Stg. Salty Training in Glenbarrow Waterfall, Co. Laois Hiking

 

Chapter 6: The Reward and the Retreat 💰

The immediate priority was to prevent Sarah and Susan from succumbing to the 'tactical hypothermia' they had bravely courted. Salty, regaining his command presence despite the damp anti-climax of the drone, organized a quick change operation. Giggles, still shivering, was tasked with wrapping the two soaked privates in the picnic blanket, earning a sharp elbow from Sarah for his excessive zeal.

"McFinleyyy! Phone Barry from Ballynahown! Now!" Salty commanded, gesturing towards the soaked drone cradled by Ye Olde Large Lad. "Tell him his flying menace has been recovered by a highly trained, if slightly freezing, military unit!"

McFinleyyy, ever the diplomat, pulled out his phone and made the call. The rest of the crew huddled together, sipping the last of the strategically warm tea, listening intently.

"Hello? Barry?... Yes, I'm Private First Class Finley. We've recovered your drone from the Owenass River at Glenbarrow... A difficult retrieval, yes, involving advanced aquatic maneuvers... Oh, you're just down the road? Brilliant!" McFinleyyy ended the call, his face beaming.

"Well?" Salty demanded, impatient. "What's the reward? Was it five hundred quid? A case of fine Irish whiskey? A lifetime supply of replacement boots?"

McFinleyyy rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Better, Sarge! He's meeting us at the car park. He says the reward is: two dozen fresh, hot donuts from the Ballynahown Bakery, with extra sprinkles!"

A stunned silence fell over the misfits. The monetary reward was nonexistent, but the promise of warm, sugary treats immediately trumped the anti-climax of the drone.

"Donuts," Salty breathed, slowly lowering himself onto a dry rock. He ran the phrase through his military filter. "A high-calorie, morale-boosting carbohydrate payload. A tactical advantage for the march home." He looked at the beaming faces of the crew. "Fine. Donuts it is."

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The Descent

The mood instantly lifted. The misfits packed up the remains of the picnic, now with the added excitement of a bakery reward waiting. Ye Olde Large Lad carried the recovered drone and the soggy blanket with equal care.

The descent was far easier than the climb, aided by gravity and the promise of sprinkles. Giggles managed to only trip twice, his laughter now genuine rather than nervous. Snaps continued to document the environment, now focusing on the optimal caloric density of various mosses, apparently inspired by the donut prize.

Salty marched at the front, attempting to appear professional, though his thoughts were mostly consumed by the potential quality of the Ballynahown Bakery's jam-filled donuts.

At the car park, they found a very grateful, very flustered man waiting beside a battered Ford Fiesta. This was Barry from Ballynahown. He was holding a large, grease-stained box.

"Oh, thank the holy hikers!" Barry exclaimed, rushing forward. "You found Betsy! I thought she was a goner! I was trying to film a promotional video for the local sheep farmers union!"

Salty immediately took command. "Sergeant Saltmarsh, sir. We retrieved your equipment. A difficult operation, but successful. Now, about the reward..."

Barry thrust the box into Salty's hands. "Here, here! Fresh this morning! The best donuts in the county! Take the whole lot! And thank you, you're lifesavers!"

Salty held the heavy box, momentarily stunned by the immediate delivery of the prize. He opened the lid. Inside, perfectly arranged, were two dozen gloriously iced, sugared, and sprinkled donuts. The aroma was magnificent.

"Mission accomplished, Sergeant!" McFinleyyy cheered, already grabbing one.

"A successful end to a complex field exercise," Snaps noted, snapping a picture of the donut box.

Salty looked at the treats, then at the waterfall visible in the distance, then at his triumphant, mismatched crew. He had intended to instill discipline and build character through rigorous hiking. Instead, they had built camaraderie, faced a cold water challenge, rescued a civilian drone, and secured a massive supply of confectionery.

Salty sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. "Right, you lot. Tactical consumption of the carbohydrate payload begins immediately. But mark my words: next week, it's a 10-mile forced march, no donuts!"

The misfits cheered, knowing full well that Salty's plans were as solid as a wet scone.

The End of the Glenbarrow Training.

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