The Bunker Ch 13

Welcome back folks! Kevin Ansen is training his men for 'just in case' while they are standing guard at the Bunker perimeter while their families get inside. If you haven't read the preceding twelve chapters, I would recommend you do so.

As always, all characters engaged in sexual activity in the story are over the age of 18.

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The Bunker, Ch 13 -- Training Days 1 & 2

Melanie was up early, making breakfast as I came out dressed for a rich full day of whipping civilians into a functioning unit. Levon was up with her, helping out. M jumped when she noticed me enter.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't know you were up already. I was just starting on breakfast. How soon do you need to leave?"

I took her in my arms and kissed her forehead. "M, take it easy. I'm leaving early every day this week. Besides, I'm leaving for PT first off. If I eat first, I'll wind up blowing chunks all over the road. Somewhat embarrassing under normal circumstances. Worse since I'm the one in charge." That's when I heard Levon's stomach rumble.

"Would you like something to eat, Levon? Maybe just a little to tide you over until the family breakfast?" The serious young face nodded, so I added water to the kettle and placed it on the burner. I pulled out a bowl, then searched for the variety pack of oatmeal.

"You have a favorite flavor, Levon?"

"Blueberryplease," came the soft and rushed reply.

"You got it," I said with a smile. Waiting for the water to boil, I poured Levon and myself glasses of orange juice.

M went about her meal prep while Levon ate. I drank my juice slowly enjoying this quiet time with two members of my family that did a phenomenal job of staying in the shadows. Levon looked up from his bowl only a few times. I tried to meet his look with a kind smile each chance I got. I gave my glass a quick rinse before setting it in the sink, kissed Mel at the base of the neck as she worked and got my ass out the door.

I was positively impressed that every man showed up to formation with five minutes to spare. Granted, that was five minutes late according to the standard I'd learned when I was in the Army, but most of these guys had never worn the uniform, so I'm counting this as progress. And encouraging the ten-minute rule for the rest of the week. Frankly, I should have said something the night before, but nobody's perfect. Except the platoon sergeant. He's always right, or better be. Fuck, that's me now. Sort of. Get on with this shit.

I extended the formation and ran the men through some basic stretches and warmups before getting to the calisthenics. Those went fairly smoothly, every man kept up well. After twenty minutes of that, I formed them up for a run.

Stepping off on the march, I called out "DOUBLE TIIIIIME,"

Some wag in the formation called back "ANY OTHER TIME!"

Chuckling from myself and a few others in the know didn't stall my follow up command of "MARCH." We took off at a moderate pace. There was no point in losing anybody on the formation run, and this was only the first day. More telling now would be an average pace and see who was winded, who was gasping, and who looked like they'd just gone for a stroll.

Maybe everyone assigned to Lightening was already in good condition. Maybe the ones that weren't had started a decent exercise regimen -- probably when they first heard about the Cullings. Either way, the section kept a decent pace, and no one looked ready to drop. There was some heavy breathing, for sure, but every man kept in formation. I brought us to a halt back near the 'starship' barracks we'd originated near. The base had granted us the third floor of one wing to shower and change after PT. Thunder got the second floor. The ground floor was open air, covered by the suspended floors above. When I released them to shower, each man ran to his vehicle for a gym bag and headed upstairs. The bay had sixteen shower stalls, so the first sixteen got a head start on the rest.

In some things -- like chow for instance -- the leader should be the last to go, while he should be first to head into danger. I was a bit torn on where that landed with regards to showering, but I had more to do between now and the next formation than just getting dressed, so I hauled ass and got one of the last stalls in the first cohort. I made sure to be the first one out though. No time to dawdle. I'll accept whatever criticism other leaders may have of that decision, but I won't feel guilty about it.

After getting a quiet place to make calls, I first dialed the range safety officer to confirm our space and time there. Thunder would be there with us, so I relayed the information to Kolson when I hung up. He'd already checked up to make sure sufficient ammo was on hand at the range, including the possibility of some folks needing extra rounds for zeroing, or second times through the qualifying course. And maybe even a few needing a third time. Basic Rifle Marksmanship was fundamental, so we'd be here until everybody was up to speed.

"Whaddaya think Ansen?"

I turned to find SFC Kolson with his face one-quarter turned towards me, his body squared with the firing line as the permanent duty range safety officer began the firing range procedures "Is there anyone down range? Is there anyone down range? Make yourself known by sight or sound."

The lane NCO's made their last checks before responding to the 'Ready Left' and 'Ready Right' calls from the RSO.

"I think we're gonna have a day, Kolson. A good one. Better for one of us than the other," I said cagily.

"A day of training is better than a day behind the desk."

The RSO called the range hot and ten men fired, not quite simultaneously. Less than ten seconds later, a second volley sounded, just as ragged. They didn't need to fire in unison, so that wasn't a problem. Precision was. The gunpowder smell drifted to our position.

"Ah, I love the smell of cordite in the morning. Smells like... victory."

"Thanks, Kilgore. I'd just as soon not have any references to

that

fiasco." I left alone the fact that bullets don't use cordite. Artillery shells did. I had hoped to slip off and get some observer training in on the artillery range but that wasn't happening. Maybe an hour in the GuardFist was possible. Still waiting to hear back on that.

After every man fired their third shot, The RSO called "Cease Fire, cease fire, clear and lock all weapons." He called the range cold so the shooters and lane NCO's could move forward to examine the zero targets. Nine out of the ten had groupings tight enough to adjust and the lane NCO's gave the accompanying instructions. The tenth guy's three shots were too widespread to make an adjustment. The lane NCO gave him some tips to steady himself and make his aim more consistent. Both were examining the target, their backs to use, so neither Kolson nor I knew who it was until they turned.

Tadiola. One of my men. Kolson smirked. We had a bet riding on which section finished BRM quals first. "Johnny Walker Black, don't forget."

"Day ain't over yet," I said in my best Jack Palance imitation.

Kolson just chuckled. "You gonna do anything about him?" he said as the shooters took up their positions and the range cadre prepping for another round of firing.

"Not yet. Lane NCO already gave him remarks. If his second group is still wide, I'll step in." I pulled a small spotting scope out of my thigh pocket and moved closer to Tadiola's position so I could watch his rounds strike. This was still just calibration time, so I wasn't concerned when his first round was high and to the right. The important part right now was consistency -- getting three rounds inside the space of a quarter. Once that's accomplished, there's settings on the rifle that can adjust the sights so the round goes through the center of the target. If you don't shoot consistently though, there's no point in adjusting the sights.

Unfortunately, his second shot was distinctly more than a quarter's diameter from the first round. The third round was fairly close to the second. A moment after the RSO called the range cold, I had an idea what was going wrong and started formulating the words that might get Tadiola on target -- literally.

Seven men walked off the zero range after this round. Their second three round group was still a quarter size, and the adjustments to their sights had them punching holes in the target silhouette. They were ready for the qual range. Four of those were my men, three were Kolson's. Two of his guys hadn't quite gotten on target with their adjustments and got one more tweak to their sights.

When Tadiola came back to his firing position, I was waiting.

"I watched as you fired this grouping. It was your first round that was a little wild. Were you anxious?"

The young (to me) man nodded sheepishly.

"It's all right. Nobody's born with a gun in their hand, no matter Christopher Cross says."

Tadiola chuckled.

"It's not a race, and it's not a competition. Find a calm center in yourself. Breathe slow and careful, then squeeze the trigger. Use the same calm you've been finding for the last two rounds on the first round. You've shown you can do it; you just need to do it for all three rounds."

He looked pensive for a moment, then nodded. "Ok, I think I got it sergeant. Thanks."

I nodded and walked away from the firing line. While we'd been talking, new men had taken up positions to get their rifle zeroed before the pop-up range. The RSO started up his sequence of announcements leading up to firing.

This time Tadiola waited 'til most men were on their second round before he fired. In a steady rhythm, he put all three rounds in a nice tight ring. When the lane NCO checked, they fit along the circumference of a nickel. Perfect. Tad looked relieved as he walked back to his firing position. He made the adjustments to his sights and got three rounds in the silhouette in the next firing order. As he walked back to gather his gear, you could see his smile from space. Next stop, qualification range.

He made it through the first time at the qual range with a respectable 29/40. The surprise was The Great White Hunter, Karl Hoskins, who zeroed in quickly, but took three cycles to get through the qual range. The distant targets were not his friends. One of the veterans, Ricardo De La Fe, offered to stand behind him and shoot some of his targets. I dissuaded him from that course of action. When Hoskins heard about it later in the week, he was furious. I made sure they weren't on the same fireteam.

BRM took us right up to lunch time. We moved off the range to a staging area with seating. Kolson organized Hot A's for both sections. Pot roast, mashed potatoes and green beans. Not a bad pull. The men sure enjoyed it. Half thought we were eating MRE's during training. Little knots of men eating and talking spread about the area. Several groups were Kolson's men, or mine, exclusively. A fair number of others mixed it up. Once we finished though, the two squads separated for an hour and a half.

I grabbed a small bag of supplies I'd set aside and sent my men to a shaded area not far from our chow point.

"Take a seat anywhere boys." I reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of tubes, tossing each one to a man, before diving back into the bag for more, until everybody had a tube. The small inset pocket had three more tubes, one of each type.

"Each of these tubes has a different color paste on each end. One light color, one dark color. The purpose is to camouflage your face and hands. To do this you need to break up the pattern of light and dark on your body or deceive the mind's attempts to recognize the shapes of the human face." I gave a quick lesson on the two approaches to face camo and then had the men break into pairs.

The veterans all took a new guy partner. The pairs with no veteran were practically leaning over to pay attention to the tips the old hands were dishing out. It took more than half an hour to get everyone marked up. Then we talked about incorporating natural flora into our personal camouflage. We also talked about the dangers of natural flora. Weapons camo and rucksack camo got several minutes of their own attention.

"Hiding in plain sight with camouflage is never going to be perfect. Another tool you will need is cover or concealment. Can anyone tell me the difference between the two?"

The veterans clearly were giving the others a chance to show some initiative as they remained quiet. Then the young brown-haired kid, must barely be eighteen spoke up.

"Uh, cover can stop bullets, concealment just keeps someone from seeing you?"

"Correct. Cover can protect your ass even if they know you're there. Concealment's one use is keeping them from knowing where you are. And if they spray and pray, you're fucked if you're behind concealment instead of cover. Don't get me wrong here, concealment has value, but you need to quickly find cover."

"Now, we're going on a little walk in the woods. Single file. Stick with your fireteam, team leaders at the head of your file. Anytime you hear an explosion, you have three seconds to get yourself behind cover or concealment. I strongly recommend cover, boys.

We had just enough time to walk down a trail I'd found on the map leading from our chow area to the next training station. At four separate points, I tossed a small device similar to a cherry bomb that made a lot of noise, but nearly no sparks. The first time, half the section was still scrambling at four seconds. Six were still up and moving at five seconds. I expressed my displeasure, and we kept moving. At the second bomb drop, only four were still up and moving at the three second mark, and they all took up cover within the next second. They were getting better quick. All had picked reasonable cover. At least they were taking this shit seriously. The last two stops, everybody was down behind good cover in less than three seconds. I noticed that after the first two, the men were actively scanning the surroundings for cover as they walked.

The trail ended at a small training station where base medics would teach Field First Aid techniques. Henry Gonzalez, one of my men, was a former Army medic who was currently a paramedic for his local department. The base medics roped him into their cadre, which only helped highlight Henry to the men. That would be important if they ever wound up needing his services.

Thunder had no one with formal medical training. Well, not quite. They had an oral surgery assistant from Galveston and a veterinary nurse from just outside Enid, Oklahoma. Both were undergoing extensive training to get up to speed. Lots of reading, with some hands on the week before and the week after this mini-bootcamp. They were also included in the training cadre, for the same reason as Henry. They just looked a bit less sure of themselves as they ran the men through the 'Control Bleeding' task. Honestly, they did a good job of it. None of the pros saw reason to correct them and the men paid attention and got checked off on the task in good time.

The CAT was something new to me. The idea of a tourniquet a soldier could apply one-handed -- to themselves, if necessary -- sounded great. Tourniquets were apparently less risky than 'back in my day' when they were a last resort of 'lose the limb or lose your life'.

Then it was on to carry techniques like the classic fireman's carry or the four-hand seat carry. The last item of the day was improvised splints for treating fractures. They were thorough -- they even included splinting a broken finger. Granted, those hurt like hell, and I should know, I've had one, but my mind was more concerned with fractures of the legs and arms. The medics of course covered those completely. They gave specifics on differences for fractures above or below the knee on the leg and likewise for the arm. They were adamant that traction should not be attempted unless in possession of a proper traction splint, which we were not being issued.

Training ran past six. It was productive though. I'd just as soon none of today's skills be needed. But, I think the men absorbed the lessons well. As we progressed through the day, I noticed a seriousness on every face. Even as the men joked with each other, there was an underlying current that kept everyone grounded, focused on learning. Just in case.

I took a longer route home so I could stop off at the Class Six. I got a bit of sticker shock when I saw the price of the bottle. Red was a little cheaper, but that wasn't what Kolson asked for. I've heard there's other label colors, but none were on the shelf here. Guess they're out of a serviceman's price range.

I left the bottle under the floorboard when I locked the car and walked up the driveway. No use forgetting it when I left in the morning.

Coming in the door, I found Levon, Bel, and Shaunice scattered about the front room watching tv. It took barely a second for me to recognize one of my all-time favorite series playing. I noticed Gabby and Kiki in the kitchen before I took a seat in the armchair. On the screen, the station commander was angrily addressing a man that had just tried to abduct his science officer -- and best friend -- from the station.

"We can change it if you want," Levon offered. "This just started."

"Oh, I know. I've watched this many times. Excellent series, it's one of my favorites." I ignored Bel's derisive snort when I said 'many times'. Okay, so I probably watched the whole series through about three times a year.

"Really? But the main guy is black."

"Doesn't matter if he's black. The character is well written, and well-acted. I enjoyed watching him. His blackness was not the defining quality of the character. Lots of us who aren't black identified with him, saw him as our avatar in the Star Trek universe." I paused to collect my thoughts. "At his core, he was a man in a tough career that had been dealt a horrible personal blow, trying to figure out fatherhood and job and who he is and how all of those interplayed as he starts this new, demanding duty that he has to get right, or a lot of people suffer."

"So, you admire him?"

"Captain Sisko is an excellent fictional role model for anyone, but especially young men. One of the intriguing parts about DS9 was that it was grittier than the original series or TNG. They had thornier problems that often took more than one episode to fix. The people weren't perfect, but they made a perfect team. They didn't always like each other, but they worked together for a noble cause. Lots of good lessons in that show."

Levon settled back into the couch. He was watching the show again, but it was obvious there were big thoughts running around behind those eyes. I would love to veg out, watch the show and spending time with the older kids, but I needed to check in with other members of my family.

I rose from my chair and headed towards the kitchen. Passing behind the couch, I gave Bel a kiss on the top of her head. Shaunice had a yearning look on her face watching me, so I kissed her crown too. I was worried I may have misinterpreted and jumped the gun, but she relaxed back into the couch. I proceeded into the kitchen.

"Hello my lovelies."

Gabriela and Nicole turned to me with soft grins and light blushes. Nicole molded her body against me with a warm hug.

"Dinner needs another twenty minutes. I had hoped to have it ready when you came in, but this electric oven is not as hot as it claims to be on the dial." Gabriela informed me.

"Yeah, they tend to have that problem, especially when they're ten or twenty years old."

"Oh, is that why you have so many younger models in your entourage?" The way Gabby fluttered her eyelids as she spoke gave away that she was just teasing. I still narrowed my eyes, but there was a smile beneath them. She couldn't contain her jest for long and started laughing.