Page 25 of Metal & Mud

But now he understood it. For an entire week, he felt like his every step was both universally taken carefully, but also universally faulty. Regardless of what he did, he just felt wrong.

Following Sergeant Adams's first advice, he'd thrown himself into every task with a desperate intensity. Each morning at PT, he pushed until his muscles burned and his lungs ached, as if physical pain might somehow balance the scales of whatever trouble awaited him. During weapons maintenance, he'd scrubbed his rifle with such obsessive precision that the metallic scent of solvent had clung to his skin for hours, mingling with the ghost of Sabby's perfume that his memory refused to release.

It didn't seem to matter. Once the word got out that he had a potential situation coming his way, he'd become toxic. It wasn't even like when he was in trouble with Sergeant Adams. Then, the newer enlisted had still helped him out, giving him hints or at least a clap on the shoulder.

Now he was a man alone. In the mess hall, nobody sat with him unless there were no other chairs available, and around the barracks he was practically a ghost. The only time anyone other than Carter or Bron Davis interacted with him was for duty purposes, and then only for perfunctory acknowledgements of his presence.

The silence was the worst. Franklin's glares he could handle, but Adams and Nichols looked right through him, as if he were already gone, transferred to another unit or worse. When it came to his individual duties, their instructions were clipped, impersonal – as if talking to a stranger they'd rather not acknowledge.

Lieutenant Parker hadn't said anything yet, and the only word he'd gotten from Sergeant Lincoln was to stay away from the bowling alley. That curt order echoed in his mind constantly. What did that mean? Had Sabby been questioned? Was she in trouble too? Each passing hour was a knot tightening in his gut, making it harder to breathe, to think, to function.

It fucking sucked. Because of Lincoln's order, he couldn't even go tell Sabby what was going on. He couldn't tell her that regardless of the trouble he might be in, he didn't regret it. He couldn't tell her that he hadn't forgotten her.

Which worried him most of all. He wasn't the kind of man to do one night stands, and he definitely wasn't the type to ghost a chick after sex. Hell, until the other night he'd never had sex on a first meeting either. He liked to think he was a decent guy and not a dickhead.

Yet that's almost exactly what it seemed like, and to top it all off, she could be in trouble too.

Truth was, he wanted to talk to the goth rock girl, to find out if the connection he felt building between them was more than just animal attraction. He wanted to know if she thought of him too, and if she wanted to possibly explore more than just a mutual taste in music and intense sexual desire.

Sure, he was old enough to know that might be the case. She was a goddess in the flesh, and maybe he had been lust addled seeing her in that sexy as fuck outfit. Maybe his big brain had partially shut down, and maybe she thought of him as just a good dick and not much else.

He hoped not. And the truth was he didn't want to hurt Sabby's feelings if she did have a legit interest in him. But the longer he had to stay away from the bowling alley, the greater a chance that she'd just toss him into the asshole pile.

*But I made one major mistake that whole night,* he thought, the regret a physical ache in his chest. *I should have gotten her phone number.*

Logan shook his head, trying to redirect his focus to his work for the day: cleaning out and reorganizing the CONEX shipping container the platoon kept for miscellaneous equipment they might need for last-second missions. The metal container was smaller than a full-sized semi-container and could be shipped on trucks, trains, by sea, or even slung underneath a helicopter. It allowed the platoon to practically have a fortress in a box.

"You got the concertina gloves?" Logan asked Carter, who was in the other half of the box. Logan pulled on the heavy gloves, the boarhide stiff against his skin. The razor wire was nasty stuff. Just like the trouble he'd gotten himself, and Sabby, into.

"Yeah. One, two... three pairs," Carter pulled them out. "And a used pair."

"Noted," Logan said, but before they could get on to the next item, a whistle pierced the air of the motorpool. Turning around, Logan saw Top and Major Kirk standing in front of the motor pool garage, Top dropping his hand after whistling. "What the fuck?"

"Charlie Company... FALL IN!"

Top bellowed, and questions were shelved immediately as Logan and Carter hustled over. Coming together with the rest of third platoon, they fell into formation, which was admittedly a little ragged looking considering that the company had been working for two hours and was looking forward to lunch. But Logan could tell by the way Major Kirk's shoulders were relaxed, this wasn't a problem. He just had some news for everyone he needed to share, and wanted to get it taken care of all at once.

"Alright... platoon leaders and platoon sergeants, if you're missing someone, fill them in after we're done," Major Kirk said once the group was assembled. "At ease and gather around, Cranked. I'm not feeling like yellin' today."

The company relaxed and fell into a more casual looking semicircle around the Major, who waited until everyone was where they wanted to be before continuing. "Good news, Cranked. Everything the company had planned for next week's just got chucked out the window, and we've got a whole week of fun and games waiting for us instead!"

There were chuckles from some of the members of the company, but Logan didn't get it. Not that he even knew what the training plan for the next week was anyway. He just did what he was told. Then again, Major Kirk had a deep sarcastic streak that he often used both for humor and ironic effect.

"What's up, sir?" Lieutenant Starr, the first platoon leader, asked.

"Got a call from Colonel Remsburg, there's an opportunity coming our way," Kirk replied, his smile not dimming at all. Logan could only assume that meant he was genuinely pleased with the news he had to share. "As we all know, Fort Pickett is home to a lot of training programs. There's us of course, but also the Virginia National Guard, the State Department, the US Marshalls... well, there's a bunch of folks."

"Yeah, we're a regular fucking tossed salad," Carter whispered, earning a quiet shush from Sergeant Adams.

Thankfully for Carter, Major Kirk didn't hear him.

"This morning, Colonel Remsburg got a call from the 183rd, who administers Fort Pickett. Seems that there's a National Guard unit coming in tomorrow to start their summer training. But, the sister unit that was tasked with being their opposing force had a breakout of the creepin' crawling summer bugs. Starting at about nineteen hundred last night and continuing to breakfast formation this morning, about two thirds of them are heaving their guts out, hacking up a lung, or are velcroed to their toilets for two weeks."

"This is why you suck it up and take your shots," Top added. "No excuse for that. And vitamins are cheap too."

"Exactly Top. But regardless, this National Guard battalion's coming to train starting tomorrow morning, and they don't have anyone to train against," Major Kirk continued. "Now, the easy answer would be to have them split up and train against themselves. But now, tell me the last time anyone got better playing with themselves? Don't answer that."

Laughter rippled through the unit, and even Logan had to chuckle. Kirk was an effective user of humor, and while he wasn't going to get a Netflix special anytime soon, he knew how to walk the line between casual and formal while maintaining his undisputable position at the top of the company.

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