FicWad

Chapter 4
Departure

The kind folks at Pope Air Force Base eagerly volunteered to help the sailors load their equipment onto the aircraft. But being the perfectionists they were, the sailors graciously declined. Not that they meant to be rude. They just preferred to do things their way.

Training at Bragg had officially come to an end six hours ago. Yet, despite finishing up at the shooting range, Ackerson and his men still carried their rifles. For these sailors, not having a rifle at hand was comparable to not wearing a watch. They simply felt naked without one.

The elite team of operators paced around on the tarmac while several crew chiefs began the meticulous process of inspecting the massive cargo plane for flight. Each man was beginning to get a little anxious. They were not accustomed to sitting around waiting for something to happen. It felt odd to not be training for a time.

"When I really think about it. Doesn't really make a lotta sense to be luggin' us around in a big ass trash hauler like this." Moore observed.

"Nope." Kaufman kicked at the ground. "It really doesn't. But like the Air Force really cares. They got the budget for it. If you got the money, guess you can do whatever the hell you want with it.

"Yup." Brigham chimed in. "Like relishing in the sweet nectar of victory. Ain't that right Carl?"

"Yeah, yeah." Ackerson sighed. "So you shot better than me this time. Isn't like you're God's gift to shooting a rifle."

"Oh, I never said I was. But I always knew I was a better shot than you."

Ackerson pretended to sneeze, sneaking in a bullshit.

"What was that?" Brigham laughed. "Bullshit? Asher, front and center please."

"Yeah, Chief?" Asher asked a bit puzzled.

"Would you kindly explain to us, word for word, the little bet I had with the elltee?"

Asher cleared his throat and began to speak quite theatrically in his best rendition of an English accent. "As stipulated on the sixteenth of August, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and thirty-six, Sir William John Brigham and Sir Carlton Robert Ackerson began quite an extravagant contest. For three intense hours, they fired a flurry of endless bullets in hopes of being recognized as the best. The winner would claim the title of better rifleman and the loser, well, quite frankly, would just be referred to as the loser."

Ackerson chuckled in embarrassment, while the others were almost shedding tears of laughter.

"And without further ado." Asher continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the winner of the fifth annual Brigham Rules and Ackerson is Pathetic, Rifle Contest." Asher struggled to keep a straight face, while his teammates rolled around on the tarmac, yelping and laughing relentlessly. "Drum roll please. Thank you. Why yes, the winner of the contest, Sir William John Brigham. Congratulations good sir."

"You fellas are no good." Ackerson managed, taking the teasing in good spirit.

"Hey, we still love ya Carl." Brigham consoled. "Know it won't improve your shooting too much. But regardless of how bad you shoot, we still love you."

"Hold up everyone." Silver blurted out. "I know the Chief here may be a better shot than the elltee. But I feel like I need to remind everyone who the best shooter on this team really is."

"Y'know Silver, you could have let me rub it in for five more minutes. Just five more minutes, that's all I wanted."

"Sorry Chief, but I just had to make sure everyone knew not to call you the best shooter. Sure, better than Ackerson, but never me."

"Awesome, no this is great, good for me." Brigham groaned. "Now the new guy takes shots at me. What's next, flying monkeys?"

"Nope, that's already happened before. Wizard of Oz I think." Rios chimed in.

Brigham gave the sailor a sarcastic smile. "Thanks for lifting my spirits Rios. Really means a lot."

"Thought you had me didn't ya." Ackerson chided. "I knew they'd pull through."

"Suck ups."

"Gotta share Chief. So we can make fun of you and the elltee with the same amount of fairness." Moore said.

"Guess that makes me feel a bit better. But I'm still mad at you guys."

"Hey, you'll get over it soon enough." Kaufman pointed out. "And by the way. WHEN THE HELL ARE WE GONNA GET OUTTA HERE?!"

His teammates chuckled.

"Down boy." Rios kidded.

"Just a few more minutes Kaufman." Moore added.

"Yeah." Kaufman said. "But you said the same thing a half hour ago."

"So what." Moore shrugged. "Off about thirty minutes. Same thing."

"No wonder he's the slowest guy on the team." Oliveira teased. "I'd hate to see how long it takes you to get up in the morning."

"Oh, I can get it up in the morning." Moore grinned. "Just ask your girlfriend." A few sailors laughed at the comment.

"Okay playboy. I got you." Oliveira replied. "How's your right hand by the way? Been brushing up on your technique?"

Moore's face turned red with embarrassment, while his teammates erupted in laughter.

"C'mon. Was it really that funny?" Trying to mask his embarrassment.

"Obviously. Else we wouldn't be laughing." Kaufman giggled.

"Face it man, he got you." Silver added.

"Yeah, its not worth busting a nut over." Asher smirked.

"Just rub one out." Rios managed, holding back laughter. "You'll be okay."

"Yeah." Oliveira said between laughing." That'll teach you to talk about my girl."

Ackerson struggled to maintain his composure. But even he could not help laughing at Moore's expense.

"Alright already fellas." Ackerson wiped his eyes. "I think you've sufficiently embarrassed the guy for now."

"Thank you sir." Moore sighed.

"No problem." The laughter still wearing off. "Besides, looks like they're ready for takeoff."

"Hooyah!" A few sailors yelled.

"Shotgun!" Someone claimed.

It was quite ironic, with such a dangerous mission drawing near, that Ackerson and his crew smiling and joking with one another. Maybe they were genuinely happy or maybe they were trying their best to not think about the difficulties that lay before them. Regardless of whether or not their happiness was genuine, every one of the sailors knew what they were getting into. They knew it was going to be strenuous and they knew their likelihood of dying was very high. But they were warriors that had carefully considered the risks of the impending operation. If they did not want to be a part of the mission, then they would not be boarding the giant aircraft sitting on the tarmac.
Turning back was not an option at this point, but going forward was. That meant it was time to prepare and time to be professional. Completing the mission came first and bringing everyone home came second. This was not a job for heroes. If they all wanted to accomplish their mission and get home in one piece, then they had to operate as a team. One man never won a battle. But individualism was not a problem for these men. They were not just warriors and professionals. They were also brothers and friends. None of them would hesitate to help each other out, even if that meant making the ultimate sacrifice. But none of them thought about it very much. At the most basic level all they wanted to do was get the job done and make it home, together.

"So, our finest hour draws ever so close." Brigham reminded Ackerson.

"You think it's really that poetic?" Ackerson asked.

"Who said I was trying to be poetic?" Brigham replied. "Can you just take me seriously for two seconds? Jesus."

"Sorry Chief. Just a little looser than usual. Don't worry, I'm sober."

"I wouldn't be so sure." Brigham joked. "But whatever though, I'm just anxious to get this last week of training underway."

"In a rush to get that thousand yard stare?"

"If it means living through a firefight I don't mind having that thousand yard stare, one damn bit."

"You think they feel the same way?" Ackerson nodded to his men up ahead.

"I was hoping you'd have the answer. But what do you think? Time for you to start answering questions."

"Judging by their aimless yet humorous conversation." Ackerson smirked. "They got team chemistry going for 'em and we did pretty good here at Bragg. So in terms of the team element I think we're good. What do you think?"

"Why you askin' me sir? Seems to me you've pretty much answered your own question." Brigham smiled and patted Ackerson on the back. "Trust yourself and trust us. You do that and your job becomes a whole hell'uva lot easier."

Ackerson gave Brigham a look of relief. "In that case, let's get this show on the road."

"Now that's the spirit. And hopefully, when we get there, you may become a better shooter." Brigham winked.

"Don't get me started, Bill." Ackerson warned.

"Hey, I was just trying to help out a fellow sailor."

"Just get on the damn plane."