by J.M. LeDuc
Chapter 5
Twenty-three hundred hours came faster than the men could have imagined. Once again they lined up in the plane hangar and waited for Seven to arrive.
Seven watched them through a remote camera in an adjoining room. “What’s your plan?” the colonel asked.
“I’m going to see if I can crack some eggs,” he said, not taking sight off the men.
The colonel’s face turned red with fury. “Do you always talk in circles? Answer my damn question!”
Seven turned to look at the colonel. “I need to find out if I can push their buttons. Is that clear enough?” He didn’t wait for a response. He just turned, gave one final look at the screen, and left the room.
The four men watched as Seven walked in from the far side of the hangar. He had always worn an expression of intensity, but this time it was different, harder, more intense. He looked like he could call down the heavens and bring thunder and lightning with a snap of his fingers.
Seven didn’t acknowledge any of them, he just started talking. “You’re about to begin the last stage of this exercise. At o-three hundred hours, you’ll be dropped on top of the mountain range you all have been staring at for the past forty-four days.” He paused his speech and looked at the men. “You’ll drop alone. Each of you will complete the exercise by yourself.”
“What’s the exercise?”
Seven glared at Jensen. “Did I ask for questions, boy?”
The word cut through the private like a bayonet. “No, sir. I was just…”
Seven stood inches away from Jensen. The private was seven to eight inches taller than him, yet he seemed to cower in his proximity. When Seven spoke, Jensen could smell the tobacco on his breath.
“Just nothin, boy. Stand there and shut up and maybe you’ll be able to retain enough information in that inbred brain of yours to keep you alive during the exercise.”
Jensen was crimson with hate and anger. His muscular physique became vascular as his body flushed with blood. Seven turned, walked, and kept on talking, never taking his full attention off of the private.
“On the mountain, you will no doubt encounter wild animals; bear and wolf are indigenous to this region. The animals are not unlike any other enemy you have faced or will face in the future. When you encounter an enemy in his territory, it’s always better to retreat than to attack. A dead hero is not a hero, he’s just dead.” Seven heard a snicker as he said these words. Keeping his same rhythm, he walked back and stood in front of Jensen.
“Peckerwood, what’s your first name?”
“John.”
“John? Your records say otherwise. Ain’t that right, Sherman?”
“I go by John.”
“At this point, I don’t give a shit what your name is,” Seven said. He walked past the men and back to where Jensen was standing. “John, you think what I said was funny?”
Jensen looked at the others in the group. Not wanting to look weak, he looked back at Seven and said, “Kinda, yeah.”
Seven walked a few steps away from the group. Without turning to look in their direction, he asked, “Whose territory are we in right now, John?”
“Yours, I guess,” he said with a sly smile.
“So, if I were the prey, would you retreat or attack?”
The private was silent. Whatever answer he gave, he knew he might be walking into a trap.
“Come on, ain’t that hard an answer,” Seven said. “How about I help you out?” Seven said. Turning to look at the group, he said, “Let’s see, you’re about six-foot-three and about 230 pounds, with maybe eleven percent body fat. That right?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Jensen answered.
“And I’m five-foot-six and about 165 pounds.” He patted his stomach. “I’m carrying a little more around the gut than I need. That right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Jensen started to get a little ticked off with the line of questioning. He thought the others were probably laughing, even though they didn’t make a sound. Seven swiveled around, faced away from the group, and walked away as he continued, “So, what’s the big deal? A big guy like you, would you attack or retreat?”
“Attack,” Jensen answered with an edge in his voice.
Seven was now about fifteen feet away from him. He turned once more to face him. He could see Jensen was starting to crack—lose his perspective. Seven spit a good-sized wad of tobacco across the room. It landed on the private’s boot. Jensen looked down at his boot and looked back up at Seven with a sneer. He emitted a rumbling grunt from his closed mouth.
Seven took a step closer to him and smirked. “That's what I thought, boy,” he said, “all those muscles are good for is posing. You're no soldier, you're just a useless piece of s . . .”
Jensen had taken all he was going to. He was sure that the others were laughing at him. There was no way he was going to let this little twirp get away with talking to him like that. With a deep, primal scream that seemed to begin in his bowels, he rushed Seven at full speed.
With a lightning hand movement no one saw coming, Seven pulled his knife from its sheath and threw it the length of the plane hangar. The knife almost floated in the air, spinning in its movement like a boomerang, and then, as if it were slicing butter, it cut through a rope attached to the ceiling. In an instant, the wing of a plane, in for repair, swung down and hit Jensen square in the back of his head. He dropped like a rock, out cold before he hit the concrete floor. As Seven walked past him to retrieve his knife, he kept talking.
“Never attack in someone else’s territory, never attack out of anger, and never attack head on.” He picked up his knife, inspected it, placed it back in its sheath, and then faced the three who were conscious. “Now, if you encounter prey in territory you’re familiar with and if you have the element of surprise on your side, attack. It’s actually safer in those circumstances than to retreat.
“If you retreat, you may find yourself encountering the same prey later on when you no longer have the advantage. You have to make the most of any advantages you get because you won’t get many.” Walking past them, he said, “Bathroom break, take ten, and drag that carcass out of my classroom. When he comes to, tell him his stuff will be waiting for him in the main office. He’s out of the exercise.”
Seven spoke for the next hour, every word a pearl of wisdom. By the time he finished, the men were glassy eyed. “Get some sleep,” he said. “We reconvene here at o-three hundred hours. Dismissed.”
Sleep was again non-existent for Brent. He could hear the other men breathing, sleeping soundly. The clock blinked o-one hundred hours. Brent knew he would get no sleep so he got up, dressed and went outside for some air.
He stood in a small clearing and stared up at the top of the Grand Teton mountain range.
“Sightseeing, Professor?”
He jumped at the sound of the voice. “Do you always sneak up on everyone?” There was anger in his words.
“Let’s get something straight,” Seven said. “I wasn’t sneaking and I don’t like the tone of your voice. Like it or not, I am your commanding officer.”
Brent didn’t answer; he just went back to staring at the mountain range.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I don’t sleep much. I just wanted some fresh air.”
“You’ll be getting plenty of that over the next few days.”
“So you said,” Brent answered.
Seven lightened the tone of his voice. “Look at me, Venturi.” Brent turned and looked into the eyes of his commanding officer. “I’ve been having a hard time getting a good grasp on you, Lieutenant. You’re a good soldier, hell, you’re a great soldier. Everything in your record tells me so, but you’re wrapped so tight, you are about to explode.” Brent went to respond, but Seven held up his hand, telling him to stand down. “You’ve heard me talk about emotion and how it will get you killed in the field of battle.” Brent nodded. “But,” Seven continued, �
�keeping it bottled up is no better than letting it explode like Jensen did earlier. Whatever is going on inside your head, figure it out and get rid of it.” He waited for Brent to say something, but nothing came. “I’ve been thinking about your answer to my question earlier today.”
“The one about who I would save?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“I saw the surprise in your eyes.”
Seven stepped closer. “Care to explain?”
Brent loosened up a bit and stood at ease. “When I gave my answer, your eyes dilated. I knew you were surprised at my response.”
Seven smiled, spit and kicked dirt on top of it. “Your emotions are like my tobacco juice. They are right there, just covered up.” He moved his foot again and uncovered the wet dirt. “It would only take the right trigger for them to come to the surface.” It was now Brent’s pupils that dilated. Seven put his hand his shoulder. “You’ve got to let go of whatever is eating at you or you won’t make it through the next few days, and I’m counting on you to make it through.”
He turned to leave when Brent spoke. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are we here? I know this is no ordinary exercise. I just haven’t been able to figure out why the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the President brought two hundred men to the middle of nowhere just to tear us down. It doesn’t make any sense.”
Seven turned back towards Brent. “Sometimes, Professor, you don’t have to know why, you just have to act. As far as tearing men down is concerned. Sometimes in order to make a better soldier, you have to remove the old one and start fresh.” Brent didn’t look any surer than he did a minute ago. “I know that might seem vague, but it’s the best I have at this time. I suggest you go back to your barracks and get what sleep you can. You’re going to need it.”
As Seven walked away, he heard Brent say thank you. At that moment, Seven knew what kind of man Lieutenant Venturi was.
