WRITING: NANOWRIMO 2022
Dying Saved My Life
American Kingdom: Day 4
Previous chapter:
We weren’t supposed to fuck in the field. Or anywhere else, for that matter. The Army didn’t approve of soldiers having any sort of sexual contact.
But it happened, nonetheless.
Young men and women in close contact, sharing everything and a lot of salty language, what did they expect?
Being congested is not comfortable or healthy. If you didn’t take care of the problem yourself, finding someone to do it for you had the same result and was a lot more fun.
It was just part of the job.
Basic training, nobody had time for that. Or the energy. We told ourselves they must be putting something in the rations or the coffee or the water or the air.
After basic, when things were more relaxed and we all felt more secure, if you listened closely after lights out there would be faint vibrations from the nearby bunks, little gasps and sighs.
Sometimes a supply room door would be mysteriously closed. Especially if you had the same idea.
There was a classic tattered old paperback in one camp library. Everyone had read it; there was a lot of waiting in the Army and in those times if you weren’t sleeping or bitching, you were reading.
It described soldiers in WW2, somewhere in the South Pacific. They would buddy up their pup tents, turn end for end, and silently and efficiently relieve each other. It was presented as an act of necessity but there were a few aspects later on in the story that made me think it might have been something more.
Whatever, it was a charming little side trip from the combat, and whenever I noticed a couple of my platoon mates heading off quietly together, it would come to mind. Buddies with benefits.
Later, much later, when our mixed unit was on ops, I formed my own buddy relationship. I’ll call him Lance and although we didn’t actually get all our clothes off and go at it, at least not until we went on leave together and then we barely left the hotel for a day and a half, we did find ways to scratch our respective itches. Silently and efficiently.
It helped make the discomfort, the tedium, the danger bearable. Something to look forward to every few days.
An open secret. When everybody has NVG there are no secrets by night. There’s no sneaking into a shower cubicle for a bit of mutual cleansing when everybody can see that there are four legs visible under the door.
If there is any door at all.
No, we were quick, efficient, and discreet.
The military benefit was that it kept our minds on the task and we were not distracted for 99% of the time.
The end came with one of those suicide bombs. Bitter cold in the high desert. Everyone was wearing all their gear and wishing for more. This included the locals.
There was a smell of coffee on the freezing air. Lance, with two tin mugs, fresh and hot, black and sweet. He handed one to me and examined my eyes. I held his gaze.
We didn’t need to speak. It was on. Tonight.
We’d work out the details on the fly. Ten, maybe five minutes the way I was feeling. Quick and efficient. It wasn’t love. I told myself.
A vehicle came up the road to the camp, a cloud of dust rising around it, blown into our faces by the wind. Government vehicle, probably bringing one of what we called “The Help”, locals who could translate or teach or support our mission.
The driver stopped at the barrier, a hundred meters away. Any further and we’d have to inspect the whole vehicle. And the driver.
A woman jumped down from the bed, hauled a pack after her and raised a hand in greeting as the driver made a turn and sped off back the way he had come, more dust rising to blow into our faces.
One of the joys of foreign service. Then again, as Rangers, we were never going to be deployed somewhere nice, now were we?
I raised my own hand to my friend. Mojdah, barely out of her teens, a nurse with ambitions of being a doctor one day. Her English was pretty good — though she had learned some words here in the camp she wouldn’t find in a textbook — but I wanted to use my Pashto as a gesture of respect and acknowledgement.
“stary mashey zama malgary Mojdeh” — Hello, my dear friend.
Next scene:
The whole thing, chapter by chapter, in progress:
Daily notes: I am so pantsing this!
I have a rough idea of the book. Like, a few sentences in my head. I have an idea that it could begin a series.
Beyond that, nothing. This is me winging it through the month of November and maybe years to come. The book evolves before your astonished eyes, because every so often I hit the publish button and another hundred words or so pops up on the net.
This chapter was just going to be more talking. A few glasses of red over a nice dinner. Nope.
Maybe that will come tomorrow. Probably not. There’s a word that has just surfaced in my mind and that word is forgiveness. Molly can forgive Marion but can she forgive Ted?
