Barracks Bitch

[Assmunch]

“So why do they call you Puta instead of Puto?”  Valentino asked, still snuggled under the covers to stay warm while Julio brushed his teeth in the mirror above the sink.

Julio smiled in the mirror back at the sexy, somewhat innocent blonde.  “Is better.  When you call a man by a woman name, is two insults, not jus one.”  He emphasized his point with his toothbrush.  “Beside, dey only call me dat because das what I call dem.  I don’t tink dey even know what it mean.”

“What does it mean?” Valentino asked, seriously.

“It mean ‘handsome’, very very handsome.”  Puta replied with a straight face.

Valentino nodded his head slowly in agreement.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  So you can call me Puta too.”

Julio grinned.  “Ay!  No!  It means whore, like a prostitute.  Guapo is handsome, like you.  You are guapo, muy guapo.”

Valentino lay there with his mouth wide open in shock.  “You… Ugh!  I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Julio walked back to the bed grinning.  “Is what I like about you, guapo.  You are very sweet.”

“I’m not going to believe another word you say.”  Valentino pouted, turning his head away.

Julio climbed up on the bed on his hands and knees.  “You are very sexy when you are angry, tesoro miso.”

“Lies.”  Valentino replied.

Julio nuzzled Valentino’s neck with a growl.  “Jess, like dat.  Is making me want you more.”  He kissed and licked his way up his lover’s neck, stopping his tongue at his ear to nibble and lick softly and slowly.  In a soft voice he said “I think you are beautiful, sexy, sweet, a good man.”  Punctuating each word with another lick, or a kiss.

Valentino was moaning softly.  “It’s not true.”  He mumbled.

“Is all true.  You taste good, you smell good, you smile is like da sun when it rise above the ocean, you lips… mmm la fruta dulce…” Julio kissed his way over Valentino’s forehead with little pecks.  He placed a hand on Valentino’s cheek and gently turned his head to look at him.  He stared into Valentino’s eyes.  “I am falling in love with you, Valentino.”

The blonde closed his eyes and sighed.  “Julio…. Please don’t play with me, not about that, okay?”

Valentino was used to being disappointed.  Most guys, at lease the ones he developed crushes on, were never interested in any kind of involved long term relationship.  Sure, they loved having sex with him.  He knew he was attractive, but his opinion was he looked boyish and not quite grown up.  His ears stuck out just a bit too much.  Not as bad as that guy Dumbo in the Bravos, but more than what he considered normal.  He sighed.  It didn’t help that he couldn’t suppress his eagerness about everything.  He just wanted to jump in to get a task done, to learn the material, complete the training, pretty much everything.  Even things he was reluctant to do, he just started immediately because he wanted to get it over with.  So, he knew he came across as younger than he was.  He even still volunteered way too much, which was a good thing and a bad thing.  The other Charlies appreciated when he stepped up, keeping them from being assigned the duty.  But it was getting to the point where he thought they expected it.   

“I not play with you about this, my love.  At first, jess… we jus have fun.”  Julio said, still stroking Valentino’s face softly.  “But I see you are a very good person.”  Julio sighed.  “We not know where we go now, but maybe we don’t see each other again for a long time.  I want you to know, Valentino, that I like you more than for jus fun.  Is not bad to say how you feel.”

 

 

***************************

 

Why did it have to be twenty two degrees out?  At least the morning was sunny and the day would warm up above just above freezing in the afternoon.  In the fucking dirt again, god DAMMIT.

“This FUCKING SUCKS!” Demon shouted, expressing exactly what every single one of them was thinking.

“Just think of that pussy you got this weekend, Demon.  Happy thoughts.”  Dumbo countered.

“Yeah, well I’d rather be licking pussy than tasting this dirt.  That was some good shit.  Perfect tits too.”  Demon responded with a little more calm.

“Any ideas, Bootlicker?”  Assmunch called out.  The Bravos were currently immobilized, tied securely hand and foot and on their sides stripped down to underwear and tee shirts, scattered across the small clearing.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have Wanker pull my dick out so I can take a piss on his ropes.  Maybe that will loosen them enough he can get free.”  Bootlicker answered.

“Seriously, Bootlicker?”  Wanker said angrily.

“Hey, it’ll be nice and warm.”  Bootlicker said with laughter in his voice.

Half the Bravos laughed.

“Fuck you, Bootlicker.”  Wanker responded.  “And fuck the rest of you too, assholes.”

“Do it, Bootlicker.”  Assmunch said.  They had to get free, find their packs and gear where ever those guys had stashed them, and get warm.  The clock was counting down.  It was too cold to delay.

“Pee on someone else.  Why does it have to be me?”  Wanker whined.  “Pee on Weeble, he’s smaller, he can probably get out the ropes easier.  He’s got little lady hands.”

“You’re closer.  I don’t want to crawl all the way over to Weeble.”  Bootlicker said, already scooting his way towards Wanker.

“Fuck my life.  I hate every single one of you.”  Wanker said in defeat.  “You’re cut off, no more special privileges.”  He threatened.

“Aw, c’mon Wanker, don’t be like that.  Some of us count on that.”  Troll said.  “We’re not the ones pissing on you.  Hey, maybe you’ll like it, you never know.  It’s a fetish some people have.”

“Jess, Puta.  Da Golden Showers.  Lotta people like it, you maybe like it too.”  Puta chimed in.

“Just stop fucking talking about it!”  Wanker shouted, making everyone laugh with the unhinged furious tone in his words.  “I get to pee on you then, Bootlicker.  Fair is fair.”

Bootlicker laughed.  “If we get tied up again, I’ll let you pee on me Wanker.  Now reach in for my dick.  It’s right there, feel?”

“Yeah, I can feel your dick, you can stop humping into me asshole.  This better work.  Hold on…. There, it’s out.”

“Here goes…” Bootlicker warned before letting loose.

Wanker felt the hot stream pour over his hands, then it strengthened into a forceful flow.  “Shit, it’s hot!  Fuck Bootlicker, why is your piss that temperature?”

“Temperature differential, idiot”. Bootlicker answered, grunting.  “It feels warmer because you’re freezing.  Shut up, I’m focusing.”

“I’m free.”  Weeble called out from further away.

“Hell yeah Weeble, untie me!” Alaska responded immediately.

“You can stop, Bootlicker!”  Wanker exploded, trying to move away.

Bootlicker laughed.  “Sorry, can’t stop mid-stream, I have to finish.”

Assmunch noticed the cloud of steam rising from between Bootlicker and Wanker as the hot urine splashed into the cold air.  Well, Bootlicker was a dick, but Wanker should already know that.  He couldn’t imagine how soaked Wanker was getting, Bootlicker was probably spraying all over Wankers back.  At least he was getting a little warmth from it.  And honestly, Assmunch thought it might be a fun thing to try with Kevin one day.  Maybe.  But in the shower, definitely not anywhere else.  Wanker succeeded in rolling to his knees away from Bootlicker.

Weeble of course freed Zeus and Sleeper first, then Sleeper untied Assmunch, and Assmunch went directly to Bootlicker and Wanker.  Fun and games were fine, but no need to prolong Wanker’s torture.

“It’s just piss, Wanker, settle down.  It’s not going to hurt you.”  He said as he undid the wet nylon paracord around Wanker’s wrists.  “Doesn’t look like it was going to work anyway.  I guess paracord doesn’t stretch when it gets wet like regular rope.”

He looked over at Bootlicker, who was grinning.  He already knew that, as Bootlicker would, of course.  These two and their pranks.  They’d sort it out between them.  Wanker might be mad for a little bit, but he’d get over it.  No one else wanted to play their kind of games, so they were stuck with each other.

Holler and Alaska were already discussing figuring out where the men who’d done this to them took their packs and gear.  Cellblock joined them, gesturing to the ground, then off to the west and the three of them split up slightly to head off in that general directly taking different routes.  It wouldn’t be far, that much Assmunch knew.  Probably 50 yards off in the woods, or less.  The goal wasn’t to deprive them of their gear, but to make them search for it.  Assmunch went over everything he remembered from the time when Major Collins turned them over to a group of fifteen rough looking men.

They were transported several hours from Ft. Benning.  Every time one of the Bravos tried to talk, they were shouted at to shut the fuck up, and these guys weren’t relaxed, they were serious, hard and unforgiving.  They weren’t wearing uniforms of any kind, just basic khaki and desert colored tactical clothing.  Every single one of them had facial hair of some kind, some full beards, mustaches, goatees.  Definitely not active military unless they were SOF (Special Operations Forces).  Those guys could do what they wanted and didn’t have to maintain grooming standards.

When they reached their destination they were told to pack out for patrol, only given scant seconds to get themselves loaded up before ten of what Assmunch guessed were former soldiers began running off into the woods beside the compound they were in.  There was no command, no order, but he knew the expectation was to follow.  He began running immediately.

The ten men were unencumbered by packs and gear and they set a brutal pace staying far enough ahead that it was extremely difficult to keep sight of them.  The Bravos hadn’t run like this in weeks.  They were also running on empty stomachs as they had been given no time to eat before they left the base well before sunrise.  At least he’d told all of them to fill their canteens, even though the Bravos hadn’t needed the reminder.  Any time you were told to gear up you didn’t dare neglect a single preparation.  Sarge had taught them that with enough pain and suffering that it was now something they just did, every time.

The message so far had been clear: the mission had begun and while they might not know the objective they were to operate as if they were in a combat zone which meant no questions, peak awareness, and act with deliberate attention.  They would be told what was expected when it was time for them to know.  Until then, pay attention.  Assmunch memorized landmarks as he went, and he knew the Bravos were doing the same.  An outcropping here, a hill there, this weird tree, following a ravine carved by washout during successive rains, a grouping of bushes that had vibrantly green leaves in the middle of winter.  They were going overland in terrain, not taking a formerly beaten path, which made their exertion harder.  Up, down, rarely level.  At this pace, your knees, back, and ankles were likely to give out so extra care and attention were necessary to avoid injury.

Two hours and extreme exhaustion later they were encircled in this very clearing and told to strip, which they did and then they were roughly restrained with knotted paracord as they were standing, their hands behind their backs.  The final indignity was being shoved sideways to topple to the ground.  The inexperienced might have been injured, but after Airborne they all automatically collapsed into a PLF that saved them from injury.  They all just lay there grateful to have the rest this afforded after the insane ruck pace they’d just endured.

Assmunch hid his surprise and how impressed he was when the ten men easily grabbed two or more of their packs and left the clearing.  But that was useful information because he knew they were unlikely to take them very far before discarding them.  Which also told Assmunch they were expected to retrieve them.  Which meant they were expected to free themselves by any means necessary.

See?  There was information in every situation.  He assumed when they found their gear they’d have a clue to the next objective.  And if his gut feeling was right, it would be something they would have a very difficult time reaching before dark.  If they didn’t achieve it, they would suffer for it, he knew.  There was the slight possibility that a reward waited if they could succeed, perhaps the warmth of a campfire, a warm meal.  So far, this was Infantry training basics: out for patrol, some form of ambush, a dirty trick to hamstring the platoon or squad, being pushed to force them to extend their limits… there’d be some sign of what they had to do next.

The Bravos knew better than to call out when they found their gear, and instead Cellblock returned at a run.

“Found it.  We better hurry, there’s going to be a delay.”  He said cryptically.

Assmunch frowned when he saw what they were dealing with.  All of their gear, every piece of equipment and clothing was strewn about, having been yanked out of their rucks before being thrown haphazardly over an area roughly thirty yards square.  An area that didn’t have good drainage.  Mud and ankle deep water everywhere.  Up in the branches of several trees, more gear.

“Let’s get to it, locate everyone’s blouses first, dry is top priority.  No sense putting on trousers or boots yet.  Chunk, Sleeper, Dumbo, Wanker, Holler, Weeble and Troll, you stay here and sort everyone’s stuff.  The rest of you, let’s go swimming.”  Every piece of clothing, every piece of gear and equipment would have someone’s name written on it in permanent marker.

More information came from this scene of chaos and destruction: these guys weren’t going to make it easy on them.  In fact, they were going to be worse than tough, they would descend to the worst levels of punishment and torture.  Was it a test?  Preparation?  Did it matter?

“Fuck, they destroyed the MRE’s we had.” Dimples called out, holding up an open kit that had several tears in it most likely made by a field knife.  Yeah, this was definitely intended to be a level below hell.

“Anyone seeing any sleeping bags?  I haven’t come across one yet.”  Fuck… if they had to shelter somewhere it was going to be almost impossible in this freezing weather.

“Then let’s hurry up, the longer this takes, the sooner darkness comes.  We need to be on our way.”  Assmunch announced, pulling up a pair of underwear that said ‘Chambers’.  Weeble’s.  Fuck they were small.  He chucked them over to the group waiting on dry land. “Cellblock, there has to be some sort of clue about what we do next.  Find it.”

“I’m on it, Assmunch.” Holler called out in his thick twang.  “Nuthin thisaway, Cellblock.  Might could be yonder.”  Did people really talk like that these days?  Assmunch supposed so, after all there was a real live hillbilly right over there freezing in his underwear talking in a whole other language of made up words and gibberish.  Holler was an incredibly likable guy, fairly innocent and eager.  It would be easy to base an assessment of his intelligence on his speech, but Holler wasn’t stupid.  He wasn’t as smart as Cellblock or Bootlicker, but he learned his stuff as well as everyone else, maybe with a little help on the reading part.  Assmunch suspected Holler had a reading disability.  He had more than a little trouble struggling his way through some of the manuals they were given.  But that didn’t mean he was stupid, far from it.  Once something was explained to him, he connected the dots just fine.  And he was clever.  He taught everyone who didn’t already know how to place every element of their weapon in a specific order and place when field stripping so that it could be reassembled in the quickest time.  Even if you were right handed, it was faster to put some parts with your left hand because re-orienting your weapon ate up valuable half-seconds.  All of them practiced Holler’s method now and were within a second of each other in their races.

Dimples, on the other hand, was a master at loading a magazine.  Click, click, click, click, click…his hands moved so fast you couldn’t see him palm the next round before he pushed it down and in.

Fortunately, their captors hadn’t been total dicks, and made sure the important gear and clothing stayed dry, but there was enough wet stuff that Assmunch wondered if it might be useful to light a few fires to dry the stuff out.  But that would take time, and Assmunch had his intuition gnawing at him that time was something they didn’t have much of.

It wasn’t long before they each had every piece of their gear and kit and they busied themselves with re-packing their rucks.

“Figure it out, men, we have to move.”  He called out, making the decision he knew he was going to make from the very start.  Still, you can’t ignore the options and actually have to consider their usefulness.  Doing that becomes a habit over time, and you might miss a critical element at a crucial time during a mission, so never skip the options part.  No fire.  Had they been left with food, it might have been useful to fuel up before patrol.

“Nuthin, Assmunch”. Holler called out before running to his pile.

“Not a thing, Assmunch”. Cellblock echoed from his search area.

“Well fuck.  Holler, pick your team.  Guess we have to do this the hard way.”  Assmunch grumbled.

“Alray know.”  Holler called back.

“He knows which direction they went, or already figured it was going to be the hard way.”  Cellblock repeated.

Early on, the Bravos set up a system where anyone who understood what Holler said just repeated it in plain English.  Most of the time, it wasn’t that hard, and Holler was making an effort to say things clearer, but every now and then he rolled marbles around in his mouth while he spoke.

Holler smiled.  “Yup, Yup.”

“Both.”  Cellblock said.

“Good, I’ve got a bad feeling this is going to really suck, and we won’t eat until we reach our objective.”  Assmunch said, causing a low murmur.

“They say that in the Army, the biscuits are so fine,

One rolled off the table, and killed a friend of mine.”  Shark called out.

 

The Bravos answered in cadence…

“OH I DON’T WANT NO MORE OF ARMY LIFE,

GEE MA, I WANNA GO HOME!”

 

And from there, everyone called out their favorite verse.  Pancakes, coffee, meat, Soon, they were following Holler through the woods and brush as he tracked their captors.  It didn’t go fast because even when Holler darted up ahead, it could be a false trail.  The group stayed at a deliberate, slow pace while the scout and his team investigated the signs of previous passage.  Tracking Patrol was in the hands of the scout.  The platoon only had to stay aware for signs of ambush.  Holler’s team was reliable, consisting of Footlong, Shark, Silent and AF who had proven themselves time and time again to be the best at discerning the most minute indications.

Tracking was a talent, not something that could be learned entirely from a book.  Holler explained it was a a feeling you got, mostly intuition, and your brain put different signs together.  Only in the best circumstances did you have a boot print in the mud.  More often it was how the vegetation was positioned, it was thinking like what you were tracking ‘I’d stay on hard ground, so that way isn’t an option’, or ‘brambles too thick up there, I’d want to keep moving quickly, so it has to be that way.’

Game trails were great, and useful if speed was the need, which was usually the case for anything that was running away from something.  If deception and ambush, or getting lost was the goal, hiding places, high ground, cover…those were likely to indicate direction of travel.  Were your targets experienced or a novice?  Choices would be made, different for each.  Hundreds of small inputs that Holler said he didn’t have to think about anymore.  He had a reliability scale in his head that just made him know he could count on a sign or indication.

He came running back.  “Eh split up”. He said.

“Of course they did.  What do you think they’re doing?”  Assmunch asked, he didn’t even question Holler’s conclusions anymore.

Holler shrugged.  “Might could be they wanna come round n hit us from aside.”

“Ten of them?  Hmmmm.  Seems unlikely, but I’ll have Demon pick perimeter scouts.”  Assmunch replied.  He received a single nod from Holler.  Best to cover as many possibilities as you could.  “It’s up to you, Holler.  What’s our move?”

“Eh know we followin’, eh want us ta, athink”.  Holler grinned.  “Athink we oughta not.”

Assmunch chuckled.  “You want to throw a wrench in their big plan?”

“Yup.”

“You got an idea of where we need to be?”

“Sumkinadea”

So Holler had come to a decision about what they needed to do.  It wasn’t a 100% certainty, but he was confident it was the right thing to do in this situation.  With an unknown enemy who definitely had a plan, most of the time you wanted to be unpredictable, choose the craziest safe option, something they might not have planned for.  You force them to adjust and they might just make a mistake.

“Cellblock, MiniHulk, Sleeper, Shark…”. Assmunch called out to his squad leaders, who came running over.

“First, anyone know where we are?  My guess is somewhere in Northern Alabama.”  Assmunch asked.

“Yeah, they brought us mostly north.  If we’re over the Georgia/Alabama border, it’s not by much.”  Cellblock answered.

“Holler wants to change the game.  Agree?  Disagree?  Options?  Counters?”  Assmunch asked.

“Is our objective to find these guys, or fortify a position and wait?” Shark asked.

“Holler thinks we’re meant to follow them but they aren’t making it easy.  If we’re being led to an encampment they aren’t going straight there, which means they’re burning time.  You have anything more, Holler?”  Assmunch explained.

“Yup, been goin nor’east, roundabouts, cept not drectly.  Figger what we need gonna end up thar anyways.”  Holler heaved his shoulders.  “Howbout fuckitdoit?  Caint be far.”

Assmunch gazed at his squad leaders.  The best thing about them was they all thought differently.  Cellblock liked safe options.  Sleeper was aggressive, preferring confronting a challenge directly, testing their limits, busting in through the front door with shock and awe.  Shark was sneaky and brutal, if he could add a little damage to an objective he would.  Shark never wanted to use a door, he wanted to blow a hole in the side of the building and go in that way.  “Last thing they’re ready for.”  He’d say.  Shark and Demon got along great.  MiniHulk was usually by the book, deliberate and precise, never in a hurry, chipping away at an objective and eroding resistance.  And even better, they each defended their position with well thought out support.

The four squad leaders were looking at each other, and Assmunch knew they were mulling over what they would do and comparing it with Holler’s choice.  Sleeper was the first to respond.

“Fuckitdoit.” He said.

Cellblock crossed his arms and scowled.

“Fuckitdoit” Shark agreed, shooting a challenge at Cellblock.

MiniHulk looked at Cellblock.  “What’s the advantage of doing it this way?  Get there sooner?  We don’t even know what ‘there’ is.”

Sleeper crossed his arms to mirror Cellblock.  “Give us time to recon, maybe catch them unprepared.”

“You really think these guys are unprepared?  Really?  These guys?”  MiniHulk asked.

Cellblock waved a hand indicating the woods.  “You know we’re probably being watched, right?  They probably haven’t let us out of their sight the whole time.  Whatever this op is, we’re the mice in the maze.”

“All I know is, if we don’t follow their script we don’t step into their traps.”  Shark replied.  “Who knows what they have waiting for us?”

“And how long do you think they’ll run us around in circles wearing us out?  We can’t do this all day, none of us have eaten.”  Sleeper shot back.  “We can’t play by their rules.  Every action they’ve made so far was to slow us down, delay us.  They’re either buying time, or they don’t want us to find the encampment until they’ve decided we should.”

“You’re assuming there’s an encampment.”  Cellblock argued.

“there’s SOME kind of base of operations.  We just have to find it.”  Shark said.

“You sure it’s that way, Holler?”  Cellblock asked, gesturing to the northeast.

“Yup, gotta be.”  Holler replied.

“Here’s what I think.  I think we’re being evaluated.”  Cellblock began.  “They are testing our skills.  I don’t know what this whole thing is, but we know these guys are military, or ex military but they aren’t wearing uniforms.”

This is the part of Cellblock Assmunch loved, why he was a valued squad leader.  He dissected things, and then laid them out for everyone to see clearly.  He had a perspective that weighed and evaluated the composition of a problem, narrowed down the possible solutions.

“What if this is a Q course?  We fail if we don’t go through each section.”

“Then we immediately re-run it.”  Sleeper answered quickly.

“And they didn’t bring us through a gate, there’s no signs about a military installation, government property, we weren’t dropped off in a compound or depot.”  Shark threw in.  “Some secret Q-course?  That’s not how it works.”

MiniHulk put his hands on his hips.  “What if this is a Special Forces course?  It wouldn’t have all that Shark.  There wouldn’t be some big sign “HEY, SOF SKILLS COURSE, RIGHT HERE!!!”

Assmunch thought that was a good point.  There were plenty of installations that weren’t broadcast as a military facility, just a basic chain link fence with no signage except ‘no trespassing’.

But, even places like that had SOME kind of building or facility, even if it was a bunker in an otherwise nondescript hill.

“I’m tempted to agree with Holler.  I don’t like playing follow the leader.  I don’t like playing by their rules when we don’t know who THEY are, or what they intend, or where they are leading us, what they’re going to do to us.”  Assmunch began.  “They didn’t instruct us, just set us loose.  They WANT us to figure it out for ourselves.  I think the reason they are just wandering out here, why they split up now, is they are waiting for us to make a decision.”  he looked at Cellblock.  “If this is an evaluation, it’s an awful lot of trouble just to see how we track an enemy and patrol over terrain.  I’m assuming they already know we can do that.  Now they want to see what we can really do.  They want us to choose.”

 

 

*****************************

Hidden in a tree some distance from the platoon was a man dressed in wilderness camouflage, and he was studying the Bravos while remaining immovable inside the evergreen branches of the large pine.  No leaves of the deciduous trees blocked his view.  The leaves had long since fallen to the ground.

“Him.  I want HIM.”  The man holding binoculars called down in low tones.  It was clear who he meant, the guy who seemed to be in charge of the platoon, the one everyone paid attention to.

“Copy.”  The man standing by the trunk answered before running off.

[laguyinhou]

Fucking hell. Another awesome chapter and a cliffhanger from hell! 

[Assmunch]

On 11/24/2022 at 1:46 AM, laguyinhou said:

Fucking hell. Another awesome chapter and a cliffhanger from hell! 

LOL but of course!!!  Hope you had a fantastic Thanksgiving bud!  

[laguyinhou]

On 11/25/2022 at 3:10 AM, Assmunch said:

LOL but of course!!!  Hope you had a fantastic Thanksgiving bud!  

Indeed! Hope yours was great too! 

[Assmunch]

Hidden in a tree some distance from the platoon was a man dressed in wilderness camouflage, and he was studying the Bravos while remaining immovable inside the evergreen branches of the large pine.  No leaves of the deciduous trees blocked his view.  The leaves had long since fallen to the ground.

“Him.  I want HIM.”  The man holding binoculars called down in low tones.  It was clear who he meant, the guy who seemed to be in charge of the platoon, the one everyone paid attention to.

“Copy.”  The man standing by the trunk answered before running off.

The man in the tree was still questioning his decision to do this favor for Collins.  But technically it was one of the tasks they advertised to customers so he didn’t have an automatic ‘no’ ready when the Marine called him.  Usually when they trained troops or squads for specific ops it wasn’t at their compound on the Georgia-Alabama border it was on some foreign soil elsewhere in the world.  U.S. troops, foreign troops, operators of all sorts.  Collins paid well, the U.S. govt usually did, which tipped the balance in favor of a ‘yes’ in this unusual case.    

Cherries.  Every single one.  They looked like children.

Patrol discipline wasn’t terrible, except for the noise they were making.  “Guess they didn’t get the message.”  He said to himself.  Collins had left it up to him how he would run this, and he decided against briefing the babies before testing them.  Run of the mill grunts were instructed and ordered - ‘don’t color outside the lines’, ‘shoot that’, ‘sit there’, ‘don’t eat the crayons.’ These grunts weren’t run of the mill.  Figuring out the sitch was part of operating without intel, adapting a mission, creating a mission, defining the battlefield, all important factors that would tell him what these kindergarteners lacked. He mentally shrugged.  “Collins did say to push them.  Over the cliff is still pushing.”

************************

Assmunch came to decision.  How this day had proceeded left too many unanswered questions for him to feel comfortable operating as if this were a normal patrol.  He considered this to be enemy territory.  An entire platoon was too big to accomplish any objective without intel, and they created a big fat target for attack or ambush.  A big, noisy, easily herded target.

After listening to the opinions of his men, he turned to Cellblock.  “We’ll do a 5k Shotgun.”  Cellblock nodded before turning to give orders to the teams.

“Three man standard.”  Cellblock announced.  The Bravos immediately broke into their teams.  “5k due Northeast.  HEE-HAW”

No one waited, they had their orders and a plan.  Hide.  Evade.  Escape.  Harass.  Attack.  Weaken.  Something Cellblock had come up with in Germany to handle situations when you didn’t know where your enemy was and were marching blind.  You picked a direction (northeast), selected a distance to reconverge (5k), broke off into smaller teams (3 man), head off into different directions along a 180 degree arc (shotgun).

Assmunch took a few deep breaths and settled into the zone while the rest of of the Bravos disappeared into the woods.  All the elements came together in his head, clues he’d noticed as they patrolled without attempting to figure out how they connected.  The topography of the terrain they’d traversed.  The time of day, the drop off point, the delays, having no briefing or mission, no objective, the few things he knew about their hosts and Major Collins, their training up to this point, Germany, being allowed to break the rules in small ways, unusual skills not normally provided to Infantry privates.

Evaluation of existing proficiency coupled with identification of deficiencies was always step number one.  That would be his first step…well after selecting participants, but he had no way of knowing or determining which selection criteria were used.  Create a baseline.  Develop a plan, a program.  Challenge, instruct, test, train.  Eliminate external factors and isolate.  Increase the intensity of training, build on previous lessons.

It all floated around in his brain until an arrow of lightning pierced his thoughts.

“Chunk, head out and join up with Alaska’s group.  That way.”  He pointed.  He and Chunk were the odd two man team left after the Bravos split up into their 3 man shotgun.  “Leave your gear, it’ll just slow you down.  We’ll take it with us.”

“We…..?”  Chunk said in confusion, while unlatching his kidney strap and chest strap and letting his ruck drop to the ground.  In two seconds he was gone.  They were beyond argument, discussion.  The Bravos trusted that he had his reasons, had a plan and a goal in mind.

Assmunch used the time to go deeper, leaving just the smallest part of himself to monitor Automatic brain.  He had nothing more to figure out. If their hosts hadn’t already decided to deprive the Bravos of their leader, they would soon, especially after seeing the Platoon disperse.  There was no point to making it hard for them to take him, it would only wear him out.  These were guys who didn’t lose, especially against a 20 year old Private.  There wasn’t a lot of math to do to arrive at the answer that Assmunch would be loser in any scenario.  At least this way, he could get a mind-nap even if he left a sliver of his awareness on alert.  He made himself comfortable in a ruck flop on the ground and waited.  It wouldn’t be long.  Thoughts of his recent weekend with Kevin and his family kept him warm.

*************************

“Clever.” The man in the tree muttered as he saw the Bravos split up and scatter.  Only two of the teams would be exposed to the traps his men were currently setting up on the path to the compound.  The others would circumvent them.  He no longer had confidence the traps would be successful.  There was no way the Platoon could know the exact location of the compound but with this tactic it wouldn’t be difficult to triangulate.  However, they couldn’t communicate with each other.  The smooth and fluid way the troops went into action spoke of a precision execution of a previously developed drill.  At some point they would have to converge again if they planned to act as a unit.  Did they know he didn’t have enough men to chase after ten teams?

At least eight of the teams would locate the compound.  Once found, they’d wait and gather intel.  The rats would find the cheese.  He welcomed knowledge that the infants had made his job slightly easier.  He wouldn’t have to herd them.  He was also pleased that Collins had sent them kids with at least a little experience.

He hit the radio button on the handset hooked to his vest.  “Let them go.  Base, prepare for perimeter incursion, line of sight…”. He did a quick calculation in his head…” contact in two ticks…1400.”  He saw the target squat down and assume a relaxed seated pose.  “Discontinue target hunt and capture.  He’s waiting for you.  Target will cooperate.”  The man thought for a couple seconds.  “You’ll only need one man, Cage.  Send the rest to shadow the infants.  You have free rein to play. Do not incapacitate or injure.”

His men would watch and determine how able and skilled these little babies were.  After they were rounded up he’d get reports on who the thinkers were, who gave orders, who led and who followed.  From that he could develop a program to focus on their deficiencies.

*******************

Zeus scrambled up the twelve foot rock face then planted himself on his stomach to reach down to grab Weeble’s outstretched hand to pull him up from Sleeper’s lift.  Weeble climbed over Zeus, using the big man’s ruck for handholds.  Once his hands were free, Zeus grabbed Sleeper’s free hand to do the same for him, waiting until Sleeper gained his feet before rising to stand.

“We have a shadow.”  Zeus said, turning his head for his gaze to drift over the shadow’s position without stopping.

Sleeper nodded.  “I saw one, you think there’s more?”

Zeus shook his head.  “Negative.”

“Sneaky snake.”  Weeble commented.  “He’s gonna be hard to shake.  He’s gonna be a problem.”

“Yeah.  Do we deal with him now, or wait?”  Sleeper asked.

“Now.”  Zeus replied in a dangerous tone.  “We don’t know if we’ll have the opportunity to escape his observation further on.  He’ll lose momentary track of us once we get away from this ridge.  Best opening we’ll have.  He maintains distance, but that doesn’t mean he won’t engage at some point.”

Sleeper nodded in agreement.  “Weeble…”

“I know what to do, Sleeper.”  Weeble interrupted.

“Give Zeus your ruck.”  Sleeper said as he started forward and away from the edge.  When they were sure they were out of sight, Weeble slid out of his straps while still moving and darted off into the scrub.

Sleeper grinned watching Weeble skitter off to the cover of a dense thicket twenty yards off to the right.  No one moved like Weeble, fast and low, his legs pumping furiously.

“Let’s move.”  Sleeper said, setting off at a quick jog almost at the same moment Weeble skittered away.  The diversion relied on disguising that one of their team had peeled off.  Their shadow had to think he was still following all three.  And no matter how good their shadow was, Weeble was one of the fastest they had in a scramble, not to mention wriggly and writhing, all wild rabid and feral.  He was worse than Shark.  Shark hit and ran, he didn’t wait around.  Weeble would only run if it served a purpose.  And if Weeble got caught it worked to their advantage too, as it would slow their shadow down.  He’d have to make a choice, and there really wasn’t a choice.  Their shadow couldn’t allow Weeble to continue to randomly distract him from following his other two targets.  He’d lose track of them.  Even captured, Weeble would be an anchor around the shadow’s neck.

Had it been an actual enemy who meant to do them harm, they would have used a different approach, splitting up to harass the shadow individually in rapid engagements intended to tire and confuse.  Sure, it would slow their progress toward their objective, but eliminating an enemy behind you took priority.  Too much havoc could be wrought by even a single man.  Sleeper shook his head.  Whoever was calling the shots were seriously underestimating the skills of their targets, and it would be foolish for Sleeper to avoid taking advantage of that mistake.  They sent one man?  Sleeper wouldn’t make the same mistake though, he fully expected their shadow to be very, very good at bushcraft.  It was arrogant for him to allow himself to be spotted, but was that deliberate or were their hosts completely unprepared for the Shotgun?  Those were questions Sleeper couldn’t answer.  But just like a fighter jet released countermeasures to deal with a fired missile during a dogfight in the air, the Shotgun was meant to create too many targets for a single attack to succeed.  And the 3 man Shotgun could be further dispersed to create three more targets if necessary.

He had no doubts that the other squads had their own shadows and were dealing with them in similar ways.  Either way the dice fell, Sleeper didn’t have to worry about their shadow anymore.

*********************

“Fuck him up, Demon.”  Cellblock said.  If their shadow was smart, he’d bolt.  There was plenty of room for him to escape between the points of the triangle they’d surrounded him with.  Even if he was really good, he’d have a hard time prevailing over three attackers if he waited for them to engage.  The group of them stood spread six paces apart in an area where the trees were spaced further apart.

“Wait.”  Their captive said.  “We’re only evaluating you.”  He said in a calm and reasonable voice.  “If you attack, there’s going to be injuries.  A lot of injuries.”  Something in his tone made it a certainty rather than a possibility.  He didn’t seem bothered, or nervous at all.  In fact, he stood relaxed with his arms crossed.

“You could surrender.”  Troll offered.

Their shadow turned his head to study Troll.  “You want a captive?”

Troll shrugged.  “Not really, you’ll slow us down.  Or we could leave you tied to this tree here.”

The man laughed.  Cellblock realized he liked this guy.  He looked to be in his late 20’s or early thirties, bundled for the cold so it was hard to see his body shape, but he stood about 5’11”.  He had an easy friendliness to him, with brown eyes that never lost a look of amusement.  “That would suck, but you know I’d get loose.  You would have to take me with you.  I could give you intel.”

It was Cellblock’s turn to laugh.  “Are you going to give us intel?”

“If you ask nice, sure.  Why wouldn’t I?”  The man replied.  “We weren’t told not to.”

Cellblock sighed.  “You could lie.  You probably already are.”

Another laugh.  “Well isn’t that how it goes?  You have to figure out what’s a lie, and what isn’t?”  He waited a few seconds for Cellblock to make a decision.  “What do you think Demon?”  He asked, looking at the only member of the squad that hadn’t spoken.

Demon grinned.  “I like to fight.  I know I won’t win against you, not by myself.  But I could make it difficult on you to continue following us.”

The shadow raised his hands as his eyebrows lifted up onto his forehead.  “What am I going to do?  All I have to do is slow you down, which is going to happen either way we do this.  I’d rather do it the friendly way.  After all, I don’t REALLY want you to cry every time you have to pee for the next four days.  I’m going to hammer my boot between your legs and put a size 11 footprint in your taint.  You’ll probably puke, and we won’t be going anywhere for at least an hour.  It’s 50-50 whether you’ll have little Demon’s running around when some poor stripper finally agrees to marry you.”

Demon scowled.  “I don’t like threats.”

The happy shadow smiled.  “You’re in the wrong line of work for that, buddy.”

Cellblock sighed.  “We have to secure your hands.”

The shadow nodded and crossed his wrists behind his back.

“Demon, secure your ruck on the captive.”  Cellblock ordered.  He was pleased at the momentary scowl that flashed over the shadow’s face.  But it disappeared fast and was replaced with the man’s normal bemused visage.  “Troll, your ruck goes on the front.”  Now the scowl remained.  “Demon, secure his wrists when he’s latched in.”

“You know I can’t march far with this weight.”  The shadow said.  “I can’t see the ground, I’m going to trip and fall a lot.  That’s going to slow you down.”

Cellblock grimaced.  “Ouch.  And with your hands tied you won’t be able to catch your fall.  We really should have thought this through better.  Move out.”

“Look at it this way, your feet are free, you can still put that boot in my taint.  I kinda got a boner for it now.”  Demon licked his lips and smiled with a wink as he grabbed the right shoulder strap on the Shadow while Troll grabbed the left.  “We’ll try not to let you fall.”

The set off to continue in the direction they’d been originally traveling.

“The compound is that way.”  The shadow said, indicating with his chin a direction off to their left.

“We know.”  Cellblock said without pausing or changing direction.  “Good luck throwing Troll off.”  Cellblock said a silent word of thanks that the Sergeants Bravo had trained them full of hard lessons in Germany with few breaks.  He couldn’t imagine how they would have handled this situation back when they were green.

*********************

  

They’d been in woodlands exactly like these before, prior to Germany.  A lot of scrub growth, crowded thickets and difficult paths to navigate forced them to stick to one or two easier to travel routes.

“When do you think it’ll happen?”  Dumbo asked.

“Pretty soon.”  Bootlicker answered.  “Eyes sharp.  “You take under, Dumbo.  Wanker, you take over.”

“He’s still back there.”  Wanker observed.

“You sure, Wanker?  I’d have come up alongside by now, maybe even ahead.”  Bootlicker murmured, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah.  Twenty yards back.  He’d have to circle too far to track us alongside and we haven’t given him time.  The squirrels behind us haven’t started running on the floor again, still darting through the trees overhead.”

“Good.”  Bootlicker replied.  Now…would it be a diversion, a trap, or a delay?  These guys had home turf advantage.  If it was him, Bootlicker would have set up something that combined all three with enough time.  The cry of a red-tailed hawk sounded close by, a lonely and mournful screech in the cold quiet of the woods.  Bootlicker took in the surroundings.  A slight rise, maybe three or four feet to their left beyond which appeared dense growth.  Too bad it wasn’t summer, there’d be juicy blackberries on those.  His stomach growled with disappointment in the season.  He’d brave the almost guaranteed yellow jacket swarm for a handful of blackberries at this point.  A clearing beckoned at 1 clock through gradually spreading tree trunks. Both directions were desirable for strategic purposes.

Their pursuer would avoid the clearing, not wanting to walk in the open.  And he’d know his targets would want to avoid a clearing for similar reasons.  When you’re on patrol in the woods clearings were prime ambush locations.  The enemy could hide and attack from cover while your squad was pinned in the open.  A smart patrol would avoid the clearing.  The trap would be at the top of the rise to the left.

“Bootlicker…”

“I know, Dumbo.”  Bootlicker answered.  He was thinking, but he couldn’t take too long.  Their pursuer would use the time to circle around.  He suddenly realized THIS was the diversion, they were expected to take some time to evaluate their choices.  There would be a trap either way they chose, but because the clearing was the least desirable option the trap there would be less troublesome because almost no one would choose that option in this situation.

His squad had taken the route directly pointing to the ultimately expected compound to the northeast.  If it was a prepared trap, which was likely on a route their hosts selected for them, it would be something intended for an entire Platoon rather than a smaller three man squad.  Assmunch had changed the game and their enemy didn’t have time to revise their carefully laid obstacle course.

It was too early for sacrifice.

“Are you clocking, Wanker?”  He asked.

“Shadow on the move, east.”

Bootlicker nodded.  As expected.  He had to wait.  Their pursuer would take position in the woods across the clearing once he circled around.  So foolishly confident for a lone tracker.  Is that what their hosts thought of them?  Did they really think they were bumbling idiots?

“Let me know when he’s likely to lose eyes on us.”  Bootlicker said.  “We move along heading one hundred fifty degrees on Wanker’s go. Max speed.”

“Copy” Dumbo and Wanker echoed.

Thirty seconds passed in silence.

“Now.”  Wanker breathed, and the three of them darted immediately to the southwest, the small rise with the blackberry bushes above covering their quick retreat.

“We have thirty seconds max to find cover to hide our route.  There!”  Wanker pointed to a large fallen tree beyond which was yet another wide expanse of shrubs and low growth.  Running full out was difficult on even ground when you were rucked and loaded, and in the woods it was downright dangerous, but they didn’t have a choice.  It wasn’t a sprint, and you didn’t pump your legs you barely lifted your feet.

“If he’s smart, he’ll just meet us up ahead rather than try to follow us, but it’ll take him a bit while he waits for us to to appear.  He should figure it out pretty quick.”

*******************

“I’m just about fed up with these little fucking bastards.”  Beggar said to the tree he was leaning against in a squat.  He’d waited in position, taking the opportunity to swallow a nutri-bar in two bites.  “Babysitting job my ass.”  He stood up gingerly.  He had what he came for.  He’d take his time heading back to base, maybe they’d all arrive at the same time.  He wondered how the others were doing and if they were having as much trouble as he was.  One thing was clear, these bastards weren’t the babies they’d been told to expect.  That actually pleased him.  He’d recommend that the dial get turned up to 11.  With a smile he walked casually through the woods dreaming of punishing these three pukes in particular in the week to come.  If anyone were watching, they would notice he walked with a slight limp favoring his left foot.  The one with the big ears would be his special project.  “Payback’s a bitch, motherfucker.” He muttered as he stopped and sat down on the ground to remove his boot.  He was going to have to wrap his ankle.  It hadn’t stopped throbbing with the usual walking it off.  He chuckled.  The spring loaded sapling was a lucky hit.  He still couldn’t figure out how he tripped it.  And he hadn’t had time to investigate how they’d done it in the first place.  Fucking. Little. Green. Grunt. Bastard. Mother. Fuckers.

******************

“We can’t have lost him.”  Dumbo said.

“He’s up ahead somewhere then.”  Bootlicker said.

“Probably snacking on a box of crayons waiting for us.”  Wanker said, making them all chuckle.

“You think he’s a Marine?”  Dumbo asked.

Wanker shrugged.  “Who knows?  He rolled down that hill like a big dumb bag of rocks though.  That had Marine written all over it.  I didn’t expect that little tree to whip that hard.  But then,” Wanker chuckled, “neither did he.”

“It was a thing of beauty.”  Bootlicker said, smiling.  “But don’t get cocky.  Stay focused.  He underestimated us, let his guard down.  It won’t happen again.  If anything, I expect payback.”

“There’s not much further to go, if Holler was right.  I don’t think he’ll have time to hit us.”  Dumbo said.

“You could be right, but let’s expect it anyway.”  Bootlicker replied.

Wanker groaned.  “I wish I had a box of crayons to eat.  I’m starving.”

Bootlicker patted him on the back.  “Don’t worry.  Holler knows his shit, we’ll be eating soon I bet.”

******************

“Is that all of them?”  Gregory asked, his eyes watching the Private sitting in a chair in the middle of the compound’s courtyard.  Gregory was in the tower four stories up with two of his commanders, looking down.

“All but three, sir.  The squad with the big guy and the little guy are in the wind.”  Jackson replied.

“Wasn’t that Nancy’s squad?”  He asked.

“Yes, sir.  Can’t reach Nancy on the radio.”

Gregory squinted and furrowed his brow.  Just who had Collins sent here?  These were kids.  Nancy was no-contact.  Beggar came back injured.  Ghost allowed himself to be captured and used as a pack mule.  But thank God for that because he might just be one of the only ones to actually get anything in depth in terms of the skill level of these kids.  Ghost was friendly, non threatening, engaging and talkative.  He was one of the few really likable guys he had.  If anyone could get an inside track on these kids, he would.

One thing was clear: this Platoon was disciplined and trained for ordinary missions.  They operated far above what he’d normally expect from Privates.  The 3 man squads were currently hidden in a 180 degree arc around the compound’s perimeter.  Like they knew where the compound was from the very start.  Like they’d had a plan.  And intel, except Gregory knew that wasn’t the program…unless Collins had lied to him, which was unlikely.

“Sir, we’ve got a vehicle coming.”

“Well this day just keeps getting better.  I should charge Collins double.”  Gregory said to no one in particular.  “Doesn’t look like they’re in the mood to stage a rescue op of their man.  Let’s bring them in.  The last three will show up eventually.  I have a feeling they’re not far away, and watching everything.  Take a plate of food to our captive Private.  Let’s see if that coaxes them in.  If not, round them up.  Day’s getting late.”

“My pleasure, Sir.”  Jackson said before darting down the steps of the tower.

“Let’s go see who our guests are, Vince.”  Gregory said to the other man as he walked to the steps himself.

*******************

“They’re going to see the fire and the smoke.”  Weeble said.

Sleeper shrugged.  “We’re not hard to find.”  Sleeper said, watching Zeus field dress the buck they’d killed.  They got lucky, finding this buck struggling with his antlers caught in the fork of a tree.  “Besides, you want to eat, right?”

Weeble’s stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  But first, go do recall.  There’s enough here for everyone.”  Sleeper continued.

Weeble darted off in the direction of the compound to signal the first squad back to their location.  One man from that squad would go to the next squad’s position and relay, and so on.  Sleeper looked over at their captive.  “What channel have they switched to?”  He asked for the twentieth time.  The man shrugged.

“Come on, Nancy.  This doesn’t have to be difficult.  I just want to make sure my guys get a meal in them, then we’ll all walk into your base like good little soldiers.  We’re here, we have no where else to go.  We’ll even let you go to report.”  Sleeper coaxed the captive who was tied hand and foot.  They’d taken no chances and hog tied him.  “We know the drill, the enemy has comms, radio silence and a new channel for anything critical.  There’s nothing critical now, there is no radio chatter for us to find.  We’re all here, right where you wanted us to be.  We can’t get intel.  But we can radio in and begin negotiations.  You guys have the upper hand and we both know your side is only waiting to see what we’ll do.  Nice trick putting Assmunch front and center there.  But we don’t need to rescue him.  None of us are going anywhere except where you want us to be.  Game’s up.”

Nancy blinked slowly, as if bored.

Sleeper sighed.  “Look, you get to tell the story however you want to, we won’t say a word.  You just got unlucky when we set Weeble on you.  You’re the one who made the bad call to let him lead you into Zeus.  We all know you didn’t expect us to have the training.  You should be mad at your commander for not briefing you properly.  You’d have done alright if you’d met up with one of the other squads.  And we sincerely appreciate you not going for blood, we know in a real fight we stood no chance.”

The lump on Nancy’s cheek was going to turn into an angry bruise.  “Zeus got lucky hitting you with Weeble’s ruck like that.  For a big guy, he’s got fast reflexes.  Sorry about having to drag you, but you were out and we couldn’t carry you and our gear.  Come on.  We aren’t the enemy.”

He watched Nancy’s eyes gaze off, as if lost in thought.  Playing the scenarios in his head most likely.  Sleeper gave him time.

“Get the fire going, Addison.  I’ll slice it thin so it cooks faster.  We should be able to eat most of it.  The rest we’ll bring with us.”  Zeus said.

Sleeper set to the shavings with his sparker, blowing on the mound when it caught then added dry tinder to the small flames as well as bark and twigs.  In less than a minute the flames were big enough to add the smaller branches and wood.  Unlike their camp out in the state park, there was no flat slate stone in the area they could use for a cooking surface.

“He’s useless Zeus.  We should just let him run back home.”  Sleeper said.

Zeus shrugged.

Soon, Weeble came back with Puta and Dimples and they all grabbed chunks of meat from Zeus to hang over the fire.  Sleeper took turns feeding Zeus bites as he continued butchering the carcass of the buck.  Gradually the other Bravos filtered in and took their place around the fire.

Sleeper watched Weeble take a strip of cooked meat over to Nancy who turned his head away when Weeble offered him a bite.  Sleeper shook his head.  He watched his brothers devour the meat like rabid wolves.

“Eat fast.  They should be sending out a team to round us up by now.  Either that, or they’re going to attack.  Let’s not get caught with our pants down. And don’t overload.”  Sleeper called out.  He really didn’t have to tell them to hurry.  Half of them barely chewed the meat before gulping it down.

Cellblock spoke up just as he finished his meal.  “Let’s just walk in the front door.  We’re all bushed, let’s find out what all this is about.”

Nancy let out a sarcastic laugh.  “You’re tired?  After a half day’s walk in the woods?”  He grinned.  “I can’t wait.  This is going to truly suck for you soft little babies.”

“Says the man who didn’t carry 45 pounds on his back all day.”  Shark pointed out.

“45?  You don’t even have plates, full mags, a full camelback.  You’re babies.  Don’t worry.  Well show you what tired is.”  Nancy retorted.

Sleeper traded a look with Cellblock.  The first clue.  Sleeper gave the handsignal for squad leaders to meet before stepping away.  Zeus stood up and held out his field knife with bloody hands to Alaska to finish with the carcass.

After the squad leaders were gathered, Cellblock spoke first.  “Our guy was pretty talkative.  I like him, he’s friendly.”

“Did he say what we’re doing here?”  Shark asked.

“Training.  He didn’t say what kind, but he did say it was supposed to toughen us up.”  Cellblock answered.  “He said today was all about evaluation.”

“Which means we fucked up.”  Shark said.  “We played this wrong by showing our skill level.”

MiniHulk nodded.  “We’re going to get hit hard.”  He took a deep breath and threw his ugly head back.  For a guy with almost no neck he seemed to have no trouble moving his blocky caveman head around.

Sleeper heard leaves crunching behind him, and he turned to see Bootlicker walking up to the group.  “I hope you worked your magic and found us some info, Bootlicker.”

Bootlicker grinned.  “Oh, I’ve got info.  I meant to tell Assmunch but we never got time.  I looked through our file in Ulrich’s office.”

No one was surprised Bootlicker found his way into the Training Regiment Commander’s office.

“We have a file?”  Cellblock said with suspicion.

“Yes.  You’re not going to like it though.”  Bootlicker replied.

“Fuck.  I wish Assmunch was here.”  Sleeper said.  “What’s the file?”  He said with surrender in his voice.

“We’re part of a Pentagon test program.”  Bootlicker said.

“What kind of program?”  Cellblock asked.

“Homo’s in the military.”  Bootlicker said with a matter of fact tone.

Cellblock looked at Shark, MiniHulk, Zeus and Sleeper.  “But we’re not homos.”  He said it casually, as if it was just another basic fact, unbothered by the implication or the association.

“Charlies are in the program too.  I didn’t see anything on the Alphas or Deltas, but it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out they’re in the program, we were all together in Germany.  I guess since it was just Bravos and Charlies in the Airborne Course they only gave Ulrich information on us.”  Bootlicker continued, ignoring Cellblock.  “Major Collins is running the program.”

“Fuck me.”  Sleeper breathed out.

“You’re in the right Platoon for that, apparently.”  Shark said with a chuckle.  “Did the file say how many of us are gay?”

“No.  But we know Puta is.  Maybe Wanker, and Troll sure likes getting Wanker to suck his dick.  It doesn’t matter.”  Bootlicker answered.

Cellblock nodded.  “Yeah, that’s not the real problem.  What if we get known as the Homo Platoon?  Who knows about this, Bootlicker?”

“Program is Classified, but not Top Secret.  So not many, and it’s definitely not general knowledge.”  Bootlicker explained.  “Probably just command.”

Cellblock hissed.  “Bootlicker… you looked at Classified documents?  And now you’re telling us?  We’ll all hang for this.” He said in a whisper.

“Then you better not tell anyone.”  Bootlicker said with a grin.  “And why are you whispering?”

“Because I don’t want to go to jail, fuckwad.  And we have to tell Assmunch!”  Cellblock argued in a heated whisper.

“No one’s going to jail, Cellblock.  Relax.  Man, you’re way too uptight.”  Bootlicker replied.

“Yeah, Assmunch will know what to do.”  Shark said.  “I don’t like that we could get a reputation.  Some of us are set on re-upping.  I have to do eight to get the G.I. Bill stuff they promised.”

“Me too.”  Cellblock said.

“What do you think about this, Sleeper?”  MiniHulk asked.

“I…”. Sleeper paused.  In truth, he didn’t know how he felt.  He didn’t care about the program.  Or rather, he didn’t care that it was a study of Homosexuals in the Military.  He actually liked the training and getting to hang out and work with the Bravos.  But he knew he didn’t have a future in the military so any reputation or career roadblock wasn’t a threat for him like it was for the Bravos.  Their nervousness was understandable.  What would Assmunch do?

“This is what we signed up for.”  He began.  “We all volunteered for this.”

Cellblock interrupted.  “I wouldn’t have if they told me what it was for.”

Sleeper held up a hand.  “Doesn’t matter Quincy.  It’s a done deal, you can’t back out.  Actually, I don’t know about that, we probably could back out, if we were willing to let Collins know that we know about the study program.  But that would mean we had info we shouldn’t have.  The Major seems like a good guy, but he’s career military and someone will get punished for this.  If it’s us, we’ll probably just be booted.  So I don’t see that as an option.  We’re stuck for now, right?”

“I guess.”  Cellblock answered.  Shark nodded while MiniHulk just shrugged.

Sleeper continued.  “Second, we’re getting training NONE of us would be getting if we weren’t in the program.  And C, I don’t know about you guys, but I love the Bravos.  I love being here, I love going through this with all of you.  I don’t want to be anywhere else.  Number four -  they probably offered this to plenty other troops, we’re the ones who said yes, and while some of us were selected because of being gay, we don’t know who that is, or if we have any others besides Puta.  Which means no one else will know either, especially because it’s Classified.  Once they’re done with the program and get what they need, our file will go into a drawer in an unlabeled filing cabinet in the basement of the Pentagon and no one will look at anything but the report conclusions ever again.”

Bootlicker nodded.  “I don’t think our selection was random.  Usually studies have control groups and test groups, and I don’t think we’re a control group.  Maybe the Alphas and Deltas are the control, maybe regular Army is the control, who knows?  The file didn’t lay out how the study was created, just the purpose.  It’s probably just a basic briefing for Ulrich and the inclusive file is in Collins’ hands.  And we aren’t mentioned specifically by name so Ulrich doesn’t even know which of us is gay, just that some of us COULD be.  Ulrich did have a bunch of information on our comings and goings, performance at Airborne, how we interact with each other, fights, arguments, how Assmunch usually resolves everything or tasks us.  The cadre loved us, by the way.  Called us ‘dedicated soldiers’.  The best part?  We’re slotted for Ranger School.”

Sleeper held his hands up as if to say ‘See? I’m right.’

“Are you going to tell Wanker, Bootlicker?”  Shark asked.  “Did the file say how he’s been sucking dick and taking it up the ass?”

“Nah.” Bootlicker said.   “I told him it doesn’t matter if everyone’s cool with it, he can’t be open about it.  So he’s been careful, which is what I’m training him for.  Our activities are secret ops, and that includes his extra-curricular activities.  He doesn’t need to know about the program.  No one but us and Assmunch needs to know.  We don’t need anyone fucking up and letting it slip.  We need to play this smart, ride it out and see where it takes us.  If THEY know that WE know they’ll either drop us back into the regular ranks of infantry, or send us all back where we came from.”

Cellblock reluctantly nodded.  Shark seemed to be giving it some thought.

“We don’t really have a lot of choices here.”  Sleeper said.

“Do you think Weeble’s gay?”  Shark asked.

“Why?  You want some of that?”  MiniHulk said with a smile.

Shark laughed.  “Not into dudes, you ugly fuck.  No, just wondering about that guy that came for our graduation.  They seemed pretty tight.”

Sleeper sighed.  “Let’s not go around trying to figure out who’s gay.  If anyone is, let them keep their secret.  All of us have stuff we want to keep private, at least for now.  We’ll know when they want us to know.  It’s not going to change anything, I’m not going to treat anyone differently, just like whatever Wanker does isn’t a problem as long as it doesn’t fuck with what we need to do and it doesn’t pull us down.  We don’t know even a little bit of whatever Bootlicker and Wanker get up to, which is their secret to keep unless they want to tell us.  So same thing goes for any other secret we might have.  That’s our plan.  And Bravo business stays Bravo business, agreed?”

“Yeah, Brotherhood matters stay in the Brotherhood.”  Cellblock agreed.

“You’re right.”  Shark said.  “It’s not a big deal, we can’t do anything about it, and it’s a Bravo thing besides.  If it needs to change, Assmunch will help us figure it out.”

MiniHulk nodded.  “Bravos for life.  I feel like the minute I was put with you guys being in the Army just made sense.  I love the shit we do, I love doing it with you guys.”

“We’re not gonna have a group hug, are we?  You bunch of homos.”  Shark said, making everyone laugh.

“Zeus, you good?  Need to add anything.”  Sleeper asked.

“No, Sleeper.  I’m good.”  Zeus answered with his usual flat lack of emotion.  Which meant he didn’t have a problem with any of it.  Zeus wasn’t usually in on the squad leader meetings but he needed to get used to giving input.  One on one with Sleeper Zeus didn’t have an issue with speaking up.  But when the Bravos were present, he rarely spoke.  Sleeper understood now that it was a confidence thing.  Zeus didn’t feel like he had anything important to contribute, and that the rest of the Bravos usually covered everything he would say anyway.  And, he was happy doing whatever the others decided.  If he didn’t like it, he would simply not do it, like drinking alcohol or being stupid.

“Okay, so once everyone is done eating, we load up and walk in the front door?”  Sleeper moved forward.

“Yeah, what else we gonna do?”  Cellblock answered.

“May as well get this punishment suck started.”  Shark replied.

MiniHulk nodded.  “Not really much choice, is there?”

They made their way back to the other Bravos who were slowing down on the deer meat.

“What’s the plan?”  Troll asked.

A voice from someone hidden in the woods nearby called out.  “The plan is you all go back to your families in box with a flag draped on it.  You fucking stupid morons!  You’re all dead.  Where’s your perimeter guard?”  A figure stepped out from behind a thick oak.

“Sarge?  What are you doing here?”  Sleeper called out.

The scowl on his face deepened as he watched the Bravos scramble to their feet and assume parade rest.

“At least you haven’t forgotten THAT.”  Sergeant Walker growled as he walked up.  “You disappoint me, men.  I thought I hammered it deep enough into your empty skulls that YOU DON’T FUCKING ENCAMP WITHOUT SETTING A WATCH!  No fucking wonder they flew me across an entire… FUCKING … ocean to babysit you ugly useless pieces of shit.  I wouldn’t allow any of you to exist on the bottom of my fucking boots.  What a SPECTACULAR waste of my time and of the Army’s money.  Your fathers should have jacked off into the fucking toilet and flushed all of you into a septic tank.  What the fuck did I do to deserve this?”

“We -“ Sleeper started.

“DID I ASK YOU A QUESTION, GRUNT?”  Sarge trotted up to within an inch of Sleeper and screamed into his face, coating it with a liberal amount of spittle. “WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE  DEAD MEN DON’T SPEAK YOU SHUT YOUR FUCKING DICKHOLE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL SHOVE MY BOOT DOWN YOUR FUCKING THROAT!”

Sarge was driving himself up into a frenzied rage, and all of them knew what that meant.

On the first circuit around the compound they saw Sarge helping himself to some of the deer meat, cooking it on a branch over the flames.  On the second circuit around the compound they saw him sitting with Assmunch talking, and the deer carcass was gone.  After the third time around Assmunch waved them over and they did fifty burpees and fifty mountain climbers, which ended them.

“Set up camp.”  Sarge ordered.

“Here?  But this is -“ Bootlicker tried to stop Wanker, but wasn’t fast enough.

“YOU PICKED THIS GODFORSAKEN POSITION!  AROUND THE COMPOUND THREE TIMES.  Get the fuck out of my sight.”  Sarge screamed.

As the Bravos stumbled away for another brutal run you could hear Wanker taking a load of abuse.

No one spoke when they returned and immediately began setting up camp.  The location was definitely not suitable for camp.  It was on a slope, the small clearing wasn’t large enough and the trees too close together, the ground was uneven, and there were way too many blind spots.   Only groans could be heard, along with grunts of effort.  Assmunch tasked three at time to walk the perimeter and keep watch.  The sun had set by the time they were through and only the fire provided light for them to see.  The temperature was dropping with every minute.

“Grab some water and sit down.  Class starts now.”  Sarge said.  When everyone was settled, he continued.  “Private Brickmann, distribute the handbooks.”

Each of them received a RANGER’S HANDBOOK.  “This is your bible.  You will memorize the Ranger Creed tonight.  Each of you will recite the Creed by memory before you sleep.  Private Brickmann, read it out loud.  After you finish, you’ll begin Montelongo.”

They took out their flashlights and opened their handbooks.  They would get no sleep that night

[drew4fun]

I really enjoy reading this series! Thanks for your work on every chapter.

[backpackguy]

Another great chapter Assmunch...keep up the great work...Luv my Bravos!!

[Assmunch]

19 hours ago, drew4fun said:

I really enjoy reading this series! Thanks for your work on every chapter.

Thanks Drew… some chapters are a little more complex and take me longer, but I will keep it going!  It’s great to hear compliments!  

[Assmunch]

2 hours ago, backpackguy said:

Another great chapter Assmunch...keep up the great work...Luv my Bravos!!

Thank you!  The Bravos really should be more careful, Sarge could have overheard the squad leader meeting, and then they’d be screwed.  Yeah, Sarge knows… but he’d have to report that the Bravos know.  That would not be good at all.

[laguyinhou]

Another great chapter. Realizing what was going on, OPFOR size, and their likely target (Assmunch) was perfection. And SGT Walker showing up... Amazing. 

I forget, was he read in to the entire program? 

[Assmunch]

4 hours ago, laguyinhou said:

Another great chapter. Realizing what was going on, OPFOR size, and their likely target (Assmunch) was perfection. And SGT Walker showing up... Amazing. 

I forget, was he read in to the entire program? 

Yes, Walters and Horvath were in a meeting with Major Apone just after the Bravos finished their training in Germany, and Apone told them then because the Bravos and Charlies had completed Phase One of the program successfully without any trouble to report.  But because they were going to be sent to Benning to be alternate resources for the Bravos and Charlies they were told what to specifically look for - breakdown in morale, assaults, etc.  Major Collins knows that if there is going to be a crack, anything to discover, or trouble…it would happen at the start when the troops are freshly thrown together, or during the hardest training of their entire career at Ranger School.  Pressure, exhaustion, pain and difficulty will fray even the tightest unit and expose weaknesses.  

From the end of Chapter 17:

“Sir, what’s the purpose here?”  Sergeant Walters asked.  “What are we supposed to be looking for?”

Major Apone sighed.  “A breakdown in command, morale, unit cohesion, any problems caused by homosexual troops.  Squads and Platoons are tight knit units and the test study wanted to limit potential damage during phase one.  This comes straight from the top, from the Pentagon.  All this talk of homosexuals serving in the military makes us all nervous.  There’s similar test cases being run for women in combat roles.  The Gulf War showed it’s impossible to keep women away from combat danger even if they don’t participate in combat roles.  Off the record, we’re having more problems integrating women than we seem to be having with homosexuals.  And that’s purely for two reasons: One - the men don’t think the women can do the heavy lifting and pull their weight like a man, and Two - fraternization among the troops.”

 

The cool thing about Assmunch is his intense focus and he NEVER takes his eye off the ball.  He knows there’s an answer in the clues, he just has to think his way through it.  His gift has always been how he can look at things from a different perspective, discard his bias, understand what factors are important to someone else.  He may not be super smart with facts or knowledge, but he’s incredibly intuitive and clever in figuring out puzzles or finding solutions given limited inputs.  

[laguyinhou]

I absolutely love how deeply you've written back story for even tangential characters! It brings the characters alive. 

[BristolBTTM1977]

I am unbelievably invested in this story!

[Assmunch]

Sorry about the long delay.   The Holidays had a lot to do with it.  But here’s the next installment.

 

 

Day One - 0400 hrs.

 

“The biggest enemy you will face is your own mind.”  The bearded ex-soldier lectured as he strolled between their ranks, raking his dark eyes over each of them as he passed.  The early morning was cold, near freezing temperature, and his breath steamed out into the stagnant air.  He didn’t scream or yell and his tone was conversational as he spoke.  “You will be hungry.  You will be exhausted.  You will want to give up and quit.  You will want to sleep.  Your resolve will be tested.  You must have an iron will.  The weak, the shallow, the poorly prepared will be culled from the herd.  We are here to prepare you.  Every one of us has endured the training you will experience and we have all succeeded.  Many of us have gone beyond that training.  All of us have seen combat.”

Around the perimeter of the ranks the Bravos had formed were other men, clothed in khaki tactical uniforms, none of which adhered to military uniform or grooming discipline.  Some had shaggy hair, some had various forms of facial hair, most stood with hands in pockets to keep them warm.  All of them looked rough and unforgiving as they fixed the Bravos with deadly stares of promised punishment.

“You will be instructed and tested on knowledge and skills.  We will evaluate your performance of the various Battle Drills.  We don’t have enough time to broaden the depth of your skills by a great deal, and your ability to learn will dictate how much we can fit into the time we have.  The faster you learn, the more we’ll teach.  I have been told that you are dedicated and serious, but if you think this is going to be some camping vacation in the woods we will take a pound of flesh and send you back.  You will not waste our time, nor your own.  I don’t know what makes you special in the eyes of the Army and I don’t care.  You are not special and we are not here to coddle you.  First rule:  Respect given is respect earned.  Second rule:  Honor and Integrity among brothers.  I shouldn’t have to explain that, but I will.  You will be honest with yourselves, and with us, and with your squad mates and your unit.  Third Rule: Pay attention…to EVERY…THING.  Men, make your selections.”

Thirteen men moved inwards to walk among the Bravos.  “You.  Follow me.” Could be heard again, and again as the men picked out their chosen soldiers.  A few had four Bravos, some had three, others two, and there were three who pulled only a single Bravo behind them.  Soon, they all melted away into the wooded darkness, leaving only Weeble standing there alone.

He stood there for a few quiet minutes, looking around and listening.  There had to be someone here, right?  Sound carried far in the winter woods when the air was thin and gradually all indications of his brothers walking away disappeared.  Did they mean to leave him behind?  Why wasn’t he picked?  Weren’t they gonna teach him too?  Was he s’posed to stay here and wait?  Did he miss the signal to follow one of the men?  Maybe he blinked at the wrong time and missed it.  He was sure he was payin’ attention like they said.  It had to just be a mistake.

Weeble felt a slight panic start in his stomach and move into his chest.  His heart began to beat faster, his breath became short and quick.  They didn’t pick him.  They knew he was weak and wouldn’t be able to keep up.  He wasn’t going to move on with the other Bravos.  The day he’d been dreading had finally come.  It didn’t matter how hard he tried, or how skilled he became, he wasn’t a REAL soldier like the other guys.  Once he was thrown in front of actual men who’d seen combat they saw right through him.  Weeble fought to keep the tears from filling his eyes.  The realization sank in that it wasn’t up to him, or his brothers.  The Army wasn’t any different than gym class in high school.  Even the coach, who was supposed to be fair, was reluctant to inflict his weakness on a team.  He stood there in the dark doing everything he could to hold himself together, and it was taking everything he had.

 

*******************

KEVIN

It rarely bothered him that people thought things came easy for him, that he hardly had to work at them.  That wasn’t true, but he didn’t feel any need to correct their assumptions.  When it did bother him was when they used it as an excuse to leave most of the work for him, and he didn’t have time to pull someone else’s weight on a group project.  As usual, he flirted with the irrational desire to sink the entire boat so that all three of them would fail the Fluid Dynamics project.  It would serve those two right.  But he knew he couldn’t afford anything below a 100%, not if he wanted to be inducted into the Honors Engineering Society.  A star like that from MIT on his resume would open all the right doors.

When he’d come back from Tom’s graduation from the Airborne course, he’d discovered his team had slacked off.  None of the calculations had been done, and worse none of the experiments had been run to provide the data for the calculations.  He’d even written up specific, easy to follow instructions on setting up the experiments, scheduled the lab time, reserved the equipment for his team when everyone knew the lab time and the equipment were extremely hard to come by.  The FORTRAN program was written and compiled, error free, waiting for input to produce the graphs and tables, done by himself of course.  He’d done everything possible to make it EASY for them to do their share of the project, and they’d blown it off as if it wasn’t 30% of their final grade.

He was borderline angry at the incompetence and laziness.  And he was trying to figure out what he’d have to NOT do so that he could make up the work.  He couldn’t drop track practice for the week or coach wouldn’t run him at this weekend’s meet, and he needed this meet to qualify for Indoor Nationals next month.  Even now, walking to the Taekwondo class he’d spent his preciously scant money on made him feel guilty for spending his free time on something non-academic.  And that made him resentful because it was an important element in his plan to be the kind of man Tom would want.  Tom was tough, and capable, physically imposing and borderline deadly.

Kevin knew the Army would change Tom, but he hadn’t quite been prepared for the power, efficiency and granite-like solidity his boyfriend exuded even when he stood completely still.  It was seductive and drew him like a moth to a flame, possessing a heady magnetic presence like the gravity of a celestial body.  He could describe it no other way when simply being in the same room with Tom he felt a pull to be next to him, and when standing even a few feet away his skin thrummed with what had to be an imagined field effect, as if every cell in his body struggled to fly towards Tom for even the briefest physical contact.

The fight not to kiss him this past weekend when they were in the presence of his mother, or in public was abject torture.  There was not enough kissing, never enough.  He salved the wound with small gestures, brief contact for no more than a three count, knees touching under a dinner table, a pat on the back, a playful grab or wrestle.  Columbus, Georgia was another military town, with eyes everywhere and no one could mistake Tom for anything other than a soldier held to a strict code of conduct.  Kevin could reason himself into accepting that this was the situation he’d signed up for, loving a military man, and he wouldn’t change that for anything, but it didn’t mean his very soul didn’t scream for release at some ridiculously inopportune moments.  Another leash, which he could endure only because it would enable a future he desperately wanted.  A future that at times seemed too distant to bear.

He repeated the mantra he’d grown used to in the last month:  Just a few years, and he needed this degree.  A partial scholarship paid for the tuition, books, and a meal plan, his on campus job in the engineering lab paid for his dorm room he was hardly ever in which was a godsend because he could study and complete his vast amount of homework in the lab while he assisted the students who came in to complete assignments.  He was lucky to be one of those chosen from all the applicants. On campus jobs were in high demand for those unfortunate enough to have poor families that couldn’t pay for the expensive school.

Kevin’s parents didn’t believe in higher education, which they made clear when they tried to force him to go to work for his father’s towing company.  He couldn’t imagine a more depressing and limited life, making money from people in unfortunate circumstances.  Circumstances they wouldn’t be in if they had the kind of money to avoid being towed.  Repossessions, illegal parking, breakdowns on the side of the road, unpaid tickets, seldom the situations wealthy people found themselves in.

His parents weren’t bad people, they just had no motivation to do better, to be more.  It often occurred to him that frequently the path of someone’s parents either ensured their kids would have a similar life, or in an act of rebellion completely opposite.  He always envied Tom and his family.  Tom’s parents owned their own house where Kevin’s parents rented, and it seemed so nice.  ‘I don’t gotta fix nothing, just call the landlord’ his father said, as if that was of great benefit.  ‘It’s too expensive to buy a house, and that’s how they harness you to the plow.  Material things..’ his father said the word as if were a curse, ‘…are a trap meant to enslave the masses.’  It was something his father repeated rather than thought of himself, Kevin realized very young.  His father wasn’t intellectually astute enough to form a philosophy like that himself.

He steered his mind away from the issue of his parents.  He didn’t like their complacency, but was unwilling to entertain such unfilial thoughts as blame, not when he grew up fed and clothed with a roof over his head, none of which were of a quality to indicate anything more than necessity.  Clothes from thrift stores was what they wore, even his parents.  Food that was edible but cheap, preferably a bargain or free.  Now older, he realized his parents just didn’t know any better and that was how they were raised, and doubly crippled by the tumultuous social upheaval of the late sixties and early 70’s.  The hippie movement might have contributed great things to the culture of America, but it also damaged an entire generation with hopes that there was any real alternative to capitalism.  Maybe in some other country, but socio economic SYSTEMS that had been developed and refined over two hundred years just weren’t subject to change by a few thousand entitled adolescents who couldn’t understand that they had the luxury of their arrogant judgment precisely as a result of the hard work and sacrifice of the very parents they scorned.  True systems of oppression existed in far too many other nations and it shamed Kevin to hear his parents consider the opportunities provided here as some evil scheme by tyrannical overlords to bind and entrap average people.  In fact, it was made worse by his eventual understanding that ethnic groups in this country faced actual oppression every single day, frequently supported by law.

If there was one thing he was grateful for that his parents had taught him, it was that if you didn’t buy into structures of class, everyone was equal.  It had an unintentional effect on Kevin, who took the lesson to mean there was nothing holding him back except himself and he could rise to any level he desired.  And that people of a higher level weren’t exceptional or special, just lucky to have advantages that others didn’t.  His parents would be dismayed if they knew that their belief in a crushing system that diluted all individuality was exactly the system their son would use to excel, a system that didn’t care at all who you were or where you came from.  It was a system that required the same steps for everyone, and education was the first necessary step.  That was the argument they used when he left for MIT, that it would turn him into a robot slave focused on nothing except materialistic selfishness.  Which was ironic considering Kevin could almost guarantee his father cheated on his taxes, and rationalized it by fooling himself that it was only to keep the fruits of his labor from the government that didn’t deserve it, rather than the true motive that he wanted more money.  After all, his father didn’t give his money away to the poor, or a charity, he spent it.  Quite a bit of it on beer and cigarettes.

‘Grrrrrr’ he growled as he trudged through the light snowfall of the early afternoon.  Well he was in quite the mood if he’d gone down that rabbit hole of his parents’ failings.  It was hard to regret any of it when it resulted in who he turned out to be.  He sighed.  Life certainly had a sense of humor.

He felt better as he walked into the storefront near the MIT campus that served as the Taekwondo gym.  He stamped his boots dutifully to shake off the snow before stepping off the absorbent mat just in front of the door.  Maybe he’d be lucky and his dorm mate would be gone when he got back to the room.  He would need a shower and a change of clothes before heading to the lab for his evening shift.

“Kevin, you’re early.” The instructor greeted, serious as usual.  Gary was someone Kevin struggled to figure out.  The phrase ‘you’re early’ came out as some kind of complaint rather than a pleased observation.  Kevin had the feeling Gary tried to hard to project the image of a tough and serious leader but in comparison to Tom and his Army platoon the pretense couldn’t be more obvious.  Maybe among martial arts students and competitors that type of personality radiated strength, but Kevin saw it as foolish and unnecessary.  It was even more apparent now that he’d seen Tom’s buddies and how relaxed and fun-loving they were when they weren’t on duty.

From Tom he’d learned that competence and knowledge didn’t need arrogance for support.  The harder you worked to prove you held a certain level only proved your own self-doubt.  If you needed others to recognize your accomplishment your achievement wasn’t complete.  He also found it strange that Gary didn’t seem to adhere to the true philosophy of a martial arts foundation.  For Gary, it seemed to be about competition rather than self-improvement and mental growth.

However, Gary pushed, accepted no excuses, and definitely possessed skill, which was what Kevin wanted.  He didn’t need to approach this as a hobby because his goal was to keep up with Tom, at least in this aspect.  He didn’t need to know how to shoot an enemy, or conduct a mission but knowing the mentality of mutual combat was important.  He needed to show Tom that he understood at the very least.  And he couldn’t understand without experience.

So he didn’t respond to Gary’s accusatory greeting, if it could be called a greeting at all.  Responding to useless observations wasn’t Kevin’s thing, especially the sort of observation that held an unspoken opposite: Gary was more irritated by students who were late.  Kevin walked over to the row of chairs against the wall of mirrors and began changing out of his winter layers of clothing and into this dobok.  He and Gary didn’t have anything to speak about, really, and Kevin found Gary’s personality grated on his nerves.  Gary was far more gruff and hard-assed than he had to be, but again, it all came across as an act of intimidation rather than who Gary truly was.  Kevin couldn’t help but feel like Gary was some sit-com character on TV, or Mr. Miyagi’s enemy in Karate Kid.  The funny thing was, Gary thought his act brought him respect.  Kevin just thought he was a fool.

‘Fuck, I’m in a bad mood’ he thought to himself as he sat in his usual spot on the mats to center his mind for the start of his warm up.  According to Gary, these were the feelings he had to let go of in order to achieve focus.

*************************

Weeble lay on his stomach hidden at the top of a small ridge, looking down on the four men below him.  It was Dumbo, Shark, Alaska and one of the men from the compound.  One of the things Weeble was trying to find the answer to was who these guys were.  It was clear the Bravos were sent here for special training.  ‘Well, MORE special trainin’ He thought to himself.

But he’d also take the opportunity to learn what this guy was teaching his friends.  He had nothing better to do, so why not?

Weeble stayed in the clearing where he was abandoned for an hour or so, talking himself down from his near panic.  Yeah, he was feeling sorry for himself, arguing with the demon in his head about why it wasn’t fair that they hadn’t picked him.  He started thinking of all the reasons why the other Bravos were selected and he wasn’t, trying to come up with the reason why they were qualified and he wasn’t.  His current decision to act didn’t occur to him until he’d almost automatically dismissed Assmunch, Sleeper and Zeus from his internal judgment.  Of course they were chosen, all three were competent and skilled.

And then it hit him:  what would Assmunch do if he were in Weeble’s place?  He certainly wouldn’t be sitting there feeling sorry for himself.  Assmunch wouldn’t accept being useless.  Then his thoughts naturally fell to the other Bravos.  Zeus and Sleeper wouldn’t care what their hosts thought of them, hell Sleeper would probably find a good place to take a nap.  Bootlicker would see it as an opportunity to sneak around and do his own thing, maybe test out a few tricks to throw a wrench in whatever their hosts had planned, just to see what the response was.  Puta would just find a group and insert himself without asking, daring them to throw him out.  He went down the list of Bravos and none of them would just sit there.  They wouldn’t LET someone else exclude them.  Cellblock would find a way to get a message to the Bravos about this and come up with his own plan.  Demon and Troll would train, maybe test their skills at infiltrating the compound.

But all of them would do SOMETHING.

In the end, it was Weeble’s curiosity that determined his current situation.  He wanted to know what the Bravos were learning.  He wanted to know the point of being here.

Their voices carried up to him in the cold air, even though they weren’t talking very loud and they were thirty feet away.  He considered how cold air in the woods when the trees had no leaves allowed sound to carry further, and filed that fact away knowing if he wanted to stay hidden he had to be quiet.  He wondered what the range would be on hearing people talk, or move.

“Always have a plan.”  The man instructing the three Bravos explained.  “Plans start with a goal, then an examination of your current situation, your resources, limitations.  Know your team and their capabilities.  Know your battlefield, and EVERYTHING is a battlefield.  Define your arena, your sphere of action.  Thinking with those terms for every situation, no matter how small, trains you to see the path to success.  You already do it without thinking for many things, but it doesn’t mean you don’t take these steps.  It’s just that for most day to day activities you just do it automatically.  Example:   Your goal:  get food.  Situation: You’re hungry, maybe weak and tired.  You have three men, so you need enough for all of you.  You have environmental options - plants, if you can identify those safe to eat.  There’s a compound, you know there has to be food there.  You could hunt, plenty of squirrels, deer if you can kill one.  Does anyone in your team know how to hunt, skin and field dress a kill?  If the answer is no, you’d be wasting energy and time choosing to hunt.  Your arena is these woods, which includes the compound.  If you were on Post, or an urban environment you could simply walk to the chow hall, or a restaraunt.”

“Won’t we be given that information, and training, before a mission?”  Alaska asked.

The man shrugged.  “Sometimes, but you have to be prepared to come up with that yourselves.  Sometimes you’ll be the ones giving that briefing.  But either way, knowing the questions you need to ask, the information you need to achieve your mission, that falls on your shoulders.  Details matter.  What time is full dark?  How much daylight do you have? When or where is re-supply?  If there’s no re-supply what materials and resources can you bring with you?  Can you acquire any of that during the mission?  Can you call for a drop?  You’ll have attack windows and deadlines, so coordinating objectives has to happen.  Having the most information allows you to adapt to a chaotic battlefield.  And battlefields are always chaotic.  You can’t always depend on receiving orders, and a good leader will let you worry about the details of HOW to conduct the mission.  Look at it this way:  no one tells you how to tie your shoes anymore.  You’re trusted to know how to do that by now.  As a leader you shouldn’t be telling your men how to tie their shoes unless the mission is shoe-lace dependent and only a specific type of tying will work.  There’s always some exception, of course, for special circumstances.  You’ll have leaders who think they have to tell you how to tie your shoes, figuratively speaking.  They’re usually not good leaders.”

Shark snorted.  “Met a couple of those.”  He said with a smirk.  “But we’re low grunts, coming up with our own ideas is kinda the opposite of everything they’ve been screaming at us.”

“Yes and no.”  The man responded.  “There’s going to be a lot of ‘yes and no’ to all this.  You’re taught not to question orders, to move when you’re told to move, to sit when you’re told to sit.  That’s good training, it’s something you needed to get used to.  It eliminates that hesitation that will get you killed.  But it doesn’t mean you won’t have other roles you need to shoulder, at other times.  You have to be ready to step into leadership at any time.  By now you all know what it takes to run a squad, or you should.  We saw you guys split up into smaller teams and head off on your own.  You chose a leader of your smaller groups who determined your course, how you would achieve the overall mission objective, get to your target, and what you would do on the way.  That’s how it usually works.  The Army doesn’t want robots who don’t think for themselves, in spite of what your Sergeants may have beaten into your skulls.  There’s a point to every method they’ve used to train you.  If you’re smart, you’ve figured out when they tell you to dig a hole, they don’t necessarily want or need a hole.  What they want, is that you internalize following orders no matter how stupid or useless you might THINK the activity is.  Because whatever information you have it’s always less than what your leader has and you might never know the purpose, but there is ALWAYS a purpose.  Digging that useless hole has a purpose, even if it’s just to adjust your attitude.”

The silence stretched as Weeble’s brothers considered that information.  Then Dumbo spoke.

“So, why are we here?  Training, sure.  But for what?”  He asked.

“Good question, and a perfect example.  I don’t know.  I wasn’t told.  I don’t know why I’m supposed to train you, I was just told to do it, and I don’t even know if our boss knows, that information may be above even his level.  What I do know is that I don’t NEED that information to complete my objective.  Would it be useful to know that?  No, if it was, my commander would have given me that info.  That’s how the chain of command works, how it SHOULD work.  He trusts whoever hired us to provide the best intel to achieve our objective.  I trust him in the same way.  I’ve been told to dig a hole, so I’m digging the hole.”

Weeble remained motionless on the ridge above as he thought about that and realized it expanded his entire view of the military by several levels.  In ordinary circumstances the Bravos would have a mission, because all units, regiments, companies, battalions, commands had missions.  Before he joined the Bravos, his overall mission was to keep the birds flying, the Apache Helicopters.  In the shop, it was chewing through the constant maintenance checks for air worthiness, flight hour requirements, equipment details, tracking service checklists and a hundred other mechanical details that were necessary daily.  But the Bravos were never given an overall mission except Infantry training, which honestly since he’d re-classed to Infantry he’d learned that training was continuous for Infantry across the entire Army, every day, every week, every month.

Their host was right.  It didn’t matter why.  Someone decided training the Bravos this way was necessary and Weeble understood their operational effectiveness had soared in the time since he’d first put a foot down on German soil.  He felt a rush of satisfaction that he could never imagine the Weeble back then laying alone in the woods eavesdropping on other soldiers thirty feet away without them being aware of his presence.  Maybe Wicomb was right: he was a little bit of a badass now.  A grin stole across his face at the thought.  HE did this, and it wasn’t all that hard.

“So we can you ask you questions, you’ll teach us anything?”  Shark asked.

The man chuckled.  “Yes and no.  I’ve got a lot to teach you, and not enough time, so we have to keep it to combat missions, tactics, and the skills necessary to operate.  But I won’t tell you… how did your Sergeant put it when he screamed in that pretty boy’s face?  ‘Shut your dickhole?’ That shit was hilarious.”

Alaska jumped in.  “Fuck, you were watching us?  Dammit.  Sarge was right, we should have set a perimeter.  I hate when Sarge is right.  So who are you guys?  We know you’re military, or at least trained that way.”

“Good observation.  Yes, we are.  Most of us fought in the Gulf War, some of us former JSOC, some RIF’d but most were at the end of their enlistment and chose not to take the re-up offers.  Iraq sucked.  Re-integration into civilian life is difficult, after all what we know isn’t all that useful on American soil and I have to tell you once you’ve seen combat it makes it even harder to fit in.  But there’s a niche for highly trained former military as contractors, and the boss figured out that the U.S. government pays very well for certain skill sets and that there’s no shortage of situations across the world where the presence of U.S. Military is a detriment or disadvantageous.  There’s also plenty of tasks that don’t need military involvement that are better suited to a civilian force like protecting or moving assets, retrieving specific items, gathering intel, training foreign locals for various engagements or to provide protection, embassy security, skills trades with NATO allies.  We fill the gaps.”

“That’s so cool.”  Dumbo said.

“Yeah, it’s good work, for the most part.  My turn.  Who are you guys?  I know you’re Infantry, but you’re more capable than you should be at your age and rank.  I’m not ashamed to admit you caught us underestimating you.”

Weeble saw Shark stiffen up.  It was almost unnoticeable, and someone who didn’t know Shark probably wouldn’t catch the tension there, but Weeble saw it.  What spooked Shark?  Weeble slowly moved his head to the right and examined the woods.  Nothing there.  He repeated the move to his left…nothing there either.  The sounds in the woods hadn’t changed.

Hmmm.  Was it the veteran’s question?  Why would Shark get tense about that?

It was Alaska that answered.  “Just regular infantry.  About half of us were offered a re-class from our previous MOS, the rest had already done AIT for Infantry so we figure we all had to get unit training as a Platoon.  We spent 6 months in Germany doing that, with Sarge…the guy you saw screaming at Sleeper… pushing us through training.”

Weeble could see the veteran’s face change, his eyebrows squeezed slightly, his eyes fixed on Alaska.  The man didn’t respond right away.  He looked at Dumbo, then stared at Shark.  The look he then gave Shark made Weeble’s hair stand on end.  The veteran moved his head to face Alaska, but his eyes were still on Shark.

“You were ‘offered’ a reclass to Infantry?”  He said, almost so low Weeble couldn’t hear it.

“Yeah.  I mean, not exactly like that, it was more ‘We have a special training program available you’ve been recommended for, do you wanna?’  I didn’t really know it was going to be Infantry.”  Alaska said, completely unaware something was off about the question.

“And they put you with soldiers who were already Infantry?”  The man continued.

Alaska shrugged.  “Yeah, where else were they going to put us?”

“And they spent money to train you in Germany?”

Alaska nodded.

“You trained with other soldiers there?  What base?”

“Grafenwoehr.  Why?”

The veteran moved his face back to Shark.  “No reason.  What’s your name, Private?”  He asked Shark.

Weeble saw Shark swallow.  “Gallick.  They call me Shark.”

“Step over here with me for a minute, Shark.”

Weeble couldn’t hear them speaking, but the veteran seemed intense as he stood just a few inches from Shark and conversed with low voices.  Weeble could see Shark start out nervous and scared as he kept his answers short.  Whatever the veteran was asking, Shark didn’t like it.  Then gradually Shark’s nervousness turned to defensiveness and determination as the speaking lengthened into drawn out silences, and finally Shark shrugged, shook his head, and pointed to the single chevron with a rocker on his upper arm while leaning forward to say something final with what appeared to be frustration.

“So what do you think they’re talking about?”  A voice whispered from just over his shoulder and Weeble just about screamed and jumped out of his skin.  Only his training kept him from anything more than a minute jerk.  The exceptionally cold knife placed against his neck made him freeze into stone.

“How long you been there?”  Weeble asked in a trembling whisper, attempting to cover to his fear and the pounding of his heart.

“Long enough to kill you.  Long enough to watch you maintain discipline.  Answer my question.”  The voice whispered.

“I don’t know, but Shark don’t like it.  And your buddy don’t like the answers he ain’t getting, neither.  There’s a lotta head shakin goin on, lotta eyebrows squeezin together.”  Weeble said.

“Speculate.”  The voice ordered.

“Your buddy thinks Shark knows somethin bout why we’re here.”  Weeble said, still watching the group below where Shark and the veteran had returned to join Dumbo and Alaska, but also trying to roll his eyes back to catch a glimpse of the man without moving his head.  He couldn’t see anything.

“And does Shark know that?”

He was about to shit himself, his stomach was gurgling and his guts felt like a wild animal was trying to get free.  The man asking questions could be anyone, out here in the woods, no one would find Weeble’s body, not for days.  He could be killed just for spying on these deadly men and their secret, hidden maneuvers.  Weeble gave a tiny shake of his head, one misstep, one lie, and that knife could be yanked backwards before he could blink.  He could be buried in leaves in less than a minute.

He didn’t have much choice.  As long as he was talking, the man wasn’t moving.  “He might know, but I don’t think so.  I saw the squad leaders talkin yesterday, they didn’t seem too excited, not tore up neither.  But who knows?”

“You’re visible and exposed.”  The voice whispered.  “You just shared Intel with an unknown.  I won’t be nice next time.”  The threat was whispered with a brutal severity Weeble didn’t doubt for a second.

Weeble waited for the next question, but it never came, he just felt the knife leave his neck.  He slowly twisted his head to look behind him, so slowly just in case.  The man was gone. Completely silent and nowhere in sight.  Surely he could see him walking away, the visibility in the winter woods was so clear that unless he could hide behind a skinny tree Weeble should be able to see him, hear something rustling through the leaf bed on the forest floor.  But there was nothing.  Anywhere.  He couldn’t believe anyone could sneak up on someone like that, just appear and disappear like a ghost?  Weeble felt a tingle surge up his back.  That was something Weeble wanted to learn.  And he’d made three mistakes.  Critical mistakes.  Mistakes that came from assumptions.  He assumed they’d abandoned him.  Maybe they did, and the voice just happened to come across him as he was moving through the woods.  He didn’t have to specifically be looking for or watching Weeble.  But, there would have been nothing for him to find if Weeble had hidden himself better, found a better position that hid him from the group below AND any others.

And then, the surprise and adrenaline made him run his mouth, his fear loosened his tongue.  Just a simple threat and he spilled everything.  He didn’t know who snuck up on him.  Sure, it was probably one of the men from the compound, one of their hosts.  And maybe they were friendly, but Intel wasn’t something he should share unless he received something of value in return or the person he shared it with was entitled to it.

Fuck.  So, not only was he dead, he was a traitor.  A dead traitor.  Which was really the only kind of traitor anyone should tolerate.  And dead men don’t speak, so he should keep his fuckin dickhole shut from now on, like Sarge said.  He smirked.  Hunter Wicomb sure liked it when he opened his dickhole.  Weeble felt his own dick begin to swell, and immediately squashed the thought.  This wasn’t the time.

At least he kept his pants clean, but just barely.  It didn’t happen often, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been forced to just let go in his pants.  Most of the time on a march or patrol you had time to dart to the side of the road or path if it was urgent, drop your pants and push a turd out, then pull em back up real quick and get back in position.  Sometimes it came on you too fast and you couldn’t get em down in time.  If you were in fixed position, you didn’t move for anything, and it could be hours.  You learned to keep an MRE bag, or box in your pack or one of your pockets that you could whip out if you needed it.

Taking a piss wasn’t a big deal.  It wasn’t easy, but you could let one go without stopping.  Again, you didn’t usually have to take a piss in the middle of a patrol, but if you did you just pulled your dick out and aimed it away from the guy in front of you.  Your body does something that shuts down those sort of functions while it’s busy exerting itself.  And the desire not to shit yourself, or piss yourself is stronger than most people think.  Weeble knew of one guy who didn’t shit for two weeks in Basic, he didn’t like people seeing him poop, so he held it because their toilets were in a line and open to the sinks and showers.   In Basic, you were NEVER alone, it wasn’t allowed, against regs for a recruit to be by himself at ANY time, even in the latrine, even for a shit.  When he finally couldn’t hold it anymore, he clogged one of the toilets in the latrine with a turd almost as big as a man’s forearm.  That guy never lived that down, the whole barracks came to look at that brown crocodile floating at the top of the overflowing toilet  No one could believe something that size came out of that guy’s asshole, and whatever it was that clogged the rest of the toilet wasn’t much smaller.  He said it felt like he was having a baby.

They called him Turd Baby the whole rest of Basic.  When they had their training module for medical which was more about which injuries you WOULD report to your drill sergeant, and which you wouldn’t, they got a brief talk on why you didn’t hold your shit or piss and what it could do to you if you did.  Turd Baby was given a buddy that was in charge of making him take a shit at least once every two days and calling out at morning formation whether Turd Baby had taken a shit yet, for everyone to hear.

“PRIVATE HAWKINS, HAS PRIVATE BARROW TAKEN A SHIT TODAY?” The Drill would scream out, while Barrow tried to endure the embarrassment.

“Drill Sergeant, Private Hawkins has not taken a shit today, Sergeant!”  Barrow would yell at the top of his lungs.

“PRIVATE HAWKINS HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SINCE PRIVATE BARROW HAS TAKEN A SHIT?”

“Drill Sergeant, it has been forty eight hours since Private Barrow has taken a shit!”

“PRIVATE HAWKINS ESCORT PRIVATE BARROW TO THE LATRINE TO TAKE A SHIT.”

“YES DRILL SERGEANT!!”

 

He was called the Dookie Herder, The Shitherd, or Poolice, which he hated.  If he hadn’t taken a shit for two days, their Drill sent Turd Baby and the Dookie Herder to the latrine while the rest of the class got smoked until they came back successful.

One time, someone gave Turd Baby some chocolate laxative without telling him so they wouldn’t get smoked the next morning while they waited for him to shit, and that didn’t turn out too good.  Laxatives don’t MAKE you shit, they make it easier to shit.  Poor dude couldn’t stop shitting.  They got smoked for an hour straight, and Dookie Herder said he counted thirty flushes and twice as many ‘oh god’s’ while he tried not to pay attention to the sounds coming from behind him.  Weeble figured that was Turd Baby’s own fault, if he didn’t save all that shit every day, he wouldn’t have so much he needed to get out.

Weeble was surprised.  He hadn’t thought about Basic Training in forever, it seemed so long ago.  It seemed like he saw a completely different Victor back then.  He was just a kid, stupid and scared, while everyone around him seemed so grown up and tough as well as far more capable than he was.  Older now, he could look back and see how stupid and scared EVERYONE was, and while there were a couple guys who did well as recruits most everyone else wasn’t that much different than Weeble.  Turd Baby was so scared of anyone watching him shit that he almost landed himself in the hospital.

His head spun for a moment while his two lives overlapped - who he used to be, and who he was now.  So different, but so much the same.  He still believed everyone else had their shit together, the rest of the Bravos were more capable, and he was the sad, scared, wimpy, small guy.  But what if he wasn’t?  In five years would he look back on his time with the Bravos and see that they were ALL the same, just like how he saw Basic now?  Well, except for Sleeper, Zeus, and Assmunch.  Those three weren’t normal.  But the rest?  Would it look the same to him as he remembered about himself and the others in Basic?  No one had their shit together in Basic, they were all idiots, all just learning what it meant to be in the Army, all of them breaking one reg or another more out of ignorance than anything.  Just a group of barely adult kids who didn’t know what it meant to be a soldier.  All of them were screamed at by the Drills daily, even hourly.  In hindsight, he probably fell toward the top of his graduating class because he put his maximum effort in daily just to prove he wasn’t lacking.  There were plenty of other recruits that didn’t seem to give a shit how well they did, whether they maintained discipline, and didn’t take it seriously.

The truth was, if he’d bothered to see it, the Bravos treated him like he belonged.  He wasn’t some pathetic disappointment to them, he was their brother and he pulled his weight.  They didn’t see him like he saw himself, and if he was honest it all centered on his size.  It was almost as if after a certain point they didn’t even notice he was short and rather physically average.  He mentally corrected that thought - since he’d joined the Bravos he’d filled out pretty nicely.  He could look at himself in the mirror and appreciate his unfamiliar muscles, his low body fat, he even had a full round butt that Hunter seemed to like a whole lot.  He danced away from that line of thought, it wasn’t the time to think about sexy Hunter and those eyes.  Or that dick.

The guys below were watching the veteran from the compound doing something with a net that appeared to be the size of a small blanket.

“This is your foundation.”  He held up the net in one hand.  In the other, he held a roll of twine.  “This is what you tie the material on with.  Use your environment, what you see.  We have some pine, different types of leaves, but there’s no grass.  The goal is to break up your profile mixing dark materials, and light materials.  Never create a uniform ghillie made from one material.  Your BDU’s stand out in the winter woods, there’s almost no green here, it’s all brown but your BDUs are green.  If you were in the Middle East you’d be required to wear desert camo, which is brown.   That’s first.  Second, you’re shaped in the outline of a person, and the eye will grab that shape before anything else.  Third, movement should be minimized the closer you get to an enemy.  Slow, and I mean painfully inch by inch.  It might take an hour to cross ten yards, and you vary your profile.  Never move in a constant head-first direct line.  A quick scan by the enemy will catch if that lump of grass suddenly seems ten feet closer.  Pay attention to more than just the front view, you should be hidden from every location around you.”

Weeble was riveted.  Of course they knew about camouflage and ghillie suits, but creating them on the go was never something they were taught.

The veteran continued.  “On a mission in the wild you should have these two items in your kit.  Make your ghillie boring, unremarkable, with no unusual features.”

Weeble didn’t have either, so he’d have to get creative.  He slowly moved away from the edge of the ridge.

*****************

Two hours later, he waited patiently for the group ahead to turn their heads away.  They were on their knees with their butts seated on their heels.  He wasn’t yet close enough to hear what was being said, but he recognized Troll, Cellblock and Holler with a different man who was gesturing with his hands to the ground where a couple pine cones stood on end, with some fist sized rocks placed strategically around.

He saw his opportunity and scuttled behind another tree.  He’d looked at the ground ahead and found enough bare spots or rocks to step on to get there silently.  The tree he actually wanted to hide behind had too many leaves around the base so he gave up on that one. When he first hunted for materials to disguise himself, he was lucky and found a shrub that had a mess of tiny branches, twigs, and green leaves that were about the size of his fingernail.  He didn’t know what type of bush it was, but it broke up the pattern of his BDUs without him having to cover every inch.  He used mud to cover his hands, face and neck, stuck some bark from a rotting tree down the neck of his blouse so it stuck up behind his head and on the sides. He had several pine branches with both green and brown needles tucked into his belt upwards and downwards, front and back. He had loose pine needles and oak leaves covering his patrol cap.  He found a vine and used it to create a roughly woven ‘hat’ that he stuffed handfuls of leaf litter and pine needles into.  That vine was useful, and he draped more of it down his back, tucking several lengths down his boots.

He crawled forward slowly in a duck walk, praying no one would glance his direction before he could position himself.  He waited for the wind to gust and send the branches overhead rustling and he timed his crawl with those.  Once, Cellblock looked around, probably just checking the perimeter, and Weeble folded into a ball the instant he saw Cellblock’s head move.  At that point, he was close enough to hear a little of what was being said.

He wasn’t sure he should chance getting any closer, but as his eyes darted around he noticed a rock, maybe a boulder no more than shin high not too far away at 9 o’clock.  It was a better position, provided more cover, was closer, maybe twenty feet from the group.  He just had to find a way to get there.

He was just about to make his move when he felt the cold knife against his throat again.

“Better.  But still pathetic.”  The voice whispered.

This time, Weeble felt anger well up rather than fear.  What the fuck?

“Every time you fail, you get cut.”  The knife left his throat and a half second later he felt a sting on his ear.  The knife was back at his throat before he completed the gasp.  “That was just a taste.  Next time I won’t be gentle.  I will carve you up.”

Weeble resisted moving even though the words threw a bucket of cold water on his anger.  Was the guy following him?  He’d been watching everywhere, trying not to stay in the open, he even left Shark’s group hoping to leave the area where the guy first found him.

“What are they talking about?”  The whisperman asked.

“The compound, I think.”  Weeble answered automatically, hoping to avoid another punishment.

Another flick came, another sting on his ear.  “You don’t learn, stupid.  Who am I?”

Weeble hesitated.  “I don’t know.”  He mumbled quietly.

Another flick and his other ear stung and then the knife was pressed more firmly into the skin of his throat.  “I’m the enemy.  Bring me those pine cones.  And you better get away clean.”

Weeble faced a moment of indecision.  If he did what the voiced asked, would he be punished again for cooperating with the enemy?  Would he be punished for refusing?  He didn’t know the right thing to do.

“Three…”. The whisperman said.  “Two…”

“Fuck you.”  Weeble said.  “Get ‘em yourself.”

The cold steel slid across his neck an inch.  He felt blood drop down his skin.  Whisperman was a fucking psycho.  Weeble rolled away from the blade when he felt the cut, onto his back and kicked out with both feet feeling both boots make contact with something solid.  He didn’t wait to see Whisperman recover, he ran.  He knew Cellblock’s group probably noticed the commotion and him running away but he didn’t care that he blew his cover.  He had to get away.

“I’ll find you, little puppy.  You can’t hide.”  The man’s voice called out into the woods as Weeble ran for his life.

“Hey!  You can’t be here!”  Weeble heard another man’s voice call.  “On your knees!”  That had to be the guy with Cellblock’s group.  Weeble ran, not knowing if that was for him, or Whisperman.  He heard gun fire, small caliber, five rounds, a handgun of some kind judging from the crisp ‘pop’ of each trigger pull.  The projectiles weren’t in his direction, he didn’t hear anything hit around him, so they must have been for Whisperman.  Fuck!  Fuck!  FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. What the fuck was happening?  Who was Whisperman?  The soldier that was part of the compound group didn’t recognize him and actually shot at him.  Weeble hoped he caught a bullet.

He was flying through the woods as fast as he could run, and he realized he had to make a plan.  Hide out?  Definitely, until he could get his bearings.  He remembered a small ravine to the east.  Weeble scrambled over the uneven ground of the woods, careening around trees and trying to identify anything that would give him cover as he ran.  He had to disappear, put as much distance and objects between himself and Whisperman as he could manage.  He ran generally east, but in a chaotic path of blocking trees, shrubs, hills, depressions, anything that might hide him from view.

When he got to the ravine several minutes later he furiously buried himself in dead leaves against the side of the ravine, hunkered down in a depression that was a foot deep so that the overhang covered him.  He hoped the cut in his neck wouldn’t get infected from the mud he’d covered himself with.  His breath came in gasping heaves that he knew he had to slow, it was far too loud.  FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

He knew he’d probably left some kind of trail, but hopefully the dormant winter undergrowth resisted easy identification.  He couldn’t stay here long.  Remaining in place ensured Whisperman would find him eventually, and it sounded like the psycho had a boner for him for some reason.  Maybe he recognized someone else spying and not part of the group from the compound.  He had to stay on the move.  But where was safety?  The compound was the only place he could think of.  Even if they didn’t put him with the others, at least they wouldn’t kill him.

Psycho Whisperman could have killed him twice, he thought.  If he really wanted to, but he didn’t.  He was toying with Weeble, he seemed to enjoy making him afraid.  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill him, Weeble got a totally creepy feeling from the guy.  Whisperman kept using his knife, without hesitation, like he enjoyed it, cutting him four time, drawing blood.  He promised worse the next time he saw Weeble.  And he kept asking what the groups were talking about.  Was he trying to get intel on the compound?  On the group running things?  It was clear Whisperman wasn’t afraid of the men in the compound, he’d damn near invited the soldier in Cellbock’s group to confront him when he called out to Weeble, to taunt him, exposing himself in direct opposition to what he’d first whispered to Weeble.  Someone like Whisperman would have noticed the sidearm the man carried.  He must not be concerned he’d be caught.  Weeble didn’t doubt that at all, Whisperman was silent and sneaky.  Fuck.

Weeble felt a shiver go up his spine.  An idea occurred to him.  Would Whisperman teach him?  The compound guys weren’t doing it, they’d left him as if he wasn’t worth their effort.  All the Bravos were chosen specifically.  Maybe Whisperman would show him how to get intel, if that’s what he was after.  He had the advantage of being invited here as a Bravo.  The compound guys wouldn’t suspect him as a spy.  And maybe the psycho would teach him how to sneak around and stay hidden.  He’d love to learn how to do that.

Weeble trembled.  It was a risk.  It could go wrong.  Whisperman was a psycho, probably couldn’t be trusted.  But, what options did he have?  He couldn’t hide out here, as well as survive.  He’d need to eat, and Whisperman could catch him any time he was out in the open.  He didn’t fool himself that he had the skills necessary to evade someone like Whisperman.  He could avoid the other groups easily, but escape someone who was deliberately hunting him?  Weeble couldn’t imagine a single scenario where he could reach the compound without Whisperman finding him.  If he was Whisperman, he’d already figure out that’s where Weeble would head.

‘Fuck him’ Weeble thought.  ‘Fuck that asshole!’  He repeated as he tried to calm his breathing.  He was trapped.  He couldn’t make it to the compound unless he was VERY good, and he had no illusions about pitting his skills against Whisperman’s.  Pre-Bravo Victor would have curled up and cried.  But he was Weeble now.  He was a fucking Bravo.  Even pre-attack Weeble… what was that guy’s name?  Delfin?  No, Delnick… fucking rapist.  Dead Delnick, HAH Delnick Dead Dick… whatever… even that Weeble would have given up and laid down to die.  This Weeble?

THIS fuckin’ Weeble wasn’t gonna let this fuckin psycho determine how this played out.  Screw him.  And screw his momma too.  Just because she was the bitch that made him.

Weeble began to form his plan

[laguyinhou]

Fucking awesome. Hope your holidays were great!