“The reason the American Army does so well in wartime, is that war is chaos, and the American Army practices it on a daily basis.” – from a post-war debriefing of a German General

The chlorine in Malcolm’s eyes made it hard to see the feet sloshing through the light. Malcolm was sitting on the pool floor with crossed legs and an empty set of lungs. Apart from the rhythmic vibrations of the music and the clamor of a water-themed football match overhead, he felt serene. As suffocation was beginning to dizzy him, he propelled himself upwards where kicking legs moved out of his way. The pool alone had nearly fifty off duty-soldiers playing football at one end, Marco Polo at another, or divers and noodle fights in between. Seoul’s Dragon Hill Lodge belonged to the United States for the night: November, Foxtrot, Tango and Bravo were at the pool or the first floor. The backyard, where the pool and bar were at, was nearly packed to the brim. From both corners of the yard, tall lights kept the stars invisible. The ambience system kept a diverse cycle of popular dance tracks which ranged from corporate-sponsored hip-hop to` Korean Pop.

“NELSON!” Captain Thompson yelled. “GET OUT OR GET IN THE GAME!”

Malcolm had chosen a bad spot to surface, in the middle of the football game where the Tango Company was facing off with Captain Forrest’s Bravo Company.

“NELSON!” Thompson belated, “GET OUT THE WAY!”

Malcolm sank without a breath and tread beneath the dozens of paddling limbs. He creeped beneath Team Bravo and emerged at the end of the pool. With the grace of a seal, he pulled out of the water and inhaled deeply. He was standing at the end of the yard and could see the district lights past the fences. Seoul was unlike Bagdad, which was tattered last Malcolm had seen. He slanted and stretched his legs out on the fence as he soaked the metropolis.

After completing a cracking split, he twirled around on his right foot and stood facing the temple-like architecture. He began a casual trot inside as he ignored the squad of grunts nearby chanting, “YOU MUST SPREAD YO LEGS…YOU MUST SPREAD YO LEGS…”.

The interior was crowded, and its design reminded Malcolm of the fanciest hotel he’d ever been to. Two large doors led to a sauna room, which was filled with up to seventy soldiers slamming their imported beers. The bathroom sign was hanging past the double doors and a grunt was hustling inside with his mouth covered, crossing the soldier leaving. Malcolm maneuvered across the room, sipping the water fountain before entering.

There were three stalls and six urinals. Malcolm could hear the hurling of the hungover grunt. Malcolm didn’t mind and crossed into the second available stall.

After locking the door, he sat down and reeled at the depiction on the stall door. It had a squatting man covering the door plane with a green landscape behind him and solar eclipse created by his head. His eyes were covered by long hair, and a shiny red apple was held inside the mouth; a necklace of three jewels hung around his neck.

Malcolm stared with a straight face and mouth as his eyes remained unblinking.

…Back in High school, I just had to put up with juvenile penis drawings… In America we do this shit on Freeway Overpasses…

He heard the bathroom door slam open. “YO SPACE DOG!”

Malcolm shut his eyes from the starrer outside the door. Feet appeared at the stall corner and an upside-down forehead dipped below the door. A banging followed. “I know you’re in there bro, you said you’d be quick!”

“Javi!” Malcolm answered. “It’s called a fucking privy for a reason!”

“Bro. You said you were going to the bathroom; I just now catch you entering?” Javier answered. “People are waiting on you dog.”

“Yea well…Look, I’m about to come out.” Malcolm relented.

“That’s how we all cope with breakups my dude…”

Malcolm froze bug-eyed as he was standing.

“Shit…” Javier radiated regret. “I’m so fucking sorry man, my head slipped. I never…”

Malcolm opened the stall door and faced an embarrassed Master Sergeant Javier Chavez. “Meryl and I finally talked.” His eyes were level with Javier’s neck.

Javier Chavez, who is taller than Malcolm, was dimmer by the just same length. His skin was free of tattoos except for the waving Jesus on his right shoulder and a dog tag for his father below. His skull mirrored Malcolm’s buzz cut, and his eyes were green as a summer’s leaf. “OH! Well, that’s progress!” He clapped. “What did I tell you? Nobody just throws away what you two had.”

“Yes…she did.” Malcolm zagged to the faucets and ran the hot water.

Javier looked at Malcolm without turning. “Bro, I promise that she loves you.”

Malcolm looked at him as he stood by the door, waiting for approval. “She won’t meet up with me. I don’t even know where she’s living now.”

Javier grimaced and broke eye contact. “My girl Rosie likes you still, you want to have dinner at our house whenever we’re in the countryside again? She has a cousin you know.”

Malcolm winced. “Isn’t she in High School?”

“You’re thinking of Alejandra.” Javier waved a finger. “This one is halfway through college.”

“How old is she?” Malcolm bluntly asked.

“Nineteen, skipped kindergarten and senior year; she’s as smart as you are.”

Malcolm remained unblinking. “I doubt that.”

“It’s completely legal. And she thinks you’re hot!” Javier emphasized, yet Malcolm stared. Javier did a combination of cringing and shrugging. “Too soon. I’m sorry.”

Malcolm nodded. “As you were.”

“Soo…. Are you coming back? We got a game going man.”

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.”

Javier nodded and was out of the door. Leaving Malcolm to his own reflection. Malcolm continued his breathing exercises to steady his heart rate, grasping the edges of the sink.

Malcolm’s pectorals, biceps and forearm crystalized with a fluid symmetry of muscles. His right shoulder was decorated with a kraken-like spiral weave and the curly appendages formed a Buzz Saw. At the bicep was a gold outline for a Red Reaper. The triceps held Malcolm’s last addition; the tattoo was a Bald Eagle with its wings spread above its head, mostly black. Sporting the Eagle felt appropriate, Malcolm was a cog in the greatest military power; the World’s most influential empires always sported the eagle: The Roman Empire, The Mongolian Hordes, Nordic Berserkers, Napoleonic France, the Third Reich, and finally, the United States.

Every tattoo was accentuated by the course of Malcolm’s muscles which curved inward to his sharp pectorals. His neck was a congestion of sharp tendons that weaved, rooting his exquisite brain into his meatsuit. As hard as he tried to flex, Malcolm felt hollow of the bone and failed to calm his heart. His sunken eyes were faintly bugged in the reflection, so he shut them tightly; but they revolved inside his shaved head.

…Think happy thoughts…Think happy thoughts…Think happy thoughts…

…Guitar solos. A first drink. Learning what Elon Musk’s brain looks like. Firework finales. Parkour. Mountain Biking. My first deployment. Dinosaurs. Fast Cars. Street racing. Large Trucks. Haylee Williams. Lovecraftian short stories. Stephen King novels. Pages shifting between fingertips. Observatories. Painting an ‘inspiring mural’. A Shooting Star. Bombs. Guns. A Hibachi Chef. Benching a new weight increment. Being a ‘Genius’. Showers. Swimming Laps. Punking a math teacher. That prom queen who killed herself. Jailbreaking a smartphone. A controlled demolition…Meryl…Fishing! Hunting! Dead teenagers, of which there will be plenty in the service of Kim Jeong….

Malcolm emerged at the poolside; the games were still in effect and without a clear score between Team Tango and Team Bravo. Malcolm shifted to the left and immediately had to weave around grunts from Foxtrot Company gossiping around a keg. The second table Malcolm passed had the troops interacting with Korean Attachments, teaching them new tunes as they slammed the Styrofoam cups.

“…Hear them calling you and me!

…Every son of Liberty!

…Over there! Over there!

Send the word, send the word, over there…”

Between the slamming of cups, they jutted their fingers to the North.

Malcolm found his people at the fourth roundtable. “Hurry Up Gamemaster!” bellowed Javier as he pulled Malcolm’s seat back out for him.

Malcolm sat down, looking at the filled paper, a pen and the die; he was scratching his temple to remember where he had left off.

Javier resumed his seating counterclockwise from Malcolm. Going around from Javier: The X.O. Harvey “Temperature” Daniels, a cock-eyed second-in-command who took his half-shut eyes off the table and glued them to Malcolm; the only trooper present without any tattoos or even a drink in hand.

Lieutenant Kenneth “Fuckaroo Jack” Johnson, he had been keeping his attention on the game-at-hand, but more was directed at his next seat.

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Lieutenant Sarah “Fireball” Clairet, the only other trooper at the table with better tattoos than Malcolm; she was wearing her ginger-red hair down to her neck, but her symmetric Huron-themed ink was well-defined; her one piece of camo shielded the rest.

Lieutenant Markus “Question Mark” Beauregard, a nickname bequeathed to him by Fuckaroo Jack when no one knew what to make of him at basic training; he had been cross legged and chain-smoking with his head held back. Markus took a last drag off a cigarette butt before dropping it to the graveyard of ash surrounding his chair.

Lieutenant Thomas “Haphazard” Edwards, he had to be reprimanded immediately after starting Basic Training when he got caught juggling three pistols with his bunk-buddies; the team had him to thank for bringing his game set overseas.

Staff Sergeant Alan “Da Cow” Williams had the burliest disposition that made physical exercise seamless. A man who hated Johnson as much as his own moniker, Fuckaroo Jack once offered the moniker “Da Gorilla” which escalated into a fistfight followed by a duel disciplinary action.

Finally, Staff Sergeant Gary “Toothy Booey” Jackson, a rabbit-jawed Georgian yokel with a cliché American Flag down his arm and seemed to be falling asleep with his arms folded.

“…Ok.” Malcolm picked up the paper and slouched back, pen tapping away at his head.

“You’re drinking too much, Nelson…” Daniels asked with a squint, “Don’t think we can be having that.”

“Just a couple drinks.” Malcolm shrugged.

“A couple glasses of Jack!” Guffawed Clairet, “And you took too long breaking the seal!”

“…I could always go in the pool if it keeps being a problem.” Malcolm deadpanned.

“Could you do it on Tolbert?” Toothey Booey chortled.

“…That would be a sex crime…” Javier replaced Malcolm’s deadpan.

“Hell naw it ain’t.” Toothey Booey seemed confident. “Ain’t no penetration.

Javier’s eyes bulged. “Dumbass! We’ve been put through whole seminars about this shit. It doesn’t matter!”

Clairet chimed in. “I mean… the pool is chlorinated so it actually doesn’t matter.”

“See that?” clapped Booey. “The women are on my side.”

Fireball just cocked her head, “Seeth. Thhat?” She pulled a mocking rabbit’s jaw that turned Jackson red. “You seriously need to get that overbite looked at; you sound worse than Mike Tyson.”

Malcolm quieted her with the close of his fist, having just now caught up with the papers.

“I think we’ve gotten way off track.” Haphazard spoke, “I don’t even know what’s happening anymore.”

“It was Fireball’s turn, last.” Malcolm answered, his eyes moved to Kenneth. “Jack?”

Kenneth’s attitude dissipated, and the table leaned in. Kenneth finally uttered, “Who the fuck was I?”

Malcolm’s sucked his lips in. “Still a motherfucker.”

Kenneth grinned. “That ‘joke’ is on your dumbass; I get to be your dad now!”

Malcolm’s eyes turned black. “My Mom is Dead…”

Everyone at the table pretended to ‘ooh’ like it was grade school. Kenneth rolled his eyes to his head. “I didn’t do that.”

Malcolm held his stare and pulled a cocky smile. “You’re a necrophile, Harry…”

Kenneth waved a hand. “Naw…I ain’t a fan of Cold Cuts, bro.” He looked at Alan Williams. “Or Dark Chocolate!” He faked a maniacal laugh.

Williams held his rage, while half the table laughed with Kenneth, Daniels stared next to Kenneth without emotion and Booey almost laughed liquor out his nose. Question Mark spoke up after composing himself. “Scared you’ll get your bank info stolen Jack?”

Kenneth stared with a red-puckered face. “More like I’m Suburban…right? Then you got the Urbans, that’s another thing!”

Williams stood up and walked away for a moment while Edwards followed; Daniels slapped Kenneth’s shoulder as he too walked over.

Then, Kenneth’s eyes wandered to the adjacent table. “…Then there’s these Karma Pirates hosting us in their country…You think they squint to see Time slowly, or are they just really confused about something?”

Javier’s jaw had long since dropped. “Fucking stop it, Jack.”

“Okay…Let me Jack into your Burrito!” Kenneth barked before another maniacal laugh followed.

He abruptly halted his laugh and turned his head to Sarah Clairet. She had been laughing too, now her face turned stark as she looked at Malcolm. “Permission to castrate, Captain?”

Malcolm tapped the table; he had already set the paper and pen down. “That’s my fun, you could pin him if you insist on helping.”

Kenneth pretended to dart his eyes in fear. “Oh dear! I really should’ve Jacked that Deposit in the Bank!”

Malcolm incidentally ceased to blink. “I’d rob that bank on principle.”

“Oh SPACEY!” Fuckaroo Jack guffawed. “How sweet!”

Booey chortled, “How do yawl think the Government reimburses Banks like that?”

Even Javier pretended to consider the question; Malcolm looked at Booey, “The Treasury Department pitches in.” He deadpanned.

Kenneth and Booey burst into new laughter. “Aspiring Single Mothers will rejoice!”

Malcolm turned his head back to Kenneth. “That should relieve you the hard work of abandoning them.”

Kenneth’s laugh continued. “Well look, I’m a better Dad than mine ever was…I abandon my little shits before they can remember me!”

Malcolm nodded. “I’ll admit I’m jealous at that…my dad was a jar-headed prick. Yet…you only delay checking off your final step before waiting to die.”

Javier gasped yet tried not to laugh; Clairet laughed away. Kenneth raised a finger. “So, you with your kid?”

“That makes me a ‘check-off.” Malcolm spoke with black eyes.

Booey cocked his head as the others who left with Williams trickled back. “What are you going on about?”

Malcolm shrugged. “My part for the gene-pool is completed: See, the only given objective of life is to keep living. Enough of the species need to last long enough, for enough of that species, to renew itself for another Season of Earth!” He finished with a grin.

Daniels, who had just sat down, stared with suspicious eyes. Question Mark and Williams looked at each other in dismay. Clairet shrugged and started to laugh. “A toast to ugly truths!” She downed her cup shot.

Kenneth boasted. “Don’t that make you at the end of your life?”

Malcolm pursed his lips and considered. “Could be, but that’s okay. My life wasn’t all for nothing.”

“What the fuck did we, rightly, walk away from?” Question Mark asked.

Malcolm looked at those who returned. “Just think of Mother Nature like an original classroom, but the rules are different: No teacher expects, wants, or needs you to pass with the best possible GPA.

All you need to pass is your Seed…before you get your F.” Williams and Question Mark tried not to laugh but couldn’t help it. Malcolm grinned and drunkenly chuckled with the rest.

Kenneth laughed and shook his head. “Thirty Bucks says an ancestry website will prove that I’m well-seeded.”

Question Mark finally added to the humor. “I’d bet a lot more if I were you, considering all the child-support that’ll be forced.”

“Child-Support is the least of Jack’s worries.” Booey was smug. “Police will ask why Fuckaroo Junior lives in Afghanisan!”

“Or the Philippines!” Clairet joined in.

“How ‘bout Puerto Rico!” Question Mark laughed.

Kenneth pretended to think. “Fuck…How ‘bout a Hundred Bucks?”

Daniels, whose eyes darted between everyone speaking, kept facing Malcolm. “Is anyone going to focus on the game we started?”

Kenneth looked at Daniels. “AAH! No, just you bro.” Daniels hit Kenneth in the shoulder, but he was too drunk to care.

Javier clapped his hands. “The X.O. is making a point! What were we doing?”

Williams spoke up. “We were doing a coup on the Russians.”

Booey guffawed. “Oh Fuck, the Coup!”

Kenneth squinted. “I thought we were fucking the Cubans.”

“You want to fuck a Cuban.” Williams corrected.

Kenneth, again, pretended to think. “Could I?” He looked at Malcolm.

“DPRK Troops aren’t your type?” Malcolm asked.

Kenneth shook his head. “Too anorexic. I prefer Jap girls!”

Javier implored them. “Is there any way we actually pick our game back up?”

Malcolm shrugged. “You see I’m not even holding anything at this point; How’s this? The Villainous General Smirnoff was playing a double agent all along!”

“You gotta right that down!” Williams protested.

“So, he was secretly on our side?” Clairet asked.

“Even when it seemed he was most selfish…” Malcolm answered. “…He was the mysterious ‘White Raven’ all along, working behind the scenes.”

“So did we do the coup or not?” Question Mark asked.

“Well…of course.” Malcolm thought. “But what of the countercoup? Or the post-period? Smirnoff must remain the General, and the White Raven persona will cease to be useful. Consequently, he will never get to be seen as a hero…not in a traditional sense.”

“How’s that a successful coup?” Haphazard guffawed. “He sounds no better than who’s in charge now!”

“The coup got couped on itself.” Javier elaborated. “I suppose that’s a twist. Which will happen when we make the captain our gamemaster.”

“Do we want to bother with my exposition dumping our exfil?” Malcolm asked.

A collective silence was the answer. He gathered the papers and passed them to Williams.

“What? It’s your game.” Malcolm said.

“Well hold on.” Clairet interrupted, “Can we coup the Iranians next?”

“We might have had too much.” Malcolm thought. “Besides, what time is it?”

“Twenty-three hundred.” Answered Daniels.

“Shit…I shouldn’t.” He looked over. “Williams, your Gamemaster.”

“Like I’m not drunk?”

“Your game.”

“Daniels is stone-cold sober, make him in charge.”

“Maybe I’m tired too.” Daniels said.

“Fuck it...” Malcolm said. “Night’s over. Temp, gather the company and get some fucking sleep, sooner or later we’ll be in Camp Humphreys.”

Malcolm reached for the nearby keg nozzle as the X.O. eyed him while standing to leave. When Malcolm gulped the warm beer, it collided with the whiskey that was already in his system; his stomach clenched. He followed up but did not bother with the Styrofoam cup, he simply suckled on the nozzle once more. Williams over to collect the die and the index chart that they had ignored for their modern take on Dungeons and Dragons. Javier gave a friendly slap on Malcolm as he walked away.

Malcolm turned his head to a singing platoon while he gulped again. In the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Fuckaroo Jack and Toothey Booey standing with them, as Javier drunkenly joined; they swayed as they stood. They assembled a line of fifteen and Malcolm watched the group hop away, swaying and shoulder locked.

“…And you tell me, over and over and over again my friend…

…ah you don’t believe we’re on the Eve of Destruction…”