Mozari Arrival

by Jack Colrain

  Horace nodded and disappeared somewhere in back. “OK, West. Hit the shower through that door, and be in the Mess in ten. Horace will point you the way.”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  Hammond grunted, and left.

  Daniel stumbled through the door he’d indicated and followed the sign to the men’s showers. Every muscle was aching, but the hot water pummeling his skin red was the best buzz he had felt since forever. When he got back to the benches where he had left his clothes, he found a new set of fatigues in his size waiting, still folded. Horace was gathering up his Leonard Wood sweats and said, “The other gear I’ve issued is in your bunk room. It’s A-8.”

  “Thanks,” Daniel said uncertainly, with no idea where bunk room A-8 might be. “Where’s the Mess?”

  “Out the door you came in, down the hall, second on the left.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Daniel dressed, and went out to follow Horace’s directions. It proved easy enough to find the Mess, which was quite small but clean, comfortable, and surprisingly welcoming. It resembled nothing so much as a college cafeteria, with a long counter of good-looking foods watched over by a couple of bored cooks, and several tables, only two of which were occupied—one by six soldiers in sweats and jogging pants, and the other by five in fatigues; a mixture of men and women, all of them looking at him.

  Not sure how to react, Daniel occupied himself with first grabbing himself a mug of coffee, still feeling the eyes on him. He’d seen enough movies to wonder if they were planning on some old-fashioned 1980s-style hazing ritual, and he hoped not. If they did, he thought, he wasn’t going to take it lying down; he’d fight back, just as he had against bullies at school.

  Kate Kinsella watched the new arrival sit alone. She was slightly built, and wiry, with dark, bobbed hair. “Who’s the FNG over there?” she asked the other four people at her table.

  The averagely-built man seated next to her shrugged. “No idea, Kinsella. He came in this morning, apparently.”

  The huge guy on the opposite side of their table turned and waved to the new guy. “Hey, Fresh Meat!” he boomed, and the new guy turned to look at them. “Come on over. We don’t bite.”

  “Unless ordered to,” Kinsella added. The newbie smiled and continued on down the line to fill up his stray with food and juice.

  “Maybe he’s too good for the likes of us,” the average-sized soldier said.

  A young black soldier next to the huge guy shook his head. “Nah, he’s just shy—or, hey, maybe he doesn’t speak English. I mean, maybe he’s attached to the Webbies.”

  “Not with those US Second L-T tags,” Evans, the other person at the table, finally piped up. “Must be a Homie, though, if he’s in fatigues.” The new guy had chosen his meal and looked from one table to the other, and now started towards their table.

  “Your powers of observation are spot-on, Jesslock,” Kinsella replied.

  “And my powers of having seen him this morning when the chief was introducing him to the assault course.”

  “Ouch,” the black soldier said with a heartfelt wince.

  Daniel was of two minds. On the one hand, he just wanted to eat and get the ache out of his body, but he also knew he was going to be spending time with the other people here and he didn’t want to alienate himself and become a pariah or a target. With some hesitance, he carried his tray over to the table that had flagged him down, sitting next to the redheaded sergeant. He recognized her vaguely, from having noticed her talking to Hammond while he’d been struggling with the assault course.

  Everybody looked around the same age as himself, and mostly a bit younger. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the lanky black soldier had turned out to be twelve years old, in fact. The averagely-built guy sitting next to a young woman he didn’t recognize leaned across with an outstretched hand. “I’m Casey. Casey Peters. Until last week, I was an E-5 allied trade over at Fort Benning. Then, boom, suddenly here I am in... whatever this unit is for.”

  Daniel nodded. “Daniel West. E-5, huh? That’s pretty cool.” He hoped it was something cool; he had no idea, but Peters seemed to be proud of it.

  “Yeah. Always enjoyed fixing stuff, you know? Where else would I get to do it with tanks? Can’t beat the Abrams for tinkering with. Way better than some old Corvette in a garage. Then I get a call to visit the commander’s office, and next thing, here I am. Don’t see any tanks, but...” He waved the thought away. “Oh, the kid here—” Casey wasn’t wrong about that, Daniel thought; the black guy in the square-looking Clark Kent military-issue spectacles sitting next to him didn’t look old enough to shave. “...is our Superman.” Everybody at the table chuckled, but Daniel got the impression that it wasn’t at the kid’s expense, as he seemed the most amused of all of them. “Kevin, meet Daniel; Daniel, meet Kevin.”

  “Kevin Bailey.” They shook hands. “Or Superman’s fine, too. Kevin ‘Superman’ Bailey.”

  “You sure you’re old enough to be in the Army?” Daniel asked, half-seriously.

  “Hey, I’m nineteen.”

  “Old enough to enlist, not old enough to have a beer,” the woman without the sergeant’s stripes said.

  “You fix things, too?” Daniel asked Superman.

  Bailey shook his head. “Eleven Bravo, Private, First Class. I’m just here to make my wife and son proud.” Daniel was skeptical that he was old enough to have a wife and son, but he nodded anyway. Then he nodded to the redheaded sergeant, and said, “I think we met already?”

  “At the assault course this morning,” she agreed, offering a handshake. “Staff Sergeant Jessica Evans. 13F. Well, I was until Sydney Day, and then I became E6 PDQ. I was an artillery fire support specialist, forward observer, but now... Well, I guess we’re all going to find out what we are fairly soon.”

  “Don’t you know?” Daniel understood that he was a stranger to this life, but surely people already here knew what they were here for?

  “Nope. The Army says go there, we go; they don’t always say why or what for. There hasn’t even been any scuttlebutt about what this unit is for. Everybody’s keeping all their cards close to their chest.”

  The biggest guy at the table, who would have made the Rock look like a wimp, gestured to Peters and said, “Erik Palmer. I used to drive his M1s. Was a great job. Never any trouble parking one, especially if all the spaces were occupied. And no, I haven’t had a single briefing since I got here. Just PT.”

  The woman who wasn’t a sergeant spread her hands and said, “Now that the audience has been warmed up by the support acts... Kate Kinsella. Military Police.”

  “That’s where they said I would be going, at first,” Daniel admitted. “Then things changed.” He wasn’t sure if the connection was going to be a good or a bad thing. It did give him some kinship with one of these soldiers, but it also surely made it more likely that they’d pick up on his greenness, and he felt that he’d best say something, rather than alienate himself from them immediately. All of them seemed a lot more experienced than him—even Kid Superman.

  “Cool, we should catch up.”

  Daniel, who had continued to eat throughout, gave a tight smile and switched subjects. “What is with that... Chief Hammond? I stepped off a Chinook, with no gear or—”

  “No gear or anything, and he ran you ‘round the lake?” Kevin Bailey suggested.

  “Until you puked?” Peters added.

  Daniel grimaced. “You all saw that?”

  The kid laughed. “Didn’t have to, man. We all did that. Exactly the same way.” Daniel doubted it had been exactly the same circumstances for all of them, but let it slide—knowing he hadn’t been the only one to get that treatment was good enough.

  “Driven to a helo,” Erik agreed, “flown here, made to run around the lake until we puked. And, no matter how well we did, the chief barely even broke a sweat.”

  Daniel nodded. “I figure he must have been some kind of Olympic athlete or something.”

  Evans said, �
�Yeah, I even tried Googling him on that, but no dice.”

  “What did you do to deserve that punishment?”

  “Punishment?” They all laughed. “Don’t take it personally, man. He just wants to know that we’re bad enough to fit in this unit. You kept going, right?”

  “Must have, if you’re still here,” Peters said.

  “Yeah.” Daniel couldn’t help looking across at the other table now, where there were another half a dozen men and women in sweats “Is that other group with us?”

  “Kind of,” Kinsella said.

  “Those are the Webbies” Bailey said. “Until you came over here, we were beginning to wonder if you were here to join their team.”

  “Webbies?”

  “They’re all from different countries,” Kinsella explained. “World-wide. So, Superman here started calling them the Webbies, and us the Homies, as we’re the home team.”

  “World-Wide Web?” Daniel nodded. “I get it.”

  “Wait till you meet their commander,” Peters said. “She is... hotter than hot. They’ve got a Thai called...”

  “Called something only he can pronounce,” Kinsella said.

  “Althaus and Rausch are German,” Peters went on. “Svoboda’s the Czech girl. Silva’s the Brazilian, and Ebrahimi’s Iranian-Jewish, which can’t be easy. They mostly keep to themselves so far, and I think that might be Hammond and Ying’s plan.”

  “So, what’s your MOS?” Bailey asked.

  Daniel hesitated, wondering what an MOS was. He figured it probably meant the same things that they’d all told him about themselves—E-5, Eleven-Bravo, etc.—but he had no idea what those terms meant, either. For a moment, he considered just repeating one of those designations and hoping it made sense to them, but what if they then expected to have recognized him from wherever they’d gotten their designations? “Actually... I don’t know yet. I was originally going to be an MP, but that didn’t work out.”

  Kinsella looked slightly disappointed. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a lieutenant, right?”

  “Yeah... One who’s only been in the Army three days.” It was the wrong thing to say, and Daniel knew it immediately.

  Bailey visibly recoiled. “Da-fuck? What do you mean three days? You’d just be starting your first week of basic—”

  “I was about to.”

  Everyone’s jaws dropped, and Casey Peters blinked, as if to try to change what he was seeing and hearing. “You’re shitting us.”

  Daniel tried to think of a way to explain. “I... Look, my friend Cody got drafted, but he has a daughter. She’s only eight.”

  “So, you, what, joined up to keep him company?”

  “Not exactly. I took his papers and... came along in his place, so that he wouldn’t be separated from his daughter.”

  “Holy shit,” Evans exclaimed. Everyone’s demeanor suddenly became a lot less friendly. “So, you’re not even a real damn recruit?”

  “I am. I got caught—”

  “Damn straight!” Erik exploded. “That’s fraud!”

  “That’s goddamn identity theft,” Kinsella agreed. “That’s an ELS discharge and federal charges, at least. Maybe even a court martial. What the hell are you still doing here?”

  Daniel leaned back, feeling defensive. “I don’t really know. I was told if I enlisted under my own name, I’d be commissioned as a Second Lieutenant—”

  Casey Peters sneered “Oh, that’s just—”

  “This is your third day?” Erik added. “You don’t even know how to make up your bunk right. FNG isn’t even in it.”

  “He’s never going to be more than an FNG. Sure as hell not a soldier,” Kinsella declared, focusing on the others and ignoring Daniel. “And there’s no way he’s got authority as an L-T.”

  “Look, I’m just telling you what I was told at Fort Leonard Wood.”

  Evans held up a silencing finger. “Yeah, you also just admitted to being a goddamned liar. You think we’re going to believe a single other damn thing that comes out of your mouth?”

  “Look, it’s not like I tried to get out of serving, OK? I tried to help a father and daughter stick together, and was absolutely willing to join the service to do that.”

  “I said liar, not coward.”

  “Exactly, so what would I have to gain from joining under a false name?”

  “Getting booted and disbarred from further service,” Erik suggested. “It’s not like World War Two anymore, when anybody could enlist under any name. We all got photo IDs and fingerprints and the internet and shit. Everybody knows that if some illegal or somebody signs on, they get caught pretty quick, so if you really wanted to get booted and never drafted again... Swapping ID with a pal is a good way to get both of you—”

  “Jailed?” Daniel cut him off. “You think I’d see a federal prison as better than military life?”

  “They don’t run you till you puke in jail.”

  Casey Peters stood and shoved at Daniel’s shoulder, jamming fingers painfully into the collarbone. “Besides, a rich boy like you—cuz I bet you’re a rich boy, I can smell the money on you—you’d get a slap on the wrist, right? A fine your daddy can pay and then you’re free and clear. Yeah, clever way to be a coward. She might not call you a coward, but I will.”

  Daniel smacked his hand away, bunching his own fists and cocking his hip and shoulder. “I told you, I stayed on under my own name. I’m not looking for a way out now that I’m here. Does that sound like a coward?”

  Peters jabbed a finger at Daniel’s face, accusingly. “Sounds like a liar. There’s no way in hell the Army’s going to take some lying asshole out of basic before he’s even started basic, make him an officer, and put him into whatever the hell this is. Not outside of some cheap-ass Steven Seagal flick. We’re a unit, we know that much, so we gotta trust each other in the field. Can’t trust a known liar, even if he’s a long-timer who knew what he was doing. You’re just fresh meat; you haven’t even been taught to salute, let alone use modern weapons on the battlefield. That means, at best, you’re a burden to carry that will slow us down and screw us up.”

  Daniel glared back at him. “I’m not looking to screw you up.”

  “Do you know what happens to screw-ups?” Evans demanded. “They get bounced back to their units, they get denied leave, and they get fucked over by every drill sergeant who thinks he’s a hardass for whatever one guy has done wrong. Way to win friends and influence people. At worst, you’re a two-faced coward who’ll get us killed to save his own skin in a heartbeat. Would you trust somebody like that?”

  Daniel could only think of one answer. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”

  “First sensible thing you’ve said all day,” Erik said.

  “I just went where I was told, same as you—”

  Kinsella thumped her fist on the table, and with an expression that said the next one was going down Daniel’s throat. “Don’t you ever, ever, think you’re the same as us. Yeah, we were all ordered to get on a helo that brought us here, but we all came because we’re soldiers; that’s what we do. You came because you wanted to keep your ass out of jail. That’s a big difference, West. We came because we’re professionals. You came because you’re a liar and a coward, to get out of responsibility. And we need to do something about that.”

  As one person, the rest of the team pushed their chairs back and stood with Casey Peters, backing him up. “You’re leaving,” Erik Palmer said firmly. “One way or the other.”

  Ten

  “What’s the problem here?” Chief Hammond’s voice snapped through the Mess, drawing everyone’s attention. Both groups snapped up to attention immediately, and Daniel followed suit. It seemed the right thing to do.

  There was an Asian woman with the chief, standing at parade rest. She was striking, her features chiseled and yet quite beautiful as far as Daniel was concerned. If this was the person Casey Peters had described as hot, he hadn’t been wrong. Oddly, her uniform wasn’t standard US di
gital camouflage fatigues but a slightly different shade and pattern of green and beige, with insignia he didn’t recognize.

  “No problem, Mister Hammond,” Peters said at last.

  “No? I’ve seen friendlier-looking lynch mobs.”

  “We were just...”

  “A little hazing, Chief,” Kinsella added.

  Hammond raised an eyebrow. “Hazing? That’s something done by assholes in basic, as I remember. Are we in basic?”

  “No, Chief,” all answered as one.

  “Damn right, we’re not.”

  Kinsella cleared her throat. “Daniel Deceit here hasn’t even been through basic, though, has he?”

  “Not that I know of, and not that it’s anyone else’s business.”

  “Then doesn’t he need—”

  “He’ll get what he needs, same as the rest of you,” Hammond said firmly. “There will be no hazing in this unit.”

  Peters started to protest, “We were just—”

  “Zip it. Just nothing; there’s no hazing in this unit, end of. My unit, my rules. And if you think my rules don’t apply to you, then we can easily make that the case by returning you to mopping the latrines at your old unit. And there are a couple hundred others who’d fill your boots nicely at a moment’s notice. You got that?”

  “Yes, Chief,” they chorused.

  “Good. Chow’s over, so let’s introduce Second Lieutenant West to our staff.” He indicated the woman with him. “This is Captain Ying Xi-Huang, of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Air Force. Captain Ying, for those who don’t know yet, is in command of the international squad—the Webbies.” He indicated the other table.

  Daniel couldn’t help thinking that Homies and Webbies sounded more like a weird version of West Side Story than a military organization, but he stayed silent, not wanting to display his ignorance any further. One of his professors at Yale had taught him that, when he got into the courtrooms, “It’s always better to keep quiet and be thought a fool than to speak up and dispel any doubts.”