Chapter 2.5: The Digi-cucumber strikes Part 2

Naturally I had to tell my parents. While Camp Lejeune was not exactly close to home it was still within the travel limits for a 96 hour libo, a four-day weekend. Sitting, bewildered, outside my barracks room on the third-deck catwalk, I called them up.

“I’m PCS’ing.” I might as well start with the most important news. No use dancing around it.

“So soon? Didn’t you just get there>?”

“Tell me about it.” The whole thing was very unusual.

“Where are they sending you? I hope it's not Okinawa. It’d be nice if you can stay in the country.”

“I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that it’s somewhere stateside, since I don’t need my passport or anything. They said it’s pretty remote, remote enough where they don’t want to send anyone married…”

“Oh, what a shame. Your aunt sent a text saying it’s unfortunate you won't be able to make it for Christmas, so I thought something might happen. “ My spinster aunt again and her predictions. I really wish she wasn’t right as often as she was. It was unsettling.

“I hope it’s not anything too spooky or anything, As much as I wanted to do something interesting while in the military, I don’t exactly care for the thought of doing the kind of high-speed stuff they do in video games. A more conventional career progression is more than good enough for me.”

“I guess there isn’t anything you can do about it now. It’s out of your hands.”

“There isn’t, and there wouldn’t be any time for it if there was. This week is going to be absolutely packed, with all the checkout crap I’m going to be stuck doing. They expect me to be ready to be on the plane by Monday.”

“Monday? That really is short notice.”

“I know. I don’t even want to think about the nightmare of turning all my gear into CIF. And all the other admin crap.”

I took a sip of my soda, staring off into the muggy evening air. It really was short notice. I can only hope the weather is better there than here. It’s quite literally a swamp. Looking on the bright side is always the best way forward, tempered by a sense of realism. Who knows, maybe the barracks at my next duty station won't be near the base sewage treatment plant, unlike my current one. Maybe…

“James?”

“Sorry, it gets kind of hard to focus with the absolute garbage weather here. It’s way too humid, especially in late August.”

“You were complaining about that the other day. Make sure to drink plenty of water.”

“Yes mom… Hold on.”

Off in the music a recording of a bugle began to play, retiring the colors. I stood at attention until it finished.

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.” A pause. “It’s getting late though. And you do have a long week ahead of you. Make sure you call this weekend.”

“I will.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too mom.”

Sure enough, the days that followed were very, very long. Funnily enough, I was told not to turn my gear into CIF. That was one less burden to deal with, but that didn’t fix the hassle of trying to get people to drive me around to all the various admin checks in the boxes I needed before PCS’ing.

It would have been easier if I had a car, but that would have been yet another issue I would have had to deal with; no personal vehicles at this new duty station. My poor Toyota, stuck in purgatory at my parent’s house. How I’ll miss you.

And how I’ll miss the bookstores off-base. I had only just recently found this neat used bookstore on North Marine boulevard a few blocks from the Bojangles. The Barnes and Noble in the mall was all fine and dandy, but it didn’t have the same comfy smell as the used bookstore.

The only real advantage of the B&N was being able to get new books, and occasionally being able to catch a glimpse of the famed Jacksonville Ninja out the window. Don’t ask me why Jacksonville North Carolina has a ninja, I’m just as lost as you.

Call me overly sentimental about a place I’ve only been at for a few months, but… yeah, I no, I was just trying to avoid thinking about how odd things seemed to be about this new duty station. No one I talked to during the entire week had heard of it. Not a single drop of information.

When I woke, balls-early on Monday morning, waiting for the duty driver to take me to Cherry Point for my flight, I could feel only trepidation. Taking a military flight to a mysterious base no one had heard of to fill a billet that made no sense. It almost felt straight from the pages of Catch-22. No, I didn’t want to jinx it.

Comparisons to that book would imply I’d end up at a unit full of mad men. That’d be an absolute nightmare. The logical punchline would be that I was made too, just like the rest of them, and I liked to think my mental faculties weren’t too out of whack from what’s “normal.”