Chapter 25

16:55 Saturday, August 10^th, 1991

Ft Benning, GA

"I do not remember telling anyone to get up. Apparently some of you cannot hit the door when you are told to. This is for real you idiots. One, stand up. Two, hook up. Three, move to the door. Four, through the door. You do not pause. You do not hesitate." The speaker was a Master Sergeant, Black Hat. From his position, Ben could not decide if he was actually as pissed as he sounded, or it was an affectation.

It didn't matter, though, the result was the same. The entire chalk was in the front leaning rest position, having completed twenty pushups, and would remain at the front leaning rest position until the Master Sergeant Black Hat was good and finished with his little speech.

The joker who had clowned around in the chow hall earlier in the week had been recycled, sent back to the beginning of the course for the second time. After being 'smoked' by the Black Hats for an hour by being made to duckwalk and perform scissor kicks and other punishments deemed suitable by the four Black Hats that had surrounded him off on one corner of the tower grounds after his latest mischief, the poor sorry sonofabitch would have done anything to escape further notice.

Ben didn't escape notice by a Black Hat, either. Earlier in the week, on Monday, he had a pebble under his hand while doing punitive pushups. His slight motion to work the pebble out from under his hand earned him sixty pushups and close supervision for the morning.

This week had been a lot of running and jumping, learning to land and learning to jump off the 32-foot tower in formation. Ben supposed if it were necessary to move thousands of men into an area without the benefit of trucks, this was one way to accomplish it. But it certainly seemed as if it were far from the best way to accomplish it.

The Master Sergeant Black Hat was in full voice. "Why must I discipline you? Where have my Black Hat Sergeants Airborne failed me and failed you? I have faith in my brethren Airborne. We must have faith in you, and you must have faith in what we are training you to do. You must hit the door."

Rerunning the PT test had been easier, though, and gotten easier the third time he'd done it, yesterday. There would be two more times he'd have to do it, Monday and Wednesday of the coming week. He'd been glad his side and thigh didn't hurt worse after the first time. The last time they'd seemed almost normal.

Ben was aware the sudden increase in physical training was having an effect on him, though his arms burned with lactic acid buildup in the muscles, and his legs felt like rubber, he was able to keep from wavering in the front leaning rest. The Black Hat relented, and the command came: "On your feet!"

Ben leapt up with the others, to stand at attention, only to hear, "Too slow! Front leaning rest, move!"

Without even time to sigh, he threw himself downward again. One more fucking week. At least I get to jump out of an actual airplane next week. Assuming someone doesn't fuck up again and we get to finish this last day on the tower.

16:05 ADT Saturday, August 10^th, 1991

La Pila de Ladrillos

Medillin, Antioquia Colombia

Ruben watched the hired help leave, the sinking feeling in his gut slowly replaced with anger.

"You are going to have trouble with that one," Joachin said, quietly, from his desk.

Ruben agreed. Since the day a week and a half ago he had turned down what Horacio had probably meant as a gesture of friendship, he'd received nothing but a scornful "Faggot" from the man. It didn't help that Ruben thought he was a cretin.

What particularly didn't help was Jorge Ochoa's order detailing Ruben to protect and accompany Ochoa's mistress, Ana Sophia. Horacio was clearly jealous that Ruben spent so much time near the beautiful – and slender, a rarity in Colombia – girl. That slender girls in Colombia often adorned the arms of rich and powerful men was a given, and Horacio was not particularly adept in hiding the longing in his eyes.

Ana Sophia confused Ruben a little, or rather, his opinion of her was confused. She was extremely easy to talk to, much like a sister, almost a co-conspirator, enthusiastic to make small detours. He especially liked how honest she was about her station. That she also liked Ruben's company he discounted. She'd like anyone's company, if they got her out of the Brickhouse and into the open air. Ruben was certain that was the purpose for his assignment. Ochoa held the claim on anything more than that.

The woman in question was sitting on the corner of his desk while he wrote checks, keeping the brothers company while they worked. "What was that?" he asked her, now, his reverie broken.

"Ruben," getting his full attention, since she seldom used his Christian name. "You may not believe me. Colombia is not like Mexico. One of you is going to have to kill that man, or leave the country."

Joachin, his shoulder having a bad day with the increased humidity from the rainstorms, nodded with clenched teeth.

19:10 EDT Saturday, August 10^th, 1991

Ft Benning, GA

The phone rang and rang. Sandy looked with despair at the line of students behind her, and hung up the pay phone in despair.

Gunny, get an answering machine, damn it.

Two hours later, Sandy tried again.

"Hello?"

Sandy nearly cried to hear Lenore's cheery greeting. "Lenore! You don't know how I've missed your voice!"

"Sandy!" the voice on the other end squealed. "Oh, I've got so much to tell you!"

"You first," Sandy said. She checked, no one was in line for the phone after her. "But I only have a few minutes, so cram it in quick."

Lenore quickly filled Sandy in on the recent changes in her life, and assured Sandy that Dan had come to accept her relationship with the Gunny. "Berkeley, Sandy, can you believe it? And the 'rents closed on a vineyard, and they'll be moving up here permanently this week or next."

Sandy was watching her watch and her supply of quarters, and broke into the torrent of words. "Lenore! I only have a couple of seconds. Get your mom to have Ben call you and tell you where he'll be when he calls her. He'll graduate next week, and after I graduate, I'll have three days delay-en-route to return back to Huachuca. I'll call you next week. I'm doing pretty well here, and I have some stories to tell, too. Gotta go, Lenore, tell Ben I love him, tell the Gunny too, and I love you." Sandy hung up the phone. She arrived upstairs only a minute before curfew.

09:35 Monday, August 12^th, 1991

Building 2748

Ft Benning, GA

"Hot damn," SFC James M. Anderson breathed. The graduation packet had a note in it from the school's Sergeant Major, containing special instructions for class 91-036. "Top!" he yelled.

"What the fuck do you want?"

"Top, I gotta be at Class Thirty-Six' graduation. I wanna pin a friend of mine."

"You working on the graduation order now?"

"Yeah. And I wanna go."

"Just get your ass back after. No beer."

"Fuck you, Top," Anderson said quietly, but without much heat.

"I heard that!"

Anderson just laughed in response.

09:40 Monday, August 12^th, 1991

Room 201 Henry Hall

Ft Benning, GA

"Yes, sir, it was the damnedest thing. I found her at our range with another sergeant, they were sneaking in some small-arms practice." Tony Dalbenge listened to his boss' boss on the other end of the line.

"No, sir, I have no idea. She's here on PLDC from Fort Huachuca, that should make her a specialist, not too likely to be a corporal. Yes sir, that's sierra, papa, alpha, romeo, kilo, sierra, Sparks. She's a natural, sir. Us or MI, for sure. Cool as they come, her instinct is killer, and I mean that literally. She broke that clown with two insults and a three-eighty automatic, and then turned her back on him when Blerick had him in his hands."

Tony unconsciously straightened to answer the last question. "Yes, sir, I would sponsor her."

After he hung up the phone, Tony stared out the window for a long time. What he was looking at he could not have said.

13:45 EDT Wednesday, August 14^th, 1991

Ft Benning, GA

Ben pulled something in the third jump. They stayed at the Lawson Army Airfield until almost 2300 hours, then loaded up and dropped over the Fryar DZ (Drop Zone). Ben landed fast, not quite in proper position in the dark, and pulled something in his shoulder. This morning, they packed their gear in the barracks, and then jumped twice more. His shoulder hadn't hurt too badly.

This morning's second jump had hurt more, though, since Ben had twisted his knee. Deciding that jumping out of airplanes was an inherently stupid thing to do, Ben now struggled through the last PT test.

Making matters worse, he was told, "This one counts."

Tired, sweaty, aching, Ben stood in formation before a small reviewing stand. He was in the third rank. They'd marched in as column-of-fours, halted, given right face, dressed right, then given Parade Rest. After that, Ben had to look between the heads of four soldiers to see a piece of the reviewing stand.

A Black Hat read a speech, which Ben mostly ignored, and then he realized he was hearing names called out. He heard his name read fourth – 'Collins' comes quickly in alphabetical order – and grinned, the ordeal of Airborne Basic was almost over.

Unexpectedly, SFC Anderson stood in front of Ben with something metal in his hand. "Congratulations, Collins. I can't remember when I've been so glad to see someone make it." Anderson placed the parachutist's wings on Ben's left breast. With a malicious smile, he punched them with the flat of his palm, driving the twin metal spikes that held the device pinned to the uniform through the cloth and into Ben's skin.

Sucking air, Ben realized that NCOs were doing the same to all the students in the class. Anderson quickly moved out of the formation, as did the other NCOs.

"Platoon! Atten-tion!" Ben, like the others, straightened.

"PFC Collins, Front and Center."

Numb with surprise, Ben stepped one step forward, between the ranks. Despite the protest from his knee, he executed a right face, and marched to the end of the formation, where he pivoted on his left foot, and four paces later, a half-left pivot, coming to a halt before the reviewing stand. To his surprise, there were an lot of rockers, chevrons, and stripes on the sergeant on the stand's sleeves. Looking up, Ben saw the man smile. He whispered, "Salute, it's a formation."

Ben saluted, and, holding it, said softly, "Private Collins reports."

The other man returned the salute, and Ben dropped his. "Attention to orders. During the months of May and June nineteen hundred and ninety one, PFC Collins displayed exemplary skill and behavior while assisting the United States Border Patrol in a mission deemed crucial to the defense of the United States of America and the policing of the border. His dedication and professionalism helped the mission succeed, where without his hard work it would have failed. PFC Collins was wounded seriously in the course of this sustained action during a gunfight with Mexican bandits. His actions were in accordance with the finest traditions of the Signal Corps and the United States Army. PFC Collins entered the Military Service from the Great State of Texas.