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All is still and quiet on the drill pad.
Even night still sleeps at zero dark-thirty.
Celestial bodies lend their light, but sparingly.
Though their contribution will hardly be noticed once
she begins their day.
In her head she goes over commands, modules, off-color comments.
She's not nervous, more like a perfectionist, they all are.
Instinctively, she conducts a once-over of her uniform, targeting strings, re-tucking her boot laces and double checking that loose Velcro flap on her left cargo pocket.
Her head gear is pristine. The dark olive-green bush hat, whose roots are deeply embedded in the wild and dusty outback from the land down under, is her pride.
Her subdued emblem of honor adorned with thirteen stars, an archaic breastplate, a torch, a confrontational serpent and the solemn two hundred and thirty-seven-year promise of “This We’ll Defend” is perfectly affixed on her right ACU pocket, this is her hammer. With her uniform in order, the soft-face, beautiful, Native American woman
shifts her thoughts to them, the ones she trains.
Today she will train the untrainable, empower the weak,
give direction to the misguided, and possibly mentor and inspire a hero.
“I’m going up to get ‘em.” her colleague says.
She nods as she looks up into the early morning sky, “…weatherman says rain today.”
She breaks mildly out of her game face just long enough to smirk as she thinks about the slightly over used catch phrase which refers to “rainin’ and trainin’!”
In seconds, the once quiet and still drill pad
will be tranquil no more, and she along with her cadre,
will be in the thick of it.
A 2020 Veteran's Day add.
-Written Early November 2012 at Fort Hood, Texas
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