Integrity first. Service before self. Excellence in all we do. The words we live by. They were drilled into us over and over again as we were shuffled off the shuttle bus that brought us up to BMT. They were spoken to us as we fell into line, picking up our gear, getting our heads shaved, passing through immunizations, and now as we battle it out at Jack’s Valley encampment for physical and mental strength.
We’re day five into our eighteen days at camp and I can see the toll it’s taken on everyone so far from the slump in their bodies, the limping in their legs, the weary look in their expressions.
I might be sore, I might be tired, but I know how to push past it. I know what it takes to be on top, to be the best, because my dad didn’t let me be any other way.
Countless hours in the gym, out in the backyard, pouring down rain, carrying a rucksack on my shoulders, holding a gun above my head, jogging in place while my dad stood in front of me, umbrella shielding himself from the rain, drilling into me, over and over again until I was nothing but a puddle of a man on the floor.
This is nothing compared to that. I could go another five hours before even considering to ask for a break.
Popping through my tent door, I head toward my sleeping bag and sit down just as Colby, my friend, takes a seat next to me.
Colby Brooks. I met him during intake, he was the only other guy in our group that I didn’t see true fear in his eyes. He was conditioned to know the proper way to talk to our commanding officers, his shoulders were stiff and upright like mine, and when a cadre approached him to scream at him about something, he stood there, in perfect from, not even blinking an eye.
I saw a piece of him inside of me and I knew we were going to be friends.
“Tired?” He asks, taking his boots off, making sure to stuff his shoelaces inside.
“Nah.” I shake my head and lean back, taking in the sorry bunch of mother fuckers who are kissing the ground, begging to take a nap. “You?”
“A little sore, but not tired.”
After the first few nights in the tent spending some time with Colby, I’ve come to find out becoming a fighter pilot has been his dream since he was ten. The reason why he’s so conditioned to the lifestyle is because he taught himself, spending countless hours learning the moves, reading up on what it takes to be in the Air Force and to be accepted into the academy. He’s a wealth of knowledge, born and raised to be a part of the Blue Line.
Leaning over so only Colby can really hear me, I say, “Did you see Johnson split his pants when hopping over one of the obstacles.”
A small smile peaks past Colby’s lips as he nods. “Right up the crack, gave some of the girls in the squadron a show.”
I chuckle quietly next to him. “It’s the little things, man. That made my goddamn day.”
“Sure as hell didn’t make Johnson’s day. Spent the rest of the day with split pants, having to slink through water and mud.”
I shake my head. “The sorry mother fucker.”
Coming up to us, hobbling like an idiot, our friend Hardie takes a seat and leans all the way back on the ground, draping his arm over his eyes. “Fuck me.”
Colby and I exchange glances. “Dude, not a good thing to say,” Colby replies.
“Definitely don’t say it in the showers,” I add.
Hardie strips his cap off his head and tosses it at my chest. I catch the mud-soaked hat just as Hardie says, “I didn’t mean it literally, assholes.” He eyes the both of us and groans. “How the hell are you two still able to sit up after what we went through today?”
“It’s called training,” I answer for the both of us.
Hardie shakes his head. “You know what everyone is saying about you?”
“Me?” I point to my chest.
“Yeah, you?”
I look to the side, lips thin and pressed together, trying to come up with an answer. “Hmm, that I’m a triple threat; handsome, strong, and ready as fuck?”
“Pretty close, they’re all saying you’re a cocky mother fucker.”
As I should be. Besides Colby, I’m the only cadet in my class that came to intake not only prepared for the physical work, but I came with nothing to lose. This won’t make or break me, at least that’s what I keep telling myself, convincing myself over and over again.
I don’t need this, they need me.
I come from a lineage of fighter pilots, its in my blood.
The sky is where I belong, flying through the clouds, protecting my country.
I might be cocky, but I have a reason to be.
“Sounds about right.” I thumb toward Colby. “What about this guy over here. What’s everyone saying about him? Manly with a feminine voice?”
“Fuck off.” Colby punches me in the arm and shakes his head. He doesn’t have a feminine voice but it’s fun to fuck around with him, especially since he’s so quiet all the time.
Hardie props himself up on his elbow and says, “They think he’s one of those guys you don’t fuck with or he’ll snap and go on a punching rampage.”
We’re supposed to stay quiet during this time, never really drawing any kind of attention, but I can’t help it, I let out a deep laugh. A punching rampage, yup, I could easily see that.
Whereas I’m more outgoing, Colby is reserved, doesn’t talk much, observes more than anything, always taking in every scenario, it’s like he doesn’t know how to turn the military in him on and off. There’s times where you can relax and just be a human again but Colby doesn’t seem to have that trait.
“I’m not going to snap,” Colby says tersely.
Chuckling, I pat him on the back. “Try saying that next time without the foam forming in the corner of your mouth.”
He rolls his eyes and turns away from us.
“Oh great, you’ve upset him,” I chastise Hardie. “Now I’m going to have to spend the rest of my night talking to his back instead of his pretty face.”
“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Colby says with a shake of his head.
“See,” I point to Colby’s back while talking to Hardie. “All night long.”
We spend the next hour getting washed up and eating our meals while some try to nurse their wobbly legs. Some of the guys still pass their hands over their heads, trying to get used to the haircuts we’ve been forced to have, some guys try to grab a wink of sleep before we’re barged in on and asked to get ready for another bout of marching.
Staring up at the green tent with a patched-up hole, hands behind my head, I say to Colby who’s only inches away, “What made you want to be a fighter pilot?”
Without even having to think about it, Colby answers, “My grandpa. He was one and told me all about his glory days up in the sky. I knew that’s what I wanted to do, to follow in his footsteps.”
It’s not the first time Colby has mentioned his grandpa, it seems like he’s played a huge part in Colby’s life.
“What about you?” he asks.
“It’s what I’m supposed to do,” I answer, knowing the real reason that rests closely behind the truth I just announced. It’s not one I’ve shared with anyone, one that I’ve kept close to my heart since the moment I realized it. I’ve kept the real reason on lock down in fear my dad would find out.
“You said your dad was a pilot?”
I nod. “For twenty years.” And my brothers are pilots, uncles, my grandpa was a pilot. It isn’t an option in the Sheppard household of what you want to do with your life, it’s an obligation you have to fulfill.
“Is he retired now?”
“Yup.”
And that’s the end of that conversation. Silence falls between us, the subtle sounds of some of our fellow cadets sleeping ring through the air as well as the shifting of sleeping bags.
Basic military training, it’s only the beginning of this life-long journey, what lies in front of me is a world I never thought I wanted, but one I’m ready to be a part of.
“Stryder Sheppard.” Standing in my dress blues, I pivot toward my cadre, arms swaying to the perfect height, my march on point, my father standing a few feet away, watching . . . analyzing.