Third Person - Complete

Asshole

Roberts woke up, slightly confused as to where he was. It took him a moment to remember the day before and how he'd been hijacked from a normal posting for an Ammunition Specialist and ended up in some clandestine unit.

Part of him was excited that he was part of something clandestine, almost like his father, who had been in Special Forces in Vietnam.

Then he saw his room-mate sitting in the dim light reading a military manual with his glasses and eye-patch on.

Oh, yeah. You, Roberts thought bitterly to himself.

Patch didn't seem aware of Roberts watching him as he tapped his ashes into an ashtray then took a drink of an orange soda. When he set down the soda can he put the cigarette back between his lips and turned the page on the manual.

MILITARY OPERATIONS IN URBAN TERRAIN
COUNTERING THE SOVIET THREAT
LESSONS LEARNED: 1952-1986
(RESTRICTED)

Roberts laid there, watching him, privately wondering who the big guy thought he was fooling since he kept looking in the back, obviously to find out the meaning of a term, then flipping back and forth like he had lost his place.

"You might as well go piss," Patch said without looking up from the manual. "I'm going to be reading this till lunch," He reached out, without looking, and hit power on the stereo. "Hit the lights while you're at it."

Roberts got up, feeling even more irritated when Patch threw him a towel without looking.

"Since you're all modest and shit," Patch said.

Roberts wrapped the towel around his waist then flipped on the light. Patch got up as Roberts fumbled open his wall locker. He'd used his only two locks on the upper locker and the one he'd used his TA-50 to replace the beer. Roberts got out a change of clothes, shut his locker, and went into the bathroom. He showered quickly, getting dressed, and coming back into the room.

"Don't forget you have to wipe down the sink, chrome, mirror, and shower once the condensation evaporates," Patch asked without looking up. He was making drawings on a piece of typewriter paper with a ruler and a French curve.

"Huh?" Roberts looked at the steam filled bathroom. "Why?"

"The bathroom. Are you going to leave it a mess or wipe down the shower, sink, mirror, and chrome?" Patch asked, setting down the mechanical pencil and the ruler, turning to look at Roberts. He shook his head at Roberts' defiant expression and sighed. "No, of course not, you're just going to leave it a mess."

"Hey, how was I supposed to know?" Roberts protested.

Patch lit another cigarette. "Look, I know we're getting off on the wrong foot every time we talk to each other, but I keep this room in top shape. I always have. If you want to live in a pig-sty, I'll just get you reassigned," His face hardened. "You got PFC for excellent performance in Basic and AIT, that's why Shaft assigned you to my room. Is it going to be a problem?"

Roberts shook his head, suddenly intimidated by the younger man.

"Tell you what, as soon as it's ready, I'll do the spot-cleaning on the bathroom, you can just watch and get an idea of it. It takes about five or ten minutes, that's all," Patch said. He tapped the paper. "I want to finish this by lunch."

"What are you doing?" Roberts asked.

Patch lifted up the manual. "TRADOC and FORCOM put together a precis on urban warfare changes from the Korean War till that cluster-fuck in Grenada where some Marines got pinned down and couldn't maneuver," he laid the manual back down. "The manual compares doctrine, training, and school of thought through the last three decades."