Chapter 8: Departure

Darren’s reporting date for Army boot camp was June first. He said a short goodbye to his mom as he left. He did not bother saying anything to her current boyfriend who was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a hangover. Darren carried only a small backpack of essential toiletries and a few items of clothing.

He walked the three miles to the bus station and bought his ticket. It was going to be an eighteen-hour ride, followed by a night in a cheap motel next to the base, before reporting at oh-eight-hundred on the first.

Throughout the entire trip Darren never took out a book or magazine, he never slept, nor did he talk with a seatmate. He stared out the window or straight into the seatback in front of his face. He also never felt any pangs of homesickness or regret as the miles piled up, putting him further and further from his hometown.

At one point they hit a traffic jam caused by an eighteen-wheeler failing to see a sedan stopped for an emergency on the side of the road. The truck hit the car at over 60 MPH, killing the family of four instantly. The truck driver suffered only minor injuries. Darren remained passively stoic as they passed the scene even though the chatter amongst the bus passengers escalated to a fever pitch.

When the bus finally arrived it was almost 10:00 PM. Darren estimated the hotel at five miles away, which even at a good jog would take over an hour. He exhaled slowly, shook out his arms, and tried to stretch his legs before commencing his trek when a beat-up pickup slowed next to him.

“Hey, buddy,” said the driver, “looks like you’re headed to the hotel next to the base. Give you a lift?”

“Nah, I’m good,” says Darren.

The truck starts to pull away when Darren has his first feeling of regret. He jerks his head up to the truck and sees the taillights ignite, followed by the bright white lights when the driver put it in reverse.

“Get in,” says the driver.

Darren puts one hand on the truck’s bedframe and catapults himself into the truck’s bed. When he lands he sees two other guys sitting against the back of the cab. Before the driver starts he yells back to Darren.

“Good call. Just remember, where you’re going, you are going to need each other’s help. And a lot of it. The army isn’t a band of lone wolves winning wars. It’s a tight-knit group that trusts each other with their lives.”

That is all the driver said in the fifteen minutes it took to get to their destination. None of the passengers spoke, either, but they were all staying at the same hotel. They entered the lobby as a group but approached the desk individually. The first guy checked in and turned to leave but paused at the door. When Darren finished, he turned to see the guy standing just under the vacant sign.

“Name’s Steve, from Memphis,” he says as Darren gets closer. He offers his hand and the two shake.

“Darren, Chicago,” says Darren in reply.

The two stay by the door and wait for each of their compadres. In turn they all introduce themselves to one another.

“Patrick, Denver.”

“Francis, New York City.”

“Cedric, Roswell, New Mexico.”

They all look at Cedric expectantly.

“Damn it, guys, I’m no alien, and there are no aliens in Roswell.”

They stand awkwardly looking at each other when Patrick breaks the silence.

“My brother told me there is a gate near the back of the property that leads directly onto the base. It’s much faster than going out to the main road and backtracking to the mess hall where we are to check in.”

“Cool,” says Steve. “I’m sure we’ll get enough running in the next few months. I’ll take one more shortcut.”

“Meet here at 7:30 and we can go over together?” suggests Steve.

Everyone agrees and they head to their rooms for their last night of freedom.

At 7:30 only Steve, Patrick, and Cedric are outside of the lobby. They can see the clock behind the check-in counter and when it clicks to 7:31 they turn and start walking to the rear of the property.

“Wait up, guys,” yells Francis. He had just rounded the corner and is running to catch up.

They slow their stride and watch as he increases his tempo to catch them in a few seconds.

“Sorry, couldn’t get off the crapper this morning. Ate too much junk on the bus, I think.”

“Whatever,” replies Patrick. “Let’s go.” A nervous strain has started to encroach on his previously confident voice.

“Where’s the other guy?” asks Francis.

“Who knows?” says Steve. “Clock said 7:31 and we knew we had to get moving so we left. You were lucky to catch us.”

That is the end of the conversation as the four young men work their way to the back of the property. There is no obvious fence or gate onto the base, but there is a small opening in the tree line. That seems to be the only point of egress, so they make a beeline for it only to find a dirt-covered path leading into a small field.

“If this is the shortcut, I’d hate to see the how far we’d walk if we took the main entrance,” says Steve. Everyone laughs at the observation, but their jovial attitude starts to sour when they round a bend and do not see any obvious gateway onto the base.

“Patrick, are you sure your brother knows what he’s talking about?” asks Cedrick.

“Yeah, he said it was a bit of a hike, but this is longer than I expected. We better double-time it from here.”

It is six-to-eight when they round a bend and see a guard structure protecting a gate in a barb-wired fence.

“Finally,” pants Francis. “We’re here.”

The four pound their way up to the gate to find two very severe sentries manning the entrance. A nearby jeep contains three more guards. One is sitting behind the wheel while the other two stand in the rear with their rifles casually pointing to the front of the vehicle.

“ID,” barks the closest guard.

“ID?” questions Patrick. “We’re new recruits. I was told this was the way onto the base.”

The guard turns slightly and the four see a sign clearly posted on both sides of the entrance.

NO ADMITTANCE WITHOUT PROPER IDENTIFICATION

The guard turns to face them again and barks in a louder voice, “ID?”

“Hey, didn’t you hear him,” says Cedric. “We’re new recruits.” Cedric fishes out his wallet and offers his driver’s license to the guard.

The guard stares at Cedric and then in a low ominous voice says, “Proper identification.”

Steve tries a more conciliatory approach. “I think there has been a mistake. We were told this was the way onto the base, but it’s clearly not what we expected. Could you just let us through? One of you could escort us to the mess, even. We’ll get our IDs, or maybe you could give us a lift in the jeep?”

The two soldiers in the jeep rack a shell into their weapons at the same time and point them at the group standing outside of the gate.