Stephen cast a glance over each of the other squad mates. Hooper’s profile looked like it had designed with a protractor. The man’s thin cheekbones sharply gave way to his ski-slopped nose and finished demonstrative chin. Hooper looked like a French chef cartoon character. But the guy couldn’t cook Ramen Noodles with an already boiling pot of water and the other men loved to let him know it on a regular basis.
Rodriguez had been a standout Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps cadet. Though very capable, he had opted out of college and the officer route because he wanted to spend more time pulling the trigger than figuring out what people should be shooting at. Stephen knew Rodriguez had too much potential and despite the man’s best intentions, he would be a non-commissioned officer one day.
Asha easily beat Hooper as the most awkward looking man in the squad. He was just over six and a half feet tall, couldn’t stand straight to save his life and had an overly extended neck that made you think he had been rescued from some medieval stretching device. Asha had the physical appearance of a giraffe on muscle relaxers but a more focused and precise mind, Stephen had never seen.
Tomilson, the corporal from Chicago who claimed to have single-handedly popularized the phrase “Chi-Town” had a knack for being able to describe any scenario with a hockey analogy. While he missed his hometown, the opportunity to avoid the winds coming off the Great Lakes during January and February kept him content to live in a place where he could watch news of the latest blizzard from the comfort of his recliner, while wearing shorts.
Chelphalvanova was simply referred to as Chelp by the rest of the squad, platoon, company as well as any person who ever met him whose first language wasn’t Slavic. He had been a football all-American in high school when he was a dominant defensive lineman. Heavily recruited by colleges across the nation, Chelp turned down multiple scholarship offers after taking personal offense to watching the World Trade Center buildings fall.
Romero had a quiet peace about him at all times. He was a family man like Stephen and known to be somewhat of an old soul. His wisdom was often a help to Stephen, particularly when he was trying to navigate the sensitive personalities of Waters and the platoon’s self-proclaimed entertainer, Belvis.
Belvis was the pastry-loving, one-man variety show of the group. While continually entertaining, Belvis was the guy who would barely pass each physical training test and always subjected to height and weight measurements to ensure he met the standards. In a spell of Army wisdom, it was always Belvis with his bulging waistline along with Hilton and his thunderous chest that exceeded the military’s body mass standards and were forced to undergo the “tape test” routine after each physical checkup. The two of them standing side by side without shirts would often result in Belvis turning into a standup comedian has he mocked Hilton’s sculpted chassis for apparently being undesirable by Uncle Sam.
Each of the men in Stephen’s squad stood with an appreciation and acceptance of the task ahead. They understood the responsibility for the uniforms they wore and it meant something to each one of them. Activation of their Guard unit had come as no surprise to any of them. Economist often cited the influence of the United States, saying that if America sneezes, the rest of the world catches a cold. If that was true of economics, how much more would the world feel American influence after the September 11th attacks on home soil? From the moment news of the attack broke, Stephen knew deployment was inevitable. America was looking for a fight and Stephen’s squad, like so many others, was more than happy to be sent into the ring.
The squad was strong and well trained to do their jobs. Proud as he was, Stephen’s heart skipped a beat as he thought about the responsibility he held by being first in his row; the position of squad leader taking his men into their first combat theater. Steady and confident, Stephen sheltered any hint of the overwhelming fear that trembled his core. Part of his job was to inspire a sense of loyalty; some would even call it a blind loyalty. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. Leading this squad, facing combat, the possibility of injury to his men, or even fallen soldiers; the chaos associated with each potential scenario laid upon his shoulders was nearly too much of a burden for him to bear.
Having served with many people in the Guard platoon for the better part of two years, he knew the strengths and weaknesses of his men. In large part, they were precisely what one would expect of cavalry soldiers; physically strong and mentally ready. Recent years had made everyone more focused. And while there was no question that war would make brethren out of strangers, to Stephen, these men were already his brothers. Their training had intensified as the welcome announcement of a deployment date became a reality. He had told the squad several times that if called to combat, he would be proud to line up next to them. Stephen had said it confidently each time, but in his heart he never quite knew what he would feel if they found themselves in that moment. Now, as Stephen stood at attention ready to lead them onto a plane bound for war, he understood exactly how he felt. He felt absolutely terrified that a mistake by him could jeopardize the safety of one of his men. The fear was not entirely unexpected but at that moment the dread was far more worrisome than he had ever anticipated.
Lieutenant Bradley completed his final orders and it was time to board their designated plane for their journey to a readiness base. There they would spend six weeks for preparedness training before claiming a new piece of desert real estate as home. The men in the front rows leaned down and grabbed their gear. Stephen bent over to hoist his own and his squad followed suit. As the rows before him began to part for their assigned transports, Stephen held his ground. In deference to the man they followed and trusted, his men stood fast as the squads behind them moved forward and walked between them, breaking their ranks. Hooper leaned forward and caught Stephen’s eye.
A different fear gripped Stephen and held him in place. Like so many service members before him, it was less the fear of what lay ahead and more the fear of what remained behind. Playing it off like he was courteously allowing others to progress ahead of his own squad he validated Hooper’s inquiry as if he had been waiting for the fire-team leader to give that signal. Stephen addressed the entire squad and called out, “Alright, you heard the lieutenant. We’ve got an all-expense paid trip to the desert. Let’s move!”
“Hooah! Let’s go boys.” Hooper chimed out with an anxious breath he had been holding too long. “And Asha, don’t drag ass. I’m gonna be pissed if you make me miss the in-flight movie.”
Belvis, never one to miss out on a chance to launch a joke at a squad mate’s expense, hollered ahead, “Why the rush, Hooper? They showing Lilo and Stitch?”
“Don’t knock my little blue man, Belvis.” Hooper had his gear over his shoulder and called back to anyone who could hear his bellowing. “Stitch is one high-speed, low-drag hardcore ball of destruction, inflicting havoc and chaos on anything and anyone in his path. Just like me.”