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6
Landon
GySgt. Fuimaono’s large frame filled the open hatch to the berthing. A crooked smile lit up his face as his eyes danced around the room. “Field day, gentleman. Up and at it. And you better not bring the head mop in here again or I’m making you all lick the floors.” Sgt. Sierra groaned as he slid down from his rack. His feet hit the deck next to Landon’s boots.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. We just did this two days ago,” he mumbled under his breath. Landon nodded, smoothing the corners of his sheets into 45-degree angles on the thin mattress pad.
Sgt. Sierra stretched his neck from side to side, popping the bones down his spine, and turned to the others with a motivated clap. “You heard him, boys. Let’s get moving.”
The complaints were minimal as the Marines and sailors scrubbed every nook and cranny of the ship. Yesterday was spent in general quarters and there was only so much down time a person could take. Everyone was bored enough to be grateful for something to do.
But the menial work wasn’t hard enough to quiet Landon’s mind. His thoughts raced as he swept the deck and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. The rumors had spread like wildfire. Supposedly a solar event of this magnitude could wipe out the power grid. Some guy heard from someone who worked in IT that this kind of thing could also fry every electronic device that had a computer chip in it. Then Cpl. Matthews argued that their phones still worked and that the IT was an idiot. Sgt. Ballis stepped in and explained that was an EMP that would take out handheld devices but a solar storm couldn’t damage much. And someone else pointed out that the ships NAV was down and so it apparently did something.
Landon pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. Still no service, but he never got any inside of the ship and the CO wasn’t letting anyone above deck so he couldn’t check to see if he could get any bars outside. That was another rumored issue, the ship’s medical SMO supposedly said something about potentially dangerous UV rays.
But the worst was not knowing anything for certain. It was all just rumors. There was no further trickle down of information from the higher-ups. No communication with the outside world. Nothing but hours spent in your own head sweeping dust bunnies out from under the racks.
“Hey Doc. You okay?” Sgt. Sierra came over with a bottle of cleaning solution in one hand and a rag thrown over his shoulder.
“Yeah.” Landon reached for the dustpan. “You?”
“Not really.” Sgt. Sierra scratched his fingers through the black stubble of his high and tight fade. When they were younger, he wore it longer. But there wasn’t much left to it now. “I can’t stop thinking about what this all could mean. Do you remember the rolling blackouts in Syria? You think it’s going to be like that?”
“Syria was a worn zone,” Landon pointed out. “This is America were talking about. But all we are getting is rumors. Just let it go until we find out the truth.”
“But come on. What if we’re coming home to a third world country or something with all the power out?” Sgt. Sierra lowered his voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “What if it turns into Mexico?”
“Dude, you’re Mexican.” Landon shook his head. “Don’t say racist stuff like that.”
“It’s not racist,” Sgt. Sierra protested. “And I’m Mexican-American, but my abuela told me all about how she lived in a mud hut with no power. I keep thinking if that’s what we’re coming back to, how the hell are they going to survive? Americans don’t know what it’s like out there.”
“You just said you were American.” Landon sighed.
“You know exactly what I mean, Doc.” Sgt. Sierra gave him the same pointed look he’d given so many times. They’d been deployed together when he was a Lance Corporal and Landon was an HN. Two scared kids with no clue what was going on. Not much had changed since then, minus the haircut and the responsibility that comes with not being able to tell anyone you’re scared.
“Hey Sierra,” Landon clapped him on the back, causing him to drop the cleaning solution bottle, “do me a favor and shut up.”
Sgt. Sierra smiled and then sucker punched him in the arm before he walked away. “Good talk. Want to hit the gym later?”
Landon moved forward to fill the empty space at the head of the line when a spot finally opened up inside the gym. Sgt. Sierra leaned against the bulkhead beside him, muttering under his breath about “motards” as he plugged his headphones in. The line ran down the passageway and more than a few guys climbed down the ladder well over the past hour and groaned as they saw the wait before climbing back up again. The other night was a miracle with an empty gym. Now everyone and their mother wanted to blow off some steam.
Landon scrolled through his playlist. His thumb hovered above one of Tessa’s favorite songs. Their wedding wasn’t anything special, just a few friends at the local courthouse, but the week that followed they’d toured Yellowstone and camped under the stars. He pressed play and the folk notes drifted through his earbuds, reminding him of those precious carefree days where she turned the radio up and sang offkey with her bare feet on the dashboard and the wind from the open window blowing hair around her face. He closed his eyes, getting lost in the memory. God, I can’t wait to go home.
“Doc, we might have a problem.” Sgt. Sierra ripped his headphones out as he elbowed Landon’s stomach and pointed inside the gym.
A beefed-up dude with rope like veins and thick neck was knife handing someone seated on the lat pull-down machine.
“I’ve got fifty bucks that says it’s that kid again.” Sgt. Sierra chuckled. Landon tried to glance around the meat-eater’s back but he couldn’t get a visual on the guy’s target. No one in the gym moved from their equipment, but a few of them cast amused glances at the scene. Landon sighed as he walked through the hatch.
“What’s going on?” He sidestepped the big guy to see the Boatswain’s Mate who always carried around drumsticks in the back of his shorts seated on the plastic seat. His cheeks were flushed, but he wasn’t moving.
Spit flew from meat-eater’s mouth as he thrust his knife hand toward the kid. “Forty reps of three pull-downs with 5lb weights. He’s been doing this for over an hour. You’re done, son. Get the hell out of here and let someone else use the machine.”
“Yeah, I can see how that might be frustrating.” Landon rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe let him have a final set. What do you say, squid? One last round and then try something else?”
“I think this jerk shouldn’t worry about what I’m doing and maybe he should be the one laying off the weights. He’s already bursting at the seams. If anyone is done in here, it’s him.”
Oh. So you have a death wish. Landon groaned as he caught the full force of meat-eater’s fist in the palm of his hand and twisted it back, immobilizing him by the arm. He didn’t notice Sierra was behind him until he grabbed the big guy’s other shoulder.
