I had finished packing the essential stuff in my field pack and ensuring all my gear was duly attached to my load bearing vest. I prayed to have enough strength to pull myself through the next six days.
It was unexpected but ten minutes before the mass inspection on the parade square, the black clouds had gathered above our camp and before long it started pouring heavily.
"Fuck you Jerome, don't give me your fucking excuses. You wear the rank, you better wear the responsibility"
"But I really cannot replace the missing jackhammer, sergeant major, I have no way of finding something I did not lose"
"No excuses. Fucking get it done or you'll be spending your weekend finding it."
That conversation was from the previous exercise, an assault on an urban objective.
We took over the entire blocks of flats and defended the territory for a night before we moved out again for another mission. One of my guys fell ill that night and he was evacuated back to camp. He was entrusted to carry the jackhammer that we often use to break windows. Because it was already after the first mission, I had assumed that he had brought it back to camp with him. Instead, at the end of the entire exercise he told me he had left it beside me while I was resting and didn't notify me because he didn't want to disturb me. Problem was, there was no jackhammer beside me when I woke. I duly did all my equipment checks with my other guys as well.
There was no logic. Not from my guy nor from my sergeant major. I had already knew it was coming. I was being pressed on both sides. I cannot blame my guy for "losing" the hammer and neither could I tell my sergeant major to jerk off.
Here's the thing: if you come down harsh on your guys, the next time you need them to do something for you they bear grudges. You're constantly on a tight rope balancing your roles between a leader and a friend.
How the fuck can this be my fault?
My inner voice screamed, my brain was filled with the angst of injustice. I was never a good soldier. I tried my best to be but somehow I never understood the entire purpose of being a soldier. And until today I still don't. Nevertheless, the Army has taught me many things in life that you'd probably never learn anywhere else. (but that's a whole other story)
The entire debacle ended with me getting punished badly for something I did not do. It was horrible.
Fast forward two weeks, another six day exercise was about to begin. Every part of me dreaded it.
I welcomed the downpour for it delayed our move-out. Any second less spent outfield is a second well saved. I start to fantasize about the impossible, that maybe it would rain throughout the night and that we would only need to leave the next morning. In my full fighting gear I glanced over at my warm cosy bed and pillow. It looked more inviting than ever.
"Hey Bran, I really wish we'd never have to go out for this shit again."
"Yea man, just gotta suck it up."
Both of us stood infront of the window in our bunk and stared at the multitude of drops falling from the sky. I could tell he almost missed home as much as I did. Brandon was the biggest reason why I managed to keep myself sane during these insane times. He was a fellow section commander of our platoon and he was a good soldier but above all he was my best friend.
I will never forget that moment in my entire life. The silence in the room being broken only by the tumbling sounds of the droplets hitting the roof and our weary faces looking up, almost urging the skies to continue to cry for a second longer. Just so we could postpone the inevitable.
The bad memories just came flooding back into my brain. The endless walking through the muddy terrain and the tiredness you feel every second. Coupled with the fact that you had to be always on alert for your guys and the utter lack of sleep. Throw in an unreasonable sergeant major and it completes the misery.
I missed home so much my bones ached for it.
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