No Hero, Part 3
Misbehavior Before the Enemy, 5 of 5
"This is it, guys," the sergeant said, "we saddle up tomorrow morning at 0500. Do not go out tonight and get shitfaced. I know it’s Friday night, but you had better restrain yourselves, got it? Get some sleep, drink water, and don’t you dare be late. I will have your asses in a sling, understand? Good. Any questions? All right then. Group! Atten-tion! Dismissed."
It was 0530. You sat on the edge of your bed, and stared straight ahead at the white brick wall. You’d stared all night, unable to sleep. Too hot, too cold, impossible to get comfortable, too tense to sleep.
Someone had come to knock on your door at 0515. Fear stabbed up through your chest. Your hands gripped the sheets. When you did not answer, the knocker knocked again and then you heard him move off down the hallway. You’d heard the noisy clatter of the QRF soldiers below loading and piling into the government vans. You heard the big engines fire up and fade into the distance. You relaxed a little once you were sure they were gone.
You laid back onto your bed, laced your fingers together and rested your hands on you stomach. Your fingers were sore from loading hundreds of rounds the day before. Fatigue was pulling at your eyes, but when you closed them they didn’t want to stay closed. Since you didn’t want to expend the effort to keep them closed, they came open and the ceiling drifted in and out of focus.
There. That popping sound again, the cracking bone sound. Standing amidst the crowd you looked at the soldiers as the flash from the muzzles of their rifles lit up their faces, those masks of indifference, the tension evident on those faces as they refused to believe that it was they who were squeezing those triggers, sending those tiny arcs of death out into the air to find their soft, warm targets. You watched the hot, spent cartridges hitting the asphalt with a cacophony of tinny brass sounds, watched them pile endlessly on top of one another. Deer came bounding through the crowd, running at full tilt at the gate and the soldiers. They flew apart in spectacular gouts of blood, severed limbs cartwheeled through the air. Then another sound became evident, the sound of blood running in rivulets on the asphalt, louder than the shouts of alarm and panic from the swiftly diminishing crowd. You sank to your knees in the gore, strained at your leash, gnashed your teeth and wailed.
You awoke and sat bolt upright. You could hear equipment being noisily unloaded, you recognized voices chatting and laughing outside. You looked at your alarm clock; 0830. You wondered how they could possibly be back already. You stood and stretched, yawning. You went out into the hallway and down to the bathroom and splashed some water on your face and rubbed at your eyes.
The door to the bathroom swung open and the sergeant poked his head inside.
"Well, well," he said, "Look who we have here. Good morning Sleeping Beauty."
You told the sergeant good morning.
"Where the fuck you been?" the sergeant asked as he stepped into the bathroom. He was still wearing all of his gear. He’d swiped black grease paint under his eyes.
You told him you’d been asleep.
"Bullshit," he sneered.
Honest, you said.
"You ain’t slept a wink, don’t try to feed me that line. You chickened out." You were silent, and he got close to you, his face right in yours.
"Pussies like you are what make me hate the Army, you know that?" You didn’t know that, but you nodded anyway. "Fucking punks like you don’t feel like finishing the mission they volunteered for in the first place. What did you think this Army was going to be? Sugar and spice and everything nice? Afraid of getting a little rough and tumble, huh?
You told him that you didn’t want to get rough and tumble with protestors you happened to agree with.
"I ought to punch you in the face, you goddamn faggot," he stepped back and looked you up and down. "Get dressed, you sack of shit. You’re going to see the Commander. I told you I’d have your ass in a sling last night, didn’t I? You’re in deep shit now."