Battle Buddies - Rangers

“So why do they call you Puta instead of Puto?”  Valentino asked, still snuggled under the covers to stay warm while Julio brushed his teeth in the mirror above the sink.

Julio smiled in the mirror back at the sexy, somewhat innocent blonde.  “Is better.  When you call a man by a woman name, is two insults, not jus one.”  He emphasized his point with his toothbrush.  “Beside, dey only call me dat because das what I call dem.  I don’t tink dey even know what it mean.”

“What does it mean?” Valentino asked, seriously.

“It mean ‘handsome’, very very handsome.”  Puta replied with a straight face.

Valentino nodded his head slowly in agreement.  “Yeah, that makes sense.  So you can call me Puta too.”  

Julio grinned.  “Ay!  No!  It means whore, like a prostitute.  Guapo is handsome, like you.  You are guapo, muy guapo.”

Valentino lay there with his mouth wide open in shock.  “You… Ugh!  I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Julio walked back to the bed grinning.  “Is what I like about you, guapo.  You are very sweet.”

“I’m not going to believe another word you say.”  Valentino pouted, turning his head away.

Julio climbed up on the bed on his hands and knees.  “You are very sexy when you are angry, tesoro mio.”

“Lies.”  Valentino replied.

Julio nuzzled Valentino’s neck with a growl.  “Jess, like dat.  Is making me want you more.”  He kissed and licked his way up his lover’s neck, stopping his tongue at his ear to nibble and lick softly and slowly.  In a soft voice he said “I think you are beautiful, sexy, sweet, a good man.”  Punctuating each word with another lick, or a kiss.

Valentino was moaning softly.  “It’s not true.”  He mumbled.

“Is all true.  You taste good, you smell good, you smile is like da sun when it rise above the ocean, you lips… mmm la fruta dulce…” Julio kissed his way over Valentino’s forehead with little pecks.  He placed a hand on Valentino’s cheek and gently turned his head to look at him.  He stared into Valentino’s eyes.  “I am falling in love with you, Valentino.”

The blonde closed his eyes and sighed.  “Julio…. Please don’t play with me, not about that, okay?”

Valentino was used to being disappointed.  Most guys, at lease the ones he developed crushes on, were never interested in any kind of involved long term relationship.  Sure, they loved having sex with him.  He knew he was attractive, but his opinion was he looked boyish and not quite grown up.  His ears stuck out just a bit too much.  Not as bad as that guy Dumbo in the Bravos, but more than what he considered normal.  He sighed.  It didn’t help that he couldn’t suppress his eagerness about everything.  He just wanted to jump in to get a task done, to learn the material, complete the training, pretty much everything.  Even things he was reluctant to do, he just started immediately because he wanted to get it over with.  So, he knew he came across as younger than he was.  He even still volunteered way too much, which was a good thing and a bad thing.  The other Charlies appreciated when he stepped up, keeping them from being assigned the duty.  But it was getting to the point where he thought they expected it.   

“I not play with you about this, my love.  At first, jess… we jus have fun.”  Julio said, still stroking Valentino’s face softly.  “But I see you are a very good person.”  Julio sighed.  “We not know where we go now, but maybe we don’t see each other again for a long time.  I want you to know, Valentino, that I like you more than for jus fun.  Is not bad to say how you feel.”

* * * * *

Why did it have to be twenty two degrees out?  At least the morning was sunny and the day would warm up above just above freezing in the afternoon.  In the fucking dirt again, god DAMMIT.

“This FUCKING SUCKS!” Demon shouted, expressing exactly what every single one of them was thinking.

“Just think of that pussy you got this weekend, Demon.  Happy thoughts.”  Dumbo countered.  

“Yeah, well I’d rather be licking pussy than tasting this dirt.  That was some good shit.  Perfect tits too.”  Demon responded with a little more calm.  

“Any ideas, Bootlicker?”  Assmunch called out.  The Bravos were currently immobilized, tied securely hand and foot and on their sides stripped down to underwear and tee shirts, scattered across the small clearing.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have Wanker pull my dick out so I can take a piss on his ropes.  Maybe that will loosen them enough he can get free.”  Bootlicker answered.

“Seriously, Bootlicker?”  Wanker said angrily.

“Hey, it’ll be nice and warm.”  Bootlicker said with laughter in his voice.

Half the Bravos laughed.

“Fuck you, Bootlicker.”  Wanker responded.  “And fuck the rest of you too, assholes.”

“Do it, Bootlicker.”  Assmunch said.  They had to get free, find their packs and gear where ever those guys had stashed them, and get warm.  The clock was counting down.  It was too cold to delay.

“Pee on someone else.  Why does it have to be me?”  Wanker whined.  “Pee on Weeble, he’s smaller, he can probably get out the ropes easier.  He’s got little lady hands.”

“You’re closer.  I don’t want to crawl all the way over to Weeble.”  Bootlicker said, already scooting his way towards Wanker.

“Fuck my life.  I hate every single one of you.”  Wanker said in defeat.  “You’re cut off, no more special privileges.”  He threatened.

“Aw, c’mon Wanker, don’t be like that.  Some of us count on that.”  Troll said.  “We’re not the ones pissing on you.  Hey, maybe you’ll like it, you never know.  It’s a fetish some people have.”

“Jess, Puta.  Da Golden Showers.  Lotta people like it, you maybe like it too.”  Puta chimed in.

“Just stop fucking talking about it!”  Wanker shouted, making everyone laugh with the unhinged furious tone in his words.  “I get to pee on you then, Bootlicker.  Fair is fair.”

Bootlicker laughed.  “If we get tied up again, I’ll let you pee on me Wanker.  Now reach in for my dick.  It’s right there, feel?”

“Yeah, I can feel your dick, you can stop humping into me asshole.  This better work.  Hold on…. There, it’s out.”  

“Here goes…” Bootlicker warned before letting loose.

Wanker felt the hot stream pour over his hands, then it strengthened into a forceful flow.  “Shit, it’s hot!  Fuck Bootlicker, why is your piss that temperature?”

“Temperature differential, idiot”. Bootlicker answered, grunting.  “It feels warmer because you’re freezing.  Shut up, I’m focusing.”

“I’m free.”  Weeble called out from further away.

“Hell yeah Weeble, untie me!” Alaska responded immediately.  

“You can stop, Bootlicker!”  Wanker exploded, trying to move away.

Bootlicker laughed.  “Sorry, can’t stop mid-stream, I have to finish.”

Assmunch noticed the cloud of steam rising from between Bootlicker and Wanker as the hot urine splashed into the cold air.  Well, Bootlicker was a dick, but Wanker should already know that.  He couldn’t imagine how soaked Wanker was getting, Bootlicker was probably spraying all over Wankers back.  At least he was getting a little warmth from it.  And honestly, Assmunch thought it might be a fun thing to try with Kevin one day.  Maybe.  But in the shower, definitely not anywhere else.  Wanker succeeded in rolling to his knees away from Bootlicker.

Weeble of course freed Zeus and Sleeper first, then Sleeper untied Assmunch, and Assmunch went directly to Bootlicker and Wanker.  Fun and games were fine, but no need to prolong Wanker’s torture.

“It’s just piss, Wanker, settle down.  It’s not going to hurt you.”  He said as he undid the wet nylon paracord around Wanker’s wrists.  “Doesn’t look like it was going to work anyway.  I guess paracord doesn’t stretch when it gets wet like regular rope.”

He looked over at Bootlicker, who was grinning.  He already knew that, as Bootlicker would, of course.  These two and their pranks.  They’d sort it out between them.  Wanker might be mad for a little bit, but he’d get over it.  No one else wanted to play their kind of games, so they were stuck with each other.

Holler and Alaska were already discussing figuring out where the men who’d done this to them took their packs and gear.  Cellblock joined them, gesturing to the ground, then off to the west and the three of them split up slightly to head off in that general directly taking different routes.  It wouldn’t be far, that much Assmunch knew.  Probably 50 yards off in the woods, or less.  The goal wasn’t to deprive them of their gear, but to make them search for it.  Assmunch went over everything he remembered from the time when Major Collins turned them over to a group of fifteen rough looking men.  

They were transported several hours from Ft. Benning.  Every time one of the Bravos tried to talk, they were shouted at to shut the fuck up, and these guys weren’t relaxed, they were serious, hard and unforgiving.  They weren’t wearing uniforms of any kind, just basic khaki and desert colored tactical clothing.  Every single one of them had facial hair of some kind, some full beards, mustaches, goatees.  Definitely not active military unless they were SOF (Special Operations Forces).  Those guys could do what they wanted and didn’t have to maintain grooming standards.  

When they reached their destination they were told to pack out for patrol, only given scant seconds to get themselves loaded up before ten of what Assmunch guessed were former soldiers began running off into the woods beside the compound they were in.  There was no command, no order, but he knew the expectation was to follow.  He began running immediately.

The ten men were unencumbered by packs and gear and they set a brutal pace staying far enough ahead that it was extremely difficult to keep sight of them.  The Bravos hadn’t run like this in weeks.  They were also running on empty stomachs as they had been given no time to eat before they left the base well before sunrise.  At least he’d told all of them to fill their canteens, even though the Bravos hadn’t needed the reminder.  Any time you were told to gear up you didn’t dare neglect a single preparation.  Sarge had taught them that with enough pain and suffering that it was now something they just did, every time.  

The message so far had been clear: the mission had begun and while they might not know the objective they were to operate as if they were in a combat zone which meant no questions, peak awareness, and act with deliberate attention.  They would be told what was expected when it was time for them to know.  Until then, pay attention.  Assmunch memorized landmarks as he went, and he knew the Bravos were doing the same.  An outcropping here, a hill there, this weird tree, following a ravine carved by washout during successive rains, a grouping of bushes that had vibrantly green leaves in the middle of winter.  They were going overland in terrain, not taking a formerly beaten path, which made their exertion harder.  Up, down, rarely level.  At this pace, your knees, back, and ankles were likely to give out so extra care and attention were necessary to avoid injury.

Two hours and extreme exhaustion later they were encircled in this very clearing and told to strip, which they did and then they were roughly restrained with knotted paracord as they were standing, their hands behind their backs.  The final indignity was being shoved sideways to topple to the ground.  The inexperienced might have been injured, but after Airborne they all automatically collapsed into a PLF that saved them from injury.  They all just lay there grateful to have the rest this afforded after the insane ruck pace they’d just endured.

Assmunch hid his surprise and how impressed he was when the ten men easily grabbed two or more of their packs and left the clearing.  But that was useful information because he knew they were unlikely to take them very far before discarding them.  Which also told Assmunch they were expected to retrieve them.  Which meant they were expected to free themselves by any means necessary.

See?  There was information in every situation.  He assumed when they found their gear they’d have a clue to the next objective.  And if his gut feeling was right, it would be something they would have a very difficult time reaching before dark.  If they didn’t achieve it, they would suffer for it, he knew.  There was the slight possibility that a reward waited if they could succeed, perhaps the warmth of a campfire, a warm meal.  So far, this was Infantry training basics: out for patrol, some form of ambush, a dirty trick to hamstring the platoon or squad, being pushed to force them to extend their limits… there’d be some sign of what they had to do next.

The Bravos knew better than to call out when they found their gear, and instead Cellblock returned at a run.

“Found it.  We better hurry, there’s going to be a delay.”  He said cryptically.  

Assmunch frowned when he saw what they were dealing with.  All of their gear, every piece of equipment and clothing was strewn about, having been yanked out of their rucks before being thrown haphazardly over an area roughly thirty yards square.  An area that didn’t have good drainage.  Mud and ankle deep water everywhere.  Up in the branches of several trees, more gear.

“Let’s get to it, locate everyone’s blouses first, dry is top priority.  No sense putting on trousers or boots yet.  Chunk, Sleeper, Dumbo, Wanker, Holler, Weeble and Troll, you stay here and sort everyone’s stuff.  The rest of you, let’s go swimming.”  Every piece of clothing, every piece of gear and equipment would have someone’s name written on it in permanent marker.

More information came from this scene of chaos and destruction: these guys weren’t going to make it easy on them.  In fact, they were going to be worse than tough, they would descend to the worst levels of punishment and torture.  Was it a test?  Preparation?  Did it matter?

“Fuck, they destroyed the MRE’s we had.” Dimples called out, holding up an open kit that had several tears in it most likely made by a field knife.  Yeah, this was definitely intended to be a level below hell.

“Anyone seeing any sleeping bags?  I haven’t come across one yet.”  Fuck… if they had to shelter somewhere it was going to be almost impossible in this freezing weather.

“Then let’s hurry up, the longer this takes, the sooner darkness comes.  We need to be on our way.”  Assmunch announced, pulling up a pair of underwear that said ‘Chambers’.  Weeble’s.  Fuck they were small.  He chucked them over to the group waiting on dry land. “Cellblock, there has to be some sort of clue about what we do next.  Find it.”  

“I’m on it, Assmunch.” Holler called out in his thick twang.  “Nuthin thisaway, Cellblock.  Might could be yonder.”  Did people really talk like that these days?  Assmunch supposed so, after all there was a real live hillbilly right over there freezing in his underwear talking in a whole other language of made up words and gibberish.  Holler was an incredibly likable guy, fairly innocent and eager.  It would be easy to base an assessment of his intelligence on his speech, but Holler wasn’t stupid.  He wasn’t as smart as Cellblock or Bootlicker, but he learned his stuff as well as everyone else, maybe with a little help on the reading part.  Assmunch suspected Holler had a reading disability.  He had more than a little trouble struggling his way through some of the manuals they were given.  But that didn’t mean he was stupid, far from it.  Once something was explained to him, he connected the dots just fine.  And he was clever.  He taught everyone who didn’t already know how to place every element of their weapon in a specific order and place when field stripping so that it could be reassembled in the quickest time.  Even if you were right handed, it was faster to put some parts with your left hand because re-orienting your weapon ate up valuable half-seconds.  All of them practiced Holler’s method now and were within a second of each other in their races.

Dimples, on the other hand, was a master at loading a magazine.  Click, click, click, click, click…his hands moved so fast you couldn’t see him palm the next round before he pushed it down and in.

Fortunately, their captors hadn’t been total dicks, and made sure the important gear and clothing stayed dry, but there was enough wet stuff that Assmunch wondered if it might be useful to light a few fires to dry the stuff out.  But that would take time, and Assmunch had his intuition gnawing at him that time was something they didn’t have much of.

It wasn’t long before they each had every piece of their gear and kit and they busied themselves with re-packing their rucks.  

“Figure it out, men, we have to move.”  He called out, making the decision he knew he was going to make from the very start.  Still, you can’t ignore the options and actually have to consider their usefulness.  Doing that becomes a habit over time, and you might miss a critical element at a crucial time during a mission, so never skip the options part.  No fire.  Had they been left with food, it might have been useful to fuel up before patrol.  

“Nuthin, Assmunch”. Holler called out before running to his pile.

“Not a thing, Assmunch”. Cellblock echoed from his search area.

“Well fuck.  Holler, pick your team.  Guess we have to do this the hard way.”  Assmunch grumbled.

“Alray know.”  Holler called back.

“He knows which direction they went, or already figured it was going to be the hard way.”  Cellblock repeated.  

Early on, the Bravos set up a system where anyone who understood what Holler said just repeated it in plain English.  Most of the time, it wasn’t that hard, and Holler was making an effort to say things clearer, but every now and then he rolled marbles around in his mouth while he spoke.  

Holler smiled.  “Yup, Yup.”

“Both.”  Cellblock said.

“Good, I’ve got a bad feeling this is going to really suck, and we won’t eat until we reach our objective.”  Assmunch said, causing a low murmur.

“They say that in the Army, the biscuits are so fine,

One rolled off the table, and killed a friend of mine.”  Shark called out.

The Bravos answered in cadence…

“OH I DON’T WANT NO MORE OF ARMY LIFE,

GEE MA, I WANNA GO HOME!”

And from there, everyone called out their favorite verse.  Pancakes, coffee, meat, Soon, they were following Holler through the woods and brush as he tracked their captors.  It didn’t go fast because even when Holler darted up ahead, it could be a false trail.  The group stayed at a deliberate, slow pace while the scout and his team investigated the signs of previous passage.  Tracking Patrol was in the hands of the scout.  The platoon only had to stay aware for signs of ambush.  Holler’s team was reliable, consisting of Footlong, Shark, Silent and AF who had proven themselves time and time again to be the best at discerning the most minute indications.  

Tracking was a talent, not something that could be learned entirely from a book.  Holler explained it was a a feeling you got, mostly intuition, and your brain put different signs together.  Only in the best circumstances did you have a boot print in the mud.  More often it was how the vegetation was positioned, it was thinking like what you were tracking ‘I’d stay on hard ground, so that way isn’t an option’, or ‘brambles too thick up there, I’d want to keep moving quickly, so it has to be that way.’

Game trails were great, and useful if speed was the need, which was usually the case for anything that was running away from something.  If deception and ambush, or getting lost was the goal, hiding places, high ground, cover…those were likely to indicate direction of travel.  Were your targets experienced or a novice?  Choices would be made, different for each.  Hundreds of small inputs that Holler said he didn’t have to think about anymore.  He had a reliability scale in his head that just made him know he could count on a sign or indication.

He came running back.  “Eh split up”. He said.

“Of course they did.  What do you think they’re doing?”  Assmunch asked, he didn’t even question Holler’s conclusions anymore.  

Holler shrugged.  “Might could be they wanna come round n hit us from aside.”

“Ten of them?  Hmmmm.  Seems unlikely, but I’ll have Demon pick perimeter scouts.”  Assmunch replied.  He received a single nod from Holler.  Best to cover as many possibilities as you could.  “It’s up to you, Holler.  What’s our move?”

“Eh know we followin’, eh want us ta, athink”.  Holler grinned.  “Athink we oughta not.”

Assmunch chuckled.  “You want to throw a wrench in their big plan?”

“Yup.”

“You got an idea of where we need to be?”  

“Sumkinadea”

So Holler had come to a decision about what they needed to do.  It wasn’t a 100% certainty, but he was confident it was the right thing to do in this situation.  With an unknown enemy who definitely had a plan, most of the time you wanted to be unpredictable, choose the craziest safe option, something they might not have planned for.  You force them to adjust and they might just make a mistake.

“Cellblock, MiniHulk, Sleeper, Shark…”. Assmunch called out to his squad leaders, who came running over.

“First, anyone know where we are?  My guess is somewhere in Northern Alabama.”  Assmunch asked.

“Yeah, they brought us mostly north.  If we’re over the Georgia/Alabama border, it’s not by much.”  Cellblock answered.

“Holler wants to change the game.  Agree?  Disagree?  Options?  Counters?”  Assmunch asked.

“Is our objective to find these guys, or fortify a position and wait?” Shark asked.

“Holler thinks we’re meant to follow them but they aren’t making it easy.  If we’re being led to an encampment they aren’t going straight there, which means they’re burning time.  You have anything more, Holler?”  Assmunch explained.

“Yup, been goin nor’east, roundabouts, cept not drectly.  Figger what we need gonna end up thar anyways.”  Holler heaved his shoulders.  “Howbout fuckitdoit?  Caint be far.”

Assmunch gazed at his squad leaders.  The best thing about them was they all thought differently.  Cellblock liked safe options.  Sleeper was aggressive, preferring confronting a challenge directly, testing their limits, busting in through the front door with shock and awe.  Shark was sneaky and brutal, if he could add a little damage to an objective he would.  Shark never wanted to use a door, he wanted to blow a hole in the side of the building and go in that way.  “Last thing they’re ready for.”  He’d say.  Shark and Demon got along great.  MiniHulk was usually by the book, deliberate and precise, never in a hurry, chipping away at an objective and eroding resistance.  And even better, they each defended their position with well thought out support.  

The four squad leaders were looking at each other, and Assmunch knew they were mulling over what they would do and comparing it with Holler’s choice.  Sleeper was the first to respond.

“Fuckitdoit.” He said.

Cellblock crossed his arms and scowled.

“Fuckitdoit” Shark agreed, shooting a challenge at Cellblock.

MiniHulk looked at Cellblock.  “What’s the advantage of doing it this way?  Get there sooner?  We don’t even know what ‘there’ is.”

Sleeper crossed his arms to mirror Cellblock.  “Give us time to recon, maybe catch them unprepared.”

“You really think these guys are unprepared?  Really?  These guys?”  MiniHulk asked.

Cellblock waved a hand indicating the woods.  “You know we’re probably being watched, right?  They probably haven’t let us out of their sight the whole time.  Whatever this op is, we’re the mice in the maze.”

“All I know is, if we don’t follow their script we don’t step into their traps.”  Shark replied.  “Who knows what they have waiting for us?”

“And how long do you think they’ll run us around in circles wearing us out?  We can’t do this all day, none of us have eaten.”  Sleeper shot back.  “We can’t play by their rules.  Every action they’ve made so far was to slow us down, delay us.  They’re either buying time, or they don’t want us to find the encampment until they’ve decided we should.”

“You’re assuming there’s an encampment.”  Cellblock argued.

“there’s SOME kind of base of operations.  We just have to find it.”  Shark said.

“You sure it’s that way, Holler?”  Cellblock asked, gesturing to the northeast.

“Yup, gotta be.”  Holler replied.

“Here’s what I think.  I think we’re being evaluated.”  Cellblock began.  “They are testing our skills.  I don’t know what this whole thing is, but we know these guys are military, or ex military but they aren’t wearing uniforms.”

This is the part of Cellblock Assmunch loved, why he was a valued squad leader.  He dissected things, and then laid them out for everyone to see clearly.  He had a perspective that weighed and evaluated the composition of a problem, narrowed down the possible solutions.

“What if this is a Q course?  We fail if we don’t go through each section.”

“Then we immediately re-run it.”  Sleeper answered quickly.

“And they didn’t bring us through a gate, there’s no signs about a military installation, government property, we weren’t dropped off in a compound or depot.”  Shark threw in.  “Some secret Q-course?  That’s not how it works.”

MiniHulk put his hands on his hips.  “What if this is a Special Forces course?  It wouldn’t have all that Shark.  There wouldn’t be some big sign “HEY, SOF SKILLS COURSE, RIGHT HERE!!!”

Assmunch thought that was a good point.  There were plenty of installations that weren’t broadcast as a military facility, just a basic chain link fence with no signage except ‘no trespassing’.

But, even places like that had SOME kind of building or facility, even if it was a bunker in an otherwise nondescript hill.  

“I’m tempted to agree with Holler.  I don’t like playing follow the leader.  I don’t like playing by their rules when we don’t know who THEY are, or what they intend, or where they are leading us, what they’re going to do to us.”  Assmunch began.  “They didn’t instruct us, just set us loose.  They WANT us to figure it out for ourselves.  I think the reason they are just wandering out here, why they split up now, is they are waiting for us to make a decision.”  he looked at Cellblock.  “If this is an evaluation, it’s an awful lot of trouble just to see how we track an enemy and patrol over terrain.  I’m assuming they already know we can do that.  Now they want to see what we can really do.  They want us to choose.”

* * * * *

Hidden in a tree some distance from the platoon was a man dressed in wilderness camouflage, and he was studying the Bravos while remaining immovable inside the evergreen branches of the large pine.  No leaves of the deciduous trees blocked his view.  The leaves had long since fallen to the ground.  

“Him.  I want HIM.”  The man holding binoculars called down in low tones.  It was clear who he meant, the guy who seemed to be in charge of the platoon, the one everyone paid attention to.  

“Copy.”  The man standing by the trunk answered before running off.