Suffer in Silence

by David Reid

  “Sandbox warfare,” Logan said, observing the two of the them. He spit a wad of sunflower seeds at Grey’s head. “Looks like you’re losing, sir.”

  Jackson and Murray joined him, and together they quickly turned the tide against Batman.

  “All three of you, hit the surf,” Logan ordered.

  They sprinted over the sand berm and into the ocean, and by the time they got back, their boat was completely filled. Batman had already moved on to another boat crew.

  “Gather round, children,” Logan called out. “Time to get on with the day’s plan. The next evolution is a relay race. Each boat crew will run down the beach, together, hanging on to a paddle. Every little turd in the boat crew must have a hand on the paddle at all times. Big Blue will be the halfway point. You will go clockwise around Big Blue and then run back here. If you have any questions you’re a fucking retard. The race starts now.”

  “Let’s go,” Grey yelled. He was ecstatic. Running without a boat bouncing on his head seemed like a nice break. He picked up a paddle and held it out for the other crew members. Once six hands were grasping the wood, Grey led the way over the berm and down to the hard-packed sand. They passed two boat crews and took the lead. Jackson was the only member of the crew without great running credentials, but he didn’t seem to have any problem keeping up.

  Big Blue slowed down so that it cruised alongside the lead mass of runners. Instructor Logan leaned out the window. “Well, boys, isn’t it nice to be in first place? You’ve already built a commanding lead, and everyone knows winning has its privileges.” Logan shook his head. “Sadly, I saw Mr. Grey’s hand leave the paddle. That means all you homos need to jog down to the surf zone, get completely wet, and get on with the race.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Grey complained as they turned toward the surf. They had to lay down carefully to avoid accidentally breaking contact with the paddle. Jackson groaned as the frigid water washed over him. The cold didn’t bother Grey so much; after all, they would be running in a matter of seconds. But the sand that filtered down his pants legs and stuck between his thighs infuriated him. The flesh between his legs was already raw. Running with sandy thighs would only aggravate the situation.

  “Your lead is shrinking,” Logan noted. “I bet if you guys hit the surf one more time you’ll fall into second place. Who wants to test my theory?”

  They ran on. Logan continued to watch them like a hawk. “Oops, it looks like Seaman Murray is testing me. Hit the surf.”

  Logan continued to heckle them long after they had lost their lead. “Just give me a fair race, and I’ll destroy you. I’ll eat you for breakfast and leave you crying for Mommy.” Grey’s anger only fueled his desire to win. They managed to move ahead despite hitting the surf every few minutes. Finally Big Blue pulled away and raced ahead to mark the turnaround point.

  “Let’s do this,” Grey urged. “Let’s show that pussy what we’re about.”

  “I’m dying,” Jackson grunted. “I don’t have those runner’s legs like you.”

  “Do your best.”

  They slowly closed on the leaders. By the time they ran around Big Blue they were right on the heels of the lead boat crew. They pulled up alongside their competition. It was Pollock’s gang. The two crews ran side by side, feeding off each other, pushing the pace continually. The finish line was less than a quarter mile away when Big Blue roared up alongside them.

  “Who’s it gonna be?” Logan asked. “Who’s gonna sit and relax during the next evolution? This is not a race you want to lose.…”

  Grey watched Logan from the corner of his eye. The instructor wasn’t even looking at Pollock’s crew.

  “Oh, no!” Logan called out dramatically. “Boat Crew Five, hit the surf. Seaman Murray just screwed you guys over.”

  Grey led his crew into the ocean. They didn’t bother getting out immediately. The race was lost, and the cold water actually felt nice for a change. They lay in the shallows, piled on top of one another, chests heaving. Finally Grey climbed to his feet and helped everyone else up.

  “That was our race. It was ours,” he said quietly.

  “Ah, the elusive laurel wreath,” Rogers sighed. “There is something beautifully tragic about our boat crew. It’s almost poetic.”

  “You and your beauty,” Jones drawled. “I sure don’t see it, sir. But I’ll keep my eyes open just in case I’m blessed with one of them revelations.”

  They walked across the finish line in protest and were immediately sent to the surf by Logan. They huddled together in silence, staring at the gray clouds gliding overhead. The three remaining boat crews limped across the line and joined them in the shallows. The mass of bodies rolled back and forth on the tide, limp, exhausted. Logan paced up and down the beach, checking his watch every few minutes.

  “Bring it in!” he yelled. “New game!”

  The class waded out of the water and gathered round.

  Logan spit a flurry of sunflower seeds into the wind. “How about an old-fashioned puke-fest? You guys would like that, wouldn’t you?” He offered a rare smile, flashing teeth speckled with the black and gray remnants of his chewing habit. “Of course you would. Here’s how it works. This will be yet another relay race. Each boat crew member will position his head against the paddle like so.” Logan stood a paddle upright on the sand and bent over so that his forehead touched the tip. “Then you will spin, like so.” Logan spun around the paddle, maintaining contact between the paddle and his head. “You will spin twenty times clockwise as fast as you can. Then you will run to Instructor Batman.” Logan choked as he mentioned the name. Even he had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Instructor Batman”—he coughed loudly—“will watch you as you spin twenty times counterclockwise. Then you will run back here. Capiche?”

  The class nodded. Grey turned to his crew. “Who wants to lead?”

  “I will,” Murray said. “But I think you should anchor. You’re the fastest runner.”

  “Ready…” Logan chanted. “Get set … go!”

  Murray spun wildly around the paddle. After ten cycles he fell on his butt. He jumped back to his feet and continued spinning. Dropping the paddle, Murray sprinted away, his body positioned at an unnatural slant. He was headed for the sand berm. As he corrected his bearing he tripped. He got up and fell again. Finally he stumbled over to Instructor Batman. Spin, spin, spin. Murray sprinted, fell, sprinted, fell. A sickening shade of green flooded into his face. Reaching the finish, Murray fell to his knees. A stream of puke gushed from his open mouth as Jones started spinning.

  “We have a winner!” Logan exclaimed ecstatically. “Feels good, doesn’t it? You didn’t want that chow anyway.”

  Grey watched the rest of his boat crew spin, turn green, sprint, and collapse. Jackson and Jones puked. Larsen and Rogers didn’t. Now it was his turn. He placed his forehead against the paddle and spun wildly. His head was reeling after ten revolutions. By twenty his stomach churned uneasily. Time to kick some ass, Grey thought. I can outrun anyone here. His vision blurred, he bolted across the sand. The class erupted into laughter. Grey felt his boot splash against water. He realized with horror that he was at the edge of the ocean. He corrected himself and stumbled over to Batman.

  “Having a little trouble, sir?” Batman asked, grinning stupidly.

  Grey picked up the paddle and spun counterclockwise. As he ran back across the stretch of beach, he flexed his stomach muscles in a vain attempt to keep breakfast down. An acidic mess surged up his throat, and he puked on his uniform as he continued running.

  “Nice!” Instructor Logan cheered. “Very nice!”

  Grey stumbled across the finish line in second place.

  “Go clean yourself off in the surf zone, you filthy pig.”

  Grey flopped into the ocean and wiped the puke from his shirt with his hand. His mouth still burned from the contents of his stomach. Water. Grey stumbled back to Instructor Logan.

  “Go hydrate,” Logan ordered. “And hurry i
t up.”

  Grey poured the contents of his canteen all over his face, gulping and gagging down as much as he could. He rejoined the class, which was already forming up for the next relay race. The instructions required them to roll like a log to Instructor Batman, perform a perfect handstand, and then roll back. More puking, more nausea, more headaches, more thirst. Grey struggled to do a handstand. It took him several minutes to regain enough balance to keep himself inverted.

  The sun reached its zenith behind the thick layer of clouds, a faint white spot in a sea of gray. The class formed up for the run to chow. Grey switched positions with Larsen, who had been holding the hardest spot in the middle of the boat all day.

  “I don’t think I’m going to last,” Larsen stated matter-of-factly. “My fucking shins are crapping out. Stress fractures.”

  “Can you run through it?” Murray asked. “Hold on until Thursday night?”

  “Doubt it. I’ve been sucking it up the last two days. I’m destroying my legs.”

  “Did you tell the doc?” Grey asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t want to get rolled. Starting back at day one doesn’t excite me.”

  “That’s understandable, but if you destroy your legs like you say, there’s no way you’ll ever get through five more months of this.”

  Larsen shrugged and continued running. His face was distorted with pain by the time they stopped at the chow hall. He reported in to the corpsman, and Grey knew that was the last he’d see of Larsen all week.

  “I’m sick of losing guys,” Grey said as he moved down the chow line. “No more. I’m putting a cap on injuries and DORs, effective immediately.”

  “Cool, because I was thinking about quitting,” Murray said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now I have a reason to stay.”

  “Seriously, though, doesn’t it get to you?”

  “Of course it does, sir, but that’s the nature of the beast. The statistics speak for themselves.”

  Grey picked up his traditional cup of hot chocolate and took a seat. The mood at the table was grim. Now that Larsen was gone, they were down to five people. Logan walked over to the group, followed by a square-jawed thirty-four-year-old petty officer named Simpson. Simpson was a former Recon Marine who had managed to get an age waiver so that he could attend training. The usual cutoff age was twenty-nine.

  “Here’s your new man,” Logan said, nodding toward Simpson.

  “Welcome,” Jones said sleepily. “Take a seat.”

  “Thanks.”

  Grey could tell square-jawed Simpson was all business. The guy sat like a marine, looked like a marine, talked like marine. No wonder the instructors didn’t like him. He had a good reputation with the students, though. Grey felt strange about the prospect of leading a seasoned soldier who was ten years his senior.

  After chow Logan ran the class back to the beach. He claimed the surf was up and it was a perfect time for a little surf passage. The boat crews lined up at the edge of the ocean, and the coxswains reported.

  “Ensign Grey reporting, Boat Crew Five standing by, manned, rigged, and ready for sea.” He saluted with his paddle.

  “Very well,” Logan said. He looked the coxswains over. “As you can see, we’ve got some nice sets rolling through this afternoon. I want some quality entertainment. Quality, gents. None of this pansy-ass timing the sets crap. I want carnage. I want bodies flying through the air. You are here to entertain us this afternoon. Failure to do so will result in surf torture.” He spat a gob of chewed-up sunflower seeds onto Grey’s boot. “First race is to paddle out to the buoy, dump boat, then paddle back in with the boat upside down. Any questions?”

  “Do we have to paddle with the bow facing forward?” Pollock asked.

  “I don’t fucking care,” Logan growled. “What kind of stupid-ass question is that? All I demand is that you paddle in upside down. Now get out of my face.” He dismissed the boat crew leaders with a flick of his hand.

  Grey turned and ran toward his crew. “Hit the surf!” He caught up with them as they carried the boat into the shallows. A huge set had just rumbled in. The timing was right, and Grey knew they needed to act quickly. Murray called cadence as Grey urged them on. They bumped over a few lines of whitewash before crashing through the curling lip of a wave. A few more powerful strokes and they were safely offshore.

  “What’s the race?” Rogers asked.

  “Around the buoy, dump boat, and paddle in upside down.”

  “What? Upside down?”

  “That’s the order,” Grey said. “Should be interesting.”

  “Interesting?” Jones drawled. “I think they pay you officer types just to be optimistic. Beauty in everything, everything interesting…” He shook his head.

  After they paddled around the buoy, Grey collected all the paddles and abandoned ship along with the two students on the port side of the craft. The three remaining crew members pulled the boat upside down. Grey handed the paddles up to Simpson, who was now positioned atop the slippery craft. The three of them left in the water scampered aboard and grabbed their paddles. Soon they were all kneeling and stroking toward shore. With nothing to hold on to and no exposed tubing to brace themselves against, their balance was precarious at best. As they slowly inched toward shore, a series of large swells rose up behind them, forcing them to lie back to avoid slipping off the bow of the boat. Logan wants entertainment, Grey thought, and that’s what he’s going to get. They approached the break zone, and the crew members looked at one another and shook their heads. They didn’t have a chance. Six-foot surf was hard enough to manage right side up.

  “Good Lord, guide us and protect us,” Jackson mumbled. “Deliver us from angry seas and broken backs.”

  “Sir, I recommend we hold off until the next set rolls through,” Simpson offered.

  “Can’t do it, Simpson,” Grey said. “Logan’s orders. No chickenshit. We are here to entertain. Full speed ahead, shipmates.”

  They continued stroking as the large swells became increasingly steep. This is it. Grey eyed a mammoth wall of water bearing down on them. Murray smirked, Jackson cringed, Simpson sat steely eyed. There was no way to brace for impact, so they simply waited for disaster. The wave picked up the stern and dropped the bow, catapulting Grey over the heads of his crewmen. He slapped into the water and immediately struggled for the bottom. He relaxed as the world spun in a whirlwind of churning water, a stray foot, a paddle. Once his lungs started to burn with oxygen deprivation, Grey pushed off for the surface. The boat was nowhere to be seen. Although the roar of the surf muffled their voices, Grey could hear the instructors cheering from shore.

  Grey stroked awkwardly, holding his paddle with one arm as he pulled with the other. The rest of his crew struggled over, and they waded to shore together.

  “Nice show!” Logan yelled, genuinely pleased. “Jones, that was a nice backflip. You do that on purpose?”

  “Of course,” Jones said, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Well, you turds win this round. Take a seat. Get comfy.”

  They sat butts to nuts in the sand, pressing their shivering bodies together. They watched the next round of surf passage and cheered as boats shot into the air, scattering bodies to the wind. The instructors commented on the performances as crews struggled toward shore.

  “Fucking Pollock,” Batman said. “What a pussy. Did you see him hesitate?”

  “I saw it,” Logan grumbled. “Surf torture for those pansies.”

  The crews jogged up the beach, dragging their boats along with them. They stopped in front of Logan and looked at him expectantly.

  “Ensign Pollock, Boat Crew Three, standing by, manned, rigged, and—”

  “Shut up!” Logan yelled. “You don’t deserve to be a boat crew leader. You disobeyed my orders. I said no hesitation.”

  “But—”

  “But what? You fail. You fail. You fail.” Logan worked himself into a rage. “You like the soun
d of that, don’t you? Failure! Failure! Failure!” He kicked sand at the shivering crew. “Pollock, take your worthless Academy ass and your worthless crew and take a seat in the surf.”

  The boat drills continued throughout the afternoon. They paddled facing backward, they swam their boats in, they purposely let the waves catch them sideways. Mass carnage reigned supreme. Finally the night crew took over and ran the class to chow.

  “Wow,” Rogers groaned. “I’ve got a bit of a headache.”

  “No shit,” Murray added. “I think we all left a few brain cells behind.”

  Felicia pressed another candy bar into Grey’s hand as they filed past the cash register. He mouthed his thanks and continued on. Instructor Barefoot watched Grey with big mouse eyes.

  “Tuesday night,” Murray said as they sat down together. “The big test. This is it. I heard once you make it past Tuesday night, you’re almost there.”

  “That’s because Tuesday night is the worst,” Jones said. “Steel Pier ain’t no joke.”

  Grey greedily inhaled his spaghetti and meatballs. The afternoon’s adventures had given him a ravenous appetite. Six pieces of cake later he was still hungry. Grey filed back through the chow line and got seconds.

  “Hungry?” Jackson asked, raising an eyebrow at Grey’s gluttony.

  “Yup,” Grey said. “You should eat more. It’s going to be a cold night. You’ll need all the energy you can get.

  “I’m working on it, sir,” Jackson said, holding a forkful of mashed potatoes before his lips. “Don’t know about you, whitey, but I was raised with manners.”

  Grey smiled. “There’s a place for everything, Jackson. And let me tell you, there is absolutely no place for manners this week. Survival is the name of the game.” He pointed his fork at Jackson’s plate. “And that’s why you should eat.”

  Chief Baldwin ushered the class out into the humid evening air. “Feels like rain, gents. Looks like you guys will get the full benefit tonight.”

  Instructor Barefoot appeared at the front of the class and smiled wickedly. “Ready to freeze your asses off? If I was you, I’d quit right now. Tonight will be no fun, I promise you that. Just think about it. Think about the coldest you’ve ever been, then think ten times colder. We’re going to bring you to the edge and leave you there.”