Kilo-61 (Damned of the 2/19th Book 19)- Ongoing

Montage of Morons

Jay-Ellis National Guard Training Base (Decommissioned, 1994)
Patton Housing Area (Closed, 1995)
North Dakota, United States of America
20 February, 2002
1435 Hours

The flashbang went off and two of the Privates screamed, pawing at their eyes as Heather stepped out from behind the doorway and pepper-sprayed them full in the face. Kincaid kicked open the door of the bathroom he had been hiding in and hosed off a full magazine of blanks, the MILES gear the privates were wearing screaming as the laser receptors recorded the hits.

"GODDAMN IT, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU DUMBASSES?" I bellowed, stomping in through the front door. "You're all dead again, from the exact same thing that killed you last time!"

The E-5, who I guess had a name, was following me as I walked in and grabbed the back of the LCE of the lead soldier, the Specialist who had bitched about doing Private's work. I yanked him backwards, raising my canteen over his face and pouring it on him. "What did you do wrong, Specialist?"

"I don't know," He sputtered, his eyes bloodshot and tearing.

"Sergeant?" I asked, turning to look at him and letting go of the Specialist.

"How should I know, I'm not trained in MOUT," He said, slightly pouting.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," I snarled, pushing him in the chest. "We showed you, before lunch, how you do this." I shook my head. "You come in, check the hallway, clear the door on your right, your left, and then move toward the far door. You don't bunch up in the goddamn hallway like a pack of retarded goddamn monkeys."

"That's enough, Corporal," Donaldson said, stepping into the frontroom of the abandoned house we were using. He shook his head, "They're tired, some of them are still shocky, and you're pushing them pretty hard."

I walked back and faced him, "If you'll recall, sir, the enemy didn't care about any of that in any of the places we fought together," I snarled.

"They aren't facing the enemy right now, this is training," He said. The corner of his mouth twitched with suppressed amusement.

"Training today, combat tomorrow. If this is how they're going to react, you might as well line them up outside and I can shoot them myself," I told him, rolling my eyes.

The corner of his mouth twitched before he spoke, "You seemed to do just fine in the four times you've engaged them. They'll get it together."

I shook my head, "Sir, I've got literally hundreds of hours of firefights, close quarters combat, and urban assaults under my belt. I learned under pressure, and because I lacked proper training people died that might not have if I'd been trained properly."

It didn't hurt so bad to admit that now.

"The enemy doesn't wait for you to be trained, Corporal, that's why they're called the enemy," Donaldson said coldly.

"That's why they need trained up. It doesn't matter if I can kill the enemy, I need men and women at my sides and back who I know can carry their weight, that I'm fighting with, not fighting to protect," I told him. I looked over my shoulder to wear Heather was washing the eyes of the other Private. "Right now we'll lose half of them. That's unacceptable to me, sir."

Donaldson nodded, and I could see several of the Privates look crestfallen as he spoke. "You're right, Corporal. Carry on."

I turned to the Privates and the lone Specialist, "All right, you pack of mouth breathing retards, get your gear and go stage on the lawn of the house next door," I looked at Kincaid, who was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, and Heather, who was telling the Private that he'd be fine now. "You two, go in the house and get ready. Same scenario, sweep and clear. I'm going to run them through in slow motion so they can see each step, so just stand in your positions and look menacing or something."