We're covered in dust. They don't exactly clean the forests out here. After four days in the woods, all of Delta Company looks like we've been lightly floured, except for the darker lines around the collars of our tops where we scrubbed our faces quickly with some splashed water from our canteens and created major rings where the water dried.
“What's up sir?” Pillman asks, tired but happy. It's his last FTX with the platoon. He's rotating out to join another battalion soon, and come my next exercise, the Regulators are going to have a new platoon sergeant. I should have just enough time to get him broken in and the platoon adjusted to him before it's my turn to roll out. It's the way the Army works.
“You've got two kids, right?” I ask, and Pillman raises an eyebrow. We're on a little bit of a break for the moment. The platoon perimeter is set up for the night, and most of the troops are digging their positions right now. The goal of the FTX is to get everyone a little bit of throwback training, back to light infantry work instead of rolling around in vehicles. Other than the supply truck, we haven't seen a 'friendly' vehicle since jumping off our trucks and humping our gear five miles into the woods on Monday afternoon. “If you don't mind.”
“Not at all, sir,” Pillman replies, the two of us walking under the trees. We keep our eyes open, checking that each position is set up right with one person in four providing perimeter security while catching a breather. Pillman and I will be in the middle of the perimeter, and I've got the radio operator scratching out a shallow position for each of us now. I'm a Lieutenant. It's my job to be under fire, not safe in a cozy foxhole. I don't need much more than two feet deep. “What's on your mind?”
“I ran into someone that I knew back at West Point,” I tell him, leaving as many details out as I can, “and she's got a kid. Cute kid, and I told Captain Bradley during some of the slack time in the Monday schedule that I'm going to put in for the Big Brother program. Mom's happy, I think, especially since she's got Saturday duty next weekend, and I agreed to watch the boy then. He’s three, though. To be honest with you, Sergeant, I have no fucking clue what to do with a three-year-old for a full-duty shift on a Saturday. Got any advice?”
Pillman chuckles, then goes serious. “No shit, LT, for a kid at that age, you’ve gotta be on your toes. When my son was three, he had two speeds. Full-on go and dead stop. Kids around three, they're hyperactive psychopaths half the time. Are you having him come to your house or are you going to theirs?”
“Ah, I don't know. I just agreed to do it the Saturday before this,” I tell him, lifting my helmet and rubbing at my head. I hate the helmet. It's hot and it itches, and you always end up with a 'donut ring' in the top of your head afterward from the way the webbing presses against your head. Then again, I guess if it saves my brain from getting separated from my skull, I'll feel differently. “Advice is appreciated.”
“If the kid doesn't know you that well, and it's a long time like it sounds, I'd recommend doing it at his house. He'll have games and toys there, and you can still take him somewhere to play if he gets fidgety. When we get back tomorrow, remind me to give you a list of good parks in the area, places you can take him. Avoid anything like Chuck E. Cheese's, no matter how much he might beg you. The food is shit, and the ones around here are dirty as hell.”
I laugh, grateful for his advice. “Now, did Top give you any hints at the pow-wow about what might be coming down the pipe tonight?”
“Just that if you want any sleep, sir, you might want to get some before the sun goes down. Munch an MRE and grab a dirt rack, because we're in for a long night.”
Sounds like a proper Regulator end to a good exercise. “Okay then. Make sure everyone's got a full belly, full canteens, and full magazines. We'll take care of business as we can.”
“On it, sir. And sir?”
I'm walking away, getting ready to check the other side of the platoon area, and stop, turning back. “Yeah?”
Sergeant Pillman gives me a quirky grin, trying not to laugh. “Have fun next Saturday. It's going to be harder than the bad guys tonight. Just warning you.”
Parking my car outside of Lindsey's house, Pillman's words come back to haunt me as I stand outside her door. I realize that in the four years since Lindsey and I first met, I've never been to her living space before. We were always meeting up outside of cadet area, on bikes, or someplace else. Our “bed” was made of grass, except for New York City that created Lance.