Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 331 It feels like a lifetime ago
No Easy Day: A Ranger's Memoir of Afghanistan and Iraq

Ryan McAllister

2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, U.S. Army retired

"For security reasons, some names and details in the book have been modified, but this does not affect the authenticity of the story."
-
Chapter Three: The Beginning

2002.

Afghanistan, Kandahar.

As the C-130's hatch closed, a wave of heat, carrying the smell of burning garbage, rushed out.

Before the engine had even stopped roaring, I was pulled down by an SSG wearing rearview mirrors.

"Get moving, recruits. Don't fucking fall behind."

Dust swirled along the side of the runway, and several Hummers were parked across it.

We were herded to the open space opposite, and made to stand in a row, carrying our full gear.

An SSG (Special Service Officer) was holding a clipboard and calling out names according to the roster.

Next came the weapons inspection.

Pulling the bolt, firing in the air, resetting the safety—all were completed before his eyes.

After that, without mentioning where the water or toilets were, he only gave the order: "Follow me."

We were led into the company area.

As we were walking, we suddenly heard a commotion ahead, with whistles and screams rising and falling.

I looked up and—

A burly white man, completely naked, wearing a pink bikini, a helmet, and still in his boots, was running laps around the base, as if he were participating in the Olympics.

The entire platoon clung to the edge of the barbed wire fence, acting like they were in a strip club.

"Run, Barbie, run!"

"Shake it, Colin, you fatso! Shake it!"

Some people even played the theme song from "Beachguards".

I froze, standing there thinking: What the hell did I sign up for?
The sergeant leading the team didn't even blink.

He simply spat and said:
"That's Colin. A fool who lost a bet with John."

Meanwhile, Colin continued running, raising his middle finger and screaming in response:

"Eat shit, you useless bunch of trash!"

When he finally reached the finish line, he was drenched in sweat, but he did not collapse.

Instead, he walked straight up to me, put his arm around my shoulder, and said:

"Welcome to this damn circus, kid."

“Colin Spencer, you’re my best new friend here.”

I opened my mouth, about to speak, when I heard another voice behind me:
"Don't believe his nonsense. He's the biggest bastard in the platoon."

I turned to look over there—

The speaker was a ██ person, sitting on a box cleaning his gun, as if performing some kind of ritual.

I later learned that he was John █████-███.

People called him John, and sometimes "the Filipino," even though he wasn't.

Colin immediately yelled back:

"Fuck you, John. At least I don't have a Hello Kitty tattoo on my ass."

Everybody is crazy.

Some people laughed so hard they almost fell to the ground.

The Black SPC shouted excitedly:
"John, let us see the cat! Take your pants off!"

John didn't even look up.

"Bullshit, Kunta Kinte." Then he continued cleaning his gun.

(The protagonist of the novel by American author Alex Haley, a Gambian who was sold into slavery in the Americas in the 18th century.)
Colin was still laughing, pointing at me:

"Don't listen to his nonsense, he's new here."

“Every squad here knows he lost the Kandahar bet.”

Another burst of laughter followed by another shout.

I stood there, choking and struggling to breathe, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

They are rangers.

The best in America.

But they look like lunatics.

That night, they dragged me into their tent.

Twelve berths, plywood floors, and the stench of boots permeated the air.

A few guys were playing cards on top of an ammunition box, while another guy was cooking ramen with an electric heater.

Colin pushed me onto a cot.

“Kid, you’ll get used to it,” he said.

"You'll want to die during the first week."

"In the second week, you'll laugh at the stupid things other people do."

"By the third week, you'll be just like us—completely rotten."

John leaned against the bed, smoking.

He stared at me and said seriously, "Remember, never listen to him again."

"He's a gambler. You'll lose money, lose face, and even your ass."

"Fuck you," Colin retorted, rolling his eyes.

“I’m a cultured, good person. My bet is to build friendships.”

John burst out laughing. "Remember the cookie challenge?"

The card players also chimed in.

"Of course, Lopez almost choked to death by that bastard."

Everyone laughed. And then it began.

Curses, jokes, and racist nonsense flew around like bullets.

Cheers erupted inside the tent.

Even I laughed, though I was still too nervous to show my teeth.

Colin frantically pounded on the ammunition box.

"Alright, █████, let's have another match tomorrow."

“MRE vomelet, if you lose, you’ll be my whore for a week.”

He kept yelling and winking at me.

"If I lose, I'll brush your boots while I'm naked, how about that?"

John gave a smile that could be described as shy.

"Actually, it makes me feel really uncomfortable to always take advantage of you."

"Besides, I'm not interested in men's butts."

He paused, then exhaled another puff of smoke.

"But don't worry, I will definitely take a picture of it and send it to the newspaper."

"So you'd better start practicing how to deep throat now."

There was a half-second of silence in the tent, then it erupted again, like a dog kennel.

"Damn it! Colin, you're finished!"

"Hey, newbie, just wait and see him kneeling on the ground wiping boots!"

That's it. I thought.

I really need to stay with these people.

A madman, a gambler, a complete bastard.

And he might be the most awesome bastard I've ever met in my life.
-
Autumn, 2013.

North Kivu Province, Congo.

Dust billowed in front of the camp.

As the sun sets, the canvas tent flutters in the wind.

The young soldiers in the distance were still making a ruckus.

Zhou Yi tossed his backpack into the back of the pickup truck and looked down to check the satellite phone.

The traffic light flashed once and then went out.

He opened the cockpit door and climbed into the vehicle.

"Are you just leaving like that?" A familiar voice asked from behind.

Colin stood there, holding a half-empty bottle of beer.

He grinned and joked as usual:

"What shady business are they up to now?"

Zhou Yi didn't explain, put the cigarette in his mouth, and shrugged.

"You might not believe it, but I'm going back to enjoy life."

Upon hearing this, Colin laughed twice, raised the bottle, and saluted him.
"Then I'm a greedy bastard."

"To keep Franklin's face and continue to work as a nanny for the country children."

"Greedy bastard." Zhou Yi chuckled. "At least you still have wine to drink."

The two looked at each other for a moment.

A breeze blew by, carrying a very faint smell of gunpowder.

"See you on the other side, Spencer."

Zhou Yi closed the car door and waved his hand twice in the air.

Colin waved goodbye, his voice drowning out the engine.

"See you later, and remember to give my regards to Isabel."

"Fuck you," Zhou Yi said, stepping on the gas.

In an instant, dust obscured the view.

Just a hundred meters ahead, the red dirt road bends into the mountainside.

Both sides were covered with grass and scattered banana groves.

When he turned around again, Colin had already disappeared.

The entire camp was completely swallowed up by the twilight.

Countless particles were still floating around, but the color gradually faded.

The edges blurred, and the sound gradually faded away.

Until finally, only a low rumble remained.

"Hey, wake up." My shoulder was shaken.

Zhou Yi suddenly opened his eyes.

The cabin was dimly lit. Jim was staring at him, his brow slightly furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Zhou Yi replied softly.

When I reached up and touched my cheek, I realized it was a little damp.

He stared silently at the water stains on his fingertips for a moment before explaining:

My eyes feel a little uncomfortable.

How much longer until our flight arrives in Entebbe?

Jim gave him a deep look and didn't ask any further questions.

“Four hours,” he said.

"Four hours." Zhou Yi adjusted his breathing and leaned back in his seat.

"The Ugandan pilots are even less skilled than I imagined."

(End of this chapter)