Chapter 4
January 4, 1991
Fort Benning, Georgia
Lieutenant McDaniel was discovering that deploying a United States Army infantry platoon for combat duty required a shocking amount of paperwork. Travel authorizations, combat pay authorizations, next-of-kin designations, equipment manifests – it took two weeks just to get all of the forms filled out.
Today it was inventory of personal equipment stored on-base. Each soldier had to fill out forms listing anything he was leaving behind. And, this being the Army, there were different forms for different kinds of property.
"All right, listen up," Sergeant Gunter barked. "Vehicles to be left on base. Take one form per vehicle you're storing – this one if you have a car, this one if you have a truck. List the license tag, VIN number, and insurance. Move it!"
Gunter was an old, dark-skinned black man with a shaved head and massive shoulders. He'd been in since 1968, and had seen combat in Viet Nam – the only man in the room to have ever come under fire. McDaniel had been a bit intimidated to have this bull of a man placed under his command. What business did a newly-commissioned 2nd lieutenant have bossing a combat vet like Gunter? But then he realized – Gunter was there to keep McDaniel from making a fool of himself. He did a good job of it, too. And his decades of military experience were at McDaniel's disposal.
"Sergeant, when you get done passing out those forms, could I see you in my office?" he said.
"Yessir," Gunter said, handing out forms.
Inevitably, it was Private Futrell who made trouble. He was a good kid, but didn't have an ounce of common sense, and never could figure out that privates weren't supposed to talk back to sergeants. "Sergeant Gunter, you gave me the wrong form!" he complained.
"No I didn't," Gunter barked. "You've got a Ford Explorer. It goes on the car form."
"But Sergeant Gunter, my Explorer is a truck!"
Gunter fixed Futrell with a baleful stare. "Does it have a goddamned roof?"
"Uh, yes, Sergeant…"
"Does it have a goddamned bed?"
"Yes it does, Sergeant, but…"
"It's a goddamned station wagon. Fill out the form!"
"But Sergeant…" Futrell spotted McDaniel, and decided to appeal to a higher authority. "Lieutenant, the Sergeant wants me to put my truck on the car form!"
McDaniel frowned. "Private, I don't give a damn if he told you to fill out the form for a car, or a truck, or a goddamned tank! Sergeant Gunter has been filling out forms for this Army since before you were born, so if he tells you to fill out the car form, you FILL OUT THE DAMNED FORM! Am I getting through to you?"
Futrell, appropriately chastened, said "Loud and clear, sir!"
"Good!" McDaniel barked. "Sergeant, you're with me!"
"Yessir!" Gunter followed McDaniel into his office, and closed the door.
The two men looked at each other, and then simultaneously burst into laughter.
"Sergeant Gunter, my Explorer is a truck!" McDaniel said, in a fair imitation of Futrell's Appalachian mountain drawl.
"He's been filling out forms for this Army since before you were born," Gunter quoted back, pointing a finger at McDaniel. "Sir," he added.
McDaniel shook his head. "Sit down, Sergeant. I need help figuring out this damned weapons req." Then he added, "Sergeant, why the hell do we put up with Futrell?"
Gunter looked straight at McDaniel, and said, "I'll tell you why, sir. Because when the shit hits the fan, he'll do his job."
McDaniel looked thoughtful. "You really think so?"
"Sir, I've been in the shit before. Some guys you just know are going to break, and some you know won't break no matter what flies their way. Futrell – he may be a pain in the ass, but he'll do his job when it gets hot. I'm willing to put up with a certain amount of crap for a man like that."
McDaniel nodded. "Looks like I'll get the chance to see it for myself."
"Yessir," Gunter agreed. "You'll find out what I'm talking about soon enough. Some men, you just know they're up to the job." Then, in a vaguely fatherly tone, he added, "You're one of them."
McDaniel was quiet for a minute, and then said, "Thanks, Sergeant. I'll do my best."
Gunter actually smiled then. "You'll do damned good, sir."
September 23, 2004
The Island
They found something like a path going up the side of the ridge. It was more of a game trail than a path made for humans, but it was better than beating through the brush.
"So what do you think made this path?" Wendy asked him.
"Pigs," Brandon answered.
"Pigs?"
He nodded, and pointed at a patch of bare earth. "Look here," he said. "See that footprint? That's a pig track. The Polynesians took pigs with them when the colonized the Pacific islands."
Wendy shrugged. "I'll take your word for it," she said, as they started back up the hill. "Where did you learn how to track, anyway?"
"In the Army," he said. "Went to college on an ROTC scholarship, spent six years on active duty after that, and another five in the reserves."
"Did you ever do any – you know, fighting?"
Brandon smiled. "You mean combat? I was in Kuwait in '91, and Somalia in '92."
"But you're out now?" she asked.
He nodded. "Resigned my commission in August 2001. And I damn near asked to be reinstated the following month, but I'd just started a new job, and I knew if I went back I'd never get out again."
"So what do you do now?"
"I'm a customer support engineer for a company that makes hydraulic jacks and lifts."
"Um… OK," she said. "I can see you're lots of fun at parties."
"Oh, loads," he said, laughing. "So what do you do, hey?"
"I'm an international sales representative for a packaging manufacturer."
"Packaging?"
"Yeah, you know," she said, grinning. "Boxes."
"You work for a company that makes boxes."
She nodded. "And bubble wrap."
"So, you were in Sydney selling bubble wrap to Australians?"
"That's more or less it, yeah."
"Well, I can see you've got me all beat for glamour and excitement."
She laughed. "Hey, it's a booming business! We got bought out last year, and the new owner – well, nobody seems to know who he is or how he does it, but sales are up a hundred and fifty percent over last year. I've been flying all over the place – Japan, Taiwan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Hong Kong…"
Brandon grinned at her. "Peddling boxes in all kinds of exotic locales, hey?"
"Just shoot me if I ever have to go back to Jakarta, though. Oh my God, what an awful place!" Wendy grimaced, and added, "Traveling all the time really sucks, you know? I have all kinds of horror stories. But it's not like I have a social life at home or anything…"
"No boyfriend?"
"Divorced, no kids, no boyfriend, nothing," she said. "God, I sound bitter, don't I?"
"And to add to your horrible travel stories, now you have a genuine plane crash."
"On a genuine deserted island, no less," she added. "Where is that place you saw, anyway?"
Brandon stopped. "Up there," he said, pointing ahead.
Through the trees, they could make out a domed roof, with what looked like giant doors on one side.
"An observatory?" Wendy said doubtfully. "Well, let's go see if Carl Sagan is home."
"I doubt it," Brandon said. "He's dead, isn't he?"
