Page 69 of Doozer

“Pearl and I got married four days after getting reacquainted. Four and a half, technically speaking. She took a little convincing.”

I looked over at Carson Bird, hoping for a little support from someone closer to my age, but he was out cold. Slumped down in the oversized leather chair, glass in hand, his mouth agape.

“He passed out half an hour ago. Those Birds are all a bunch of lightweights, but they make good lawyers.”

“Seriously, though, Duke. What am I gonna do about the cops back in Virginia?”

“You let me and Bird take care of that. Between his lawyerin’ and my checkbook, I ’xpect we’ll have everything cleared up by the time Minus gets here.”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned. “My old man, Taxi, Trouble, and now Minus. Who else’s shit list could I possibly get myself onto?”

“Don’t worry. We’re gonna keep you so busy, you won’t have time to think about your troubles. If you’ll forgive the pun,” Duke said, tipping his imaginary cowboy hat.

* * *

Trouble

“Nineteen!” Taxi shouted and I braced myself for the oncoming deluge. The blast of cold water stung against my aching back and my teeth chattered uncontrollably as I struggled to complete my next pushup. After a few seconds, Taxi continued. “Twenty,” he called out before unloading the hose on the group once again.

So far, our punishment had consisted of sleep deprivation, a ten-mile hike, breakfast KP, and now pushups while being pummeled by a firehose.

“I told you that fighting would not be tolerated, didn’t I?”

“Sir. Yes, sir,” we shouted in not-so-perfect unison. Earning us another blast from the hose.

“What?”

“Sir. Yes, sir!”

“Attention,” Taxi commanded, and we struggled to snap to our feet.

In all my years on the road, I’d never been more exhausted, cold, or hungry. I was soaked to the bone and seeing double.

“When I say no fighting, that means absolutely no fucking fighting. Not with each other and most definitely, not with civilians,” Taxi walked down the line, addressing each of us as he passed. “In fact, the only thing you should be fighting is the urge to fuck up again. Because, if any of you behave like this once more, you’ll look back on the last twenty-four hours with fondness. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

“Sir. Yes, sir!”

“Good. There’s chow waiting for you back at the dorms. Shower, eat, and rest. In that order. Get warm. Training will resume at thirteen hundred hours. Dismissed and get the fuck out of my sight.”

I made my way to the barracks as quickly as my battered body would allow. I was nearly delirious from hunger, but my impending frostbite urged me back to my room, and I stepped into a hot shower, reveling in the warmth until my stomach couldn’t take the emptiness anymore.

I couldn’t wait to devour food. Any food. That was until I discovered with horror the breakfast Taxi had arranged for us.

He’d put a folding table right outside the barracks, and on top he’d placed several stacks of MREs, courtesy of the US Department of Defense. MREs or meal-ready-to-eat are the pre-packaged staple of all deployed military personnel. The meals consist of a nutrient dense main course, side dish and dessert all contained in a single pouch. Anyone who’s had to eat them will tell you that most MREs are barely tolerable. The selection Taxi laid out for us was simply diabolical.

“Holy shit,” Boots said, looking through the packets. “There’s only shit like Veggie Burgers and Beef Enchiladas here.”

“No chili mac?” Tackle asked.

“Chicken Fajitas don’t sound too bad,” Graves said, holding up a package.

“That’s because you’ve never had them,” Boots said.

“Holy shit. Veggie omelet,” Tackle said. “They Don’t even make this one anymore. Where the hell did Taxi find these?”

“Yo. I think that shit is against the Geneva Convention,” Boots said.

“How do you two know so much about MREs? Were you in the service?” I asked.

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