A story for Gary - Part Two. 8/17/2006
It was raining the next morning when we attended the briefing for the D.T.O. I stood in the command tent, trying to ignore the fact that it was cold and wet and I was hungry. No matter. If the survey was going to be where it was, we could always get some food from the native villagers. They were always happy enough to see us, since I always made it a point to leave our excess medical supplies behind with the headman.
As the X.O. was giving the team leaders the daily briefing, we heard the tent flaps rustle behind us. And the nugget walked in. I looked at him, wondering what it was he wanted. Probably wanted to ask me about about which way the straps on his Alice pack did up. What he did next surprised all of us. He grabbed a chair and sat down. Some of my colleagues looked at me with raised eye brows. And the X.O. shot me a “get him the fuck out of here” look.
I turned to the nugget, and asked him what he was doing in the command tent. He said he wanted to attend the daily briefing, since he was an officer. All of us collapsed laughing at this, including the X.O. One of my colleagues took him by the shoulder, and told him to get his arse out of that chair, and back to the team area, and get himself and his kit ready. And told him that where we were, in the here and now, rank didn’t exactly mean a lot.
We settled down, and the X.O. completed the daily brief. He reminded me that I had a nugget with me, and told me to take it easy. I replied that I would treat him the same way I would treat any other trooper. I suggested that I would let my sargeant look after him, and the X.O. nodded his agreement.
We went out into the morning darkness and cold rain. Giving each other a “good hunting”, we went off to our respective team areas, to see how everything was shaping up before the choppers started arriving. I walked in the team area, and saw that the Sargeant had everything buttoned up and squared away. The Sargeant walked over to me, and asked me what the plan was for the day. I fished out the map of the A.O. and we sat on a couple of ammo cases, smoking cigarettes, and discussing the upcoming work for the day.
Until we were aware of someone standing behind us, looking over our shoulders. It was the nugget. The Sarge asked him what he wanted, and he told the Sarge, a man old enough to be his father, that he wanted to know what the daily orders were. The Sarge looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel at this. But a man just a matter of of a couple of years away from retirement was not going to throw away his pension for sake of giving a nugget what for. The Sarge told him to go away and sit down, and wait till I came to brief the full team. The nugget looked like he was going to pull his rank card again, but something the Sargeant’s eyes told him this would not be the best way of ensuring his continued longevity.
I briefed the entire team, after the Sarge and I agreed on what would be done for the day, and who was going to be doing it where. He groaned when I told him he would be riding herd on the nugget. I shrugged my shoulders and said it was either him or me, and I took the last one. I told the sarge that I had brought the last nugget back in one piece, more or less, and I expected him to do the same. Which elicited another groan.
The team briefing went as I expected it to, The guys on the team had been together for a fair bit, and were comfortable with each other. In their eyes, I was the nugget. But as I have learned the hard way, respect is earned, not given. Especially in a situation such as we were in. I told them about the nugget coming along with us, and from the looks I was getting, I guessed the nugget hadn’t done anything to endear himself to them.
The Sarge told everyone to muster up at the pad, as we heard the sound of rotor blades disturbing the silence of the morning. I stood on the pad, smoking a last cigarette, looking at the team. A dirty, dangerous job, for peanuts as a salary. And these men were doing it, not for recognition, not for money, but for pride, self satisfation, and patriotism. Along with one nugget, who was doing it for god knows what.
The nugget was going to be trouble. He was intent on throwing his weight around, trying to prove something about himself. If he continued in this way, things could get pretty ugly, since some of team had short tempers, me included.
I heard the sound of the blades, and saw the chopper descend towards the pad. I braced myself against the rotor wash, and prepared myself for another long hard slog.
- Posted in : Pulp Fiction
- Author : thesnark
Comments»
errr… military or site survey? cuntfused. yes man, i do visit occasionally
even though its not friday yet.
dSaint : The above post is fiction. Got that? Fiction. It all never happened. Ever. And if anyone asks you, deny everything. OK?
I have a cousin like this (purely fictional) nugget. “Do you KNOW who I AM???”
*holds up little pinky and wriggles it*
“No, but I think I know what you’ve got”
Of course, said cousin is purely fictional too.
dSaint : Oh, and the word “survey” is a euphemism for something else. NSDS and GC know what I mean.
IB : Would you like to know who I am?
I indeed knows what is meant with survey in the fictional story above.
I haven’t thanked you for this yet, Snark. Let me remedy that now…
For those who don’t know, good ‘fiction’ is hard to write, especially in the first person.
I’ve tried it, and in the end never put it up for publication. My current gig at Ride-to-work is limited in scope,
so you wouldn’t see anything like this over there.
Snark, you’ve got great pacing and flow here; not rushing straight into the guns, but prepping the field first and
positioning all your elements. Very nice. Looking forward to the rest… (You’ve done the heffalumps, but I’ll bet
this nugget is a woozle.)
Ride well,
=gc=
=gc=
snark… but I know who you are… you’re thesnark of course!
:P