from this guy.”
I felt myself relaxing into campaign mode. Out in the field, away from routine and pressed uniforms and junk-on-the-bunk inspections. No brass, no rear echelon types. Just other grunts. That’s where you build the camaraderie, the closeness of a combat unit. People who depend on you, who trust you with their lives, and make you feel you can trust them. That’s what people miss when they come back from war. Nobody misses the cold and the fear and the blood and death. At least I didn’t. I don’t think most soldiers do, except a few head cases, but the easy, free, and unfathomably deep bond with your mates, that’s something that leaves a void once you go back to the world.
The task at hand, the mission, both accomplishing it and surviving it came into focus, while everything else faded into the background.
Pushing things aside to worry about later was a survival skill. I’d had plenty of practice. I’d seen men who couldn’t do it. Men who got bad news from home while they were at the front, who fell apart. As bad as a job loss might be, it was something that could wait. Not getting shot or getting any of my friends shot was taking all my concentration right now.
I remember Gunny Robichaux talking to the platoon one afternoon after mail call had finally gotten through to us on Guadalcanal. There had been a long delay on the island with no supplies, and we got about a month’s worth of letters. Men starved for news from home devoured the letters, good news and bad, and emotions ran high. The gunnery sergeant growled the platoon to silence, stood up and said “Read those letters, then put ‘em away. Put ‘em out of your head. Sure, it’s just great that the baby is born, your kid brother graduated, your sister got married. And yeah, it’s too bad your wife is a whore and the bank took the house and the cow died. But the news you need to process is that outside the wire are a few thousand Japs who are going to try to kill every one of us. And if you shitbirds start daydreamin’ about home instead of worrying about what you’re here to do, I’ll save ‘em the trouble and kill you myself.”
Chapter 15
THE NEXT MORNING, I got up, started a pot of coffee and looked in the small fridge. Bob had installed solar panels on the cabin, and the only demand was the refrigerator, outlets for a few computers or phone chargers and a few overhead lights. Even in summer there was no need for air conditioning up in the mountains, and there was an old pot-bellied stove for heat in the winter. A propane burner on the counter was what passed for cooking.
The fridge was nice, though. All the difference in the world. Running water would have been nice too, but there was a stream within an easy walk, and Bob had stocked in a bunch of bottled water.
When the coffee was made, I took a mug and went out to sit on the porch. It was still early. The sunrise was still just a promise, mist filling the forest below the cabin. It was chilly up here, even in summer, but it was a pleasant chilly. I zipped up my hoodie and wrapped my hands around the mug.
The view up here was gorgeous. Had to give it that. It was nice to get away from the city, especially in the summer.
Not nice enough to move up here, where you can’t put the trash out or the bears will get into it and a Greek sandwich shop was considered exotic cuisine, but nice.
After I finished my coffee, I went to the fridge and took out some bacon and a carton of eggs. A few slices of bread. There was no butter, but I was going to cook the eggs in the bacon grease anyway, so that wasn’t much of an issue. No toaster, but I could do the bread on the stove, serve the bacon and eggs on it and nobody would know the toast was dry.
As I expected, the smells of cooking brought the others to life. I heard shuffling in the bunk room and Bob and John soon appeared.
“Coffee’s ready,” I said. “Food in about five. Over easy’s good for everybody,
I felt myself relaxing into campaign mode. Out in the field, away from routine and pressed uniforms and junk-on-the-bunk inspections. No brass, no rear echelon types. Just other grunts. That’s where you build the camaraderie, the closeness of a combat unit. People who depend on you, who trust you with their lives, and make you feel you can trust them. That’s what people miss when they come back from war. Nobody misses the cold and the fear and the blood and death. At least I didn’t. I don’t think most soldiers do, except a few head cases, but the easy, free, and unfathomably deep bond with your mates, that’s something that leaves a void once you go back to the world.
The task at hand, the mission, both accomplishing it and surviving it came into focus, while everything else faded into the background.
Pushing things aside to worry about later was a survival skill. I’d had plenty of practice. I’d seen men who couldn’t do it. Men who got bad news from home while they were at the front, who fell apart. As bad as a job loss might be, it was something that could wait. Not getting shot or getting any of my friends shot was taking all my concentration right now.
I remember Gunny Robichaux talking to the platoon one afternoon after mail call had finally gotten through to us on Guadalcanal. There had been a long delay on the island with no supplies, and we got about a month’s worth of letters. Men starved for news from home devoured the letters, good news and bad, and emotions ran high. The gunnery sergeant growled the platoon to silence, stood up and said “Read those letters, then put ‘em away. Put ‘em out of your head. Sure, it’s just great that the baby is born, your kid brother graduated, your sister got married. And yeah, it’s too bad your wife is a whore and the bank took the house and the cow died. But the news you need to process is that outside the wire are a few thousand Japs who are going to try to kill every one of us. And if you shitbirds start daydreamin’ about home instead of worrying about what you’re here to do, I’ll save ‘em the trouble and kill you myself.”
Chapter 15
THE NEXT MORNING, I got up, started a pot of coffee and looked in the small fridge. Bob had installed solar panels on the cabin, and the only demand was the refrigerator, outlets for a few computers or phone chargers and a few overhead lights. Even in summer there was no need for air conditioning up in the mountains, and there was an old pot-bellied stove for heat in the winter. A propane burner on the counter was what passed for cooking.
The fridge was nice, though. All the difference in the world. Running water would have been nice too, but there was a stream within an easy walk, and Bob had stocked in a bunch of bottled water.
When the coffee was made, I took a mug and went out to sit on the porch. It was still early. The sunrise was still just a promise, mist filling the forest below the cabin. It was chilly up here, even in summer, but it was a pleasant chilly. I zipped up my hoodie and wrapped my hands around the mug.
The view up here was gorgeous. Had to give it that. It was nice to get away from the city, especially in the summer.
Not nice enough to move up here, where you can’t put the trash out or the bears will get into it and a Greek sandwich shop was considered exotic cuisine, but nice.
After I finished my coffee, I went to the fridge and took out some bacon and a carton of eggs. A few slices of bread. There was no butter, but I was going to cook the eggs in the bacon grease anyway, so that wasn’t much of an issue. No toaster, but I could do the bread on the stove, serve the bacon and eggs on it and nobody would know the toast was dry.
As I expected, the smells of cooking brought the others to life. I heard shuffling in the bunk room and Bob and John soon appeared.
“Coffee’s ready,” I said. “Food in about five. Over easy’s good for everybody,
Similar Books
