22 June 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
My rising in the morning was later than anticipated, especially given I was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people; a long hard march apparently does that for a person. The sounds in the gym were small but present, small groups of men and women gathered in circles as the sunlight cast itself through the high windows of the gym.
After a quick splash of cold water outside behind the gym, I betook myself of the breakfast for the day: someone had set up a natural gas hotplate and pot in which wheat berries were slowly steaming away (dryland wheat, you will recall, is a thing here). A bowl of that plus a fistful of dried fruit and tea constituted the meal.
As I ate, Blazer Man came and sat down. A group had already left early in the morning on a scout with an undetermined return date. Our “orders” were to clean and prepare our weapons and be ready to head out on short notice.
Prepare my weapon. I can clean it, but that is about all I have every done to it.
That said, it was the one task I could do – and 30 minutes later I found myself sitting cross legged, pulling out my cleaning kit with my rifle. The frustration on my face must have been apparent as a younger woman – maybe in her 30’s? - came by and politely asked if she could offer any assistance.
I responded that I would happily take any assistance offered.
It was clear within 3 minutes that she knew her way around firearms very well. She asked me about its history as she worked it down, essentially “field stripping” – I believe that is the term – the rifle, showing me parts I had never seen in all my life. I asked her as she worked away how she had come by such knowledge. She was rather vague in her explanation – “just something I picked up on videos” was her response.
The process was undoubtedly longer than it should have taken due to my constant asking of questions, but it still got done. My rifle appeared not too much different from the outside, but I had seen what it now looked like on the inside.
She did me the courtesy of checking my ammunition – that, at least, garnered some level of approval – and insisted on readjusting my strap, making stand there for all the world like a model as she shifted things back and forth until a smile indicated that she was satisfied. Walk with it for a while, she instructed, and come see me if it does not fit.
And so I spent the remainder of the morning walking back and forth in the gym, even jogging a bit, to see how it felt. Nor was I the only one; there were a fair amount of us making the rounds back and forth, a sort of slow motion basketball game with no score.
After that? We waited Lucilius, we waited.
Waiting can be such a different sort of thing. Time flies when it is towards something we wan; it drags when it is something either bad or unknown. Ours was the latter case of course, and so we sat there in a very slow time bubble.
People dealt with it different ways. Some sat about talking, some played cards, some napped. Young Xerxes had apparently found friends he knew and so was off visiting. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Pompeia Paulina had slipped The Peloponnesian War into my bag without me knowing; I spent the afternoon reminding myself of all the follies of mankind as observed 2500 years ago and still going strong.
Dinner was a repeat of breakfast. Still no sign of the scout party. Time was indeed dropping slow.
We had all the time in the world, Lucilius, and yet we all knew that when the moment came there would be no time at all.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
Oh my, your last sentence exlains how I've been feeling lately. Not even sure what I'm waiting for, just waiting...
ReplyDeleteI do not think you (or Seneca) are alone in that. There is a distinct sense of that moment just before we step off the cliff to plunge into the water below.
DeleteWonder how much practice Seneca has had with that rifle, got a suspicion that he's going to see the elephant soon.
ReplyDeleteNylon12, I believe in the past Seneca has indicated some practice, but not anything like real skill. Not really needed - until now.
DeleteI like how human Seneca is. Very relatable. And the long waiting without a clue seems very realistic for the circumstances. Books and movies usually just cut to the action. I like the way you're telling this.
ReplyDeleteLeigh, one thing I guess that is a luxury with doing this as a serial instead of a movie or book is that I have all the time (literally) in the world to tell it - which is an advantage that I had never considered for the medium.
DeleteHaving read many classic works relating to battles, the wait before the battle is often considered to be the worst. Action, at least, is action - whether victory or defeat. Waiting is simply an endless not knowing.
Waiting for the battle to start was always the hardest part. The mind wanders into stream of Consciousness thoughts, concerns, worries the UNKNOWN muster strength.
ReplyDeleteLeading solders into trouble often means you have to create work, improving the fighting positions and such as to prevent worry from creating casualties before the fight.
As the Sergeant Major used to say, "Bitching Soldiers are not worried".
“When I look back on all these worries, I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which had never happened.”
– Winston Churchill
“There is a great difference between worry and concern. A worried person sees a problem, and a concerned person solves a problem.”
– Harold Stephen
Michael, many a military work I have read suggests that creating work is a valid means of giving people a thing to concentrate on instead of giving them the opportunity to worry.
DeletePretty sure the gear heads out here want to know about the caliber and rifle specifics. I'll wait. Thanks for some quality circus during our descending glide path.
ReplyDeleteTM, if it is of any help, the model and caliber of the rifle I have in mind is a real rifle I have handled in the past, so at least I have something to model that part of the narrative on.
DeleteThanks for the kind words. We probably all need some entertainment on our trip down.
Ok, acceptable, as long as it's disclosed eventually.
DeleteHopefully, there will be islands of relative sanity and safety. That's my hope for my neck of the woods in rural Tennessee.
Something I realized in rural So. Cal. is that you're only a few random turns from having some druggie, criminal, ghetto thug, illegal alien, thief, etc from showing up in your AO.
TM, history suggests that islands exist in most societal breakdowns, although the words "sanity and safety" may well be relative, as you suggest.
DeleteYour comments about the risks of urban environments extend to all urban environments, and even some suburban and rural ones as well. The reality is that we are a lot more settled and spread out in dense populations than we used to be.