Musical Inspiration
2005
The knock rang with a weird echo in the small office, the wood frame warped in its attachment to the old metal Quonset hut that served as the platoon offices. They had the patrol base a few miles down the coast from the port of Dili, and it was going to be yet another balmy day in this tropical hell hole. It was already 35 degrees Celsius and dawn wasn’t even hinting at the horizon yet.
Sergeant Malcolm Jones didn’t even look up from his paperwork, “Come.”
A sandy haired private entered, coming to attention, saluting briefly. Jones waived him to a seat, wondering which direction this conversation was going to go. “Anderson, what can I do for you, son?”
The young man paused, gathering himself. “I’d like ta submit me application, Sergeant, like we discussed a couple months ago. I also hear there is a squad leader spot open in B company’s upcomin’ deployment ta Iraq. I’d like to be considered for a transfer.”
The sergeant sat there for a bit, considering. “I’ll endorse the paperwork, Brett, I already said I would a few weeks ago when we talked. Are you sure about the transfer though? We are due to go home in just a little over three months, you know, and this has been three tours in a row for you.”
“I’m sure Sergeant. It will help with the evaluation process, won’t it?” asked the twenty-year old. The older man nodded. “Plus I got a letter from Bridgette the other day, the uni has even more fees than expected.” The young man paused, started to say something, and then just coughed into his hand.
The old sergeant waited a few seconds, but when he didn’t continue, responded. “I thought maybe you had another reason to go home, son.”
The younger man seemed to wilt a bit, before responding, “Apparently not, Sergeant.”
“Very well then, Brett. I’ll endorse the application for Captain Thomas to review, but we already discussed that and I am sure he will send it on. I’ll also report your interest to Sergeant Smythe in B Company. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, Sergeant,” responded the private.
“Then you are dismissed.”
“Thank you Sergeant.” Private Brett Anderson stood, saluted, spun on his heel and marched out of the small office.
Jones considered for a few moments. The young private hadn’t told anyone that he knew of, but there was more than one letter that came in the mail call. He could guess at its contents, but he didn’t really need to make a guess. Staff Sergeant Jacob Collins of the medical corps back in Townsville was an old friend, and NCO gossip made the world go round. Apparently the kid’s fiancé hadn’t waited long to move on to someone else after they deployed in January. August now and guess she finally decided to give him the news. He picked up his digger hat and went out to have a chat with the kid’s squad leader.
The next morning came very early for the members of the third squad. Duty First didn’t just mean duty to the country and the regiment. Couple gallons of rot gut whiskey and three cases of beer helped them drown the bad news their teammate had received. Wasn’t the first letter like that a soldier on deployment had ever received, and it wouldn’t be the last.
Brett lit a cigarette to get the stale taste out of his mouth. He flicked the lighter again, setting the envelope on fire, and tossed it into the waste basket where it deserved to be, along with ashes of last night’s spree. Then he crawled out of his bunk to join his friends for another security patrol.
Last Dreams 