The Angry Typist

My personal preference is to write Creative Non-Fiction (“CNF”). However, when I was working on my Masters, I was forced to dabble in fiction which to me is SO much more work! Here’s one of my dabbles based on a mix of my Army experience in basic training, air-assault school, and ROTC Advanced Camp. The physical and mental misery were 100% real. Enjoy

***

The rain pummeled us for hours at a time; large, heavy, spiteful drops of water raining down from the dark angry sky. Raindrops assaulted the top of our camouflage poncho and followed the curve of our heavily burdened silhouettes raiding every nook and cranny to penetrate down to our skin with its icy chill.

The unappetizing stench of wet uniforms mixed with sweat and no shower or deodorant for 2 days circulated the small foxhole that we managed to dig before the day completely succumbed to the darkness. It was not regulation size but it was good enough to provide some illusion of shelter and safety for a squad of trainees. The rain obnoxiously ricocheted off our helmets and ponchos which amplified the volume as if they were all jamming to a tune next to the 12 foot speakers at a rock concert … but we were not.

We we were in the middle of dense woods, disoriented, soaked, hungry, exhausted, and trying to finish the last of field exams prior to taking our oaths. Our lips were blue and quivering from the cold and our hands steadied by clutching to our M16s like so intensely our knuckles turned white. It had been 14 hours since any of us had more than 15 – 30 minutes of sleep and fatigue along with Mother Nature’s wrath was incrementally breaking down the strength in our bodies and the will in our hearts to forge on, but there were no other options.

Pip began to sniffle from the misery. The small frame short blond girl from Fresno, California had all that she could endure and a woman’s typical response to such overwhelming stress is crying. We all crouched like sardines in our foxhole watching the emotional tidal wave about to unfold. I slowly glided my boots across the muddy ground and nudged Mo to get her attention. She looked up and nodded quizzically. I flicked my head towards the other end of the foxhole where Pip was beginning to unravel as if to say, “go comfort her.” Mo glared at me with her jade green eyes and mouthed, “NO!” Pip’s sniffles began to escalate to intermittent sobs. I rolled my eyes and a low groan could be heard from the rest of the squad. I tapped Mo with the side of my boot and flicked my head harder with exaggerated eyes. Mo shook her head so hard that she displaced water on everyone around her like a dog shaking off after a bath. As a last resort, I tapped her on the knee with the butt of my rifle and leaned in to shout through over the pouring rain, “GO – PLEASE – I am not going through this fucking misery again!”

Mo let out an exasperated sigh as she dropped her head in defeat. She extended her hand for me to pull her up and with great effort, duck-walked over to Pip, clinking and clanking against the knees of the rest of the squad with her weapon, mumbling apologies on the way. Pip was in a full blown sob now and the rest of us held our breaths hoping the rain would filter out the girl’s surrender.

Mo unenthusiastically plopped down next to Pip, almost sitting on top of her while the rest of us scooted over to make room. The two former MEPS buddies sat awkwardly next to each other. A few of the squad tried to give them privacy by looking at the opposing end but my self-interest refused me to allow them such luxury so I watched on like a silent-film soap opera.

Just in Mo’s presence Pip’s loud expression of distraught seems to lessen. Mo finally gave Pip a playful swat with her leg into hers. Pip’s sobs seemed to have lost their hold and she looked at Mo with her crystal blue eyes.

“I .. I … I’m sorry” Pip managed to stammer out.

“No need,” Mo responded shortly. “Pull your shit together. We’re almost done,” she said without any sympathy.

“I, I … know … I’m trying … this is hard,” Pip replied meekly.

Mo gave none of the comforting older sisterly pep talk like she used to. Nor did Mo offer any of the warm mom-hugs like she used to when Pip gets in a state and heads down the path of self-sabotage. No, Mo no longer provided any of those things and every time she looked at Pip a hurt crossed her face and reignited her anger of Pip’s AWOL attempt 2 weeks before graduation. 

“Stop being such a selfish pussy and get your shit together!” Mo scolded.

Startled with such bluntness, Pip abruptly temporarily stopped her self-pity and stared blankly at Mo as she was not accustomed to such harshness.

“Why are you being so mean to me?” Pip sniffled, wiping snot on her poncho.

“This isn’t mean. This is truth! I have been nothing but nice to you. I have bent over backwards trying to help you for the last six weeks and you still went AWOL!” Mo said with more anger than she intended.

“Two fucking weeks before graduation – who the fuck does that? You know while you were off base trying to hitchhike rides to the airport we had our 4-day pass taken away and had to get back into uniform and pull guard duty all weekend because of YOU!” Mo shouted with increasing ease.

“THEN, THEN the mighty Pip’s pièce de résistance couldn’t even AWOL right – you hitchhike your way BACK – ON – BASE – WITH – THE – FUCKING – BRIGADE – SEARGEANT – MAJOR!! OH – MY – FUCKING – GOD – HOW – MUCH – OF- A – FUCK UP – CAN – YOU -POSSIBLY – BE? SERIOUSLY!!” Mo berated Pip so harshly that even I felt a bit sorry for her.

Pip’s eyes seemed to be drowning in tears but she resisted letting them go. A new determination seemed to fill her and she had enough of being shit on. “FUCK YOU MO! Fuck each and every one of you” she shouted defiantly at us.

Pip grabbed her gear and clumsily climbed out of the foxhole. Stunned that no one had to physically drag her along, we clambered after her. She broke out into a small jog, about a 10 minute a mile pace and we followed, only tapping her on the shoulder to redirect when she strayed off course.

Within an hour, we could hear the Drill Sergeant on the bullhorn counting down the time. “20-19-18”

“SHIT!” someone shouted and we all broke out into a flat out sprint towards the finish line. Oh man I’m going to lose another toe nail sprinting in these combat boots I grimaced to myself.

“15-14-13”

Pip was never a strong runner and was starting to fall behind. I glanced over my shoulder and knew she would never make it to the finish line before time ran out. I slowed down my pace just enough and grabbed her weapon to lighten her load. Mo, without hesitation ripped off her poncho over her head to increase mobility. Another supported her ruck from the rear while gently pushing her along to a faster pace.

“C’mon Pip!” I shouted in between labored breaths. “C’mon!”

 “10-9-8”

We were within 3 feet of the finish line and Pip was faltering, starting to stumble over her own feet from exhaustion. We surrounded her with our own bodies and pinned her in amongst us, like guideboats to a cruise ship in a narrow canal. “We’re not going to let you fail Pip,” Mo hollered over to her.  “5-4-3-2”

And with a final shove we all toppled over one another like football players grabbing a loose ball and crossed the finish line with one second to spare.

Three days later, we all stood in our Class A uniform with our right arm erected towards the sky and recited in unison.

 “ I am an American Soldier.

I am a warrior and a member of a team.

I serve the people of the United States, and live the Army Values.

I will always place the mission first.

I will never accept defeat.

I will never quit.

I will never leave a fallen comrade.

I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.

I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.

I am an expert and I am a professional.

I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy, the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.

I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.

I am an American Soldier.”