Dynamics
by
Maria Santicelli
Copyright by Maria Santicelli 2011
All Rights Reserved
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2. Version
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead, locations or incidents is purely coincidental or used fictitiously.
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It was calm now, and the fire was flickering gently. Three long sticks with marshmallows stood like thin metal soldiers and the sweet smell calmed Ty’s agitated nerves. The chairs next to him were empty; Hadenfeldt and Pascuzzo had gone to get more beer and McLendon wasn’t yet back from his pilot colleagues. They did their own things when they had the time to come down after a mission but always met for meals and a bit of lazing around together.
The calm was disturbed by Walden and his men strolling through the camp, making snide comments. Black couldn’t stand him and his frat boy entourage but then again, nobody could. Walden was one of those guys who made your hair stand on end and imagine the worst. Guys of his ilk regularly gave the army a bad name because they were aggressive, bad-mannered, too damn cocky for their own good and, unfortunately, also very good at what they were doing. It was a dangerous combination, all wrapped up in a neat package made of muscle and bad intentions.
“Hey, Black, have the lover boys left you all alone?” Walden crowed from afar.
Ty only rolled his eyes and shook his head. Best to ignore the idiot before he was forced to waste a bullet on him.
“Don’t worry, I bet they won’t take long! With such a handsome lover Hadenfeldt will be finished in no time! I know I would!” He grabbed his crotch and made a suggestive move.
“Shut your trap, you damn fag asshole!” hollered a ranger Ty didn’t know.
“See you, Blacky!”
Walden’s men laughed and then staggered off to cause mayhem where it was more appreciated. The sounds of a hearty scuffle were actually calming, especially when the Staff Major entered the fray just five minutes later and shouted the whole bloody group down, handing out Kitchen Patrol and latrine duty left and right. Walden actually tried to drag Ty into the whole mess, of course without success.
Why everybody thought that he was a bit slow on the uptake he’d never know. Perhaps it was just his calm, reticent character that left many people wondering what he was really thinking. It was more probable though that they thought that a guy with upper arms like tree trunks couldn’t possibly be in possession of a brain that was bigger than a pea.
Stupid fools.
The truth was that he noticed a great number of things going on around him. Things that his fellow comrades thought they hid so well. As if it were possible in such a close community to hide panic attacks after missions gone wrong, or aggression, or homesickness and loneliness.
Fools.
Most of the guys in camp didn’t understand that entering the army and going to war inevitably changed your life. It changed everything. Some guys went from goody-two-shoes to kick-ass-bad-soldier and others did a one-eighty the other way around. It changed your religion – guys who believed in God sometimes lost faith, while others found their way to Him - and it changed your outlook on life in general and what you perceived as the meaning of life.
But most important of all, it had quite a lot of guys questioning their sexuality, which was never a good thing in a mostly male populated camp. Brawls were common when a mission took too long and they were too far from the next city, and more often than not conversation around here consisted of insults and aggressive jeering because someone couldn’t handle a bout of inappropriate arousal. Ty also knew about not-so-clandestine meetings behind certain tents and, sadly, the odd attack on the weaker members of the camp. Mostly they went after the greenies, the youngsters, but when frustration ran high even higher-ranking rangers weren’t completely safe.
It was enough to make him really want to commit a crime or three. If one entered the army one just knew that sex with women could be a luxury, something that was a reward for surviving a mission. One just knew that there could and would be long periods of time when there would be nothing, nothing at all in the way of creature comfort. If one entered the army one knew that there would be all kinds of guys, the good, the bad, the straight and the queer. It was a huge melting pot and damnit, if the fools couldn’t handle that fact they should stay the hell away!
“Hey, everything alright?” McLendon jumped over the chair next to Ty and sat down.
He sighed deeply and ran his hand over his Mohawk. “Yeah, I guess so. Just wondering how Kepple is doin’.”
The pilot hummed quietly. Kepple was the latest victim of a brawl that had clearly started because of sexual frustration. Thankfully nothing had happened besides a busted rib and wounded male pride for all involved rangers.
“Makes my skin crawl,” Ty continued. “If they wan’ it so bad they should put a damn ad up, would make everything easier. Damn the DADT.”
McLendon eyed him thoughtfully. “They didn’t mean it. They just wanted to let off steam.” He took a marshmallow stick and held the already dripping thing into the fire. “Yeah, baby, burn! Burn!”
Ty rolled his eyes for the second time that night. “It’s not that. A minute ago Walden came here and talked nonsense about Model Face and Hades. Guys like him are the real creeps. No’ goin’ up front bu’ attacking from behind. Bastards.”
“Yeah …” McLendon rescued his scorched, gooey marshmallow, borrowed the HP sauce from Ty and dripped a generous amount over it. “Fabs should really watch his back.”
Ty sighed. So McLendon had seen it too, that creep’s looks in Pascuzzo’s direction. He would make sure to keep an eye on Walden – there could be nothing worse than being subjected to his attentions.
“Where are they, by the way?” McLendon asked.
“Gone to get more beer,” Black grumbled. “Had Walden yapping, naturally.”
“Naturally.” Sweet goo dribbled all over McLendon’s skin and he hurried to catch his treat with his tongue.
Ty looked away.
As far as evenings with the fool went it was bearable but he still sighed in relief when Hadenfeldt and Pascuzzo finally returned. Both carried three six-packs of chilled beer and a smug grin. Scamming things out from others was their favourite pastime when they weren’t blowing things up.
Honestly, why they just didn’t go that last step was beyond him. A blind man could see how much they relied on each other. The way Rhys Hadenfeldt, a dutiful if slightly alternatively thinking colonel if there ever was one, always cleaned up after Pascuzzo’s adventures was more than just concern for their team. And that someone like Fabrizio ‘Model Face’ Pascuzzo didn’t manage to find another woman after that Reyes cow was just surreal. Instead he hung around Hadenfeldt like a puppy that couldn’t be shooed off.
Fact was that Pascuzzo didn’t want another woman. Maria Reyes had broken his sorry excuse for a heart four years ago and left it to Colonel Hadenfeldt to pick up the pieces. Ty wasn’t stupid; he had seen what they meant to each other right away. And now, eight years after first meeting the both of them, he was getting impatient. They were too close for even a brotherly relationship but too careless to be lovers. The tension was driving him up the wall because their bantering could bend a General Grant tree if the mood took them.
McLendon was babbling, updating them on the latest camp fights and handing out HP sauce and mustard. His next charge of marshmallows made all of them grin; ten sticky white balls on one thin stick were a bit much.
When everything was discussed, they fell into a comfortable silence. Hadenfeldt, Pascuzzo and McLendon busied themselves with cooking sausages and roasting bread over the fire while Ty watched them. Reyes’s unexpected visit earlier that day had
left its mark on Pascuzzo. Now, when he wasn’t smiling, he looked pensive and a bit sad. Hadenfeldt’s arm around his shoulders spoke volumes. Maria Reyes might be gone from Pascuzzo’s life but her rejection still smarted.
Shaking his head, Ty admitted that he would probably have been the same. Loving someone and then being thrown away so callously could destroy stronger men, and Pascuzzo was a tough bastard. A tough, soppy bastard who had misguided affections even before that woman came along. Reyes hadn’t stood a chance, in the end, and perhaps it was better this way. Their team couldn’t afford outsiders butting in, perverse as it sounded. Not that Hadenfeldt’s clean-ups after Pascuzzo’s escapades were good per se, but at least they were contingency-plans they could handle.
Still, it would be a great relief if the Italian wannabe male model would
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