Semper Fi (9 page)

“Yeah, I heard a rumor.” Cal reached toward the cookies and plucked one from the plate when Jim lifted it. “But like Mrs. O’Brien said, I’ve got a hard head.”

“I’m just glad she was able to flag down her husband on his way to work. If she’d missed him, we’d have had to wait at least another hour, and if the kick had been harder, or you’d lost more blood, or—”

“But it wasn’t, and I didn’t. Jim, if the Japs couldn’t get me, I’ll be damned if Mabel will take me down.”

Jim smiled. “It would make for a heck of an obituary, Cal.”

“That it would.” Cal took another cookie, grinning.

A few days later, a man from the telephone company arrived to install a line.

Blinking away the sweat dripping into his eyes, Jim swiped his arm across his face. Grains of sand insinuated themselves into every pore and orifice, even burrowing into his ears. It was coarse and unrelenting on his tongue. For once he was glad of his shorn hair, since it was easier to brush the sand free.

“How the hell can it be so cold at night and this goddamn hot in the day?” Cal muttered. They were on their stomachs, practicing the prone position for shooting. He spit and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Christ, I’ve swallowed enough sand to vomit up my own desert.”

A sergeant suddenly loomed overhead. “Just be fucking careful you don’t get any of that fucking sand in your rifle, recruit!”

As the sergeant moved on, barking his way down the line of men, Jim couldn’t help but wince at the foul language. At the rifle range, the supervisors had taken obscenity to a whole new level, with every other word starting with “f.” Jim felt more of a bumpkin than ever, but had never heard such an unending string of curses in his life.

“If they don’t want sand in our rifles, why did they put the range on a sand dune?” Cal whispered, shaking his head.

“Shh. You know how they feel about questions of logic.”

They shared a fleeting smile before going back to their practice. Soon the sergeant’s shout filled the air as he berated an unfortunate man down the line. “When will you get live ammunition? Is that what you’re fucking asking me?”

They couldn’t hear the recruit’s undoubtedly cowed response.

“I bet you all want to jump right to fucking live ammunition and skip snapping-in, don’t you? You fucking boots think you know better than the United States Marine Corps?” The sergeant’s face was beet red, his hands in fists as he screamed. “You think you’re good enough? Because you’re not fucking good enough, so shut your fucking goddamn mouths and get back to it!”

Heads down, they worked on proper sighting and squeezing the trigger as they’d been taught. Tyrell surveyed the proceedings, but for the most part let the range sergeants do the hollering. It was unnerving to see him so quiet.

As the sun beat down, Jim found himself looking forward to the evening and the plunge of the mercury. All the men in their tent had taken to huddling up in pairs to get through the freezing nights. With Cal, it had become an unspoken routine, taking turns pressed up against each other. When Cal was behind him, his warm breath on Jim’s neck was strangely reassuring.

Of course it was a matter of practicality, nothing more. To function in the surprising heat of the day, they needed to get a good night’s sleep and not let their body temperatures drop too much.

Jim’s father had taught him how to shoot as a matter of course when he was a boy, but he soon learned the Marine Corps—as with everything it did—had its own way. The thin leather sling they’d been using to tote their rifles around were now instruments of torture. Jim found he was fairly comfortable in the standing and prone positions for shooting, but the sitting position was something else entirely.

As the day wore on, they were ordered to sit on the ground, cross-legged. They adjusted their slings until they created a small loop, through which they put their left arm until the loop was just below the shoulder. Jim followed along as the sergeant called out the instructions.

“Put the butt of your rifle against your right shoulder.”

The loop around his left arm tightened painfully as Jim attempted to follow orders. He could imagine the goal, and how the sling would create a stable base as he pressed the right side of his face against the butt and took sight. He grunted as he strained to get the rifle in place, his left arm feeling as if it was about to be severed.

Beside him, Cal groaned. “This is impossible.”

“Sure feels that way,” Jim agreed.

Up and down the line of recruits, most of the men struggled with the awkward and excruciating position. Cal raised an eyebrow. “Are the Japs gonna give us time to sit down and set up before they attack? Would be mighty sporting of them.”

Jim swallowed his chuckle as the sergeant appeared, and concentrated on contorting his body into the required position. Above him, the sergeant yelled. “It’s not that fucking difficult, boys! You’ve just gotta put your back into it!”

Without another word, he turned and sat across Jim’s shoulders, the weight stretching the burning ligaments to the breaking point. Sucking in a ragged breath, Jim closed his eyes, certain his joints would snap. Then the fire subsided, and he realized the butt of his rifle was somehow nudged against his right shoulder.

The sergeant stood up. “There you go, recruit. Now was that so fucking hard?”

Jim had barely stuttered a response when the sergeant was already sitting on Cal, who swore loudly, garnering a hearty laugh from the NCO. “That’s the fucking spirit, recruit!”

When the sergeant moved on to the next man, plonking his weight down with gusto, Jim murmured, “I guess that’s why they call this snapping-in.”

Cal laughed quietly, leaning over and nudging Jim’s shoulder with his own. “As long as they’re not snapping our spines.”

As they left the mess hall after chow a few hours later, a runner appeared. “Recruit Cunningham? Drill Instructor Tyrell wants to see you in the administration building.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Now.”

“I’ll be right there.” Cal glanced at Jim and muttered, “Here we go.”

Jim watched him double-time it to the office, wishing he could follow and make sure Cal didn’t do anything to get into more trouble. Although he couldn’t think of anything Cal had done that day to upset Tyrell. But it was always something.

Instead Jim made his way to the tent. While the other men played a game of cards, he took out his pen and paper. He started his letter to Ann four times before giving up, his mind wandering back to Cal.

When the bugle sounded the end of the day, Cal still hadn’t returned. As the last strains of taps echoed across the rifle range, Jim’s stomach tightened. Tyrell wouldn’t actually hurt Cal, would he?

He thought of Tyrell’s face on the march to the rifle range when Cal had turned the tables on him. Fury had twisted his features. But surely there were rules? Even if Tyrell had a grudge against Cal, he couldn’t do anything too bad to him. Could he?

Checking his battered watch every minute, Jim wound it repeatedly since the darn thing had a tendency to run slow. After an unbearably long hour, he creeped outside. Keeping low, heart pounding, he skirted around the row of tents, breath clouding in the cold night. Guards stood watch throughout the camp, but at the moment the one nearest the tents was turned away, fiddling with something Jim couldn’t make out.

Not hesitating, Jim raced around the mess hall toward the sprawl of other buildings. He skidded to a stop as he made out Cal by the officer’s barracks. Cal stood balanced atop a small wooden stool. He held his rifle above his head, arms extended high. His eyes widened as Jim dashed over.

“What are you doing out here?” Cal hissed.

“I…”

“What? If they catch you, you’re in real trouble.”

Jim felt foolish admitting his concern. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, letting his imagination run away like that. Of course Cal was fine, albeit highly uncomfortable, no doubt. “How long do you have to stay out here?”

Cal grimaced. “All night. Tyrell claims he inspected our rifles during chow and there was sand inside mine. So now I have to learn the importance of caring for my rifle. Again.”

“I have a feeling that when we’re under enemy fire, there’s going to be sand flying all over the darn place.”

“Be that as it may, I have to keep my rifle above my head all night. Not allowed to smoke either, and that son of a bitch is going to check on me, so get the hell out of here. I don’t want you getting caught up in this.”

Jim glanced around. He didn’t want to leave, but knew Cal was right. “See you in the morning.”

Smirking, Cal whispered. “For once I’ll be glad to hear that reveille. Now go!”

Jim darted his way back to the tent, hugging walls and somehow avoiding detection. The other four men slept soundly as he crawled in, two of them snoring. Jim pulled up his blanket. After a moment’s hesitation, he spread Cal’s blanket over him as well.

Still, as he tried to sleep he shivered, unable to get warm.

Eyes closed determinedly, Jim willed himself to fall asleep. Cal had been reluctantly laid up for several days, and Jim had been busier than ever finishing the last of the pruning that ideally should have been done by the end of March. Here it was weeks later, but at least it was finished now.

He was exhausted and it was after midnight, yet his mind stubbornly refused to turn off. Cal had informed him in no uncertain terms that he was done with his convalescence and was well enough to go back to work. Thank goodness he hadn’t seemed to suffer any further side effects from the injury, aside from the nasty bruise on his temple.

But Lord almighty, when Jim had run into the barn, there’d been so much blood and Cal had been lying so still. Even now, Jim shivered at the memory. Dr. O’Brien had assured him head wounds simply bled more than others, and that Cal would be fine. Still, Jim would be glad when Cal’s bruise faded and he was up and around again.

A low noise jolted him from his thoughts. Jim blinked in the darkness, his body rigid. There was only silence. The house creaked, and then nothing again. He knew he should turn over and go to sleep, but an instinct got Jim out of bed, easing into the hallway in his pajamas, feet bare. The door to the children’s room at the front of the house stood ajar as usual. Creeping down the hall, Jim peered in to find Sophie and Adam fast asleep.

He’d given Sophie extra chores as punishment and she’d been sleeping more soundly than usual. Watching her now, lips parted, peaceful and innocent, a surge of love for her warmed his chest. He could hardly believe his little girl had done something so mean-spirited and careless to Cal.

As he tip-toed back to his room, he paused by the guest room door, which was usually shut, but had inched open a crack, likely due to the faulty latch in the knob that Jim had been meaning to fix for years. Leaning in, Jim put his eye to the crack to make sure Cal was sleeping comfortably.

His breath caught in his throat as he made out Cal, his bare skin pale in the moonlight. He was on his back, bent legs spread wide, his thick cock jutting up from dark curls. His head tipped back and eyes closed, Cal’s lips were parted as he stroked himself.

Frozen from head to toe, Jim could only stare, his eye to the sliver of space between the door and the jamb.

As Cal arched his hips up, thrusting steadily into his fist, he teased his nipples with his other hand, pinching and twisting. He was silent but for little gasps that made Jim’s blood run like lava through his veins. It was a hideous invasion of privacy, yet Jim couldn’t tear his gaze away as his friend pleasured himself.

He knew it was unforgivable, but after so long dormant, Jim’s own body came alive as Cal worked his to the brink. Jim hadn’t moved an inch, let alone touched himself, but his cock tented his pajamas, a desperate urge humming through him, growing stronger by the second. He breathed shallowly, sweat beading on his forehead.

Cal caressed his balls, rolling them in his palm. He took some of the gleaming liquid from the tip of his cock on his fingers, and spit onto his hand. Then, spreading his legs wider, he pressed two fingers inside himself.