Shadows at War

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWOMay 2004

“Briggs, up on the quarterdeck,” Sholtz barked.

The entire platoon stopped what they were doing and stood at attention, repeating the call from the duty hut in unison. “Sir, Recruit Briggs, aye-aye, sir.”

Briggs scampered to his feet from behind the squad bay on the third deck of the building where he had been helping another recruit clean his weapon. All the windows were open, allowing the sweet summer breeze to flow through the hundred-foot-long room, which housed the entire platoon and its gear. The racks were two high and ran along each outside bulkhead with another set down the middle. Each rack had a dark-green plywood footlocker at its foot, and each rack was immaculately made with green blankets that had the letters “US” face up, dead center.

Briggs’s heart beat rapidly as he sprinted toward the duty hut. Between the windows and the racks, the distance was only wide enough for two recruits to pass, and even at that they had to turn sideways in order to do so. However, one frantic recruit at a full run demanded the entire space in order to expedite his arrival at the command of his DI. Every recruit knew to “gangway” when someone was burning up the tile to answer a call from the duty hut. Anyone who did not was sure to get run over by someone making the hard blind turns a summoned recruit was taking. Briggs was up to a full head of steam when he swung into a hard left hand turn just before he made it past the last row of racks. One more turn to the right and he would arrive at the spot in the classroom in front of the duty hut.

While he ran, he recalled an event several weeks earlier, when the senior drill instructor was walking the quarterdeck during cleanup. He had sidled up to Briggs, who was sitting on the floor ironing his sheets. All the corners and folds were a perfect forty-five-degree angle, and the recruits took turns passing a hot iron down the line, plugging it in as they went so it would stay hot.

“That really makes the rack pop, doesn’t it, Briggs?” Sholtz had said as he leaned over Briggs’s shoulder from behind.

“Man, it sure does,” Briggs replied as he passed the iron to the next waiting recruit. He was still sitting on the white tile floor of the barracks, which had been polished to a shine that reflected the streams of light flowing through the windows that ran the length of the squad bay on both sides. It even reflected the intense shock on Briggs’s face when he realized he was speaking to his senior while sitting on the deck and hadn’t started or ended his response with “sir.” Worst of all, he’d referred to him as “man.”

Oh God, I am so dead, Briggs thought to himself as he sprung to his feet.

When he pushed up from the deck and turned to face his senior, his head caught Sholtz just under the chin, knocking his senior’s campaign cover—otherwise known as a Smokey—off his head.

Briggs immediately reached out to pick it up but had only brushed it with his fingertips when he was pushed backward onto his freshly made rack by Sholtz.

“Don’t compound your mistake by making a bigger one, Briggs!” Sholtz shouted. “Don’t ever touch a drill instructor’s Smokey, you filthy, slimy turd. You have a long way to go before you earn that privilege.”

Sholtz retrieved his Smokey and placed it back on his head before turning to confront Briggs, now standing at attention between the racks, shaking so badly he thought he would vibrate across the squad bay. He was certain he was in for Incentive Training.

His first experience with IT had been at the beginning of boot camp after the first and last time he dropped his rifle. After a run on a particularly hot afternoon, one of his junior drill instructors escorted him to what he called “a nice shady spot.” In that nice shady spot, Briggs performed endless push-ups, turned onto his back to perform leg lifts, and flipped back again for more pushups. For the next three minutes or so—an eternity in Briggs’s mind—he ran in place with his rifle extended in front of his body at arm’s length. Completely covered in sweat, he was ordered to hit the deck and roll repeatedly until dirt had clung to his face and arms and clothing, making him look like a human sugar cookie.

Since then, he’d tried his hardest to avoid being IT’d again, but with Sholtz glaring daggers at him, he feared the type of punishment he would have to endure for the egregious error of touching his senior’s Smokey.

“I busted my ass to get this hat screwed on my head. It is sacred to me, and I hold this token of my accomplishments in very high regard. You’re not worthy enough to touch it . . . ever! You have to earn the right to touch this hat, to own it, and to wear it. You’re not even a Marine yet, you creepy little bag of dirt.” Sholtz was only inches from his face, barking a rapid succession of words punctuated with an occasional bump from the brim of his hat on Briggs’s forehead.

“So the next time you get tangled up in your own damn feet, have the common courtesy not to soil my Smokey with your filthy, undeserving hands.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Briggs snapped back.

With that, Sholtz had turned away and walked down the line of perfectly made racks without another word.

Briggs was horrified; he knew he would have to pay—somehow, some way. He just wasn’t sure when or how.

The yell of his name from Sholtz and the platoon sounding off brought Briggs back to the present. His mind was so preoccupied with getting to the duty hut that he was only five steps away when he ran into another recruit standing at attention in the middle of the classroom surrounded by all his gear. The two of them fell to the deck in a tangle of bodies and sea bags. Briggs could feel Sholtz’s presence before he heard the sarcastic bombast.

“Well, Briggs, I didn’t know you would be so happy to see our new pickup recruit. If the two of you are finished sucking face and dry humping each other on my classroom deck, maybe you could show him to his rack.”

Briggs jumped to his feet and kicked aside the sea bags in order to stand at attention. Before shouting a reply to his drill instructor’s order, he reached down and pulled the new recruit to his feet alongside him.

“Sir, yes, sir!”

Though the man’s height was impressive at six feet four, Briggs noticed that his arms were a little soft and he did not seem to possess the physical strength of a four-week recruit. Briggs wondered why this man had been brought to his attention. He had a feeling he was soon to find out.

Sholtz turned and walked back into the duty hut without saying another word.

Maybe I’ll find out another day then.

“Come on, Recruit,” Briggs said in a matter-of-fact way as he reached down and grabbed one of the bags, pointing the way toward the back.

The two of them walked between the racks to the far end of the squad bay. Once Briggs reached the last rack, he flung the bag onto the empty rack and turned to the man, extending his hand.

“My name is Scott Briggs,” he said with a smile and a firm handshake. “I’m your squad leader. Welcome to our platoon.”

The new recruit tossed his overstuffed sea bag onto the bed.

“Anthony Thornhill. Call me Tony. It’s what all my friends call me.”

Thornhill towered over Briggs’s five-foot-eight frame. His hair was jet black, and his face was long and oval shaped with a tiny indentation in the center of his chin. His shoulders were square like a scarecrow. He had a broad, toothy smile and his eyes squinted tightly when he laughed. When Anthony stuck out his hand to shake Briggs’s, his hand completely disappeared as Anthony’s fingers wrapped completely around his.

“Here, let me get this foot locker open so we can start putting away your gear. Where’s your rifle?” Briggs asked.

“I was never issued a rifle. I have been in the fat farm ever since I flunked the first phase physical fitness test.”

“No kidding! I thought everyone was issued a rifle after the first few days here.”

“I guess so, but I’m not sure. I’ve been here for forty-six days already.”

“Holy crap! Boot camp is seventy-three days long, and we have just short of fifty days left in our training.” Briggs squinted his eyes and did the math in his head. “That means you’ll be stuck in this place a month longer than the rest of us. That’s gotta blow big time,” he said sympathetically.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing than be stuck here getting devoured by sand fleas and constantly screamed at by drill instructors?”

“Of course there is, but I want to be a Marine. I want to be a Marine more than anything, so if this is what it takes, then I’ll do it. I killed myself to pass the basic physical fitness test to get here, and I barely squeaked by. I was incredibly disappointed when I failed my first phase PFT, and I knew I would wind up in the fat farm, but I’m not giving up.”

“Well, I’m glad you got guts because you’ll need them. Our drill instructors don’t cut any slack for anyone. And the worst part is they don’t like to drop recruits. They feel that to lose a recruit is showing weakness on their part. Unfortunately, what that means for you is a lot of remedial workouts and exercise. You may have passed the basic PFT to get here, but one thing is for sure: you won’t fail another one. It’s my responsibility to make sure that you meet the expectations of our drill instructors. Failure here is not an option. The drill instructors would rather kill you, cut you into little pieces, and feed you to the alligators than allow you to embarrass them. They’ll just claim that you ran off in the middle of the night and died out in the swamp.”

Thornhill smiled and nodded. “I get it.”

“So did you play football in high school?”

Thornhill shook his head.

“Basketball? Baseball?”

Again he shook his head.

“What sports did you play in high school?” Briggs asked as he grabbed the linens from the top rack. He held on one end of the fitted sheet as Thornhill stretched it out and started to make the bed.

“I didn’t play any sports in high school. Don’t get me wrong, I tried out for everything. I really wanted to play some sport—any sport—but, well, I guess you could say I’m just clumsy. That’s kind of the reason why I’m here. I want to be a Marine, and for the first time in my life, I passed the tryouts, so they have to give me a chance. For the first time in my life, I’m on a team.” Thornhill was smiling from ear to ear, showing his glistening white teeth. Briggs looked at him intently and realized that he possessed the most important thing there was for success: tenacity.

“Well, you’re on our team now, buddy,” Briggs said as he reached up to slap the big man’s shoulder.

Thornhill and Briggs became close friends quickly. Over the next several weeks, Briggs helped him push his way through his clumsiness to physical perfection. Under the positive encouragement of Briggs, Thornhill was transformed. He turned out to be the strongest recruit in the entire company. During a companywide field day meet, he was able to do more push-ups and pull-ups than any other recruit in Echo Company. His floppy muscle had turned to granite, and his rolling belly had disappeared, replaced by a hard-packed V-shape from chest to waist.

Thornhill was there the day Briggs received “the letter”—the one Briggs knew would be coming. It was late one night a few weeks before graduation, and Thornhill and Briggs were both scheduled for the 0200 fire watch in the squad bay. Briggs was quiet, far away in his thoughts.

“Are you okay, Briggs?” Thornhill asked. “You’ve been kind of out there lately.”

“Yeah. I mean, no,” Briggs replied. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the crumpled envelope that contained the letter. He fumbled with it, switching it from one hand to the other, and then put it back into his pocket.

“It’s my girlfriend, Anita; she’s pretty much letting me go.” Briggs’s voice was just above a whisper. “She’s the only girlfriend I’ve ever had, and she says she won’t follow me to my next duty station when I leave boot camp.”

Anita and Scott had known each other even before he could remember knowing her. She lived three miles away from his house down a road that was mostly shell and gravel. About the time he turned eight the road was paved. It was also made wider and into two lanes. On the old road one would have to give way to any approaching vehicle and ease over into the tall grasses that came up past the knee. Road maintenance at the far edge of Carteret County in the tiny town of Gloucester, North Carolina, was always at the bottom of the list. However, treacherous roads and tall grass that harbored snakes and other critters that scared the daylights out of a less amorous heart were no deterrent for Anita and Scott.

Their parents took turns babysitting them from when they were toddlers until they no longer needed a babysitter. The road and a handful of residents that occupied the scattered houses they passed coming and going witnessed their blossoming love. From being driven by their parents up to driving their own cars their love grew as did the road they traveled. If a bike tire succumbed to the punishing gravel of the road, they would walk the rest of the way without complaining. Asking someone to give them a ride might mean they would have to wait in order to make their travel arrangements. It was faster to walk, a walk that always turned into a jog.

When Scott got his first boat, Anita’s dock was his first stop. It was only a one-mile paddle from his dock to hers. And when he purchased his first outboard, the trip only took four minutes. Most of the time was spent tying up and untying the twelve-foot Downeaster flat bottom boat he and his father had built. They had doubled the thickness of the transom with a single sheet of mahogany his father had been saving for what he described as “something special.” How fortuitous for Scott. The 1959 Johnson Super Seahorse only produced 10 hp, but the light wooden Downeaster skipped over the choppy water with ease as he made his way back and forth to Anita’s dock. They were everything to each other and nothing kept them apart.

“So were the two of you going to get married?”

“Not yet, at least—and now probably not ever. But I still want to marry her,” Briggs replied in a fading voice.

“That must be the picture.”

“What?”

“The picture you have taped inside your knowledge book,” Thornhill said. “I’ve seen it a few times just never bothered you about it because you didn’t volunteer to show it to me or explain who it was. For all I know it could have been your sister.”

“What!” Briggs gave Thornhill a startled look.

“Hey, hey, don’t get pissed, dude. If you have a freak thing going on with your sister, who am I to say you’re wrong?”

“What are you talking about?” Briggs was more confused than startled now.

“I’ve seen the picture in your notebook. Hell, if my sister were that hot I might be tempted to go to the dark side too.” Thornhill gave Briggs a sideways look and then a toothy grin.

“Stop that s**t! You know that’s not my sister.” Briggs gave Thornhill a shove. They broke into a chuckle.

“So let me see the picture.” Thornhill held out his hand.

Briggs removed the small green 4″ × 5½″ binder from the Cammy pocket of his trousers and opened it to reveal Anita’s picture taped to the inside front cover. She was standing at the end of a boat dock in a bikini that left nothing to the imagination. A Corona bottle with a lime slightly tucked in at the neck dangled from her left hand. Condensation distorted the bottle’s label, and small drops sparkled as they fell to the deck below. The vibrant rays of the setting sun behind her reflected off the water like broken glass.

She was so evenly tanned it looked sprayed on. Her legs and arms were long and slender, and long blonde hair blew around her face in the slight breeze coming off the Bay. The flash of the camera highlighted her firm, high cheekbones and green eyes as well as the glistening beads of perspiration on her chest and cleavage. She wore no makeup; it wasn’t necessary for such a vibrant beauty.

“She sounds like she’s very special.”

Briggs leaned against the wall behind him. “We’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend since grade school. As we got older, it turned to love and everyone in my hometown was certain it was forever love.” Briggs’s eyes were sad as he continued. “But things change. When I was fourteen, my dad was diagnosed with cancer; the doctors told us that there was nothing we could do because the cancer was advanced and inoperable.”

Thornhill remained silent but placed his hand on Briggs’s shoulder in a compassionate way.

“I was there every step of the way as, in just a few months, he regressed from walking with a cane, to sitting in a wheelchair, and then being confined to a hospital bed.” Briggs took a deep breath. “It was a terrible time for my family, but we supported each other, and Anita was there for me every step of the way.”

“I’m so sorry, man. That must have been horrible.”

“It changed me, Tony.” Briggs dropped his head and was quiet for several minutes before looking up. “I couldn’t stay there after that. The Outer Banks were no longer the same. Everywhere I looked there were memories of my father, and it was just too much. But Anita didn’t understand. She had no intention of leaving the area or Marshallberg. She said that life there gave her comfort and peace, and she was surrounded by the supportive relationships that would carry her into old age. We had quite a spat about it, and she was sure I’d change my mind.”

“But you didn’t?”

Briggs shook his head. “I turned eighteen, joined the Marine Corps, and left for boot camp. I’ve sent letters to my mom and Anita every week. At first, Anita’s replies came quickly, but they’ve been coming less frequently and the tone hasn’t been the same.”

A huge sigh escaped from Briggs. “Her last letter said she wouldn’t be at boot camp graduation. But I’ve kept writing, trying to change her mind.”

“That’s real hard, man. Is she the only girl you’ve ever been with?”

Briggs nodded, then shook his head. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘been with’? She’s the only girlfriend I have ever had, and if ‘been with’ means ‘had s*x with’ . . . well, no.”

Thornhill’s eyes went wide. “Wait a minute. You’ve never had s*x with her or any girl? Like, you’re a virgin?” He held up his hands. “I’m not trying to bust your chops or anything. It’s just . . . surprising is all.”

“No, Tony, I’ve never had s*x with her or any other girl. She is the one—I mean the one, the one I’m supposed to be with the rest of my life. Even after how much I changed after my dad died, my love for her only grew. I know we need to be together right down to my soul.” Briggs took a few steps away from Thornhill into the darkness of the squad bay.

“Hold on a minute. The math just doesn’t add up here. All my life I was the big, dumb, fat, clumsy kid, and I’ve been laid more than once. And you, Mister Shine, you’ve been saving yourself for this girl. That’s a big deal, dude.” Thornhill caught up to Briggs and placed his arm around his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.

“Thanks,” Briggs said in a hollow voice.

“Listen, on graduation day, my entire family’s coming down here from New Jersey. I’ll introduce you to my sister. She’s ugly as hell, but easy. You can get that virginity thing out of the way quick, and it will change your whole perspective, brother.”

Briggs chuckled and swatted Thornhill on the arm. “Er, thanks but no thanks.”

Thornhill smiled. “You know I’d do anything in the world for you, brother. All you have to do is ask,” he said with his mischievous grin so wide it lit up the darkened squad bay.

“I know you would, man. I just wish I knew what that ‘anything’ was.”