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NIGHT JUMP
Last jump before Airborne graduation
ASSMUNCH
I slept good, like the dead. I was never one of those guys who couldn't climb out of bed in the morning, hitting the snooze button time after time. Hell, I didn't even use an alarm clock to wake up. I just told my trusty brain what time I wanted to wake up and `click'.... Eyes snapped open exactly one minute before said time. I mean, I used to use an alarm clock back in high school, but gradually over those four years I noticed even though I set my alarm I'd wake up a minute before it went off, until I started forgetting to set it at all. I still used a clock though, so when I woke up I knew what time it was, but not here at Airborne.
As usual, I was the first one awake and I scanned the bay to do a situational assessment. It was habit by now. Who was here, what was their status, environmental conditions, looking for anything unusual or out of the ordinary. First thing you do waking up on Patrol or in the field. Just because you wake to silence doesn't mean nothing is happening or there is no danger. Your brain will wake you up if a twig snaps, but won't tell you it's a twig snapping, so you scan. ASA, or Advanced Situational Awareness is drilled into you from Basic. You are expected to be on your toes every waking moment, and sometimes your sleeping moments too. If an officer enters your perimeter, even behind your back, you better realize he's there unless your task requires your complete attention. And for the jackasses out there that think its ridiculous to expect someone to see an officer approach behind their back, you CAN see the behavior of the troops around you. That's what situational awareness is. It takes maybe a week in Basic, and an untold number of moppings, pushups, garbage details, runs, burpees and you snapped to attention when you saw even a single one of your fellow soldiers do it. If your Sarge REALLY liked you, you'd get to stand guard at the door to Command, all alone, and maintain discipline for hours and salute every time an officer walked by. Everyone who saw you knew what you'd done to deserve that duty and most wore a smirk the first time they passed. From Junior Officers, you got a couple of return salutes, but that was all. From Senior Officers you were lucky if you were acknowledged. After all, when you were Senior, you received a LOT of salutes because just about everyone was saluting you.
At that early stage as a new recruit or one striper, some shouts of attention were false alarms, some were pranks, but you did it. You know the best thing to do to someone dozing off in the field or during one of the innumerable waits we endured? Someone shouted attention' or officer!' and then you watched them jerk awake in a panic and stand to attention without knowing what was happening. The look of confusion on their face is always priceless. But, you learned situational awareness at the basic level. Being aware and assessing were two different things. So later you learned situation assessment and conditions of your environment. Hours of class and field time were spent drilling it all into your stupid little grunt head by overly irritated and impatient Sergeants. I sure hope you didn't think being Infantry was all about pointing a gun and pulling a trigger. Well, your mom doesn't drop you off at the battlefield with a Have a good day, Sweetheart. Shoot lots of enemies. I packed you some Doritos in your lunch today!'. You gotta get there on your own, and that takes skills and ingrained habits to get there alive. Plus, in Modern Warfare we were taught most wars now don't have fronts' like in WWI or WWII. The Iraq War was chaotic, we had multiple objectives and missions running continuously all over the country. The push for Baghdad, the crown jewel of Desert Storm, that was the closest we've had to a battlefront'. You just didn't fight head to head in a big line anymore like in the old days. In Modern Urban Warfare, Small Unit Tactics were more useful rather than giant pushes with an entire Brigade or Regiment or even a joint operation. Of course, we were told Iraq was unusual in that regard. Its formal military could be easily distinguished from civilians. It's a fucking desert, you could recon miles ahead of your position with simple binoculars if it was flat, plus we had so many modern technologies to help that weren't as useful in the past. Satellites had gotten so much better, so you didn't have to have a team of analysts working days to decipher a grainy unfocused image, FieldOps Intel had clear images of troops, numbers, equipment, positions every single hour. We had control of the skies (well, not Army, that was the Air Force's job) with our recon planes and F-15's, and 50 other aircraft like Weeble's AH-64 Apache Helicopter. They did the bombing first, then we had strategic missile strikes, both from our Artillery and the Air Force, then if necessary our heavy ground took out their heavy ground. If there were strategic targets, like power plants, water facilities, airfields, etc. the Rangers went in. If there were SPECIALSPECIAL targets, The Activity went in, comprised of Special Forces. The reason Iraq was so different was that we were immensely prepared, Desert Shield and Desert Storm were intended to overwhelm the enemy, and the Iraqi's were big fuckin' pussies. Well, compared to us, anyway. They sure kicked Kuwait's ass in no time flat, just rolled in and said thanks, nice place you used to have. Love the oil wells, and what's this? Sea ports? Yes, thank you.' But Kuwait had like four planes, 200 guns, and about 75 guys dressed up like soldiers. Sorry, that's unfair... the accurate assessment is that Kuwait is not a big country, had no need to maintain a large military, and Iraq was led by a military regime and was about ten times the size of Kuwait. Kuwait was going to get stomped regardless. But America loves an underdog. And sweeten the deal with oil and BAM! Rammed through a U.N. Resolution, got the Navy on the move, started mobilization while the Pentagon dug through some dusty filing cabinet for their Iraq Scenario. Yeah, the Pentagon has a room full of `Scenarios' of how they'd conduct a war in each and every arena, each and every country. For unlikely scenarios, like fighting England or Canada, the files are small and general. For imminent scenarios, like the Soviet Union, China, Libya and Iran we had detailed files. But Iraq was our erstwhile ally in the region we used as a check against Iran, hell we damn near funded and supplied their entire military in the 80's, we put and kept Saddam Hussein in power for fuck's sake. How embarrassing, right? Nah, just kidding. America doesn't get embarrassed. We considered it a job well done. After all, if you were the one that built that army, you knew all its capabilities and numbers. Saddam Hussein didn't realize who he was fucking with. We shoulda killed that fucker, but no one asked Private Harris for his input. I'm sure it was just an oversight on the Pentagon's part, they'll be sure to ask me next time. Probably wouldn't be a next time with Iraq though, Saddam Hussein was sufficiently servile and cowed now, back to being our lapdog.
Sorry about squirreling off like that. The thing is, you reach a point in your stint in the military where this shit goes through your brain nearly all the time. In spite of being dumb grunts, we were expected to know our shit. And it's not like school where your subjects are cleanly separated. Your Algebra teacher isn't going to say `just like the war of 1812...'. But as young Privates our training always bled into multiple other subjects and areas. It was all mashed together in our heads, so if someone brought up attack solutions for an embedded regiment in an urban setting, you just had all sorts of facts and knowledge flying around your head. That was one of the difficulties in blending with civilians. You learned to just keep your mouth shut and avoid getting pulled into discussions that involved anything except the most surface military stuff. Only other military found that shit interesting or worth talking about. Besides, adjusting your language to avoid lingo and slang we used all the time was difficult and frustrating.
So, as I was stepping out of my bunk I saw Zeus wake up and immediately glance over at Sleeper just like he always did. I sighed. Zeus' feelings hadn't changed. God, I wish I could give a glimpse of what I'd gone through for two years so Zeus would just man up and accept that he was fooling himself that he could control this. Still, I knew this situation was completely different than Kevin and I. I didn't have Kevin right in front of me day after day. Failing to control myself didn't have life-altering consequences if the temptation proved to be too much. Sleeper and Zeus having ANY kind of sexual relationship put them in danger of being booted at best, and time in Leavenworth at worst.
The thing is, a big part of me wanted them to have a relationship for entirely selfish reasons. I wouldn't be alone. I wouldn't be the only guy who knew what it meant to have a secret relationship. I mean, yeah, I was happy for Zeus and my best friend. They were perfect for each other, neither tolerated bullshit or slacking off in any way, they understood each other's rigid discipline, seriousness, masculinity came naturally to both of them. It also didn't escape my notice that Zeus had begun copying many of Sleeper's mannerisms, his swagger, expressions like the twisted pressed together lips and one eyebrow scowl when tackling a serious task. Zeus needed Sleeper's example, and I could think of no better man to teach Zeus how to actually BE a man, than my best friend. Addison was the kind of man's man who had internalized all the habits and mannerisms that make us men. Men get shit done. Men don't back down from a challenge. Men solve problems. Men are tough, don't complain, succeed, and men power through hardship. All of that described Sleeper, plus he was kind, generous, supportive, knew his limits and never complained.
So, although I had previously decided not to interfere, I changed my mind because every time I had to watch THAT happen, that look, I thought of Kevin and what I'd done to him. And eventually the Brotherhood was going to catch on. Now, they wouldn't be assholes about it, but they WOULD try to fix it, and that would fuck it up even more.
But this morning, this dark, cold Army morning, I had a plane to jump out of, and so did they.
"Bravos" I said into our side of the bay, my voice not loud, just enough to carry.
One by one, the Brothers came awake. Those who wanted or needed a shower went immediately, the others went to take their morning piss and brush their teeth, maybe try to force out a morning shit so you didn't have a gopher head poking out while you waited for your jump. Asking a black hat to de-rig for a latrine visit wasn't always a possibility. You held it, or you held it, those were your two options.
As usual, the Bravos and our two Marines and Navy Corpsman were first outside to fall in. The ten remaining randoms joined us just before Sgt. Airborne arrived. I liked our Sgt. Airborne. This week our routine had changed, as we didn't visit the dining hall until evening chow and it was MREs for breakfast and lunch during one of our Hurry Up and Waits. We also didn't have morning PT. For Jump Week, we fell in just outside our barracks, then were marched to Eubanks Field where the entire Company gathered before our double time to the parachute shed. We were Alpha Company, Class 2-93. Each of the four Companies had a staggered three week rotation through BAC. After we graduated, the soldiers in Alpha Company Class 3-93 would start their Ground week. Alpha Company consisted of every soldier in the same training schedule we were in, which consisted of almost 300. The riggers were all 507th Airborne, on their own training path, and they'd all already gone through the BAC previously. The BAC cycled through over 14,000 soldiers every year.
Damn, it was cold! I silently urged the draggers to fall in quickly so we could start running. Every second we stood still the cold seeped deeper into the layers of my uniform.
An hour an a half later we were formed up on the tarmac at Lawson Airfield getting our last inspection by the black hats before walking onto our bird. At 0430 the sound of the engines seemed more loud than usual. Our last jump. Well, the last one here at BAC. I hoped I would have more mission related jumps in the future, but this one would stay in my head for years to come as one of those life moments you knew was when it all changed. Whatever happened next, I wanted to remember this moment, these men around me, this feeling.
The Bravos all seemed to feel it too, I saw reflection in their faces, determination, confidence, and a heightened sense of accomplishment. All those months ago when we first met and became the Bravos I would never have guessed we'd end up here, together. Over the last eight months we'd grown together as a unit, leaned on each other, learned to live as brothers, and shared every moment of our lives. I'd seen so many of them grow into proud men, serious men, dedicated and bonded in purpose. We had an iron determination as individuals, a one-for-all brotherhood tempered by the shared ordeal of the last eight months and I wouldn't trade a single Brother for anyone else. I don't know if the personalities and skills of each Bravo was chosen specifically to create this amazing group of men, but I was fucking PROUD to be one of them, honored to be their leader and I knew, just felt it all the way to my soul, that what we had was something rare and precious and worth protecting through any hell we'd endure. When that feeling hit me, what I'd done to Weeble's rapists coalesced into a duty that was no longer distasteful, it was the price those two HAD to pay when they'd so casually treated one of my Brothers with brutality. The event became black and white for me, no longer gray. I found a certainty. I no longer had the doubt that had been plaguing me over whether I did enough during the episode to satisfy righteous justice. The goal was accomplished, the details of how it was achieved were insignificant. And now I understood how Potter and Battles reconciled being killers. I understood now Gutter's admonition that your kill had to be cold - it was because how you felt about it was irrelevant and questioning the details would destabilize your ability to act in the future. I wasn't damaged by the act, wasn't lessened in any moral way and ultimately I was better for having done it. These were MY men, and every single one deserved my unwavering devotion. As greater purposes go, this one existed on my shoulders not as a burden, but as a welcome duty which I felt made me a better man, a better soldier, and a better leader.
The interior lights of our bird flooded out the rear of the aircraft in front of us. Bravo Company and Charlie Company stood behind their own aircraft, and soon we were given the command to board.
We were a well oiled machine by this point, sure and focused in our movements, filled with the thrill of expectation. Fear and nervousness were nowhere to be found - we wanted this. I don't even think it was about getting our wings anymore. Funny how that worked. A badge, a tab, a ribbon on your rack, a shiny trinket and award wasn't the goal. It was about capability, it was about opening doors and having a skill that made future missions possible. We were burrowing ever deeper into a smaller and smaller subset of specialized military men. For many soldiers enlistment was just a job, an opportunity to learn a trade, something to do after high school, a way to tread water in society until they figured out what they ACTUALLY wanted to do with their lives. But not for me. For me, this was the most important and exciting thing I could do.
Our flight to the drop zone didn't take long and before I knew it we were given the shouted command to stand, hard to hear over the roar that filled the bay of the cavernous aircraft. We clipped in upon command and heard the doors open when the Jumpmaster readied the exit door and conducted his pre-jump check, leaning almost completely out the door to look left and right (I have no idea what he was looking for), kicking the exit ramp left and right to ensure it was locked in, giving hand signals to the other Jumpmaster's and speaking to the flight crew through his helmet mic. The lights in the cargo bay of our C-17 had been switched over to red light rather than white light. Why? Well, glad you asked. I've got a couple minutes to burn waiting for the Jumpmaster's move command.
Red light doesn't fuck with your eyes as much, and you can adjust faster to darkness. We were jumping into the dark. You don't get that blindness going from light to dark. Also, red light doesn't travel as far, so if we were flying over enemy territory there's less chance the open door of the aircraft would be spotted. Even our flashlights had an easily inserted red lens we could switch to for night operations, to decrease our light profile. We didn't need Bootlicker to tell us that, it was one of the first things we learned in Basic as Infantry. But even so, you're lucky. I didn't go into Bootlicker's fucking brain book about the light spectrum, rods and cones in your eyeballs, and ... something something atmospheric interference because of the chemical composition of Earth's air, reaction of your pupils, what red MEANS in different situations (stop, go, friendly, etc. etc. etc. there's a list, fuck if I remember them all because they're different depending on where you are, what you're doing and who's flashing. I remembered ours, and knew anything different would be included in our mission briefing). You're welcome. I don't think Bootlicker saw us as idiots when he blathered out his brain books on us, although I suspected that was part of it. I think it was more that he liked proving that he was just smarter. I didn't care. We all knew he was smarter than us and having him as a resource that never tired of filling us in made us feel lucky to have him. You know how some smart people talk down to you? Bootlicker didn't do that. He made it seem friendly, like he was happy to help you out. It did get on some of the Brothers' nerves at first, but it didn't take long to learn that you didn't ask Bootlicker why unless you wanted a five minute brain book.
My stick would be first out the door which should account for the first pass over the drop zone. Then the C-17 would circle back around and the next stick would jump. Repeat until all students had jumped. We hadn't had any malfunctions yet in any of our jumps, although a couple of the Bravos were dragged over the drop zone when a gust of wind caught their T-10 after they grounded. They couldn't unclip fast enough and had a nice little ride along the grass and dirt of Fryer Field drop zone. Hopefully, we wouldn't have a repeat of that this morning.
I was sixth man back, waiting for the Jumpmaster's go, smelling the heady scent of Chunk's ACH a foot and a half in front of me - or maybe it was my own. You never could get the smell of sweat out of your ACH, but we were all used to it. In less than a minute I saw the now familiar positioning of the Jumpmasters that signaled we would be jumping momentarily and I wasn't disappointed as I watched Dumbo step through the door and our stick began to move.
One-two-three-four-five GO....whoosh...
Two-three-four....look up...canopy filled beautifully as my hands grasped my risers, then down to the darkness. We only had a few signal lights on the ground to navigate by, and I imagined the image of Fryar Drop Zone in my head to orient me. Depth perception is difficult in the dark, but I had a count going in my head for my descent knowing I had to drop my gear at 50 seconds and prepare to hit the ground. I could see the rest of my stick spread around me and was in no danger of mid-air collision so I focused on the ground and second by second I was relieved as more features resolved until I could anticipate my landing.
I learned my lesson after my first landing and rolled perfectly before ending up on my back and reaching up to unclip. The black hats still screamed to get up and retrieve because speed was even more important in the dark when clearing the landing zone to avoid someone coming down on top of you. It wasn't until I was gathering my canopy that I was hit by how anticlimactic this jump turned out to be. My final jump completed and nothing. Well, maybe relief but that was it. I shouldered my ruck and carried my balled up parachute under my arm to the assembly area where my brothers were also gathering. It felt like just another jump, as if I'd done this a hundred times and was used to the routine. I suppose that's what training was intended to do, but I felt let down. Once at the assembly area we had to push our parachutes into our sack. We had hours to wait now until the other Companies completed their jumps. And then we'd have to do our canopy inspection and proper roll up before turning them over to the riggers.
The sun was just starting to light the sky at 0750 when we fell in to get on the busses back from Fryar field. Graduation from Airborne was one of the many ceremonies we grunts endured during our enlistment. I wasn't complaining, it's just that graduations and awards ceremonies were longer than we'd like, even if I understood the reason for the protracted ceremonies. Welcome speeches, a prayer by the chaplain, sometimes the national anthem and presentation of the colors, an honor guard, special recognitions, a parade with formations and marching. You know what, fuck what I just said. Every ceremony, regardless of what it was for, instilled a sense of pride. Hell, your Commander probably went through this ten times a year at least, and he put effort into making sure it was an experience that gave the lowliest grunts the feeling that it was all for THEM. He didn't mention the fuck ups, the administrative nightmares, the headaches our stupidity caused him, (and Army Privates caused untold amounts of headaches). And he managed to impart a heartfelt `good work/part of the team' feeling. Yeah, sometimes it was an act, but hearing the words still made you feel like you made a fucking difference and accomplished something special. And occasionally, just maybe, your Sergeant would forget himself and smile at you with pride.
I was hit with eye-widening surprise when we double timed up to Eubanks Field and saw the row of tents behind the berm we'd zip lined into during the third day of ground week, which felt like a year ago. The tents were filled with civilians and a few military sprinkled in. I knew better than to look for Mom and Tim, they wouldn't have been able to make the trip. I just spoke to her last Sunday and all she'd said was that she was proud of me and good luck. I'd call her tonight and tell her I got my Wings. I wondered if any of the brothers had invited their family and if I'd get to meet them.
I had a heightened sense of pride during this ceremony, in front of spectators. Before we'd been marched to the presentation area, we were handed a set of wings by our Sergeant Airborne, and he admonished us to wait until called upon to affix our wings during the ceremony. We were called to attention for the Star Spangled Banner, all troops at Salute, followed by the invocation of the Chaplain. Col. Ulrich gave a short speech about the history of Airborne Brigade and the honor and duty we carried in battle. Then came special recognition for outstanding Airborne, NCO, Officer, and Black Hat. They were pinned and/or presented their award individually. Then, those with veteran family members were called forward, apparently they had been informed before hand, and they had their Wings pinned before running back into formation.
And then, the rest of us were waiting for the command. We'd have to pin ourselves, but it still felt like I couldn't wait. I was surprised again when the announcement came for family to find their troop to give them their pinning. I waited just a moment to see who of the Brothers would have family come to do the honor before manipulating my wings in my clasped fist to start to put mine on.
"Private Harris!" I heard from in front. Who was that? I stopped mid-motion.
Three people resolved from the crowd in front of me. There was Mom and Tim. And just behind them... I couldn't hold it in, dammit. I barely stopped after a couple tears fell. They hadn't told me. Kevin. Fucking Kevin, my whole heart just about burst seeing him walking towards me with a huge smile, those beautiful soft grey flannel eyes locked onto mine, his step so eager and yet holding back. I've never wanted to succumb to his kiss more than that electric moment, to crush him in my arms and feel his thick meaty body pressed to mine. Everything disappeared, and there was only him. He wasn't even close to me yet, but I could smell his comforting scent of fresh earth and elemental masculinity. My soul leapt to bury itself in its favorite burrow. My fucking dick sprung to a compass pointing to its magnetic imperative and thank God it was hidden by my thick BDU's and the front of my blouse. How the fuck could I be apart from this? It took all I had not to wrestle him into a hug I would regret but not give a fuck about collateral damage.
I had to look away from his eyes.
"Mom? Tim? But...". I said...
"We wouldn't miss this, sweetheart."
"Private Harris, can we have the honor?" Kevin said, his voice going right through me. My teeth were grinding together with the effort it was taking not to cry.
"It would be my honor." I replied, holding my hand out, the hand that held my Wings.
I saw Tim reach out, and then Mom grasped his wrist, pulling it back. Then she looked at Kevin and nodded. Tim smiled.
Kevin looked shocked. Mom nodded again with a smile. Kevin's soft grey eyes turned into liquid puddles of silver, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together. Fuck, now we were both trying not to cry like babies. I straightened up, coming to attention, and gave my man, my beautiful man, a nod, holding my own emotions in even though it was probably the hardest thing I'd ever done.
I showed him where to pin the Wings, and except for a brief moment to make sure he had the right spot, his eyes never left mine. He looked down on me from just an inch higher, and the size of him, the sheer width of this beautiful beefy slab of gentle, thoughtful, intellectual force of nature created an isolated world inhabited by only our combined souls. I don't know if you've ever met a person who commanded your entire focus, the entirety of your existence when they stood close to you, but Kevin pulled me in now just by standing a foot away. I'd heard the word surrender, but it was always a word that described an unwilling act, a difficult decision to relinquish control, even slaving yourself to another by refusing to fight. So what was it called when you wanted it? When you knew you were stronger if you submitted? When your only happiness came from giving yourself to them? When THAT was the pinnacle of your existence, to be a part of them? I didn't care to wonder how he commanded that control over me, I only knew I needed it. Somewhere in between his love for me and the moment he'd gifted me with his sublime Kiss I lost the need to be only myself. He'd grown into a man I felt contained everything that fit the empty crevasses of my imperfection, making me whole and complete when he inhabited the space before me. I'd cared for him in high school, loved him, felt his quiet strength as something worthy of support, friendship, love. But I never dreamed he'd become that very thing for me in return. I was the strong one, the confident one, the leader that protected him and gave to him. And now I felt turned upside down and backwards, but it made me happier than I'd ever been.
I have no words to describe why this moment was so important, why having them all here to share it with me, to participate, was shaking me to my very core, but I felt they understood because they wanted to be included in it with me. With me. WITH me. As if they knew how this moment would define my character more than anything I'd ever done as a foundation of strength and commitment that demonstrated my dedication as a soldier. The tempest of my emotions quieted to an empty calm shining with an almost arrogant righteous power. Gazing into Kevin's suddenly fierce grey eyes I saw he felt it too. We shared this. My success was his, and the more capable I was the stronger he felt too. FUCK! No one, not a single person, met me on every level like he did. I became hard, and tough, and resolute as I journeyed from recruit to Airborne graduate. He did the same, on his own without me over the two years I'd kept us apart. I became a man worthy of respect, someone people would follow because I shared strength, instilled confidence, and nurtured everything that made them unique. And here was Kevin, who was that man for me, as if he knew I could only follow someone equal to me. He'd chosen me long ago, and just by being Kevin he presented me with no other choice than to choose him as well. Unleashed.
The world had stopped, once again, because of Kevin. I'd forgotten everything around me for him. All for him.
I breathed. A long, deep grateful breath as I felt the rightness of the world settle around me. I smiled, really big. "Just you all being here makes this the best moment of my life." I said.
"Congratulations, sweetheart. Your father would be so proud." Mom said, the tears falling.
Kevin, perfect Kevin, took a folded handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. He smirked. "I thought I'd need it for myself." He said.
Mom laughed through tears. "Thank you Kevin." She said.
"That was your job, bro." I said to Tim with a wink. I was joking, but I knew he was taking notes. Tim didn't miss much, and he was still young. He'd understand in a couple years how Mom was the one who held us all together, even back when Dad was alive. And as her sons, we had to step up. Sure, she was capable of doing it all on her own, but she shouldn't have to, not when she had two strong grown men to take some of the weight off. And my little brother had no excuse not to step up. He wasn't a child anymore.
They had to retreat back to the spectator area as we were called to fall in even though we hadn't left ranks. That was just the way to re-establish discipline that had been relaxed for our families to interact. They concluded the ceremony congratulating us as Airborne qualified and released us to our Sergeants Airborne.
Our Sergeant Airborne said we were permitted to take our visitors on a quick tour of our Barracks, but that we had to conduct Barracks duty before we'd be released from the Basic Airborne Class, at which time we were able to spend the rest of our day with them as soon as we'd cleared our Barracks and our Sergeant Airborne signed off. I didn't care if the Bravos had to do it all ourselves, we were getting that shit done as fast as possible.
I suddenly realized that I hadn't even noticed who had family come to see them graduate or pin their wings. Fuck. I knew it was unlikely Zeus's family would come, but what about Sleeper's? And Weeble? I knew Weeble's folks weren't that far away, somewhere in Alabama, and they couldn't be more than a few hours away tops.
As it turns out, none of their families had come. Sleeper looked relieved, Zeus and Weeble just looked like they hadn't expected anything else. I waved them over to meet my people.
KEVIN
I was shocked and surprised when Mrs. Harris called me on Monday (Hell, I didn't even know she knew how to get ahold of me) to ask if I wanted to go to Tom's Airborne graduation. I told her that yes, I wanted to go, but I didn't have any way to get there. My scholarship didn't include extra money, which is why I worked in the Engineering Lab on the weekends. Books, tuition, housing, and dining hall were paid for by the scholarship, nothing else. Mrs. Harris bought me a plane ticket. I wanted to refuse, because she didn't need to be spending money on me now that she didn't have Tom's dad earning an income but she wouldn't let me turn it down. It didn't take much to get one of the other guys to take over my shifts in the lab, the others needed the money just as much as I did. Mrs. Harris knew the drill, either because she'd called to find out if the Airborne students would have liberty after they graduated or she already knew how training graduations worked, so she had us flying in Thursday night and back out on Sunday.
I saw Tom immediately when his group marched up. Damn, he looked so hot standing at attention there in his group, and I wondered if the guys around him were his Bravos, the ones he called his Brothers, or if they were all spread out in the ranks. Actually getting the honor of pinning his wings made me feel like I was part of this milestone for him, getting just the smallest taste of why he did this. I hoped he couldn't feel my hands tremble while I fumbled with the clasp. I wanted to be strong for him.
After the ceremony concluded, Tom called over a few of his brothers to introduce us.
"Guys, this is my Mom, my little brother Tim, and my best friend Kevin." Tom said. I knew immediately that two of them were Zeus and Sleeper, it was hard to miss them. Damn... I couldn't take my eyes off either one. Zeus was huge, everything about him was larger than life. He had a presence to him that swallowed everything and everyone around him into what felt like his own self-created world. And Sleeper, fuck he was deadly handsome, especially when he smiled. The third guy was Weeble, almost the exact opposite of Zeus in size but I still got the feeling that Weeble could take me down with almost no effort. The three of them had the same panther like movement Tom had, an ease of physical strength that seemed like a coiled spring of barely controlled force. Zeus and Weeble drilled into me with eyes that measured my worth, my suitability to be Tom's best friend, with a quick surprised evaluation of my long hair, a raking, almost painful examination of my body and stature. I felt relieved that the dress shirt and slacks I'd worn hugged my meaty, athletic muscles. At least I didn't physically fall far behind these prime specimens of manhood and I felt like just maybe I wouldn't be found wanting. Sleeper's eyes held a different emotion - amusement. Like he understood some secret.
"Wow, so you're Andrew's Kevin." Sleeper said with a grin. The way he said it sent a thrill through me. ANDREW'S Kevin. "Not what I was expecting at ALL." Sleeper laughed. "Well done, bro."
My eyes darted to Tom, then away to evaluate others close by, then to Mrs. Harris. What exactly did Sleeper mean by calling me that and the following `well done'? Had Tom told him about us? I was saved from responding by an exuberant Tim.
"WOW!" Tim exclaimed. "You guys are AWESOME! You're HUGE!" It sounded like Tim had some serious hero worship going on.
"It's nice to meet you boys." Mrs. Harris said. Only she could get away with referring to these amazing men as boys. There was nothing boyish about them.
"Hi Mrs. Harris." Weeble chimed in. "Really nice to meet ya, Tim!" The shorter guy said with a cheerful smile. I immediately liked him, he wasn't pretending to be some tough, serious soldier, and neither was Sleeper. I liked how these guys didn't wear a uniform when talking to us civilians. Even Zeus, though he was hard to read. Really hard to read, which was extremely unusual for me. You couldn't describe the feeling of Zeus as cold or even bored and superior. That wasn't it. He was just... blank, a solid presence more than a man. Weeble had one of those open, effusive personalities that made you want to like him. Sleeper was one of those fun, easy going guys who didn't take themselves too seriously and tried hard to be just a regular guy. I could tell he'd joke around with you and had no use for intimidation or pretending to be some tough guy. He was the type that already knew he was tough, capable, secure in his own skin. He didn't pick fights and wasn't out to prove anything. Fuck, he HAD to know how good looking he was, damn near beautiful. There was something about his smooth, clear pale skin, his dark, smoldering eyes accentuated with long dark lashes and straight thick eyebrows, his amazing cheekbones flushed with the morning chill and full pink lips. Sleeper had one of those faces that made you dream. And if Tom had described him right, the body hidden by those BDU's only added to the fantasy. Holy shit. Suddenly I wasn't jealous at all that he and Tom had fooled around. My boyfriend had excellent taste.
"Mom, we have barrack's duty before we're released. I want to show Kevin and Tim the barracks. You can come too, but it's going to be a bunch of guys." Tom explained.
Mrs. Harris waved a hand. "I've seen enough barracks, sweetheart. I know the way you boys get in your barracks and there are some things a mother wants to stay ignorant of and I certainly don't want to hear the language. You boys go, have fun. Why don't we meet outside the PX in a couple hours. I have to get a few things and we can have lunch at the cafeteria there."
"Fuck yeah!" Tim said, too loud.
"TIM!" Mrs. Harris and Tom said in unison.
Tim had the good sense to look embarrassed. "Sorry mom." He said as Weeble laughed. I saw Zeus's blank face crack the barest grin. So the giant God wasn't completely emotionless. I knew Tim was thrilled with getting to hang out with these guys for a couple hours and I was looking forward to seeing Tom in his element too.
We were about to walk away towards the barracks across the road behind us when a voice shouted "VICTOR!"
A soldier a little taller than me was coming towards us. He wasn't built thick with muscles like Sleeper and I, but he still looked well put together. Damn, were all the soldiers here gorgeous? This guy had some mesmerizing blue eyes on him and an easy lopsided smile focused on Weeble.
"Wicomb? You're here?" Weeble said with surprise.
The guy didn't hesitate, he strode right up to Weeble and grabbed him in a hug. "Congratulations bud! I told you I'd come!"
The hug I saw definitely had some deep feeling behind it, but it was when they pulled apart that I noticed the look that leapt like a spark between their eyes. I immediately glanced at Tom and saw his eyebrows jerk up slightly. He'd seen it too.
"Wicomb, meet my Brothers. This is Assmunch, Sleeper and Zeus." Weeble said, gesturing rapidly to keep up with the excited rush of his words. "Assmunch is our leader, and Sleeper and Zeus are his enforcers, they're amazing."
Wicomb smiled. "Pleasure, Private Harris, Private Montelongo. Private Gunnerson. You keeping this squirrel straight?" He said with a warm, deep voice.
Tom smiled. "He runs circles around us Corporal. I don't think he ever runs out of energy."
"Call me Hunter, or Wicomb like everyone else. I'm glad to meet you. Victor tells me he's proud to be in your unit and that you're all awesome. I'm glad he found a place to call home." Wicomb said with heartfelt sentiment. "I admire you guys in Infantry. I couldn't do it."
To me, the surface of their words had a professional banter, but underneath I sensed deeper feelings, a true caring. Men like these didn't express love and friendship casually, but among each other it seemed to come easy and unashamed. I could tell that this was the one place, among their own kind, that they could express the softer human emotions, shared admiration, compliments, respect without losing masculinity. For someone like Tom it would be a place of comfort and he didn't have to hold himself apart from them like he had from other guys the entire time I'd known him.
"Wicomb works on engines. He knows what's wrong with'em just by how they sound." Weeble said proudly with that thick southern accent that just made him seem even more adorable. Yeah, there was definitely something more there between Weeble and Corporal Hunter Wicomb with the deep hypnotic blue eyes.
Wicomb shrugged self consciously. "You hear them enough, it's not hard to do."
"Are you gonna hang out with us when we clear the barracks, Wicomb?" Weeble said. I heard an eager hope in his words.
"Sure, as long as I don't have to scrub the latrine." Wicomb said.
Weeble laughed. "Nah, the Bravos will have it done in no time. C'mon!"
"Ma'am, it was a pleasure." Wicomb nodded to Mrs. Harris before following Weeble towards the barracks.
"See you in a couple hours, Mom." Tom said, giving his mom a hug. "Thanks for bringing Kevin and Tim. Come on, guys." Tom said with excitement, putting an arm each around Tim and I and walking toward the large buildings across the street.
Walking through the entry door to the barracks made me feel like I was entering a secret world. This was where they lived, relaxed, spent their off duty time. Right now there was chaos from the presence of visitors, although there were far fewer than I expected. Maybe eight or so of the soldiers had people accompanying them for a tour.
"Do all barracks look like this?" I asked Tom. "You guys just sleep in a big room all together?"
Tom's expressive, beautiful mouth smiled. "No, not like this. The barracks in Basic are like this, open bay, mostly so that the Sergeants can keep an eye on everyone, but also because it's important to get recruits used to the fact that EVERYTHING about your life in the military is the military's business. And in Germany the Bravos were billeted in REALLY old style barracks, but that was because we were kept in our Platoons for special training in older barracks probably because that's the only extra unused housing they had for us. The newer barracks are dorm style, you share with one guy or max four, or are in your own room. It all depends on your post and which battalion you're assigned to and your rank. On some posts and with different units you live in squad size rooms with double bunks. It all depends. We still share showers and latrines though most of the time but again some barracks have shower stalls and actual dividers between toilets. At least that's how it is as Privates. I think you get better digs when you get rank."
I was a little shocked when he showed me the showers and latrines. "No doors or walls? You guys just use the bathroom where everyone can see? I figured the showers would be open and shared, but the toilets too?"
"Well yeah. After Basic, it isn't a big deal. Everyone comes in a little shy at first, but when you have almost no time to get ready in the morning you just rush through everything with your brothers around you. We don't even pay attention to it after a while. There's no modesty in the Army. You definitely don't want to be on a toilet next to Troll though."
"Eat me, Assmunch. You know it's the MRE's. Besides, you gas us all out with your fuckin' nasty farts." A voice I assumed came from The Troll himself echoed down the hall.
Tim busted out laughing.
The `tour' didn't take long and honestly except for actually seeing how they slept and showered it was a little boring. Barracks were absolutely basic. I guess that was sort of the point: hammer home how NOT special you were. And after two years in the Engineering program at MIT, I saw the deliberate choice of utility and durability over aesthetics. A barracks wasn't meant to be attractive or cozy. Plain gray metal lockers with double doors stood beside every bunk. The bunks didn't look comfortable at all, slightly smaller than a twin bed. Overhead fluorescent lights, a drop ceiling with stained and damaged ceiling tiles, a paint job over cinder block that was some blend of yellow and khaki I could only guess was intended to disguise age and hide scuffs and damage. I imagined above the ceiling tiles was a world of utilities conduits sprayed with asbestos insulation like all buildings of the 40's, 50's and 60's. Asbestos was the miracle fire-proof additive of choice for tile, insulation, siding, roofing, sealant and yes, even clothing during the mid-century period. Hell, the ceiling tiles might have asbestos in them. Anyway, as long as there wasn't damage or a broken surface, there wasn't any real danger in the presence of asbestos.
"That's my bunk right there, you guys sit tight while we clear the barracks." Tom said, unbuttoning his shirt. "Actually, if you could strip my bunk that would be cool." All of the guys on this end of the barracks were stripping down to various conditions of undress, most down to their underwear. Sleeper went full naked and I felt a little bad that my eyes kept darting over to take another look. The big Zeus guy only took his outer shirt off, his uniform top, but he had an olive green tee shirt on underneath that molded to his body like Superman's Super suit.
None of the Bravos were fat or out of shape. A few were skinny, some were meaty, but they all had a hard physical way of carrying themselves. I was actually surprised by that little guy Weeble who was built with a compact and efficient stack of muscles I'd describe as `just enough'. Nothing about him was big or large, but it all was developed. Moving his arm, his bicep and triceps would flex, his pectoral would jump, his delts tightened.
Okay, since I'm going down that road, I'm just going to rate my top ten. Now, I'm not including Tom because that's not fair. After all, Tom had an attractiveness that only increased when you added in his personality and considerate emotional calm. And I had none of that information for the other soldiers. So, this is purely based on physical looks, body, and way they carry themselves.
I know you think I'm going to put Zeus up there at the top, but I'm not, and I'll tell you why. His blank emotionless ... nothingness. There's no other way to put it. I have to SEE the guy, I have to have a feel for who he is, what he thinks. Zeus could be just about any type. He was unreadable. He could be a bully, or an asshole, or dumb as dirt. Sure, the sheer size of him was hot, and he had a Nordic face with awesome hazel eyes. I also liked the way his skull was shaped. Its proportions were very pleasing. A body with muscles on top of muscles without restriction of his range of movement like huge body builders usually have. Zeus was definitely top five, but not number one. Number one absolutely had to be Sleeper. His ass alone was so riveting I almost couldn't stop staring. But you could tell the guy just enjoyed every minute of his life. I almost got the feeling it wouldn't matter where Addison Montelongo (fucking awesome name too) went, or what he was doing, he would just enjoy the ride. He had an easy smile, brown eyes that seemed always on the verge of a laugh, pale skin that wasn't a sickly white but had the look and feel of sculpted marble like the Statue of David. He had this strut when he walked, a shake of the hips, a roll of the shoulders, fluidity to his arms as if he was swimming through the air. He made simple walking look like easy, enjoyable fun. He was also shaved completely smooth, like, not a single hair on his body, I guess that's where the marble statue thing comes from. Sleeper was just, well.... EASY. And so fucking good looking. His face was the kind that sent you into confusion over whether it was handsome or beautiful. You know...some dudes are just ruggedly handsome, a little rough and tough, like a Tom Selleck type. You'd never call them beautiful. And then there were guys who were almost pretty, who seemed to have a flawless perfection for which handsome' wasn't accurate. Sleeper's face was masculine and hard enough to be handsome, and yet his smooth skin, his just full enough pink lips, his warm brown eyes with dark smooth eyebrows, the delicate fold of his ears, that proud nose that widened at the bridge just slightly before building up to nostrils that flared back from the rounded angle of the tip - those possessed a beauty and refinement. It was definitely a face that begged you to define it, to examine why the elements came together in such a pleasing arrangement. Some people had a face that didn't ask you to look further. Sleeper's face INVITED you to enjoy it. Sleeper himself invited you to enjoy his body. And, I had absolutely no problem with how he almost deliberately seemed to love making his cock and balls bounce and flop while he was strutting around, as if his thick muscular thighs were soccer players trying to keep the ball in the air. Plus, something about how Sleeper inserted the word fuck' into every sentence he said after Mrs. Harris was gone just made me smirk. I wonder if Tom noticed Sleeper's inventiveness. Sleeper said fuck a fucking LOT. Fuck, fucking, fuckall, fucker, fuckwit, fuckitation... and more. I imagined he saw it as a challenge to figure out new ways to say fuck.
So Sleeper was number one. Number two had to be the guy Potter, who was very similar to Sleeper body wise, but Potter wasn't pretty, he had some kind of flat, Midwest sturdiness to his face. You looked at him and saw that capable Protestant work ethic, an attitude that life was just breaking rocks and plowing fields so best to just get to it. That hardy, dependable, reliable, solid foundation of tangibility. I found that attractive. Zeus was third, just for sheer presence and size. He was even good looking, if you liked that serious, quiet, deadly type. I'd put Demon and Chunk at fourth and fifth, attractive faces and excellent bodies. There was a confidence thing with them as well. Weeble I'd put sixth, there was an eagerness to him, an outgoing quality that felt like a happy puppy. And I've already told you he had a tight little stacked body. Weeble was dangerous though in the way such eager innocence pulled you in and entangled you with a desire to protect, comfort, and probably more. I felt it right away when I first met him. He looked at me and I saw instant adoration in his eyes. I wasn't misreading it. He just gave me his adoration without even bothering to hold back until he knew I wasn't going to be a dick to him. No hesitation. Immediate open book. That was why he was dangerous. When everyone you meet and deal with every day has a casual guarded arms-length interaction, to meet someone like Weeble who doesn't hide that he likes you...it's intoxicating. I wondered how many times Weeble had been taken advantage of by assholes. His guy Wicomb seemed to genuinely like Weeble and cared about him, so that was good. I could see myself trying to protect Weeble if Wicomb seemed in any way predatory.
"Everyone seems so tough." Tim said, interrupting my attempt at categorizing Tom's hunky associates. "Tom seems different too."
I shrugged. "At home Tom can relax. Here he's got to be serious, plus he's really in his element. You can tell he loves being with his brothers. You probably do it too, at school. You're probably different around your baseball buddies than you are with other classmates, or even around teachers. And you're different at home than you are at school. When you become a man you start to segment your life, showing a different side of yourself to different groups. It's how we deal with the difficult situations we endure, life's bullshit, frustration. We find people we can blow off steam with, we put up with crap from others because they serve a purpose for a while, we endure boredom or something we don't actually enjoy because we like the person who DOES enjoy it, like girlfriends and shopping, or romantic movies. Your best friend is the one guy you can be any different person you want to be with, who will match you, let you be in whatever mood you want to be in. That's how men work."
Tim cocked his head. "Can your girlfriend be your best friend?" He asked.
I shrugged again. "Sure, that happens too. Some guys don't need a lot of guy-time and are more settled and less volatile. Hanging out with their buddies takes a back seat to wanting to be around their girl. Look, there's no right or wrong way. Some girls are really awesome and amazing. Like Carol. Some girls love fun and excitement as much as guys do." Tim was a sharp contrast to Tom. Tom didn't talk about how he felt, he showed you, it was in his actions. Tim didn't hold himself that closely and was genuinely curious. "Why? Is there a girl you have your eye on at school?"
Tim looked down. "Yeah, but she's a senior."
I gave him a grin. "You're not going to win that one, little bro. It'll be a few years before a younger guy like you catches the eye of an older girl. Age is way more important in high school than it is in college. And look, you don't have to be in a hurry to snag a girlfriend. It'll happen when it happens, trust me." I suspected that his episode with Carol had some lingering effects, especially if he was latching onto older girls who were way out of his league. He wasn't even filled out into his final height and weight. Hell, I grew almost two inches AFTER high school. I felt that Tim needed to figure out who he was before a girlfriend was in the cards for him.
"So what do you think of his Army buddies?" Tim leaned in a whispered, with a grin.
I gave a soft laugh. "Very nice to look at." I said tactfully, my voice soft and low.
"Especially Sleeper and Zeus. Holy shit." Tim said.
"Especially Sleeper and Zeus, what?" A deep, rumbling voice came from behind us.
How had I not heard anyone approach? I craned my head around. There was the giant Zeus. I checked around us for anyone else within earshot. A couple guys were a few bunks away. Tom had told me all about Zeus, and Sleeper. So I didn't feel caught in anything and replied truthfully.
"We were just saying how you're both really nice to look at."
Zeus froze for just a second, as if I'd shocked him. And then he smiled and I felt a warm flush go through me, my heart started speeding up. I found it so very difficult to focus on anything but that gorgeous smiling face, those warm and happy hazel eyes, and I felt a huge smile split my own face in return.
"Your brother is amazing, Tim." And then he looked at me and winked. HE WINKED AT ME. "You're a lucky man, Kevin. He wanted me to come get you, Tim." And then he reached down and picked up Tim like he weighed nothing and threw him over his shoulder.
"Hey!" Tim argued, but it rung in my ears as insincere. No, Tim was perfectly fine being manhandled by this colossal hunk.
Zeus turned to me and grinned. "You coming? Or am I throwing you over the other shoulder?"
I'd like to see him try. Not because I thought he couldn't do it, but because I'd really like it if he tried. Okay fine, Zeus could be number one. I barely retained my dignity and stopped myself from telling him to carry me too. Stupid dignity. Dignity was for people who didn't want to hug a God, which was absolutely no one in this room