Daniel’s bone tired. Basic has been kicking his ass, literally. There’s a four inch bruise across his rear from a slip in the mud during a team and strength building exercise. The log was heavy over his head and he was so incredibly exhausted. All it took was one guy in the back to falter to have the log crash down on them.
But his Sergent was there, barking out orders into his face and Daniel was up at 0500 even though they had just been released to the bunks at 0100. This isn’t what the recruitment officer promised, it isn’t what he signed up for, but Daniel can see the change in himself. He’s being cracked and remolded as better, and it’s something new and different. He isn’t just Dan Cox, one of the local kids at the local school just dicking around with his life. Johnny and Ronnie are still working at the diner in the middle of town, and Daniel is here. It’s worth it, he remembers, and he shoulders on.
Daniel spends his twenty-first birthday training. He wakes up at 0700 for a three hour PT session. His buddy, Q, brings him a protein bar cake with a candle in it. It’s not a real cake, just 80g of protein from four premade bars smashed together. It brings a huge smile on his face and he laughs for ten minutes afterwards. The rest of his day is normal. He doesn’t tell most people what the day is to him. Daniel’s not a big party person. But at the end of the day his bunk is decorated in streamers and his entire squad is there, grinning over at him.
They have alcohol and even his Captain stops by to wish him a happy birthday. He feels an overwhelming rush of family, wrapping around him and keeping his warm.
Daniel falls asleep that night with a smile on his face. When he wakes up the next morning, he can’t help but spend five minutes in the mirror, looking for his new tattoo. It’s not there. Daniel takes it in stride, knowing that even if he doesn’t have a soulmate, yet, he has a brotherhood. That’s what counts.
It’s Daniel’s favorite holiday and he’s over 7500 miles away from real, American soil. Some of his men have sparklers, and they’re running around in their standard issue tighty whities like a bunch of idiots. Dan laughs, crossing his large arms over his chest, but he doesn’t join in.
“It’s nice to see them in good spirits.” He didn’t hear Staff Sergeant Powell approach on his right, but Daniel snaps to attention, throwing out a stiff salute.
“At ease Dan. There’s no big brass around here.” Daniel likes Richard. He’s down to Earth, and although he’s serious as can be, he’s a good man. The officer/enlisted dynamics can get weird. Daniel wishes he had skipped college and just thrown himself to the fire. There’s a lot of paperwork, a lot of separation, and something more that comes with being an officer. Richard can slum it with the guys, but Daniel has to be professional at all times.
Powell doesn’t have a beer in his hand. Instead, there’s a hefty letter with a loopy scrawl that Daniel could only describe as bubbly and angry. The pen marks are indented into the paper, almost breaking through in certain punctuation and sentences. Dan doesn’t read the words; he already knows what it’s about.
“The missus writing about your girl, Sergeant?”
Rich lets out a sigh, and Daniel shakes his head. His daughter, Charlie, always seems to be in some kind of trouble. She’s a brat, from all Daniel can tell, but Richard is crazy about his girls so he doesn’t comment. Rich just nods, tucking his reading glasses back into his vest and the letter back into the envelope.
“You’re heading out to Airborne next month when we’re back stateside to pick up the 78th.”
They don’t talk about racism in the Army. It’s one of those things, like being gay, that is frowned upon. So when Powell pushes buttons and eases him through, Daniel understands that he’s sticking his neck out for him. Dan understands he doesn’t have to do it, and he’s forever grateful that he does.
Daniel’s chest swells out in pride. He’s doesn’t know what to say, and there’s a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes as Trekowiz and Halsworth whoop and holler around in their underwear. He’ll wake them up at 0600 to remind them why alcohol is prohibited, but for now, they can have their fun.
“I’ll do you proud,” Daniel promises, and Rich just chuckles and claps him on his shoulder. Daniels’s a solid head taller than him, but Powell feels so much bigger than him in that moment. It’s humbling.
Their squad moves and changes too much for his liking. Their troop is recalled back to base for two months and Daniel qualifies as a Marksman. He adds the badge next to his shiny paratrooper title and adjusts to the M9 weighing heavily by his side. Daniel keeps his revolver on him as well. It’s a personal choice and he prefers the old school gun. It’s sturdy and the sand never seems to bother it like it does his M4.
Staff Sergeant Powell happens to be stationed at the same area. They take their lunches together, shooting the shit. Daniel is introduced to important men, game changers. It’s another humbling experience and he knows exactly what Richard is playing at. These are the men he needs to know for his promotion, for his career. He’s shaping him into something bigger than himself and Daniel feels like he has two fathers taking care of him instead of just one.
They garner a reputation. It’s a small one, but Daniel’s squad seems to have a penchant for finding things. One time, it’s a fuel reserve for an insurgent camp. The next time it’s encrypted data for a suicide strike on Delta company. They do their jobs and people watch them, curious as to when they’re going to fail. Daniel does everything to make sure they don’t.
Daniel’s the one who pins the stripes on Halsworth’s shoulder, and he imagines this is what it feels like to be a proud parent. There’s pure joy shining in the kid’s eye and Daniel makes sure to leave him a small bottle of whisky with a red bow in his bunk when no one is looking. The bottle isn’t signed but Halsworth has his sunglasses on inside of the mess hall the next morning and Daniel’s laugh fills up the empty space in the room.
Q finds his soulmate. One day, he falls asleep, and the next he wakes up with a name on his wrist. Daniel’s surprised, mostly because he had no idea that Q was gay. He orders a standard issue army sweatband that sits over his wrist. He has no idea who Kelvin Lee is, but he must be one hell of a guy to be able to keep up with Q. They don’t discuss it with anyone. DADT is too real, and Q is a damn good soldier. Daniel doesn’t care if he’s gay, bi, purple, or human. He’s the exact person he wants next to him when everything goes AWOL.
“Do you ever wonder who he is?” Daniel asks one day out of the blue. Q knows him well enough to not have to ask. His head turns side to side to make sure no one is listening.
“Every day,” he admits, and Daniel just nods back, preoccupied. Maybe, one day soon, he’ll get his mark too.
Afghanistan is awful. Daniel always has sand stuck in his boots, falling out of his underwear, and muddled up in his socks. There are people, women and children, that want him dead. A guy in the 1st had his hand blown off from a grenade hidden in a basket of fruit delivered from a local village. It is war is the most brutal and violent sense. There are no pulled punches and no hesitation. They stain the sands with red for the sake of life. Daniel thinks about it, a lot.
It’s a routine patrol. They’re hanging around, fussing and laughing in the back of an Army Jeep. It’s nice to have a break from humping it through the desert and Daniel’s enjoying the drive. Q’s got a way of handling the jeep, and even though he has no formal training, he’s always the driver. Halsworth doesn’t have the strap to his damn helmet buckled. Daniel’s told him to keep it secure a dozen times, and the kid never listens. When the ordinance explodes, it’s the first thing Daniel sees, that helmet flying through the air. It feels like slow motion. It bounces around in the jeep like a ping pong ball and suddenly they’re on their side. Glass crunches and Daniel’s vision rattles as they flip three times.
He doesn’t remember most of it. Pieces flash in and out, black filling up the empty space. His voice is calm but his tone is demanding and serious. This is what he’s trained for, and now everyone is relying on him to keep them safe. Daniel doesn’t remember what he says. His eyes glance over Halsworth and he reaches for the man next to him.
Trekowiz is pulled out first. Daniel has a solid hundred pounds on him, and he tosses him out of the jeep with ease. There’s a couple of other guys who are still conscious, and when Daniel clears the bush, over to a good fall back spot on a hill, the medic starts tending to Trek. The jeep’s starting to catch fire, and Q’s nowhere to be found. Daniel runs back towards the cloud of black smoke that’s coming from under the hood. He doesn’t hear his men yelling at him, or the bursts of fire from m4 standard rifles and uzi pistols.
Daniel counted five men, minus Halsworth. Daniel’s purposefully ignoring thinking about him. He won’t be moving any time soon. The smoke is so thick it stings and burns at Daniel’s eyes. Q is still strapped into the seat. He’s conscious, sort of, and Daniel can see a thin trickle of blood from under his helmet, sliding down his dark skin to stain his uniform. Q’s eyes are glazed over. They’ll find out later he has a concussion and three broken ribs.
His words are slurred and his seat belt is smashed up. Daniel has to cut through it just to pull him out. He can feel heat on the back of his neck and a hissing sound over the firefight outside. One moment, he’s tugging and pulling on the seat-belt and the next he’s whipping around.
His S&W is in his hand in an instant and Daniel fires one bullet. It hits the man dead between his eyes, and he drops with a sick thud. There is no hesitation, no kindness, and no empathy. War is unyielding and it has bled into his veins and taken his mercy. Daniel is war, consumed, in that moment, and he’s never been more terrifying. He remembers bits and pieces, like pulling Q out of the seat and slinging him over his shoulder. He remembers dropping another two men and sprinting back to the hill. He remembers the spike of pain when a bullet finally finds purchase under his skin.
They’ll tell him, later, that the squad of insurgents were hot on their tail. That Daniel looked straight out of Hollywood running with two hundred pounds over his shoulders through the brush and back over the small hill. That when he dropped Q down he took out three more men with just four bullets at twenty yards.
Q’s lung deflates on the way over to the hospital, and Daniel isn’t there to save him. The GSW doesn’t hit anything important. It’s a stray bullet that was nearly stopped by his vest, more of a graze than anything else, and Daniel demands to be discharged against medical advice. Daniel doesn’t sleep that night. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees Halsworth’s young face without his goddamn helmet, over and over and over.
He visits Q at the field hospital. He’s in his service blues, fully decorated. There’s ceremonies a review boards all afternoon. The morning, though, is dedicated just to Q.
“It could have been me, man,” Q mumbles, and there are tears in his eyes. War is getting to him. It’s getting to all of them. There’s so much violence Daniel’s used to it, he’s desensitized to it. War is nothing like the movies and tv. It’s harsh and blurry and too real. But Halsworth was just dancing around in his underwear on the 4th of July. He was just painting an Eagle in black ink on the side of his helmet that he never buckled. Daniel was just pinning those stripes to his collar.
“But it wasn’t,” Daniel repeats, over and over and over again. Q cries into his shoulder and Daniel’s face doesn’t move, impossibly blank. He can’t imagine a wold without his best friend. He doesn’t think he’d survive it.
He doesn’t feel like a hero the next day, when the brass calls him in for a medal. It’s shiny and Daniel can see his own somber face in it. It sits in a box on his desk as he writes Halsworth’s mother a personal note in the late hours of the night.
It’s been years since basic and Daniel’s first tour is finally done. He comes back from the war with a chest full of medals and a promotion under his name. Important people know his name, for better or for worse. Daniel goes to work, he does his job, and he leaves all of the bullshit at the door. He is the perfect, model soldier with his wide set shoulders and his unfaltering poker face.
His wings are pinned to his chest the same week that Q puts in his letter. Daniel feels like he’s losing twice over. Q is his best friend, and he’s also his best Corporal. Q goes to his ceremony. Dan nearly cries when they hug, because he hates losing family, and he knows he’ll feel more alone. He can’t help but feel jealous, too, that he’s got a soulmate and Daniel is still all by himself. When he’s in his room with fresh paint on the door and not another soul in sight, he decides that the Army will be his soulmate. His next tour leaves in three weeks, and Daniel’s the first one there, waiting for the plane.
Two other men in his squad get their marks. Daniel pretends like he isn’t jealous. In a sense, he isn’t. But day in and day out Daniel’s skin goes unmarked and he feels like hes been cheated out of something.
They return stateside and their squad is short once again. Burke’s mark is his high school sweetheart, and Ramirez doesn’t have a clue who the woman on his bicep in, but he’s damn well going to find out while he’s still young enough to have kids. Daniel doesn’t blame them. He’d do the same, in their position. They’re in North Carolina for four months. It’s just long enough for Daniel to catch up on pop culture and visit his family to check in on his parents.
The squad feels empty without Q, but Daniel adjusts, slowly but surely. He trusts his men, he cares for them deeply, but they aren’t Q. He no longer has a best friend, a confidante in the squad. He has men he can trust and soldiers he can rely on. It should be enough, so it is. They fly out to Korea to man the DMZ. It’s a lot slower than Afghanistan, but Daniel relishes in the quiet. There is no longer sand hiding near every inch of his body. There is no poisoned fruit and grenades in baskets. Daniel’s had enough noise to last a lifetime, and the DMZ keeps him busy.
His Corporal doesn’t think that Baker will last a week in the war. He’s green, fresh from bus, and he resembles a golden retriever in almost every sense of the word. Their Sergeant bets it’ll be two weeks before Daniel reminds them that betting is illegal. From then on out Daniel pays attention to Baker. He’s a Captain now, he has a duty to his men. Baker may be all sunshine and rainbows, but he has realism behind his optimistic smiles. Daniel never shows any favoritism. He talks to Baker just as much as everyone else, never more or less.
He lasts much longer than a week. Daniel smiles when no one is looking when someone from the betting pool cusses day after day when he’s still there. He’s promoted to PFC a month and a half early under Daniel’s recommendation, and he’s proud of Baker and his promise. He’ll be a fine Sergeant one day. Daniel will make sure of it.
Daniel stops looking for his tattoo. It’s pointless, he reminds himself, because he’s already dedicated himself to the Army. Anything else, anyone else, is not as important. It’s what he tells himself when he’s sleeping in his bun, or he’s dug in somewhere for the night. He doesn’t even find a new Q, someone to talk with on long, lonely nights. Daniel writes. The Army has a pen pal system he utilizing, sometimes. He writes Q, although every letter stings a little when he talks about his new life. Surprisingly enough, he wites Halsworth’s mother, who sends him care packages on Hannukah and Purim. And Daniel writes his parents, too, although those letters are always kept happy and brief so he doesn’t worry them.
The person he writes most, though, is Staff Sergeant Powell. Except Staff Sergeant Powell is now Master Sergeant Powell, freshly promoted. They talk like old friends and honestly, that’s what Daniel needs. He complains about his daughter, who has somehow made it into West Point. Daniel vaguely remembers what the girl looks like, blonde, pretty, and cocky, and can’t imagine her surviving West Point. Daniel doesn’t say that, though. He respects Richard far too much.
Every so often he’ll write one of his lady friends. They aren’t romantic, at all, more like friends who are also dedicated to their civilian jobs and don’t have significant others. It fills the void, is what Daniel tells himself over and over again. After years, he’s convinced himself he isn’t lying any more.
He’s grateful to be surrounded by men most of the time. When he’s back at base there’s too much temptation. He knows some of his men fool around with other soldiers. Daniel looks the other way. He understands it far more than he’s willing to admit. Some other men visit the local girls. Those people get stern lectures and even written up.
So he’s writing as all of his men dress up, re-purposing things that are pretty much garbage to try to make costumes. It’s the silly, frivolous things that make it easier to get out of bed in the morning. Daniel doesn’t join them. He’s a captain, now, and he can’t be fraternizing with beer and who knows what else.
The Army is a good place to make a career. Daniel may not be white but he’s a war hero. He’s a couple of years away from Major, if he wants it. Daniel isn’t sure he’s ready to be tied to a desk just yet, though. He has a savings account and a brand new truck waiting for him when he’s home in between tours. Daniel is a career soldier, and it’s enough. Except some nights, it isn’t. Those nights are worse than combat. They drag on and there’s no end in sight.
He’s roughing it in a small little hamlet ten klicks from the DMZ line. He hasn’t had fresh water in two days, stuck with the awful taste of chlorine packets and dry bars. It’s his last month in the god forsaken country; his second tour is almost over and he’s ready to be home for his grandmother’s birthday.
He’s covered in sand and mud and only God fuckin’ knows what and he’s tired. He’s so, so damn tired. By the time they get back to camp Daniel’s done. He doesn’t have any time for niceties with his men. He ducks and narrowly avoids running into a Major whose been hounding him about paperwork. It can wait.
After months without a hot shower Daniel lets out an honest to God moan when the stream hits his back. Dust and grime of the day stains the floor black for a couple of minutes as Daniel rinses himself clean. It’s a cathartic moment, and when Daniel gets out of the shower sleep tugs at his eyes.
He’s toweling off, his feet dragging over the cool tile, when he sees it out of the corner of his eye. It’s a neat little script, vaguely bubbly, right at the cut of his hip bone. Daniel’s fingers trace over the name, over and over again. When he wakes up in the morning, he lets out a yell.
It’s wrong. It’s a joke. Some joker came into his damn room and used permanent marker. Except its on his skin, for real, tattooed there. The ink looks neither fresh nor old. That’s normal, of course. Daniel had read articles, watched documentaries on the phenomena. The tattoos never fade and they’re impossible to remove.
So Daniel’s hands trace over Charlotte Powell over and over and over again, and he wonders who the hell he pissed off upstairs to be stuck with this nonsense. They loop up the ‘C’ and dip down into the ‘W’ and he sucks in a breath through his teeth, letting out an uncharacteristic “fuck” on the exhale.
He tells no one about the mark. He goes on like it’s not there. It’s for the best. Richard writes him, about Charlie, and Daniel feels his stomach flutter. Her West Point graduation was coming up, and Daniel was glad he was stuck in Korea, for the first time in his life. He’s home for just three months -- The first week of September is spent with his mother and father -- before Captain Cox is shipped out for another tour.
This time it’s Iraq. His mother weeps when she finds out and Daniel comforts her. The conflict is bad, he knows, but so was Afghanistan. It could be worse. He could have been sent in at the beginning of the conflict, where so many young men and women lost their lives. What they have now is managing the chaos, not trying to control it.
Something about going back to a desert just feels awful. The sand stings his eyes and he swears he sees Q and Halsworth out of the corner of his eye every so often. It’s his third tour, he’s a pro by now, but the Iraqi desert is unsettling. Dan is on edge every single day, and he did not miss this feeling. Like he’s on a cliff and the world is shaking under his boots, cracking and splintering.
The decree is passed while Daniel is out in the field. He comes back to commotion and ten televisions on different channels. The world blows up when women, who have been fighting on the front lines for years, are cleared for infantry. Daniel’s just happy at the idea of his squads being full again. There are five opening there hasn’t been funding to get filled, and Daniel could not care less what gender his new recruits are, as long as they know how to fight.
They aren’t even supposed to be in Iraq any more. The government has gone through it’s upstarts and turmoil, and although it’s still a fractured country, it’s not supposed to be their problem any more, but the brass says he has another year and a half before he’s allowed to come home. Daniel questions his decision for the first time. Iraq is so tumultuous. It drains his spirit. There’s a desk waiting for him at the end of this tour, if he wants it. Daniel’s spent his entire life working for the military. he dedicated his life, his time, his freedom, and his future. He wonders, briefly, if it was the wrong choice. And then Daniel pulls himself up by his bootstraps, and he soldiers on. It’s what hes been trained to do his entire life, and it doesn’t stop for anything or anyone.
The first woman trainees successfully pass through field training. The class has a sixty percent success rate, which is higher than any other class in the last decade. Daniel received two letters that day. One is from Richard, talking about his imminent retirement. The other comes down from his Major, and it has three prominent names.
Donovan, Samantha. Old blood and an older name. Daniel didn’t know the Donovan girl had signed up for combat training, but he imagines her old man can’t he happy. Daniel’s never talked to him personally and he plans to keep it that way. Rich said to avoid him, so he did. The girl, though, Daniel’s heard nothing but good about her. That doesn’t mean she’s worth her weight, though, so Daniel will hold out judgement. This isn’t some bomb lab, it’s Iraq. And that is a very, very big distinction.
Wright, Renee. An unfamiliar name. Daniel reads through her file, too. If Wright had stayed in Military Police, she could have been up for a promotion to Captain in August. It’s a curious move, and not necessarily the best one for her career. Wright is decorated more than some Sergeants that Daniel has seen. He looks forward to her leadership and experience.
Powell, Charlotte. No. Daniel’s stomach twists into knots and his mouth runs dry. No, this cannot be happening. No. He has a fitful rest that night. He dreams of her cocky smile, so faded in his memory that it may not even fit her face. He wonder for a moment if she knows and then scoffs. Of course, she knows. Of course she knows.
Daniel writes Richard that night. He contemplates telling him, telling somebody. Not even his parents know. But he doesn’t, because he can’t, and all he can do is wait for the choppers.
