​My First Story (short) – Thoughts on Duty.

Thoughts on duty.

The light from my phone is making it difficult to see out of the windows. Someone could easily go by without me seeing them. Not that it matters, no one would try and break in here anyway. The old equipment housed on an even older base is of no use to anyone, even the military regiments coming out here for training. When civilians think of the military I am sure they conjure up an images of precision and strict discipline. A well oiled machine. Not one unarmed man-child sat in a coupe, nodding in and out of sleep like a child well past his bedtime, positioned to protect mothballed equipment from the ’70s. Little do they know.

The independent hangars offer little respite from the howling wind. The car rocks without rhythm in the darkness. The winds been worse the last few nights, giving the sitting alone in the dark that extra hint of misery. I just like to moan. The jobs easy, effortless really. Those in charge know it too but put on the facade of thankfulness for our service, momentarily convincing us that this is the honourable patriotic work that I’m sure most victims of the “Recruiting Sergeant” were promised they would be conducting. Throwing out a “Conserve the fuel” in an effort to make the guard shifts less of an annoyance to them, hoping to reducing their admin to… zero. They have nothing else to do, why make life easier for those stuck doing the shite jobs. Stop-Com-Plaining! Misery loves company. Its contagious. And I am surrounded by misery. If misery could be personified it would be here; in the arse end of nowhere, pitch black featureless face, cold to the touch and surrounded by unrelenting wind. Strange personification.

I believe the human spirit is most visible in these conditions. Not life threatening conditions by any means but dull, boring, uncomfortable – but not too uncomfortable. You would see where peoples spirits take them when here. The mind can either dig into the negative emotions of the current situation, the physical. Or it can reach outwards, to disconnect from the body. My mind often drifts to happy times. It may begin with a scroll through the dying phones photo album to trigger nostalgic memories, then again sometimes my unsuspecting wandering mind can be ambushed. However I suppose an ambush from happy memories isn’t really an ambush, that’s the wrong word. A pleasant Segway maybe. Either way, I welcome the distraction from the lazy effortless grind. Looking back to memories, always of the same things. The first time I saw her, the first time we were introduced. Occasionally, inclement weather rudely awakens me back into the less than enjoyable present.

She waited for me after leaving the gym when she noticed I wasn’t far behind her. Asking me a question she already knew the answer to, we both knew. It only made me like it more. Like openly expressing interest in someone without having the risk of rejection. The following weeks were filled with me actively seeking her eye contact to offer a smile praying on one being returned and scraping by on the minimum work requirement to keep the chain of command from moving me away from her. They say that you always remember events more exaggerated than they felt at the time. Good memories turn to great, bad memories turn to nightmares. I don’t care if its true or not. These are great memories. If I could live in them I would. Seeing these moments at the end of my time would leave me a happy man, die loving and being loved, no matter how it turns out between us. 6000 miles is feels further than I thought when I told her we would try and make it work. 6000 miles leaves a lot of room for doubt and worry. “What are three traits you look for in a partner?” She asked me. Its not the first time I’ve been asked this question, but its the first time i knew my answer. I told her they all ran down the same vein. Honesty, loyalty and passion. She smiled gently and nodded slowly though the first two. Her eyebrow peaked and she smirked on the third. “I didn’t mean passion like that!” I scrambled trying to make her understand. I didn’t want her thinking that I was trying to make things sexual. My attraction to her was obvious, that didn’t need any explaining. “I mean, passion for doing things in life. Having a hobby or hobbies that you enjoy, have something to share, having your own life outside of the relationship. Passion, in general.”. I’ve always believed that a person should be comfortable by themselves before seeking companionship. Too often people jump at relationships as a way to give them something to do. Basing their lives around it, and when it breaks, so do they. I try to be honest as much as I can, not just in a relationship. Loyalty to a partner is a non-negotiable. This was always where the realist in me lurks. I believe she is loyal, but in the back of my mind creeping in the shadows much like the ones outside of the car, aside the hangars, is doubt. 6000 miles, how would I know. What if its too far for her and she’s just not told me yet. What if she’s not who I thought she was and it doesn’t mean the same things to her. Is this realism or pessimism?

An unfamiliar movement from the lights and shadows distracts my chain of spiralling overthinking. The cars probably just positioned differently and I’m seeing an angle of the base I’m not used to. That happens. Freed from the interruption of physical distractions, the mind returns to her. Her deployment is putting a strain on the relationship, for me at least. I never thought I’d be such a pussy when it came to a relationship. I never thought I’d be the one staring at the phone wishing for a message that never arrives. Her correspondence dwindled the deeper into the deployment. She’s just busy I tell myself. That suffices for while, until the doubt creeps back in. I flow in and out of these worries and the blissful memories of past moments of her. Driving down to her place in California. Staying with her, a few days like a real couple. I dont believe either of us wanted it to end, but her commitments were real, and I was only on leave. Her work always came first and I respected that, that was her passion. Is that irony? Something I wanted my partner to have is the reason we cant be together? Well its more ironic that rain on your wedding day.

Another interruption. Similar area to before. Fool me once, fool me twice, et cetera. Something wasn’t right. Maybe a fox got under the fence? Turning the phone screen off allowed my eyes to readjust to the night time. Someone is over there. Multiple people. I pick up my radio and thumb the rubber button to transmit. Lets ask Control if they can see what I’m seeing or has my imagination and all this dreaming and reminiscing got me imagining a more eventful shift. As I do so, the figures vanish. I release the button after a few seconds claiming the frequency. Maybe it was just a fox, maybe it was on its hind legs. Fuck am I going to do either way, I’m sure everyone would fear this mysterious four-door inhabited by a sleepy dreamer. Sleep. Maybe that’s not a bad idea, my eyes are heavy. I recline the chair, put my head back and close my eyes.

I awake with the wind whistling through the car, adding to the forceful shake. That shouldn’t be happening, did I crack a window in my sleep? I reach to help turn my body to look over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as cold steel is pressed against my head before I could hoist myself round. The pressure is circular. I did see something and now something has a barrel of a weapon to the top of head. The scene made my body rigid with shock, we both know what’s happening, one more so than the other. A gunshot from here, muffled inside a mostly sealed car would not alert anyone on the base. This is giving a new meaning to the term the graveyard shift. I feel myself blinking rapidly. Is this how I go? A sore back from sitting around on 12 hour shifts, thinking about times when I was actually happy, fearful of the future and lets face it, scared. God dammit this is low. A warning to Control could get them to notify the real defence force and mobilise someone armed with more than just slightly toned arms and dodgy shoulder. My hand slowly wraps around the radio. “Are you sure you want to do that?”. He speaks. Eastern European accent, that age old realist in me makes an obvious assessment. Russian. I can now see the figures moving with more daring and boldness, knowing the only guard to see them is dealt with one way or the other. My choices seem to be equally clear and unclear. I can hot-mic the radio to Control and likely get a round put through the top of skull. A quick death. Alerting Control to the incursion taking place. Or I can play it out, see how long they keep me alive. The longer it carries on the less time Control and the others will have a chance to stop whatever is happening.

Fuck it. I thumb the button, the radio sparks alive with a light hum of transmitting and light from the screen. “Wrong choice.”

My mind drifts to her. Happy times. Great memories.