Three Gray Dots

by K. L Randis

  He nodded, watching the crowd form around us in his peripherals. “All right man, no problem here. Everyone was out on the same field today, remember?”

  I nodded at him and made eye contact with a few other recruits before settling back onto my bed.

  Freddy climbed up into his bunk and tossed around for a while once the lights were out. The faint whimper of crying could be heard somewhere four bunks away but everyone was either too exhausted or scared to call him out on it.

  “Nathan,” came a whisper above me. “My name is Nathan.”

  I smirked in the dark, respecting his unabated enthusiasm.

  “I’m Jackson.”

  ***

  I was given the gift of four weeks of solitude, courtesy of the boot camp training protocol. No letters, phone calls, or contact with the outside world meant the freedom to let my angst-ridden temperament spiral wildly out of control.

  Between pull ups and drill I was pushing back tears and thoughts of the things left unsaid, not just with my parents but also with my girlfriend, Mackenzie. She had a cluster of plans after graduation that included marriage, kids, and a house somewhere with a blue door. I knew I loved her, but I also knew I couldn’t stay in a house where my parents had died, waiting for my life to have meaning again. So I let the Marines take the reigns.

  Big mistake.

  Week six was the halfway point and the letters from Mackenzie were all that were keeping me going. By week seven, I was practically salivating at the idea of sneaking from the barracks in the middle of the night and running for my life. I planned it out in my head, knowing that if I was chosen for fire watch and was paired up with recruit McKinley I could make a run for it. McKinley always fell asleep, poor bastard, and I would be long gone before he woke up and anyone else noticed. The problem was I was literally on an island, and I had no idea where I would even run. The downright torture they put me through was turning out to be more than I was able to handle.

  The pit was the worst.

  Smart ass remark? In the pit.

  Made Freddy laugh while in formation? In the pit.

  Didn’t shit fast enough?

  Too ugly that day?

  Screw up cadence?

  Had a weird name?

  Blinked wrong?

  No pep in your step? Into the pit.

  I spent a copious amount of time in the pit.

  It was a literal pit of sand that made push-ups impossible and any movement excruciating. Sand would sneak its way into the smallest crevices inside my clothes and make it feel like I was working out while rubbing sandpaper over fresh wounds. Then they would make us lay on our stomachs or backs in the baking South Carolina sun, while the sand fleas had their way with our delicate, civilian skin.

  It was their way of teaching us not to flinch under duress. The idea was that if we could learn to let the sand fleas have their way with us, a sniper wouldn’t.

  I’d have preferred to be shot by a sniper.

  It was the last hour of the day, and as per usual Fressy was using rec time to hyperventilate over his inability to remember the schedule.

  “So then after that, we go to the mess hall, right?” Freddy said, rubbing some residual sand from his hair.

  “We’re going to the chow hall you moron,” Parker chimed in.

  “Don’t call Freddy a moron,” I said. “At least he can repel a damn wall without crying.”

  “I hate heights,” Parker replied, kicking the air in Freddy’s direction when he snickered.

  “It’s a mock helicopter, it’s not even real. All you have to do is get to the bottom,” Freddy teased.

  “Shut up, Freddy. That thing is at least a hundred feet in the air. I hate you both.”

  “I hate you but you still follow me around like a lost puppy,” I said.

  “That’s cause I hate Freddy and he’s always around you so I always have someone to pick on.”

  “Freddy, it’s called a chow hall,” I said, circling back to the original question. They only call it a mess hall in California,” I informed him.

  “Oh,” Freddy replied.

  ***

  “Gentleman, shall we chow?” I whispered as we filed into to grab our food after drill the next day.

  “I think we shall,” Parker chimed in.

  We made our way into the sea of shaved heads and body odor to grab trays. We didn’t get much time to eat, but the food wasn’t anything to write home about either so the sooner we were done the better.

  “You hear about Oswald?” Parker said with a mouthful of green beans. “Bastard went home. What a show he put on when he broke his femur.”

  “He broke his femur? How did he manage that?” I asked.

  “Landed wrong on the course, snapped it straight through the skin. They said a drill instructor fainted but that’s not confirmed. You didn’t hear that from me and you better not repeat it. Two guys definitely puked though.”

  “I didn’t think if you got hurt they’d just send you home like that,” Freddy said.

  “I don’t think they normally do unless there’s a long recovery. I’d imagine he’d need a surgery or two, then physical therapy. It’ll be at least a year before he’s back in the game. So he gets a pass, and we’re here eating this garbage,” Parker said, slopping his mystery meat back onto his tray.

  I chewed my bread, mulling the Oswald story over and over again in my head. Maybe there would be a way out after all.

  The course was a mix of agility, strength, and speed. I felt bad for the guys who clearly looked like they never passed gym class in high school. Even though I excelled in sports and physical fitness regimens I still had trouble keeping up.

  I had no idea how I was going to attempt to break my femur, but I decided before I even left the chow hall that I had to try. Mackenzie was waiting for me back home and I had made the mistake of thinking that running away from her would be what I needed to set myself straight. It was an impulsive decision in the mix of my parents dying, high school graduation, and an not knowing where my life was supposed to go from there.

  I was an idiot.

  Her letters were dwindling, and I was growing impatient with the drill instructors constant harassment.

  It was time to go home.

  ***

  “Tell me, Walker, are you a god damn moron or were you just born without a brain?”

  The haze of what happened started to lift as I regained consciousness, with drill instructors’ voices booming through the clouds like a foghorn. “You fell off the wall like a ballerina Walker, it was a true fucking Nutcracker show you just put on. You should get an Olympic medal for stupidity. Can you stand up or—”

  I woke up in the BAS hours later. The throbbing in my knee was surreal and it was the pain that finally shook me from my sleep.

  “Is it bad?” I asked the physician assistant who walked over.

  “You’ve got a deep bruise,” she replied. “I don’t think anything is broken, but you might need additional scans to make sure you didn’t tear anything.”

  “How long will I be laid up?”

  She looked at a calendar on the wall. “About three or four days until we can figure out exactly what’s going on. We already did scans at the ACA, we’re just waiting for the results. You should get some rest in the meantime. Best-case scenario? You’ll be on light duty for a week or two.”

  I nodded, laying back on the pillow behind me.

  “Mail came,” she said, handing me some letters. On top of the mail was a scratchy note from Freddy on one of the envelopes that read:

  Sorry you fucked yourself up. At least you don’t look like a testicle with teeth on a daily basis, right? ( I got that from the movie Deadpool, I don’t think I actually look like a testicle with teeth, just trying to make you laugh). Feel better man.

  -Freddy

  I wondered who he ass-kissed to be able to write the note to me while opening the letter with Mackenzie’s familiar handwriting scrawled across the front of the envelope.
An address was written across the top left corner I knew all too well—it was only three houses away from my own growing up.

  The only time I cried as hard as I did by the end of that letter was when my parents were lowered into the ground. It’s the kind of cry that comes from your gut and is oddly satisfying when you’re done. I was thankful I was held up at the BAS, because I would have never lived it down otherwise if I were in the barracks. When my sobs subsided to a more human-like level, the physician assistant pulled the curtain back alongside my bed and handed me a box of tissues.

  “She break up with you?” she said, her tone all too familiar with the game.

  “Yeah, I guess four years is too long to wait around for the person you love,” I said.

  She nodded and patted my shoulder. “I know it won’t make you feel better right now, but maybe she was just the right person at the wrong time.” She checked her watch and looked toward the door. “I believe no one else will be coming to holler at us for the rest of the evening. I have a pudding pack in my dinner, do you think you can stomach it? Chocolate always helps.”

  I nodded, throwing the letter to the floor.

  She got up and patted my shoulder again. “There’s plenty of time for you, don’t you worry.”

  ***

  Ssgt. Murray, my senior drill instructor, was sitting at my bedside when I woke up. He didn’t say a word, and it scared the shit out of me when his face was the first thing I saw.

  “Senior Drill Instructor?” I said, trying to sit up in bed and wincing in pain.

  He held up a hand, motioning me to lie back down. “What’s your plan here, Walker.”

  “Sir…?”

  “What’s your plan here? Are you going to heal up, get back on the course, and fulfill the potential I see in you or are you going to lie down like a dog in the road and let life roll over you?”

  I scanned the room for the physician assistant. When I didn’t see her I shifted under the covers to give me time to respond.

  “I’m making you uncomfortable, I can see that,” Ssgt. Murray said. “You know what else is uncomfortable? Life. Disappointments. Girlfriends who leave you while you’re at boot camp.”

  “Yeah. Uh, I mean yes, how did you—” I looked around for the letter.

  “It was on the floor, stained with your tears, princess,” he said. When he chucked it onto the bed, I tucked it under my pillow and turned twenty shades of crimson.

  “So you got a decision to make here. Do you stay and finish what you started? Or do you go running back to your hometown to be with the girl who couldn’t see you through boot camp? ‘Cause you didn’t need to sacrifice your knee to get out of here, we don’t want to keep anyone here who isn’t really here.” He slid his chair back, hoisting his belt as he stood to realign his crisp pants.

  “What’s the damage, Sir?” I asked as he approached the door.

  His hand hovered over the doorknob. “You got a deep bruise, nothing three days worth of rest won’t fix. Unless you need another story to go home with, Walker.”

  I nodded, looking down at my knee then back toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you Thursday then,” I said.

  Sergeant Murray nodded, a slight smirk lifting the left side of his mouth. “Good to hear.” He turned the knob on the door. “Oh, and Walker?”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “I was never here.”

  Chapter Twenty

  JACKSON

  Iraq

  I did a job, no regrets.

  It’s what I told myself as coalition forces started fighting Iraqi militia in Basra, the second largest city in Iraq. I in the middle of my second tour, with all intentions of signing up for a third. Maybe even a fourth if they needed me.

  I was salty, as we called it, a term we used to describe our most seasoned Marines.

  I knew things they couldn’t teach you, like how the sound of a two-blade helicopter hummed differently than a four-blade. We’d pray for oranges and letters with nudes to open Christmas morning. We’d check our watches on Sundays, hating that it was Sunday, because it meant rice for the millionth time that week.

  I hated rice. I tolerated killing people. I loved getting nudes.

  The gray areas of whether or not it was justified to kill someone began to blur almost immediately. My fifth mission during my second tour in Iraq was no exception.

  The original objective was simple enough: put up a parameter around the city and herd everyone out, picking them off as they channeled out to capture our target.

  Master Sergeant Cooper had a better idea.

  “This guy we’re going after is a monster,” I said to Cpl. Freddy, kicking a plume of dust into the air as we sat baking in the sun. I wiped my brow, turning my chin to the sky to determine how much longer we’d have to endure the heat before the sun started to set. “If this is what we have to do to kill him I think we’re doing the lesser of two evils.”

  “Well, you’re higher up on the food chain than I am, Sergeant,” Cpl. Freddy said. “What’d he do that we’re gunning for him so hard?”

  “Besides the obvious terrorist-daily-agenda items, you mean?” LCpl. Nelson said, rolling his eyes.

  I smiled, watching Cpl. Freddy’s eyes shift to the ground, something he did when he was embarrassed. It was a miracle we both made it through boot camp together. The odds that we wound up with the same MOS and in the same battalion not for one but two tours of Iraq was implausible. Yet, there we were shooting the shit, just after getting word that I’d be heading out that evening on a secret op.

  “Hey now, Nelson,” I started. “Don’t make Moon feel bad. He’s not as smart as you and me. As Marines it is our duty to protect and serve even the dumbest of human beings. Ain’t that right, Moon?”

  “My name isn’t Moon,” Cpl. Freddy said in a monotone.

  “Wait, why are you calling him Moon?” LCpl. Nelson asked, a smile spreading across his face in anticipation of the joke before it was even said out loud.

  “Look at him,” Cpl. Freddy said, pointing at LCpl. Nelson’s face and wagging a finger. “He doesn’t even know what you’re about to say and he’s ready to laugh anyway because he’s new blood here and thinks this is how you advance your career, by sucking up to cocky sergeants.”

  “I’m not cocky at all,” I replied to Cpl. Freddy. “I just naturally excel at life.” I winked at him, turning my attention to LCpl. Nelson. “And I call him Moon, dear Nelson, because it’s nicer than calling him Crater.”

  LCpl. Nelson doubled over in laughter as Cpl. Freddy shook his head at the ground. “Har-har, Walker, I get it…because moons have craters, right? Like my face?”

  “That’s right, Corporal Freddy.”

  “Speaking of, you know some Pfcs are starting to address me as Corporal Freddy now thinking that’s my real name?”

  “I had no idea,” I said. “How rude. They should know better than to make fun of a Corporal.”

  Cpl. Freddy threw darts at me with his eyes. “Speaking of being lower on the food chain, Nelson make yourself useful for once and grab us some waters.”

  LCpl. Nelson rubbed under his eyes at he stood up. “Is that an order, Corporal Freddy?”

  “Not unless you want to disregard a direct order from your NCO,” he shot back sarcastically.

  “Anything for you, Corporal.”

  I watched LCpl. Nelson disappear. “You could have got that water for yourself you entitled prick.”

  Cpl. Freddy made sure he was out of earshot before speaking. “I wanted to ask about your bum knee before you head out on this mission tonight,” he said, his face suddenly serious.

  I straightened my back, glancing out of my peripherals to make sure no one had heard him. “Say it a little louder next time man, would ya? The knee is fine. It only gives out after long runs.”

  “And sometimes when you crouch.”

  “So I won’t crouch.”

  “Never again? I don’t think you have that option here, we spend a good amount of tim
e with our heads down around here.”

  “It’s fine, I promise.” I pretended to pick at the dirt living under my nails. “Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that. I’ll get it looked at again first thing tomorrow when we’re back. Master Sergeant Cooper and I have been planning out this op for weeks, I’m not about to let him down. Tonight is our only shot. Master Sergeant couldn’t get approval from the higher ups for this. After tonight this guy’s a ghost and we’d rather not herd an entire city when Intel is good on where he is right now. We can get him. You know they suggested I might have to have surgery on my knee and I don’t exactly have the time to do that.”

  “I’m sure sooner than later is best. You’ve been covering up your knee issues since boot camp. Must be nice to be Master Sergeant Cooper’s right hand man. Get it looked at,” Cpl. Freddy said, nodding past my shoulder to signal that LCpl. Nelson was on his way toward us.

  “At least we don’t have to worry about Agent Orange while we’re here,” LCpl. Nelson said, handing bottled water to each of us.

  “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Agent Orange. You aren’t familiar? Didn’t either of you have family in the military?”

  Freddy and I both shook our heads.

  Ecstatic that he held some knowledge about the military that neither of us were familiar with he leaned forward on his knees. “Yeah man, my grandpop told me about it from the Vietnam War. It was this herbicide chemical that we sprayed to kill off their crops and food supplies, then used it on the forestry to make bombing targets more visible.”

  “So what does that have to do with our water?” Cpl. Freddy asked, staring at his bottle.

  “They used small quantities of it to defoliate military base perimeters. It absorbed into the soil and water all around the bases, even in the air. Then our guys would have to walk and crawl through the fields they destroyed with the herbicide, exposing them even more.”

  “I had no idea,” I said. “Were there any side effects? How’s your grandpop now?”