Battlespace Nomad, page 8
"The rest of the class is heading back to the barracks," the staff sergeant said plainly. "You can either quit, and I'll drive you back to the barracks, or you can run and catch up to the formation."
"Get the needle out of my arm! I need to go now!" Jimmy said with panic in his voice.
"Negative, soldier. Not until I get a full liter of saline in you. There are some regulations Special Forces still can't get around."
Jimmy felt defeated. His head flopped back on the grass. He fought the urge to close his eyes and go to sleep as the fresh infusion of fluids seemed to temporarily relieve him from his plight.
"I need this. I have people counting on me," Jimmy pleaded.
"So did I when I was in your shoes. But I quit all the same. I had to come back and do this twice before I got selected," the NCO said empathetically. It was a trick, Jimmy knew. He was tempting him to quit, but Jimmy saw right through it.
"Just tell me when I can leave and how they went," Jimmy said. His body felt like a sack of dead weight pressing into the grass.
"Suit yourself," the NCO shrugged, "And there you go. I think that's about a liter of fluid."
The NCO took his time removing the needle and putting a bandage over the injection site. Jimmy hurled himself to his feet.
"Where's the weapons rack? Don't I need to turn this rifle into someone?" Jimmy asked when he saw everyone had moved on.
"You missed your chance, corporal," the NCO smirked. "You'll have to lug it back to the barracks and turn it over to the cadre there."
The news rocked Jimmy to his core. It was enough to make him quit right then and there, but for reasons he couldn't quantify, he was still determined to finish what he started.
"How do I make it back?" Jimmy asked.
The NCO shrugged. "Quit and ride with me, or don't quit and follow my vehicle. I can't leave you behind, for obvious reasons."
"Lead the way, Sergeant," Jimmy said, struggling to stand upright.
"I thought you might say that." The NCO winked. "Just keep my taillights in your field of vision. If I start pulling away and you can't keep up, then I'm dropping you from the class."
"Understood, sergeant," Jimmy said.
His body protested, but his will was too strong. Fear overrode his other emotions, as the fear of failure was the last motivator he had left to rely on. He trudged with the pulse rifle slung across his shoulders as his arms were too fatigued to carry it tactically.
The cadre NCO strolled ahead and climbed into the vehicle. Jimmy's vision was blurrier than he would have liked, but he was able to lock eyes with the taillights of the truck nonetheless. The trudge was increasingly painful with every step, but Jimmy gnashed his teeth and pushed himself despite his physical weakness.
There was a brief pause between when the NCO entered the vehicle and when he began moving forward. Jimmy took advantage of the intervening seconds and gulped water from his canteen. He stuffed the nearly empty drinking vessel into his cargo pocket and hefted the rifle back over his shoulders.
The vehicle finally rolled forward at idle speed, and Jimmy leaned in to get his legs to respond. He pushed through the cramps and the blisters on his feet. His joints were inflamed, and every muscle in his body was riddled with lactic acid, burning his stiff muscles with every movement.
Tunnel vision set in, and Jimmy's entire life's mission shifted to focusing on the red glow of the taillights. With blurry vision and sweat drips falling into his eyes, the glowing blurs became his only reason for living. It was mind over matter, and Jimmy's mind devolved into a singular focus.
He wondered if this incident would cause him to not finish the course with a favorable rating. He'd shown weakness by passing out, and his last glimmer of hope was to make it back to the others on his own two feet.
Time lost all meaning. There were no intrusive thoughts. His mind was so degraded that there was only the mission. When he vomited, he barely noticed.
That's when the brake lights flashed, and the vehicle halted.
The NCO piled out of the vehicle with a blurry face Jimmy couldn't discern. It was like a camouflaged ghost approaching. He tilted his head in confusion.
"Pick that up," the NCO said flatly with no inflection.
Jimmy looked down, blinking to try and clear his vision. Nothing was there but a pile of his own stomach contents.
"That?" Jimmy pointed with a shaky finger.
The NCO nodded in the affirmative.
"There will be no vomit on my access road, candidate," the NCO growled. "Put it in your pocket."
Revolted but unwilling to refuse, Jimmy looked at the pile and glanced back up at the NCO. "Can you hold my rifle?"
"Figure it out, candidate," the NCO said flatly.
It was a cardinal sin to lay a weapon on the ground for any soldier, Special Forces or otherwise. Jimmy crouched down, laid the rifle across his boots, and then scooped up the warm chunks of stomach contents, stuffing it in his unused left pocket.
"That's enough," the NCO said with no emotion, as he turned to walk back to the vehicle, slipping into the driver's seat.
Ordinarily, the task would have disgusted Jimmy, but his mind was so far from reality that he took it all in stride. He willed his body to heft the rifle over his shoulders and took a single step. His legs didn't want to respond at first, but he leaned into his stride, allowing body mechanics to assist, and he continued trudging forward.
When Jimmy finally saw the lamppost for the drill pad, his eyes erupted with tears. He didn't remember what the lamppost represented anymore, but it made him smile. Somehow, lamppost meant a respite from his personal hell.
The vehicle stopped just shy of the drill pad, and the NCO got out of the vehicle, looking over to Jimmy.
"I honestly thought I was going to have to scrape your dead ass off the pavement, candidate," the NCO said plainly as he beckoned Jimmy forward.
Jimmy blinked in confusion, but complied as if he were on autopilot.
"I'll take your weapon and turn it in," the NCO said, snatching the rifle from Jimmy and placing it in the back seat of the tactical vehicle. "Now, take off your uniform blouse."
Jimmy struggled to do such an elementary task. His uniform was soaked through with sweat and clung to his skin stubbornly. He groaned with the strain of the simple task but, in the end, wrestled the blouse off.
The NCO was preparing another IV fluid bag. "Sit down where you are and give me your arm. If you're not going to let me talk you into quitting, then I'm going to make damn sure you don't die from dehydration."
Jimmy flopped down, feeling nothing when the needle pressed into his vein. The sun descended through the trees, and the lamppost came to life. Jimmy stared at the bulb as it flickered. He wondered why he'd chosen to be a soldier when he could have just been the maintenance man maintaining lampposts. Such a simple and noble profession it would be, he thought.
But as the fluid bag emptied, he began feeling much better. He was still weak, but his mind was starting to return to him.
"Screw that stupid lamppost!" Jimmy scoffed, blaming the lamppost for trying to talk him into quitting. "It's trying to make me quit, and I'm having none of it."
The cadre NCO blinked confusedly. "Kid, you're a weirdo. A tough weirdo, mind you. But a weirdo all the same."
Jimmy barely noticed the needle had left his arm and that he was free to return to the barracks. But he hesitated at first. He didn't want to go inside and read the board, fearing what additional hell would be waiting for him. However, he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, so he stumbled towards the door with short, choppy steps.
"Holy crap!" a voice rang out as soon as Jimmy crested the door.
The footfalls of soldiers rushing over to him caught his attention. He looked over to see the rest of his team coming to greet him.
"I thought they pulled you out of the course!" Ramirez said excitedly.
"So did I," Jimmy replied with a wink. Even Jacobs was there smiling.
"You're one tough son of a biscuit eater, Stiegel!" Jacobs said approvingly.
"How did you get back here?" Etta asked intently.
"It was either quit and ride, or walk and suffer," Jimmy shrugged.
"Well, let's get you to your bunk," Stoltzfus said, clearing the way for Jimmy to walk.
"Wait," Jimmy scowled. "What's on that damned board now?"
"Hydrate and rest until 0430 Hours," Ramirez winked. "We're getting a full night's sleep this time,"
Jimmy released a sigh of relief. "Okay, then. I have to go outside and empty my pockets, and then I'm taking a shower."
"You puked too, huh?" Jacobs said, slapping Jimmy on the back. "Don't feel bad, brother. I had to do the same thing."
Jimmy was taken aback by the term of endearment coming from Jacobs. But then, he was simply happy to be alive in the moment.
With his refuse disposed of, the showers awaited. He didn't seem to care that the blisters on his feet had burst, and the hot water trickled over them, causing them to sting. Slowly but surely, he scrubbed his skin with his Army-issued washcloth, letting the day's horrors get rinsed down the drain.
That's when a washcloth slapped him in the back, and someone started scrubbing. Jimmy's neck and shoulder muscles were too stiff to wheel around, so he gasped.
"At ease, soldier," Ramirez's voice echoed through the shower walls. "I've got your back, remember?"
"Thanks," Jimmy said, planting his palms on the wall to balance and stretch out his back.
"Now don't get too comfortable, buddy," Ramirez said. "Don't get any ideas."
"Trust me," Jimmy chuckled. "The last thing on my mind is to try something I would likely regret."
"Good," Ramirez said. "Now that we understand each other, you can do me next."
Jimmy turned about, seeing Ramirez fully nude, holding out a soapy washcloth for him to grab.
It wouldn't be the last time they had each other's backs. As the hellish days turned into a full week, Ramirez trusted no one else to have her back but Jimmy.
That night, when Jimmy hit the pillow, he blacked out in seconds as sleep took him.
11
"You're not singling him out to screw with me, are you?" Captain Hawthorne said.
Major McAlister's image hovered in the holographic display.
"No, Nathan, I'm not." McAlister smiled and shook his head. "Despite our best efforts and a close call, he's still in the program."
That sent waves of relief through Hawthorne. There was no other way to secure a soldier with Stiegel's skillset without pulling one from the Ranger battalion, which was problematic. Rangers were excellent, but their chain of command was fiercely protective of their people, especially with their forward observers. Not to mention, Hawthorne knew he would have to break a Ranger of his or her regimented habits before they could meld well with the rest of the team. That took time.
Time, he didn't have.
"Well, he's survived longer than I initially thought he would, and with each passing day, I get more hopeful," Hawthorne said.
McAlister frowned. "We almost lost him, though. He passed out and had to get stuck with an IV during rifle PT. My NCOs were ready to cut him right then and there for medical reasons, but the stubborn little bastard just refused to stop. Unlike his peers, he had to carry his rifle twenty miles back to the barracks on his own."
Hawthorne pumped his fist in the air. "You've got to be kidding me! That might have been something that would have made me quit."
"Well, we're not out of the woods yet," McAlister warned. "He still needs to survive until the end in his condition. And frankly, I'll be shocked if he can finish the final road march in one piece."
Hawthorne shot McAlister with a knowing stare. "What condition? Is he injured?"
"No," McAlister shook his head. "Considering how stubborn he is, I doubt he'd admit if he was injured. His is the only team left that hasn't had a washout."
"Interesting. So, he's a team player?" Hawthorne asked.
"Or lucky. Only time will tell," McAlister replied.
Hawthorne knew that most of the time, each team would be whittled down to two or three soldiers each, and as the course progressed, more individualized challenges would be presented.
"My team and I will be in New Bolivia in a few days. I'll check back in then and get an update on his progress," Hawthorne said.
McAlister nodded. "So, even though your team had a shaky start during your certification phase, you still got tapped for deployment?"
"Well, we have a planet full of highly indoctrinated human separatists that refuse to fall under their former enemies, and there's a shortage of operators to handle the load," Hawthorne said with an exasperated sigh.
"Yeah, that planet is a mess, and I fear our conventional forces are ill-equipped to handle the asymmetric warfare that the mission calls for. I'm having to mobilize four additional ODA teams to re-arm and re-train the local friendly militia they're trying to stand up as a provincial force," McAlister said.
Hawthorne nodded, inwardly glad his team wasn't a standard ODA. Training civilian battalions from scratch was no easy task, but it was one of the primary missions of the SNA Army Special Forces.
"Have you been given your formal mission brief for the deployment?" McAlister asked intently.
"Yes, sir. Since the marines have mostly pulled out as the Army slowly takes over the mission, the MARSOC teams that have been doing all the grunt work have moved on as well, so the Army needed an SF team that can strike or surveil the way those guys had been doing it."
"So, you'll be a blunt instrument for the big Army?" McAlister asked rhetorically. "That's one hell of a mission, Nathan."
"And that's why I need a forward observer with field experience. Calling in for indirect fire or requesting close air support is something my team doesn't have the time to learn, but will be an inevitable requirement," Hawthorne said.
"Look, Nathan," McAlister said with a huff. "I don't know what strings you pulled to get a soldier from the rank and file to go on your deployment, but selection course is my domain. I'm not going to treat him any differently than any other candidate. You know how our community works. Getting selected is the gatekeeper, and it's sacred to all of us."
"I know that very well, sir. And I thank you for your honesty. I can only ask that you give him as fair consideration as possible."
McAlister smiled. "You know I will. Granted, I doubt he'll survive until the end, but if he makes it that far, I'll ensure he's evaluated to standard."
"That's all I can ask of you, old friend," Hawthorne smiled. "I'll swing by your office when I get to Camp Jeffries in a few days."
"Don't threaten me with a good time," McAlister winked.
"Back at you, sir," Hawthorne said, cutting the feed.
12
"Hey, do you have a minute?" Jacobs tapped Jimmy on the shoulder.
Sitting on his bunk and cleaning his boots, Jimmy turned his head to lock eyes with Jacobs.
"Yeah, what do you have for me?" Jimmy said. As was his day to be team leader, he wasn't surprised Jacobs was acting like a decent human being for once.
"I just wanted to say that I'm not really a jerk," Jacobs said, sitting next to Jimmy on the bed.
The barracks was abuzz with soldiers tending to their basic needs or snoring away in deep sleep, so it was as close to a private conversation as they would get. Jimmy got the impression Jacobs wasn't his usual self.
"Okay?" Jimmy said with an accusing glance. "Go on."
Jacobs shook his head. "Hear me out, man."
"All right," Jimmy said. "As the team leader, I pretty much have to listen to you as long as you’re being professional about it."
Jacobs nodded before continuing. "Look, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a big guy, and I'm used to intimidating the ones around me. I use this to size people up. If they cower from my antics, then I lose respect for them, and I know where they stand."
"And what happens when they don't cower?" Jimmy asked expectantly, a single eyebrow raised.
"Then I give them a chance to earn my respect," Jacobs said.
Jimmy didn't know where this was going but was curious to find out. "Okay, so you have strict standards when it comes to who earns your respect, I take it."
Jacobs nodded. "You passed out. You were gone to the world, and we marched away, leaving you in place. Somehow, you found the strength to march another twenty miles carrying a rifle. I've never seen someone bounce back like that and show that much fortitude in my life."
"So, what does that mean for me?" Jimmy asked with sincere curiosity.
"It means you've earned my respect, and I'd like to offer you the chance for us to start over." Jacobs extended his hand.
James was taken aback by Jacobs' abrupt change in personality. The passing-out incident had been nearly a week prior, and it had taken that long for this conversation to occur.
Jimmy grasped Jacobs' hand and shook it. "Why now? Why not a week ago?"
Jacobs shrugged. "Because I'm the coward," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Jimmy's eyes went wide. "You? You're four inches taller than me, and you could throw me halfway across the barracks if you wanted to. Besides, I've never seen you scared. Not one time."
"Well, then you never saw my face when I was nearly thrown out of selection after the first day," Jacobs said. "That scared me straight, I'll admit."
Jimmy furrowed his eyebrows. "You were almost kicked out?"
Jacobs nodded in the affirmative. "The only thing that saved me was the fact the maps were civilian design and didn't have the impact area properly marked. I couldn't have known the true dangers I was putting the team through, and that's what saved me from getting thrown out."
"I had no idea," Jimmy said.
"Well, I was too embarrassed to talk about it. You see, I hold myself to a higher standard. On the surface, that may sound like a good thing, but my toxic trait is that I treat people like garbage until they prove themselves to me," Jacobs explained.
