Free Origins of the Outbreak by Brian Parker Page B

to one day soon being able to stop shaving for a little while.  Hell, he'd even considered growing a beard once he finally retired.
    The razor made a soft scraping sound as it glided over his shaving cream-covered face.  The expensive multi-bladed contraption that he used today was a far cry from the disposables of his early days in the Army.  He hated shaving his neck; it was the worst part.  He almost always nicked himself somehow.  Craig had often considered getting some type of laser hair removal on his neck because he hated shaving i t tha t badly.
    He finished hacking away the hair follicles and brushed his teeth before rinsing off the residue from his shave.  Then he applied some deodorant and went into the closet to prep his bag for the day.  He grabbed his uniform top and bottoms and folded them neatly into his duffle bag.  With the utility uniforms that the Army wore these days, they could just be rolled up and put into a bag like he did now.  Before the mid 2000’s the Army was all about starched uniforms that looked great, but couldn’t be wrinkled and were a pain in the ass.  It was so much harder back then trying to carry a set of clothes on a hanger, highly shined boots, plus all the other crap that he had.
    After the uniform went a tan undershirt, a pair of Army-issue green socks and a pair of underwear.  His boots were by the front door and he'd grab those on the way out.  He had everything that he needed to get cleaned up and dressed after physical training.  His daily prep routine – for nineteen long years – was complete.  He slipped out of his sleeping clothes and put on his uniform for PT.
    The Army did PT, physical training, for about an hour every morning from 0630-0730.  In addition to keeping the soldiers fit and ready to go, the reason they had it so early was for accountability purposes.  Most bad things in the Army – hell, in life really – happened between 11 p.m. and 4 a.m. so the morning formation before PT was also to ensure that everyone had made it home safe from wherever they’d been the night before.
    It was Craig’s job, as a Sergeant First Class, to report the accountability of the thirty-five soldiers in his platoon.  Even the lieutenant was his responsibility.  Officers rotated jobs about every year, year and a half so they could be well-rounded, so he’d seen his fair share of new Second Lieutenants come through his infantry platoon over the years.  The current butter bar was something of an enigma to him though.
    The kid was one of the most proficient infantry officers that he’d ever seen, but outside of work, Craig considered him a high-risk soldier.  The guy drove to Austin every weekend and would disappear into a drunken stupor – unless there were work issues – and then he’d miraculously appear, clean-shaven and sober, ready to do whatever task was required.  He’d heard through the grapevine that the lieutenant was an MMA fighter and loved to scrap with anyone willing to go, although there was never a blemish on him.  Ahh, to be young again , he thought wistfully.
    Craig hefted his bag onto his shoulders and turned off the bathroom light before opening the door to kiss his wife and kids goodbye for the day.  When he went in his daughter’s room, her sheets were gathered up around her feet so he carefully pulled them from under her legs and covered her up.
    As he walked down the stairs, the aroma of coffee filled the quiet house.  It was nice to have it waiting for him when he came down instead of needing to make it and then wait for it to brew.  The timer of the coffee pot saved him about ten minutes in the morning – ten minutes that he could use once he was on base to help gain accountability of everyone.  He always had a slight pucker factor about Friday and Monday mornings.  Mondays were obviously the biggie since they had to account for everyone after the weekend, but the dumb shit always seemed to happen on Thursday