He hates the smell of smoke.
Jack grew up on a farm ans when he was young, he was all too eager to help his dad whenever and however he could. No appreciation for this line of work, Jacky. Whole world’s too keen on passing us by. Sowing the seeds, watering the fields, feeding the livestock, reaping the harvest; it was a repetitive schedule that, looking back on it, did a good job of keeping him and Peter in line.
One day was different, however, when he woke up that morning, there was a sharp, bitter smell in the air. Jack usually caught the smell when his mother was in the kitchen or when his father was out on the porch, rocking in his chair. It was stronger this time.
He ran downstairs and caught his brother with his father fiddling with the radio as his mom held Katherine in her arms.
Don’t worry your head about the smell, boy. This’ll pass us by- just like everything else.
Later in the day, he saw helicopters in the air, flying out the forests where he saw flashes of red and orange, wispy trails of gray choking the bright blue of the Indiana sky. He caught the word wildfire from the radio.
His dad smiled, patted his head, and let him sit on his lap. It looks bad, but you’re going to be safe, Jack. They’re containing it, nothing to do now but wait it up, let it burn itself out.
He choked a bit as he inhaled, as if an unfortunate gust blew smoke straight into his lungs.
Nothing good comes from smoke, Jacky.
They came in after football practice, the head recruiter was old friends with the coach so he let them in for a bit: Serve your nation! See the world! Make a difference! He’s got a good head on his shoulders, somewhere in the top twenty (maybe) at his school, but he doesn’t play football well enough to have a scholarship riding on it. Was he really just going to help on his family’s farm for the rest of his life?
Jack takes a pamphlet, his future uncertain.
It’ll only be for a bit. To help the farm, to help you guys.
Bette’s too young to get it, Peter and Katherine can’t look him in the eye, his mom can ONLY look him there, as if her gaze were so piercing it could burrow a hole into his head so she could see what in the goddamn hell he was thinking. But his dad-
It quickly becomes apparent that he’s going to break his promise.
Jack takes to soldiering like a duck to water. He doesn’t expect to shoot that well, but he does. Orders file in his mind like the plays the coach drilled into him time and time again. And even though he isn’t the strongest or the fastest, his resilience propels him above the grain of mediocrity.
There must be a shine to it too, because it catches the notice of men wearing lab coats and suits rather than medals. The way they look at him puts him on edge, more like an investment than a human being.
We’re offering you more than a better pay, Morrison. We’re giving you the chance to be the best man you can be. To be the type of soldier that can defend our nation from any threat- times are changing and we need men who can handle that.
He had planned to serve a tour or two, he hadn’t expected to distinguish himself too much before retiring to go back to the farm. But faced with this opportunity to actually leave a mark, make a difference?
The pool of recruits are an interesting bunch, a lot of them are farm boys, some of them just as new to being in the military as he is- the other are seasoned soldiers. A few are from the city, he can tell by the way they talk: loud and fast. It doesn’t really make too much of a rift, they all hooyah just as loud as the next.
One in particular takes to him, he asked Jack to spar with him and he lasted the longest, right before the guy knocked the air out of him with a solid gut punch followed by an arm bar- he was fast.
You fight good, what’s your name?
Jack Morrison, Corporal First Class.
Reyes, Lieutenant-Commander.
He swallows down spit, back straightening and hand raising before he can stop and really read the situation.
Reyes puts a hand on his shoulder.
That’s really not necessary.
He tells him to call him Gabe.
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