I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. The process of moving from Georgia to Texas has been long and intense. I began it all in August of 2023. It was five months of house repairs and selling the house I owned in Georgia - two months of repairs, three months waiting for a purchaser. Then three months of looking for a house to buy in Texas, moving, and more house repairs on the house we bought. For three months of that we were essentially homeless, staying with friends and family during the painful waiting for contracts to be signed, money to hit the bank, and keys to exchange hands. I never want to move again.
To catch you up on the story so far - The Bravos have just completed Airborne Jump School and earned their wings. After being allowed to relax on a four day pass, they were taken to a secretive compound for selective training. They have not been told the purpose of this training, but that's nothing new for the Bravos. Grunts aren't told why. Still, after a closed meeting with Bootlicker the squad leaders have begun putting it together and now know they have been lab rats in an experimental program thought up by the Pentagon and Marine Major Collins to determine the effects on a unit when homosexuals are permitted to serve in the military. The squad leaders decide not to tell the other Bravos, and each of them is keeping their own secrets about which Bravos might be gay. Assmunch, their Platoon leader is nowhere to be found. After an unsuccessful battle drill, the Bravos have been divided up among the men of the compound to undergo individual instruction.
The organization running the compound also has no idea who the Bravos are, or why Major Collins has brought the young Privates here for what is usually reserved for specialized mission training of special units. But the money the Pentagon is paying is too good to pass up. Ulster McGregor, the leader has decided the Bravos have to know what they're involved in, and implements a plan of psychological manipulation that will run in tandem with the training. Each Bravo is subtly questioned for intel.
Except for Assmunch. His questioning has not been subtle. He has been isolated, beaten, and subjected to various methods of interrogation and low level torture. And when his resistance proves to exhaust his captor's patience, they move to level 2 enhanced methods which result in his tormentor sexually assaulting him. It has only been 36 hours since they boarded the transports that brought them here. 36 hours without any sleep except the all too brief wait-naps they've learned to take whenever they could.
SLEEPER
"Montelongo, you're with me." The man said walking up to him. "Break down your kit and prep it for storage. We'll be on a week and a half mission, so load out accordingly. Constant movement, rough terrain."
"Yes, sir." Sleeper said, moving immediately to pull his items from his individual tent so he could pull it down.
"I'm not your sir, or anyone's sir. But, you bring up a good point. Address. Hmmm". Ivan Harris pursed his lips and put a hand to his chin. Then he smiled in a friendly, relaxed way. "Call me Ivan. What's your name?"
Sleeper smiled back, it just felt right. Ivan seemed like a good guy. "My brothers call me Sleeper, but I guess just call me Addison, that's my first name. Of course, you can call me Montelongo, I'm used to that too."
The man waved away the offer. "Nah. I'll go with Addison. I like that name. Where's it from?"
Sleeper was making quick work of the ground pins, tie downs, paracord and thin tent fabric while they talked, pushing them into his ruck once they were reduced down to their minimal and most compact size. Breakdown should only take 30 to 45 seconds. Pins and paracord wrapped, tent flattened and edges folded inward to make a 16 inch strip onto which the wrapped paracord bundle was placed before rolling it into a tight cylinder of fabric. "I'm not sure. It's a family name from my mother's side. I only know my dad's side."
Ivan nodded. "I don't know where Ivan came from. I guess it was just a name my father liked."
Sleeper smiled. "Ivan's a bitchin' name. It sound tough."
The man shrugged with a grin. "I guess it does. Addison sounds fancy."
That made Sleeper laugh. "Nothing fancy about me. You want fancy, go talk to AF." He said, point off into the slowly lightening camp toward one of the other soldiers.
"What's AF stand for?" Ivan asked conversationally.
Sleeper was almost done getting everything stowed in his ruck. "Abercrombie and Fitch. Dude should have been a model for Calvin Klein, Hilfiger, Jordache Jeans, any of those fancy clothes. I'm handsome as fuck, but that guy is fucking pretty. Almost perfect. He's got fucking dimples AND a cleft chin, a jaw like a boulder, and the rest of him just seems to fit together. He's like some fucking All American Poster Boy for Freedom, Democracy, and everything Liberty and Justice for All."
That made Ivan laugh, a rich, loud and completely unrestrained bark. "I have to see this guy."
"I'll take you past him. He loves to be seen." Sleeper was shoving the rest of his gear into his ruck. There's wasn't much. If you were housed in a Temper you could spread yourself out a bit, some guys made a fucking mess of their square, but you knew you were going to be there for a while. It was called semi-permanent for a reason. But a temporary encampment in your individual tent meant you could be moving out fast, so you didn't take anything out of your ruck that you didn't need, and if you did, you put it back when you were done. No one wanted to be last man if you had to move out.
"Don't let Sleeper fool you." Demon called from one of the closest tents, climbing out with his grooming kit. 38 degrees out this morning, and Demon was heading to the showers completely naked, with just his boots on his feet, carrying his towel and grooming kit in his left hand. "Sleeper loves to be seen too. It's funny sometimes watching those two try to out- pretty each other."
"Fuck you Demon." Sleeper threw him the bird.
"Hey, I had no problem getting laid last weekend while you were on a romantic getaway with Zeus." Demon smirked. "The ladies love me."
Sleeper snorted. "Yeah, I heard about that. She wasn't a prize, dude." Demon gave a high pitched yipping with a squeaky voice, and the sound was repeated across the camp by most of the other Bravos.
"What's that about?" Ivan asked.
"Nothing." Sleeper replied, but was interrupted by Demon who stopped a few steps away.
"That's the sound a fox makes. Sleeper wants his call sign to be Bravo Fox, because he thinks he's foxy."
Sleeper scowled at his naked brother. "Foxy is for girls. I'm a fox, get it right."
Demon laughed and continued. "No, you're foxy. If Zeus is your boyfriend, you're the girl. I don't make the rules, buddy."
Ivan felt the embarrassment flowing off of Montelongo in waves. Interesting. A little truth in the joke which was well accepted by the others in the Platoon, Ivan thought.
"And I can't do anything about how ugly you are." Sleeper shot back.
Demon ran his free hand down his lean and defined chest, his pecs flat unlike Sleeper's. "I'm a tightly wound demolition spring. I'm made to be an effective working tool, not just a pretty trophy the boss parades around."
"I fucking hate you, Demon." Sleeper grunted, pulling his ruck onto his back. "Can we go?" He said to Ivan.
"Sure, come on." Ivan replied. That little interaction provided a wealth of information on who Addison Montelongo was. Underneath the embarrassment was a distinct sense of satisfaction in the kid, some pride, and in spite of the voiced argument a comfortable happiness. He didn't bite back with any meanness or low blows. There was no disagreement about the guy named Zeus being his boyfriend, or the getaway being termed `romantic'. Addison was fine with being portrayed as all flash and no substance. He liked the way this Demon made digs at him. He liked the digs themselves.
"Who's Zeus?" Ivan asked, walking towards the compound. He wasn't surprised that Demon came with them, he was heading to the showers so they were both going to the same place. Another clue. It wasn't Addison that answered him. He was fine with allowing Demon to explain. A quick check revealed Addison had a calm, unconcerned look on his face. Either he was very good at hiding his emotions, or nothing about the question bothered him.
"Zeus? You can't miss him. He's our big guy. He's way out of Sleeper's league in the body department. Face wise? Eh, I'll give Sleeper the edge. Zeus is handsome, but not on Sleeper or AF's level. But with Zeus, it's an overall thing. You have to be around him. Zeus is a feeling, a presence. I've never met anyone like him. And he sure loves Sleeper here. Stuck to him like glue." Demon expounded. "He doesn't say much. Hardly speaks at all. Keeps to himself. Top marks in qualifications. Screw taking a look at AF, it's Zeus you really want to lay eyes on."
Ivan almost shook his head. That was a lot. Hero worship? Jealousy? Hmmm, interesting. "Is Demon right?" He asked Addison.
"Zeus is..." Addison paused. "Zeus just IS. Demon's right." There was a raw, vulnerable honesty in those few words. Admiration. Love. Resignation. Pain. Hope. It was almost too much to unpack. "Any one of us would crawl across broken glass just to eat the undigested corn out of his shit." There it was, that deflection. The mirage of crudeness covering some truth of Addison's being. Sleeper was a costume. Bravo Fox was how he wanted his Platoon to see him, how he wanted to appear to his superiors. Ivan intuitively felt there was a depth and cleverness to Addison he didn't want anyone to see. The ability to disguise yourself so perfectly was not something that an average grunt could ever be capable of.
Even more, Addison liked this persona he'd created. He liked being treated as a pretty goof, no threat to anyone and not competent enough to be depended upon. Only someone who was far more than average would accept with such equanimity being treated as just a pretty face. The kid had absolutely no Ego. The million dollar question was whether Addison Montelongo was some empty dilettante or had levels of competence and capability that he was trying so hard to hide. Ivan was well acquainted with operators whose job required them to remain hidden among the masses, projecting an image that was unremarkable and average in every way. Someone like Montelongo could easily put his looks to use with charisma and charm. AF sounded like exactly that sort. However, Montelongo didn't leverage his advantages at all. He didn't want to be important. He didn't want to be noticed at all except to be dismissed as something pretty. Ivan had a path forward now. He knew who he had to be to get past Addison's facade. Someone safe, someone the kid could entrust with his personal baggage. A teacher, kind and strong. Supportive both emotionally and intellectually. With a stress on just how little time they had together before they'd never see each other again. Someone with no connection to the military.
"What's your Grid Azimuth?" Ivan asked. Addison was kneeling with the map on one knee.
"93 degrees"
"And your GM?"
"Uh..." Addison paused while he scanned the perimeter of the map that Ivan had provided before they left. "14 degrees West"
Ivan nodded, Addison's math was fast. "Good. So..." he led out.
"Magnetic Azimuth is 107 degrees."
Ivan pressed a hand to Addison's shoulder and brought himself down to a squat beside the kid. He leaned in close. Touch and proximity were what Ivan called Trust Tools. "Okay. Now plot it out, and make your notes on the overlay and your field book."
The kid used his protractor to make various marks on the overlay in quick fashion. The pace at which he did his work impressed Ivan.
"38 klicks straight line. You said we have a two day target?" Addison asked him.
"That's right." Ivan answered, watching Addison's pencil moving over the topography of the Medium Scale Joint Operations Group Ground map for possible routes. The part that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up was that he hadn't indicated the location of the compound on the map. It should have been Montelongo's first question. Had Collins briefed them on the location they'd be dropped off at? Other actions taken by the kid were also out of the norm. He hadn't made a scale strip for distance calculation, simply used the flat side of his protractor as a gauge. That sort of shortcut eventually became ingrained but at the early stage these kids were at in their training he shouldn't be there yet. Maybe the kid had a mind for math. The kid looked at him.
"The terrain is going to make that tough."
"Explain." Ivan said.
"The valleys are where we can make good time, and the stretch between this range, Dirtseller Mountain, and our target isn't difficult. Cultivated or developed land, some roads. But getting across this range...". Ordinarily a straight march could cover about 13 km per day, more if not loaded down. And if they marched into the night 19 was doable. But the change in elevation, both increase and decrease in many areas would slow them down. Finding water, securing a camp, stopping to check the route, landmarks, reorientation, finding an alternate route around obstacles, all were time eating. The size of your group mattered as well. Larger groups moved slower.
"Is your origin correct?" Ivan asked, knowing it was but curious to discover if it was a guess or if Montelongo knew for certain.
Montelongo glanced at him with two eyebrows raised. "Yes. Well, within 4 miles, give or take."
Ivan tilted his head and squinted his eyes.
"Bootlicker figured it out when we were dropped off. We left Benning, drove almost straight up here for a certain amount of time at a certain speed. The last leg was uphill almost continuously. He put it all together. Once I had this map, I knew exactly where we were or where we had to be to meet all the criteria. Running around the woods for the last couple days filled in the gaps." Addison explained. "We can only be right here."
Ivan nodded. "I'm impressed. You think three dimensionally."
Addison shrugged. "Like I said, Bootlicker figured it out."
"No. You've got a map in your head." Ivan said with a wry grin. "Okay genius, show me our route." It was one thing to pinpoint your location when you had a visual of the horizon. But in heavily wooded areas the subtle changes in elevation, existence of waterways and roads, manmade landmarks - none of those were apparent and you had to place what you came across on a map in your head. Few could do it without years of experience and practice. He doubted many in the kid's Platoon could pinpoint their origin so accurately even with this Bootlicker's knowledge.
Montelongo spent the next five minutes marking the overlay. The route wasn't perfect, of course. It did, however, hit the most important locations, especially the one Ivan chose for their actual mission - the National Guard Resource Depot. The map didn't indicate the Resource Depot's existence so Montelongo couldn't know it was there. But they wouldn't be going anywhere near Dirtseller Mountain or what he told the kid their target was.
"We're going to break into a Federal facility?" Sleeper wanted to add what the FUCK?' To that but didn't. They were on their stomachs looking at the same kind of chain link fence that surrounded every government facility on U.S. soil, complete with metal white signs that had the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' in big red letters. But that wasn't the sign that worried him. The sign that worried him was the one that warned intruders would be prosecuted for a felony under Federal Statute U.S.C. Your Life is Over, Section: Go Directly to Jail, Paragraph: How Stupid Are You, Subsection: Your Mugshot.
"Yes. No." Ivan's casual reply didn't indicate a concern at ANY level. "They've got some good shit in there. It's sort of a gray area. It's technically federal, or maybe a better way to put it is ultimately federal, but all of it belongs to the State, not the Fed, or the military after it's been purchased. Now, the stuff on loan from the military... eh?" Ivan held up a hand and lifted it then lowered it again.
Sleeper pounded his forehead on the dirt. "We can't steal anything from there!" He said into the soil. They'd made good time, reaching their current location in just 30 hours. The terrain hadn't been a problem at all, it was the constant need to avoid being seen that created the most difficulty. Winter got rid of the difficult underbrush and visibility issues that traveling through woodlands entailed. He felt Ivan shift without looking at him.
"Why not? We're doing them a favor. That equipment is probably older than dirt. National Guard always gets the hand-me-downs from the military. It only gets used on their training weekends, their funding is dismal because it's not a high profile political must-have. Hell, the Reserves get better treatment, and they're bottom feeders. So, we take a few things and they requisition newer replacements. Besides, if you don't think all sorts of equipment walks away from this facility every single weekend, you're delusional. We don't have a big shopping list. We'll be in and out in less than an hour."
Sleeper looked at Ivan. "Is that what you guys do? Steal all your shit?"
Ivan shrugged. "You need to lower your moral superiority, soldier. If you want to feed your outrage properly, you should think about how your government has a thousand depots like this or bigger, jammed with dusty gear, equipment, materials, munitions, weaponry, vehicles, fuel and everything else that sits around unused for years until some natural disaster pops up and the Governor sends in the National Guard. And then, because they get literal pennies in funding, half of this stuff doesn't work when they go to use it, the personnel have forgotten 80% of their training meaning they CAN'T use half of the stuff that DOES work. Their limited time with the Guard away from their regular lives doesn't give them the opportunity to maintain all of it anyway. So what if we pull a pair of shoes out of a dumpster?"
Sleeper blinked in surprise rapidly. "Did-- Did you just call the National Guard a fuckin dumpster?"
Ivan frowned. "No."
"Yes you did. Fuck, dude."
Ivan shook his head and shrugged again. "The National Guard isn't a dumpster. I don't know how you got that idea. The National Guard are the Homeless in this analogy, the ones that dig through the dumpsters, like this depot, trying to find something useful that might actually work for them. The State of Georgia is like a church, or maybe a shelter that gets `donations' or uses charity money to buy blankets or clothes for the homeless. But they aren't buying the quality stuff, just discarded used equipment or goods. Think of it as an ecosystem, a life cycle type thing."
Sleeper's mouth hung open while he stared at Ivan. "Oh. Well, that's so much better. It hardly sounds insulting at all when you put it that way." He muttered sarcastically.
"Exactly." Ivan confirmed, confident that he fixed the issue and that Montelongo understood.
`These guys are some shady motherfuckers.' Sleeper thought to himself. Criminals, by Ivan's own admission.
"Now, your mission is to get us inside. Get to it." Ivan ordered.
Sleeper took a deep breath. He could refuse. End it here. None of this was duty related so there was no order to disobey. But Sleeper was no fool, he knew these were skills that would be useful. He couldn't ignore the desire to test himself and he was curious to validate Ivan's insulting view of these Depots and the equipment inside. He felt a moment of disorientation as his thoughts congealed around the concepts of duty, orders, desire, curiosity, skills, intelligence gathering and ultimately being given a choice between moral actions vs. necessity.
Why? What was really bothering him? If he'd been given this task in field training, there would be no conflict.
Orders, that was the difference that mattered. With orders, he didn't have to think. He didn't have to choose. Orders protected you. The mission protected you from individual repercussions. There was a line, sure, that no soldier should cross - avoid civilian casualties, avoid actions that would result in the death of friendlies. Breaking into a secure facility wasn't that high up on the list of objectionable actions. Truthfully, even without a mission, or orders, whether on duty or off, it barely lifted the offense needle. He'd get chewed out at worst.
And that was what spun his brain around. There shouldn't be a difference, right? Wrong was wrong. Illegal was illegal. Except it wasn't. He realized then that the Army expected a certain amount of fucking up, of bad choices made by idiot grunts like him. Now, if he broke into a nuclear facility, or a facility with Top Secret contents, oh he'd pay for that. But this? It was the equivalent of taking your mom's car for a joy-ride. The State of Georgia would be mad, but what could they do? The Army wouldn't care. And that assumed either of them would even find out. Or that any of it would point back to him. And going down that road, Ivan referred to it as a `shopping trip' which meant this wasn't the first depot his buddies had hit, which meant the State of Georgia knew equipment walked away from these facilities exactly as Ivan had said. And yet, they refused to protect them with anything more than a chain link fence and a couple of signs. As if losing a certain amount of equipment was acceptable.
Besides, wasn't this what he was being trained for, or at least part of it? Infiltration was taught in one of their modules back in Germany, how to gain access. With one glaring omission - they didn't teach anything about when NOT to infiltrate. Sleeper snorted. Now if that wasn't a clear message, he didn't know what was. The Army had to know that. Too many brains created those training modules to leave out something that important, unless they didn't want the grunts to even entertain the thought of failure. Overcome or subvert defenses, avoid them if you could, eyes on the mission, the goal. Barriers were nothing but an element to bypass however you could. Lies, deception, brute force, sneaking, press a weakness, all options should be considered. Incapacitate or kill defenders if the mission were important enough. Blow shit up if you had to, if stealth wasn't a necessity. Sometimes, just wrecking a piece of infrastructure was the goal. Set a fire. Flood the place with broken water pipes. Cut the power, disrupt communications, sow chaos.
At other times, retrieval was the mission and destruction was a waste of time. It required a fast entry and exit with minimal enemy interaction. Leaving bodies or rubble behind was undesirable for many reasons. Occasionally, the mission had a caveat that you had to leave the enemy unaware that you were ever there. That was Bootlicker territory right there. Simply put, this type of thing was exactly what he was trained for, it fell squarely into the skill set expected of him.
Plus...fuck, it would be exciting and fun. "Well, fuck it, let's go fuckin' shopping." Sleeper said to Ivan, climbing to his feet, his former moral superiority sufficiently lowered by his surprisingly easy rationalization. It did make him briefly wonder how solid his morality could be if it was swayed that easily. He concluded it was solid where it needed to be, flexible when required and he could be proud that a logical evaluation of the particular situation left him certain of how to act moving forward.
As they walked the perimeter to the front gate of the depot, he asked Ivan, "Was that part of this? Testing if I would hesitate to do something illegal?"
Ivan chuckled. "Illegal. Hmmmm. Be glad it wasn't a test, because asking that question right there? That's a fail."
He gave Ivan a look of confusion.
"That whole legal-illegal perception is useless. It doesn't matter. What's legal only matters if the people who made the law can enforce it. Here? Now? Later?" Ivan laughed. "If we do our job right, we remove their ability to enforce anything. Do you understand?"
After his thinking through it moments ago, Sleeper realized he did understand. "Yeah, I get it. Or at least I think I do. It's only illegal because they said it was, and they could do way, way WAY more to protect this stuff if they really thought it was important. They really don't care, do they? It's kinda ridiculous, when you think about it. It's a mind fuck. We.." Sleeper pointed to Ivan then himself, "are supposed to believe it's incredibly important, because of the fence, the signs, the promises of consequences. But obviously they don't think it's important at all. If they did, there'd be security, personnel stationed here as guards. The fence would be electrified, maybe surveillance cameras. Definitely not a chain link fence with a stupid six foot high double gate locked with a chain so loose we're both going to squeeze through the gap. If they don't think it's important to secure this facility, it means they don't consider the contents to be important either. So there's no reason we should think it's all that important ourselves."
Ivan nodded. "And...?" He prompted.
Sleeper considered. "And I guess if they can spell out all the consequences for violators, they probably should have thought of what consequences were there for them if they didn't protect this stuff like they should."
Ivan gave Sleeper a huge congratulatory smile. A weird thought went through Sleeper's head... that was exactly the way Assmunch smiled when he found something that really pleased him. And speaking of Assmunch, Sleeper didn't think he'd have had near as much trouble working his way through this business. Assmunch would have wanted to break into the depot and rummage through the Quonset Huts, the open air motor pool, the armory built into an earthen mound. He'd do it just to say he could, just to figure out what was required, what needed to happen to get in.
For that matter, so would Demon, Wanker, Bootlicker and about half the Bravos. Definitely not Zeus, though. No breaking the rules for Zeus.
"Talk me through it." Ivan said as they inspected the gate.
Sleeper shrugged. "Pretty easy. The loose chain coupled with the flexibility of the metal of the gate means we can make a gap and get through. No need to cut anything. No security measures out here on the perimeter. There wouldn't be any motion sensors on a gate, and even the fence line doesn't have the indicators a disturbance track would need. We're good for entry." He pulled one of the gates from the bottom and a shockingly large space opened that allowed Ivan to scoot through. Ivan did the same for him while Sleeper crawled through.
"That looks like the Operations Command office there." Sleeper said, pointing to one centrally located Quonset Hut. "Let's hit that one first." Ivan motioned with his hand for Sleeper to take the lead.
They didn't find anything interesting in the Operations Command. Paperwork, personnel files, a couple computers. It was set up like a large office, fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. It also had an area set up like a day room at a barracks, with couches and chairs, a kitchen, a TV, a few tables. It wasn't a Mess, that was probably in one of the other buildings. No, this was for downtime, meetings, recreation.
Ivan let Sleeper look at anything he wanted, even a safe in what he assumed was the Commander's office. "Don't bother." Ivan said. "There won't be anything useful in there."
Sleeper felt relief. Sure, snooping around the facility was borderline okay, but a small safe in a commander's office felt too personal. This was a National Guard Depot, not some high level Defense Department facility. There would be nothing valuable in the safe, no secrets, money or equipment. It was something that was purely for the Commander's personal use while on duty. However...
"It might have access materials. You know, keys to the other buildings, the motor pool, maybe computer login information." Sleeper offered.
"We don't need keys to the buildings, do we?" Ivan grinned. "And motor pools are notorious for lazy security. You have a lot to learn about how your government views equipment bought with taxpayer dollars. Keep your eyes open, I think this should be a good wake up call."
"Well what about information then? We could get into the computer system." Sleeper offered.
"I should let you do it just to educate you, but you have someone in your unit I'm sure who could tell you everything you might find. Ask him. We won't waste our time with it here. Speaking of which," Ivan continued. "What kind of unit are you? The way you handled the Battle Drill exercise wasn't straight by the book Infantry."
Sleeper shrugged, hoping it came off as genuine. Keep it casual. He sure as hell wasn't going to let this guy know Bootlicker's intel. "Oh, we're Infantry, for sure. Just getting used to having some new guys who switched from other MOS's. Still haven't worked out all the kinks."
"Kinks? Didn't seem like there were any kinks to me." Ivan pushed.
Sleeper gave Ivan his best `bullshit' look. "I'd call me getting knocked the fuck out right out of the gate a pretty obvious kink. Dumb move on my part. Left my guys, and my unit without a commander."
Ivan tilted his head. "Do you think that's why you didn't complete the mission?"
Sleeper shrugged again. "Probably not. The Bravos knew what to do, didn't need me calling the shots after engagement."
"That would indicate either a well structured plan, or well trained personnel." Ivan offered. "Neither of which mattered in the end, right?"
Sleeper laughed while rearranging the items and paperwork in the commander's office back where it all was before they'd gone through it. "Still couldn't accomplish the mission."
"You think you made a mistake?" Ivan asked, watching Sleeper's actions closely.
Sleeper paused. He'd thought about it. Sure, he felt bad, like he'd let his brothers down. Could he have made a difference? Was there something he missed that he could have corrected during the raid?
"Sarge says doubts are part of the job, and that a leader without doubts gets his men killed twice as fast. Yeah, I made mistakes. Going in with my men wasn't one of them."
Ivan nodded. Sleeper couldn't tell if he agreed or if he was just acknowledging the statement. "What was the weakness in your plan, then?"
Sleeper resisted the urge to sigh. "What I WANT to say is that we were down our best strategist, and our best scouts and sneaks. Those three could have made a difference." He shook his head. "But really, the worst mistake was we... no I, it was me... treated it like it was just another drill with nothing on the line. If this had been a real-world mission, half the Bravos would be dead. I rushed it, told them to push as fast as they could and that speed would be the deciding factor because the enemy wouldn't be able to re-position fast enough to stop at least one squad from reaching the goal. I played a game of sacrifice."
"There was no time limit for the exercise." Ivan pointed out.
Sleeper looked Ivan in the eye. "And no directive to accomplish the mission at all costs. With something more surgical I could have kept my men alive, and given us a better shot at reaching the goal."
Ivan raised his hands again to mime balancing out the scales. "And yet, too cautious and the mission fails anyway."
Sleeper sat on the Commander's desk and crossed his arms. "How would you have done it?"
"Me?" Ivan smiled. "Oh, I would've started fucking with the enemy the minute I got the orders. I would've sent a team in while they were still planning and thinking they had all the time in the world before the attack. I would've taken advantage of the fact they believed you would play by the rules." Ivan didn't miss the demeanor of this not so simple Private. The kid didn't bow and scrape. Nor was he reluctant to be direct. Solid as concrete.
Sleeper froze, stunned. "We're not allowed to do that."
"Who told you that?"
Sleeper couldn't reply, it felt like his brain was short-circuiting. "Who was in command?" Ivan asked. "Did you have an officer or superior?"
"No." Sleeper said quietly as his arms fell down to rest his palms on the desk.
"You, Addison. You were the one who was given the power and authority to decide how the operation proceeded, at least for your team. Every decision you make branches off from -"
"- how you define the mission and the engagement." Sleeper finished. "Fuck me."
Ivan raised his eyebrows. "It was expected. I'll give you a cheat, because, well, I don't believe in rules. And I don't believe in limitations when the lives of my men hang in the balance. Here's the thing, whatever you were before, your team, you weren't sent here because you are some nameless platoon of average grunts. So stop thinking like average grunts. Stop thinking that you can't wipe your ass without a sergeant ordering you. Stop thinking that the book you were given in Basic is all they'll let you do. Push the limits. Go outside the limitations they set. If it's not said or ordered specifically just assume they omitted it deliberately and have allowed for you to use that omission to further your goals. Find a way, ANY way, to get the job done and keep your men alive. Results matter. Begging for forgiveness is a whole lot easier when your men are alive and you achieved your objective. You might get chewed out, but it'll just be for show. And you'll learn there are orders you can disobey without repercussions as long as you perform above expectations. There are superiors who look the other way, who only care about results. Be careful not to get yourself court-martialed, but shy of an actual crime with identifiable damage, no chain of command is going to go through the trouble of a court martial. Understand?" Sleeper nodded. Ivan clapped his hands, startling Sleeper. "Oh, and don't fuckin' get caught and you won't have to worry about any of the other stuff."
ASSMUNCH
It didn't feel like I slept long but my mind snapped awake and refused to drift. Yeah, I was sore and bruised everywhere which didn't help. A quick assessment, almost automatic by now, categorized the physical trauma to my body. Which was a mistake because it forced me to review how it happened.
Which meant confronting THAT.
I mentally slid away the second it touched my conscious mind. Nope. Not helpful. Nope nope nope.
My shoulders ached, no doubt from being strung up and hanging from my wrists for an extended period. Surprisingly, my wrists were fine, just a little raw from the rope. My ribs hurt the worst, and second place went to my abdomen. My lower back area, especially around my kidneys gave me stabbing pains each time I moved. I flexed and stretched to figure out how extensive the damage might be.
Not awful, nothing a little more stretching and rest wouldn't take care of. It wasn't even as bad as that time I'd slipped on the balancing logs while running the obstacle course and hit my side on the way down. I fucking rag-dolled into the mud like the snot sliming down your jaw after the gas chamber training. It wasn't the first or last time my soul left my abused body in shock.
My hips and groin ached, hard to say why. It was most likely from being hung just high enough that if I stood on my toes I could take a little weight off my wrists. Plus, each painful punch or kick I endured made me involuntarily seize up to ride the wave on my toes if I could. Sometimes I couldn't make my legs work well enough to do that though.
Have you ever felt a pain so sudden and immense that you can't move or speak? Like you walk into something with your knee and there's no room in your brain for forming words? Then your friend asks you are you okay, man?' And all you can think is shut up, just shut up, I can't talk, I can't talk, I need to focus all my willpower on making the pain go away'?
Yeah, the Ape was damn good at his job.
At first, it wasn't so bad. Not only could I deal with it, I wanted to focus on it and categorize it. A blunt fist felt heavy. A stiff finger jab was sharp and electric. Thrown elbows were special because the force was insane enough to feel like the spike went inches deep. Knee to the outer thigh? Nothing worth writing home about. Knee to the inner thigh, yeah, you felt that in your OTHER thigh too.
Dense muscle seemed to restrict and localize the pain, while soft muscle spread it like a burn. Each had their benefits, but I liked the soft muscle burn the most. It was a warm pain rather than a cold electricity type. I could fall asleep with a warm or hot pain. Cold, sharp, electric pain made my brain sizzle with denied focus. Thoughts scattered, and if it was strong enough your eyes refused to see. Well, I'm sure they saw stuff, but my brain wouldn't recognize it. Like it said `Nope, I'm busy, not accepting visual input at this time.'
The brain flares were seductive too, I won't lie. I'm sure you're probably saying this dude is sick' but hear me out on this. As near as I can figure, the brain flares were just sensory overload, a couple of seconds of absolute confusion and denial of existence. You only know they happened because for a brief moment afterwards you questioned what the fuck just happened?' Well Private Punching Bag, you got your bell rung, that's what fucking happened. What kind of question is that? Did you lose a few brain cells? Don't worry, you don't need those, you're in the Army. Brain cells are NOT standard issue and NOT mission critical, carry on.
Carry on. Yeah. HOO-AH!
The pleasure to be found in pain lasts only as long as your body can pump out whatever chemical it uses as a defense. Once you've milked that organ dry the pain becomes an irritant to your consciousness. And that's the point at which your only option is to ignore it. What I mean is you have to think away from it. During the pleasure period, focusing on the pain is rewarding. After that period ends there's no reward in it.
I've had this trick I do ever since I was 13 years old. I call it the Push It Away. What? Not the world-shattering descriptive term you expected from me? I was 13 when I had to name it so cut me a little slack and maybe go fuck yourself while you're at it. You can think about how you like to judge children as you attempt to fit your big opinion of yourself up your ...
Now I'm getting off track, see what you did? Verbal brilliance was never in the top 10 of my best qualities. I do know how to say `fuck you' in five languages. That ought to be worth something, right?
So anyway, the Push It Away works like this: You take the pain, shrink it down to a manageable size in the area affected and imagine pushing it out of your body. It takes some effort, and yes it's all in your mind, but that's the `trick' part of it. It tricks your brain into focusing on something other than the pain, you've given your brain a conscious task rather than instinct. Your brain wants to pay attention to the pain because that's important for survival. Fighting that instinct isn't easy. Once the trauma initiates the pain though, it's heightened afterwards because your muscles seize and tense, you hold your breath, and your brain is trying to catalogue the injury, take an assessment of damage. That makes it remember the trauma.
You can't let it do that, can't let it relive the trauma. So ... don't. Think of anything else. In sports, your coach tells you to `walk it off'. All he's doing is giving you a conscious task to focus on rather than the pain. It also helps you un-tense, gets you breathing normally. It allows the tension in your body to release. It takes practice, and you have to start out small but it works.
There wasn't any real pain to speak of when the Ape shoved up....
Nope. Push It Away.
I made a circle with my lips and breathed a few shallow breaths. I don't know why I couldn't think about it. It couldn't have been physically damaging, his dick wasn't even that big.
Nope. Push it Away. A feeling of disgust and sickness began to overwhelm me. I pushed HARD, and pushed myself right out. Thoughts began to surface. And yet, I became a clinical observer. I saw the thoughts, but it wasn't me thinking them. The place where there was no me. And it began:
Part of him knew what happened, knew what the Ape had done to him. The other part refused to care or acknowledge the rape. The part that knew wasn't too bothered except to question what possible goal they'd meant to accomplish. Oh, he understood one aspect involved breaking him psychologically. That was a no-brainer. They'd tried isolation, tried interrogation, some weak physical trauma along with mind games. His only regret now was that he'd spent most of the time mentally trying to figure out their game rather than using the process to strengthen his focus and endurance. He regretted how frequently he'd chosen to `tap out' mentally during the worst of it, including the sickening feeling at his periphery when the Ape's unimpressive cock first slid up inside him. It almost made it worse that the big beast didn't measure up in the dick department. Being brutalized by something completely average was insulting in its own way. If he was stronger he would have stayed present to learn as much as he could.
He couldn't even say with any certainty how long it had taken. All of the details were locked in a very tiny box far back in his mind.
He was forced to question whether that was good for him. No, that was not the right concept. Of course it wasn't good for him to lock it away like that. Doing it that way meant he'd learned nothing from handling Kevin's memory in a similar fashion.
The true question was whether it was useful, either in the short term or long term. Would it rear its ugly head at some inopportune moment, come back to him when he least wanted it to?
Probably.
He mentally sighed. He knew what he had to do. Trouble was, he didn't want to.
Fucking hell.
He wasn't even sure he'd have time to wade through the connections to what it meant for his time here, for his relationship with Kevin, to being the leader of the Bravos. At least he wasn't stupid enough to question what it meant for his self confidence or his manhood. It had nothing to do either of those. Those were solid. He knew who he was and hadn't asked for this treatment. There had to be a point to it, didn't there?
He could choose to shrug it off and chalk it up to an experience he probably had to get out of the way sooner rather than later, and they'd done him a favor. But that felt like taking the coward's way out. It would be easy to talk himself into that. Twisting your brain and consciousness with lies that let you off the hook simply rationalized what you wanted to be true, not necessarily the actual truth. Yes, the situation was absolutely beneficial for those reasons, but silver linings are the sugar you put on something bitter to hide its nature. Mental strength came from recognizing and understanding the bitterness first.
Fuck. He put his hands behind his head on the cot, refusing to stand up and pace like he wanted to. Was he making too much of this? Ultimately he didn't care what the Ape did. So why hide it away from himself in a box? That made it seem like he did actually care. Also, was it that important to do this now? Was this the right time and place for the soul-searching?
"Arrrrggghhh" he growled in frustration. Another lie to his brain. "Fuck you, brain." He muttered. Why entertain putting it off when he had nothing else to do but lie here? He'd never been in the habit of lying to himself. "Well guess what, Tom? We're gonna do this, you stupid fuck. Stop trying to trick me. Don't start none, won't be none." He said out loud.
Oh, now I'm talking to myself. Woooo-weeee, this is definitely doing a number on me.
Which only meant he should absolutely work his way through it now. What the fuck was happening with his brain? How could he be here' but not here', watching himself like an observer? One of him completely reactive, the other cold and objective? The cold, observational one dismissed the momentary confusion as the distraction that it was and moved on.
Having decided, he felt a calm descend. He took a moment to relax with relief. Good, we're on the right track then. He allowed himself that affirmation.
Yes, there were benefits to the experience. It would be stupid to ignore those. He could use them to force himself to grow. Sure, it was a crutch to make the damage assessment he'd be doing later easier to swallow but why give up an advantage when you didn't have to?
So, benefits. Another bridge crossed, a test most men never endured. And he'd endured it. He'd felt no terror, no shame, no soul-shattering fear or revulsion. The only emotions he could find were regret and sadness that Kevin wasn't the only one. He understood that had been important to himself. It made him want to apologize to Kevin for putting himself in a position to have it happen. Except he wasn't sure he could even tell Kevin. It would make him angry.
Maybe Kevin would even take his anger out on him. For any other reason, that would have excited him. An angry Kevin was just fucking sexy as hell. Those grey eyes shrouding with a scowled darkness, the clenched jaw and subtle snarl he displayed forced a deep surrender inside Tom that was damn near its own full body orgasm.
Seeing the otherwise sedate, unshakeable man burn with the internal molten heat of fury thrilled his blood to equal Kevin's primal emotions.
Any emotion Kevin chose to reveal was like a bright beacon to Tom's soul. It could be love, which made Tom flush with a weakness so close to passing out. It could be amusement that flooded his body with endorphins. Kevin's frustration made Tom's spine tingle.
If there was a sign that two souls were tragically and joyously intertwined, it was how Kevin's mood invaded Tom's body and mind with uncontrollable instincts and reactions. And for him, the ease with which Kevin seized all power and control seduced him beyond any line in the sand he might draw.
Yes, Kevin would be angry. He would be angry at the men who did it, at the situation, at the futility of all of it. No silver lining in that, except perhaps gaining the knowledge early on that Tom intended for an extraordinary life and if he wanted to be a part of that there were going to be other distasteful situations that he should learn to keep separated from their relationship.
He jolted up on the cot, breathing heavily as he swung his legs over the side to ground his feet firmly on the concrete floor. He'd gone the long way around. You dumb fucking grunt. Had to do it the hard way, didn't you? He ridiculed himself.
What this was, this training, his experiences no matter how personal or intimate... it had nothing to do with what he had with Kevin. Kevin should learn to keep it separated? Doctor, fix your own fucking self. Which was something Kevin would say, only he'd probably remember the right quote. It was Shakespeare or something intellectual. Or maybe John F. Kennedy said it, who the fuck knows?
Something else occurred to him right then: how it would affect Kevin was his biggest internal conflict. He knew from the start he didn't give a rat's ass about what it meant for himself. He could deal with the disgust, even mitigate the blame. It didn't matter at all because what happened to his body had no connection to the man he was. And while it would affect the man he wanted to be it was only because it was something he could use to surmount other obstacles. If the Army taught you anything, it was that pain and suffering were the stairs you climbed to domination.
The final piece that called a truce between the warring factions of his mind was that the sexual assault had to be a one time thing. He understood the difference between an ongoing and repeated use of the method vs. a single occurrence. Ongoing and repeated would be repulsive in a way he may not be able to reconcile so easily.
He began to laugh. Yeah, his laughter sounded crazy, even to his own ears, but it was the laughter of release. Sitting there on the edge of the cot he understood he'd never have to cross this bridge again. The confidence he'd gained in his sense of self was huge by itself, but even more important was realizing he and Kevin travelled separate paths that they could walk side by side. Whatever change became necessary on that path, Kevin would be a constant.
I dropped off the cot onto the floor and began a set of pushups. No sense in getting soft or letting my strength suffer just because I was a prisoner. I was past the worst of it. The gentle but subtle reintegration of my separated minds felt right. I wasn't even angry. I learned something about myself it would have probably taken years to learn otherwise.
Now, figuring out why my brain seemed to enjoy having a psychotic break? Way too gnarly to dig through. There was some mental bullshit called Multiple Personality Disorder. Sally Field did a mini-series about it in the 70's. My mom has it on VHS. It's called Sybil or something. Seems a little fake to me, just saying you're different people when your mood changes. Well, at least it used to seem like bullshit until my brain decided to watch itself use the 3rd person to refer to me. That means I was three people at once, right? Me watching, the guy talking about it, and who the guy was talking about. That's why they call it 3rd person. Ah, FUCK! Mrs. Balenciaga in 10th grade English could have explained it that way and maybe I'd have made a B in her class instead of a C. It made sense now.
Before you get all `uh... Assmunch, that's not what 3rd person is' I beg to differ. One part of me was talking about myself to another part of me. That's three people. There was probably a 4th person, or more, in English, who the fuck knows how THAT fucking works? Like I said, brain cells are not standard issue in the Army. Hoo-ah!