Date: Sat, 6 Aug 2022 04:49:28 -0400 From: Michael Wisser Subject: Barrack's Bitch Chapter 27 Hey Readers: If you like this story, please consider sending in a donation to Nifty so that this site can keep going. Just use the link: https://donate.nifty.org/) Thanks! JUMP WEEK Assmunch Thank God I was back in my bunk by 0215 because a Black Hat came to get us at 0300 and for the first time I wasn't the first awake. Potter and Battles weren't in their bunks and I got nervous. Our instruction for this week said there would be no PT so we were to dress in our BDU's every day for the duration. We would not be back to the barracks until end of duty. When we formed up outside, there were Potter and Battles standing ready as if they'd got up before everyone else. Lenger did a quick inspection of everyone's uniform and equipment which by now didn't involve much correction at all since those who were left in the course knew the drill, followed instructions, and didn't need babysitting. He announced the troops ready to the Sergeant Airborne. Today we weren't going to ruck so we didn't have our MOLLE on our backs stuffed with 35 pounds of gear. We double timed the mile to the parachute shed at the airfield and waited for our main parachute and reserve to be issued to us. Weeble seemed to be doing alright even if he wasn't his usual, happy self. Zeus was never far from him. I wasn't going to ask Weeble or Lenger if Weeble checked out okay, I assumed he wouldn't be here if Lenger judged him to need further medical attention so I dismissed another worry from my Big List of Shit I Worry About. Three worries crossed off, only two thousand eight hundred and forty seven to go. My dad wasn't Infantry and I didn't think he'd done Airborne training or even jumped out of a plane. It would have been nice to call him after I had my first jump to tell him about it or ask if he'd gone through it. I wondered who takes the place of your dad when he's gone or if you just live with all the unanswered questions and keep the successes of your life quiet. I could tell my mom, and probably would, but she wouldn't understand how much it means to complete training like this and receive an Achievement which was both professional and personal. I think only a guy could understand how jumping out of a plane and parachuting was a life goal of most men, at least when you're young. There were goalposts in every young man's life that built you up and fed you confidence. Throwing and catching your first baseball until you didn't have to think about it at all. Your first perfect spiral football throw. Your first win. First date that got you a kiss. Small mile markers on the way to becoming a man. And then the boy's list becomes a man's list - first car, first job. And your dad was there for all them, listening to your excitement, encouraging you to practice, go further, do more, be better. My dad would have loved knowing I was doing this. I guess this was another mile marker on the path of a man's life, an unwelcome one. The one where you're on your own. As a child, your dad leads the way. As a young man, he's beside you. As a man, he's always behind you, pushing you forward and helping you exceed his own accomplishments. And then there's the moment you are on your own. It was not a comfortable feeling to wish for something you can never have again. As a man, your father was always back there to lend advice or just commiserate as you navigated life's minefield. Once he was gone the moment always came in which you realized you were truly on your own and the cliff you climbed had no safety line to catch you if you fell. Maybe that feeling of self-reliance was necessary eventually for everyone, but coming to terms with it before you were ready absolutely sucked. Lack of sleep was nothing new for me after my time in Germany. I could operate fine without it for a couple days, as could the rest of the Bravos. Your mind did tend to wander a bit like it was doing now. The trick was to let it do its thing while still maintaining just enough awareness to function until you needed to pull your focus back in and concentrate on a necessary task that required full attention. Waiting for my parachute and reserve to be issued to me wasn't a full attention task. I was saving my limited focus for the donning procedure. I think Lenger was going to be my donning buddy, helping me get my parachute clipped on. This jump was a Hollywood jump, no gear, no ruck attached to the front of the harness below our reserve. But before that, we had to get checked over by a Jumpmaster. And then we'd do a quick memory refresh with a mock door jump, all of it watched and checked by the Black Hats. This was not the time to make a mistake, and absolutely no fucking around. You could be pulled from the jump if you screwed up at this point. There was no shrug and `you'll be fine, soldier'. No, you were pulled aside for further instruction. But of course by this time except for the actual jump we'd done it so many times it felt automatic. Because this was an actual jump the rules were strict and unforgivable. Once donned and checked by a Jumpmaster you were not to touch ANY part of your equipment. Doing so would mean....? Yep, pulled aside for further instruction and missing your jump if they thought it necessary. Talking was also forbidden. I couldn't imagine anyone getting this far in Jump School and doing something stupid like that, but I guess there was always some idiot who thought pushing the envelope was funny or would be forgiven. No one in our stick did anything to be an asshole. The Bravos didn't because...well not because we weren't assholes, but because we didn't fuck around when things were serious. The randoms didn't do anything to be an asshole probably because they were now afraid of Potter. And behind Potter stood Battles. And behind those two were Sleeper and Zeus. So yeah, the randoms behaved. I also think these ones that were left wanted to make it through. Imagine being given one of the rare slots afforded to non-infantry, non-ranger battalion, non army to go through Airborne and being a fucking idiot and getting dropped. I couldn't imagine the shit they'd get when they got back to their units. Of course Infantry had tons of slots for Airborne, but we also knew how important it was. For Infantry, at any point while you were still young enough, if you put in for Airborne and Ranger school, they found a way to get you there. Even other Occupational Specialties in the Army were steered toward Airborne, and sometimes even Ranger School. But Air Force, Marines, Navy, Coast Guard, Reserves...their slots were few. The Basic Airborne Course of the Army was the only game in town for all branches of the military. While the other branches had their own leadership courses like Ranger School, only the Army had an Airborne course. Because of that, it wasn't intended to be a selective training that separated the wheat from the chaff. It was purely skills training so that soldiers had critical training that allowed the various branches to deploy a wide range of Occupational Specialties in combat. I always thought of it like rifle qualification, combatives, or battlefield medicine... basic skills every soldier should have. I pushed down my eagerness to get on our bird and shuffle towards the door but it would be several hours before we were even in the sky. I wanted to ask our Sergeant Airborne at what point of further training did soldiers learn to take care of their own equipment. This was only the basic course, and there were other more detailed Airborne courses for Rangers, Special Forces, and those who were in an actual Paratrooper regiment. Hell, if I was this eager before I even stepped out of a plane the first time I knew I wanted to learn more. Lenger and I collected our gear from the shed when it was handed off to us and went to the area where the others waited. One of the Cadre would come to instruct us when it was time to don our harnesses and parachutes. At this point it wasn't hurry up and wait, it was wait and wait. No, sorry...that's not right. It was shut up, wait, stand at ease and wait. That's Level 3 on the Hurry Up and Wait SOP and I almost chuckled out loud with the thought that the Army probably actually had a manual for all the different Hurry Up and Wait scenarios complete with Section Headings, Paragraph labels, sub section details and inclusion and exception items. For instance, sometimes we were required to field nap and wait. Yep, REQUIRED NAP. Seriously. Required. But don't be fooled...required naps in the field were like Christmas dinner: much anticipated and enjoyed, but never really enough of the good part to get you satisfied. Other times it was a Ready Wait meaning you had to be on your go waiting for the order to move with your ruck, gear and weapon on your person. You could ruck flop with some Ready Waits and you'd be surprised how amazing it felt to squat down and fall to sit leaning back against your pack for even five minutes, often closing your eyes in exhaustion for a non-mandatory field nap. Then there was the Wait and Wait, like today. All waits were serious waits when you were on duty. Called to the LT's...wait to be addressed - Attention Wait. Almost all of the official Waits were silent waits, but occasionally you were left without NCO or Officer supervision and could mumble a few words to the brother near you, or if you were in command give instruction. Maybe they taught the various Waits at Sergeant's School right after the training module on crafting the perfect Sergeant's scowl. No doubt there were different levels of Sergeant Scowl they learned as well. They certainly seemed to have a specific scowl for specific purposes - disappointed, angry, disgusted, mean, pissed off... too many to actually list and while I'd seen many of them, I was absolutely sure I hadn't seen them all. While I waited amusing myself I could hear the black hats calling out instructions down the line or making comments to individual soldiers. Soon came our turn and we were told to size our harness under the watchful eyes of the black hats. At this point my only attention was on myself and Lenger, my donning buddy, knowing that the Bravos had gone over this process since ground week and it was now ingrained. Lenger and I adjusted our diagonal back straps and main lift webs appropriately, then our T10 main parachute was attached to the harness. It was not our job to inspect the T10 or our gear, that was done by the Rigger who packed and readied the equipment (shout out to the Riggers - the Air Force gets you up, but they get you down), and a secondary check would be performed by our black hats and Jumpmaster. But, we did have to look over our ACH - the Advanced Combat Helmet to ensure all pads were present and adjusted properly. At last we were ready to don our harnesses. I picked up Lenger's and held it up for him to put his arms through and waited while he secured the various clips as he called them out to me, then handed him his leg straps and waited some more as he clipped and pulled. Then I was responsible for tightening his back straps (diagonal and horizontal) securely, checking everything for snugness, and tucking the ends of all the straps into their proper retainers. I handed Lenger his reserve parachute for him to tuck under his arm while I made sure his waistband was free of twists. He then slid the waistband through the retainers on the back of the reserve chute. Every step was watched by a Sergeant Airborne and by this time in our training the donning procedure should be second nature. Lenger's moves were confident and quick, as were my own. We were being evaluated not just on our actions as a jumper, but also as a donning buddy. After Lenger's reserve parachute was clipped in by the D-rings, his waistband secured, and his kit bag attached it was my turn for donning. We worked silently except for calling out things like `left leg strap' and `secure' for various straps and clips. After that we waited for our equipment to be JMPI by a Jumpmaster. JMPI is just another acronym for Jumpmaster Personnel Inspection. The military loves its acronyms and jargon. Our parachute packs had to be positioned even with our shoulders, and every strap and clip had to be aligned exactly in the proper place as well as snug. The Jumpmaster also checked our ACH for rough edges and position of the pads as well as snugness to our heads. It might seem like I'm trying to bore you with details when I should be regaling you with the adrenaline rush of my first jump, but I'm really not relating anything unnecessary. You might never jump out of a plane or go sky diving after all. However, Sergeant Walters had instilled in the Bravos that focusing too much on the ultimate goal took your attention away from the details that made it a success. So you can thank me for the lesson - stay present with your current task and never forget that every action is a goal itself that contributes to your success. Failures are often the result of treating the details too casually. Giving your full attention every step of the way leaves nothing to chance. Most of the time the only luck or chance you saw in combat was bad luck and no chance. You can ask any dead soldier and they'll tell you the same. That's one thing the Army beat into your head repeatedly: do it right, or die. The Army wasn't in the habit of wasting time training unnecessary details. Everything the Army taught was intended to keep you alive. I don't ever want to see the Sergeant's Scowl that comes from dead troops under their command. That was probably the worst scowl they learned. Once Lenger and I were squared away and got the black hat's go, it was another round of Wait and Wait while the rest of the class finished their donning and got JMPI. We all then received a quick run through of the actions we'd have to take on the bird all the way through the four count we would have to give before looking up to check if our main canopy had deployed. If it hadn't, we'd execute the deployment of our reserve. Everything from hand position on our static lines as we handed them off to the Jumpmaster at the door, to where our hands should be on exit (on your reserve) to moving them to our slips so we could navigate and direct our descent. Every movement was choreographed with specific timing. Then, we double timed out the shed and went through another mass exit from a mock door. ****************** The loud roaring hum and vibration of the C-130 engines matched the thrumming of my nerves. It wasn't until we climbed into the air that it began to hit me and I'm sure I wasn't alone. Some of the brothers hid their nervousness with smiles, some with serious wide-eyed stares. If you think we're all tough, capable, without a single worry you'd be wrong. I wasn't worried about the parachute part, and not about the landing part. I was worried about that first look I'd get as I shuffled to the door and saw the earth 1250 feet below. We'd been shown tapes in class of what it looked like and it didn't seem too panic-inducing, but reality was always different. The shuffle and count, plus the static line handoff and push by the Jumpmaster were all intended to get us out the door without thinking too much on stepping off into open air. It was a leap of faith. It was making your body do something your brain wanted to rebel against. The uncertainties of the first time threatened to build a nightmare experience that could paralyze me with fear. Fuck it. Just fuck it. I recognized that I was taking short, shallow breaths. I closed my eyes and breathed, deep and slow. This was going to happen. I controlled only my own actions and nothing more. I was trained, I was ready, I had the skill and knowledge. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers had done this exact thing too many times to count. It wasn't about what could go wrong, it was about doing everything right. I felt that all too familiar flash pervade my body, that tingle of crucial insight. This was about Perspective. Doubts, uncertainty, unknowns...all were useless indulgences that served no purpose here. More than anything else I felt, I WANTED to jump. I wanted this. I needed to know what losing my Legs was all about, how earning my wings meant more than just getting an achievement. I imagined myself years older, donning my harness and parachute like an expert, shuffling through the hold of the plane and casually stepping out the door as if I were jumping into a pool off a diving board. It really was no different. I opened my eyes and leaned over to Lenger. "Breathe slow and deep, on a three count. Just like stepping off into a swimming pool. We got this. You are a trained soldier. Pass it down." Lenger glanced at me, then executed his deep breaths with his eyes going unfocused. After thirty seconds or so, he looked at me again and grinned with a nod. He leaned over to Chunk and repeated what I said. I focused on the image in my head and found my nervousness replaced with eagerness. The apprehension was gone. Forget about what might or might not happen at the door, it was just a single brief moment that would pass before I knew it if I didn't focus on it. Like the black hats said `focus on your training' and my training was a hundred other things that had to happen. It was both too soon, and too long before the command from the Jumpmaster came. I breathed. We lined up down the interior of the C-130 and clipped our static lines onto the anchor line. I had the brief thought that we looked like we were standing on a city bus. Just headed to another day at the office. We began to shuffle, and I knew the first guy was at the open door. It was Demon and he insisted on being first. I knew there was no better brother to have that honor than the guy who was always balls out rushing forward like an armed missile towards the objective. Demon didn't let anything stop him, he had one gear and that was all out forward. In spite of my breathing and my determination my heart sped up as we slowly shuffled up the line. I repeated the order of operations in my head as I shuffled - hand off static line, step, feel the push, step out, four count, look up, hands on slips... over and over. I almost don't remember the moment I was out the door. I counted it as fortunate and disappointing. Fortunate because I had been too worried about freezing up, and disappointing because it wasn't panic-inducing at all. The buildup to that moment, all the warnings by our instructors, the doubts you have in yourself...all that for nothing. I had to give the Cadre credit, they knew their stuff. All the repetition we'd been put through resulted in my body reacting automatically. I did notice the ground far below, but the sudden grab of the wind as I stepped out with my chin to my chest and my hands on my reserve affected me more than the visual of hanging above the earth in open air. See, that's the funny thing about stepping out that door. The first few moments you don't feel like you're falling at all, you actually feel like you're being pushed sideways. That weightless feeling in your stomach comes a couple seconds later. It was all just enough to instill a thrill through your brain that washes out the fear. But I wasn't done and drifting rapidly to the ground didn't happen by itself. There was wind to contend with, a direction to navigate, other soldiers to watch. Although the rate of our descent was fairly even, and the one second distance between us at the door was intended to space us out enough that we wouldn't interfere or encounter a fellow Airborne, it could still happen with the right set of circumstances or lack of awareness. Maintaining a lateral distance from other parachutists was crucial to avoid stolen air that could collapse your canopy. It actually didn't take long to reach the ground from 1250 feet. The average rate of descent for the T10 was 22 to 24 ft/sec. Which meant somewhere around a single minute to reach the ground. And a minute isn't a long time when you're trying to steer the thing to put down in the landing zone. We were lucky today because the prevailing wind wasn't strong so we didn't have a fight to target our landing. But it could happen, we learned in class. But guess what? The T10 steers like SHIT, like a motorcycle going 70 over inch deep water or turning a corner at a run in your socks on a freshly waxed barrack's floor. You want to turn into the wind for a gentle landing? That's gonna take about 20 seconds longer than the time you have. You want to hit the center of the landing zone? TFB, too fuckin bad Private Meteor, you get to land where ever the fuck you drop and gravity is a bitch. Remember all that training in class about pulling on your slips, using your risers to pull the canopy down to angle it for a turn? Hahaha, just kidding, that doesn't work, we just wanted to give you a false sense of control. Did you forget you're in the Army? You have no fucking control, you do what you're told, and your parachute will tell you which part of the field you're going to break your ankles on. It didn't stop me from trying though. I gave it my best. It hurt my pride that my best turned out to be the absolute worst PLF I'd done since the third day. I think I might have actually bounced. I did manage to keep my feet and knees together. By the way, your ACH is NOT supposed to be one of the points of contact. The Black Hat that came to check on me as I tried to unscramble my brain made that VERY clear. I knew I was going to get hell for this from the brothers. Still, I was alive, I was down without significant injury (just some bruising to my shoulder and pride), and I had the first of my five jumps completed. I shouldn't feel this good after my piss poor landing but I was grinning like a fool as I gathered my parachute and rapidly stuffed it into my kit to clear the landing zone. Even though I hadn't managed the center (which I knew wasn't expected) I had enough maneuverability to stay inside the landing zone at Fryar Field. That had to be one of the best experiences I'd ever had in the Army. I jumped out of a fucking plane! And I was going to do it again every day this week. Man, I loved the Army. ******************* "That good, huh?" Major Collins said when we met him at the gym at 1900 hrs. "It takes about 50 jumps before that goes away. I know you're already thinking about tomorrow's jump, but focus on tonight. After the others reach their meditative focus, I'll work on helping you maintain outward awareness." "It's the best thing I've ever done." I grinned back. "I didn't manage a good PLF though, but I think now that I know what to expect I won't have any problems with it tomorrow. I spent too much time on trying to maneuver into the wind for my landing and wasn't expecting the ground to come at me that fast." I told him. He grinned. "Yes, the first time gets just about everyone. You'll time it better tomorrow. Alright, forget about that. Everyone breathe." Our little class had grown from just five of us to a group of twenty that included Bravos, Charlies, Potter and Battles. The major said that was big enough, and once we had the basics down we could teach any others who wanted to learn but that too many in one group diluted the necessary personal envelope. One on one was best for anything more advanced than physical control and mental focus, and initial instruction of the basics was best with between one and 25 students. Major Collins had explained that this type of meditation was part of martial arts training and that you could train your body for years but that someone with the proper mental focus would always be better than you. The mind and the body worked together. Boxers learned mental focus through repetition and intense training of individual skills. Athletes learned to focus past their fatigue and exhaustion. Those types of focus were just the barest tip of the iceberg. However, something happened when inner focus and outward awareness blended together in balance. You hit the `Zone'. When you were in the zone you saw and processed everything differently, your understanding came automatically, your movements were more sure, precise, efficient. Exceptional athletes waited to find the zone. The best athletes made the zone happen. Martial artists stabilized the zone and held it ready every waking moment. For the Shaolin it wasn't something you did, it was a state of being with every breath and every thought, every muscle and every emotion. It was understanding and accepting the moment as one balanced place in existence. One second, a minute, a year, a lifetime...all moments of one. Your mind, your body, the room, the earth, the universe, all places of one. Differences were merely of degree rather than sameness. And matters of degree were dependent upon perception: Big and small; strong and weak; fast and slow; here and there... degrees of perceptive reality you held in your existence for a single moment. The past and future were not reality. Reality IS. You are present. You are never in the past, never in the future, and what was, or what will be are never NOW. When you exist in the now, you act in the present moment. If you look to the past, you are always behind the present. If you look to the future, you are always ahead of the present. I carefully pushed all thoughts of today, my excitement of my first jump, away. I followed with my anticipation of tomorrow and the true expectation of earning my wings later this week. I breathed. I moved to yesterday, my worry over Weeble's absence and let it float away. My concern over Zeus followed quickly behind. The events of the previous night began to unfold and I had to force my breathing to remain even. I let the images come, my nervous path to the shed, my participation in the killing of two men. The sound of the pistol as it fired. The way Barnell's head jerked slightly with each round, but that Delnick's didn't. With every exhale I pushed the thoughts and images out. Potter and Battles with their calm and casual surety in every move, something I recognized actually helped reconcile the vicious act in my mind. The past had no place in the now, I let it float away. I thought of Kevin. He also had to leave, for now, as well as my reluctance to disappear him if only temporarily. But the true fight was that along with the thought of him came the love I felt and pushing that away and out was hard, so difficult. It was so deep inside of me, so intertwined in who I was I didn't want to separate it from myself. I could erase it for the moment, but with that erasing came the pain of losing him. The pain I'd carried for that year and a half. Part of me knew he and his love wouldn't be gone for good, but the subconscious feeling was no different. I breathed. Again...I breathed. And then I knew, I couldn't push him, his love, my love for him away without sending myself with all of it. That was the fight. If he went, I went with him. I breathed. `I'll bring you back. I promise' I said to the feeling, and let it and `me' float away, together. And then I pushed away the tears that tried to come. "When you feel centered, open your eyes, Harris." Major Collins said. I floated in the emptiness for a few more breaths. Somewhere I knew my eyes opened, but I wasn't looking. Major Collins moved. It didn't matter how I knew that, I wasn't watching him or listening, it just came as a recognition of something happening far away. "Come over here with me, let's move away from the rest." This was the strangest thing, the oddest feeling. I think I moved, stood up, walked a ways across the mats and sat down again in front of the Major but I didn't actually see any of that, or even do it. A brief thought came through the emptiness: that I could stay here, floating, and still let a small piece of the outside intrude. Could I manage Spectator Me? I felt so comfortable here, it was nice to be nothing. "We'll start with talking. Keep yourself in this mental state. How do you feel?" He asked, his voice smooth, even and soft. "Empty." I heard that, my own voice responding without my thinking first. "Describe what I'm doing." He said. "You are sitting with your legs crossed, your hands are on your knees. You are looking at me." With the words, I saw the image through eyes that didn't feel like they were mine. In spite of the weirdness of it all, it felt completely natural. "Good. You're doing better than I expected." How he evaluated that I couldn't say, and it wasn't important. There was nothing that was important or immediate. His observation washed over me and receded into the emptiness. "Tell me about Weeble." Automatic me didn't hesitate. Spectator me felt no alarm or concern at the request. "Weeble completed his jump today. He did better than me when he landed." "Good. And yesterday? Where was he?" "He said he tripped and hit his head when he was going to the gym. He was out cold until just before evening formation." Yes, that's what happened. "He was alone?" "Mini Hulk was going to be right behind him, he just had to call his girl first. He said Weeble wasn't at the gym when he got there." The Major paused. "The Cadre didn't check the in/out log?" "Bootlicker changed the log." "Nice skill, that." Collins remarked. "Did Weeble get checked out by a medic? If he got knocked out, a concussion is likely." "Yes Sir, Petty Officer Lenger checked him out, said he was fine. Just a big nasty bruise." "Good. So neither you or Petty Officer Lenger reported it to the Cadre?" He asked. "No Sir, it seemed a stupid thing to bother the Cadre over on a Sunday, and it was only going to get too many soldiers in trouble for something that ended up being nothing." "Sounds fair." The Major replied. "Potter and Battles didn't make it back by curfew, did they?" Now the feeling of alarm began to creep in. I fought to remain floating. Then I realized fighting to do it was going to be the thing that ruined it. I chased the feeling away. "I believe they had a pass for the weekend, Sir." Automatic me answered. Fuck, Automatic me was an excellent liar. So smooth and calm. "Weekend passes don't go into Duty Days." He sighed. "I'm going to take a wild guess and assume Bootlicker has many skills. Ask a question, Harris." Spectator me wasn't interested in questions, knowing things, or getting answers. Automatic me however apparently was. "Are you keeping tabs on us, Sir?" "Yes. Next question." "Why?" "So close, you need to ask better questions. I'm to report on the progress of your Platoon. That should have been obvious from my affirmative." He said. "One more, so make it good. And we won't be having another question and answer session on this subject, so think it through." Automatic me sensed a test, and a challenge. I'd given quite a bit of thought to the entire path of the Bravos since we were formed into a Platoon, then grouped with the Alphas, Charlies and Deltas. OSUT, or One Station Unit Training was uncommon but not unheard of. Rather than receiving all your training as individuals, in separate schools at separate times, then getting a duty station with a whole different unit you'd never worked with before, OSUT kept you all together and everyone went through the same training together. However, that usually started in Basic, then Advanced Individual Training, then Unit training, then a duty station. You'd get new Sergeants and Officers, but your unit stayed together. We had all already done Basic, then our AIT, and were even assigned to different units doing our jobs before we'd been voluntold to go to Germany. One question left. Why were we specifically chosen? What did the Army intend for us? Were we part of a program trial the Army was testing out? What was the purpose of our training? Major Collins was reporting on the progress of our Platoon. Why him? He was a Marine, not Army. That must mean whatever this was went beyond a simple training program. It was either a joint operation of all branches, or it reached higher than Army Command. Automatic me settled on a question that he didn't like at all. Questions like that had answers that could expose you to all sorts of unwelcome attention. Questions like the one he wanted to ask, if they were answered, meant there was no going back and no getting out. Anyone who walked the halls of the building he was sure Major Collins had an office in had involvement in matters of military policy. And that meant Major Collins wasn't calling the shots. Regardless of the answer, I wouldn't do anything differently than do my absolute best by my brothers and my training. The change in my perception was so subtle I didn't realize it had happened. Thinking my way through the puzzle forced Spectator Me and Automatic Me to focus together, yet it was still like we overlapped rather than merged. We nodded at Major Collins with a resigned grin. "Can you continue to train me after Airborne?" I asked. He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. Because of that, I'll give you a freebie but only because you already figured it out. Knowing what you're here for, or where you're going isn't going to help. You either follow this to its conclusion, which personally I hope is a long career in the Army reaching the highest level you can climb. Or you fail out, which means a discharge. The type of discharge depends on you. Knowing who I am or what my mission is will also not help you complete your task. You and the Bravos, and the Charlies, are doing a great job in spite of being ignorant. When you get beyond the next phase, I'll make sure there's someone there who can keep up your mental training. Stay tough, soldier. A lot of us want you to succeed. But watch your back. You still have plenty that would like nothing more than to see you fail." And that was enough. Enough to know we actually WERE specifically chosen to undergo special training that was part of a unique program to determine if we had what the Army wanted. And the best way to prove that soldiers like us were worth it was to succeed in spectacular fashion. Which was what I'd always intended anyway, and what the Bravos as a whole strived towards from the minute we had been thrown together. "Now, you've managed to maintain focus through all that. So let's do some movement. Get up." ****************** PUTA Julio didn't really see the point in sitting on a mat with his eyes closed for 45 minutes, so he stayed in the weight room to work out. Besides, Valentino was here too. He knew the gym was too crowded, and the locker room too busy to repeat what they'd done last week in the shower. And Julio wasn't surprised when the tall blonde walked over and asked to work in with him. "Si, guapo. Together." Julio answered with a smile. Even though he had one thing on his mind, he still pushed Valentino further into his sets, trying to get the most out of him. Valentino was no weakling, and pushed him back on his sets. "Don't give up like a pussy, Julio. Keep those elbows out. You have three more. That's it. C'mon, I'm not even helping, it's all you bro. One more. Yeah...yeah, almost there...that's it." Valentino encouraged in that sexy half boy, half man voice of his. There wasn't a single thing about Valentino that didn't turn him on. His voice, his smile, his ass, his pretty face. They were in their PT shorts and tees, so Valentino's smooth legs toyed with him constantly. Valentino wasn't thick or beefy, he was just right. Enough meat in all the right places. A proud chest with nicely defined pecs and round shoulders. A trim waist that was exposed with every rep he pushed above his head. The man was almost completely hairless, even his armpits barely had any hair. Valentino was the type of blonde whose hair seemed almost white and translucent when it was in a military cut. The tips of his hairs caught the light with a glow, like an angel. On the next pass, Julio leaned in a whispered "You are very distracting, mi tesoro. We must leave soon. I know the place we will go." "Fuuuucckkkk, I love it when you talk like that." Valentino whispered back. Then in a normal voice "We'll finish with flys. Five sets." Putting their sweats back on in the locker room became a reverse strip tease for Valentino to watch. Julio took his time, making sure each leg was pulled up over his foot slowly before sliding upward with a back and forth movement. When he reached his hips, he pulled the back up over his ass first, letting his bulge hook over the front waistband of the sweats which pushed it out in a large obscene mound. He grinned at Valentino and winked. Then, without pulling it up, he reached into his locker and grabbed his sweatshirt. "Ay! My arms. It was a good workout, no? You can help me on with the shirt, jess? I no can lift the arms." He smiled. Valentino stepped closer. "Sure, bro. Here, put your arms through first." And he held the sweatshirt out while looking Julio in the eyes. Then he stepped closer, almost touching Julio chest to chest while he pulled the sweatshirt up and over his head. Their bulges met momentarily as he pulled the shirt down to Julio's waist, both of them semi-hard in their shorts. "Thank you, Valentino." Julio said softly, and when Valentino looked him in the eye, he saw a tenderness there that almost made him steal a kiss. Julio led the way out of the gym with Valentino a few steps behind. He knew a place on the way back to the barracks that was secluded. They should have 30 minutes or more to enjoy themselves before the rest of the brothers were on their way back. "Was the jump good today, Guapo?" He asked the beautiful blonde soldier he knew was finding a way into his heart. There was something about him Julio felt was special. There was a gentle light in his blue eyes, his off-level eyebrows and the slight upward curve of his lips that made his face always seem on the verge of a smile. And he wasn't shy or submissive and instead was engaging and willing without being forceful. There was no uncertainty with Valentino like any move Julio made he would match him. Julio liked the way Valentino watched him, with the occasional glance at his body that held appreciative wonder rather than lust. And Valentino felt good, just standing close. He had a playful confidence that welcomed Julio's grins and winks with a matching smile. "I loved every minute." Valentino responded with exhuberant energy. "I wish we could do it naked. Man that would be totally rad." Julio laughed. "Ay no, Es loco, amigo. My pinga... is too cold!" Valentino laughed. "Aw, poor pinga. Maybe summertime would be better." "Jess. Summertime. And in da sea, not da sky. We go naked together. Is better. Der is a playa...a beach, near my home. Is perfect." Julio replied. Valentino turned to smile at him. "Are you asking me on a skinny dipping date?" Julio smiled back. "Maybe Jess." "Sounds romantic. Throw in a full moon and some beer, and I'll say yes. Where are you from, Julio?" "Puerto Rico. Is a beautiful island. The sea is warm." Valentino sighed. "Sounds wonderful. I'd like to." "Then we do it, jess? I would like to see da light of da moon in you beautiful eyes and watch da tide come in." Valentino gave him a sad smile. "You should be careful I don't fall in love with you, Julio. You are too perfect. You say all the right things." "You are gay?" Julio asked. Valentino shrugged. "Yeah. No one knows though, so don't tell anyone." Julio put a hand on his shoulder. "I no tell. I too am gay. My brothers know, da Bravos. Dey all good men. Nobody care. You maybe tell you brothers too?" Valentino looked off down the street. "Maybe. I don't know. The Charlies are great, I love the guys. I got pretty lucky I think, getting moved to Germany. I always thought the whole unit brotherhood thing was a bunch of hyped up bullshit or maybe I was just unlucky. But my unit before was mostly dumbass fuckwits who worried more about fucking around and getting drunk, spending all their pay, and avoiding work than doing what our Sergeant and Lieutenant told us to do. I never seemed to fit in, so I kept to myself. That wasn't hard, I was the new guy anyway. There were only two other guys who were underage. There wasn't a lot of hanging around together off duty." "What's you MOS before?" Julio asked. "Don't laugh." Valentino said. "I no laugh at you, beautiful man." Julio replied sincerely. "42L administrative specialist. I only look like this because of the last six months in Germany. When I joined up, it seemed like office work was the best move I could make, keep me out of the physical stuff. I almost went Intel, and probably should have. No one tells you the type of environment you'll be going to though, and I didn't want to end up in some war zone. Man, my first month in the Charlies absolutely sucked. Runs and patrols, sleepless nights and MRE's? Fuck, I was miserable." "But you here, you made it. You more tough than you think." Julio said. Valentino laughed, actually a happy sound. "Yeah, you got that right. I busted my ass trying to keep up with the guys, but they helped a lot too. Lamont, our Platoon leader said one soldier's failure is the unit's failure and you didn't let your brother down like that. And while I sucked at dragging my rifle and ruck through mud, turns out I'm pretty good at organization, logistics and details that keep a unit running. If someone had a problem I knew where to point them to keep them out of Horvath's hairy ears. Turns out I'm a crack shot too, got my expert badge at 300-37, thanks to Sergeant Horvath teaching me the right way. What about you? Were you always Infantry?" "No." Julio responded. "19K, Tank driver. I drive da big boys. Fix dem too. Tree hundred from da tank was easy shot for me." Valentino chuckled. "Of course you did you perfect sexy grunt. Shit." He took another big breath. "I hope you were serious about that date. Until then, I'll be happy to keep that big pinga warm in all this cold weather." Julio put his arm around Valentino's shoulder. "We gonna have dat date, Guapo. I no lie to you." By that time they were at the turnoff to the secluded place.