The weapon, based originally on the design of the M4A1 carbine, had been a common sight amongst the American military for the past half century. It was always a favorite, due to its ability for customization, reliability, stopping power, and ease of use. Few M4s and other variations of said gun, such as the HK416, looked the same in the hands of U.S. Special Forces, as each carried a unique mark of its owner.
I reached for a cloth and began rubbing the exterior, wiping away the subtlest pieces of dust and lint. “It’s been awhile Penelope,” I said to the gun, “I hope you’ve kept yourself out of trouble while I’ve been away.”
I only hoped Helena didn’t overhear me. My theory was that if you love and respect your equipment like you do a person, it will in turn treat you with the proper respect and never let you down. Although, some inferred it to mean you were a crazy person, although I had no idea why.
After field stripping and cleaning the rifle, as well as inspecting the ACOG-II Scope, SureFire flashlight/laser, and bi-pod, I finished wiping down the exterior and gently put it back in its case. “Goodnight,” I said quietly, hoping my companion didn’t hear me. “Sleep tight.”
I placed the case back in the locker, gave the entire enclosure another look, tossed my Hawaiian shirt inside, nodded in satisfaction, and shut the cage.
Donning a more appropriate BDU top from my locker, I announced, “I’m done here. Everything checks out. I’m ready to go when you are.”
Her reply was to barely even glance in my direction, as she continued cleaning her rifle’s barrel with a long pipe cleaner brush.
What was her problem anyway? Even I couldn’t have done anything to offend her yet. I guess it wasn’t very polite to nearly fall on her, but she had to have known that was an accident. I couldn’t really believe that her silence was actually starting to annoy me, but it was. I rarely let little things like that bother me.
I sighed. It was always the pretty ones.
“Excuse me, but are we going to have a problem here? You’ve barely grunted a word to me, and I’m starting to get the feeling you don’t like me, which, you know,” I gave her a Hollywood, teeth sparkling, smile, “is hard to believe.”
She continued to ignore me.
I was really getting annoyed now.
“Look, sweet cakes. I’ve had just about as much trouble as I can stand with pretty girls in positions where they think they…”
I never got the chance to finish. She was on her feet like a cheetah, and again staring icicles upwards into my skull.
I gulped. It was the only thing I could do as I stared back into her overwhelming beautiful, but currently frightening, eyes.
“So?” I asked, trying to stay brave. “Anything to say?”
The words were barely out of my mouth when her fist connected with my right eye socket, pitching me backwards into my locker. Stars flashed in my vision and the rest of the world went black when my head slammed into the locker behind me. When my mind cleared seconds later, I shot my right hand to my face, wishfully hoping to delay the inevitable swelling and darkening.
Speechless, I just stared at her, completely confused and taken aback by her assault. I wanted to yell at her and hit her right back, but it was probably a good thing that I kept my mouth shut and my hands to myself. She might kill me.
I checked my hand to make sure my face wasn’t bleeding, which thankfully came back clean. Risking one last look at my attacker, I turned for the door and began to head away from the crazed woman who had hit me for seemingly no reason. She was already back at work cleaning her gun, oblivious to our encounter.
Despite the pain, I couldn’t help but smile.
***
The multiplex was eerily silent when I returned to the common area. Everyone, save McDougal, had gathered in the mess area and was in the midst of socializing and chow. Noticing my approach, they all stopped what they were doing mid motion and turned to look at me. Santino had a glop of noodles hanging from his mouth, while Bordeaux had paused as he sipped a steaming drink.
I stopped in front of their table, hands on my hips, and looked each man in the eye. Each wore a passive expression and for a few moments the five of us did nothing but stare at each other before all of a sudden, the four men at the table burst out in playful laughter. In the midst of their laughter, I couldn’t help but noticed Wang pass a few Euros to Vincent.
“Something I should know, gentlemen?”
Santino was the first to stop laughing, but he had to catch his breath before explaining the situation.
“Jake, man, it’s nothing personal, but before you got here, all of us, including Miss Van Strauss,” he said the name, emphasizing it in a haughty and disrespectful manner, “had lunch, chit-chatting. She told us how she had just broken up with some longtime boyfriend of hers or something because he’d cheated on her when her time in the service kept them apart. Sad, right? Well, here’s the funny part. She said she’d kill the next guy she saw that even remotely pissed her off. I guess it doesn’t help that you kinda look like how she described him. Tall, wavy brown hair, broad shoulders, dashing good looks, as soon as I saw you I knew there would be trouble, especially considering your awkward way with pretty girls,” he paused. “I’ll never understand how that works by the way.”
I continued to stare at him stoically.
“Vinnie over there won the bet.”
I glanced over at the aging priest accusingly who merely shrugged, smiled, and continued to eat.
“He said she’d throw a punch. I said she’d knee you in the balls, and the boxing twins over there thought she’d go easy on you, but I knew you’d do something stupid to get her all worked up. So what happened? Strike out swinging?”
My response was delayed as the group noticed our female comrade exit the armory and head directly towards another set of doors, opposite the ones she emerged. She spared a single, distant look in our direction, glowering.
“Didn’t even make it to the on deck circle,” I reported as we all watched her leave.
Santino stood up, placing a hand sympathetically on my shoulder while some of the other guys snickered at me.
“Don’t worry, my friend. Maybe it’s still the off season.”
***
Grabbing a tray of food, consisting of Salisbury steak, tater tots, and an unknown gelatinous substance, I joined the rest of the team at their table. Needless to say, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten anything since before I left for Washington, at least twenty four hours ago. I continued receiving jeers from my teammates, but took them in stride, knowing that the “Strauss” situation had been a good ice breaker.
The guys were conversing as I ate my meal, but I started growing restless not knowing a thing about them. Popping a few tater tots in my mouth, I decided my stomach was full enough to start a conversation.
“So, Wang,” I started, mumbling with my mouth full, “what’s your story? How long has your family been in England?”
Wang waited until he finished chewing his food before answering. It may have seemed like a culturally insensitive question to, but those in the military didn’t take such things personally. In the American armed forces, any given unit may be comprised of an African American from East Harlem, an upper class white guy from New England, and the product of illegal parents from south of the border. In these units, each of those men became brothers, trained to care for and do anything they could to protect each other. Sure, racial slurs and ethnic jokes ran rampant, but everyone shrugged them off, fully aware that they were only meant in good fun.