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brUTUS

T he barbell tore into Brutus's hands, the assistance straps he was using pulling on his wrists as well. He groaned, straining against the heavy barbell with its four hundred pounds in plates and half a dozen heavy chains for additional work, trying to clear his mind.

No dice. Just as the bar got above his knees, the thought of Linda being in danger filled his mind, distracting him. He felt his body slip out of the 'groove,' and half a second later the bar crashed down to the platform, unable to move.

"You okay, Brutal?" Buddy, the gym manager, asked him.

Buddy was a longtime powerlifter, who'd coached quite a few local lifters all the way to the US Nationals. While his expertise didn't quite extend to pro football preparation, he was more than willing to do what he could to help Brutus in his preseason prep.

"Muscle?"

"No... head." Brutus unstrapped himself from the bar. "Linda got recalled yesterday."

"Hmmm... figured that was why Jess Adams didn’t come on.” Buddy nodded his head sagely. "And you haven't heard anything?"

"Nope. I tried giving Sabby Goodman a call, she sort of helped last time, but she doesn't know anything of course. She's just perfectly secure in knowing that her sister and her husband are coming back safe and sound because they're both able to piss lightning and crap thunder."

"Yup, that sounds like Sabby," Buddy said. "She's Jess's biggest fan. I saw her cheer Jess on at a local powerlifting tournament, and she was a whirlwind of energy, yelling instructions like a coach!"

"That's fine Buddy, but what do I do about up here?" Brutus asked, tapping his head. "Fuck man, this is..."

"Hard as hell?" Buddy asked.

Brutus nodded.

"I get to train amazing people, but they disappear in the middle of the night, and I might never know what happened to them. It's...hard. Look, maybe talk to the battalion. They've got family groups. You're not family , but...you are family. The way you talk about Linda, you are."

Brutus thought about it, and nodded. "You're right. Okay, let me put this shit away and-"

"And you go shower up, get changed," Buddy said agreeably. "I'll handle the bar this time. Way you are right now, you'd probably drop a damn chain on your foot and then I'd have the Bluecats coaches yelling for my ass. No thank you, sir."

Grateful, Brutus rushed back to the house to pull on a clean Bluecats t-shirt and workout shorts. Pausing, knowing he might be running with his emotions, he called up Dr. Caster. Luckily, the man was available.

"Brutus, what's the emergency?"

"Doc, Linda got recalled and I'm freaking the fuck out," Brutus admitted. "I'm scared man, and the gym manager said that I should go talk to the unit. Is that a smart idea, or am I just being a damned fool?"

"Probably both," Dr. Caster said. "Brutus, it's clear that your relationship with Linda has gotten to the point that it's a long term, maybe even permanent, thing.

As such, you need to make sure that the unit loops you in as much as they can.

That being said, don't expect miracles. From what you've said, they're under very strict security rules. "

"I know."

"You might be rebuffed."

Brutus sighed, nodding. "I know."

"Just keep that in mind when you try. If you're turned away, it's not personal. Accept your emotions before you pop off about them, and you'll be fine," Caster said. "And when you get a chance, call me afterwards. Just to let me know you're okay."

"I will. Thanks, Doc."

Grabbing his keys, Brutus drove to the front gate of the base. The guard, recognizing him, stopped him.

"What's up, sir?"

"I know it's Sunday, but is there anyone at the 3/3 I can talk to? Colonel Remsburg or Major Kirk or someone?" Brutus asked. "I just... need to know what I can."

The guard hummed, and held up a finger. Going inside the guard shack he made a call, coming out a minute later.

"Sir, Colonel Remsburg is currently unavailable, but Major Kota's available. He can meet you at the battalion headquarters."

"Thank you. Please tell them I'm coming," Brutus said.

The guard waved him through. Following the now familiar roads, he drove just a few blocks further, past the three company areas to the battalion headquarters, where he parked.

A lieutenant in uniform came out, checking him out. "Brutus Townsend."

"Jim Peters, Bravo Company," the lieutenant replied. "I'm the current duty officer today. I already called Major Kota, he'll be here in a few minutes."

"Thanks. Is there... Christ man, I don't know what to do." Brutus balled his fists, digging them into his temples in frustration. "Fucking therapist says just accept the emotions, but what the fuck do you do when the emotions are like this?"

Peters waved him over to a picnic table, sitting down on top of it. Brutus joined him, the two of them sitting side by side, their knees splayed, their elbows resting on their thighs.

"If it helps, my friend's the same way," Peters said, "and he's an officer too. It's gotten to the point that he tells me to not even tell him when I'm being sent on a mission, just send him a text when I get back and can count to twenty one on my digits. That's his words, not mine."

"He's not here at Fort Pickett?" Brutus asked.

Peters shook his head.

"Yeah, we're doing semi-long distance ourselves. He's at Fort Lee. It's not ideal, but we make it work, you know? I miss him like crazy when he's gone."

Brutus nodded, feeling a connection. Someone who understood the ache in his chest.

"Linda's only been gone a day and I'm already losing it."

"Here's Major Kota," Peters said, nodding toward the parking lot.

Brutus faintly remembered meeting Justin Kota before, when he'd been processing in and out of the 3/3 for his week of training with Charlie Company. Shorter than most officers, he had a compact body that Brutus suspected was quite strong for its size.

"Brutus, it's good to see you again," Kota greeted him, offering a hand.

He was dressed for the weekend, a gray polo shirt and khaki shorts that made him look like he was getting ready to spend the afternoon golfing rather than talking with Brutus.

"Sorry Colonel Remsburg's unavailable."

"Unavailable as in the man's got a cold, unavailable as in he doesn't want to talk to me, or unavailable as in he's nowhere near Fort Pickett?" Brutus asked. "It makes a difference."

"Certainly does," Kota replied, taking a deep breath but not answering. Another car pulled up, and a man got out. "Ah, here's the Padre."

"Padre?" Brutus asked worriedly as he saw the man put a necklace on, a crucifix. "Does that mean...”

"No, no." Kota waved Brutus down. "Chris Morgan's the battalion chaplain, but I asked him here because he's also sort of a counselor for us. And it'll be good to have another set of ears to make sure we're clear on what I say, you know?"

Brutus sighed in relief, and shook Morgan's hand when it was offered. "So you're the chaplain, huh?"

"First Lieutenant Chris Morgan," he replied with a nod and a chuckle.

"Major Kirk and I have swapped a few stories about his struggles during his time as a captain.

I can only imagine what a priest named Captain Morgan's going to have to deal with.

So, when Major Kota called me, I can guess what you're asking about. Charlie Company."

"I'm a nervous wreck," Brutus admitted. "My therapist said I should at least come talk to you guys, see what you can tell me.

Look, last time, I wasn't around. I was busy, and since it was just a small thing I was sort of able to handle it.

But this... this is tearing me apart. I was about to tuck her into bed when the damn call came. No offense Father."

"Just Chris," Morgan said. "I'm not Catholic, and my seminary doesn't grant titles for a job like mine."

"So this is your second deployment," Kota said.

He indicated that Brutus should walk with him, and they did, leaving the picnic table behind to walk through the series of nearly interconnected parking lots towards Charlie Company's barracks and offices.

They in all reality were connected, with smooth dirt gaps between each paved area to delineate what belonged to who.

"How'd you handle it the first time?"

"Team minicamp," Brutus said. "I got the notification by text message, so I was able to sort of put it out of my mind. It wasn't until she got back and I saw the bruises on her body that I... dammit. I keep getting her in trouble with you, don't I Padre?"

Morgan shook his head. "There are much worse issues that I have to deal with than a single man and single woman being physically intimate without the approval of the church. So Castellanos was hurt in her last mission?"

"She was shot in her body armor," Brutus said. "That's all she could tell me, which makes it even worse because now she's gone, literally from my arms, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it!"

Brutus growled, balling his hands into fists. He felt so powerless, and he hated it, screwing his eyes shut, he confessed, "Dammit, the woman I love is in danger and I'm sitting here in the fucking sun doing jack shit about it!"

He felt tears threaten, and was surprised when he felt a warm hand on his neck. "Padre, I don't need..."

"That isn't me," Morgan said.

Brutus opened his eyes to see Major Kota patting him on the back, rubbing his neck. Morgan was standing next to him, his hands behind his back and a knowing smile on his face. Kota's comforting grip was so surprising that Brutus stopped, and Kota removed his hand.

"I understand," Kota said. "Not that I have any lovers, my wife's at home today.

But my friends are out there right now in Alpha and Charlie companies.

If it helps, I've gotten some communication from Colonel Remsburg, they're doing just fine.

Keep that between us. But it sucks, sitting here trying to hold down the fort while people we care about are in harm's way. "

"How do you deal with it?" Brutus asked.

Kota shook his head.