Of Rice And Men (No longer being updated)

Chapter 7

Solitude comforted me while I thought in silence. In my seat, wrapped in a blanket of loneliness, Carter strolled on over to disturb my peace. His harsh Scottish accent was slightly annoying after a while but I could just about stand it. The amount of jock’s in the marines was immense. He didn’t look particularly annoyed or happy, his facial features just sat at that happy medium. Nonetheless, he conversed with me in a friendly manner.

“Don’t worry lad, I know where you were coming from. If I’d been in the same position ten years ago, I would’ve done exactly the same. But the key to being Special Forces material lad, is not to be too hasty. If you’d left him alone and came and told us, we coulda sorted him out and beat some info out of him, the good old fashioned way.”

I had to agree with him there. If we’d brought him in I could’ve smashed him up, left for a bit and came back the next day for a second helping of traitorous little scumbag. The bastard would’ve looked like he’d drowned after I’ve finished him, black and blue covering his entire body. We could’ve slaughtered the Burmans in their thousands, surprise attacks on the annoying twats. We would’ve squashed them underfoot like bugs. Carter carried on with his little monologue.

“A little bit of roughing up and we could’ve found their little camps and took the fuckers out, nice and simple. Don’t fret though lad, none of us blame you. Except maybe the Yanks, but as you said, I don’t give a flying fuck what they think. What I wanna know is where the hell did you learn your moves from? For this whole thing you’ve been putting down guys left right and centre with these fancy moves and when I was at basic, no one taught me shit. So do tell, chap eh?” he said nudging me, referring back to my little racist verbal exchange with the Yanks earlier. I had to think about that question, where did I learn my moves. Truth be told, I actually did learn it in basic training.

Staff Sergeant Butterbur, a name rife with childish humour and the only real entertainment  anyone had through basic. Butterbum, though childish, was a nickname that stuck for everyone’s favourites Sergeant. Potent too for the lard arsed, human incarnation of Satan himself. While the rest of us ate our meagre rations in the mess hall, he chowed down on sausage and mash with onion gravy. His occasional glancing at us eating cold curry from pouches, told us instantly he was enjoying every second of it. His sole purpose in life seemed to be making ours a misery while he did whatever he could to make his a luxurious heaven.

Butterbum whipped us into shape as soon as we stepped into the parade square. Left, right, left right. Those two words haunted me in my sleep, plagued my thoughts in my scarce leisure time and echoed in my ears with every waking moment. They were the words that reminded me that I was firmly secured into hell, and if I passed through this shit, I would be able to make it through pretty much anything any insurgent could throw at me.

The assault course, oh how many times did he force us across that god forsaken stretch of mud and poorly constructed wood. Planks wobbled under the strain of our heavy boots and rickety frames gave a squeal that struck terror into every man’s heart. The thought of falling into the hip deep water from the rope swing, probably catching mild hypothermia and a small case of pneumonia in the process, made us hurry across these obstacles. I remembered my final test, the one all this time on the obstacle course had been preparing us for.

Flames erupted to my left and muddy slop rained down in a torrent of muck and filth. Slowly and deliberately I pulled myself through, desperately clinging to the ground with my last ounce of strength. Razor wire rattled and snarled like gnashing teeth mere inches from my head as I pushed onwards. Sopping wet clothing made every movement scrape at my red raw skin and heavy boots made dragging my legs feel like pulling a car behind me.

The end of this would be the greatest moment of my life. No thoughts occupied my mind other than the upcoming warm shower, hot food and clean, new, specialty uniform. I had worked for years to build up this amount of stamina and strength. Though thin, I was at the peak of health and had an impeccable physique for a man of my build. My lean muscle contracted and expanded, working tirelessly to keep at this steady pace. Pain was of no concern, only finishing.

Eyes closed, I rolled into hip deep water. A foul stench and hundreds of horseflies buzzed, hovering above the swill. I endured the mire; dregs not fit for pigs to bathe in, and never once let it break my stride. A few feet and the bog would be behind me, a memory of the suffering I went through to get this far. However, more horrors waited in front.

The rat-a-tat of 5.56mm cartridges firing overhead startled me and the fire spewing from their muzzles drew beads of sweat from the pores on my backside. I flinched as hot brass casings dropped onto my back, spilling over the sandbag walls like liquid from an overfilled cup. No pain, no gain. That motto had ran through my head throughout the entire ordeal. I knew to simply grin and bear it.

Pressing onwards through the dreck, fleeting thoughts of the future kept up my morale. Medals, bravery and new comrades, brothers in arms, awaited me at the other side. Once again my happiness was dashed as they threw a new obstacle my way. A six foot wall, connected by cargo netting to a platform. Atop the platform, a rope extending ten meters diagonally down to the ground. The penultimate challenge.

I used all my remaining power to drive up the wall, feet kicking into the soft wood, feeling for any foot holes. I hauled my entire body over in one fluid movement before flipping onto my stomach for another crawl. One by one, my hands gripped at the thick hemp rope and lugged my exhausted, diminished body behind. Gasping for precious air, I prepared my legs for the next phase.

Koala-like, I climbed up and hugged the rope with a vice-like grip. Once settled and comfortable, slowly my limbs released pressure and I began my descent. My arms already ached and rope burns were most definitely not helping. I loosened grip some more and slid down to a stop before dismounting and turning to face my last challenge.

A rope over a two meter pool of some more filthy muck, followed by a small drainage pipe filled to the top with water. Sight of the finish seemed to unlock one last burst of energy from my legs as I sprinted and leapt across the pool, arms wrapping the rope. Gracefully, I swung through the air before letting go and hitting the ground with a thud. A combat roll and a brief pause later and I was back on the move.

Last test, underwater pipes. Inhaling a final lungful of air, I disappeared under the greenish-brown skin of the water. Eyes closed again and I pulled myself along the concrete of the pipe, lungs holding on to the last breath. I emerged through the other side like a living pile of dirt and slime. A final sprint across the line and it was over.

Completely mentally and physically diminished, I stumbled away. The barracks and its hot showers and food, and a crisp clean uniform were ready for me. I had spent my entire life waiting for this and now here I was at the Marine training centre in Devon, walking away from my final initiation into one of the best trained fighting units in the world.

Years spent on physically and mentally preparing myself. Months spent training for this moment. Days spent waiting for this final test. No longer was I normal old Dylan Llewelyn, living off benefits and my dad’s fishing catch. Now I was Private First Class Dylan Llewelyn, Royal Marine Commando.

“I guess you could say we had a bit of a tougher training than anyone else,” I laughed, knowing all the trials I’d been through though he had no idea. From his eyes I’d guess he’d been through something pretty similar to join the SAS. We had something in common at least, an appreciation for the horrors of training. At least I had some mates within our little group. I still wasn’t on the Americans good side though. That didn’t concern me in any way shape or form though. To me, they were just assets, helping us get through this mess unscathed. If needed, they would be expendable to me. Not a nice attitude but, it was the one I took and I adhered to it completely.