Chapter Eight - The Things They Wore

Chapter 8 – DisGRUNTled

	With his purple heart now hanging from his chest, he saluted the Captain and walked offstage back into formation. A mixture of confused, disproving, and impressed looks stared up at him from among the crowd with those being divided among the Seabees, Engineers and Recon Marines, respectively. He settled into formation just in time to watch Gunnery Sergeant Tipton get his heart pinned on. Tipton had got most of his right ear shredded by a round and took a couple pieces of shrapnel to his legs. Tough old bastard had refused to be CASEVACed and kept on fighting. Word was he and Dygalo were both up for the Bronze Star with combat V for their actions keeping the platoon together. Tip Toes was a good Platoon Sergeant but Kaeo was pretty sure he held more than a few “non-progressive” sentiments.

Tip Toes didn't get the same treatment Kaeo did. Instead, Big McLargehuge director of the Africa Division pinned him. Mr. Nkunda was smiling the whole time and gave Gunny a big slap on the back as he marched off stage.

Captain McGregor moved to center stage to address his men again.

“A moment of silence for our fallen brothers Lance Corporal Owens and Sergeant Mann, and those on-board the USNS Mercy receiving care. Lance Corporal Shulte, Lance Corporal Miller, Lance Corporal Schwetje, Lance Corporal Patrick, Corporal Espera, and Private First Class Stafford.”

The Marines and Sailors present snapped to attention again and stood in silence. A cool breeze rolled in from the east as the African sun disappeared from view. The colors snapped solemnly in the wind, clouds churned on the horizon. McGregor saluted and the marines followed.

“Alright, let's eat. Dismissed.” he stated finally. McGregor and Black escorted the two executives towards his command tent. They'd be busy for a while now. While the CO is away the enlisted will play. Kaeo then proceeded to the growing line forming behind their improvised grill. Apparently, some Petty Officer with the Seabees had trained as a cook before he switched over. Pretty good too, he could smell the steak. He snatched up a tray and got in line. Max, Johnson, and Garza spotted him among the crowd and squeezed in line next to him.

“Kaeo, I saw you get felt up by that MILF. How fucking righteous was that?” Garza butted in.

“What did she smell like? I don't think I've smelled a woman since we left Pendelton.” Johnson questioned intently.

“Expensive perfume. I think it had roses in it.” he lied. All he could smell while she was running her fingers over him was the rotting flesh from that day. The line shuffled forward. Max shook his head disapprovingly.

“Dylan, a woman like that makes in a month what you make in five thousand lifetimes. The only way she could get more out of your league was if she was half alien”.

“Hey, don't you think I know that, Max? I don't drag my knuckles that much.” Johnson snapped back.

“We'll be lucky to end up with some worn out stripper. Kaeo here will probably go back home to Japan, Purple Heart jingling on his Dress Blues, sweep some innocent looking model/neuro surgeon off her feet and live happily ever after. Either that or he'll die alone as he is now.” Max continued while they shuffled down the line.

“What about Rico and me? We're already married.” Garza asked.

“Well, you see, Rico and you are two different situations. Rico's wife is fucking hot and has her own career; he's got two kids and another 8 years before he gets out. He'll probably live pretty happily unless he decides to go lose his legs on deployment or some shit like that. You? Your wife's not bad, but at the end of it she’s Mexican. So this could go a couple ways for you. Number one: you get out after your stint is done and your wife pops out a Jesus or two while you work an average nine-to-five job the rest of your days. Or, number two, she cheats on you while you're out here in the shit. Then you find out, get divorced and, in the emotional aftershock, you realize that the only thing you ever really loved was soldiering. Then you reenlist and head to Recon. Just like me, that’s how I got to Recon in the first place. Look at me now, sharper than I've ever been, not a care in the world.” Max finished as they neared the grill.

The Petty officer slapped a large ribeye onto his tray and he walked out toward the rest of his platoon. There was talking and laughter and it was hard to believe that they're been in combat just a couple of days ago. He parked it down next to Dygalo and Rico who were eating quietly away a little further away from the fire that the junior enlisted were gathered around.

“Tokura.” Rico said to him as he approached. Dygalo simply nodded. Max was already engaged by the platoon.

“Max, tell us a bed time story, you scrawny fuck!” A marine shouted as he approached.

“Yeah, tell us a story!” another shouted. The group responded with grunts and jeers of approval from the other marines. Max sighed and set his tray aside and sat down close to the fire.

“Alright, alright. I'll do it” he shouted in response to the chorus of requests. The crowd quieted.

“Gather around boots and let ol’ Lance Corporal Uriarte tell you a story. It's about a mystical faraway desert land where they say civilization itself was born. Some of you may have heard of it. It's called... IRAQ” Max's dramatic announcement was responded with a spattering of interested “Oooooohs.”

“But before we start, I need to dismiss a few preconceived notions you may have. Now, when a lot of people ask me about my experience in Iraq they usually ask me some loaded hearts and minds shit like: 'Oh, how did it feel going there and helping the children and other people who are poorer than you' and shit like that. You know what I think about fucking Iraqi children? They beg too fucking much.” His anecdote was responded to with grunts of approval from all around. Kaeo had heard this one before.

“First fucking week we were there I honestly felt love in my heart.” Max stated emphatically placing his fist on his chest.

“Second week: Fuck. That. These little crack smokers are all over the fucking place begging. All they do is fucking beg. Just like Afghanistan you go up and give these littler fuckers a candy and then every day after that they're coming up to your ass 'oh mista!' 'mista!' 'mista!'. Bitch, get the fuck off my pens. I usually got about four different questions: 'One dollar?', 'Biscuit?', 'Pen? And oh what's the last one?”  He paused for a second to think. “Oh, that's right”

“'How are you?'” he cooed.

“Let me address all these little cocksucker's questions one by one. Firstly, 'One Dollar': alright you little faggot. I'm out on a field op what the fuck am I gonna be buying? I have no fucking money. The fuck do I gotta carry a dollar for?!” Grunts of approval and a chorus of laughs erupted around him.

“'Biscuit?' The fuck do I look like; little red riding hood carrying around a little basket full of biscuits? What the fuck?”  A few chuckles.

“'Pen?'” Max paused and then asked in a sincere voice “What the hell do they want a pen for?” More laughs broke out around him.

“And of course, the kicker, 'How are you?' How am I? How am I?! I'm doin' bad that's how I'm doing. I'm in your shit faced country hiking around with eighty pounds of gear in a hundred and thirty degree weather. It smells like ass here. And, you know what? All you nappy headed little kids smell like ass too!” Laughter erupted once again.

Max continued his story but Kaeo stopped listening. His steak was a little too rare. It tasted alright but the texture, he knew that texture well. He choked it down anyway. Better than eating MREs three times a day.

He noticed a large group of marines from first platoon massing around their fire and moving towards them. This was usually a bad sign. Inter-company rivalries ran strong in Recon. An infantry company ran on prison rules and every once in a while, when the balance of power shifted, something like this would happen.

He recognized a few of the rabble rousers leading the pack. Namely: Corporal Coolie, 1-3 Alpha team leader and Sergeant Mason, 1-2 squad leader. It looked like they were escorting Corporal Zhang, 1-2 Charlie team leader. Max led 2nd Platoon out to meet them. Shouting immediately erupted. Eckloff and Tip Toes stood off to the side silently. Kaeo turned to look at Dygalo and Rico. Dygalo just shook his head and stood up to walk over to Eckloff. Rico and Kaeo moved in to investigate.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Rico asked. The crowd parted between the two parties. Max turned around and shot an accusing knife hand towards Corporal Coolie.

“This motherfucker right here says their Chink would beat our Jap in a fight.”

“That's because he fucking would.” Sergeant Mason responded.

“Bitch, I saw Kaeo gouge an enemy’s eye out with is bare hands. He's a motherfucking 21st century samurai warrior!” McGraw responded.

“Oh yeah? Liao here captured two Taliban with just his knife in Afghanistan! That’s some Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon shit right there!” a marine from first platoon shouted.

Lieutenant Beckard jogged over toward Eckloff. While Kaeo couldn't tell what they were saying, the discussion became very heated within the first minute. Apparently, no one wanted to admit that they were wrong, even the supposedly “mature” officers. Eckloff looking uncharacteristically irritated stomped over towards Kaeo. He leaned in close and said

“Corporal, I want the Rape of Nanking to look merciful. You read me Tokura?”

“Aye, sir.” Kaeo responded. Dygalo was just shaking his head. He was pretty sure Tip Toes was just barely holding in laughter. Beckard must've had a similar “discussion” with Zhang because he looked more determined than before. Third platoon wandered over out of curiosity. As Kocher heard the news of what was going on he got the biggest smile on his face.

And in that instant, it was settled. They would have to fight. The platoons split off and formed a good sized circle with their Humvees, headlights illuminating the patch of dirt which constituted their fighting arena. The Corpsmen from both platoons wandered over to their respective sides by this time. The whole camp was gathering around. Kaeo took off his blouse and cover and stepped into the ring. Kocher stepped in and all three met in the middle of the field.

“Alright, I want a good clean fight. There will be no rounds, victory by submission or knockout and no eye gouging, Tokura. Now shake hands, Devil Dogs, and go to your side of the ring.” Kocher instructed. Zhang thrust his hand out. Kaeo accepted and gave it one firm shake before returing to his corner. Jeers and hollers to start immediately bombarded them from all around.

Zhang was a good fighter. Kaeo had seen his work first hand during their MCMAP hand-to-hand combat training, but they'd never fought before. Zhang was well versed in traditional martial arts and would have the edge in skill, but Kaeo was a bit bigger than him so he'd have the advantage in strength. He'd wrestled in high school and knew Zhang's style pretty well. His plan was to dance around and strike before moving in. This strategy would be able to get him on the ground as fast as possible where he'd have the biggest advantage, Kaeo thought.

Kocher walked over to the edge of the circle and stepped up onto the hood of a Humvee amidst a chorus of cheers.

“Alright. GO TO WAR!” He shouted while waving his arms in a downward arc.

Zhang danced out from his side in perfect form. Kaeo moved out to meet him in a slower, more cautious cadence. Just as he came into range, Zhang launched a snap kick towards his hip. Kaeo skirted just barely out of reach. Zhang recovered quickly and jumped around a bit more as Kaeo moved in time with him. The rival corporal had a look of determined intensity chiseled into his face. Kaeo remained neutral. Zhang threw a few more punches and kicks just to test his defense. He stepped out of range. Zhang swooped in as Kaeo moved back and delivered a sharp kick to Kaeo's left side. Kaeo felt the shock in his short ribs and Zhang knew he'd staggered him when he wormed his hand around Kaeo and delivered an excellent hip throw which was met with an explosion of cheers

The wind briefly left Kaeo's lungs as he met the ground. Zhang tried for a bucking bronco kick on Kaeo's extend arm. Kaeo swung it out of the way just in time and then reversed it sweeping Zhang's feet out from under him, taking him to the ground.

Then the fight really began.

Kaeo lunged on top of Zhang who snapped a quick punch to Kaeo's face as he moved into position. He felt his nose shift and twist out of position. Blood ran freely out of his nostrils.  Zhang squirmed attempting to move out from under Kaeo, launching a brutal series of knee and elbow strikes to his face and abdomen to keep him occupied. Kaeo smashed his fist into Zhang's face repeatedly. He could feel Zhang's lip split and nose break under the impacts. He looked stunned for a second, but just as Kaeo moved in for another strike, Zhang caught him in the eye with a right hook.

The world swam around him as he lost focus for a moment. Zhang took the opportunity and reversed the position, flipping Kaeo onto his back and threw a perfectly timed punch causing Kaeo's head to recoil into the ground just as he finished his fall. Zhang went to throw a punch with his left hand, but Kaeo pulled his head to the right, leaving Zhang dangerously over extended.

Kaeo seized the arm and yanked, forcefully twisting Zhang onto his back. Zhang squirmed and threw an elbow into the side of Kaeo's head, but it was too late. Kaeo had him in a rear naked choke. Kaeo flexed his bicep hard, cutting off blood flow through the carotid arteries. Zhang pulled down on Kaeo's arm with all his might, restoring flow for a few precious seconds before he threw his head back, smashing Kaeo's already crushed nose.

Kaeo redoubled his efforts overpowering Zhang, but he didn't tap out and fell limp as he slipped into unconsciousness. Kaeo released his grip on Zhang. The crowd erupted in cheers.

Kaeo wiped his face on his own already stained t-shirt and, then gave Zhang a few light slaps to help bring him around.

“C'mon Liao. Fight's over.” he said as Zhang's eyes opened sleepily. His face was almost as badly mangled as Kaeo's with a few cuts, a split lip, smeared with dirt and blood.

“Did I lose?” was all he could manage. Kaeo extend his hand. Zhang accepted it and Kaeo hoisted him onto his feet.

“Yeah. Let's go get patched up.” Second platoon rushed up in a wave of congratulations. Kaeo and Zhang began the long walk to the aid station.

“Ha! Get a load of Kaeo's Shroud of Turin!” Max shouted with a laugh. Kaeo looked down at his shirt there was a bold imprint of his face where he wiped the blood off.

 “That was good for a slant fight.” Tipton commented. Eckloff was smiling triumphantly. Dygalo gave a single nod of approval as he passed. Beckard looked ready to NJP his whole platoon for losing, but he knew that wouldn't happen. He wasn't that sore of a loser.

At the aid station, he and Zhang got cleaned up. They'd beat each other up pretty good, but they were easily still combat effective. After a few butterfly bandages, a nose straightening, and a cold compress, and they were as patched up as was necessary. All the blood from the cuts made the whole thing look a lot worse than it actually was. Both of them now rested in the quiet comfort of the aid station; one in victory, the other in defeat, but both bloodied in spirit and brotherhood of celestial authority.

Captain McGregor and First Sergeant Black, executives in tow, emerged from the command tent, completely ignorant of the recent happenings. The triumvirate of lieutenants had already concealed any evidence of their little honor duel.

Not that McGregor would care. He thought Marines beating the shit out of each other was valuable training. Word was, when he was first sent out to the fleet he engaged some jumped up Lance who thought it was okay to talk shit about the boot-tenant behind his back in personal combat. Beat him into unconsciousness.

Black wasn't so inclined, but it was always up to the CO's discretion. So far, McGregor had walked the fine line between reckless aggression and initiativeless docility admirably well. Although Kaeo had noticed a pattern of decision making that showed McGregor wanted to be back out in the field leading more directly. He wanted his company run like a big platoon with him at the helm. His orders were always very specific in the way they were supposed to be executed and Kaeo knew that if he could, he'd be out leading operations himself, getting his hands dirty. It was just the kind of leader the young captain was.

The Battalion commander had the opposite view. He had consistently tried to encourage junior leadership which was one of the reasons his companies were so far apart in their own big wide AOs. He gave them the tools to succeed and left the rest up to their own discretion.

The Captain ducked back inside his tent and left Black to give the Executives and their entourage a through tour of the camp. Kaeo watched them move away. Ragyō shot a crimson eyed glance towards the two bloodied Corporals with a hint of amusement before turning to follow Black. The Captain reappeared from inside the tent once they were out of sight. He quickly scanned to make sure they were gone and walked over to the aid station and plopped himself down on stool next to the two corporals with an exhausted sigh.

“Evening, Sir.” they both greeted.

“Corporals, just the men I wanted to talk to. I'm tired of having to entertain some corporate paper shufflers and open up our whole operation for them. Quite frankly, it's exhausting, not combat exhausting mind you. But still, fuck 'em.”

“Sir?” Zhang responded nervously.

“You heard me. Fuck them.” the Captain clarified.

Zhang glanced nervously to Kaeo who returned the look equally confused and nervous.

“Don't look so stirred up. Even the CO needs some time to decompress with his boys. Now's your chance to speak freely.”

“Sir, uh... Forgive me if I'm asking above my pay grade, but what exactly do they make here?” Zhang asked.

“Didn't you know Corporal? They make clothes here. REVOCS is the largest clothing manufacturer in the entire world.” The Captain answered.

“Just between the three of us, I think all this talk about 'stabilizing the region' is a bunch of bullshit.” As the captain spoke he mimed air quotes.

“This whole 'situation' is about business. I was on the net with the S-2 intelligence shop earlier today and you know what they told me? They couldn't find any direct connection between the Tailors we're seeing up here and the neo-RENAMO guerrillas operating further south. The only thing in common they have is they're trying to get rid of these factories. No money trail, no common ground in ideology we can discern either, not that we know much about our local flavor of enemy as it is. Another thing that got passed to me pretty recently is that my old platoon from Alpha raided another rebel group's compound pretty recently. The place was stocked to the gills with Chinese manufactured weapons, Type 56 AKs, Type 69 RPGs and even a few FN-6 man portable anti-air missiles. They also shot some Indian businesswoman who they just happened to catch there right in the face.” McGregor tapped on his forehead indicating the spot before continuing.

“Apparently went for a gun at the wrong time. She worked for some non-REVOCS affiliated textile manufacturer. This whole fucking thing stinks. But, as the saying goes: 'Ours is not the reason why, ours is to do or die'. So if General Berger and Capone want me to guard this fucking shithole, I will.” McGregor spun on the stool absentmindedly but after a few moments, he suddenly stopped spinning and switched to a serious tone.

“Before I forget, Tokura, I'm restructuring Raptor 2 to replace our casualties. Specifically, I'm breaking down 2-3 and 2-2's Charlie teams and spreading them out so we're up to four nine man teams again. However, I'm still short on NCOs and I need someone to replace Sergeant Mann as Team Two's squad leader. Everything I've read on Sergeant Rico lists him as an exemplary marine. I'm not exactly sure why he wasn't billeted as a squad leader in the first place. He's deployed as one several times before. Anyway, the reason I'm telling you this is because I want you to take over as 2-1 Bravo's fire team leader in his absence. I know you haven't been a Corporal for very long but hey, gotta step up to the plate some time, right?”

“Aye, Sir.” was Kaeo's only response.

“Staff Sergeant Dygalo will make sure you don't fuck anything up. Just-” The captain was cut off by his radio-telephone operator running up.

“Captain, the battalion XO is on the net.”

“Goddamn it marine, can't you see I'm fucking busy! Handle it yourself!” he shouted.

“Sorry, sir but he's asking for you specifically. It's a priority message.” The RTO excused.

“Alright I'm getting up, this better be fucking good. I'm starting to think Capone is a big cocktease.” McGregor turned back to the two corporals. “We'll finish this discussion tomorrow. Go get some rest. You both need it.”

“Aye, Sir.” they responded in unison as the McGregor stomped back off to the prison that had become his command tent.

It was getting pretty late. The wind was picking up again and storm clouds were rapidly approaching. The Marines were hastily putting out fires and tying down everything before heading into their tents for the night. All aircraft were grounded on Division orders; the Executives would have to stay the night. They disappeared inside the factory at the end of their tour.

Kaeo tossed restlessly in his cot for several hours before getting up. He looked over his friends; their softly heaving bodies arrayed perfectly in their cots. Dygalo was perfectly motionless. Kaeo doubted he was actually asleep. Death never slept.

He just wanted to be alone for now, so he walked out to the wire and sat in silence. Everything seemed so trivial now; all the small joys had drained out of his life. He had noticed himself getting distracted easily as well, his blade was getting dull. Rain began pouring down. Thunder crashed.

He was getting weaker.

He brooded over the realization for a long time, squatting in the mud as the rain drenched him.

He had to stay sharp; he had to be constantly ready for anything. People were counting on him now more than ever before and he wouldn't let them down. Not now, not after all he'd been through.

After everything he'd done. He clenched the ring tightly. And if he had to be a bad person so that others might live; then so be it. His burning self-hatred would keep him warm at night.

Then he straightened up and returned to their tent curled up on his cot and closed his eyes.

It was a bright clear summer day. The trees swayed gently in the faintly salty sea breeze. Kaeo gently swirled the tea in his cup, admiring the way the brown liquid splashed and receded against the walls of its vessel.

“Something wrong with my tea, Kaeo?” a feminine voice asked.

“I'm sure it's fine, Eri.” another slightly accented feminine voice dismissed.

He looked up to the two beautiful women sitting across from him. One, the most glowing shade of blonde he had seen scribbled absentmindedly into a small diary. The other, hair black as midnight stared at him intently. Her sky colored eyes bored into him, compelling him to answer.

He took a sip.

Bitter.

He smiled gently, “It's wonderful.” She seemed satisfied with his answer and leaned back brushing her shoulder length midnight black hair over her shoulder. He watched the ring hung around her neck dance in the sunlight with the movement.

“And then what did he say, Kaeo?” the blonde girl's blue eyes lifted from the page and glanced up at him expectantly before returning to the page.

That's right, he was telling a story. What story was that? Oh yes, now he remembered. He hunched over in his chair and squinted hard.

“Your great grandfatha didn’ die at Guadarcanal fighting those dirty waito piggu for you to go up and join them! You bring great dishonna to this famiry! Get out of my rester-aunt!”

Eri giggled cutely. The blonde threw her head back in uncontrollable laughter. As she did, she bumped the table, jolting the arm he was holding his tea with causing it to splash all over his chest. She immediately stopped laughing.

“Sorry...” she meekly apologized, guiltily avoiding eye contact.

“No, it's fine.” he responded with a sigh as he set the teacup back down.

“If it's any consolation, I'm almost done with your sketch.” She cheerily announced as if the statement would make a clean shirt appear on him.

“Let me see, Claire.” Eri leaned in and Claire turned the book slightly for her.

“Oh I love it! It looks just like him! You've done it again!” The girls both giggled. Kaeo heard thunder crash in the distance. The sky darkened as storm clouds blocked out the sun. Claire hurriedly made a few final scribbles.

“Aaaand, done!” She turned and raised the notebook for him to see.

Inside was depicted the most horrible, clawed, fanged, demon beast he had ever seen. But in his mind he knew it was him. He recoiled in horror.

“Don't you like it Kaeo?” Claire asked. He looked up to her and saw that the intact portion of her face formed what he could interpret as a friendly smile. The rest of it was gone. The pulped section revealing splintered teeth and the flopping movements of her tongue as it formed speech. The wounds in her neck and face poured blood. The wounds he had caused.

“What's wrong, Kaeo?” Eri looked at him with serious concern on her face. She stood up and leaned over the table to get closer to him. Her shredded abdominal muscles and intestines spilled out over the table's surface. Claire stood up and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Didn't you enjoy hurting us?” She questioned innocently. He sat petrified as the two girls leaned in for a kiss.

He felt death touch him.

Dygalo was shaking him awake.