Read Online The Severance by Elliott Sawyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elliott Sawyer
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Big Joe asked.
“For saving Captain Slater, Joe. Remember?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Why—” Jake stopped mid-sentence to consider his audience. Big Joe could always be counted on to say some nonsense that could drive Jake up the wall. If he were doing it on purpose, Jake would have considered him brilliant, but brilliant Big Joe most certainly wasn’t.
“Joe,” Jake said after a pause, “I’m going to hit the shower and we’ll have a platoon meeting where I will explain everything.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jake returned from the showers to find his entire platoon awake, alert, and waiting for him. As soon as he approached, the group grew silent.
Jake shrugged. It was as good a time as any to spread the good word.
As expected, the news that they were all being decorated for valor got the platoon going. Even Sergeant McBride was happy about it, although he outwardly proclaimed that he wasn’t going to accept his award or leave theater early. This was a bold-faced lie, of course, told only to bolster the platoon sergeant’s reputation as a grizzled old bastard. Jake knew that a valor award for McBride could only help his résumé as a private security contractor. As for going home early, McBride was tired, like the rest of them—tired of firefights, tired of being responsible for everything, tired of the army. He needed the rest and had no qualms or concerns about taking the easy way out, as the platoon planned to do, in more ways than one. That said, McBride would keep his counsel until he was buckled up with his tray table in the upright-and-locked position, medal in hand.
Only Sergeant Olsen, negative as usual, commented, “It’s just a bullshit ARCOM.”
Once, Olsen had been a staff sergeant, but he had been demoted to private first class after attempted grand larceny. Jake didn’t know the details, but he was sure it had to do with stealing government property. Jake would have chosen 50 other guys over Olsen to lead one of his rifle squads, but he had to work with what he was given. Hearing Olsen’s words, Jake merely shrugged. What else was new?
Jake didn’t tell the men about the fate of their discharges; he didn’t want to dampen their elation. He would tell McBride privately and the two of them would come up with a way to let the men know.
When Jake dismissed the meeting, Sergeant McBride gave out a constant stream of orders to prepare. There were e-mails to be sent, calls to be made, haircuts to be had, laundry to be done. Everyone was beaming from ear to ear, except Big Joe. Even though he was getting a Bronze Star for Valor, awards depressed Big Joe.
Kodiak platoon had been born as a platoon to be kept close to the battalion and used at the discretion of the battalion commander on any task or objective he wanted, but didn’t want to waste good soldiers on. The problem was that it was hard to find leaders who were willing to lay their careers on the line to lead these kinds of soldiers.
That’s where Sergeant First Class Greg McBride and Captain Jake Roberts came in. In the months leading up to the deployment, and before they were tapped to lead the platoon, they had both been relegated to a small office in the basement of Brigade Headquarters for their previous sins. Alcoholism for McBride and, for Jake, things he never uttered aloud, but that never left the forefront of his mind. Neither McBride nor Roberts knew exactly what they’d been assigned to do in that dingy basement room, but every few hours a different major would come by and scream at them about what they were doing or not doing. No one ever gave them any work to do, but majors would scream at them for just sitting around. McBride had surmised that their assignment was specifically to be screamed at and that this was some kind of “officer therapy.”
After months of this torture, a major came by and started screaming at Jake.
“Are you Captain Roberts?” the major asked
“Yes, Sir.” Jake said.
“Just what do you
“For saving Captain Slater, Joe. Remember?”
“Oh, okay.”
“Why—” Jake stopped mid-sentence to consider his audience. Big Joe could always be counted on to say some nonsense that could drive Jake up the wall. If he were doing it on purpose, Jake would have considered him brilliant, but brilliant Big Joe most certainly wasn’t.
“Joe,” Jake said after a pause, “I’m going to hit the shower and we’ll have a platoon meeting where I will explain everything.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jake returned from the showers to find his entire platoon awake, alert, and waiting for him. As soon as he approached, the group grew silent.
Jake shrugged. It was as good a time as any to spread the good word.
As expected, the news that they were all being decorated for valor got the platoon going. Even Sergeant McBride was happy about it, although he outwardly proclaimed that he wasn’t going to accept his award or leave theater early. This was a bold-faced lie, of course, told only to bolster the platoon sergeant’s reputation as a grizzled old bastard. Jake knew that a valor award for McBride could only help his résumé as a private security contractor. As for going home early, McBride was tired, like the rest of them—tired of firefights, tired of being responsible for everything, tired of the army. He needed the rest and had no qualms or concerns about taking the easy way out, as the platoon planned to do, in more ways than one. That said, McBride would keep his counsel until he was buckled up with his tray table in the upright-and-locked position, medal in hand.
Only Sergeant Olsen, negative as usual, commented, “It’s just a bullshit ARCOM.”
Once, Olsen had been a staff sergeant, but he had been demoted to private first class after attempted grand larceny. Jake didn’t know the details, but he was sure it had to do with stealing government property. Jake would have chosen 50 other guys over Olsen to lead one of his rifle squads, but he had to work with what he was given. Hearing Olsen’s words, Jake merely shrugged. What else was new?
Jake didn’t tell the men about the fate of their discharges; he didn’t want to dampen their elation. He would tell McBride privately and the two of them would come up with a way to let the men know.
When Jake dismissed the meeting, Sergeant McBride gave out a constant stream of orders to prepare. There were e-mails to be sent, calls to be made, haircuts to be had, laundry to be done. Everyone was beaming from ear to ear, except Big Joe. Even though he was getting a Bronze Star for Valor, awards depressed Big Joe.
Kodiak platoon had been born as a platoon to be kept close to the battalion and used at the discretion of the battalion commander on any task or objective he wanted, but didn’t want to waste good soldiers on. The problem was that it was hard to find leaders who were willing to lay their careers on the line to lead these kinds of soldiers.
That’s where Sergeant First Class Greg McBride and Captain Jake Roberts came in. In the months leading up to the deployment, and before they were tapped to lead the platoon, they had both been relegated to a small office in the basement of Brigade Headquarters for their previous sins. Alcoholism for McBride and, for Jake, things he never uttered aloud, but that never left the forefront of his mind. Neither McBride nor Roberts knew exactly what they’d been assigned to do in that dingy basement room, but every few hours a different major would come by and scream at them about what they were doing or not doing. No one ever gave them any work to do, but majors would scream at them for just sitting around. McBride had surmised that their assignment was specifically to be screamed at and that this was some kind of “officer therapy.”
After months of this torture, a major came by and started screaming at Jake.
“Are you Captain Roberts?” the major asked
“Yes, Sir.” Jake said.
“Just what do you
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