Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
August 5th, 2024
Leighton Watts
C oach hadn’t been lying when he said the food here was better than what we were used to. I kinda wanted to get a second bowl of soup. It was some spicy tomato soup with a bunch of vegetables and Italian sausage in it. Fucking delicious. The bread too.
I shoveled another spoonful into my mouth and went back to studying my schedule.
The other recruits seemed more intent on making friends, and I’d get there soon enough. But given all the information we were being bombarded with on our first day, I’d opted for an empty table in the cafeteria, and I had my back to everybody else.
The first class on the curriculum was ironic. Military deprogramming. A minimum of four years of service was practically required to apply at Hillcroft, and now they wanted to wipe the slate clean?
That class was the only one without an end date, so I guessed I wasn’t leaving until they deemed me deprogrammed. Actually, weapons training seemed flexible too.
The other classes came with more information, such as how many weeks they would last. With each one being taught for two hours every week. Second and third language assistance offered in Spanish, Farsi, Russian, Mandarin… That list went on. Basic intelligence, four different classes for communications, survival training, water quals, martial arts, primarily Krav Maga and Muay Thai, then various sports like wrestling and boxing, a lot of running, and navigation.
We would learn history too, focusing on the spies of the Cold War, various communication strategies used, as well as the development of decoding machines in the Second World War’s European theatre, and signal monitoring in the Pacific during the same time.
How to become a gray man, equipment guides and gear preparedness, geography with focus on conflict zones, culture studies, interrogation, logistics and mapping out escape routes and?—
“I see you’ve already forgotten my advice, kid.”
I sucked in a breath and sat up straighter. I hadn’t noticed how my pulse had spiked, but now it made me a little excited. Because maybe this would work? Maybe working at Hillcroft would finally make me feel alive?
Operator Beckett sat down across from me, and he had no food. Only a cup of coffee, which reminded me of something.
“The coffee is free.” I’d seen it earlier when I’d taken my food.
He smirked a little. “So it is.”
Wait, what advice had I forgotten?
“What advice?” I asked.
He chuckled and took a swig from his mug. “I told you to make friends before you joined the Army.”
Oh. And now because I’d chosen to sit alone…?
I shrugged and broke apart a piece of the bread roll. “At one point, I had more friends than I knew what to do with, and I still felt lonely as hell.” I dipped the bread in the soup and then ate it. My sweet spot in terms of friendships had been in Germany, when I’d met two guys who had similar bucket lists as me for European travel. Whenever we’d had the time, we’d gotten on a train with just our backpacks.
“That’s fair,” Beckett murmured.
He looked to be observing me, so I held up my schedule and pointed to the profiling class on the list.
“Are you doing that now?” I asked.
He grinned.
Here I was, thinking he couldn’t get any hotter than six years ago.
“Once you start profiling people, you can’t really stop,” he said.
Yeah, I bet.
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing the other recruits spread out among four tables. Nobody else was here, not even Coach.
“So, what do you think of the recruits so far, Mr. Profiler?” I wondered. “What’s the first thing you notice?”
He hadn’t seen my initial reaction to walking into Hillcroft again after so many years. Mostly, I’d been shitting-bricks nervous at the prospect of seeing Beckett again. Like, had he quit, was he still around, would I someday pass him in the halls…? And then Coach had informed us that “Operator Beckett” was on his way, and my heart had pounded for a solid minute.
“I reckon I try to predict who’s going to be difficult,” Beckett mused. “I know four of them left the service pretty much…yesterday. So, two of them already have beards, which tells me they’re very eager to forget about past grooming regs.”
I chuckled. Damn, I never would’ve thought in those terms. “Maybe they’re lazy.”
He shook his head. “Lazy people don’t exist here.”
I guessed that made sense.
“You’re not lazy either,” he told me. “You ignored my texts for some other reason. I can’t wait to find out what that might be.”
Yikes. He didn’t beat around the bush, did he?
Time to stall. I drained my first glass of water and took a gulp from my second glass too. Then I shifted in my seat and hoped he’d give me an out. I wasn’t exactly nervous or at a loss for what to say; I just wanted to avoid it altogether because I knew I’d come off as a head case who didn’t belong here.
He didn’t give me an out, though. He merely waited and kept watching me.
Fuck it, then.
But if I was going to tell him, I wanted to get it right.
I leaned forward and rested my forearms on the table. “Do you ever feel like you’re watching yourself—like an out-of-body experience—and you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?”
He cocked his head. “I’m not un familiar with the sensation.”
Okay, then. “Well, that’s how I would describe my whole experience in the Army,” I admitted. “Going through OSUT at Benning was obviously a struggle—it was a whole other life from what I was used to. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, nights I couldn’t fall asleep at all, mornings I didn’t wanna wake up, dizziness, throwing up, a Drill or two screaming in my face—you name it. But after that…?” I shook my head and thought back on how everything had changed. “Shit just stopped fazing me. And more than that, I felt detached from everything. I remember… I remember one time, we were having lunch, and I was looking around me, seeing all the guys shoveling food into their pie holes like there was no tomorrow. The edges of my vision became dark. Everything had a rhythm—shovel food, shovel food, shovel food, boots thumping, spoons clanking against the trays, the noise… All voices became one. And I kept thinking, fuck my life, they don’t even realize they’re just cogs in the machine, moving in perfect unison.”
Beckett leaned forward, too, and rested his arms on the table.
“But then I looked down at my own tray,” I went on.
“And you were doing the same thing,” he deduced.
I nodded. “I was eating too fast, acting like a robot, feeling nothing, just going with the flow.”
He nodded slowly.
“Something happened to me there,” I confessed. “Like, something inside me just shut down. I started living according to the routines and schedules provided for me, no questions asked, no adjustment periods needed anymore. I simply did it. No more crying myself to sleep—which…I never thought I’d say, but I miss it. I miss having strong reactions to things. Good or bad—I don’t care, as long as the reactions shake me up.”
He exhaled heavily and finished his coffee.
“The first time I cried in basic was really fucking cathartic, because it was also the first time I’d cried since my mom died,” I said. “I bawled my eyes out like a baby for two hours, and then I slept like one too.”
He hummed and brushed his thumb along a coffee drop sliding down the side of his mug. “I can relate, with the exception that anger still gets to me. I get angry a lot.”
“Why?”
He smirked and shook his head. “Nah. You haven’t made your point yet. Go back to explaining why you stopped responding to my texts.”
Oh, right.
I scratched the side of my head, still not used to letting my hair grow longer than an inch or two. I was probably closer to three now.
“I stopped responding because I didn’t know what to say,” I muttered. “You asked how I was doing, and I had no fuckin’ clue. I didn’t feel anything. I still don’t. My aunt was kind enough to send me care packages when I was in Germany, and it took me forever to muster the energy to call her and say thank you.” One time, I’d almost texted her to say the majority of the candy she’d sent was available on base. The Army went out of its way to make us feel at home overseas, from the snacks in every vending machine to the price of gas. Like that was the fucking point? She always reached out to me, and my first thought had been… hey, we already have that shit here . “I had one break or whatever I should call it when I met two guys who wanted to explore Europe with me. We went all over the place, cheapest train tickets we could find—Paris, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam, Vienna… It wasn’t fun per se…but I’m glad I did it. I had a sense of peace inside me, and I smiled more. I didn’t feel as detached from myself during those months.”
Beckett smiled a little too, and he?—
“Beckett!” That was Coach. He came into the cafeteria and nodded for Beckett to go with him. “We have a problem.”
“All right.” Beckett rose from his seat, and the two operators spoke at the same time. While Coach informed all recruits that an Operator Rose was going to take over in a bit, Beckett told me we’d talk more later.
I nodded and watched him stalk out.
I let out a breath, hoping I hadn’t made an ass of myself.
Weirdly enough, Beckett had a knack for making me nervous and worried, despite that I’d only ever talked to him three times. Maybe it was his expression. He was calculating and observant, and when I didn’t understand myself, I didn’t want anybody else to do it either. It felt like that was my job to figure out.
Maybe I should be grateful for the nerves? It was a reaction, at least. So few things today caused anything that was more than fleeting. I could get a chuckle or two over a funny movie, I could smile when Aunt Laura told me about a promotion at work, I could groan and curse in traffic, and I could moan and pant when I got off in the shower. But I wanted to feel with my whole body. I wanted something to take my breath away. I wanted to be shocked. I wanted to laugh till I cried.
I wanted to cry until I passed out from exhaustion.
Instead, I finished my lukewarm soup before carrying my tray over to the tray racks.
By then, an older man arrived and introduced himself as Daniel Payne, but “Call me Operator Rose.” Then he gestured toward the doors. “If you follow me, I’ll show you the basement. It’s where the fun happens.”
* * *
Damn. They weren’t kidding about the basement.
Swimming pool, shooting range, martial arts dojo, a room full of vending machines, a fully equipped gym, two areas with couches and flat-screens…
I could live here.
Operator Rose let us wander around freely, and he stayed in the wide doorway to the gym if anyone had questions. He walked with a barely noticeable limp, so maybe he stayed in one place because he was in pain…?
On the way down here, he’d given us a scripted speech on safety. You were allowed to work out alone, including swimming and target practice, but if you didn’t have a spotter or gym buddy, all recruits needed to check in electronically by the elevator so that someone from “Central Command” knew you were there.
That seemed like a rule I was gonna forget.
Everything was open twenty-four seven. Clean the equipment after you used it. Standard gun safety rules applied. For safety reasons, there was surveillance in every area, and only a senior operator could have it turned off, in case a training session was of a “sensitive nature.”
I saw two guys wrestling and grappling in the martial arts studio, so I walked closer and peered through the glass walls.
Said walls were filled with quotes printed in a typewriter font.
“Violence is the absolute last resort.”
“Self-defense begins with de-escalation.”
“End it swiftly.”
“What we have started, we shall finish.”
The last one was the Hillcroft motto. I remembered that.
I needed my new life here to give me meaning.
I watched those two guys sweat and growl and curse and come at each other with such force that I envied them. Because they had to feel so many emotions. They were so expressive. One of the guys landed with a thump on the mat, only to immediately jump up and attack with a roar.
“Are you finally cranking it up?”
“ Fuck you, Slater.”
They crashed together in a heap of punches and kicks, and I drew a steady breath.
The guy called Slater was overpowered and went down with a groan of pain.
“Jesus titty-fucking Christ! It’s a workout, not a fucking assassination attempt. You’re too goddamn bored.”
“Yeah. I fucking am,” the other one panted. “I swear it’s the most boring job I’ve ever had.”
Slater cursed and sat up on the mat. “Because of one stakeout detail? Take advantage instead. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“All I hear is, you love being stuck in that fuckin’ apartment with me.”
“That’s your dream, Nolan. Not mine.”
I cracked a quick grin to myself and walked away.
Maybe. Just maybe.
Six years ago, watching that transpire would’ve set off my anxiety. Now, I was just itching to begin. Whatever they threw at me. Knock me down, scare the shit out of me, make me come unglued.
Unmade.
I was fairly sure I needed it in order to stitch myself back together as an upgraded version who actually enjoyed life. Because I must’ve gone wrong somewhere. Something had broken, and the bones had healed wrong. Fuck if I knew what it was. It couldn’t be Mom’s death. I knew with every fiber of my being that basic training had forced me through my worst mourning period, at least physically. I’d gotten to cry it out properly. I’d even followed Beckett’s advice, and I’d spoken to my chaplain a lot. I’d sort of come to terms with her priorities and my anger—why she’d never told me about my dad, the few clues she’d had. I’d attended church services too, if only to close my eyes and revel in a moment’s peace.
I’d dealt with all that. So, what the fuck was it that had killed me?
As I returned to the gym area, I saw Operator Rose keeping an eye on me, and I was guessing I had to get used to it. I was here to be evaluated for everything I did.
Farther down the hall, some of the other recruits hollered about what snacks they preferred in the vending machines.
“How are you doing, soldier?” Operator Rose asked.
Was that a dig? I couldn’t be sure.
“Am I in desperate need of military deprogramming?” I joked.
He chuckled and leaned casually against the doorway, and he folded his arms over his chest. “To be fair, you all are.”
Huh. Was it really that obvious? In my out-of-body experiences, I’d often seen other soldiers be super obvious to the point where I got irritated. But considering I’d caught myself acting the same way more than once, it was highly possible I was no different.
I shrugged. “I guess I’ll work on slouching more.”
“Hm. That covers one out of two hundred things.”
Oof, I was glad he wasn’t one of those people who exaggerated.
It made me curious, though. And I wasn’t the arrogant type. He looked to be around forty years old, so he’d been around for a very long time. He probably knew what he was doing.
“Can you guess just by looking at me what branch I was in?” I wondered.
The corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk. “I already called you soldier, son.”
Hmpf.
“It’s never just one thing,” he went on. “Adjusting your posture is probably the easiest. It’s the little things you don’t even notice that need work.” He nodded at my stomach. “You maintain a nice gig line with your belt there. I bet the pen you’re carrying has black ink. Your brain gets lulled into a nice, satisfied state when I say left-right-left. You’d never walk across grass. You probably only carry things in your left hand, and you stand still when you talk on the phone. You get pissed off when people arrive five minutes early, because you know anything later than fifteen minutes early is late. You have more practice mopping the floors than using a sidearm, but you’re likely very good with an M4. You always assess your surroundings, and you automatically walk in step with the person next to you. Of course, you always eat fast, and despite your tender age of twelve, you already have stomach issues from time to time. Not that it stops you from putting hot sauce on everything to make it taste like something. Shall I go on?”
What in the donkey dicking fuck …
I stared at him and had absolutely no response.
“Don’t worry, we’ll get rid of all that,” he said. “If I can do it, anyone can.”
“You—” I had to clear my throat. “You were in the Army too?”
“Yeah. Only, I was very good with a sidearm in my field.” He smiled.
Actually, he’d been wrong about that one. The one and only miss in a sea of hits. I was very good with a sidearm too, though not thanks to the Army. A guy had to do something when everybody else went out drinking and fucking around.
“There’s something interesting about you, though,” he told me. “You don’t strike me as one of the warrior alcoholics who can outdrink an Irish jarhead, nor are your pockets filled with cans of Zyn. When one of the other recruits sized you up earlier, you didn’t even notice.”
I scrunched my nose. “I noticed.”
He smiled again. “You just didn’t care. I think I like you, kid. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Welp. High praise and a threat all rolled up like a pair of socks.
My face felt a little warm, and I didn’t know how or if to answer. What did one say to that?
Luckily, he seemed ready to change the topic. He checked his watch. “I have the next babysitter joining in a few, but before I go…” He shifted his gaze back to me. “Outta curiosity, how would you have described yourself in three words before joining the Army?”
Three words before joining…
Hmm. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and thought back on my childhood, my teenage years—or the early ones, at least—and losing Mom and…
“Um, I’ll say lost, unprepared, and scared,” I said.
I was just gonna throw myself to the wolves and provide all the answers they asked for.
“And now, post-service, three words,” he finished.
That one was tougher, except the first word. “I’m still lost.” I said it like a joke, even though it couldn’t be truer. “I’m indifferent. And, um… I don’t know. I don’t know the third one.”
“Lost and indifferent,” he echoed. “Let’s hope that changes soon.”
That’d be nice.
* * *