Free Princes of War by Claude Schmid Page A

confusing crazy, ugh, hard. But you platoons have to deal in the local realities out there in the shit. And up here…” Petty did a lasso movement with his head, signifying the whole headquarters, and with his voice trailing off, “…well, we watch and study from a distance.”
    Wynn shook off the compliments, but it was nice to get Petty’s praise and concessions.
    “It’s our job, brother. We all have our roles.”
    Maybe both of them looked for reassurance. Almost everybody in a war constantly looked for reassurance.
    Wynn had about an hour to kill before his planned meeting with Cooke.
     
    It was 2035. Cooke and Wynn sat alone together in Cooke’s trailer. It was a rare opportunity for privacy, and a place to talk about the psychological and physical health of the platoon’s men. Wynn was glad for it. Despite being with each other almost constantly, seven days a week, in the thick of their work thousands of distractions intervened, and events of the moment dominated. He worried about overlooking details. Now they could be more relaxed and candid, and he could let his guard down partially and not pretend that he, as a young lieutenant, wasn’t still learning.
    Overall, Wynn felt satisfied with his men’s resiliency. Hard times in a very hard place, and still the platoon’s performance pleased him. But he had a specific concern.
    “How do you know when one of the guys is not performing at his best?” He asked Cooke.
    Cooke, unhurried, his broad caramel-colored face inexpressive, studied Wynn. He was by now a pretty astute judge of his lieutenant. Wynn was nothing if not deliberate, and he didn’t like idle chitchat. Cooke waited for him to continue.
    “I’m worried about Kale,” Wynn said.
    Wynn had been watching Kale for a while now. Not constantly, but noticing little things. Kale seemed increasingly detached, maybe depressed. He was quieter and never joked. He rarely interacted with others.
    Cooke said, “With every man you do the same. You watch what he’s doing, Sir. You laser the man with your eyes so you pick up the changes, how he is different, ya know? Know what his way of doing things is, and they can’t hide anything from you.”
    “Have you noticed anything about him?”
    “None of them can hide, Sir.” Cooke replied. “They’re all naked out here. We’re all doing the same thing. Got the same shit to deal with. Working the same way. Same restrictions. Same dangers. Makes it easier for us to tell if something is outta whack. And, yes, I got my eyes on Kale.” Cooke paused and glanced down, as if he were looking for answers on the floor, then said, “His self-defenses are thinning.”
    Wynn admired his stout platoon sergeant. Nothing fazed him. Cooke was not a complicated man, no inner tensions or anguish. He was blunt and honest.
    “And by his ‘self-defenses,’ you mean his self-confidence?” Wynn asked, seeking clarification.
    “Yes, Sir. And his smarts. I don’t think it’s gone too far yet, though. Kale’s just scared and confused half the damn time. Hell, all of them are. Who can explain this place? He’s young. You can’t send kids not old enough to legally buy a drink and expect him to be Socrates or Superman or something. This stuff we’re trying to do is fucking hard. These people been trying to figure it out since before Christ.”
    Wynn cracked up, laughing hard, harder than he had laughed in weeks. First “thinning,” and now “Socrates.”
    Cooke smiled, inhaled and puffed his chest out a bit, proud he’d impressed Wynn.
    “I didn’t know you were a student of philosophy, Sergeant Cooke.”
    “I ain’t. But I got to be a student of men to lead them, Sir.”
    “Absolutely,” Wynn replied after a couple of seconds’ delay.
    A helicopter flew over the trailer park behind them. The trailer shuddered as the whacking of the copter blades violently batted the air. Another flew over. Again the trailer shuddered. They always flew in pairs.
    Cooke watched