Michael's Point Of View ~

The voice of my drill sergeant almost deafens me. As myself and other soldiers of the same rank as me crawl through the dense mud - instantly attaching itself to my face, through my curls, my clothes. I never understood why our training was always so intense, but at the same time - I do understand.

For when we deploy, it's not a game. Lives are lost as mates of mine from back then that I still haven't forgotten about and never will. I gave them my word just before it was their last. My eyes showcase pure determination. My heart pumping faster and faster as the adrenaline rushes through me.

"Move it, go! . . "

With each proceeding, I know that every obstacle is set to trick us in some way, so I stay vigilant. I don't wish to fail. My boots splashing debris here, there and everywhere - this mud showing no mercy. My fingers quickly try to wipe it away, but to no prevail as it instead causes a smear upon my left cheek. But I don't stop, I keep going. I keep training because I understand why we do this - to survive. I run towards a man-made wall to take cover from what is, for now, only a drill. Because the reality this particular job brings, it is an entirely different kind of beast. I lean my back against the wall, allowing my head to fall back too in an attempt to catch my breath. I take this chance to gaze up at the overcast sky. I see as the clouds are threatening to release more rain at any given time. For many, the presence of rain would be a relief, but not in this type of world.

My drill sergeant's voice is heard from seemingly all angles. Barking out orders and demands. Claiming it all to be done for our own good, and the crazy thing is I do . . I do believe that.

"Jackson! Harrison! Move it! . . "

The sound of gun fire is heard - it's illusory, but should never be treated as such. Especially in the name of training, it's all real. I leave the wall as soon as this simulated threat is heard. Looking for yet more cover. Harrison sticking closely with me as each of us have each others backs carefully guarded. Our weapons not set to fire . . not this time. But we still must aim, as I know that out of this residence, the chance of a surprise attack when within the field isn't at all ridiculous. I feel Harrison's hand placed on my back, the brown-khaki of my uniform sits scrunched roughly in a ball within his palm. I point my gun to the left but Harrison points his to the right.

"Clear! . . " I yell out.

I wait a few seconds, waiting for the echo of Harrison. "Clear! . . " Harrison yells back. The clouds finally releasing rain, water dripping off every curl. My eyes dare to glance over the cover we have chosen but I see nothing.

It's silent, it's still.

But somewhere in the distance I see something . . I see someone. This person doesn't seem to be phased by the loud playback of fire, even by the wet of the rain. My eyes can't help but squint as I'm determined to see who this individual is. They aren't moving, standing still, and looking back at me. Everything around me has turned into a blur. No one else, nothing else matters right now - I just have the urge to get to this person as soon as possible. As I continue to stare, I realise . . I have an idea of who this is.

But wait.

Is it? . . could it be?

"Michael, what are you doing?! . . "

I snap my head over my shoulder to look at Harrison as I hear his voice. I look away from him to look back at this person . . but they are gone. Harrison's question takes a while, but eventually it sinks in. The face of my drill sergeant says it all - his scrunched facial features screams of his utter disappointment. The fact that I was so distracted and in his eyes, for what? The feeling of shame floods through me for if this wasn't controlled - I wouldn't be looking forward to a definite scolding from the old timer at some point before the days end.

I snap back into reality. And for the short time left of training that remains, I put my all into it. Making sure to stay focused and ready. I look around and raise my gun up, but I guess I'm a little too late as I hear the long sound of a bell being blasted all around. Immediately halted, I place my gun down and beside me as the rule still stands to cease all training of any kind when hearing this particular bell ring. It's basically the red light to stop physical discipline and the green light to resume everyday duties. A friendly tap on my shoulder from Harrison is the first thing I feel afterwards. His brown eyes meet mine and an exhausted smile is seen from us both.

"As usual, the army aren't messing around eh Jackson? . . "

An obvious question but one I know is asked in that exact way. I chuckle in response. "I know right. But as they always say, just teaching us every single day . . ". Harrison walks away nodding in agreement, realising a chuckle himself. I look back in the direction of that mystery person because for a split second, they might just reappear if I look hard enough. But again, it was all in my head. As I begin to walk away myself, I try my best to catch my breath again. I take with me a large number of mud as with each step I feel it stick to the bottom of my boots. But the walk is short - reaching the unisex facilities. The repetition of my sighs rings out as I take off my mud covered brown-khaki long sleeve shirt. I stand in front of a large yet scratched up mirror. It's this mirror that sports engravings from hundreds of us to remind us of loved ones that are at times miles away. And as for these engravings, they are normally made only a mere few minutes before a deployment is ordered out.

My eyes drift onto my dog tags as they sit unbothered on my naked chest. I take a gentle hold of it, before letting it sink within my fist. I close my eyes and just stand still. My thumb runs over it, wiping away any residue of splashed mud. I sit down on a bench that has been kindly provided. I lean forward, my elbows on my thighs and my head hangs down and yet another sigh of mine is repeated within these crisp troop facilities.

"Jackson . . "

I immediately turn around, standing up straight. My hand automatically saluting. "Yes sir . . ". My voice is stern. My drill sergeant walks casually over to me. His face showing no expression. A rare showcase of it being calm and completely unreadable. He stops right in front of me, looking at that particular dog tag I know, before he looks straight into my eyes.

"Don't get too much in your head, son . . "

to be continued.