Chapter Six - The Things They Wore

Chapter 6 – J-pop
Day 11, 10 clicks out of OP Bruno, 0636 hours

 “The Sun was just clearing the horizon as we finally commenced our exfiltration. The raid was a 'resounding success' in the eyes of Raptor Actual. Just from the numbers one would think that: Twenty-three enemies KIA, thirteen enemies wounded (which we are now responsible for caring for), and twenty-six (not including the wounded) captured seems like a good trade for the lives of two Marines and the body parts of six others. However, we'd captured, neutralized, or killed less than a third of the whole “Company sized element” that we'd seen there just hours before. Dygalo thinks that they knew the attack was coming and were already drawing down when Miller busted his foot on that mine. They just bluffed that they were all there while a bunch of personnel sneaked out the back. Seems like Dygalo has it all figured out. His hypothesis was all but confirmed by the engineer's discovery of a hidden escape tunnel on the other side of a mountain hours later. Those slippery French (Japanese?) fucks seem to be better at running away than at actually fighting.

I only wished we could've been on our way sooner. I don't think any of us particularly liked sitting around for an hour waiting for Intel fucks to get here only to have them stack the boxes and boxes of paper we found earlier into our Humvees. It was all quite retarded considering we could've done that ourselves and been done earlier. Another thing: why did they have to put it in our Humvees when they arrived with a bunch of engineer 7-tons? I bet they were tired of getting bucked around and just didn't want the same ride back. None of it looked that important on second inspection, seems like the tailors burned all of the sensitive stuff first.
While we apparently weren't qualified to carry paper, they were just fine with having our highly trained asses carry bodies, destroy weapons, and police prisoners. What a pain in the ass that all was. One of scientists decided it was the right time to give himself the cyanide treatment so we ended up having to strip search all thirty-nine of them. It took hours. After all of them were ready for transport, we had to break out the sledges and render each weapon inoperable by hand, at least that went relatively fast.

The engineers were a godsend the whole time. They helped with just about everything while still getting their own job of sealing all of the cave's entrances with explosives done rather quickly. Hell, they even helped us dig graves.

We buried the tailors individually with their broken weapons. They died like soldiers and deserved as much respect as we could give them. Still had to photograph them and round up anything identifying though. Some things never change.”

Kaeo was finding it difficult to write when he was nearly jostled off of the crew bench every time the 7-ton went over a bump. He was tired, another almost forty-eight hours without sleep. However, after his last experience with sleep and his recent “incident”, he had no desire to try any time soon.

The dip was helping. He had to spit out his first attempt after throwing up but, it was probably for the best. It'd been a little too ambitious an amount. After he stopped heaving and got his bearings he found himself pretty dizzy from the nicotine rush. His second attempt was quite a bit smaller and he had a nice buzz going now. He felt a little lightheaded, but alert and awake without being jittery. He could see why so many marines used it. Although how they handled such amounts still baffled him. He had personally watched Rico pack a full horseshoe into his mouth on more than one occasion.

He stuffed his journal back into his ruck and ran his fingers over the ring.

Although he hadn't written it down he'd had a little trouble laying the blue-eyed woman to rest. When he was searching her for I.D. he found a little diary hidden in her tactical vest.

Filled with the immaculate loopy handwriting and the sketches of a sky-eyed girl, it was in written in French, so he couldn't read it and didn't try to. There is nothing more sacred to a person than their thoughts. His journal was meant to be a true and accurate representation of events, not a record of what bounced around his skull. No one else needed to bear that weight. While he made no attempt to read it he did flip through it to take in the artwork.

In between entries, there were dozens sketches of various people and landscapes, as well as many renditions of beautiful dresses and items of clothing. He could tell some were just concepts, but the girl clearly had an eye for fashion. As he looked through, two things caught his eye. The first was an excellently styled portrait of the one-eyed cripple. He was sitting in his chair looking particularly stone-faced. He was pretty sure she had written some commentary on his stoicism based on the other half done and wildly exaggerated drawings of the cripple's trademark scowl.

The other was just a simple pencil sketch opposite a page dated several weeks ago. It was the first blue-eyed girl smiling innocently. He was positive the shape of the jaw, nose, and eyes were a perfect match but that wasn't what made him so sure.

There he saw it, hanging there off of her neck perfectly rendered on the page. There was a name written under it with a small smiley face was drawn next to it: “Eri”. He tore out the page carefully and then folded it and placed it in the same pocket as the ring.

On the back of the diary there was a little note written in Japanese: “If found please return to Claire Montagne”. He tried not to dwell on it too much. He returned the diary to where he found it and tried to lay her to rest.

Easier said than done.

Some sort of rigor mortis had taken hold and her eyes wouldn't close, she was frozen in an expression of shock and pain. He had to put her in face down. He couldn't bring himself to put the dirt on her when she was looking up at him. She looked too young and pretty to lay into the cold ground even with those terrible wounds, too alive. Just like the first; she was dead and, he had killed her.

The 7-ton went over a large bump almost bucking him off the crew bench breaking his train of thought.

“Hey Kaeo, you were doing that thing again.” Max said. Kaeo snapped his head up.

“What thing?”

“You know, the one where you stare off blankly into space after you finish writing in that journal of yours.” Max stated.

Oh, yeah I guess I was.” Kaeo admitted.

“Thinking about your girl back home?” Johnson asks.

“Nah, he ain't got one. He doesn't want to be tied down or, some other bullshit like that.” Garza interjected.

“Well, we can't have that. I think we better serenade this devil dog some poon.” McGraw stated.

“What an excellent idea, Dave.” Max responded. It was very silent in the back of the 7-ton while everyone with the exception of Rico, Dygalo, and, Kaeo got their “game faces” on.

“Her name is Noel, I have a dream about her,” Max sang softly. “She rings my bell; I got gym class in half an hour.”

“Oh how she rocks, in Keds and tube socks.” Johnson joined in.

“But she doesn't know who I am,” McGraw sang alone.

“And she doesn't give a damn about me.” Garza hummed.

“'Cause I'm just a Teenage Dirtbag, baby! Yeah, I'm just a Teenage Dirtbag baby! Listen to Iron Maiden maybe with me!” They all burst out in unison. They finished the song but Kaeo wasn't really paying attention.

Dygalo stayed silent but cracked a small smile during their performance.

“You know, Dylan, I don't think your calling was to be a marine.” Max commented. Johnson turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?”

“I'm pretty sure it was to be a J-pop idol. You certainly got the voice” Max continued

“J-pop?” Johnson responded.

“You see in Japan they got all these pop stars, like boy bands in the states but to the extreme. Hell, you could do it after you EAS. You got it all the voice, the body, the ambiguous sexuality. You don't even need to know Japanese. Hell you're fucking white; you can be the token bad-boy white dude. They'll fucking love that!” Max exclaimed.

“God damn it Max, you had me going there for a second.” Johnson sighed.

“Had you going? Had you going!? What kind of Recon Marine do you take me for? I was and am 100% serious. Hell, after that you can do a few years of gay porn and be set for life.”

“Nah, it'll never work,” Rico dismissed, “the market will be too saturated with your skinny ass”.

“I don't see how that's a problem, we can work as a pair. Now that I think about it why don't we all come in as a team: set up our own studio in one of those empty Quonset huts at Camp Pendleton.” Max retorted. “Even without our costume and set designers we've got everyone we need right here. Our star actors: me and J-pop here.” Max motioned towards Garza “Our psycho cameraman,”. He jerked his thumb toward Rico “Our sleazy producer,”. “Our exotic foreign writer,” he motioned towards Kaeo. “Our dildo and sound man,” he motioned to McGraw. “And, of course the man without whom this would not be possible: the director.” Max finished dramatically both arms out stretched towards Dygalo. “So, what do you think Staff Sergeant?”

“Well Max, I think it's time for you to shut the fuck up.” Dygalo said while leaning back on his section of bench and closing his eyes.
It wasn't long before Max was yakking off again.

“You know what's bullshit?” he asked no one in particular while shaking slightly.

“At the basic reconnaissance course we do a fucking shit ton of swimming. That's where like 50% of people wash out of training. Hell, I fucking blacked out my first attempt at the thirty meter underwater swim. Not to mention all that fucking time with the Zodiac and Dive school. I was under the impression that all of that shit was actually important. I haven't even seen a body of water deeper than three feet since we got off the ship.”

“Max, the fuck is up with you today, usually you'dve shut up by now.” Kaeo asked

“I dunno man. I DID drop like five Cellucor D4 before we left. Maybe that has something to do with it?”

“Alright well, no more of that shit. When you do it you can't shut up.” Kaeo ordered.

Max wouldn't stop fidgeting the rest of the ride back. Kaeo could tell Max was having a very hard time not voicing every thought that crossed his mind. But before they knew it they were back at OP Bruno, just in time for a healthy devil doggin'.

Kaeo jumped down from the back of the 7-ton. It was an odd experience, he always thought he'd hit the ground a half second before he did. He meandered out a few feet while he waited for the rest of his team to dismount. It felt good to be back now that the camp was getting built up. It was starting to seem more like home. The engineers and some fresh faced looking Seabees were in overdrive for some reason putting up some new structures and…a stage?

He could faintly hear two of the engineers talking among themselves. One smoking engineer gave a light tap to the shoulder of another.
“Hey look, that recon platoon is back.”

“Aw man, look at them all badass n' shit with fucking face paint.” the second engineer flipped his cigarette towards Dygalo “That dude has a fucking skull. How fucking cool is that!”

“You wouldn't want to fuck with that dude, man.” the first responded. “That's Dygalo; I heard in Iraq he killed a bunch of fucking kids 'on accident'. At his court martial when they asked him what he felt when he shot them, all he responded with was 'Recoil'”.
“Bull, fucking shit. That never happened and you know it.” the second responded.

“Nah man, hand of fucking god Marx’s told me that and he heard it straight from one of the Recon Marines.” the first continued.
“Shit, SNCO at my 11 o'clock” the second stated. They two engineers practically ran around the tent they'd been smoking outside of.

“Hey, Devil Dog!” echoed over the camp. Kaeo turned and froze at attention.

“Good morning, First Sergeant Black.” he responded with a forced smile.

“Devil Dog, the fuck happened to your uniform!?” The First Sergeant bellowed.

“Well, uh...” Kaeo stammered. The First Sergeant's gaze shot somewhere else when suddenly his stout form turned 90 degrees to face Johnson who was standing mute at attention.

“And you!” With a flash of motion he reached out and grabbed Johnson's face and jerked it around to give himself a better look. “You look like you haven't shaved in two days Devil Dog! Your face hairs are in violation of the battalion grooming standard! You think you could get a good seal on your chemical filtration device with that hippy shit all over your face!? Didn't I have to NJP your ass not that long ago Private First Class!? Didn't your stupid ass learn anything?” Johnson stood motionless while the First Sergeant shot strings of angry spittle into his face. Dygalo walked up.

“Is there a problem here First Sergeant? My Marines and I just got back from a field op.” Dygalo calmly stated.

“Problem?! You're damn right there’s a fucking problem! Your Marines look scragglier and more undisciplined than group of Afghan goat fuckers!” Without looking the First Sergeant shot his hand out and seized Kaeo's arm. Kaeo winced in pain, he could feel blood welling up under Black's vice-like grip.

“Look at this Staff Sergeant, this here 'Corporal' thinks he can just wrap some gauze over a fucking bullet wound!”

Black released his grip and launched a knife hand towards Johnson just stopping less than an inch away from his chin. “And this! The fuck do these marine think they're doing running around unshaven! All of your Marines are looking mighty undisciplined, Staff Sergeant. You let the grooming standard fall and all the others go with it.  If you keep letting it slide before you know it fuck-knuckles here will stop fixing his chin strap and cleaning his weapon! Congratulations! Because you let your marines slip out of line you've just compromised the whole companies' combat effectiveness!”

The First Sergeant paused; it had come time to dole out punishment. He turned and scanned the rest of the team.

“I'm all quite disappointed with all of you. First Recon is supposed to be held to a higher fucking standard! And yet, here I am having to chew y'all out boot camp style! Even worse y'all have the audacity to do this the day before we have some special guests at this camp! All of you marines better be clean fucking shaven in one hour, after that y'all will join the rest of the company in Field Daying the absolute hell out of this camp. Consider yourselves lucky I don't NJP all your asses!”

“Aye, First Sergeant!” they responded in unison. Kaeo turned to go back to pick up his ruck when Black yanked on his shoulder spinning him around. “The fuck do you think you're going? Get your slant ass down to the aid station. Right. Now.” Black hissed. Kaeo swallowed nervously.

“Aye, First Sergeant.” and then he turned and jogged off towards the aid station.

The whole camp abuzz. The Marines that weren't dodging work party, building something or standing guard along the wire were cleaning absolutely everything. They had hoses out and were washing the vehicles, the paved sections of the parking lot, and building itself. Other marines were brushing down the sides of the tents to remove the dust that had built up on them. They also had every single weapon not currently being used for base defense out and being cleaned. Another group of marines were vainly attempting to scrub off the penis graffiti on the porta-shitters. “Wagner Loves Cock” still proudly shone on every one despite the vicious assault. They'd probably give up and just paint over it pretty soon. The air was saturated with the stink of CLP and Simple Green. There were even marines trimming the grass located at the factory’s entrance, by hand. There was a whole squad out with scissors and precut length gauges trimming the grass to “regulation length” one blade at a time.

The spectacle had caught the eyes of many of the factory zombies during shift change, causing them to stop in wonder instead of shuffle onto the buses in their normal ordered regularity.

Kaeo finished his jog to the open-air aid station. It was rather quiet. There were no real doctors at the Company level. It was just a place for the Corpsmen to gather and stabilize the wounded before choppering them out to the fleet. It was surprisingly devoid of marines. They must've already finished CASEVACing the friendly wounded from the raid. There were just tailors here and they were already stable not much for the Corpsmen to do but lie around and wait for the next flight to arrive. Some of the tailors were messed up pretty bad. No women though, he was thankful for that. The rest of prisoners were already being taken away by Intel. He wondered how many would end up in Gitmo or some shitty Turkish prison. He felt a surge of pain through his arm.

Oh right, he was here for a reason. “Can I get some assistance here?” Kaeo asked no one in particular. A corpsman laying down on one of the cots for the wounded sat up and blinked sleepily.

“What needs fixing, warrior?” he sighed. Kaeo raised his right arm to show him. “Drop your pot. I can help you right over here.” the corpsmen waved at a set of stools before stretching and walking over to them himself. Kaeo took off his helmet and took a seat on one of the stools. The corpsman rolled up his sleeves and snapped on a pair of surgical gloves and set to work unwrapping Kaeo's bandage.

“So, how'd it go out there?”

“Just a routine raid, fucked up the bad guys and broke all their stuff. Y'know, the usual marine gig.” Kaeo responded. The Corpsman threw the dirty bandage into a nearby waste basket and turned back to face Kaeo with sterilizing patch in hand.

“Didn't look very routine for you.” The Corpsman gestured towards the two small holes in the outer layer of Kaeo's flak. He had hardly noticed them before. They were small, 7.62 sized right in the center of his chest. He'd have to remember to get a new plate from the armory.

“Well, that's combat I guess.” Keao said. The Corpsman leaned in to get a closer look at his graze. It was a long and deep gash which ran slightly diagonal along the top of his forearm.

“Good Purple Heart material right here, I'll make sure to inform your CO.” The Corspman paused just before running the swab through his wound. He leaned in again and squinted hard. “Damn son, first those bullets in your flak now this? You're one lucky fuck aren't you? If the round has cut just a bit deeper it would've shredded your radial artery. You must have a whole troupe of guardian angels looking after you.” the Corpsman chuckled and ran the swab through the wound.

“Yeah, something like that.” he winced. The ring shifted slightly.