Brighter Shades of Light

by Jaclyn Osborn

  During one of the workouts the second week of the semester, we did an exercise where we were assigned a partner and had to carry them. It was to prepare us for carrying wounded comrades. Rachel had been assigned to carry Tristen, who was smaller than me but not by much, and she’d done it, only struggling a little in the beginning.

  “Hey, sexy fellas,” she said, pinching my arm.

  “Do I get a pinch?” Tristen asked with a scoff.

  “Nope. But you get one of these.” Rachel bopped him on the head.

  Captain Franklin wasn’t instructing us that afternoon. He usually covered the physical training in the mornings, and Gunnery Sergeant Colgrove covered the drill lab. Occasionally, they’d switch it up on us, depending on their schedules, but that was the norm.

  Gunnery Sergeant Colgrove entered the room, nodding to the midshipmen. He was an average-looking, clean-shaven man with brown hair and a prominent forehead. He was younger than the captain, and some said he was a bit more lenient. He certainly didn’t shout as much. Five minutes before drill began, he held accountability, and we called out that we were here.

  “Midshipmen Miller, sir!” I called out, then saluted.

  Our focus that session was movement techniques.

  “As a leader of your battalion, it’s your responsibility to keep them alive,” Gunnery Sergeant Colgrove said. “More time will be spent moving than fighting, and it’s essential you know how to move well. Your unit’s ability to do so depends on your skills.”

  He gave a rundown of the traveling techniques used.

  “SLLS—stop, look, listen, and smell—don’t forget them,” he explained. “Before you leave your current position, look for the next one. Move on covered and concealed routes. When moving through tall grass, change direction every now and then. Avoid open areas and don’t walk along tops of ridges or hills. Your enemy will be able to see you and gun you down faster than it takes you to cry out for your momma.”

  Tristen softly inhaled beside me, and I looked at him. His large blue eyes were completely focused on Colgrove. A slight tremor ran through his body.

  I knew better than to speak while an officer was instructing, but I kept an eye on my friend.

  “There are three other methods besides walking that you need to know,” Gunnery Sergeant Colgrove continued. “Low crawl, high crawl, and rush.”

  After his rundown of the techniques, we moved out to the green to practice them. They were mostly self-explanatory.

  Low crawl was the lowest one. You kept your body flat against the ground to avoid being seen while moving through low grass, or where the cover wasn’t as great. The tricky part was moving that way while also keeping your weapon positioned correctly, keeping the muzzle off the ground and holding it at the upper sling swivel.

  High crawl was after that. It was easier to move than when in low crawl, though it was tougher on the elbows.

  Rush was the fastest way to move; concealing yourself behind a tree or another form of cover before running out to the next position. Each rush was only supposed to last three to five seconds. The key was to think ahead and scope out your next position before moving from your current one.

  “Now that you know the techniques and are familiar with how they work, let’s put them to the test.”

  That could only mean one thing: paintball.

  We were separated into three teams of six and led to different areas to change into protective gear. Once dressed and armed with paint-loaded guns, we were given the usual rules. Dead zone was off limits and couldn’t be shot at. It was the place players went once they were hit and eliminated from the game.

  One time, years before our class, a guy had taken off his mask while in the dead zone to clean paint off it and someone had shot at him, not knowing the dead zone rules. He’d taken a serious hit to the face and had needed medical attention.

  Boundaries were set, too, indicating the size of the playing area. We played in the woods on the other side of the green to give it a more realistic combat feel, but we had to be sure not to go outside the set perimeters just in case civilians were hiking nearby.

  Tristen was on my team and had been assigned the team leader. Me and the other four squatted behind him, awaiting his instruction.

  Paintballing was common for us, and each time, someone else was made leader to give everyone the chance to show their skills. We were all training to be officers in the Marines. Playing paintball was fun, but there was a bigger picture. A deeper meaning to it all.

  The pressure seemed to be taking a toll on Tristen. His face paled as the pings from the guns sounded. More shots whizzed in the air, hitting tree trunks and whishing through leaves. Some hit bodies. We hadn’t moved from our initial position yet.

  “Tristen?”

  “I’m okay. We should—”

  One group rushed from one cluster of trees to another, and the girl at the back was shot in the head, red paint splashing her helmet.

  Tristen fell backward, dropping his gun as his ass hit the ground. He violently shook and clutched at his chest like he was having a damn heart attack. His eyes were wide and he wheezed. His mask fogged as his breathing grew heavy. Frantic.

  “Tristen, what the hell’s going on?” I asked, panicked.

  “Throat’s closing up. Can’t…breathe.” His eyes watered, and his body continued to shake.

  The other members on the team surrounded him, and that seemed to make him worse. I was fucking terrified; he’d never been like this before. I called out for a ceasefire, but as I stood up, I was shot at. There was too much noise. People laughing and calling out when they were shot. People shouting orders. More pings.

  “I think he’s having a panic attack,” Patrick, a guy on our team, said. “My brother has them a lot, and this is how he acts.”

  Tristen started hyperventilating. His neck turned pink as a rash spread along his sweaty skin. His hands shook. He grabbed at his helmet, trying to take it off.

  “You have to keep it on,” I said, grabbing his wrists to stop him.

  “Get it off!” he cried out. “I can’t breathe! Fucking get it off me, Cody!”

  “Fuck this,” I growled after calling out for help and getting no response. No one from the other teams could hear me from all the chaos.

  I slid an arm under Tristen and hauled him up onto my shoulders.

  “Need us to cover you?” Patrick asked, standing beside me. But just then, someone shot the back of his helmet, splattering blue.

  The rest of the team started returning the fire.

  I carried Tristen from our position among the shrubs and ran behind a tree. He was heavy, but I didn’t register the weight. I just wanted to get him to safety. The dead zone was several yards away. Shots whizzed past my head, painting the bark right in front of my face red.

  It wasn’t just a game anymore.

  Someday…this could be real. I would be carrying a comrade as the enemy fired at us. It could be my best friend or someone I’d just met. Maybe they’d be bleeding out everywhere, limbs missing.

  I wondered if that’s what made Tristen panic in the first place.

  The guest speaker from the previous week, plus what we had learned since then, had brought to life a reality many of us hadn’t considered yet. Well, I was sure most had considered it…but not truly felt the weight of it. As part-time participants in the program, we still lived a largely civilian lifestyle. It was easy to get blinded by all the talk of honor, courage, and commitment and forget the price that many before us had paid. One day we’d be fulltime active duty Marines and not just college kids.

  One day the paintballs being shot at our heads would be live rounds.

  By the time I made it to the dead zone, Tristen had calmed down a little. I laid him on the grass and took off his helmet. His face was red, and so were the edges around his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Cody,” he said, his hands shaking in front of him. “I…I don’t know what happened back there.”

  “Pat sai
d you had a panic attack. Have you ever had one before?”

  “Never.” Tristen shook his head. He raked a gaze over me. “Wow. You weren’t hit.”

  “Huh?” I looked down at myself. Completely paint free. “Oh.”

  “We were being shot at,” he said with a furrowed brow. “I remember hearing the shots hit the trees around us as you ran. But they didn’t hit you.” He checked himself. “I’m not hit either.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Once I’d realized how real the situation could’ve been, it was like someone else took over my body. All of our training had filled my head, and I’d thought of nothing except getting my friend to safety.

  “Everything okay?” Gunnery Sergeant Colgrove asked, approaching us. “Why are you here? You’re not hit.”

  Tristen gave me a pleading look. He didn’t want Colgrove knowing he’d panicked.

  “All is fine, sir,” I said, standing at attention.

  “I haven’t been sleeping well, sir, and I think the heat got to me.” Tristen looked at me, then Colgrove. His reasoning still wasn’t good in the eyes of our drill instructor, but it was better than telling the truth. That he’d frozen among the conflict. A mistake like that could’ve gotten his whole unit killed. “I got lightheaded and fell. Cody saw me and took it upon himself to carry me away.”

  “And neither of you were tagged in the process.” Colgrove eyed me up and down before giving a curt nod. “Nicely done, Miller. Now get back out there. As for you,” he cut his eyes at Tristen. “You won’t last long out there if you can’t handle a little heat and exhaustion. Toughen up, midshipman, or the Marines will eat you alive.”

  Tristen left the dead zone with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

  I adjusted my helmet, grabbed my gun, and ran back into the woods.

  Later that evening, Tristen and I were in the dorm, him in his room and me in mine. He hadn’t said much since I’d come back from drill. I knew him well enough to know he was beating himself up.

  Give him space, I reminded myself for the tenth time. I wanted to talk to him about it, but I didn’t know what to say. Not yet.

  Homework sounded better than figuring it out right now. So, I read over the online assignment for one class and answered the multiple choice questions on the quiz.

  Each of our classes had an online course page where the professors posted homework assignments and quizzes. The exams, which were worth a bigger percentage of our grade, were done in class under teacher supervision. We were given unlimited attempts on the homework and three attempts for the quizzes. Our best grade out of them was chosen.

  I scored a ninety-five percent on my first try for the quiz and felt that was good enough. After a long-ass day, I was mentally and physically drained.

  I had just slid into bed when a knock sounded at my door.

  “Come in.”

  Tristen walked in. He looked fucking miserable. The golden boy had lost his shine. “Hey. Can we talk?”

  “Yeah.” I sat up and scrubbed a hand over my face. “Turn on the light. What’s up?”

  He flipped on the light and walked farther into the room.

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Cody,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of my bed.

  “Don’t say that. You got nervous. It happens.”

  “I didn’t just get nervous.” His eyes moved to mine. “I fucking panicked. On uniform days, you know how we get attention from people. In my classes, I have people ask me questions. Some want to know about the program, maybe curious enough to join, and others just want to know what I plan to do after my service is complete.”

  I had the same happen to me.

  “Today, though, a guy in my world history class went a little far.” Tristen’s voice shook. “He asked me if I was prepared to fight for my country. If I was ready to die for it, get blown up or riddled with bullets. He said I probably shouldn’t get too attached to any of my limbs. I got the feeling he was kinda anti-military. But anyway, he got to me. Then when Colgrove was talking about us being gunned down if we fucked up, it put me in a weird mindset.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “And I froze when my team needed me. If it was real—”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “But if it was,” he interjected in a sharp tone. “My hesitation could’ve killed you guys. All it takes is one second for everything to go to shit.”

  “Look, I’m not going to sugarcoat it.” I scratched at my prickly jaw, a reminder I needed to shave in the morning. “There’s a chance that if we pass the program, become second lieutenants, and get deployed…we might not come home. And if we do, it might not be in one piece. Things are better now than they used to be, but it’s still dangerous. Is that scary? You fucking better believe it is. But it’s also a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

  Tristen looked at me.

  “Do I want you to stay? Fuck yeah. But it’s not a decision for me to make for you. If you don’t think you’re meant to do this, it’s not too late to drop out. Better for you to realize it now than later.”

  “I don’t know, Cody.” His mouth quivered. “Part of me is proud to be here, but another part wants to run the other way.”

  “Think on it some more,” I told him. “Do some soul searching if you have to. Don’t make any hasty decisions, though, and wait until you’re sure.”

  “Thanks for not judging me.” He turned on the bed to face me. “You’re going to make an incredible leader one day. There’s no doubt about it. Goodnight.”

  Once he turned off the light and left, I lay back down and stared up at the ceiling, no longer tired.

  It was hard to believe that just this morning, Dr. Vale had spoken to me after class; that we’d sat together at lunch and shared that fucking hot look. Everything had kind of turned shitty after that.

  Tristen was at the top of our class. Having him freeze up today had thrown me for a loop. I hadn’t been able to concentrate once going back into the game and had taken a shot to the jaw not even five minutes in.

  When I finally fell asleep, my dreams were dark. Bullets whizzed in the night air as Marines lay around me and cried out as blood pooled from their mouths. Tristen lay on the ground, his eyes open but unseeing. Rachel, Marcus, and Keith were there, too. Some were missing legs and arms. All of them were dead.

  I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I tried to run, but my legs were like lead and I kept falling into the mud.

  I woke in a cold sweat sometime around four in the morning and decided to stay awake. I was afraid if I went back to sleep, it would put me right back into that dark place. I got up and poured a glass of orange juice before settling into the armchair in the living room to watch TV.

  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I didn’t have PT and only had three classes, so I didn’t have to be anywhere until later. I’d probably go for a run in a while, though. I needed to stretch my legs and feel the air on my face. Needed to run away from the shit in my head.

  Chapter 9

  Sebastian

  The Junghans mantel clock on my desk played a whimsical melody, snapping me awake. I had fallen asleep in my study—again. In a very uncomfortable position, too, judging by the crick in my neck. I needed to start taking better care of myself.

  The music stopped, and I stared at the clock, feeling an overwhelming sadness take root inside my chest. A wooden antique clock with brass works, a mahogany case, beveled glass around the clock face, and Westminster chimes.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, after I took the lid off the box.

  “Why a clock?” I stared into Leon’s blue eyes before pulling out the clock and studying it.

  “So you can keep track of time.” He laughed. “Maybe then you’ll remember to eat and sleep.”

  Before I could let my mind get carried away, reminding me of a past I’d rather keep locked up tight, I fixed the crooked glasses on my nose and stood. A shower was in order before anything else. I turned on the water and stripped out of yesterday’s clothes before
placing my glasses on the bathroom sink and stepping inside the tub.

  As the warm water soaked my hair and fell down my body, I closed my eyes and relaxed. My thoughts drifted to Cody Miller.

  Over a week had passed since he’d sat with me in the dining hall, and each day I saw him sitting in my classroom was another day I fought the urge to talk to him.

  Why couldn’t I forget him?

  He was a student. I could very well lose my job for pursuing him, at least while he was in my class. University policy didn’t prohibit professor-student relationships once the student was out of said professor’s class, though.

  Why am I even considering the ridiculous notion?

  Cody had shown little signs of being interested in me as more than an admirer of my work. He was a bit too friendly at times. Like the comment about me smiling. He wasn’t the brightest student I’d ever had, but he was intelligent and had above average looks.

  What was it that drew me to him?

  With Leon, it had been his mind. I hadn’t registered his physical attraction until I’d gotten a glimpse into his head. His ideas, his theories, they had excited me. Made me excited to see him every morning. Then, when we took our friendship to the next level, so many things about him had called to me, things I hadn’t noticed before. Like how soft his hands were when he held mine, how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

  Stop thinking of him.

  I put Leon from my mind and washed my hair, taking time to massage my scalp for a bit in hopes of easing the headache forming behind my eyes.

  Something else about Cody drew me in. Not only his mind. But perhaps his personality or the way he blushed when he got nervous and floundered around, bumping into objects and people in his attempt to run away. I couldn’t forget how he’d corrected my assumption about him being interested in women, and the expression in his eyes as he smirked at me afterward.

  His smile was contagious. Bright, toothy, and exposing the slight dimple in his cheeks.