Killed in Action - A Spy School Story

Chapter 5: Homecoming

Washington Dulles International Airport

Washington, DC

Main Terminal

February 3rd, 2018

1215R

Jawa POV

They say that those who don't plan on being in the military for life need to learn skills that will be applicable in the civilian world. Granted, while there aren't many skills taught in the SEAL Teams that directly transfer to the private sector, there is one thing that is consistent in all careers in all the branches:

Hurry up and wait.

Let me give you an example of how this works: the commanding officer wants to address the men at 0700, telling his command master chief such. The CMC, wanting to keep the CO happy, informs the troop (AKA "task unit") chiefs to have the men assembled at 0630. The troop chiefs, wanting to avoid the wrath of the CMC, tell the platoon chiefs to muster at 0600. And the platoon chiefs, wanting to remain in the leadership's good books, have everyone assemble at 0530. Ultimately, the poor dudes at the bottom of the food chain end up arriving 90 minutes before they actually need to, wasting precious time—all because of leadership effectively playing kiss-up.

Does it sound stupid to you? Well, guess what? It actually happened to me not long after I got to SEAL Team 3. We froze our asses off one chilly morning in Coronado, waiting one-and-a-half hours for a five-minute speech from the CO—AND IT WASN'T EVEN THAT IMPORTANT! Yes, to be early is on time and to be on time is late, but that was just ridiculous to no end!

In the words of my platoon leading petty officer, "even the SEALs aren't immune to bureaucratic bullshit."

And now, I was waiting on my best buddy's flight to arrive. We both had a week's reprieve before returning to our commands, so we decided to surprise our old friends at the Academy. We hadn't been able to contact them in around a year, due to my training and workup and Chip's deployments. Yes, deployments, with a fricking "s," but I'll get to that later.

"Gah-dayum, hoss! Yer still a short surfer boy!" a baritone voice exclaimed in one of the deepest Southern accents I'd ever heard. Whirling around, my eyes beheld the hulking form of Chip—who'd somehow gotten even bigger since the last time we met. Grinning, my hand clasped his in a firm handshake before we pulled each other into a hug.

"God almighty, Chip, what the hell have they been feeding you?!" I asked, looking up at my six-foot-four Marine friend. Not only had he gotten taller, he'd somehow gotten even more muscular—not quite to bodybuilder standards, mind you, but he was definitely one of the most muscular men I'd ever met from a combat arms unit (they're generally on the skinnier side, believe it or not). "Steroid-filled crayons?"

"Aw, shaddap!" he laughed, giving me a good-natured shove (that still nearly knocked me on my ass). "Yer writin' classes goin' alright, frogman? Y' takin' one o' them movie programs too?"

"Har-de-har-har, leatherneck," I snorted as we grabbed our backpacks and began walking towards the car rental lot. The staff were quite surprised to see a giant redneck and a short surfer—minus the crazy hair, because regs—but it didn't hinder us whatsoever as we grabbed our rental pickup truck (Chip's idea, of course) and began the drive to the Academy.

"Now, tell me something... you said over the phone that you got deployed twice in a row due to a paperwork error. Care to explain?" I asked as we pulled out of the airport, driving through the wintery air with snow covering everything but the road.

"Yeah, 'bout that... so y'know how my first station was over in Pendleton with 1/4 (pronounced "One-Four"; 1st Battalion, 4th Marines)?"

"Uh-huh?"