Hello friends,
A new chapter, a new day. This one is intermediate, as we slowly get Luz from one place to another place. I wanted to give more insight into who these different Manny and Luz are. I think this one gives some insight into them pretty well. Most of this one was written with the help of whisky. Only a couple glasses, and with the help of the first four episodes of Generation Kill on in the background. Damn good show.
I hope you all enjoy.
He awoke on his back.
Big sky, was the first thought he had staring up at the unconquered blue of the sky.
The next thing he noticed was the acrid taste of salt and iron in his mouth. Blood and sweat.
The pain came next. Throbbing pain all over, like someone had given him the beating of his life. Someone came into his field of vision, blocking out the sun. He felt a hand push down on his chest, and then he thought they were talking to him. He tried to focus his hearing, God what was that awful ringing?
"…ok, sir?" the strange figure said.
He tried to talk but it was like his throat was coated in sand. He swallowed, tasting the blood and grit, and tried again, "Wh-what?"
"Lieutenant! Are you ok?" The figure said again. Now that his eyes were adjusting he could see the figure better. It was Doc Martin. Technically Petty Officer Second Class Martin, but every corpsman was just "Doc" to a jarhead.
"Yeah, yeah I'm ok." Where was he? What had happened?
"Ok, good," Doc said, "LT I'm going to lift you up now, we gotta go." Doc gripped Noceda's hand and hauled. God it hurt, but Noceda pushed past it and sat up. Then it was a matter of getting to his feet. It felt like his legs were made from jelly. Noceda looked around, there was smoke everywhere. He saw the burned out husk of a Humvee, and a large APC turned onto its side.
He followed Doc to behind the APC where they crouched. There were four others with him there. He forced his head to clear as best he could. "What the hell happened," he asked a sergeant next to him.
"IED sir. Hit the APC first, turned it over. Then where we stopped we got hit with an RPG from the side of the road. No fire since then. We've been pinned down here since. Doc saw you out there and grabbed you. You must've been thrown when the Humvee went up."
So that's how he had gotten out there.
"No fire since the rocket?" Noceda asked. He had lost his firearm somewhere, but he still had his sidearm holstered on his hip.
"No sir, nothing."
Noceda nodded and quickly reviewed the SOP in his mind. They needed to set up a defensive perimeter, establish control on the area until reinforcements and medical could arrive. "Ok, sergeant, take what men you can, set up a perimeter around the APC, I want total visibility around it, we need to defend until I can get on the horn and call in for pickup." He looked at the men around him. "Where's the radio?"
"Sir the one is trashed, one is glassed and the other is in the rear position." Noceda looked to the rearguard Humvee.
"Ok, sergeant take command, set up that perimeter," he looked to a younger man next to the sergeant, "Corporal, cover me and follow, we are going for the radio. Ready?"
The men looked fearful, but he could see them steeling themselves for action. "Ready? Mark." And then they were all off. The men spread out to encircle the APC, evenly spaced so that the line of sights overlapped and no one was left in the blind.
Noceda, meanwhile sprinted for the Humvee that was about twenty meters behind them. He could hear the blood pumping in his ears. He hit the door hard and yanked it open before reaching in and pulling the receiver clear and crouching again.
He looked to see the young corporal about five steps from the Humvee, when his throat tore out and pink mist glistened around him. He dropped his rifle and clutched at the gory ruin of his neck. Noceda's eyes went wide and there was a sharp crack. Then more pings off the Humvee. The young man fell to his knees and then face down into the sandy black top of the road. Noceda heard a distinct crack as the corporals head bounced off the pavement.
He turned to reach for the dangling radio receiver.
Manuel Noceda awoke with a start in his recliner. He felt disoriented at first, then looked around. He had a blanket over him. He was still in his fatigues, he felt for his phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and checked the time, it was well passed midnight. How long had he been here? He didn't even remember falling asleep. He got up, feeling his knees pop as he did.
He made his way down the hallway of the small home, until he came to Luz's room. It had a poster on the exterior. Some recruitment poster for the Marine Corps with a female Marine on it in dress blues. "If you want to Fight, Join the Marines," it said. He sighed again. Luz's motivation and dedication usually impressed him. It made him proud. But after today he was wondering if he was steering her into an unhealthy direction. She had latched onto him after Camilla had passed, and he wondered if all this was an effort to copy him. To become some miniature version of him. He looked and saw light coming from under the door, it was well past her bedtime, but he supposed she didn't have school tomorrow. He cracked the door open and peeked in.
Luz wore a red tshirt, with the circular emblem of the Young Marines on it, tucked into olive green basketball shorts. She had heaphones in, he could hear the beat of the music from where he was standing. She was facing away from him. "Forty-two," she whispered. Then she crouched, kicked her legs out and assumed the plank position, then did a push-up. She hopped her legs back in to a crouch, and stood up sharply, "Forty-three." Luz was pouring sweat. She had been at this for a while.
Luz was a big believer in physical training. She loathed weightlifting, but she adored doing calisthenics. Every day Luz would run, usually a minimum of a mile and a half, but sometimes longer. Recently she had stopped tracking running for distance and instead running for time. She would run, and run, and run until she couldn't anymore. She do pushups until her arms collapsed. She'd do sit-ups until it felt like her stomach would rip open.
He had always been amazed by her ability to push past pain and discomfort, that kind of dedication had won her awards and accolades from the Young Marines organization. But now, thinking of how late it was, or how she was pushing herself to the point of punishment, he was saddened by it.
He opened his mouth to call out to her but shut it. He backed up and slowly shut the door, quietly. He would leave her to it for tonight. He walked to his office, a small and confined thing, with a bookshelf and computer and a few photographs. He sat down and turned on the computer. He opened the browser, knowing what he had to do. He input the search terms he wanted, and scrolled, looking from one site to another. An hour later and he had found one that he liked. Later this morning, after he caught a few hours of sleep, he would call them, see if he could set up an interview with the dean.
Wittebane School for Girls, in Gravesfield, Connecticut.
He needed to get her out of here. He needed to get her away from the Corps.
He needed to get her away from him.
And we are on our way, dear friends.
