seasoned
Marine too…startle a sleeping newb and you may end up getting shot to pieces or
sliced in half with a molecular blade.
I was seasoned enough not to over-react. “I was sleeping,
asshole.” Not normal chatter for the comlink, but I was mildly annoyed, and my
tone conveyed it.
“What are you gonna do, sleep your life away?” He was
always cheerful, which was surprisingly irritating sometimes. This time,
though, it seemed like a facade. Something was bothering him.
“Wouldn’t want to waste a minute of the Tombstone
experience, would we?” I wanted to be pissed, but he was a good guy; he just
never shut up. “I think it will be a big vacation spot once we’re done
fighting for it.”
He sat down next to me, leaning back against the rock wall.
“I wonder how long we’ll be posted here.” His upbeat tone was gradually
getting a little more somber. Tombstone wore everyone down. “The unit we
replaced had been here six months. We’re almost there, but I haven’t heard
squat about us getting rotated out.”
Of course, I’d considered it too, but I wasn’t sure I should
tell him what I really thought. It looked to me like both sides were
increasing the strength deployed here, and they were probably going to do it by
extending the tours. “I think we’ll be here awhile.” What the hell, I
thought. Tell him what you think. “It’s obvious the expeditionary force here
is being increased. If they increase the postings to a year they can bring in
the unit that was going to replace us as an incremental force.”
“Fuuuuck.” He stretched the word out impressively. “I
hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right.” He paused for five or ten
seconds, both of us silent as we thought about that unpleasant prospect. “Man,
I hate this shithole.” He slapped his hand lightly against the ground as he
spoke.
I nodded, though it wasn’t all that obvious of a gesture in
armor. “We made it this far; we’ll make it a year if we have to.” I said it,
but I wasn’t sure I believed it. A lot of us hadn’t made it this far, and it
was anyone’s guess how many would get through another seven months on this
hellhole.
I expected him to say something - he always had something to
say - but not this time. What was there to say? We were here, and we had a
job to do. That was all there was to it. Whether we liked it or not wasn’t
part of the equation.
“I’m getting the shakes.” He’d switched to direct laser
com. “The last month, maybe more.” His voice was serious, more so than I’d
ever heard it.
I let out a short breath, thinking about what to say,
wishing he’d gone to one of the real veterans who might have something wise to
tell him. But he’d come to me, and we were Marines…we were there for each
other. Always. “It can’t be too bad, Sam. I lost count of how many you
dropped this morning. It’s not affecting your shooting any.”
“I’ve managed to control it when we’re fighting. I guess
it’s the adrenalin or something. Focuses me.” He paused. “But it’s bad
before, and it’s starting to get that way after too. It took me the whole walk
back here to settle down.” His voice was edgy; he was really worried.
Sam Harden was a decorated Marine who’d been in half a dozen
engagements. He was sure to be bumped to corporal and given his own team after
this posting. But none of us was immune to the nerves, the fear. It gnawed at
you, even as you pushed it aside, and it could come out at any time. We all
controlled it in our own ways. Over the years I’ve known guys who had lucky
charms, some who prayed before battle, still others who played different mind
games with themselves. Some of them focused anger and rage; others relied on a
sense of discipline.
When you started to lose your control, even a little, it
became harder to get it back. Doubts preyed on your
Marine too…startle a sleeping newb and you may end up getting shot to pieces or
sliced in half with a molecular blade.
I was seasoned enough not to over-react. “I was sleeping,
asshole.” Not normal chatter for the comlink, but I was mildly annoyed, and my
tone conveyed it.
“What are you gonna do, sleep your life away?” He was
always cheerful, which was surprisingly irritating sometimes. This time,
though, it seemed like a facade. Something was bothering him.
“Wouldn’t want to waste a minute of the Tombstone
experience, would we?” I wanted to be pissed, but he was a good guy; he just
never shut up. “I think it will be a big vacation spot once we’re done
fighting for it.”
He sat down next to me, leaning back against the rock wall.
“I wonder how long we’ll be posted here.” His upbeat tone was gradually
getting a little more somber. Tombstone wore everyone down. “The unit we
replaced had been here six months. We’re almost there, but I haven’t heard
squat about us getting rotated out.”
Of course, I’d considered it too, but I wasn’t sure I should
tell him what I really thought. It looked to me like both sides were
increasing the strength deployed here, and they were probably going to do it by
extending the tours. “I think we’ll be here awhile.” What the hell, I
thought. Tell him what you think. “It’s obvious the expeditionary force here
is being increased. If they increase the postings to a year they can bring in
the unit that was going to replace us as an incremental force.”
“Fuuuuck.” He stretched the word out impressively. “I
hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right.” He paused for five or ten
seconds, both of us silent as we thought about that unpleasant prospect. “Man,
I hate this shithole.” He slapped his hand lightly against the ground as he
spoke.
I nodded, though it wasn’t all that obvious of a gesture in
armor. “We made it this far; we’ll make it a year if we have to.” I said it,
but I wasn’t sure I believed it. A lot of us hadn’t made it this far, and it
was anyone’s guess how many would get through another seven months on this
hellhole.
I expected him to say something - he always had something to
say - but not this time. What was there to say? We were here, and we had a
job to do. That was all there was to it. Whether we liked it or not wasn’t
part of the equation.
“I’m getting the shakes.” He’d switched to direct laser
com. “The last month, maybe more.” His voice was serious, more so than I’d
ever heard it.
I let out a short breath, thinking about what to say,
wishing he’d gone to one of the real veterans who might have something wise to
tell him. But he’d come to me, and we were Marines…we were there for each
other. Always. “It can’t be too bad, Sam. I lost count of how many you
dropped this morning. It’s not affecting your shooting any.”
“I’ve managed to control it when we’re fighting. I guess
it’s the adrenalin or something. Focuses me.” He paused. “But it’s bad
before, and it’s starting to get that way after too. It took me the whole walk
back here to settle down.” His voice was edgy; he was really worried.
Sam Harden was a decorated Marine who’d been in half a dozen
engagements. He was sure to be bumped to corporal and given his own team after
this posting. But none of us was immune to the nerves, the fear. It gnawed at
you, even as you pushed it aside, and it could come out at any time. We all
controlled it in our own ways. Over the years I’ve known guys who had lucky
charms, some who prayed before battle, still others who played different mind
games with themselves. Some of them focused anger and rage; others relied on a
sense of discipline.
When you started to lose your control, even a little, it
became harder to get it back. Doubts preyed on your
Similar Books
