I had never considered that question. I know that she didn’t mean to ask it as some deep philosophical debate, but my mind really started churning because of it. Sure, I had gone through all of my training, and some of the targets we shot at were designed to look like enemy soldiers, but how would I feel when I hurt true flesh and blood. I didn’t have a good answer to that. “I might,” I mumbled.
Rabbit looked right at me, and for a second the cold, hard quality of her eyes softened a bit. Then she tossed the fur in her hand on the ground, turned around, and stomped off. I’m not completely certain, but I thought I heard her whisper, “I did, too.”
Word travels fast around a small base. I went through the chow line for breakfast with people patting me on the back and thanking me for preventing an assault by those deadly wild dogs. A couple even howled as I walked by. It was almost like being back in high school. I sat by myself. Ian had left earlier that morning, and I already missed him. I ate quickly and then went back to the barracks to catch a quick nap. When I got to my bunk, some of the other soldiers had left me a gift. They had taken one of the tabs that can be added above a division patch and written on it. Now instead of saying “K-9,” the patch read “K-9 Killer.” My first thought was to throw it in the toilet or set it on fire in front of the barracks. Then I remembered what one of my teachers had taught me. I took the tab and placed it on my left arm of my uniform. My teacher once said, “If you’re going to screw up, own it!” I looked at the tab and smiled. It labeled me the guy that screwed up big. I could live with that. It really was just like being in high school again.
Definitely not like camp . . .
җ
My embarrassment at Camp Lincoln didn’t last very long. The day after the infamous “mutt incident,” I was informed that I would be shipping out to an infantry unit as a replacement. I have to admit I was a little disappointed to hear that. I was kind of hoping that I would wind up in some other type of unit. Something that wouldn’t force me to walk everywhere I went. The sergeant informing me of my assignment smiled at that. “From what I hear, you can run a full on sprint with a duffle bag in one hand and a scared-to-death Japanese woman in the other. I’d say your legs work just fine.” It always did amaze me how no one can remember when you do something good, but when you do something stupid, even people you have never known always seem to find out about it. “Get to the quartermaster and draw your gear before you ship out tomorrow.”
I reported to the quartermaster’s depot. I walked in and a supply clerk greeted me with, “What’s up, killer?” See what I mean about how stupid news travels? “What can we do for you?” I informed him of where I was shipping out to. He took a few minutes and gathered up all of the gear he was supposed to issue to me. The idea of having to haul all of that stuff around made my back hurt just thinking about it. He yelled something to someone in the back and then started going over all of my gear and filling it in on a form. Once he was done, he had me sign the form and virtually dumped all of the gear into my arms. I was about to walk off, but he stopped me. A moment later, the one he had yelled to in the back came running up and handed him a couple of pieces of Velcro-backed cloth. He handed them to me. They each said “Pup.” “The LT you’ll be serving under likes to have his soldiers wear name tags with their nicknames. He thinks it builds unit cohesion. It’s a violation of uniform code, but nobody cares about that out in the field. Good luck to you.”
I hauled all of my stuff back to the barracks and spent the day organizing it into something that could almost be portable without using a two-ton truck to haul it. I wrote a few notes to myself in the hopes that they would remind me of important advice that Ian had given me. I think the one that I remembered the most was, “Right now and in the future, you say you’re fighting for your country. When you’re in the field, you’re really fighting for the soldier next to you.” I felt a brief wave of pity for whoever the soldier next to me was going to be. I slept surprisingly well that night. I was scared out of my wits, but something in me also knew that this was likely to be the most comfortable rest I would have for a while, so I drifted off quickly. I was fortunate that I remembered to put on one of the nasal strips before I did. To be more accurate, everyone in the barracks was lucky that I remembered.
The next morning I found myself in a Humvee heading north. There were four of us in the vehicle. One was the driver. He apparently made this run often and never bothered looking at a map or GPS. That impressed me. My father used to joke that if he sent me out the front door and turned me around twice that I wouldn’t be able to find my way home again. Of course he was exaggerating, but I’m also glad he never tested his theory. I was riding shotgun. Behind me was Rabbit. She had already changed her name tape. She didn’t seem very thrilled to see me, and she didn’t bother saying hello. The man sitting next to her was the one that concerned me the most. He was built as solid as a bulldozer and looked like he could defeat one in a tug-of-war match. There was no evidence on his face that he had ever smiled. To make matters worse, I had met him before. He was the soldier who had told me that if I vomited on him in the airplane that he would rip my nose off and eat it. I looked at his name tape. Hannibal. Of course. How could this not be fun?
A lot of the drive was on highway roads. The farther north that we traveled, though, the less comfortable the highways became. Not only did it seem to be suffering from a lack of maintenance, but I started seeing pits and holes in it that could only have been caused by artillery or bombs. Then I started to notice hulks of burned-out vehicles off of the side of the road. Some were military, but even more were civilian. The sights put a sudden lump of ice into my stomach. You could almost hear the voice on a GPS announcing: “You are now leaving civilization. You are now entering war zone. Turn right for minefield, left for artillery bombardment, or continue forward for unspecified imminent death.” I couldn’t decide if it was a good thing that we were continuing forward or not.
We eventually turned off of the highway, but at that point it was kind of hard to tell. The highway was in such bad condition that the ride on the highway and the ride on the barely marked unpaved road were pretty similar. I think that I am the only one who noticed the discomfort in the vehicle. It was hot. The noise was almost unbearable. I’m pretty sure that my rear end felt every single pebble that we drove over, and we drove over a lot of pebbles. When I looked around, though, the other occupants of the Humvee were completely unfazed. The driver just focused on his driving. I guess I can appreciate that. I might have been a little unnerved if the driver decided that texting on a cell phone through a war zone would be an enjoyable pastime. Rabbit and Hannibal apparently knew each other, and they proceeded to talk about their previous deployment and all of the things that they seemed to be looking forward to about being back out in the field. I really wanted to take part in the conversation so that I could pick up a few things from them, but the look I received from Hannibal when I turned around to speak left no room for translation. I was not welcome in the discussion. I just turned back around and stared out the windshield.
On rare occasions, timing actually works in my favor. I was so bored after a while on the drive that I was about to start singing to myself. The problem with that is I am never just singing to myself. Everyone around me gets to hear it, too. That never goes over well. I have caused bats to run into cave walls with my singing before. I barely avoided committing a major crime of sound pollution by noticing the approach of a series of tents. We had finally arrived at our new home. A hand-painted sign on the side of what sadly passed for a road read “Welcome to Camp Wildcat.” In scribbled writing below that was a second message. “North Koreans and Duke fans may not enter.”
I looked questioningly at the driver. He was smiling. For the first time in the entire interminable (there’s another of those words I thought I’d never use) drive, he spoke up. “The officer who planned the locations of these forward bases two years ago was a huge college bask
etball fan. He named all of the forward bases after his favorite college teams. It’s grown into its own rivalry between bases ever since.”
“Aw, crap,” I mumbled. “I hate basketball.”
The driver continued to smile. “Good. That means you probably aren’t a Duke fan. So unless you are a well-disguised North Korean, you should be safe here.”
“The local dogs, however, are history,” I heard Rabbit say to Hannibal in the back. He grunted. That was probably as close as he could come to a laugh. I didn’t respond. I knew that the comment wasn’t meant for my ears. What I didn’t know was whether Rabbit was just being funny or if she really thought less of me for what had happened. Probably the latter, I decided. I always tend to err on the side that makes me look worse. I think it prevents me from being let down.
The camp was made almost entirely of tents. There were trenches dug around it and machine gun nests at various intervals. A few radio antennas were visible and the sound of a power generator in the distance was a constant drone. I also noticed a few solar panels set up in one area. I guess it helped cut down on how much diesel was used. A few guys were playing basketball while others were manning sentry posts. There were several Humvees off to one side and a helicopter sat on a helipad. I started having flashbacks of old episodes of M*A*S*H*.
The driver brought us to a stop and announced that we had arrived. I gathered up my gear, and we all got out of the Humvee. This is where I tended to run into problems. I had no idea where to go from here. Usually, I just followed someone who looked like they knew what they were doing and duplicated their actions. The problem was, no one was doing anything. Rabbit and Hannibal were standing behind me. It would have been incredibly awkward for me to pick up my gear and then walk around behind them. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t often shy away from awkward. Still, that would be tantamount to writing “moron” on my forehead. I’ve had someone do that to me before. It makes for a very long day.
Thankfully, the driver came to my rescue again. He shouted toward the guys playing basketball. “Professor! Your replacements are here!”
One of the basketball players called time-out and started heading toward us. He was probably in his mid-twenties and was in incredible shape. Movie stars would have had posters of this guy on their walls. He was just over six feet tall. He was muscular, but not in a grotesque, bodybuilder fashion. His sandy hair was cut short, and it worked for him. He had a bright smile and looked friendly. You could also see a sharp mind at work behind his eyes. He was the total package. It pissed me off. I wasn’t even the box, and here was this guy being the total package. Couldn’t he have backed off just a little? I mean, how were guys like me supposed to ever have a chance when Mr. Perfect there was hogging all the attention and the ladies . . .
Sorry. Inferiority issues. I’m working on that. In any case, this officer had apparently been playing for the “skins” team because he walked up to us shirtless (I’m jealous! I admit it!) as Hannibal and Rabbit lined up on either side of me. The officer hadn’t quite reached us before he started greeting the others. “Rabbit! Hannibal! Glad that they accepted my request to have you brought back for another tour. This must be our other grunt.”
I did exactly what I thought I should. I stood at attention and saluted the approaching officer. I thought I would start things off by doing something right. You can imagine my surprise when Hannibal roughly grabbed my wrist and forced it down. “You idiot! You wanna get him killed?”
I obviously looked as confused as I felt. The officer put a placating hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Easy, big guy. He’s a cherry. It will take him a little while to learn.” He gestured to Rabbit and Hannibal. “You two know where everything is. Go ahead and get yourselves settled. We have a couple of days before anything major is planned.” The other two soldiers nodded and walked off. The driver made some comment about food and headed off to the mess tent, leaving me alone, still standing at attention, with the officer. He looked me up and down for a moment, glanced at my name tape, and then said, “At ease, Pup.” I relaxed a little but not much. “Close enough, I guess. Everyone calls me Professor. I’m the lieutenant in charge of your platoon, and Hannibal didn’t want me to become a target for a sniper. They can easily identify someone as an officer if they see other soldiers salute them.” I have to admit I had never thought of that. In basic I would have wound up getting up close and personal with more potatoes if I didn’t salute an officer. I guess it was all kind of like some of the tests they made me take in school. Some of it didn’t translate into the real world for me. The Professor gestured to the bumper of the Humvee ,and we both sat down on it. “I was working on my doctoral thesis in American history when the war broke out. That’s where I got my nickname. You look like someone who is probably pretty intellectual yourself.”
“I can be about some things,” I admitted, wondering where this was going.
“Good. Tell me what you know about the Second Korean War.”
I almost breathed an audible sigh of relief. Finally, something that I knew about. I’d been following everything with rapt attention as it happened on the news, Internet, and documentaries. I was like a junkie for this stuff. I thought I might be able to impress him. “Well, sir, Mount Baekdu in North Korea erupted violently. It was the second loudest sound in recorded history, just behind the eruption of Krakatoa. Because of the prevailing winds and the violence of the eruption, several cities all the way to the coast were damaged or covered in ash. There has been no official estimate on the casualties. The North Korean government did not have the resources to recover from the disaster. They were about to begin accepting aid from western nations in exchange for ending its nuclear program when the generals in their military staged a coup. They told the population of North Korea that the volcanic eruption had actually been a nuclear attack by the United States. They turned this into an excuse to begin a new war. They used chemical weapons to attack our forces along the demilitarized zone and launched their only long range ballistic missile at Seattle. The missile was knocked off course by our defensive batteries, but the warhead still exploded roughly sixty miles off the coast of Washington. It has disrupted shipping and caused a lot of environmental damage there.”
I felt like I was on a roll. The Professor was watching me in rapt attention. I was certain that I was getting on his good side. “Congress passed a declaration of war, and the United Nations also authorized military action in the security council. Multiple nations joined us in the fight, and the war should have ended fairly quickly. Even though the North Koreans were better equipped than anyone expected, they were heavily outnumbered. Unfortunately, every nation that had a problem with the United States joined in the fight. We were no longer facing just the North Korean Army, but a massive collection of disparate groups that were determined to defeat us. These groups ranged from jihadi terrorists to Venezuelans still loyal to the late Chavez. There have also been rumors of assistance from hard-line military commanders from China and Russia, but that has never been confirmed. That brings us to where we are today.”
The Professor nodded and smiled. “That would have been an excellent answer in one of the classes I was an assistant in.” That made me feel great. I was starting to get over this guy’s perfection. “You know, a lot of soldiers don’t like intellectuals in the field. They think that intellectuals don’t have common sense and can’t be men of action. Some intellectuals do still make the transition well, though. I like to think that I have. You, Pup, obviously haven’t yet.” So much for feeling good. “I want to demonstrate the difference. When I ask what caused the Second Korean War, an intellectual would give the answer that you gave. A soldier’s answer would have sounded something like this: ‘The North Koreans and their pals killed a bunch of Americans, so we came over here to fuck their shit up.’ Both answers are correct. But out here, the second one gets the job done.” The Professor stood up, and I followed his example, trying not to look disappointed.
“You’ll learn the soldier’s way over time, Pup. Don’t overthink everything; just follow the examples of the veterans. For various tactical reasons, we organize ourselves into half-size squads. Your squad will point you in the right direction. You’ve already met Rabbit and Hannibal. Hannibal is in charge of your squad. The rest you can meet in the enlisted tent.” He pointed to one of the large tents in the center of the base. “It’s that one there. You need to grab a bunk and stow your gear. You can have one of them show you the ropes. Dismissed.” I almost saluted but managed to stop my hand halfway up. It turned into an odd and very un-military wave. The Professor smirked and I started to walk off. I stopped when he shouted after me. “Pup! Forget about the incidents with the Japanese lady and the dog. You’re squadmates’ lives depend on you. You can’t let past screw ups hold you back.” Great. That didn’t put any extra pressure on me at all. And how the hell did he know about those things?! Was I on some freaking reality TV show and no one told me? I was most of the way to the tent when I realized that he said Hannibal was in charge of my squad. Wonderful. I wondered if there was a special form that the military sent home if you had your nose bitten off by your superior.
Yes, I’m ignorant. It makes me a blissful person . . .
җ
I made my way into a large tent near the center of the camp. I was worried that I would be stuck in pup tents for my entire tour, but this thing was massive. I mean park-your-car-next-to-the-bus-and-your-pet-tyrannosaurus huge. As I walked in and began walking toward one end, the first person to look up at me was Hannibal. Tyrannosaurus, check. He and Rabbit were talking with what must have been the rest of my squad. The first thing that I noticed about them was that all of their uniforms and gear had that lived-in look. Even Rabbit and Hannibal, and they’d just arrived. Everything of mine was brand-new and virtually shining. It really made me stand out. It reminded me of watching my dog in the yard. He used to always lay on his back and writhe on the ground. I always thought that he was just scratching his back. Now I wondered if he was just making himself fit in with the other neighborhood dogs. I had a brief urge to step out of the tent and roll around on the dirt for a few minutes, but something told me that would make the wrong impression with my new squad.
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