The Next Warrior

Disembarkation - Part 6

On the day of Nathaniel Romero's promotion to Lance Corporal, the battalion was anxious, like a horse awaiting the starting gates.

They were in the final stages of preparing to deploy as part of II MEF, the Second Marine Expeditionary Force. Some were eager, and some nervous. They'd be touring ports of call across the Atlantic; Havana, Accra, and Buenos Aires, before sailing on beyond the African coast. This was the adventure they had all signed up for, for some, the most they would experience in their entire lives.

Others were masking visible anticipation. Many of them had never been on a real ship other than the mock landings and rehearsals, and none of them had been to combat. For all the training and bravado of the infantry, they were all still human, and many were scared. You could hear it in the overcompensation of the young ones, the boots.

"We're gonna' kill 'em all!" they would cackle.

"Kill who, you retard?" one of the older Lances or a Corporal would say. It's a strange thing to be a fraternity of war in a time when peace abounds, at least for your country.

For others, though few of them had ever been embraced by the burning arms of warfare, this was far from their first tour. To the "Salty" Marines, this was just another seven months at sea, they thought, and another half a year they wouldn't be seeing their families... yet again. It was the same biannual routine for the peacetime Marine Corps. Earning their keep in the military manner. They were just irritable, and easily aroused when they saw any of the younger Marines goofing off. When the old ones aren't happy, no one is. Best just to dot your "i's" and cross the "t's", so that they have no reason to the leave the office besides the wretched inspections day after day.

Put it all together, and no one took note of the furthering of one young PFC's military career. Romero barely even blipped on their radar. The air around the battalion was buzzing, tense, but unfocused. Everyone had plenty to do, but they needed direction. Everyone knew how to do their jobs. Now they just needed a why. The battalion commander could see this, he'd been on many deployments before, and as a younger officer, had even led Marines in Afghanistan. He knew well that the Marines needed to be reminded of their place in the world and what their purpose was.

After the closing of the monthly promotion ceremony, the battalion's Commanding Officer, Lt. Colonel Irons gathered all the Marines together for what he called a chat. He called for a school circle of the four hundred Marines of the Battalion. He wanted to remind them of the importance of the Marine Expeditionary Units.

"Devildogs," he bellowed with what could only be described as a fatherly growl, "You all know what today is?"

The Marines looked on. It's an awkward moment to be surrounded by hundreds of people who don't know exactly what the answer to a simple question is supposed to be. No one was quite sure what answer the Colonel wanted, and they were all afraid that any wrong answer might be interpreted as smarting-off to the man in the big office. Nobody wanted to be the guy to smart off to the Commanding Officer, but none quite knew what they were supposed to say. That is, no one wanted to smart-off... except Kaiser.

"Monday?" he said, earning the disdainful scowl of the rest of the battalion.

Fortunately, Noam's answer worked.

"That's absolutely right Devil! And do you know why this is important?" They all looked at the Lt. Colonel expectantly.

"Because Mondays really suck!" he barked. A few chuckles could be heard from around the battalion, still not realizing what their CO was getting at. "But there's good news. This is your last Monday in the Continental United States! For the next seven months, every day might as well just be Friday, Oo-Rah?" He punctuated his point with the casual Marine Corps greeting, almost as a question, but also as a joke. The battalion chuckled again. The tension was cracking, the goal of the Lt. Colonel in the first place.