He offers his hand, and I shake, unsure of what to do since I'm in civilian clothes. “Thanks, sir. Honestly, I don't know if I should salute or not.”
“Not in civvies. I'm more relaxed than that,” Captain Lemmon says. “I'll run you through that dog and pony show Monday morning after formation. We'll officially introduce you to everyone that morning, then get you processed in properly. I read your file. I know you've got some things to square away before then. If you need any help, give us a call.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply, giving Beanie a thankful look. “Sergeant Beanie has already given me some good advice on housing.”
“All right. Good to meet you, and good luck getting settled in. I know we're a deployable unit, but I'll tell you the truth, Morgan. I run this company like a family. We look out for each other. Catch my drift?”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Good. Now, I've got some reports to catch up on, so I'll make my departure. Welcome to the company.”
Chapter 11
Aaron
The commissary is chilly, especially after the warm humidity outside, and to be honest, it's a bracing bit of relief. The platoon was out at the range today, and my undershirt is still sticking to my chest after sweating out on the line all day. It's not the high part of summer, but fall still comes late to Bragg.
Thankfully, the Regulators are in good shape. Nobody had to re-fire, and a lot of the platoon shot expertly. Forty-one soldiers up, forty-one down in fewer than three hours.
Unfortunately, range days mean late nights, as cleaning our rifles took nearly as much time as firing once we got back to the company area, since Captain Bradley wants them so clean that we could use the barrels as a straw if we wanted. Some of the young privates aren't quite as up to speed on how to scrub down a rifle efficiently, and it was nearly six thirty before the weapons room was locked up and I got to sign off on everything. Still, I have to give it to Captain Bradley. He was at his desk too, and when I handed him my report, he did say the Regulators did a good job.
But, that means I'm running late to get my weekly shopping done, and the post commissary closes in a half hour. More importantly, though, my fridge is pretty much empty, and unless I want dinner to be either Burger King drive-through or a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, I need to get a move on.
Thankfully, shopping for me is pretty easy. I always put my shopping list on my phone. It's the best way to make sure I don't forget it. As I go through the spice aisle, I'm thinking about my platoon. We've got a field training exercise coming up next Monday, and I want to make sure things are smooth. It's not my first ride with these guys. The Regulators are truly my platoon now, if not for much longer. I've already heard the rumors that when I’m promoted in a couple of months, the countdown's going to begin. I’m most likely going to be rotated to another unit for an Executive Officer position. I expect it’ll happen in the next six or seven months. That's about normal.
The promotion will be nice, even though leaving the Regulators behind kinda sucks. Not that I live wild and crazy. I have no idea how some of the other single guys do it, but the extra money will be good to sock away for a rainy day. I don't plan on staying in the Army unless I want to serve. I don't want to be one of those guys who serves because he needs a damn job. That isn't what service means.
I'm so focused on everything but shopping that I don't see the other cart as I come around the end of the aisle, and we end up crashing in a jumble of steel wire and it sounds like a few broken eggs in the other cart. “What the . . . hey, watch it!”
I look up at the same time the other person does, and I feel time stop. The face is the same, perfect and heart-shaped, her blue eyes still so intense, the eyes that have haunted my dreams for three years.
“Lindsey?”
Lindsey blinks like she's seen a ghost, and I get a chance to look her over more. She's in her ACUs, and I notice that pinned in her rank tab are the three stripes of an E-5 Sergeant. A quick glance to her right chest tells me something else, too. She's still single. The name tape on her uniform still says Morgan, and she's not wearing a wedding ring. My God, she's beautiful, and I can't believe it. “Aaron?”
“Mommy, that hurt!” a small voice says, and it's my turn to blink, stunned, as I see the little boy in the seat of the cart. I didn’t even notice him at first. His head is just sticking up over the rim of the cart. The commissary has special carts for people with kids. The seat is low enough that a child can be put in there without being too high in the air, I guess to prevent falls. “What happened?”
“W–ah–mah,” Lindsey says, stuttering for a few seconds. Finally, she takes a deep breath and looks down at the child, whom I can't get a good view of yet. “Sorry, buddy. Mommy kinda ran into someone.”