From Filth & Mud (9 page)

Jacob was scheduled to report to the XPS operations facility located outside of Roanoke, VA two weeks later. John had informed him that he was in for a real treat. Unlike the Personnel Division training, in which he sat in a conference room, watching several movies concerning how to dress, treat clients, and clock in and out for assignments, this was supposed to be a little more involved. XPS had arranged for Jacob to be chauffeured in a company car. Jacob had been mildly surprised that the car that arrived was a large, black, German-made, luxury SUV with heavily tinted windows. The boys were thrilled, Nathan especially. It was cool that Dad was going to be picked up today. “Holy crap, Dad, you get to ride in that?”

Jacob shot him a quick look, but ignored the colorful language otherwise. He was thinking the same thing. He gave his boys quick hugs and kisses, and then strutted down the driveway. The boys followed close behind. The driver signaled him toward the trunk and the trunk door lifted. Jacob walked around the back of the idling SUV and hoisted his suitcase and sea bag into the trunk. The drab, olive-green sea bag looked sorely out of place in the leathered interior. The boys had retreated back to the house now after much prodding from Sarah. She approached and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. She was unhappy, but their relationship was a lot better than it had been just a few months back. Either way, he had a long way to go to make things right. Jacob climbed into the SUV, and he was off. He waved to Sarah and the boys. They waved back, Luke mouthing “cooool”. Dad was a superhero.

His driver and soon-to-be partner, Doug Jones, saw the spectacle and smirked, “Those your boys?”

“Yeah, Luke and Nathan.”

“Is that your old lady?”

Jacob gave a slow nod as he forced a smile through the window. “Sarah.”

“Kids are awesome. Wives, that’s another story.” Doug smiled a broad inviting smile. “Well we gotta make good time today. The drive is a bit of a beast. You had coffee yet? I sure could use a cup. Hope you don’t mind paying a bit more than a couple bucks for a cup? I enjoy mine made just right.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those double-shot latte guys?”

“There aren’t many things that matter in this world, but a good cup of coffee is one that most certainly does.” Doug beamed his broad smile again. They were going to be good friends.

After their impromptu deviation for what was an expensive, but nonetheless amazing, cup of coffee, they were on their way to Roanoke. Half an hour had passed, but Jacob had barely got in a word as Doug enthusiastically described all of the guns, gear, and ammo that they would have access to at the facility. High-speed, low-drag stuff, he assured Jacob who nodded politely at first then vigorously, anticipating the point when he could finally break through Doug’s harping.

“You got any kids?” He barely wedged the words between Doug’s soliloquy and response.

“A boy, Doug Jr., he’s a sophomore in high school, now thinking about colleges, Division 1 football hopefully. He’s a linebacker, a little undersized, but so was I at that age. Junior hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet. The kid has some serious talent though. He’s thinking about Florida, Alabama, Ohio State; the thing is they aren’t thinking about him yet. I’ve tried to get him thinking about fallback programs like Rutgers, Syracuse, maybe even my alma mater UConn.”

“You’re a Husky? I’m a Terrapin myself. Maybe Maryland is worth looking into.”

“Maryland? Hah! Man, get out of the car! Our old coach left us high and dry right when the program was taking off! I should leave you here.” Doug chuckled the kind of chuckle only a big guy can get away with. Doug was a mountain of a man. Even seated in the driver’s seat, he was physically imposing. His right arm draped on the center armrest encroaching onto Jacob’s shoulder.

“Sorry, man. This car is a little small, huh?” Doug politely tried to make some room for him.

“No problem, big man. What do you go, 6’5”, 275lbs?”

“6’8”, closer to 300lbs…on my good days,” Doug grinned a rather sheepish grin. He was obviously rounding down by 25lbs at least.

“I can see where your son gets it then.” Doug was the epitome of the gentle giant phenotype, physically imposing yet kind-hearted. He loved dogs and he was a talker, boy was he a talker. They were well acquainted by the time they arrived in Roanoke.

Doug pulled the SUV off the highway and proceeded to drive down a nondescript route for a few miles. He turned off again onto a shoddily paved, rarely traveled, winding road. The SUV lumbered along for half an hour as Jacob rocked to the undulating rhythm of the road. Doug interrupted his own soliloquy to catch a breath.

“We’re almost here!” The SUV slowed around a bend, coming to a stop in front of a chained wooden gate that looked like the kind that farmers used to secure access to their grazing pastures. Doug hopped out of the SUV with unexpected agility for such a large man. He lightly jogged up to the gate, swung it open, and returned just as quickly. He drove a few feet past the gate and repeated the earlier feat. They continued onward, soon leaving what remained of the road for a steep, dirt path that had been carved by recent vehicle tracks. Several minutes later, they came up to another gate, much more imposing than the first, and Doug toggled an overhead switch on the SUV.

“Garage door opener,” Doug smiled, shooting him a self-indulgent look. The trees and vegetation narrowed around them as they continued. The thicketed woods engulfed them for a mile or so until it suddenly broke into a rather large clearing where a conspicuous security checkpoint stood. Doug drove up to the checkpoint, lowered his window, and scanned his palm. One of the three, heavily armed guards within nodded and waved them through. The guards wore black paramilitary-style fatigues. Jacob could see that two carried M-16 assault rifles and each carried a sidearm holstered at the thigh. His experience told him that there was a machine gun nest somewhere in an overwatch position with a bead on every vehicle that came up to this point. That’s how he had done it back in Iraq when his platoon had been tasked with securing roads, bridges, and other important access points.

The wrought iron gate before them opened and the automated vehicle barricade devices receded down into their retention cylinders. Doug passed through toward a series of large hangers. As they drove past the hangers, Jacob was amazed to see a number of UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters and a pair of MV-22 Ospreys, the tilt-rotor, helicopter/airplane hybrid that had been specifically created for the Marine Corps. Its capabilities were increased speed and range over a conventional helicopter as well as its ability to carry more Marines and gear into battle. It had the best of both worlds. It could take off and land like a helicopter in really tight landing zones with its rotor propellers in the vertical position, and then it could fly as fast and efficiently as an airplane with its rotors in the horizontal position.

“Okay, now how did XPS get those?” Jacob pointed toward the Ospreys. “I understand the Blackhawks; they’ve been around forever, but the Ospreys? I didn’t think those were out on the civilian market?”

Doug’s laugh boomed inside the car. “I told you this place was hooked up solid. You ever flown inside one of those?”

“Have I ever,” Jacob muttered. “I don’t think there’s a single one I’ve not ridden in. I could probably tell you the tale number of every single one I’ve been on!”

“Not these though. They were specifically made for XPS. These have some pretty cool bells and whistles just for us.” Doug drove through the aeronautical display pointing out several more helicopters and planes, including a pair of luxurious Gulfstream jets that were housed in the largest hanger at the end of the airfield.

“You see those buildings there?” Doug pointed with his finger. “That’s home. There’s a barracks, a mess hall; food’s not bad. The far building is the Operations Center; we mostly just gather there for our mission and training briefs. All of the ranges are further out past the airfield.” The SUV pulled up to the barracks where they dismounted. Jacob stretched his tight limbs and sore back, which had stiffened during the trip, and looked at the military-style barracks that stood in front of him. The building was reminiscent of a Camp Lejeune barracks; the red brick contrasted by the cement catwalks above.

“Jacob, glad you could make it,” hollered a familiar voice. He wasn’t surprised to find John standing there with the usual smirk drawn across his face. John was dressed in black fatigues and a utility vest adorned with full magazine pouches.

“What’s with the getup?”

“Going out to the range to get some trigger time. My killing skills pay the bills, so I got to keep them sharp! Listen, why don’t you two join me once you are all settled in here? Just stow your gear in your room and come down.” John glanced at his watch. “You’ve got a couple of hours before the welcome aboard briefing anyway.”

Jacob looked at Doug who was already nodding in agreement. It was hard to believe but Doug looked giddier than ever. “Sure, we’ll meet you there, John.” Doug escorted him through the Spartan building to equally Spartan quarters.

“You’ve got a rack, a desk, and a closet for your things. Bathroom’s through there,” Doug pointed down the hall. “No one really stays here overnight though. It’s mostly just a place to catch some shuteye if you come back from assignment at an odd hour. I’ve probably only stayed a handful of times in the year I’ve been with the company. It’s dead out here at night. I’m a city guy, and the quiet doesn’t let me sleep. Anyways, I’ll leave you to it. Hurry up; you don’t want to miss the ranges.”

Jacob looked around the drab appointments of the room. All of the furnishings were standard military surplus, everything he’d been accustomed to. Jacob dropped his sea bag and suitcase into the wall-locker and joined Doug downstairs in the waiting SUV.

When they arrived at the range, John was finishing up a string of fire with a few other men and a figure whom Jacob instantly recognized by her powerful gate and long, jet black ponytail. He watched Jak leave the firing line after thoroughly smoking her competition in a dueling tree match.

“Impressive,” he shot Doug a look that he hoped had come off as professional admiration.

“You should see her shoot with her strong hand. She was shooting from the weak side. She is dead-ass the top pistol shooter at XPS and that’s no joke because we’ve got some pretty good shots here. We’ve got guys from SEALs, Ranger Battalion, Special Forces, and Force Recon Marines, including snipers, and she can more than hang,” Doug replied.

John approached and overheard the conversation. “Oh hey, Doug, Jacob here’s no slouch behind the trigger either. He was battalion high-shooter when we were back in the service for ten years running. He set the Parris Island record for recruit qualification, and was the high shooter at every rifle and pistol qualification course ever since.”

“Get out, man!” Doug hardly believed that he was standing in the presence of such a noted marksman. “Where’d you learn how to shoot? Were you one of those redneck kids who hunted squirrels for supper since you were four years old?”

“Nope. Duckhunt,” Jacob and John chimed in together.

“Seriously, Jacob here would like you to believe that he learned his shooting skills from playing endless hours of Duckhunt on Nintendo!” John was laughing his ass off now, which caught the attention of the shooters walking off of the firing line.

“I grew up in a shitty, rent-controlled Section 8 apartment building in the Bronx in the 80’s. There were no trees, no grass, and no parks, at least none that were safe for a little white kid, so I begged my mom for a Nintendo. The original came with the two game cartridge, Mario Brothers and Duckhunt. Everyone played Mario Brothers, and I just kept playing Duckhunt. The rest is history.”

“So come on, Jacob; it’s been years since I’ve seen you shoot. Let’s see what those Duckhunt skills look like now.” John handed Jacob his rifle and removed a loaded magazine from his vest. “It’s standard NATO 5.56 mm ball, nothing special. ACOG is BZO’d so you should be all set. Targets are out at 300 yards.” John gave him the biggest shit-eating-grin as he chuckled in anticipation.

“You’re an ass,” Jacob mumbled as he grabbed the rifle and headed toward the firing line, keenly aware that every eye in the vicinity was now sighted in on him. He lay down in the prone position and worked his cheek into the butt of the tricked-out H&K 416, the German arms manufacturer’s updated M-16 variant. He fumbled around for a little bit finding the perfect cheek weld, coming to a rest with his cheekbone lying just on top of the buttstock; his eyes had about two inches of relief from the rear-ocular sight of the ACOG scope. After fidgeting for a few moments, adjusting his position, and toggling all of the shooter-aids on the sight, Jacob stood up and backed off of the firing line.