Short Story - Private William Jenkins

[CX]

Well, here it is, my first foray into non-sci-fi drama. Rah.

Actually, I have no title for this yet.


It was always hot here. And if that wasn't bad enough, it got cold enough at night to give a man frostbite. It made home, back in North Dakota, seem that much more pleasant, even with its unbearably humid summers and icy winters. At least there, Mother Nature could make up her mind about how hot or cold it was going to be. And it never got this hot in North Dakota. Here, it was at least 120 degrees in the shade. Just imagine what North Dakota humidity could make it feel like.

Private Wallace Jenkins hated it here. He'd never done well in the heat, not even back home in North Dakota. It'd always made field work that much harder, and his father that much more angry with him. In the end, Ralph Jenkins had invested in a new tractor that had an air conditioned cab for his son, at least after the heat stroke. But there was no air conditioning here, not even for the natives, who had somehow managed to build a city in this place. With water and power out more often than it was available, air conditioning was very low on the priority list. Not that any of that mattered to Private Jenkins, the body armor and combat gear he wore.

In point of fact, because of the heat stroke he had during the summer of tenth grade, Wally really shouldn't have been given this assignment. Normally, the Army wouldn't have let him anywhere near the desert, but with the troop shortages, the Army had been forced to make certain compromises. At the end of the day, Wally was a soldier, and the Army needed soldiers. It didn't keep him from letting everyone know about how he shouldn't be here though. They hated him for it.

Wally knew they hated him. Even now, as they walked the streets, they resented his presence; he could tell just by the way they carried themselves. He had a lot of experience in that area. After all, he'd been in the Army for three years, and everyone he'd ever known in the Army hated him. If it wasn't the quiet indifference his squad was giving him now, it was open hostility. He'd been given more swirlies in boot than he ever got in high school, and at least those he could wash off in the showers. The bruises and fractures took a lot longer to recover from. Not that it kept him from reporting each and every one of his "comrades" who'd participated in the barbaric hazing incidents, it just made everyone hat him that much more.

It might help if I kept my mouth shut instead of whining so much, Wallace reflected as he took another sip from his camelback.

"I wonder if this place is any better in the winter?" he asked no one in particular.

"Why?" Sergeant Griffon replied without even looking at him. "Planning on taking a vacation here?"

This earned him a few snickers from the other men.

"Don't worry," Griffon told him in that burly voice of his. "With the extended tours of duty everyone has been getting, I'm sure you'll find out along with the rest of us."

"Unless you manage to get yourself killed before then," someone, probably Drake, added.
Naturally everyone started laughing, at least as loudly as they dared out on patrol. Everyone except Sarge anyway. Wally couldn't ever remember seeing the man crack a smile, let alone laugh. He reminded him of a black Terminator from one of those old movies he'd seen. Definitely not someone to **** around with.

"Noise off and eyes open, assholes," Griffon warned.

They were out on patrol in a dangerous part of town. Usually they didn't see anything or anyone, but that didn't mean anything in this city. Everyday they were losing people, and it would just be Wally's luck to have something happen to them today. Between the heat and the constant threat of death, Wally really wished the Army had posted him in Alaska or Greenland. Most people would consider that a punishment, but wally wouldn't give a shit – he could take the cold better than the heat any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Suddenly, Mendoza whipped around and pointed his rifle at Wally. His felt his heart jump into his throat and he took an involuntary hop backwards as he fumbled with his own M4. Mendoza just smirked as he looked down his the barrel of his weapon at the frightened 21 year old.

"Boo."

Wally scowled and stopped fumbling with his rifle.

"God, you're easy, Wally," Mendoza teased as he lowered his M4. "You should pay more attention. Next time it could be a towelhead jumping out from one of these buildings."

Mendoza smiled and motioned with outstretched hands at the row of buildings lining both sides of the narrow street, slowly backpedaling as he did so. Just in time for Sarge to cuff him upside the head. Wally couldn't help but smile as Mendoza's helmet tipped forward and hit his nose.
He could barely make anything out as Griffon leaned in close and chewed Mendoza out.

"Now get your ass up there and take point," Griffon told him with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder.

Mendoza wasn't even phased, if anything, he was smiling even more broadly. "Whatever you say, Sarge," he said before humping it up to the front of the line.

"You."

Wally's attention was diverted back to Griffon.

"Mendoza was right, Jenkins," Griffon told him without the smallest hint of sympathy. "You need to pay attention. I don't care how hot it is, you need to be situationally aware out here, or you’re not going to last very long out here."

Wally simply blinked, and watched after Griffon as he made his way back to his former position.

They started moving again, cautiously making their way down the street.

I can't wait until my next leave, at least Dad appreciates having me around.

About a half hour later, they came to a major intersection. Again, nothing had ever happened to them, but they'd only been on this route a few weeks, and if it nothing else, the insurgency had a tendency to turn up where it was least expected.

Mendoza stopped at the corner and slowly peeked his head around the edge of the building, the other men waiting anxiously. It wouldn't have been much of a surprise to see his head suddenly snap back from a sniper's bullet, but as luck would have it, that didn't happen. Mendoza signaled the Sarge the all clear, and Griffon motioned him forward. Mendoza nodded and quickly scampered across the street to the next building. There was another short wait while he checked the other side, making sure that there were no towelheads or IDEs there waiting for them.

Mendoza signaled the all clear again. Now all that was left was for each of them to make it across the street, one at a time, hopefully without drawing any attention in the process. Wally waited his turn. He almost didn't notice that he was starting to breathe harder. The fact that his chest felt like it was going to burst held most of his attention. After all, he was dead last in line. At least he was supposed to be.

The sweat was running down his face when he saw Griffon look back at him. He could tell that the Sarge was weighing something just by the set of the other man's jaw and the angle of his right eyebrow. Griffon waved him forward, and signaled him to go cross the street next. Wally didn't really know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he felt a small wave of relief wash over him because he didn't have to be last anymore. On the other hand, it made him wonder why. Sarge was definitely no fan of his; he hated his whining just as much as everyone else did. Then again, right now, Wally didn't really give a shit.

Drake ran across the street, kicking up sand as he went. Wally got ready to run, tightening his muscles and hefting his rifle at the ready. He waited until he felt Griffon's hand hit his back, then ran like hell, and didn't stop until he'd reached the other side of the street. He leaned heavily against the building next to Drake and let out the breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding. Wally gasped for air and panted in the oppressive heat. Drake patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

"I think it's safe to breathe," Wally heard him whisper.

Wally shook Drake's hand off of his shoulder and looked across the street just in time to see the Sarge start to run toward them. Then he heard something he'd never heard before – Griffon crying out in pain. Blood sprayed from the Sarge's left arm and leg as the pop-pop of AK-47s reached Wally's ears.

Griffon hit the ground, his wounded leg unable to carry him. Quickly he rolled onto his side, putting his back to the incoming fire. Several rounds impacted his body armor, sending the grey powder spraying from the boron carbide plate that was keeping him alive, for now. Of course, the armor didn't do a thing to protect his legs, and the gunmen were doing their best to make sure that Griffon would never walk again. More bullets hit the wounded man's legs, sending small geysers of blood into the air.

Mendoza and Drake got into better positions and returned fire. Across the street, the others were shooting back at whoever was shooting at Sarge. Wally couldn't see who it was though, he was still pressing his body back into the building, his muscles too tight to move. He couldn’t even hear the gunfire over the pounding of his own heart. If he couldn't still see the ground rippling with them around Sarge, he'd almost think the towelheads had run away.

"You fuckin' pussy!" Drake screamed. "Get your ass over here and help lay down cover fire!"

Wally checked his weapon, but he didn't move. Looking back up, he could see one of the others – Thompson? – make a break for the Sarge, only to get shot down himself. The other three across the street laid down more fire, but only drew a small amount in return. There were a few chucks of adobe cracking apart and falling to the ground just in front of them, but nothing like what was going on in the street.

"God damn it, Jenkins!" he heard Drake's frustrated voice again. "You want those men to die out there!?"

Mendoza was next to make a foolhardy attempt to rescue the downed men. He wasn't as lucky as the others though, or as the lucky as the guy that shot him for that matter. Blood sprayed from Mendoza's formerly mocking face, and the man dropped like a marionette that'd had its strings cut. Wally knew he was dead; he didn't even have to see where exactly Mendoza had been hit to know that.

Finally, Wally's back left the wall. Without even thinking about it, Wally launched himself toward Griffon. He heard Drake shouting something after him, but it was drowned out in the chaos that Wally had just run into the middle of. Sand sprayed all around him, and he knew that each meant that a bullet had barely missed him even though he still couldn't hear the gunfire. He kept waiting for the searing pain of one of those bullets tearing through one of his limbs, but it never came, not even when he had to skid to a stop next to the Sarge and wedged his hand under the shoulders of his ballistics vest. It was almost surreal; Wally didn't even feel tired as he dragged Griffon back toward Drake. His limbs felt light, and it was almost too easy to get the Sarge to cover. Even the heat seemed to go away.

"Jenkins!"

Wally ignored whoever was yelling at him, and ran back out into the street. Thompson was still writhing around on the street, so he knew that the man was still alive. At this point, Wally barely even noticed the snap of the bullets around him, focused entirely on grabbing a hold of Thompson and dragging his ass back to cover. But he wasn't done yet.

Wally waited a minute to catch his breath, but he was already planning his next little sprint out into the street. Mendoza might've been an asshole, but the Army didn't leave its people behind, and Wally wasn't going to shirk that tradition, even if he was a pussy. Someone was yelling at him again, but he didn't care, someone had to get Mendoza out of the street and it might as well be him since he'd managed to do it twice already without getting hit.

He ran headlong back out into the street, and made it out to Mendoza's body. It was a little harder to get a hold of him than the other two, though; he was on his belly and facing the other direction. So it took a little longer for Wally to roll him over and drag him back to where he'd come from. Wally had just started to make his way back to cover when a bullet cut through his sleeve and imbedded itself in Mendoza's Kevlar helmet. Wally let go in surprise, and fell flat on his ass. Sand spraying around him, he got back up and grabbed a hold of Mendoza without wasting any time to check his arm. A few seconds later, he was safely behind cover.

Dragging Mendoza a few more feet, he let him go and made his way back to the wall and let himself collapse next to it. He heard Griffon laugh at him, a kind of cackling sound that was unnatural to hear coming from such an imposing man. Of course, it was the first time Wally had ever heard the Sarge laugh.

"You lucky bastard," Griffon said with a grin. "That was some crazy shot you just pulled."

Wally nodded in agreement.

"I didn't know you had it in you."

"I didn't know I had it in me either."

Wally poked a finger through the bullet holes in his sleeve. He had been lucky, it'd completely missed his arm and passed through the billowy part of his sleeve just under where his arm was.

"Thanks for saving my ass, Jenkins."

"You're not out of the woods, yet, Sarge," Wally told him, looking around. None of the men on this side of the street had the medic's bag, or the radio. Griffon had a hand-held, but he doubted it could get through to HQ from here.

Drake sat down heavily next to him.

"Dammit, Jenkins!" Drake scowled at him. "You're hit! You've been hit since you brought Sarge back!"

"Where?" Wally looked at Drake skeptically. "I don't feel like I've been hit. Do you mean my armor?"

The boron carbide body armor they all wore was more than enough against the AKs the towelheads were using. Hell, they were probably the only reason Sarge and Thompson were still alive.

"No, dumbass!" Drake replied, and lifted Wally's right arm. "Here!"

Wally winced with the sudden sharpness of the pain. It was right under his arm, just above where the side plate would have protected him. Wally, Griffon, Drake, and Thompson stared at the trickle of blood coming from the small hole that was the only sign he'd been shot. It was no where near as dramatic as the wounds Griffon and Thompson had on their arms and legs, Wally could tell just from the look in their eyes that it was a lot more serious. It was then, and only then, that he felt a burning in his chest, and it became very hard to breathe.

"Aw, shit," was all Wally could manage to get out.

He felt his body slide down the wall until his side was on the ground. He stared at Griffon, who was looking at him with concern. Sarge was calling something into his radio, but he couldn't hear what it was. He felt hands at the front of his vest, and looked up to see Drake sliding him over onto his back.

"Don't worry, man," Drake told him, his voice ringing in Wally's ear. "We're gonna get you out of here."

Wally stared up into the sky. He was amazed at how clear it was. It was just pure blue. Blue was one of his favorite colors. Not this particular shade of blue, but it was close enough. It almost reminded him of a clear crisp day back home during winter. In fact, he almost felt like he was there now, laying in a snow bank as he stared up at the sky, the cold making his skin tighten around him. He let out one last breath, and watched the mist of his breath dissipate against the clear blue sky.

[justTripn]

Oh dear! That's terrible. I mean what happened. OK, you got me with that one. I was lost in the story.

[blacknblue]

Powerful.

[CX]

Thanks. I also have to thank Rigil for giving me a little inspiration for the ending.

[justTripn]

The clear blue?

[CX]

Yup.

[JadziaKathryn]

That's so sad, and the sad thing is that it's happening now, and it's been happening forever, and it'll keep happening. I mean, the places change, but war is tragic all the time. I'm not, NOT trying to be all political here - it doesn't really matter for my point if a war is justified or not. It's just that good people die so young, and that's awful. See? Not political. Just... human. And with Jenkins being the guy everyone hated, there's an even sadder aspect somehow - that they never respected him until right before he died.

This is a very moving story, CX. There was one sentence fragment that broke the flow a little bit.

Not that any of that mattered to Private Jenkins, the body armor and combat gear he wore.

But anyway, it's evocative and well done. I also like that his first name is uncommon.

[CX]

ACtually I stole that name from the first Halo game.

Whoops, guess I finished that in my brain but not on paper.

[Linda]

I agree with BnB, powerful.

[CoffeeCat]

In the past 3 months, I've attempted to read about three "best sellers" and couldn't get past the first few paragraphs because the authors were just flat out boring and their characters were Mary Sue.

But you grabbed my attention and held it. That's quite an accomplishment considering I've got ADD.

It's a good short story, but I'll bet you could actually come up with a plot for the aftermath of this jarring scene. Keep going, I say.

[CX]

Thanks. This is definately the end of this story though, since it was basically Jenkins' story and he's dead.