Category: Gay/Military
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ZEUS & WEEBLE
Victor reminded him of George, his boyhood friend from so long ago. It was hard for Gabriel to judge the smaller guys when he looked down from so far above. A difference of a couple inches, or ten to fifteen pounds all looked the same on their tiny bodies. But one thing was always the same - that eagerness to prove themselves so that everyone else would think of them as one of the guys. George was good at that. When Gabriel would watch him longingly after their friendship ended he saw George fit in easily with a couple of the other guys at school. That made him both happy, and sad.
Victor had almost exactly the same way of smiling no matter what it was. Victor always made sure to let the guys know how great they were doing, how strong, how fast, how proficient. He knew the best compliments to give. And he was ready to lend a hand no matter what the task or duty was. He volunteered more than anyone else. Some of the Bravos were reluctant, would grumble or try to trade off the duty Andrew told them to do. Victor never did and seemed happy to do anything. Gabriel hated to watch him struggle and had to stop himself from helping Victor all the time. Andrew had quietly talked to the rest of the Bravos and told them to only give Victor a hand if it looked like he couldn't do something, and to let him try first. He said Victor needed to be proud of what he could do, and the more he could tackle himself the better off he would be. Andrew was pretty smart.
He wanted Victor to know he would watch out for him by putting his arm over his shoulder. He was so little. Gabriel could fit his entire shoulder from neck to outside in his hand. Victor scooted closer to him when he did that and he squeezed his hand, being very careful to do it gently. They followed Andrew out the barracks exit to the area with the tables and benches where the other soldiers liked to smoke their cigarettes. There were five tables there, plenty of room to give some distance. Zeus noticed the others never bothered or tried to intrude upon the Bravos if there were more than two of them together.
"Let's sit here." Andrew said, indicating the furthest table from the door. The yellow-orange glow of the sodium area lights above painted everything in brightness and shadows.Victor sat down and Addison went to go sit by Andrew across the table. Addison belonged next to Andrew, they were a team. Gabriel couldn't fit easily between the bench and the table, so he straddled the bench with Victor on the bench to the side.
"You want to tell me what's going on with you, buddy?" Andrew asked. Gabriel loved the way Andrew always said it straight out but never accused or pried. Gabriel suspected Andrew had already figured out why Victor was acting different, that's what Andrew was good at. And he was good at letting you say it yourself.
Victor looked down at the table. Gabriel could see his hands between his nervously bouncing legs clasping and moving apart, his fingers dancing with anxious energy. Addison and Andrew couldn't see that.
Gabriel didn't really know why, but it seemed the right thing to do when he moved forward and put his arm around Victor and snuggled up to his small body. "It's okay Victor. You can trust Andrew. He's not mean. And Addison isn't mean either. They are really good." He said softly down at Victor's head. "They helped me and they will help you." Gabriel felt Victor's small body tremble. Was he afraid? "Don't be afraid, Victor." Gabriel tried to think of what Andrew would say. Both Sleeper and Andrew were just watching, silent. Gabriel liked how they could do that. They probably didn't know that waiting was a bigger help than saying anything most of the time. And he didn't know why he felt like Victor needed him but that's the feeling he got. Or maybe it was that Victor needed all of them, he was just closest. Well, he could do that. He could do it because he didn't do it for George. His only friend. But now he had Andrew and Addison. And he suddenly realized he could have as many friends as he wanted.
Victor didn't want to look at these big guys, and suddenly he felt even more like an imposter. What was he doin here? Guys like them belonged here, not him. They were men, he was just a boy. And gay, which the Army absolutely said don't belong here neither. His previous hopes of being straightened out by the military now struck him as laughably foolish. All he'd done was put himself into a situation where he had constant temptation and torture. He was 20 years old now and this dumb experiment proved everythin except what he wanted to happen. Two years and he didn't feel any different. Well, except he'd learned not to swallow all the dicks. He supposed that was worth somethin, anyway.
"Victor? C'mon man." Sleeper said gently. "You have that look again. What are you thinking about?"
It was time to stop pretendin. Besides, they'd see it all eventually if they hadn't already so what was the use of tryin to hide it? It was pretty damn clear it was only a matter of time before things played out exactly like they had in the 128th back at Bragg.
"I don't belong here. At least not like you guys do." Victor finally said.
Assmunch and Sleeper both had the decency to look confused. That was nice of them to pretend like that.
Sleeper jumped in before Assmunch. "You're a Bravo, our brother Weeble. You sure as shit belong here."
Assmunch nodded. "That's right. But why do you feel like you don't?"
Victor took a deep breath. It could be worse, he supposed. At least he was doing this on his own terms and gettin ahead of it before he messed up during some critical mission or operation. "That's nice of you to say and all, but look at me. It takes so much more effort for me to do the same things you guys do. I struggle every day doin stuff you guys find easy. And what am I gonna do in any kind of direct engagement or combat? I'm only gonna get someone killed because I can't keep up."
Assmunch snorted. "You keep up just fine, Weeble. None of us worry about you anymore. Yeah, when you first started it was pretty rough. But you weren't any different than Wanker or Holler. Hell, even Chunk was struggling until he dropped that weight he brought with him when he came to Germany. Maybe you were too wrapped up in struggling to keep up to notice the others around you, but you weren't the only one. Now, you do great."
"But I don't feel like it. All you guys slow down so I can keep up. You always end up helpin me in some way. Nothin's changed, I'm still not good at this stuff like you guys are." Victor explained. Now that he started, he was feeling more confident that he was right. "I'm just holdin the Bravos back."
Assmunch shook his head. "Ah. So you're feeling sorry for yourself. You think the rest of us find this stuff easy. We don't slow down for you, Victor, we push you to keep up with us, and you do. Sleeper, how'd you do on last year's M4 qualification?"
Sleeper shrugged. "29. Not awesome."
"32 for me." Assmunch said. "What about navigation?"
"Ugh. Barely. I have the simple stuff down, but without Zeus and Cellblock with me in the forest in Germany I'd have led the guys to a cold death in that storm."
Assmunch nodded. "I'm better, but nowhere near as good as Zeus or Bootlicker. And what did Sleeper do in the forest? Sleeper got Zeus and Cellblock to help him. But we all know you qualified with a 37 on the M4, and your navigation and map reading is better than 80 percent of us. I could keep going but being able to ruck 40 pounds for 6 miles isn't the only test of whether you belong here, Victor. Every single one of us depend on our brothers to give us a little help. That's what brothers do. You're our brother so we help you too. And don't forget you didn't start out as Infantry, so you're having to catch up to a lot of us with the physical stuff."
"It feels like I won't ever catch up. And you guys are talkin about Ranger School. There's no way I'm gonna survive."
"Yes you will. You haven't given up so far, and all of this has been really difficult. Why would you give up now?" Assmunch asked.
Victor took a breath. "I guess I'm not givin up, exactly. I don't wanna quit, and I don't wanna stop bein a Bravo. You guys are totally nice to me, like...all of you. I guess I feel like if I can't be like you guys and keep up by myself then I'm not really one of you. I feel like I'm pretendin' to be a man. It sounds so stupid."
Assmunch's eyebrows went up in surprise. "A man? Victor, you ARE a man. You aren't pretending. Do you think even half the guys you went to high school with could do what you do now?" He paused. "Oh fuck, I know what you need."
"What are you thinking, Assmunch?" Sleeper asked.
"Well, you all need it I think. Maybe I'm not doing the brothers any favors by keeping our noses to the grindstone and staying focused. You all need a reminder of who the fuck you are and how far you've come. We've been stuck behind Army walls for the last 8 months. It's easy to lose sight of what all this means and I realized something when I went home. I want you guys to realize it too. We're going off post Saturday."
ASSMUNCH
We finally got through Tower Week and while it seemed to go by quick, it also felt like we learned a thousand skills, terms, and details. We were kept running from location to location, listening in class, demonstrating what we were taught and of course jumping from taller and taller towers. We didn't jump from the 250 foot tower, we were lifted up with a fully deployed parachute canopy and dropped, so you could learn to use the slips to guide your descent, and get a sense for how to hit the ground. It was way quicker than you expected. After a while, the height doesn't even register and I have to say I don't have any idea when I stopped thinking about that harness snapping into my groin but fuck I was relieved it wasn't as punishing anymore. You don't stop moving or doing tasks from 0430 until 1800 after evening chow. And even after you were released it was study time because at any time while you were on the course a Black Hat could ask you to show and tell anything you'd been taught up until then. What's the donning procedure for the Harness Assembly?'; Name 3 differences between the T-10C and the MC1-1B Canopy'; demonstrate the 4000-count Exit Position'; what are the 9 points of adjustment on the parachute harness'? They could tell at a glance who knew what they were doing, who made a mistake, and who was fucking off. It was their job to spot the slackers or those who were unprepared just as much as it was to instruct us and keep us from killing ourselves. They didn't yell if you got it wrong, they simply pointed out your mistake and instructed you on the right answer. I guess, for just this one thing, the Army figured fear and terror wasn't a good motivator. Check back with me later in my career, there might be other things too, but right now, it was refreshing not to have a mistake shoved into your face. At this point, just about all the dead weight had dropped or been booted. All we had left to do was Jump Week, when we got to do five actual jumps from a C130 or C17. That was what this was all about...qualifying on your actual jumps. But, as we'd learned this week, way too many things could go wrong. Some were things you had to be prepared for - landing in a tree, water, power lines... a fucking building or structure of some kind. Others were malfunctions like your main parachute failing to deploy, lines getting twisted, descending into another paratrooper during descent. And then there were the mistakes. I don't even want to think about those. If you were lucky, you'd only end up in a hospital for 8 weeks and physical therapy for 6 months after that.
I'd told the guys we were going to enjoy our Saturday night out, but that morning at 0930 I grabbed Zeus to go around with me and talk to each brother individually to clear up anything they weren't sure about, and to judge where they were having trouble. I was really proud of all of them, at how seriously they took the training and how they helped each other in between giving out heaping portions of ridicule and shit. What else were brothers for, right? I'd also had a quiet word with everyone about making Weeble feel even more included. Here's the thing with Weeble: we weren't doing him any favors by treating him like he needed our help. I don't know where the good middle ground was but we didn't need to treat him like he was one step away from failing all the time. After our talk Tuesday night I realized what I told him was true - he'd come a long way and he wasn't the same soldier who seemed so inept when he first got to Germany. He'd grown, and we needed to grow with him. We'd fallen into a habit of watching out for him and he wasn't fooled that it was for any other reason than he was the smallest. Sure, he needed the help way back then. But now he was 100% Infantry and we all needed to treat him no different than we'd treat any of the others. Just not like we treated Bootlicker because it literally took the whole Platoon to squeeze his ego and his brain into normal people size. Well, we were here to keep his ass grounded and we made sure he knew it. But Weeble? It was past time he stopped being the smallest brother, and became a brother in reality.
My sessions with the Major were already showing benefits in all sorts of ways. I felt more centered, more focused and more aware. I did better on our morning runs, now up to 4 miles, and in morning PT. Of course, our morning runs weren't a race because they wanted you to maintain a steady pace. You had a minimum completion time and a max. Still, the Bravos and any of the randoms who had an actual physical MOS felt 4 miles was a joke. I actually used the run time to meditate. I'll go into detail some other time, but running was already a pretty mindless activity and with a group it became even more mindless because you had bodies around you that guided your path and pace.
Benning ran a bus to town for the convenience of the soldiers in the Airborne Course, as well as those who were on temporary duty or assignment and had no personal transportation. We couldn't stay out late if we wanted to catch the bus back, but that was okay. 2330 was the last bus which was fine because I didn't want the Platoon to have a wild night. We could also get a cab if we wanted. Back then all the MP's needed was your name and assignment to let a cab on post to pick you up. And the cab drivers who had the area around the base were pretty well known by the MP's at the gate. Most of us couldn't drink because Georgia's legal drinking age was 21 so I didn't think we'd be up for staying out too late anyway. In the afternoon we all went to the PX because more than a few of the guys realized their favorite shirt didn't fit anymore or they wanted something new to look good in. We didn't wear our civvies very often. I think my plan to get them to realize we were set apart from civilians was going to work pretty well, it was a strange feeling for way too many of the brothers to dress civilian. Combat boots walk a whole lot different than Nike Airs or Converse High Tops. Dimples was going to wear his boots but we told him not to be an idiot. I guess he thought he was going to impress some girl with his boots. Dimples wasn't too bright. We had Potter take a picture of us with Wanker's Canon 35mm and we made Wanker promise to get us all a copy of the print. That photo would become one of my most precious possessions in the years that followed.
"What the fuck are you fucking around for? Let's GO!" Demon cajoled with a hyper energy we all felt. Demon hated sitting still or waiting.
"Troll..." Cellblock said.
"Yeah yeah, I got him." Troll replied. Troll was actually one of the ones we were waiting for. He rarely sped up or was in a rush. "The bus won't be back for another 15 minutes Demon. Settle down. Besides, it's 1930, we're going to get to an empty bar and be jacking off with each other until the crowd gets there later. We're not missing anything."
"Yeah, but it's not HERE. Come on, Come on!" Demon refused to be calmed. He wasn't feeling anything the rest of us didn't feel.
"Did everyone get enough cash this afternoon?" I asked. That was another thing that felt slightly off, carrying a wallet with money and I.D. It was different than being on duty somewhere that you needed it versus a physical training course. You didn't carry your wallet during training because not only did you have no use for money, everything in your wallet would probably get ruined with sweat, water, dirt, mud or any number of other things and a lump in your pocket got in the way more often than not. At Airborne, all you needed was your I.D. and meal card during duty hours so those were the only items you kept on you. Anything else was not permitted. No jewelry, nothing in your pockets except your ID and meal card in the left breast pocket of your BDUs. No pins either, but that wasn't a problem for us, all our rank and name patches were sewn on. We weren't even technically entitled to wear a unit patch. We hadn't been informed what battalion or regiment we were part of once we'd been pulled out of our former assignments for Germany.
Of course we invited Potter, Battles and Lenger. They'd asked around and heard of a bar uptown that allowed under 21, and it wasn't on the restricted list. The restricted list around Benning wasn't too long with only a few strip clubs known for more illicit and illegal activity, a few bars that had seen too many fights, and of course the two gay bars that weren't explicitly mentioned as gay bars. but the BAC list was definitely more inclusive. Students weren't permitted to do anything crazy or wild. I have no idea why Potter, Lenger and Battles hitched to us for our night out when they were all a few years older and didn't have to hang out with young Army Privates but I guess they had their reasons. Those three had gotten passes so if they wanted they didn't have to come back tonight, they could stay off post. We got lucky with a bus that was almost empty so we could all get on as a group and the cheap, basic nature of the white vehicle made me smile because like everything Army it was built for utility not comfort and reminded me of a school bus. A rattling, heap of junk school bus. The guys were totally hyped and I felt a little bad for the six other passengers who had to endure the rowdiness of 32 twenty year old soldiers on their first night out in 7 months. The night was chilly and I was mesmerized by the yellow/orange sodium streetlights making pools of light in the darkness as we passed close to buildings. In between, the Army let the darkness rule. As a training base, there was the occasional bit of foot traffic on the sidewalks as soldiers went to various Saturday night activities the base provided like the movie theater, bowling alley, gym, rec center, or even just going to hang out with someone they knew or just met.
"Did you always want to be a Corpsman, Lenger?" I made sure to pronounce it correctly as Len-jer as he'd pointed out last week, turning to look at the Petty Officer. Zeus was sharing a seat with Potter, Sleeper was next to Battles, and I shared with Lenger. Potter and Battles were never far from Zeus and Sleeper. Although all the branches had their rivalries and you always believed your branch was the best, it just felt like Marines went with Army, and Navy went with Air Force. Navy and Air Force utilized machines to wage war and fight. The Marines and Army... well, we WERE machines. We were the boots on the ground. We led the charge, went in, looked the enemy in the eye and ruled the battlefield. We had a mutual respect between our branches even if we argued over who did it best. I admired how the Marines bred toughness and competence. But I admit to being a little puzzled why the Corpsman seemed joined at the hip with Battles and Potter.
Lenger shrugged and nodded. "Free medical school? Fuck yeah. I don't have to shoot someone in the head every day? Fuck yeah. I don't have to dodge shells, bullets and mortars? No brainer. I don't have to crawl around in mud with you bastards? Oh hell yeah." He laughed. I couldn't argue with that, but he wasn't done. "Seriously though, I like fixing people and my parents don't have enough money to send me to college and medical school. Never thought I'd be jumping out of a fucking plane though. I still don't know why I signed up for the Airborne Course. They told me it would qualify me for an overseas station and I'd move to the short list. You know how it is, every bit of extra training moves your file to a better desk."
I could understand that. Getting stationed OCONUS (Outside the Continental US) was a hope most enlistees had. The military and crafty recruiters really sold the whole exotic adventure angle of enlisting because they knew it would seal the deal and get that signature. But like everything military there were no guarantees or promises and they held that carrot out in front of soldiers to incentivize training and performance. If there was one thing the military was good at it was offering incentive. Offering. Delivering, well not so much unless you constantly qualified at training and performance. I could only speak for the Army, but foregoing competence for political advancement eroded any trust the ranks might have in you. And there were plenty of those types - the ones who kissed ass and climbed by stepping on those around them.
"Yeah, but you just have to get on a ship to go around the world." I replied.
Lenger's face scrunched. "Nah. Boats aren't for me."
I laughed. He grinned. I think he knew what I was going to say before I even said it. "You joined the Navy and you don't like boats?"
"See? You mud crawlers never understand. I'm fine with the sea, ships, all that. I just don't want to be on one for six months and bunk three high, hop through hatches all day, ask for permission to go topside to see the sky once a day. I guess the worst part is you're never alone and it's never quiet. Some guys like that part of it. I don't. It's always close quarters on a boat. I did my stretch, never want to do that again." He explained.
I nodded. I wouldn't like that either. It did make me wonder if the Navy had anything like an Infantry Platoon where you became brothers and stopped minding having them around all the time. "You have to be an Officer to be a doctor right?" I didn't know that for sure, but it made sense.
"Yeah, which is another reason I asked for shore duty. I need to finish school, get my degree. Then I get a commission and can go to Medical School. Potter was saying you hoped to get your Ranger tab?"
"Not just the tab, Sleeper, Zeus and I want to be Rangers." I answered. "Maybe a few of the other Bravos too. I haven't asked them."
Lenger looked at me. "What about Officer? Any plans to get a Commission?"
I shrugged. "Not sure. I don't know if I'm Officer material. That's a whole different world up there."
"Dude, you're absolutely Officer material. I see the way you handle your guys. But the most revealing part is how they follow you. I have to be honest, Potter, Battles and I all wish you could tell us how you do that. You're what? 19? 20? You don't yell, you don't give orders... you just tell them what you want and they get it done. Hell, they don't even argue which I have to say just shatters my entire preconceived notions of Grunts."
That made me laugh. "Oh, we're still Grunts. All of us certifiably dumb enough to pull a trigger. I don't know, man. These guys are my brothers. I feel responsible for them. I want all of us to do well, be our best. We're at our strongest when everyone pulls together so that's always been my goal. I don't give orders because I don't have to make them do stuff. They've never let me down, so I won't let them down."
Lenger nodded. "Yeah, definitely Officer material."
"I guess I had some good Sergeants and El Tees as examples." I said. "My dad had a lot to do with it too. I just try to behave the way he said I should."
The bus passed through the security gate and we were suddenly on civilian soil. I know I was imagining it, but the air felt different. The curbs weren't as crisp, the land alongside the road seemed wild and ignored. The businesses appeared a bit shabby. I don't think civilians understood how every detail on a military base was organized, purposeful, directed, overseen, and inspected. Sure, civilian contractors were employed to manage the maintenance and upkeep of just about everything with a few important exceptions but God help whatever Officer commanded base operations if the grass wasn't mowed or there was anything sloppy on the grounds. If a full bird or a two star saw that shit someone was getting a directive. Which meant the civilian contractors would have a military escort while they did their work for a week. Just passing through the gate felt like you entered a different world. The civilian world was wild, unmanaged, disordered, chaotic. Even the buildings were irregular without any sort of plan to their arrangement. The military functioned on order. I knew the brotherhood were noticing the view out the bus windows when it got quiet. Sure, they didn't know why yet, but this was the feeling I wanted them to understand. We were different. We weren't part of that world. We were something more. We could visit this world for a time, but we belonged in the Army world. Eventually we might manage to strike a balance like my Dad did, but the ways we were molded by the Army would never leave us.
After a few stops, Potter announced our destination was coming up.
"Time to LET LOOSE BRAVOS!" Demon shouted. Oh holy fucking hell... the last thing we needed was Demon off his leash. I wasn't going to herd him, or any of the brothers. That would defeat the purpose of the exercise. If chips were going to fall, they'd do it without my control.
"God help us." Lenger muttered.
I snorted. "Whatever happens tonight, at least it'll make a great story to tell the Squids, right? Besides, I heard Fleet Week sets a high bar."
He laughed. "Touché. I can't fucking wait!" And that made me laugh too.
The bar was empty. Everyone that was under 21 got a stamp on their hand in some kind of invisible ink that only showed up under a black light. Well, except for the Marines and Lenger because they were all a few years older. But it was a nice bar, and because we'd gotten there before 2200, we didn't have to pay cover. Bonus. There were a few different areas with a bar in each one. I was looking forward to seeing the entertainment that the dance floor would provide. As you walked in there was a large area with two pool tables, a couple dart boards and a pinball machine. Around the corner was a sort of lounge area with a few high top tables and another small bar. The dance floor was through a wide doorway and up a couple steps. Off to the side of the dance floor was the largest bar. Potter had chosen well. Just judging by the size of this place, it was going to get really busy in a couple hours. I hoped there would be a lot of women. Not for me, Kevin was the only one on my mind, but even if they didn't score I wanted the guys to remember what it was like to just have a good time.
We soon got into Take The Table pool games while we passed the time until the bar filled up. Weeble surprised us all. He kept the table for over an hour, killing everyone who challenged him.
"Fuck dude...you're so lucky!" Shark said after the second time he lost in the rotation, watching Weeble sink the 8 ball in his called pocket.
Weeble shrugged. "You played really good Shark. That 6 ball bank shot was amazing!"
Shark scowled. "You had easier shots. Every time I had to shoot the cue ball was buried."
I watched Weeble as he smiled at Shark's disgruntled comment. "But you still sunk five of yours with harder shots, Shark! You're a good pool player."
I didn't know a lot about pool, but it couldn't be a coincidence that every time Weeble had a difficult shot and he missed the cue ball ended up in the worst spot for Shark. Over the course of the hour I watched Weeble hit shot after shot and leave the cue ball in almost perfect alignment for the ball he shot next. I felt goosebumps up my spine. Weeble knew what he was doing. He wasn't going to lose unless he wanted to lose. I grinned when I also realized he was hiding how good he actually was.
By this time the bar had started filling with both locals and military from the base. There was a group of four country boys watching the pool tables who looked like good ole boys. The way they were leaning in to talk to each other over the loud music signaled they were hatching some plan as they commented to each other about Weeble's shots. Weeble kept looking over at them a little too regularly for me to think he wasn't clued in to what they were planning. So I went up to him as Cellblock racked the balls.
I leaned in to talk in Weeble's ear while he chalked his cue. "I think those four want a piece of you." I said.
Weeble shot me a shocked look. "What do you mean, Assmunch?"
I glanced at the country boys real quick. "They've been watching you play. They're hatching some plan."
Weeble looked nervous. "Like what? Assmunch, don't leave."
Huh? Why was he so worried? He could beat these backwoods country fuckers without looking. I could tell just by looking at them they thought they were the shit, some lucky prize for some unlucky girl who had the misfortune to swallow the drinks they'd ply her with before carrying her blasted ass out the door. They'd probably just fuck her drunk in the backseat of their truck and leave her in the parking lot without her panties to find her barely conscious way home. I knew the look, knew their type. They had all of Sleeper's arrogance without his kindness. His swagger without his humility. And nowhere near his looks. Sure they were four good looking guys, decently built but nothing remarkable next to the guys in the Bravos. And they were going to be really sad...so sad, when the girls saw them in the same room with Sleeper and Zeus. They'd be lucky if there was enough alcohol in the entire bar to make the women forget about Sleeper and Zeus.
"Hey black boy! We gonna take next." The tallest asshole called out just as Cellblock finished snugging the 8 ball into the center of the rack and rolling it forward over the set spot on the green felt. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck spike.
Cellblock looked at me. I gave him an angry look back and shifted my head sideways. However he wanted this to go, I was behind him. He looked a little defeated and I suddenly felt both anger and sadness. How the fuck was this 1993 and this fucking bullshit still happened? I got up off my stool and was just about to intercede when Potter walked up. I swear to FUCKING God this FUCKING Jarhead had the most horrible timing.
"Hey Assmunch, I got you a drink. Pour it in your virgin glass. Here's an empty for what you're drinking now." He handed me the empty. The bar had clear glasses for the alcohol drinkers and red plastic cups for the underage patrons. Once again, my initial impression did the Lance Corporal a huge disservice. As I poured my plain coke into the empty and swapped it with whatever alcoholic beverage Potter had selected for me I mentally apologized to whatever God the Marines worshiped. Potter had been nothing but a complete brother.
"We're about to have a problem, Marine." I said. "These fucking rednecks just called Cellblock a black boy and took the next game."
"Hoo-rah, time to stack some bodies." Potter flexed his impressive body and gave an evil smile. Yeah, that was the last time I'd doubt Potter. And actually, it was the last time I doubted any Marine the entire time I served.
I looked at Cellblock with a similar grin, but was surprised when he shook his head surreptitiously with a serious, frightened look. I was going to need a talk with him for whatever that was about. Bravos don't back down. I learned later that Georgia still had a reputation with black people for continuing the worst racial abuses imaginable. Cellblock explained it using terms like uppity niggers' and teach them to know their place.' I remember the shock I felt at that. I mean, I wasn't completely clueless, I knew subtle racism was still around. But this was like something out of the 1950's.
"Sure guys!" Cellblock said, turning around with a smile. "I've already played a couple times. You can play Victor." Totally and completely out of character for Cellblock, to be so effusive and servile. I might be crazy, but it almost sounded like he tried to sound more ... fuck... more white. Cellblock sounded nothing like that usually. He was more rough around the edges intelligent, direct, even challenging. And Sure guys!' From his mouth just hit wrong...It should have been Aight' or better yet `fuck yo white ass'.
"Damn straight. Luke, you want first?" The biggest of the pack said to the skinny redhead of the group. Tall and lanky, Luke stiffened up like he held the entire white race on his shoulders. Poor Weeble had a deer-in-the-headlights look on his face.
I walked up to Weeble and whispered in his ear. "They shit on Cellblock. Teach them you don't fuck with the Bravos."
He looked at me, and I kept his gaze until his eyes hardened to match my own.
"Twenty to play on my table." The lead redneck said, throwing a bill down on the table edge. He seemed confident that his redheaded buddy had some skill.
Oh, now... this fucking backwoods piece of racist shit was already counting his paycheck. Well, even though I'd never seen the redhead play, there was no way I was going to leave Weeble out to dry.
"Just $20? I guess you're afraid or don't know the price. Victor's table costs $60. It's cool if you can't afford it." I had confidence in Weeble, I had been watching how he planned every shot. There was no way this small town fucking bar table idiot could outplay my brother. And even if Weeble lost, we'd walk away and forget about these fuckers. $60 was worth it to walk away from garbage like this.
The redneck posse huddled in a nervous, fervent conversation. Lead redneck... hell, let's just call him the Grand Dragon, because it was highly likely his Uncle-dad-Grandfather ran the local Klan chapter... angrily gestured his three buddies into silence and I chuckled when he held out his hand and they deposited three $20 bills. This fucker.... Wow... I saw no indication of how huge his fucking balls had to be because the front of his tight jeans were completely flat. He'd bet money he didn't even have. Wow... Maybe Bootlicker could take lessons from this fuckwad.
I squeezed Weeble's shoulder, and leaned in. "Take it all, brother. Let's make the boys some money. If you feel good about it, slack off and make it seem like you're just getting lucky. Let's milk these assholes for every dollar they got paid working at the hog farm."
Weeble grinned. "I can do it." He said.
I took out the whole sixty bucks I'd gotten for the night from my wallet and handed it to Potter. I only expected to actually spend maybe $20, but I wanted to have enough to cover someone else if they needed it. "Get their $60, bud."
Potter went over to the Klan and held out his hand. "Fuck you! We ain't lettin' one of your buddies hold the money." Grand Dragon spat.
I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "My buddy's a Marine. Are you saying that Marine doesn't have honor?" Well that hit a nerve, but let's be honest here, Potter may not be Sleeper's size, but he was still jacked and there was no mistaking he could kick some serious ass. The Grand Dragon had at least half a brain because he handed his sixty to Potter. And of course Potter did the honorable thing and stood off to the side visibly holding the game purse so that no one had any cause to start an argument.
"Victor, it's your table, go ahead and break." I said, nodding to Weeble. "Bar rules, no slop, call your shot and contact with the opponent's ball first loses your turn. Clean shot on the 8 ball to win." I announced. "Multiple balls sunk on the break is breaker's choice. Scratch is cue ball behind the line." Standard shit, but I wasn't going to let them have any room to cheat. I already knew they would if given half a chance.
"That's right. Break em midget." Grand Dragon sneered. It was going to take everything I had not to force his teeth down his worthless throat with my fist. I signaled to Cellblock to come stand beside me. There was a certain amount of smack talking expected, but country cousin-fucker over there was way over the line. Trust Weeble.' I told myself and took a deep breath. I automatically fell into Major Collins' lesson and the calm descended. I reached out and grabbed Cellblock's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He looked at me and I gave him a smile. "Weeble's going to get you some payback, brother. Just watch."
And it was a work of art. Weeble could have taken the win without ever letting the lanky redhead have a shot, but he played it sly and sneaky. He missed shots I knew he could make and somehow left the redhead with no clear shot. Weeble attempted to sink his 2 ball and instead nudged Redhead's 9 ball right in front of the pocket. And Redhead was a bull in a china shop on the felt, slamming the cue ball and sending it spinning around the table into other balls even when he made his shot. There was no finesse, no strategy, no positioning like Weeble orchestrated. Redhead was the sort that believe power demonstrated skill so he hit the cue ball hard, every time. Unless you'd seen Weeble's hour long run before the Klan showed up it absolutely looked like he was outmatched. The best part of it was how frustrated Redhead got when Weeble never left him a clear shot to any of his balls, even though Weeble refused to sink any of his own. I had a hard time not laughing at how Weeble was making it seem like he was the absolute worst player ever to play while at the same time frustrating Redhead so much he couldn't stop whining.
Finally, it was down to Redhead having a half table rail shot on the 11 ball, while Weeble still had his 5, 1 and 6 ball scattered over the table. At a casual glance, it looked like Weeble was going to lose. Except there was no shot on the 8 without it contacting Weeble's 1 ball by the corner pocket. Even if Redhead made his 11, which I seriously doubted he had the skill to both sink a rail shot AND line up for the 8, he was never going to be able to get past Weeble's 1. Of course Redhead missed his rail shot on the 11, but he did position it near the corner pocket for his next shot.
It was a thing of beauty how Weeble ran the game without making it look like he knew what he was doing all along. I leaned into Cellblock. "You're going to want to get the guys. Weeble is going to empty these fucker's pockets, and I want them to see it." Cellblock grinned and darted off into the depths of the bar. I crossed my arms and put my best Sarge's scowl on my face as Weeble lined up for his shot on the 1, his last ball.
He struck the cue ball so gently I felt my stomach clench. There was no way it was going to hit with enough force to roll the 1 into the pocket.
"Hah! The little midget don't have the strength. He's all tired out." Grand Dragon laughed.
But damned if that cue ball didn't kiss the 1 just enough to ease it behind the 8 ball and move it towards the pocket.
"It hit the 8! I saw it hit the 8!" Grand Dragon was already celebrating. If the 1 ball fell, Weeble would lose his turn based on slop and Redhead would have a clean shot on the 8 for the win.
Of course the 1 never touched the 8. But that wasn't going to matter. Grand Dragon was going to cheat so he didn't lose his $60. I watched the 1 ball trickle towards the pocket.
And it stopped, blocking the 8.
I had a whole new appreciation for Weeble in that moment. He knew. He knew there would be bullshit. He never wanted that 1 ball to fall. And the cue ball barely moved off the rail. Weeble set it all up. I watched him turn to me and smile that fucking bright happy smile of his. This was the Weeble I wanted to see all the time.
The brothers were filtering in to stand watching around the periphery as Redhead tried to line up on the 11 but the cue ball was too close to the rail to get a clean hit. He totally scuffed it but somehow managed to send the cue ball in the general direction of the 11 ball which was all it took because it was just a couple inches from the pocket. Redhead was no true pool player, or he would have missed so that Weeble was left with an impossible shot. Instead, Redhead was going to lose the game without Weeble having to do a thing.
After the 8 ball fell Potter handed the $120 to Weeble with a smile. The guys were all congratulating Weeble and he looked like he won the lottery.
"You're not done, midget." Grand Dragon shouted. "You got real lucky, but you gotta play me now. Double or nothin."
I stepped forward. "We just came out to have some fun tonight. I think we're done playing pool. Table's yours." I said.
"You can leave. But the midget is going to play me."
I looked around dramatically. "Play all the midgets you want, Sparky. I don't see any here, but knock yourself out in that fantasy world you got going on." I turned around to walk back to the guys and something told me he wasn't going to let me go. I trusted the feeling I had and half turned to see his hand extended to either grab me or push me. It didn't matter which.
"If you still want to finger fuck your sister later with that hand you need to get it the fuck away from me, dickhead." I growled. Okay, so that was probably the wrong way to de-escalate this, but c'mon... I was working with a fucking cave-man here. What else was going to get through his Neanderthal skull? If there's one kind of guy I knew all about, it was this small town fucking cow turd has-been high school hero. It would be my distinct pleasure to dismantle this racist piece of ignorant shit one vital organ at a time until he cried blood.
"Let's step outside and say that again, asshole." Grand Dragon blustered.
I blinked. Points for stupidity and an utter lack of awareness. Double points. "I'm not going to have a bar fight with you." I resumed walking away.
Well fuck. This wasn't how I wanted this night to turn out. But I'd had about enough of these cockweasels. This wasn't going to be easy. I took a deep breath, found that calm center and turned around to give him an apologetic grin.
"Sorry about the sister thing. Look, no one in my group wants to play pool with you. And I don't want to fight you. Let's just pretend this never happened and get on with our night." I offered.
"What about my money?" He shot back.
"Victor won it. It was your idea to bet money in the first place." It wasn't looking like he was going to let this go.
"One game. Same stakes." He was really pushing it.
"Do you even have $60? You had to borrow from your friends the last time." He looked at his buddies who didn't look happy.
"I tell you what, if you win, you get your $60 back. If Victor wins, you walk away, enjoy your night and we can all just call this a learning experience." I offered.
"Fine." Grand Dragon grumbled. I didn't know why he was grumbling, it was a pretty sweet deal for him. But, I told myself, Neanderthals can't math too good so I couldn't expect higher brain functions like realizing when someone was giving him a gift.
"Great! Your rack." I fake-smiled the words in his direction.
There's no need to describe what happened. Weeble broke, then ran the table. Grand Dragon never got to use his cue stick. He was angry and in shock. There was absolutely no luck in what Weeble did.
"Have a great night." I said, putting my arm around Weeble and leading him to the other part of the bar where the dance floor was. The rest of the guys followed us. "Wow Victor, where did you learn to play like that?"
"I bought a book. And there was this place all the kids used to hang out called Mr. Z's Gameroom in a strip mall. They had eight pool tables and it wasn't expensive to rent one for a couple hours. They had all the best arcade games too, Ms. Pac-Man, Galaga, Street Fighter, Golden Axe, like every one of the best. I'd just get a table and since I was alone different guys would ask if they could play me. I can't play too good on a regulation table, it's too big for me. But bar tables are easy. Here's your money back."
I took my $60 back from him. "No shit, you really know how to work the ball, Victor."
He laughed. He really was a naturally happy dude. "I didn't even do half the tricks I know." He grinned.
I wasn't really a dancing kind of guy, so I just stood off to the side watching the Bravos have fun. I should have known the Klan wasn't going to let things go.
I was sipping the drink Potter had brought me keeping tabs on all the Bravos and whether they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Sleeper was doing his best trying to teach Zeus how to move on the dance floor but it wasn't going well. They had a couple girls with them who were trying really hard to bark up the wrong tree. Even so, I could tell both of my friends were enjoying the attention. Sleeper knew what they were after, but it was so obvious that Zeus didn't have a clue.
Cellblock was sweet-talking some pretty thing at the bar, Troll was on the dance floor surprising everyone with his fancy feet...hell I never would have thought he was a good dancer but my man could move. Overall, half the guys were working their novelty to the local girls and the other half were as awkward as I expected. On my third scan, I realized I wasn't tracking Weeble because he was lost in the tall crowd, it was because he just wasn't anywhere. I made a circuit of the large dance floor, then went through the door to the lounge area, and finally the game area near the front door. No Weeble. I got a cold feeling when I also didn't see the Klan anywhere. Bathroom.
I went to the corner in the lounge area where the bathrooms were. It was still only 2245 so the place wasn't super packed yet and there wasn't a line at the bathroom. I pushed open the door and saw the Grand Dragon had Weeble cornered by the long trough urinal. Victor looked terrified and I wondered why. Country Cousin-Fucker might be a big boy, but he was a dumb piece of shit and Weeble could handle him with no problems.
"Victor, quit fucking around and kick this inbred fucker's ass." I said, crossing my arms by the door.
"I can't Andrew. They might kick me out." He seemed completely defeated. "I'll just give him his money back like he wants."
"Stay out of this or I'll kick your ass too." Grand Dragon snarled.
I sighed and ignored his ridiculous empty threat. "Weeble, the Army won't kick you out and you won't leave the Bravos for fighting. We aren't on post, and this isn't another soldier. None of this is a military matter. Stand up for yourself and show this piece of shit why we're the best."
"Give me my money midget!"
"You have to do it, bud." I told Victor. I kind of wondered where the Grand Dragon's Klan were, he didn't seem the type to do anything without his friends. I moved my foot to wedge the door. This shouldn't take long. "Put him down Weeble."
Grand Dragon was no trained fighter. If he had any sense he'd use his longer reach to stay outside of Weeble's striking range. Instead, like all idiots who were over confident in their ability he used his size for intimidation. In a real fight, intimidation was an amateur dependence that only left you open for an attack. It wasn't lost on me that Grand Dragon hadn't even begun smacking Victor around. Bullies were always reluctant to have a true fight.
"Assmunch... I don't--". I didn't let him finish.
"Fuck him up, Weeble, NOW!"
There's something to be said for training. A direct command takes a short cut past the decision making processes and action follows automatically when you're trained for it.
Now Grand Dragon was somewhere around six feet tall which put him a head taller than Weeble. That meant nothing. The sad part of all of it was how casually Weeble moved, grabbing Grand Dragon's right wrist and smoothly stepping under his arm (size difference advantage superior move) twisting it with an almost gentle force until Grand Dragon was bent over and attempting to turn. Then Weeble kicked the country boy's left knee from the side and just like that he collapsed where his chin hit the lip of the trough urinal and he crumpled to the piss splattered floor.
Three seconds, tops. Weeble released his opponent's wrist.
"Victor, you can't ever be afraid to fight." I told him. "Don't ever take shit from anyone. You're always going to have people underestimating you and treating you like you aren't their equal. Well you aren't their equal, you're better. And with most guys, it's only going to take one time of you proving that for them to give you the respect you deserve. None of us go looking for a fight, but if one comes to us it's sometimes going to be unavoidable. You deal with it. Figure out the consequences later. Now let's get out of here. I figure you earned a drink."
"Are we just going to leave him there?" Weeble asked as he walked over to me.
"Yep. His friends will find him. Other people will just think he passed out drunk. And trust me, he's not going to tell anyone that you kicked his ass without any kind of fight. He'll make up some excuse. Who knows, maybe he'll get lucky and wake up before anyone sees him laying in piss."
We left the bathroom. I checked my watch. 2249.
Guess it was time to round up the guys. I didn't want to wait for the last bus... it was going to be full.
Everyone except Potter, Battles and Lenger reluctantly came along. The Marines and Corpsman were going to stay out, drink, and catch a cab back to base. It looked like they had some chicks interested. Potter probably had a sure thing the way the woman was snuggled under his thick arm. Battles was going to have to wingman it for the chick's friend but she didn't look disappointed in second choice even if she wasn't getting as cozy with him. Her body language was still hesitant but her facial expressions demonstrated interest. Frequent smiles, eye contact, that pretense of bashfulness. Yeah, all Battles had to do was make a move. Maybe they would be catching that cab back in the morning.
I sat with Weeble on the bus back to Benning.
"You had the most interesting night of all of us, bud." I told him, laughing. "Hey guys, guess what Weeble did?" I announced to the brothers.
"Besides kicking our ass in pool? Dude, you're something else!" Troll called out. Weeble smiled big.
"He KO'd that asshole in the bathroom when he tried to make Weeble give him back the money he'd won." I told them.
"No shit? Fuck yeah, that's what he gets for messing with a brother!" Bootlicker cheered.
I held my hands up with a single finger. "Put him to sleep in two moves."
Sleeper got up and clapped a hand on Weeble's shoulder with a big handsome grin. "That's my man!" He congratulated.
"Damn bro, you kicked ass all over the place tonight you fucking badass." Chunk called from the back. "WEEBLE ROCKS!"
The rest of the guys all chimed in with various congratulatory shouts.
"Get up and acknowledge your fans, bro!" I slapped him on the back.
Weeble stood up on the seat and took a sheepish bow with what I can only describe as a surprised smile of pure happiness. When he sat back down I said "See? Don't ever doubt yourself again. You belong with this group of idiots." I politely ignored the tears that started to form in his grateful eyes.