Killed in Action - A Spy School Story

Chapter 24: Childhood Friends

Somewhere Off the Malaysian Coast

South China Sea

USS Boxer

October 1st, 2019

1825H

Chip POV

"Schacter, you never cease to amaze me," Private First Class Banks, my ammoman, chuckled as we turned our weapons and ammo into the armory. "The boys of Three-Five (3/5) sure got the surprise of their life!"

"What can I say? Them Dark Horses weren't ready for the Beirut Battalion's best!" I chuckled, invoking the nicknames of the 3rd Battalion, 5th Marines (3/5) and the 1st Battalion, 8th Marines (1/8). For context, me and the boys of Charlie Company, 1/8 were augmenting the 11th Marine Expeditionary Unit during their US Indo-Pacific Command (INDOPACOM) deployment. Specifically, we were attached to Battalion Landing Team 3/5 (3/5 with artillery, amphibious assault vehicles, combat engineers, light armored reconnaissance, and Force/Division Recon attachments), to simulate a "surge": basically when a military unit was bolstered by additional forces outside its normal numbers.

As an example, you remember that time Delta Company, a reserve unit, bolstered the 1st Recon Battalion in that one show Generation Kill? Same principle.

But to put it simply, the 11th MEU's headshed (the big bosses) wanted to simulate a surge, hence why the USS Boxer felt extra cramped. But for some jackassed reason, they decided to ask for a rifle company from Camp Lejeune, NC, rather than one of the dozen-plus rifle companies they got out there in Camp Pendleton, CA. The rumor in the officers' mess was that someone in the Headquarters Marine Corps (where the Commandant, Assistant Commandant, Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, and so on are) wanted to see if Marines from entirely different Marine Expeditionary Forces could work together in a pinch.

Dumbest question of all time, I thought to myself, wondering what went on in the minds of the HQMC. We all go through the same trainin', don't we? But what did I know? I was just a "knuckle-draggin', redneck, lance corporal heavy weapons guy," to quote Corporal Harrison, my team leader.

Banks, Harrison, and I exited the armory to run right into our nemeses from 3/5: Cpl Swift, LCpl Brooks, and PFC Chen, a gun team of Weapons Platoon, Lima Company.

"Well, well, well," Swift chuckled in his thick Bostonian accent. "If it ain't the Three Hs!"

"The Hood Rat, the Hillbilly, and the Hamburglar," Chen mocked, referencing the fact that Banks was from the 'hood, I was a country boy, and Harrison once worked in McDonald's. Uncreative? Sure. But unlike gunplay, wordplay isn't exactly a Devil Dog's strong suit.

"Alright, Rush Hour with Sour Cream," Harrison shot back with a roll of his eyes: an obvious reference to the glorious buddy cop movies, due to Chen being Asian, Brooks being black, and Swift being... well, bright white. Seriously, that corporal needed some sun.

Kinda reminds me o' Nefarious Jones... heh, that boy prob'ly still needs him some Vitamin D, I thought to myself with a grin.

"Laugh it up, trailer trash," Brooks said, the short machine gunner looking up at me as he noticed my smirking. "You still ain't shit... probably all 'roided up too."

"Nah, I don't do none o' them 'roids... all natural, son," I replied as I flexed a bicep, making him roll his eyes in disbelief. "Oh, ya don't believe me?"

"Hell no, boy! You are a liar!"

"Are you kids done yet?" a familiar voice growled, its source being a grumpy, middle-aged man that looked like a bald, clean-shaven, and beefier version of Cyrus Hale. It was Gunnery Sergeant Axelson, or simply "Gunny," the non-commissioned officer-in-charge (AKA the platoon sergeant) of Weapons Platoon, Charlie Company, 1/8. "You wanna bicker, do it when my tinnitus acts up or I ain't in earshot, got it?"