There Are No Words

Chapter 10A

Walker

"Triple and pairs, Ladies. Pay up," Tadhg boasts. Groans all around as we fold our hands on the crate before us.

"Shit, MacCrithein, that's the third time tonight," Chadwick gripes. "I'm out." He gets up to leave the table and head out into the night, lifting the flap of our tent as he does.

"You're just sore 'cause you losin', Chips," Corban teases, stretching his head back to make his voice carry.

"Shut up, Coach," Chadwick hollers back. "And enough with the 'Chips'. When you guys gonna quit that shit?" You can hear his voice getting further away from us, but not gone before he adds, "You ain't doin' that much better than me, anyway, Coach," he grumbles. "I gotta take a piss."

I shake my head and laugh. These two; always at each other. Corban never lets up on him. He thinks it's his duty to hassle Chadwick. Chadwick had a rough recruit period. He slipped up more times than I wanna remember. It got so bad, we decided to band together and do what we had to do to make sure he excelled at whatever our Drill Instructors threw at him. If not, we all suffered. Corban, who we nicknamed Coach, was always encouraging Chadwick to do better, to do more; "to reach his full potential". Corban has a never-ending supply of positivity no matter how many times things go wrong. Chadwick's been his biggest beneficiary all through training.

I like Corban. He's one of the good guys. Not that the rest of my brothers are any less. I'd give my life to save any one of them in the field. Corban, though, he's special. He has that extra something you look up to, appreciate. He's loyal and one hundred percent good. He doesn't take any bullshit. He'll kick your ass six ways to Sunday before you even drop your first punch. He can hold his own and then some. But, he just has this way about him. You can trust him with your life, and your friendship. He gives you advice, but it never comes across as condescending. He's genuine; he just really wants to make a difference. He's the epitome of what a Marine stands for, in body, mind and spirit.

Chadwick, on the other hand. What can I say? I laugh just thinking about him. Chadwick is that guy. The one guy in every group that makes you laugh. Unlike most class clowns, however, Chadwick never does anything on purpose; he just comes by it naturally. Something's always just happening to him. It's never his fault, but somehow it's always his fault.

I rub my neck and think about the first time his family sent him a care package. I wince. I can still feel the sand in my ears, and the chafing between my thighs and under my armpits.

I look up at my hand. "Shit. I'm out," I say, folding the cards down on the crates. As our group completes their round, I lean back and remember that day. We'd just finished a brutal week. Pretty new to boot camp, no one warned us ahead of time what we should and shouldn't receive in care packages from home. Usually, the guys received something small, like a letter from their mom or a girl back home. Once in a while, though, someone would get something special. That day, Chadwick had gotten a small box of chocolate chip cookies. Apparently, they were his favorite.

There we all were, laying on our racks, looking through our mail, when in comes our Senior Drill Sergeant. In no time, we're standing at attention in front of him, as two other instructors march into the room as well. We hadn't been doing anything wrong; it'd been a pretty quiet day so far. As far as anything can be considered quiet in boot camp, that is.

Standing still, I couldn't think of what was in their heads, but for some reason, as I looked around the room, a feeling of unease came over me. Why were they looking at us like that? Worse yet, what did that gleam in McGuire's eye mean for all of us?

And then I saw it; Chadwick's pillow. It wasn't on his rack right. It'd fallen sideways and was now leaning half on, half off his bed. Shit. Making matters worse, I could see the corner of something sticking out from under the pillow.