Battlespace Nomad, page 6
Tossing his towel on top of his field gear resting on his bed, Jimmy snatched a clean set of fatigues from his wall locker and began to feverishly dress himself.
"Don't forget deodorant," Ramirez said. "It's a required part of the uniform according to the regs, remember?"
She had a point. Jimmy grabbed his stick of deodorant and applied it rapidly. Once complete, he slipped on his trousers, followed by his boots. He secured his belt hasp, slapped his patrol cap on his head, and grabbed the blouse for his fatigues.
The entire barracks was abuzz with activity. Muffled curses abounded as men and women clothed themselves frantically. Jimmy glanced at the clock on the corner of the screen.
"One minute!" Jimmy shouted, fastening his blouse as he walked toward the exit. Stoltzfus beat them to their cones, and Etta emerged from the barracks moments later. Jimmy stopped behind his cone, breathing heavily.
Within seconds, the drill pad was filled with soldiers, many dressing as they stood by their cones. Jacobs finally arrived. His face flushed red, his expression anxious. Etta came in last but arrived at his cone when the bullhorn sounded.
"Prepare for inspection!" SFC Ferguson called out. This time was different, however. The cadre NCOs swarmed the formation as before, but without their data pads. To Jimmy's astonishment, the NCOs were speaking this time.
An NCO stepped in front of Jimmy, and he snapped to attention. The NCO, a staff sergeant, looked up and down Jimmy's uniform.
"About face," the staff sergeant said, betraying no emotion.
Jimmy complied and spun about, clicking his heels together to complete the movement.
"About face," the NCO said once more.
Jimmy executed another about-face movement to standard. The NCO was glaring at him as he stood.
"Identification tags. Let me see them," he said. Jimmy's blood went cold. He knew he'd forgotten to put his dog tags on when he rapidly dressed himself.
"I-I don't have them," Jimmy nervously answered. Inwardly, he was angry at himself.
"You have ten seconds to correct yourself," the NCO said calmly.
Jimmy's eyes went wide as he spun about and sprinted for the barracks door. He rushed to his bunk, snatching his tags from where they dangled in his wall locker.
His legs burned, and his feet ached as he willed his body to move at full speed, running back to his traffic cone.
"Three... two..." the NCO stood there counting down as Jimmy approached, his lungs burning from the strain.
Just as Jimmy reached the cone, he produced his dog tags. The NCO didn't bother to look. Instead, he seemed to ignore Jimmy. It was as if the NCO didn't care if Jimmy was alive or dead as he casually strolled in front of Ramirez.
He repeated the inspection procedure, and Ramirez stood at attention. The staff sergeant looked her over and then told her to turn about. He then inspected the back of her uniform before telling her to turn about once more.
"Identification tags," the NCO said flatly.
Ramirez pulled her tags from her undershirt and held them up so the NCO could inspect them. But the staff sergeant didn't even bat an eye.
"Identification card," the staff sergeant said with a disinterested tone.
Ramirez pulled it from her pocket, but the NCO was already walking away. She shot a confused glance at Jimmy, but he just shrugged in response. Nothing made sense. Jimmy knew it was all a mind game, but it was working. It was merely the first day of the course, and Jimmy was mentally and physically exhausted. His mind begged him to quit and return to being a regular soldier. It would be so easy, his mind seemed to tell him. Just quit, and the hell would stop. His mind told him.
No.
He shook his head, desperately purging himself of his self-defeating thoughts. But as he wrestled away his toxic thinking, SFC Ferguson held up the bullhorn again.
"All soldiers, drop your trousers," he called out.
Ramirez and Jimmy shared awkward glances before complying. Jimmy unfastened his belt and proceeded to pull his britches down to his knees. That's when he noticed Ramirez was bare underneath. She stood with a terrified expression on her face.
But there were other soldiers in the same condition, and bare nethers dangled everywhere in plain sight. Ferguson scowled as he marched around, glaring at people who failed to put on undergarments.
"Underwear is required for a proper uniform," Ferguson called out. "You have one minute to correct it and be back in formation.”
Ramirez yanked up her pants and ran for the building. Jimmy looked over his shoulder at Etta, and they exchanged worried glances. One minute was barely enough time to fasten boots, let alone change underwear.
The games continued until the sun went down, and the single lamppost on the drill pad's edge was their own light source.
This time, the board read the following.
ALL CANDIDATES: The uniform will be dress slacks, shower sandals, no t-shirt, and a helmet. Five minutes until inspection.
The mind games were already taking their toll, and eight classmates had quit. Thankfully, Jimmy realized none were from his team. As much as he disliked Jacobs, Jimmy knew he was capable enough, and so far, he was pleased his team was performing well.
He stood by his cone like he'd been doing all day. This time, he looked more ridiculous than during the last inspection, as the cadre kept prescribing increasingly absurd uniform combinations.
But to his surprise, the cadre never arrived. The remaining fifty-two soldiers stood under the dull lighting, crickets filling the area with sound.
"Where the hell are they?" Jacobs scoffed.
"Once again, team leader, perhaps you should find out for us," Jimmy said plainly, trying to keep his anger at bay.
"Fine!" Jacobs snarled. "Since no one else has the balls, I'll go check that stupid board again.”
Jimmy watched as his team leader entered the building. The lights came on and illuminated the windows. Jimmy watched and waited.
When Jacobs emerged once more, a broad smile wrapped around his face.
"It's dinner time, people!" Jacobs said, beckoning everyone towards the barracks. Moans and grumbles filled the air as weary soldiers trudged their exhausted bodies toward the building.
When Jimmy entered, he glanced down the open bay toward the message board and saw a stack of boxes resting on the floor.
He knew field rations when he saw them and rushed forward to get some for himself. Despite his self-serving persona, Jacobs stood by the boxes and began handing out field rations.
The idea of Jacobs being selfless doesn't fit Jimmy's perception of the man. But his lack of blood sugar triggered the shakes, so Jimmy accepted a food packet with grace.
After ripping the package open and taking a bite of mystery meat, Jimmy glanced at the board.
ALL CANDIDATES: Physical Fitness Test. 0430 Hours on the drill pad.
His eyes went wide. He was physically spent and had no clue if he would be able to pass a fitness test in his condition. But, he knew this was Special Forces selection and not some leisurely training exercise.
Jimmy eagerly scarfed down the food. He ate too fast to taste it. He sat on his bunk as he gnawed on his dry morsels. He felt a pair of eyes burning into him. He looked up to see Ramirez staring at him with a mouth full of food.
"I'm not sure how much of this I can take," she said softly. This made Jimmy's head spin. Ramirez struck him as tough and capable with unflappable confidence. The last thing he needed was self-doubt coming from someone else.
"You've got to hold on, Ramirez," Jimmy said. "I've got your back.”
Ramirez smiled. "Well, you proved that already by washing it.”
Jimmy blushed. "Well, you paid me back, so I know you have mine,"
"For the record," Ramirez said. "You could have scrubbed harder. Your showering skills are weak.”
They shared a laugh and bumped fists. That's when the lights went out.
Jimmy wanted to brush his nasty-tasting teeth, but his fatigue overruled his will. Instead, he pulled back the blankets slid his tender feet beneath the sheets, and by the time his head hit the pillow, sleep took him.
8
Something had to be done about his teeth, Jimmy reckoned. When the lights came on, he rolled out of bed and willed his stiff muscles into action. Lactic acid buildup made his muscles ache. He winced in pain when he put weight on his tenderized feet; the cold concrete floor didn't do them any favors.
Most other candidates emerged from their bunks with groans and yawns, filling the barracks with sound. Jimmy stumbled over to the board to check the time. He found he had about fifteen minutes to spare before the fitness test began, so he shuffled back to his wall locker to retrieve his hygiene kit.
He noticed Ramirez was coming out of the latrine, a look of fatigue on her freshly washed face.
"I feel human again," she said with a weary voice as she passed Jimmy.
"Hooah," Jimmy replied with a labored smile. His facial muscles were stiff from constantly wincing the day before. The word was the Army's word and meant 'anything but no' to the laymen.
Minutes later, Jimmy re-emerged from the latrine. His tongue danced across his smoothly cleaned teeth, and the horrid taste in his mouth was replaced with mint from the toothpaste. If only hygiene could do something for his aching muscles.
With running shoes strapped to his feet and his fitness uniform donned, Jimmy looked toward Jacobs' bunk. The taller man pulled his shirt over his head to get into proper uniform.
"Well, team leader, do you have any guidance for the team before the fitness test?" Jimmy asked. He was too tired to be sarcastic but too grumpy to be cordial.
"It's not my day to be team leader," Jacobs huffed, tying his shoelaces as he spoke. He finished his task and sat back up on the edge of his bunk. "It's Stoltzfus' turn to lead."
Jimmy blinked in surprise. "When did they put that out?"
"I've known since they told me I was the team leader. In turn, they'll tell him who his successor will be. At least, that's how I think it works," Jacobs said plainly. He spoke in a neutral tone and was neither friendly nor coarse.
"All right, all you genital-juggling fat-chick chasers!" Stoltzfus called out unceremoniously. "Team leader Stoltzfus decrees that the team head to the drill pad for the fitness test!"
In a rare moment of solidarity between Jimmy and Jacobs, they shared a scowl in response to Stoltzfus’ buffoonery.
The morning air was brisk, but pleasant nonetheless. Jimmy always preferred a slight morning chill before exerting himself. But somehow, he figured, this would be no ordinary Army physical fitness test.
The team stuck together as they slowly trudged over to the drill pad. The sky was pitch black, and only the dull lighting from the sole lamppost illuminated the way. The traffic cones had been rearranged into a single row on the edge of the pavement.
Soon the drill pad was filled with soldiers in fitness uniforms. They gathered in their teams, chatting and joking as soldiers often did when they milled around.
The cadre was noticeably absent from view. Granted, nothing was visible outside of the range of the lamppost, and Jimmy wondered if the cadre was behind schedule.
"It's almost zero-four-forty-five," Jimmy said. "Where is everybody?"
"I'll bet it's just another mind game," Ramirez said with a frustrated sigh.
They stood and chatted for several minutes. But the time rolled by, and the dull copper glow of the sun cresting the horizon became visible.
That's when it finally happened.
Surging from the shadows like wraiths, the cadre NCOs appeared out of nowhere and all at once. SFC Ferguson walked into view with his bullhorn in hand. Then, as if on cue, a group of soldiers carrying a set of pull-up bars on frames shuffled into view, placing the equipment on the edge of the pavement.
"And so it begins," Etta said under his breath.
SFC Ferguson dismissed the soldiers that had carried the equipment, and they melted away into the darkness from whence they came.
"Listen up!" Ferguson said through the bullhorn. "As you know, the Army physical fitness test has regulatory requirements that dictate I need to read the instructions verbatim before the test commences. However, this is not the regular Army, and if you haven't already noticed, there's nothing regular about this course. You have thirty seconds to give me three even lines of ten soldiers each and then two other lines with eleven. Go.”
It was as if the apocalypse was coming. Soldiers scattered in all directions, forming numbered groups and gravitating to the traffic cones. Jimmy huddled next to Stoltzfus, and the other team members followed suit.
"Well, team leader," Jacobs said with a tinge of sarcasm. "What's the call?"
"Let's find another five-man team and partner up to form our own line," Stoltzfus said.
"Got it!" Etta said, with a nod as he melted away from the group. Jimmy watched as Etta flagged down another team and began chatting with one of their members. A moment later, he turned toward his teammates and beckoned them forward.
"That's our other team," Stoltzfus said decisively. "Let's link up and grab a cone for ourselves.
Jimmy and his teammates obliged and meandered to the left-most cone, where the two teams began congregating.
"Who's the team leader here?" Stoltzfus asked the other team.
A hand shot up. "That's me. Specialist Caldwell, at your service."
"I'm Specialist Stoltzfus. Glad to meet you," he said, extending his hand in greeting. Caldwell reciprocated the gesture.
"If you don't mind, I'd like my team to line up first," Caldwell said diplomatically.
"By all means, brother," Stoltzfus nodded.
"Thanks, man," Caldwell said before turning to his team. "All right, Team Caldwell, we line up behind the cones, and Team Stoltzfus will be right behind us."
Jimmy didn't mind waiting for his turn. His muscles ached, and he wasn't enthusiastic about exerting himself in his condition. Any respite from the pain was welcome in his mind.
The physical fitness test began with pushups. Each soldier would be given two minutes to do as many pushups as possible in the allotted time. Each line would have a cadre NCO grading and counting the pushups.
The first soldiers got into position, and the time started. Jimmy knew the fitness testing standards well, as he had graded them to standard as a junior NCO. However, he was shocked when the first round of pushups concluded with the soldiers getting off the ground and immediately being instructed to go to the pull-up bars.
Jimmy knew the test required a ten-minute break between individual events, but the soldiers who finished the pushups went straight to the next event without delay.
While the second round of two minutes was being counted down, the soldiers who started doing pushups went straight to pull-ups without a break.
Meanwhile, another group of soldiers came from behind the barracks with foam mats and laid them on the grass behind the bars. Jimmy knew it was the sit-ups event being set up.
Unsurprisingly, the third two-minute round commenced, and the soldiers came off the pull-up bars and were directed to the mats. There would be no rest between events, Jimmy realized.
"Do you see this crap?” Jacobs snarled. "I'm in great shape, but how does one pass a test like this without breaks?"
Jimmy noticed the cadre NCOs were barely counting the repetitions. They often chatted with each other, cracking jokes and all but ignoring their grading assignments.
"Somehow, I don't think they care if we pass or not," Jimmy said. "I haven't seen a single grader type in the score in their data pads.”
The tone was set, and the test kept rolling the same way. Jimmy waited his turn. Ramirez climbed to her feet with labored breath as she completed her pushup event. Jimmy winked at her before settling down in the pushup position.
The clock started ticking, and Jimmy's stiff body struggled to do basic pushups after the previous day's shenanigans. Unsurprisingly, the grader just stopped counting his repetitions when he hit thirty. Instead, the grader began chatting with another cadre NCO about sports.
Jimmy felt dejected. He was exerting himself for nothing. His repetitions were ignored, and they were discussing unrelated nonsense. It was another mind game, and it was working.
"Stop!" Ferguson called out over the bullhorn. "Next soldier!"
Jimmy peeled himself from the ground, his hands aching from his palms digging into the asphalt surface. He lumbered over to the pull-up bar just as Ramirez released her grip from the bar. Her face was flushed, and her breathing ragged. The cadre muttered something to her that Jimmy couldn't hear. She nodded curtly and brushed past Jimmy as she headed for the rows of mats behind the bar.
"Get ready!... Get set!... Go!" Ferguson called out, and the time started. Jimmy hopped up, grabbed the pull-up bar, and began his repetitions.
"Chin over the bar, soldier," the staff sergeant growled. Jimmy tried pulling his chin over the bar to satisfy the instructor's command. But no repetitions were counted. Instead, the grader started reading something on his data pad, ignoring Jimmy.
"Your form is shit," the NCO said, not even looking in Jimmy's direction. Jimmy said nothing as he pushed past the pain and kept going. His lungs gulped down air as his muscles protested from the strain. His core muscles, still as ever, labored to maintain proper form, but no additional feedback was given.
The two-minute clock might as well have been an eternity as Jimmy's muscles began to fail. When the call to stop finally came, Jimmy released his grip and fell to the ground in a heap.
"Clear my apparatus and move out," the staff sergeant growled.
With burning lungs, Jimmy gasped for air as he struggled to stand. He stumbled over to the sit-up mats, where he found Ramirez rolling off her mat, her almond complexion flushed slightly red, and her short hair disheveled.
Jimmy got into the sit-up position, and Ramirez repositioned herself to hold Jimmy's feet for the sit-up event.
"If you fart on me, I'll kill you in your sleep," Ramirez said plainly.
"Well, then," Jimmy winked. "If I do, I'll have to make it count!"
