A Quarter Life

Crybaby

Jenny's phone suddenly rang, Mike was distracted.

'Hello...yeah, Bruno...yeah, Reeve...aha...okay...traceless?...got it...okay, thanks brother...anytime, anytime'

Mike understood, it was about Reeve. He was very much eager.

She said, 'My cousin from army called. There was a Reeve, but there is nothing else on him. Just the name, Reeve. Nothing else. Bruno said, he was called traitor, he disagreed a certain high protocol of US army, and took his own decision.'

He thought so, at least nearly so. He nodded, and continued with the story.

“We were put in the same cell. We were accused for treachery on private property.

I couldn’t say anything. Private property? It was our home, we worked there, lived most of our times there, and it was private property? The oil for that engine was our sweat, and nothing can beat that.

That guy, he name was Trey Reeve. He told me his name at the first day, when I was shifted in his cell. He hugged me for a while and said, 'Isn’t now the happy flappy time, mate? Ok, so Mr. Charles McCourt, behold, Trey Reeve.'

The name 'Trey' didn’t suit him. So, I called him Reeve.

We were to be there for six months. But at the third day, a miracle, I would rather say, a nightmare happened.

We got the news that Hitler, the insane motherfucker, attacked Poland on his Jews killing mission. France and Britain, as a result, declared war on Germany. So, the second world war had started.

Second world war?

It was exciting to Reeve, of course for his blood boiling characteristics. But to me, it was a terror. My father was a world war survivor farmer. I heard stories about the terrifying sides of world wars in my early childhood.

But you know, the ocean will be deep as long as you can't swim. The prisoners, except the murders, rapists or accused of same degree of crime, were taken to military camp, to fight for the country.

Reeve was ready to dance on the pistol barrels again, I became terrified.

We were in Edgecombe Correctional Facility. We were then taken to a close by camp.

Our names were enlisted as trainee.

I was very terrified at first, who wouldn’t be? It’s not a fist fight, it’s not boxing, it was war, a fight with death rambling around the neck. You just need a headshot on yourself and boom, you're gone.

Reeve knew I was scared. So he was there, always to comfort me, to rejoice with me.

Our training started the next day.

First 3-4 days just went by learning about the guns and instructions.

We had a rude trainer. I can't describe him, he was beyond description. His eyes was so dry like it had seen several wars. His hands never shook. He had a new level of style. He would light a cigar while training. And he never ever would take the cigar on hand, he could finish smoking, while chewing the butt.

The classes were fun actually. We were given a harmless gun, we were told to disarm it. I always thought, to disarm it, we should just remove the magazine. But Reeve, he would open the gun parts by parts. Our trainer, Sergeant Cohen, would always be annoyed with him.

Reeve couldn’t talk to anyone with formal language. He would always speak in his own accent.

He would say, 'Aye aye, Serge, opening the gun was like opening a sweet little bottle of Bourbon.'

Sergeant didn’t like that joke, 'Mr. Reeve, when I said disarming, I meant disarming, not disassembling. How was this parts presenting helpful?'

Reeve was confident, 'Serge, in the enemy team, there can be some motherfuckers, who would carry extra mags, so, why not open up the gun and raise the difficulty?'

Suddenly sergeant took the parts on the table and assembled it at once. It didn’t take him even seconds. The whole squad was amazed, including Reeve. Reeve was surprised, just like seeing a ghost.

Sergeant assembled the gun and pointed at Reeve, 'You know, I suggest you change your thoughts.'

Reeve was still heads high, 'You know Serge, there is no Serge Cohen in enemy side, eh?'

Sergeant remained silent, 'No, there isn’t. There are far better combat there.'

Sergeant went away, another training day finished.

It was fun for Reeve, don’t know why. He liked the training, liked the olive green t-shirts we were wearing, liked the sweats, liked the salute towards the American flag, liked everything. He was a curious soul.

I was worried, mostly crying during the nights. Every night, I would look at the photo of my wife, and would cry like a baby. I missed her badly. Nights gossiping with her, her smile, her looks, I missed them all.

Reeve would see me crying in my bed at nights, and would laugh about it in the morning. He said, 'Eh fella, why bragging and crying over your wife? She ain't going nowhere. Cheer up over a second and let the war finish.'

I really wanted the war to finish very fast.

The training with manual rifles and pistols was finished. Sergeant Cohen was a gem.

Reeve always ran in the training ground. Just for nothing, just for sweats.

Then it was the time for shooting training. Sergeant was very good at shooting. He could shoot accurately from far away.

I was confused in shooting. I had a problem of jerking of the gun. Sometimes I would get some steps behind to control the balance. Gosh, carrying boxes was much easier, you know.

Winchester M12 was best gun for shooting. It had a long barrel, plain one. Sergeant first started with the bird shooting. We were given a task to kill birds. Our lunch would be the birds we killed. So, it was a survival game. At first two days, I was hungry. Why? I couldn’t get any birds. But eventually I learnt, and at time I would make a feast from the birds I got.

But Reeve? He was hungry everyday. He couldn’t kill a single bird. I'd rather say, he wouldn’t kill a single bird. He was fond, very fond of birds. So, he wouldn’t aim for the birds. Instead, he would aim for his mates, in a definite harmless way.

He used Ithaca 37, it hadn’t so conventional barrel, but it had a ribbed one, just to get a grip. And first of all, it could shoot decoy bullets more fast.

Every training time, he would hide in the bush. Once I was shooting at birds, he aimed for my ear, but shot below it. I could hear the bullet sprinting from below my ear, it was like a couple of seconds, but I felt it like a lifetime.

But he crossed all the limits when he aimed for Sergeant's glasses. I remember the day very clearly. It was mid-noon. We collected our birds, and Reeve, empty-handed as always. We were going to Sergeant to report for today.

We stood in a line. Reeve saw Sergeant, giving advise to everyone. He said to me, 'Aye Charlie boy, let's scare the s**t out of Serge, okay?'

I was confused, 'How?'

He told me to shut up. He went behind me. He pulled out his Ithaca 37, loaded a decoy bullet, aimed for just down to Sergeant's right ear. He fired. But fate was a b***h. The bullet hit Sergeant's glasses, they broke. Some pieces of glass pinched him in the eye side. He was lucky that his eye was safe. But he couldn’t use the eye muscle for months.

After that, I never saw Reeve aiming at random, in fact, he didn’t even attend aiming training.

But, I never saw him in bed at night. He would go to the training ground, do random exercises, I could see his sweat, his tears, his repentance. But I could never say to him, 'Look, who is crying like a baby now, eh?' I could never.”