trainer. He had done all the right things for years, and all he had to show for his dedication was one foot, an empty bed, and a lonely life. He was keeping Claymore Wicks… at least until the recruit graduated.
• As he passed the weapons, Brice remembered that the ammunition specialist from the armorment unit was supposed to pick up the crate before dinner chow. The man never showed. He hoped it wasn’t Copeland banging on his door to get the guns. What a headache that would be.