My cardiovascular fitness was improving with each workout, and I could kill a man (neutralize a threat) with my hands. Overall, I felt pretty proud of my progress. Not cocky, but satisfied. Will poured two cups of his famous brew. I had grown addicted. Each morning I looked forward to the coffee, craved it in fact. I praised it with aiding my sluggish mind when my body was still awash with the former day’s brutalities.
“Bladework my boy” Will laid a long black plastic knife on the table between us. “Today starts your outside the box applications of force.”
Will sat down and looked to the training knife, “Been cut many times with that tool, hypothetically of course.”
Will took his first sip and sighed. “Pick it up, it’s designed to feel and weigh close to the real thing. You’ll get to know her quite intimately, I guarantee that.”
I picked it up, turned it from side to side, quite unremarkable I thought silently.
“Well, alright, son. Will is hungry. Let’s get the fire burning.”
Breakfast was ham steak and over medium eggs with whole grain toast. Will had gotten better at telling me when the morning ahead required due regard for limited calories. Today must begin in the classroom.
Will had what appeared to be a wax figure, complete in every detail of man. He stood 5’10” tall, the national average, and must have weighed approximately 170 pounds. He was posed in a fighting stance; however, as Will demonstrated, he was flexible and could be manipulated. “I’d love to tell you what he cost, but I’ve no idea, expensive is all I was told, along with a ‘don’t fuck him up too bad if you can help it’ clause. He’s ours Kevin, and we’ll fuck him up how we see fit.”
Will demonstrated what he called “the thirteen strikes.” He said it was a hybrid of the Filipino knife fighting technique, which most knife fighting originated from.
“They’re not very big, and not all that smart, but goddamned can those little fuckers move, and dirty as the dirtiest sonofabitch you’ve ever met. You ever see one looking your way while holding a blade; you turn and run the other way. No shame in recognizing your limitations son.”
Will showed me thirteen slashes and jabs with the training knife. He began slowly, so I could get a good look at where the knife cuts should end up on the body, then sped it up to show me what could end up as a monumental shitty situation. Finally, after demonstrating a number of times, marking the chest, eyes, thighs, face and groin, Will told me to move behind the figure. “I’m going to approach you, him, it, let’s call him something.”
“Bob,” I said impulsively.
“Fine, Bob. I’m going to walk toward you and Bob here without really drawing any attention to that fact, watch and see if you know what I mean.”
Will moved to a distance of about thirty feet. He had hid the knife. He started his walk, looking straight ahead and down a fraction. He seemed completely uninterested in Ol’ Bob and me. Then he changed course in the blink of an eye. Before I could make out what had happened, rich red fluid (blood) was spraying in the air all around us. For a second I thought he must have missed the guy, Bob, and cut me. I flinched like a cobra was striking and in one manner of speak, it was. Will was moving past us while I was still checking my parts, and the knife was no longer visible.
Will was laughing, “You’re okay, son. I didn’t cut you, it’s Bob. He was designed like a human, blood substitute filling his genetically engineered veins and all.”
“Holy shit, Will, you could have told me. You got me jumping around like Chicken Little here with the blood red sky falling.”
Some time ago I had taken to calling Will by his name. It seemed more appropriate, especially when he had made me shit my pants.
“Alright, alright, little surprises keep shit interesting. You need to run and change you’re drawers?”
“I’m fine” I was still a little pissy.
“Glad to hear it, now come around here.”
I looked at Bob. He was a mess. Everywhere Will had meant to cut, he had cut. The Bob doll was so life like. I examined the wounds closely, studied they’re depth and lethality. Some of the gashes still oozed the fake blood. Bob didn’t seem to be put off by the whole thing and that was good. A real person would have been troubled by this. Will was standing beside me and gave a lesson.
“First cut, left jugular.” Will placed his index finger in the wound and pulled it out to reveal a half inch worth of red stain marking his finger tip. “This one really would have been enough. Within minutes he would have died from blood loss. The other wounds were something to keep him occupied and his heart beating rapidly, speed up the process. Remember, while they can think and speak, they can still harm you, perhaps not them, but some other do-gooder they alert to your presence.”
I took in the totality of the damage and breathed out,
“Jesus Christ, Will, it was so fast. I didn’t even notice you change to a real blade, or where the thing came from.”
Will lifted his shirt half way up. Underneath, taped flat to his t-shirt, and hanging from a length of shoestring from his neck, was a black nylon scabbard. “It’s my favorite place for it. I always carry my pistol on my right hip, and my fixed blade right here. No mix up when I need one or the other.”
“Is that how I should do it?” I said while looking at the walking, talking, bringer of death.
“That’s up to you, son. Some prefer a knife placed behind their back, others in a boot, still others in a pocket. This is me. As you witnessed, it is a fast go from here” Will tapped his chest.
I agreed that it was.
DAY SIXTY-ONE
Two months in Will’s company had changed some things about me. I had lost the minimal body fat brought with me to the Marine Corps recruit depot. What was left was necessary. I didn’t need a scale to know the difference. I had come to this place five months ago a solid 225 pounds. I stood before the mirror in underwear and guessed I was somewhere around 200 now. I had always been lean, but this was something else. I turned slowly and pulled my left arm across my torso to reveal my upper back. It was wider than before and defined. Muscles had separated into groups just like on the anatomy chart Will referred to during his targets of opportunity lectures. My stomach was flat and rippled. It had never spilled over my jeans, but prior to this, I had seen perhaps a two pack, maybe four. Now all of the abdominal muscles came to bear. My legs flexed and relaxed with every subtle move, the big muscles of my upper quads hard and defined, the calves cut like diamonds. It was a metamorphosis. And Will was the engineer. I felt stupid standing there admiring myself like a mythological Greek creature, so I did what any nineteen year old with newly formed muscles would do. I flexed to reveal even more muscle and grinned like an idiot.
The knock came during the final portion of my posedown. I was really letting the crowd have it, chest and traps bursting with my crab pose, the front row fainting with the awesomeness presented before them. Will opened the door just as I was coming out of it. I was flush with exertion and perspiring like a southern belle. Will didn’t even look embarrassed, just amused.
“You still have energy enough to spank it, huh? Guess we’ll just have to work harder, son.”
Now I was embarrassed. Will believed I was in here tugging my meat and the inherent shame we all feel at such a revelation brought new heat to my face.
“What?” I said with indignation and disgust. “No, Will I was----”
Will raised a hand and cut me off mid-stride. “Son, I get it. It’s a normal thing to do at your age, hell, at any age. Don’t get all Penelope priss-pants on me now, finish punishing your monkey and meet me on the ground floor when you’re done.”
I tried to explain what had really been going on, but Will had already left. Better I suppose, the flexing in the mirror thing would have only sounded gayer, and Will would have had some smartass remark for that as well, something about me getting my rocks off trying to see my own ass or something. You really couldn’t win with him in that arena.
We drove to a field far f
rom the base. It was obviously government land, as we had driven through Marine Corps guarded gates, but this was not even close to the recruit depot. Will parked the car and shouldered a pack; he tossed one to me as well. “Hope you slept well last night, we got a lot of ground to cover here and much to learn.”
Will grabbed two other bags. I knew from their shape and size what they were for. Will slung one, and again gave one to me. “Handle this one with a little more care than you do your pecker, she’s fragile.”
I didn’t even try; just felt that familiar heat of shame. I whispered, “Goddamn it” and then stood silent as Will performed a final check of his gear before securing the car. He handed me a black wrist watch, along with some instruction, “Suunto Vector watch. Muted black color, tells time, altitude, barometric pressure, has an alarm and a compass. The backlight feature is also muted to not give you away in the night. It’s exactly what you need in one small convenient package. It’s already set to current time and date.”
Will wore one as well. I had noticed it on his left wrist most days and had thought it looked pretty cool. I’d had no idea it was a tactical choice as well. I should have known. I said, “Thanks Will” and he simply nodded. He was humble and generous, just like my grandfather. It wasn’t his way to give or do just for the praise. He set out and I followed. The lands surrounding us were not barren, however not alive either. Brown and tan and beige and more often than not, just plain dirt color. There were some greens, but those troubled patches were just as entrenched in despair.
“You ever been to Disneyland Kevin?”
I thought it an odd question but didn’t say so. “No, sir.”
“That’s fine, cause for you, this is Disneyland.”
We had trekked in about three miles when Will held up his right fist signaling the stop. He hunkered down real quiet and smooth and I followed. He draped the rifle bag over his cradled forearms as he drug himself along the dirt with elbows and inner thighs. At the final point, just this side of a crest, Will flattened all the way out. His body pressed the ground as if he were attempting to become something attached to nature itself. He made contact now with his eyes only. He had adjusted the bag so a small handle was secured to his right hand. Everything about the next five minutes was eerily deliberate.
When we finally reached the crest, Will remained silent and began the methodical removing of his weapon. It was a Remington 308 bolt action with a twenty inch fluted barrel. The whole thing was painted the same tones as our surroundings. Will edged his bag up before him and gently placed the rifle atop it. With his weapon ready, Will took five rounds from an ammunition pouch also within the bag, and loaded the rifle. Each round was handled carefully. There was no hurried movement and minimal noise.
Will eased up on the gun, flipping the scope covers off to allow sight through the menacing looking tube. Will’s final move prior to finding his place amongst the gun was to hand me a spotting scope. With small hand gestures he furnished enough instruction that I knew to look down to the valley floor below. It was impressive. It was a town built right into the desert floor, complete with buildings, streets, vehicles, and people. I turned the knob allowing eye relief and focused in on the people first. They were not unlike my friend Bob -- very lifelike in appearance and dressed to fit the times.
Will spoke and the hushed tone startled me out of my trance, “Find the threat.”
I looked at all the scope would allow. Without ranging it mechanically, I estimated we were six to seven hundred yards above and back from the town. I spotted several of the town’s folk who resembled assholes every town has, but no threat appeared, and then I found him. He was dressed in all black and holding a pistol in his right hand. Further surveillance revealed a thin cylinder of some type in his other hand. He had to be the one. I gave Will the position of my guy. Will asked for temperature and wind speed. I was at a loss and Will handed me a green handheld device. “Krestel temp/wind meter. You’ll need those things to dial in your final dope on a shot like this.”
The device was easy to control and read. Three simple buttons pushed and the readings were immediate. “78 degrees, wind is varying between 12 and fifteen miles an hour.”
Will asked for direction. I should have remembered that from my grandfather. I replied, “Directly behind us Will, a no-value wind.”
Will gave me a slight smile. He must have known I had shot before and had been provided some training.
“Nice son, no value wind is the best wind.” Will brought out a tiny handheld laser rangefinder. He held it steady and pressed a single button. “627 yards” Will said to himself quietly.
Will was working the elevation on his scope. He dialed until he reached the appropriate number of ¼ MOA Clicks. Will didn’t ask for any further assistance. He found the rifle the way true riflemen do. He eased into her, pulled the stock in tight without jarring it, placed his right cheek upon the portion of the stock he had determined perfect through years of training, and breathed out to relax to the point of near coma. I didn’t move, didn’t speak -- I just watched through the spotting scope as the trigger was displaced for a moment in time, sending death and destruction six hundred yards away. The sound was piercing and the result immediate. The threat rocked on its stand as an eruption of red fluid burst from its chest.
“Hit,” I said quietly as Will worked the bolt feeding a live round into the chamber.
Will eased back from the rifle as surely as he had cradled her. He motioned for me to follow him. When we were at a spot where the hillside would shield us from any onlookers he spoke: “That’s kill town, my boy. It was designed specifically for us, for you. The way in was a lesson on the move.
Sometimes just being a part of it, seeing and feeling it is more beneficial than hearing it in a classroom.”
I nodded in accordance with his statement. “So all of that below is for our training?” My face must have revealed the awe I felt.
“Crazy huh? Again, the people down there are state of the art voodoo hi-tech bullshit. I think they enlisted Hollywood’s best monster makers to develop those threat and no threat targets for you.”
“Will, you keep saying for me. No one else trains here? Seriously?”
Will shook his head in an easy back and forth pattern,
“Nope, just you my young friend. Like I said in the beginning, this is all experimental, and you are our number one guinea pig.”
“Well that sounds fantastic when you phrase it like that, Will.”
We recovered Will’s rifle and made our way down the hill. It was amazing in its sheer size and complexity. Nothing was left undone; all facets of city life were present. It was eerie in form and texture. There were so many snapshots of real life, without any real life.
Will walked to the very end of the street and entered a small cement building. Inside were all of the items necessary for life in the classroom. I was not surprised to see a small kitchen complete with the instruments crucial to fine coffee making. Will laid his packs and weapons aside and asked me to brew a pot. Coffee in hand, Will began teaching, not as if every minute spent with him wasn’t one lesson or another, but now he had his professor hat on and school was in session.
“Single man deployment.”
Will devised a strategy for every conceivable operation I might be handed.
He said it all came down to proper planning, that and the right mindset and tools. “This is what sets you apart, Kevin,” he said as a matter of fact. “No one will be with you, ever. It won’t be enough that you are strong, or capable, or smart. The mind plays tricks on the wisest of men and the bravest. You will have to be accepting of this, and when the bad shit comes, and I don’t mean other people, I mean the ghosts of those people who have died by your hand, then you have to have a strategy for that too.”
I sat there listening and perhaps for the first time, hearing, exactly what Will was saying. This wasn’t an exercise in “maybe,” like other Marines face. Not a possibility of war, and the possibil
ity they may have to fire their weapon in combat, and possibly take an enemy life, Will was stating a fact. I was being trained to kill people. And at some point I would be ordered to do so. The revelation was unpleasant to say the least.
Will had stopped talking. He was looking squarely at me.
“You have a question, son?”
I returned from thought, “Will,” I paused, “what exactly are you training me to do?”
“I thought that was clear from the onset, son.”
“I thought so too. I guess I didn’t, wasn’t really sure...”
I had lost my train of thought, stumbled over the last words.
“The United States of America, your home, my home, has some pretty unsavory enemies, Kevin. And they aren’t all out there waving a Russian Kalashnikov. They’re everywhere, and anywhere. We have tried to fight them using traditional means for a century now. It just doesn’t work anymore, not that it ever did. And that’s why you, and that’s why me, and that’s why all of this.”
I sat there dumb.
“I wish it wasn’t so, Kevin. I wish we could all live in peace and leave our doors unlocked and trust the man standing next to us. But wish as I may, it just isn’t so and never will be. The world, our world, needs men like you and me. More so you as I am reaching rocking chair age and am of little help anymore.”
I smiled briefly at Will’s self-deprecating remark, knowing he was as fast and sure as any wild thing I had ever seen on television.
“People incapable or unwilling to protect themselves, to protect this land, need people like you, now they may never admit that, and they may like to believe an all-seeing, all-knowing being floats above keeping them safe, but you and I know better. You and those like you are the only thing keeping the wolf at bay.”
Will awaited any further rebuttal I may have had. When it didn’t come, he continued.
Following an hour of land navigation in theory, Will led me to the great outdoors and explained the nuances of the watch he had given me. We found course by direction and measured altitude with the accent/decent device programmed within the tiny computer. Will liked the open land. He moved along quite comfortably, as if the surrounding nothingness was more of a home to him than any ever built by human hands. The map he provided with lines and circles and numbers, nothing more, was unclear and seemed impossible to my novice eye.
OBLIGATION Page 14