“Papers filed, emails typed, and I was able to do it all without a paper cut,” I joke. Jill's a former service member herself, Air Force, she told me, and she understands. “How was Lance?”
“Your son . . .” Jill says, laughing and shaking her head. “He's kept us all in stitches all day. He won't stop talking about his new Big Brother. Apparently, this Aaron is something of a cross between Superman, Chef Marco Pierre White, and maybe a bit of God. All day, he's been telling people about how awesome Aaron is, and even the staff's gotten in on the joke after about the tenth time of him saying 'Well, my Big Brother, Aaron, can do it better' to anything. We're about to nominate Aaron for President around here.”
I laugh, blushing at the same time. “Yeah, Lance has taken a shine to him. Sorry if he got excited. He had a bit of an impromptu sleepover last night with the thunderstorm.”
“Well, just to let you know, Lance made this today. He made me help him write it, and he insisted that I keep it safe for when he goes home. Take a look while I go find Lance.” Jill hands me an envelope and gets up, going toward the play room. I open the flap on the envelope and take out a construction paper card.
I open it up, and what I read stops my heart and brings tears to my eyes.
Big Brother Aaron,
Thank you for the sleepover.
I love you.
Your Little Brother,
Lance
I read the letter three times and make a decision. I pull out my phone and hurriedly send Aaron a text. I think you and I need to talk about Lance. I think he's ready to know the truth.
I hope that Aaron replies soon, but when he hasn't sent anything back by the time Lance comes from the back, his eyes sparkling and his smile melting my heart, I reluctantly put my phone on vibrate. I know it's after five o'clock, but maybe Aaron's got military duties. If so, we can talk later, when we both have some free time.
“Ready to go home, honey?”
Lance nods, smiling. “Did you see my card, Mommy?”
I hand it to him, safely back in its envelope. “I did. I think Aaron will like it very much.”
I lead him out of the daycare center, taking his hand and smiling at my son. “It's one of the coolest things I've ever seen, little man.”
Chapter 17
Aaron
It feels good to be out on the range for a change, maybe because it's at least better than being in the motor pool.
Pillman gives all of us the safety brief. He's looking a little nostalgic about it. His time with the platoon is up next month. “Okay, everyone, remember, you keep your glasses on the whole time on the range. Fulsom, that means you too. I don't care if those over glass goggles you have are hot or not. Check your field of fire each time you squeeze a trigger. It may just be a sting in the ass and a laugh now, but remember that in the real world, you just shot your battle buddy.”
There's a titter of laughter. I know the feeling. We're actually 'playing' live. There is an actual chance for someone to get hurt, even if it is with a plastic pellet. I'd prefer paintball guns, but the hoppers on those are just too damn big to give people that real-world feel. Loading the pellets into their magazines is slightly weird, but we are able to at least replicate the feel of having to change magazines too. Overall, the Army thinks that the increased danger from the pellets is minimal compared to the training value gained from them. Still, we're live.
“Everyone clear?”
“HOOAH!” the platoon answers, and I'm looking around, proud of my Regulators. Even Hardy's doing okay, looking a bit antsy, but I guess I can expect that. He hasn't been allowed out of the barracks except for duty purposes since his arrest, a part of the deal we've worked out with the JAG so far while the echelons above me try to decide whether to court martial him or not. He's at least being busted one rank, but maybe he'll stay out of jail.
“Roger that,” Pillman says, turning to me. “El Tee?”
“Thanks, Sergeant. Great brief,” I respond, walking to the front of the platoon. My rifle's over my shoulder, and I look around, ready to play my little role in the pre-training prep. “Okay, Regulators, Sergeant Pillman got to be nice about it. Now it's my turn. Last time we tried this, we ended up with more Regulators 'dead' than what I find acceptable. Of course, the only number I'm accepting is zero. You all know the drill. Nobody here is a wet blanket private. We're going to be starting rotations, Sergeant Pillman's going to be gone by Thanksgiving, and by next summer, I'm probably gone too. So this is your chance to make sure that you've got your shit tight before some fuck up from Omaha waddles in and makes your job twice as hard! Run your lanes by the numbers, and by the end of the day, I want to see perfection. Got me?”