For MamaBirdCat. A story challenge featuring Low Light in ten chapters.
The usual disclaimer: don't own not making a profit
The Road Goes on Forever: The Highwaymen
Chapter One
Sundown and Sorrow
0400
Beachhead was on time. He knew he would be. He didn't know how he did it. He went to bed early. In the summer time he would be asleep before sun set. That was when he woke up. Beachhead didn't have trouble going or staying asleep. He slept peacefully without nightmares. He could set a watch to the drill instructor. Unfortunately the rest of the greenshirts he bunked with didn't. They shifted and coughed in the barracks. They were too worn out to notice the dark. That was the life of a greenshirt. He was a greenshirt. He watched the time tick and waited. He thought he slept from 9 PM to 11 PM. He was awake until 1 AM or 2 AM. Then he must have dozed off. He woke up at three forty five. He had maybe three to four hours of sleep. He didn't remember if he dreamed.
He heard Brooks and Popelka snoring. They still had their nose packed with gauze. Their mouths were open. He looked over to his right. Trick Shot's bed was still made. He didn't hear him come in. His mother left last night. That was all he knew. He remembered Trick Shot getting drunk in the desert. He had a moment of concern. He was concerned about his concern. Beachhead was absolutely right. His apprentice looked up to him. It was a big responsibility. He reminded himself that he didn't want it. He didn't sign up for it. He had it thrown at him. Trick Shot could make his own choices. He was nobody's father figure.
He was awake and ready when Beachhead came through the door. This time he had a whistle. Low Light prepared for it. The sound of a whistle in a close concrete barracks could make a ghost go pale. Low Light was fifty percent deaf in his left ear. It was from one too many shots. Doc said the damage was irreversible. Some stayed purposefully to his right side. Some didn't. Those that didn't were more times than not ignored. It made Low Light look even more anti-social than he already was. The truth was he didn't hear them. When Beachhead blew the whistle Low Light put his hands over his ears. He would lie if he didn't find it amusing to see Brooks, Popelka and Ehrenstein jump up like the Apocalypse was happening. Popelka almost made it to his feet. He rolled and fell off the bed to the floor instead. Brooks was in a fighting stance. Low Light would have to remember that. The lone black man was learning his training. He was prepared as well. Ehrenstein blinked like a wide eyed rabbit. He grabbed at the end table to find his glasses. They had time to put their shorts and tank top on with running gear before Beachhead ordered them out.
This morning they were met by Mutt and Junkyard. The dog was free reign like Order. They didn't have to be leashed. They were well trained. He was surprised to see Spirit and his eagle Freedom though. The Native American was as elusive as Low Light. He was a premier tracker. Spirit could literally find that needle in a haystack. He would be back at base by dinner time. The man was stretching on the ground. He practiced yoga. He was mystic and advisor in one. Psyche Out came to him for suggestions. He had his hands on the ground and his back arched looking up to the sky. He saw Low Light and stopped. He stood up and wiped the dirt from his hands in a clap.
"It's good to see you my friend." Spirit said. They man hugged for a few seconds. It was pats on the shoulders. They stood face to face. "You look well. You look healthy Low Light."
"It's been eight months Spirit." Low Light said.
Above them Freedom screamed. The bird was magnificent in flight. He hovered like no man made airplane could. His wings dipped and flowed on streams of air that couldn't be duplicated. It was a dance in the wind. Low Light could watch it for hours. He slowed by pointing his tail up in a fan. His massive wings spread as he landed. He perched on Spirits shoulder with a rat in his beak. Low Light looked away. He didn't have to. Spirit made an unspoken gesture and the eagle took flight with his prize. He aimed towards the full moon.
Spirit watched the eagle fly away. He looked back at him. His face was serious. "Yes but I see it's still a struggle." He said.
"It always will be." Low Light said.
The Shaman frowned. "It is that way with my people as well. I wish I could offer you solace. It is a battle you must fight yourself."
"I know that Spirit. I also know that there's something else you want to say." Low Light replied. Only the Joe's that have proved themselves on battle and shared experiences knew when there was more to say.
Spirit looked at him sadly. "I'm afraid there's more battles to be waged my friend. Your aura is dark. There will be trials ahead. You must be strong."
"If you're talking about Beachhead's obstacle course, then yes!" It was Brooks. He held his foot in his hand loosening his quadriceps. He didn't make it a secret he was eaves dropping. The black man shook out his legs and walked in small circles. He was a Joe greenshirt. He was chosen to prove himself to be part of the team. He was a good soldier. Low Light didn't like him.
"Get ready MacBride. I'll meet you on the loop." His smile was the smile of a shark. He still outranked Low Light. He enjoyed it.
They hit the ground running. Junkyard ran around the edge of the obstacle course barking at Mutt. The dog seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. When they made it to the mud pit, the dog jumped right in. He followed Mutt up the banks. He shook wet fur and dirt. He was the picture of dog happiness. His tongue stuck out. He kept up until they reached the loop. That was when Low Light slowed down. Ehrenstein passed him in a flash. He watched him head towards the front. Low Light had a bad feeling Brooks and Popelka were going to try something. They were in front of him. Low Light didn't care. This way he could keep an eye on them. He ran side by side with Mutt. The animal handler had his head down breathing with each step. He didn't talk. Junkyard was nowhere to be found.
Spirit was in the front jogging alongside Beachhead. To anyone else it looked like a leisurely stroll. They made it look easy. They were talking. It was five minute miles. They would have to finish in under half an hour to qualify. It was four thirty. Behind them Ehrenstein ran close to their backs. He was a fast little Jew. He didn't pay attention to their conversation.
The stars started to disappear. It wasn't sunrise yet. The glory of the desert wouldn't be seen until the sun was up. At this hour the rock and dirt were washed in grey. It made the terrain look like an ancient alien world from a black and white TV episode. At the bend Low Light lost track of Brooks and Popelka. They disappeared on the corner. That was when he slowed down. Mutt looked over once and kept going. Low Light stayed slightly behind on his left side. The trail bent in an S-shape. It would be the perfect ambush. Beachhead and Spirit would be out of view. The ones behind couldn't be seen.
Low Light didn't know how it happened. He was the last one on the trail. He could still finish in time by his calculation. He was nearing the bend when he saw a shadow. Before him Brooks and Popelka ran slowly. They looked back at him. Brooks had a gleam in his eye. Low Light cussed. Brooks was the prepared one while Popelka seemed to take the black man's orders. They were running slow. Low Light focused on Brooks. He would be the one that needed to be taken down first. Without his leader Popelka would pause. He ran up slowly. They vanished again at the next turn. Beachhead, Spirit and Ehrenstein were a half mile away. Mutt was fifty yards away. He still had his head down. Brooks and Popelka came into view. They were waiting for him.
The bird screamed. Low Light recognized it. In the night air with his wings spread before the full moon could be a photograph. He looked like a Rush Album from Fly by Night. Only he was no owl. The bird had something in his talons. He circled above him. He appeared to be gathering his catch. Low Light didn't know if the bird was looking for Spirit or had simply come across an easy target. Regardless the bird dropped his package at Popelka.
The rat hit Popelka in the head. It stuttered with a sickening slide down his face. It bounced on his chest before it hit the dirt. Its intestines and lungs were sliced open. There was a beating of his head and cries of disgust as Popelka ran. Freedom drifted to the trail. He took his time as he ripped and tore the rats flesh. Popelka ran faster. He beat his head like a man chased by angry wasps the entire time. The greenshirt would do a two minute mile coming in second only to Ehrenstein.
Low Light chuckled.
It was just Brooks and Low Light. The E-3 glared. He kept running. He had his feet up when Junkyard ran out from the scrub brush. He was covered in mud and burrs. He was still smiling. His tongue lopped open when he crossed the dirt road. Brooks never saw him. Low Light did. He stepped out of the way as the dog charged forward. Brooks had time to put his hands out as he fell. He landed on his palms and elbows. It almost looked like the dog tripped him on purpose. But that was impossible. Animals didn't do things like that. Low Light passed by as Brooks was digging pebbles out of his palms. His knees were scraped and the gauze in his nose bled. His left forearm was shredded in a top layer of skin.
Low Light gave a half salute as he passed him.
At the line Beachhead, Spirit, Mutt, Ehrenstein and Popelka were waiting. Freedom was hunting. Mutt only had to give two whistles before the dog came bounding out of the desert to sit by his side. For once it wasn't Low Light's fault.
"Twenty-Seven minutes and thirteen seconds MacBride." He said. "That's just damn pitiful. An old lady's jazzy can make it to the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon but you can't run five miles. That's pathetic MacBride." He stopped his stop watch.
"Yes Staff Sergeant!" Low Light yelled. He wasn't out of breath. He could have done better if not for Brooks and Popelka.
At twenty-eight minutes ten seconds Brooks made it to the finish line. He was cutting it short. His nose was bleeding. His palms were scraped. His knees were bleeding. But the black man made it. Low Light and Beachhead looked at each other.
"It's nice of you to join us Brooks!" Beachhead said. "Did you enjoy your little dirt nap?"
"Yes Staff Sergeant! It's what I live for!" Brooks said.
For all of his disagreements Low Light had to admit that Brooks had the most potential of the greenshirts. He didn't know the word quit. And that was what a Joe was all about.
"Good! Then gear up. Not in your skivvies but in your Full Metal Jacket. We're going on a trip." Beachhead grinned. They left with Brooks following.
They watched them. "Remember my friend. There are trials ahead." Spirit said. He touched him on the shoulder. "Stay strong." He whistled for Freedom. The eagle lofted before settling on his shoulder. They walked out into the desert. That was the last Low Light saw of the Indian.
Low Light missed breakfast. He also missed lunch. After PT he fell asleep. The barracks were dark and cold. No one was around. The greenshirts had their training to do today. Low Light was following Trick Shot. The kid was still missing. He closed his eyes but all he could see was tragedy. Trick Shot was slowly but surely becoming a part of Low Light's daily thoughts. It didn't make him worry less. He grunted. It wasn't his problem. Then his mind went back to the desert. He turned on his back and stared at the ceiling. It was 10 AM.
Low Light heard Trick Shot open the door at 1 PM. He was in bed. The sniper pulled off his clothes and went directly to the shower. He smelled like the fourth day of a three day pass. Low Light listened to the water. He held his arm over his eyes. Trick shot was in the shower for half an hour. When he emerged he sighed and sat at the side of his bed.
"I know you're still awake Low Light." Trick Shot said. It was a whisper.
"So what do you want to do?" Low Light asked. "It's two o'clock. You're on down time."
Trick Shot took his time. He made himself comfortable. "I'm going to sleep. I'm off until Monday. I don't want to talk about it."
Trick Shot turned on his side and put a pillow over his head. He was facing away from Low Light. He turned around. "Hey Low Light?" He mumbled.
"Yeah?" Low Light said.
"Why did you cover for me?" He asked. "They know it wasn't you."
"Go to sleep Dixon." Low Light said. "Save it for Monday. You're off the clock."
Trick Shot nodded. It was hard to understand why Low Light did the things he did. The night sniper had his reasons. He kept those to himself. He was back to greenshirt because of him. Trick Shot wanted to know why. He knew he wouldn't get any answers from Low Light today. He closed his eyes.
"I know about you and my mom. Thank you." Trick Shot said. "I wish it would have been you."
Low Light shrugged. Dixon was starting to drift. He ignored his rambling. Dixon had a lot on his mind. For a few minutes the only thing that was heard was the sound of creeks and coughs as the two men went to sleep. After about five minutes Low Light spoke up. His voice was ephemeral in the dark. "Well, I couldn't do that to you Dixon." He said. With his history Low Light dealt Trick Shot a favor. It showed an unspoken respect and brotherhood the sniper and shooter would share for the next five years.
"Anyway Thank You Low Light." Trick Shot yawned.
Low Light was still awake. It was 5 PM.
It was sun down.
End Chapter One
Sundown and Sorrow by Hank Williams Sr.