Hack

A story of brotherhood

“The ax I requisitioned is here.”

“What?”

“The requisition. It came through. Come on, man.”

Cal is barely awake, thick with slumber from a hard fought sleep. Art’s gravely whisper penetrates his liminal state.

“The. Fucking. Ax. Get. The. Fuck. Up.” Spittle sprays through Art’s clenched teeth, having the effect of a cold shower. Cal bolts up, bashing his head on the bunk above him.

“Shit. Damn it.” He grunts. Cal dresses quickly and quietly, knowing exactly where every item is, knowing how to buckle, clasp and zip without a sound. A skill he mastered after two years of barracks life. In the pitch dark, he follows the muffled shuffle of Art’s shoes. He could hear the imbalance in his step from the knee injury.

Outside, Art’s breath becomes an icy mist and Cal follows it dutifully across the compound and through the small fissure in the chain link fence behind the latrine. Its stench the only thing to claim victory over the moonless, frozen night.

When they get a few feet into the woods, Cal whispers “How’d you get it so fast? I requisition ammo and it takes a month. You get a fucking ax in two days?”

“I know a guy.” Art was never one for lengthy discourses, but you never missed his point. Cal translates Art’s response in his head: “don’t ask.”

About a klick away from the barracks they come upon a tree that has fallen across another. “This is it,” Art says. Cal is not so sure. He does not want to be poking around randomly. Could be landmines, a nest of hajis. He falls back a bit, letting Art take the lead.

Art crouches, moves cautiously through the thin underbrush, fading into the dark. Cal hears soft rustling, then silence. His stomach leaps to his throat as he envisions his partner held at gun point by a hajj.

“Over here. Got it.” Cal’s stomach returns to its rightful place. Fuck, he thinks and joins Art.

“We’re gonna hack it up. Gonna hack it and bury it in multiple places. Like Seth.”

“Who?”

“Seth. Egyptian god. Hacked up his brother Osiris and spread the parts across the world.”

“What the fuck you talking about?” Cal never knew Art to read, let alone know things. He’s also never known Art to ‘know a guy’ or do what they are doing now. It’s been a helluva forty-eight hours.

Art stands, gives the ground a hard stare and raises the ax above his head. Thunk. Cal thinks he hit the tree instead.

“Shit.” Says Art. “Frozen solid. This fucking winter finally worked to our benefit. Could you imagine if this was summer?”

Cal could imagine the summer. He’d be home. Poolside with Lenore. And her tits. The cold night can’t keep the heat out of his loins as he imagines her in his hands.

Thunk. Art takes several more swings before he pauses.

“Christ, Art. They don’t teach you city boys to swing an ax?”

“I only know how to swing my dick, asshole.”

Cal takes the ax, chokes up on the handle until the weight feels right. It feels a bit like coming home. Like fall in the Blue Ridge. He adjusts his stance and swings away. He does not allow himself to think. Only the movement of his arms occupies his mind.

After a time Art restrains Cal. “I think you got it. Too small and we might leave a piece.” Art has brought two grain sacks. Cal does not question how he got them.

They walk a few paces. Art finds a spot, breaks the ground loose with the ax, directs Cal to bury a piece. Then moves a few feet away, does the same. Cal’s fingers cramp. Should have brought gloves, he thinks. Or a shovel. He focuses on the ache in his head from hitting the bunk, on his ache for Lenore. He does not think about what he is doing, or of what Art might be thinking.

Sacks empty, they head back, Cal following Art’s lead. Art has a knack for direction. Cal is always lost. They slither through the fence and reach the barracks without detection. This disappoints Art a little: They’ve all lost their edge.

“Thanks man.” Art’s voice is sore from the cold, strained with emotion.

“Nah.” Cal says. “We’re brothers. That’s what family does.”

Art knows his actual family wouldn’t have done shit. But a platoon, that’s different. They would do anything for each other. Anything.