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PROLOGUE:
NICE AND EASY
We've marched off to an obscure corner of the camp. We're huddled inside a small shack nestled at the base of a sheer cliff. On the side of the cliff are paintings of regimental crests and unit insignias like cave paintings by early man — little reminders that "we were here before you". How'd they get there? Did they rappel down the face of the cliff, paint cans in hand? Crammed into the small shack, we're tired and tense. Claustrophobic. This is it; one by one we are being called outside for the final exam. Some of us are trying desperately to squeeze in some last minute cramming — to force one last morsel of knowledge out of our dog-eared training manuals and into our already crowded brains. Others are slumped glumly against the wall, resigned to the fact that they've studied all they could, time had run out. I look around the room. Seven days ago we were all complete strangers, stepping on each other's heels, bumping into each other. We didn't know each other's names. Now, we move as one. Now, we work together as a team. Seven days ago we were getting on each other's nerves. Not anymore. It's been a long week. One by one we file out the door, one by one we file back in. Some with satisfied smiles of relief, others still tense, not sure how they did, cursing themselves for that one wrong answer, that one forgotten fact. Suddenly, the door flies open. His massive frame fills the doorway. "Ladies! File out — on the double!" Within seconds we're outside, in formation. Standing there, not a word. Moments pass in silence. Then, we feel it. First on the tips of our nose, the top of our ears, the back of our necks. One drop, another. Wet. Cool. "You knew I had connections, didn't you?" The SOB had ordered up a rainstorm! On his command the drizzle became a downpour. The downpour became a torrent. Thunder roared through the mountains. The sky quickly darkened - then, just as quickly, was lit by jagged shards of lightening. Within seconds we were all drenched, soaked through. Our BDU's hung heavily on our exhausted frames but the weight of the entire week was lifted instantly from our shoulders. This was our reward for all the learning, all the hard work, all the damn marching — our first relief from the heat! We laughed and cheered and slapped each other on the back. We were like excited kids running through an open fire hydrant on a blistering city summer day. Soaked and exhilarated. "Ten hut!" We snapped to attention, eyes front, rain pouring off the brims of our covers. He stood before us, dead center and motionless, his face hardened. No one dared move a muscle. He stared straight ahead, right at us. We stared straight ahead. A minute passed. Two. We stood there, bombarded by sheets of rain, our total silence contrasted by the thunder booming all around us. Ten minutes passed. Ten minutes that seemed like a lifetime. Then, he spoke. He spoke for the first time of why we had come to this place. He spoke of it, the awful thing that had ripped us from our comfortable lives and compelled us — schoolteachers, plumbers, college students, an actor, a bus driver, a sports writer, a toy salesman, civilians from every corner of the state — to come to this place and march in the heat and run and cram and learn to be soldiers. He spoke of that day that had changed us all, that had changed everything, forever. And we bowed our heads. And we vowed never to forget. And we raised our heads up. And we marched in the rain. THE
END — Comedian Dave Konig starred on Broadway in Grease! and won a New York Emmy as the co-host of Subway Q&A. He just completed his first novel Good Luck Mr. Gorsky. Konig is an NRO contributor. |
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