Hollywood: The Greatest Showman

Chapter 18: Recruit Training

In the barracks, there was silence. It seemed like everyone was unable to react. Eventually, Renly was the first to make a move. He gestured to Rami and walked out. Passing by the group of people at the door, they stood there dumbfounded. You could clearly see the confusion and astonishment on their faces. Renly smirked, but didn't say anything, and then left the barracks.

The cigarette in his hand still burned slowly, and amidst the swirling smoke, he could see that Renly's eyes carried a meaningful look. Richard's chest surged with annoyance. He wanted to vent but couldn't find the words. It wasn't until the cigarette burnt his fingertips that he hurriedly flicked it away, got up, and, in a fit of temper, shouted, "Get out, hurry up!"

After rushing out of the barracks, Richard's pupils dilated again—there were piles of people emerging from three different barracks, bustling and lively. A quick glance revealed at least sixty people or more. Not only that, more people were coming out sporadically, gathering on the left side, probably forming a complete line of people.

Then Richard saw Renly and Rami smoothly joining the queue ahead. Grinding his teeth, he quickly caught up.

In front, several soldiers chatted casually, while a few junior officers stood beside them, shouting loudly, "Quick! Quick! You idiots are moving like snails! On the battlefield, you'll just have to wait for someone to show you mercy!" The vulgar words poured down like a torrential rain, leaving no room to breathe.

If this were a real military camp, there might have been troublemakers challenging the authority of the officers. But this wasn't; this was a film crew. They were all hired actors, and all of them were below the third tier of actors—in other words, the crew wouldn't suffer any losses if they were fired. On the contrary, they couldn't afford to be dismissed.

So, Richard looked up with frustration, fire burning in his eyes, then lowered his head in resignation, obediently lining up.

The queue formed haphazardly, with people standing unevenly. A senior officer strode over from the front, appearing at least seventy years old. His silvery short hair looked spirited, and his neatly trimmed beard, despite the wrinkles on his face indicating the passage of time, didn't diminish his authoritative demeanor. Standing in front of the queue, he declared, "I'm Colonel James Dale Dye, responsible for your training for the next ten days."

His eagle-like gaze swept over each person, scorching enough to make the sun above seem mild. "From today onwards, I don't care what your names are. Everyone will be addressed by their character names and corresponding ranks. During boot camp, every sentence starts with 'Sir' and ends with 'Sir.' Don't make me repeat myself." There were no threats, no emphasis, just a decisive tone.

After these concise words, the Colonel prepared to turn and leave. However, he paused, turned back, and said, "And one more thing, very important: don't say 'yeah,' 'yep,' 'okay,' or anything similar. All responses will be 'Yes, Sir.'"

With those short yet powerful words, the scene fell silent. There was no trace of the atmosphere of a film crew; it felt like a real boot camp. In a moment of daze, it felt like they had entered the wrong place, and everyone probably felt the same way. Renly felt a strange sense of amusement.

The Colonel decisively turned around and began to leave, his steps unhesitant. He shouted to the officers nearby, "Training begins."

Immediately, the Captain who had entered barracks number eight called out, "Everyone present! Today is the first day, and we start with a warm-up: a four-mile run! Company, to the right! Turn!"

Four miles? Warm-up? On the first day?

Richard glanced down at his shoes, then at Renly and Rami's boots. A vague sense of foreboding crept over him. Unable to resist, he raised his voice, "Excuse me..." hesitated, then corrected himself, "Sir! What if dress shoes aren't suitable for running?" Then he paused for a second and added, "Sir."

The unnamed Captain glanced at Richard, "Then take off your shoes and run."

A stifled laugh almost escaped, especially seeing Richard's bewildered expression. However, the laughter was quickly suppressed because they noticed Richard wasn't alone—there were few people, like Renly, who had already changed into appropriate attire and shoes.

Rami looked at Renly with joy in his eyes, finally understanding what had happened earlier. Apparently, he was lucky.

"What are you sissies still doing here! I said, turn to the right!" the Captain shouted again, and everyone hurriedly turned to the right. "Maintain the current formation, start running!" Then, he joined the group and started running along with them.

Thus, the boot camp began like a storm, directly and vigorously. Less than twenty minutes ago, Renly was sitting in a taxi, diligently studying the script, envisioning his character Eugene, and looking forward to his first performance in front of the camera. But now, he was sweating profusely, running laps on the field—four miles, sounding like an endless journey.

The "first day" as an actor was indeed unique.

Although Renly was mentally prepared, sometimes, syncing the body and mind wasn't so simple. Four miles equated to more than six kilometers, a distance not easily conquered by anyone, not even someone as fit as Chris Hemsworth, let alone Renly.

They circled the field, one lap after another, the same scenery repeating endlessly. By the end, they were completely numb, unable to even discern where they were. Their feet felt like lead, and the sensation of their feet not belonging to them anymore was surreal—just mechanical progress driven by inertia. It seemed as if they wouldn't be able to stand up if they stopped—

Indeed, that was the case. Just after running less than a mile, Richard fell hard, claiming he twisted his ankle, and fell to the back of the queue. Everyone thought he had escaped, but soon enough, he was back on his feet, running again with the assistance of another sergeant.

At the end of the four miles, Richard was still not finished and continued to run tirelessly, as he was told to run a total of six miles.

Renly didn't have time to care about others. His body had reached its limit, his brain completely numb, unable to think, only gasping for air. Every muscle in his body seemed disobedient. He knew he should slow down, not sit down, or else his heart wouldn't be able to take it. But his heavy footsteps were almost impossible to lift, and the feeling of his feet being filled with lead was indescribable.

Every bone in his body seemed to groan. He felt like he was falling apart, and how he managed to endure those four miles was a blur. Even his instincts seemed to have shut down. Relying solely on sheer willpower and inertia, he stumbled forward, struggling. When the Captain announced the end of the run, Renly's feet couldn't stop.

The air in his respiratory tract and lungs was too hot, as if it were about to boil, causing his chest to ache. Was it his ribs? His sense of body awareness seemed to be off.

"Ren... cough, Renly, don't sit down," Rami's clothes were soaked through, looking as if he had just been pulled out of the water. He supported his knees with both hands, his face unusually flushed, "We should... we should walk slowly, otherwise..." Rami pointed at his own heart but couldn't finish his sentence.

Renly nodded towards Rami, indicating he understood, but his head only swayed, causing a wave of nausea. Four miles were far more challenging than imagined. Helplessly, Renly waved his hand to Rami, indicating he understood, then remained silent.

By this time, the scene was littered with bodies—just as the Captain announced the end of the four-mile run, many people collapsed on the ground. They didn't care about dirt, appearance, or even health; they just wanted to lie down and let themselves turn into mud. The scene of these "bodies" lying around was indeed impressive; there were hardly any left standing.

Compared to others, Renly's condition was top-notch.

What was worse, the feet of those wearing dress shoes were already blistered—after the blisters burst during the run, the wounds became blurred masses. Some couldn't help but take off their shoes, the sight, the smell, the discomfort, reminiscent of last night's dinner.

Even though Renly changed into boots, his feet were now throbbing, heels, sides, and the balls of his feet... he felt like his feet were no longer his own; he probably had blisters too. But right now, his body was almost struggling to breathe, temporarily ignoring the pain in his feet.

The Captain stood nearby, his mouth twisted in disdain. "This is just the beginning, a bunch of softies." Muttering a few more words, he continued, "Rest for fifteen minutes, then the next training session begins."

The whole place echoed with groans.

Subsequently, they went through group sit-ups training, where thirty people formed two lines facing each other, intertwining their legs and sitting on the ground, and then simultaneously did sit-ups. This not only tested their abdominal muscles but also their teamwork. Then they moved on to an 800-meter obstacle course, each person needing to complete it at least three times. This was followed by a two-hour shooting practice—not the casual kind, but the one where they had to learn disassembling and assembling firearms and accurately aiming and shooting. After that, there was a two-mile jog...

It was a long day, an extremely long day, making it hard to believe it was only the first day.