Sandra Hill by Down, Dirty Page A

evolved to other subjects, mostly involving the grueling days ahead in WEALS. Cushioned by these newfound friends, Britta resolved to make this, WEALS, her new life path. And as for the soul-ache, she had survived worse.
    I like your sugar, cookie…
    “I don’t know but I been told,” the women running on the beach sang out lyrics in what Britta had come to recognize as grody jody calls. What an odd military they had in this country that sang as they performed battle exercises.
    “Navy men are mighty bold,” Terri, her swim partner, called out the cadence.
    “Navy men are mighty bold.” The rest of them repeated the refrain.
    The five SEAL instructors who were leading the WEAL program wanted them to sing traditional Navy running songs, but the women had their own ideas.
    The men, damn their hides, barely broke a sweat on these long runs. In truth, she suspected they slowed themselves down so the women could keep up. The whole time the women ran their hearts out, the instructors trotted amongst them, making both encouraging and harassing remarks.
    At first it was difficult to sing and run, huffing and puffing, at the same time, but Britta along with the other women—those who had not yet “rung out”—were better able to perform various tasks at the same time after several days of brutal torture of their bodies, that torture taking the name of PE, or physical education.
    The only one unaffected by the excessive running was the nimble-footed Donita, who ran like the wind, her long legs nigh flying over the sand. The rest of them staggered by the end of the ridiculously long runs. “For strength and endurance,” their instructors kept saying. Britta girded herself with resolve to persevere, but she was not sure how much longer she could endure the pain. Leastways, for now, she could run and sing at the same time, and that was no small thing.
    “But Navy women are better than gold.”
    “But Navy women are better than gold.”
    “They can fight and they can flirt.”
    “They can fight and they can flirt.”
    “They can make a grown man hurt.”
    “They can make a grown man hurt.”
    “Men can grin and strut their stuff.”
    “Men can grin and strut their stuff.”
    “But women know they ain’t so tough.”
    “But women know they ain’t so tough.”
    “Boobs and butts, latex rubber…”
    “Boobs and butts, latex rubber…”
    “Turn bad ol’ SEALs to drooling blubber.”
    “Turn bad ol’ SEALs to drooling blubber.”
    “Sound off, one, two…”
    “Three, four.”
    There was a small satisfaction in seeing the five men gape with astonishment at the lewd lyrics, then scowl their opinion. She especially liked making the pretty SEAL scowl.
    Britta had been in this strange land only four days, and she was more tired, sore, bewildered, and angry than she’d ever been in all her twenty and seven years. It was so bad she half wished she could return to St. Anne’s Abbey.
    But, nay, she would run and then run some more if that was what it took. Bad as this was, she had no wish to return to the life she had back at the nunnery. Which was no life at all.
    Commander MacLean, the leader, was married to Madrene, though Britta could hardly credit a strong-willed woman such as Madrene tolerating this arrogant man. Right now, said arrogant man raised a halting hand for them to stop running and yelled, “Time to cool down before lunch. A little surf passage should do the trick.”
    The women groaned, knowing that their being nigh drowned in the pounding waves of the cold ocean water would soon prove punishment, not relief. If that were not bad enough, when they all came staggering out of the water, it was to see the five brutes staring at their drenched bodies to which their scant clothing clung. Men! They were the same everywhere. Show them a bit of breast or arse, and they became like rutting beasts. Especially that one master chieftain called F.U. who’d taken a particular delight in tormenting her.
    “How