For daemonmuses.
Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, California
January 2nd, 1991
0513 hours
“Hell Week”
The beach was quiet. Occasionally a seagull would cry out, its rapid-fire caws echoing across the complex, competing with the roaring of the early-morning breakers, but aside from that, there was nothing to disturb the picturesque sunrise.
For the most part.
“Down!”
“Ninety-two!”
Anyone who ventured down the beach, however, would find a handful of men lying semi-prostrate in the push-up position.
“Down!”
“Ninety-three!”
Their response was loud but ragged, and spoke of days without sleep, rest, or leisure. A large boat lay on its side nearby, its paddles stowed beside it.
“Down!”
“Ninety-four!”
Their woodland fatigues, life jackets, and daemons were crusted over with a vicious combination of beach sand and saltwater, irritating and chafing whatever skin it came into contact with. Their arms were trembling from exertion - not that it mattered.
“Down!”
“Ninety-five!”
In front of the group were three burly men, each clad in camouflaged pants, black boots, and a long-sleeved blue shirt. Two of them were wearing sunglasses. The man in front wasn’t - all the better to show off his prosthetic eye.
“Down!”
“Ninety-six!”
The man in front crossed his arms and split a glob of chewing tobacco into the sand. The rhino at his side glanced at the stain, but said nothing.
“Down!” he yelled.
“Ninety-seven!”
“Down!”
“Ninety-eight!”
“Down!”
“Ninety-nine!”
The man paused and looked over the trainees. It was day four, and it showed. Their backs were hunched, their eyelids drooping, the eyes themselves bloodshot and sore. The daemons were collapsed in the sand or, with the stronger-willed ones, tottering on their feet. A vicious German Shepherd had been reduced to a whimpering pup by day two, and now it lay on its side, gasping for breath.
“Any of you clowns,” the man paused, spitting out another glob of tobacco, “want to remind me why we’re still here?”
Silence fell on the group. Some of the trainees tried - and failed - to silence their chattering teeth. Voodoo kept his eyes on the sand. This had to be some kind of trick.
“Anyone.”
One of the other trainees spoke up. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“We’re here because of Candidate Pegler, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Partial answers don’t count, Potter. Start pushing until I say stop.”
The candidate complied, the bear next to him too exhausted to look on.
“Anyone else?”
The only response was the crashing of the breakers.
“Anyone.”
A boat horn echoed from the channel. Potter collapsed, his arms pinned under him.
“Did I say stop, Potter?” Potter shook his head, spitting sand out of his mouth. He got halfway up, only to collapse once again. Jaeger turned his attention to the other trainees.
“I got all day, people. You don’t.”
Voodoo glanced at Cyrilla. She was on her feet, but shaking, her coat thoroughly soaked. Her eyes were dim, unfocused, and her paws were inflamed from alternating between the surf zone and the beach.
”Just one more day,” he whispered. She looked at him, her eyes empty, almost entirely devoid of the fire and spark they’d once held.
”I wish I believed you.”
Another candidate spoke up. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“We’re here because Candidate Pegler’s personal flotation device had a twisted strap, Instructor Jaeger.”
Jaeger nodded. “Each and every one is stuck here because of Candidate Pegler. You are stuck here because Candidate Pegler chose personal comfort over personal discipline. You are stuck here because you chose not to hold Candidate Pegler accountable. You are stuck here because he chose, and you chose, not to invest the time and effort necessary to unfuck his life jacket.”
He spit out another glob of tobacco, taking the time to rub this one into the sand.
“You are stuck here because you chose the easy way out.”
He looked back up, adjusting the brim of his cap.
“I’m here to tell you that that shit stops now.”
The trainees kept still, as though the slightest movement would bring down the vengeance of a horrible, wrathful god.
“You want an easy way out, you can ring that bell right over there. Nobody’s stopping you. If you don’t want to be here, there are guys who do.” Jaeger worked the chaw in his moth, shifting it from one cheek to the other without missing a beat.
“Now, I don’t care what you did back in the fleet. Cook, baker, candlestick maker, whatever. You’re in my world now. That means every time one of you jokers fuck up, you and your buddies pay for it.” Jaeger looked over the trainees, checking for comprehension.
“What we’re doing right here, right now? It’s nothing. It’s a joke. If this'd been a real-world op, Pegler’s twisted strap could’ve translated into one of you nimrods getting your head blown off. If I can’t trust you people to square away a fucking life jacket, why should I trust you with a rifle or a radio?”
Silence. A seagull squawked somewhere in the distance.
“I’m waiting.”
Voodoo gritted his teeth. Now or never. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“You shouldn’t, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Ho-lee shit. Two for three. You ladies might make it through today after all.” Jaeger spat another glob of tobacco into the sand. “Down!”
“One hundred!”
Another pregnant pause.
“Next time I see a twisted strap in this crew, it’s going to be two hundred.” Jaeger checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. “The other boat crews are halfway around the Silver Strand by now. Finish last and you’ll paddle it all over again.” He jerked his head toward the boat. “Get going.”
I’m in hell, Voodoo thought as they got up and rushed to set the boat upright. I’m in hell I’m in hell I’m in hell.
And I love it.
January 2nd, 1991
0513 hours
“Hell Week”
The beach was quiet. Occasionally a seagull would cry out, its rapid-fire caws echoing across the complex, competing with the roaring of the early-morning breakers, but aside from that, there was nothing to disturb the picturesque sunrise.
For the most part.
“Down!”
“Ninety-two!”
Anyone who ventured down the beach, however, would find a handful of men lying semi-prostrate in the push-up position.
“Down!”
“Ninety-three!”
Their response was loud but ragged, and spoke of days without sleep, rest, or leisure. A large boat lay on its side nearby, its paddles stowed beside it.
_candidates_balance_a_small_inflatable_boat_on_their_heads_while_heading_toward_the_Pacific_Ocean.jpg){kind=link}
“Down!”
“Ninety-four!”
Their woodland fatigues, life jackets, and daemons were crusted over with a vicious combination of beach sand and saltwater, irritating and chafing whatever skin it came into contact with. Their arms were trembling from exertion - not that it mattered.
“Down!”
“Ninety-five!”
In front of the group were three burly men, each clad in camouflaged pants, black boots, and a long-sleeved blue shirt. Two of them were wearing sunglasses. The man in front wasn’t - all the better to show off his prosthetic eye.
“Down!”
“Ninety-six!”
The man in front crossed his arms and split a glob of chewing tobacco into the sand. The rhino at his side glanced at the stain, but said nothing.
“Down!” he yelled.
“Ninety-seven!”
“Down!”
“Ninety-eight!”
“Down!”
“Ninety-nine!”
The man paused and looked over the trainees. It was day four, and it showed. Their backs were hunched, their eyelids drooping, the eyes themselves bloodshot and sore. The daemons were collapsed in the sand or, with the stronger-willed ones, tottering on their feet. A vicious German Shepherd had been reduced to a whimpering pup by day two, and now it lay on its side, gasping for breath.
“Any of you clowns,” the man paused, spitting out another glob of tobacco, “want to remind me why we’re still here?”
Silence fell on the group. Some of the trainees tried - and failed - to silence their chattering teeth. Voodoo kept his eyes on the sand. This had to be some kind of trick.
“Anyone.”
One of the other trainees spoke up. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“We’re here because of Candidate Pegler, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Partial answers don’t count, Potter. Start pushing until I say stop.”
The candidate complied, the bear next to him too exhausted to look on.
“Anyone else?”
The only response was the crashing of the breakers.
“Anyone.”
A boat horn echoed from the channel. Potter collapsed, his arms pinned under him.
“Did I say stop, Potter?” Potter shook his head, spitting sand out of his mouth. He got halfway up, only to collapse once again. Jaeger turned his attention to the other trainees.
“I got all day, people. You don’t.”
Voodoo glanced at Cyrilla. She was on her feet, but shaking, her coat thoroughly soaked. Her eyes were dim, unfocused, and her paws were inflamed from alternating between the surf zone and the beach.
”Just one more day,” he whispered. She looked at him, her eyes empty, almost entirely devoid of the fire and spark they’d once held.
”I wish I believed you.”
Another candidate spoke up. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“We’re here because Candidate Pegler’s personal flotation device had a twisted strap, Instructor Jaeger.”
Jaeger nodded. “Each and every one is stuck here because of Candidate Pegler. You are stuck here because Candidate Pegler chose personal comfort over personal discipline. You are stuck here because you chose not to hold Candidate Pegler accountable. You are stuck here because he chose, and you chose, not to invest the time and effort necessary to unfuck his life jacket.”
He spit out another glob of tobacco, taking the time to rub this one into the sand.
“You are stuck here because you chose the easy way out.”
He looked back up, adjusting the brim of his cap.
“I’m here to tell you that that shit stops now.”
The trainees kept still, as though the slightest movement would bring down the vengeance of a horrible, wrathful god.
“You want an easy way out, you can ring that bell right over there. Nobody’s stopping you. If you don’t want to be here, there are guys who do.” Jaeger worked the chaw in his moth, shifting it from one cheek to the other without missing a beat.
“Now, I don’t care what you did back in the fleet. Cook, baker, candlestick maker, whatever. You’re in my world now. That means every time one of you jokers fuck up, you and your buddies pay for it.” Jaeger looked over the trainees, checking for comprehension.
“What we’re doing right here, right now? It’s nothing. It’s a joke. If this'd been a real-world op, Pegler’s twisted strap could’ve translated into one of you nimrods getting your head blown off. If I can’t trust you people to square away a fucking life jacket, why should I trust you with a rifle or a radio?”
Silence. A seagull squawked somewhere in the distance.
“I’m waiting.”
Voodoo gritted his teeth. Now or never. “Permission to speak, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Granted.”
“You shouldn’t, Instructor Jaeger.”
“Ho-lee shit. Two for three. You ladies might make it through today after all.” Jaeger spat another glob of tobacco into the sand. “Down!”
“One hundred!”
Another pregnant pause.
“Next time I see a twisted strap in this crew, it’s going to be two hundred.” Jaeger checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. “The other boat crews are halfway around the Silver Strand by now. Finish last and you’ll paddle it all over again.” He jerked his head toward the boat. “Get going.”
I’m in hell, Voodoo thought as they got up and rushed to set the boat upright. I’m in hell I’m in hell I’m in hell.
And I love it.