“Yeah, but it’s okay. I really don’t mind.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me! Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing than be stuck here getting devoured by sand fleas and constantly screamed at by drill instructors?”
“Of course there is, but I want to be a Marine. I want to be a Marine more than anything, so if this is what it takes, then I’ll do it. I killed myself to pass the basic physical fitness test to get here, and I barely squeaked by. I was incredibly disappointed when I failed my first phase PFT, and I knew I would wind up in the fat farm, but I’m not giving up.”
“Well, I’m glad you got guts because you’ll need them. Our drill instructors don’t cut any slack for anyone. And the worst part is they don’t like to drop recruits. They feel that to lose a recruit is showing weakness on their part. Unfortunately, what that means for you is a lot of remedial workouts and exercise. You may have passed the basic PFT to get here, but one thing is for sure: you won’t fail another one. It’s my responsibility to make sure that you meet the expectations of our drill instructors. Failure here is not an option. The drill instructors would rather kill you, cut you into little pieces, and feed you to the alligators than allow you to embarrass them. They’ll just claim that you ran off in the middle of the night and died out in the swamp.”
Thornhill smiled and nodded. “I get it.”
“So did you play football in high school?”
Thornhill shook his head.
“Basketball? Baseball?”
Again he shook his head.
“What sports did you play in high school?” Briggs asked as he grabbed the linens from the top rack. He held on one end of the fitted sheet as Thornhill stretched it out and started to make the bed.
“I didn’t play any sports in high school. Don’t get me wrong, I tried out for everything. I really wanted to play some sport—any sport—but, well, I guess you could say I’m just clumsy. That’s kind of the reason why I’m here. I want to be a Marine, and for the first time in my life, I passed the tryouts, so they have to give me a chance. For the first time in my life, I’m on a team.” Thornhill was smiling from ear to ear, showing his glistening white teeth. Briggs looked at him intently and realized that he possessed the most important thing there was for success: tenacity.
“Well, you’re on our team now, buddy,” Briggs said as he reached up to slap the big man’s shoulder.
Thornhill and Briggs became close friends quickly. Over the next several weeks, Briggs helped him push his way through his clumsiness to physical perfection. Under the positive encouragement of Briggs, Thornhill was transformed. He turned out to be the strongest recruit in the entire company. During a companywide field day meet, he was able to do more push-ups and pull-ups than any other recruit in Echo Company. His floppy muscle had turned to granite, and his rolling belly had disappeared, replaced by a hard-packed V-shape from chest to waist.
Thornhill was there the day Briggs received “the letter”—the one Briggs knew would be coming. It was late one night a few weeks before graduation, and Thornhill and Briggs were both scheduled for the 0200 fire watch in the squad bay. Briggs was quiet, far away in his thoughts.
“Are you okay, Briggs?” Thornhill asked. “You’ve been kind of out there lately.”
“Yeah. I mean, no,” Briggs replied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the crumpled envelope that contained the letter. He fumbled with it, switching it from one hand to the other, and then put it back into his pocket.
“It’s my girlfriend, Anita; she’s pretty much letting me go.” Briggs’s voice was just above a whisper. “She’s the only girlfriend I’ve ever had, and she says she won’t follow me to my next duty station when I leave boot camp.”
Anita and Scott had known each other even before he could remember knowing her. She lived three miles away from his house down a road that was mostly shell and gravel. About the time he turned eight the road was paved. It was also made wider and into two lanes. On the old road one would have to give way to any approaching vehicle and ease over into the tall grasses that came up past the knee. Road maintenance at the far edge of Carteret County in the tiny town of Gloucester, North Carolina, was always at the bottom of the list. However, treacherous roads and tall grass that harbored snakes and other critters that scared the daylights out of a less amorous heart were no deterrent for Anita and Scott.
Their parents took turns babysitting them from when they were toddlers until they no longer needed a babysitter. The road and a handful of residents that occupied the scattered houses they passed coming and going witnessed their blossoming love. From being driven by their parents up to driving their own cars their love grew as did the road they traveled. If a bike tire succumbed to the punishing gravel of the road, they would walk the rest of the way without complaining. Asking someone to give them a ride might mean they would have to wait in order to make their travel arrangements. It was faster to walk, a walk that always turned into a jog.
When Scott got his first boat, Anita’s dock was his first stop. It was only a one-mile paddle from his dock to hers. And when he purchased his first outboard, the trip only took four minutes. Most of the time was spent tying up and untying the twelve-foot Downeaster flat bottom boat he and his father had built. They had doubled the thickness of the transom with a single sheet of mahogany his father had been saving for what he described as “something special.” How fortuitous for Scott. The 1959 Johnson Super Seahorse only produced 10 hp, but the light wooden Downeaster skipped over the choppy water with ease as he made his way back and forth to Anita’s dock. They were everything to each other and nothing kept them apart.
“So were the two of you going to get married?”
“Not yet, at least—and now probably not ever. But I still want to marry her,” Briggs replied in a fading voice.
“That must be the picture.”
“What?”
“The picture you have taped inside your knowledge book,” Thornhill said. “I’ve seen it a few times just never bothered you about it because you didn’t volunteer to show it to me or explain who it was. For all I know it could have been your sister.”
“What!” Briggs gave Thornhill a startled look.
“Hey, hey, don’t get pissed, dude. If you have a freak thing going on with your sister, who am I to say you’re wrong?”
“What are you talking about?” Briggs was more confused than startled now.
“I’ve seen the picture in your notebook. Hell, if my sister were that hot I might be tempted to go to the dark side too.” Thornhill gave Briggs a sideways look and then a toothy grin.
“Stop that shit! You know that’s not my sister.” Briggs gave Thornhill a shove. They broke into a chuckle.
“So let me see the picture.” Thornhill held out his hand.
Briggs removed the small green 4″ × 5½″ binder from the Cammy pocket of his trousers and opened it to reveal Anita’s picture taped to the inside front cover. She was standing at the end of a boat dock in a bikini that left nothing to the imagination. A Corona bottle with a lime slightly tucked in at the neck dangled from her left hand. Condensation distorted the bottle’s label, and small drops sparkled as they fell to the deck below. The vibrant rays of the setting sun behind her reflected off the water like broken glass.
She was so evenly tanned it looked sprayed on. Her legs and arms were long and slender, and long blonde hair blew around her face in the slight breeze coming off the Bay. The flash of the camera highlighted her firm, high cheekbones and green eyes as well as the glistening beads of perspiration on her chest and cleavage. She wore no makeup; it wasn’t necessary for such a vibrant beauty.
“She sounds like she’s very special.”
Briggs leaned against the wall behind him. “We’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend since grade school. As we got older, it turned to love and everyone in my hometown was certain it was forever love.” Briggs’s eyes were sad as he continued. “But things change. When I was fourte
en, my dad was diagnosed with cancer; the doctors told us that there was nothing we could do because the cancer was advanced and inoperable.”
Thornhill remained silent but placed his hand on Briggs’s shoulder in a compassionate way.
“I was there every step of the way as, in just a few months, he regressed from walking with a cane, to sitting in a wheelchair, and then being confined to a hospital bed.” Briggs took a deep breath. “It was a terrible time for my family, but we supported each other, and Anita was there for me every step of the way.”
“I’m so sorry, man. That must have been horrible.”
“It changed me, Tony.” Briggs dropped his head and was quiet for several minutes before looking up. “I couldn’t stay there after that. The Outer Banks were no longer the same. Everywhere I looked there were memories of my father, and it was just too much. But Anita didn’t understand. She had no intention of leaving the area or Marshallberg. She said that life there gave her comfort and peace, and she was surrounded by the supportive relationships that would carry her into old age. We had quite a spat about it, and she was sure I’d change my mind.”
“But you didn’t?”
Briggs shook his head. “I turned eighteen, joined the Marine Corps, and left for boot camp. I’ve sent letters to my mom and Anita every week. At first, Anita’s replies came quickly, but they’ve been coming less frequently and the tone hasn’t been the same.”
A huge sigh escaped from Briggs. “Her last letter said she wouldn’t be at boot camp graduation. But I’ve kept writing, trying to change her mind.”
“That’s real hard, man. Is she the only girl you’ve ever been with?”
Briggs nodded, then shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘been with’? She’s the only girlfriend I have ever had, and if ‘been with’ means ‘had sex with’ . . . well, no.”
Thornhill’s eyes went wide. “Wait a minute. You’ve never had sex with her or any girl? Like, you’re a virgin?” He held up his hands. “I’m not trying to bust your chops or anything. It’s just . . . surprising is all.”
“No, Tony, I’ve never had sex with her or any other girl. She is the one—I mean the one, the one I’m supposed to be with the rest of my life. Even after how much I changed after my dad died, my love for her only grew. I know we need to be together right down to my soul.” Briggs took a few steps away from Thornhill into the darkness of the squad bay.
“Hold on a minute. The math just doesn’t add up here. All my life I was the big, dumb, fat, clumsy kid, and I’ve been laid more than once. And you, Mister Shine, you’ve been saving yourself for this girl. That’s a big deal, dude.” Thornhill caught up to Briggs and placed his arm around his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.
“Thanks,” Briggs said in a hollow voice.
“Listen, on graduation day, my entire family’s coming down here from New Jersey. I’ll introduce you to my sister. She’s ugly as hell, but easy. You can get that virginity thing out of the way quick, and it will change your whole perspective, brother.”
Briggs chuckled and swatted Thornhill on the arm. “Er, thanks but no thanks.”
Thornhill smiled. “You know I’d do anything in the world for you, brother. All you have to do is ask,” he said with his mischievous grin so wide it lit up the darkened squad bay.
“I know you would, man. I just wish I knew what that ‘anything’ was.”
CHAPTER THREE
June 2004
The end of boot camp was just two days away, and the recruits no longer had to sound off or scurry about like roaches fleeing a blinding light in order to impress or please their drill instructors. They had already accomplished that and so much more.
Days had quickly turned into weeks and weeks into months and now boot camp and all its exhausting and chaotic rituals was coming to an end. Every recruit in Platoon 2036 had metamorphosed into a Marine by definition, if not by name. They were strong and bronzed from the sun, with chiseled jaws and long lines of muscle in their legs and backs. Most importantly, they were confident. The recruits walked with purpose. They were called Marines at this point in their training by everyone save one—their senior.
Staff Sgt. Sholtz emerged from the duty hut and adjusted his Smokey so that it tilted down low over his brow. “Briggs!” Sholtz commanded.
Briggs stopped in his tracks and sprinted to the front of the duty hut, “Recruit Briggs reporting as ordered, sir,” Briggs said as he stopped in front of Sholtz.
“Do you know where DI school is?” Sholtz asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Master Gunnery Sergeant Hager is in charge of the DI school, and he would like to see you at his office.”
A concerned look passed over Briggs’s face.
“He served with your father in Vietnam, and he wishes to speak with you.”
“Now, sir?” Briggs asked.
“He said at your pleasure, which means he has a great deal of respect for you, Briggs. He is giving you the privilege of inconveniencing him. Top is a good man, so don’t keep him waiting.”
Briggs started to speak, but Sholtz stopped him. “It’s a good thing, son. He is proud of you and wants to tell you so himself.”
Now Briggs was totally confused. His presence had been requested by a high-ranking Marine with more stripes on his sleeve than anyone on the base, and he was allowing a lowly recruit to take his time in getting there. Not to mention the fact that his senior drill instructor had just called him “son.”
Briggs collected himself and stopped off in the head in order to wash his hands and face. He checked his reflection in the mirror, adjusted his uniform, and made a dash effort to brush polish his boots before running out the back of the squad bay and down the back ladder well. This was the shortest distance to the DI school barracks.
He found himself running at double time and made himself slow to a conservative quick march in order to not arrive sweaty. The relentless South Carolina sun glaring down on Parris Island was daunting and favored no one, especially young wannabe Marines who had yet to earn the title.
“Sir, Recruit Briggs reporting as ordered, sir,” Briggs announced as he stepped in front of the duty desk just inside the open hall.
It was after hours and turning dark, but beyond the door of the barracks, the echoes of the DI school candidates rang like music throughout the buildings. They recited running chants and drill movements. They were all about the place—passageways, heads, and outlying corridors. They huddled together in small groups, honing to perfection the skills a Marine Corps drill instructor must possess. Briggs felt honored and privileged to stand in such a hallowed place, where the best of the best diligently sacrificed their own personal wants to tread a path that would lead them to the most paramount position, teacher of Marines.
“You’re Briggs?”
“Yes, sir.”
The duty sergeant stood from his desk and motioned for Briggs to follow him to the office of Master Gunnery Sergeant Hager. Hager thanked the duty sergeant who closed the door behind him. Hager motioned to Briggs to take a seat in an oversized leather chair. The walls were covered with pictures of campaigns that Hager had been involved in. His desk was enormous with ornate carvings in the wood on all four corners and the Marine Corps emblem carved in the center of it.
Briggs felt incredibly awestruck and incredibly confused. He still had no idea what this was all about.
Finally, Hager spoke. “I suppose you’re wondering what this little meeting is all about.” Briggs started to spring to his feet to respond, but Hager raised his hand. “No, it’s not that kind of meeting, son. This is something very special, and I want you to sit there and relax. You can speak to me while you’re seated. Boot camp is over.”
“Yes, sir, but—”
“Call me Top, son. Everyone calls me Top. ‘Top’ is a term used for the top sergeant and is a respectful term that I embrace. What’s more, the only reason I am able to be called that is because of your father.”
Hager s
at on the corner of his desk and crossed his thick, strong arms, smiling at Briggs with warm, dark eyes. Though not big in stature, his presence was massive, his dark skin smooth over an honest face that put Briggs at ease. The ribbons above Hager’s left breast pocket were stacked five high and five across. Above them were the most coveted of all awards—gold jump wings and a silver scuba mask—the true mark of a Recon Marine. Briggs had never seen so many ribbons on one shirt and could not help but stare at them.
Hager uncrossed his arms, walked across the room, and picked up a picture on the shelf. “Recognize this guy?” Hager asked as he handed the photo to Briggs.
“That’s my father,” Briggs replied with a surprised smile. “I thought I had seen all of his pictures.”
“Do you recognize the man to his left?”
“No, sir . . . wait, that’s you.”
“That’s right. A lot younger and a lot better looking, but you’re right, that’s me.”
Hager walked over and sat in the chair across from Briggs.
“Son,” he looked into Briggs’s eyes, “I’m going to tell you a story that I’ve been rehearsing in my head ever since I learned that the son of Corporal Lee Briggs was on his way to Parris Island.”
He leaned forward in his chair as his eyes looked past Briggs. “It was 1966 and your father, several other Marines, and I were advancing on a position adjacent to a hillside that was infested with North Vietnamese. Our squad was being attacked from several different directions and mortar and automatic weapon fire rained down on us from unknown sources.” His voice trailed off as he was transported to the past.
“There was a brief lull in the attack that lasted no more than thirty seconds. Suddenly, North Vietnamese soldiers emerged from the jungle, lunging and shooting.” He paused and looked directly at Briggs. “Your father was at the very end of our string of Marines as we worked our way through the jungle. When he saw his fellow Marines being attacked, he rushed forward, firing his weapon and screaming like a madman.” His eyes glistened with the memory.
Shadows at War Page 2