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brUTUS

"S o you guys do this every Monday?" Brutus asked Takeshi Satomura as the formation broke and people started going to do their jobs. "Just... car maintenance?"

"Any Monday we're not in the field," Takeshi told him. "It's not just vehicles, but all our equipment."

Brutus noticed Takeshi had a faint accent. Something in the vowels hinted at somewhere else, a place far from Fort Pickett.

"Why so much maintenance time?" Brutus asked, but before Takeshi could answer Sergeant Orkin called his name. "Talk later?"

"Cool." Takeshi went off in the other direction. Brutus hurried over to Orkin, who had a pile of clipboards in his hand.

"Okay Brutus, I'm going to pair you off with Sergeant Castellanos." Orkin handed him a clipboard. "You're going to be on the ISV over there."

Brutus took the clipboard, surprised. "I'm not being given the shit details? I fully expected to be scrubbing toilets or something."

Orkin chuckledshook his head. "That's not the way we operate. And you're going to be getting plenty dirty today, so don't think you're getting off light either. Head on over, get familiar with the check sheet before Castellanos joins you."

"Deal." Brutus walked towards the line of vehicles that looked like stripped down pickup trucks. Getting closer he thought he could identify the original vehicle the large truck was based off of, but the drab green paint and pipework sides definitely changed the overall design.

Walking around the truck, he had to admit that whatever the purpose of the vehicle was, it was a badass looking truck. He'd just completed his trip around the truck when Sergeant Castellanos came over, stopping him in his tracks.

He thought she'd looked good when he stopped by her room, with her hair damp and sticking to her neck, her undershirt clinging to her athletic frame. Then, she'd looked like a very sexy woman, and Brutus found it hard to tear his eyes away.

But now she looked like something out of a dream, clad in olive drab coveralls, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. There was a confidence in her stance, a knowledge in her eyes, that made Brutus's pulse quicken.

"You ready to get to work?"

"Sure." Brutus flexed his hands. He was wearing thin gloves to combat the chill, but still his fingers were stiff with the late winter cold. "You're not freezing?"

"Nope." Castellanos flexed her own gloved up hands. She was wearing Mechanic's gloves, the lightweight material meant to protect her hands and give her better grip on the day's labors. She looked him over, checking out at his own outfit. "Are you?"

"A little," Brutus admitted, shivering in the pullover Gore Tex parka that had come with his issued uniforms. It was in the current coloration style, and was reasonably warm on his upper body. It was his legs that were suffering. "I know, I know, big baby. But this is different from games."

"How so?" Castellanos asked, stepping forward and taking the clipboard from him. "By the way, where's the rest of your thermal gear?"

"My what?"

Castellanos sighed. "The Army has a freakin' seven layer system of clothing to use in the cold.

Even with your older uniform pattern it works.

Let me guess, you skipped the long underwear and thermal t-shirt, and just went with the standard ACU.

Wait, of course you did, you're wearing your workout shirt underneath. Fuck, my bad."

"No, it's okay," Brutus said quickly. "Maybe I can adjust during lunch.

Look, I just... for games in places like Cleveland or Buffalo or something, we've got these heavyweight thermal compression tops, and our shoulder pads themselves are insulating.

It's a solid half inch of padding and plastic around my upper body before we get to the jersey.

And on the sidelines we've got the parkas if we need it, and heaters, and more. "

"Okay well, get through this morning, and after lunch we'll get you back to the barracks and get you into the right gear," Castellanos said. "In the meantime, you can get warmed up by getting down and crawling around this beast with me. It's my ISV, so I baby the hell out of it."

"Satoshi was telling me about these Mondays," Brutus said. "I didn't think the Army spent so much time doing basic maintenance."

"We put our gear through hell on a regular basis," Castellanos explained. "Out there, our lives can depend on these vehicles working properly."

Brutus could see the logic in that. "Guess it's the same in football," he admitted as he got down on the ground. "We just have an equipment manager and his staff to do it for us."

Castellanos chuckled. "We've got maintenance personnel too, but only for the bigger problems."

"How often does that happen?"

"Not as often as you'd expect," Castellanos said. "The Army might overpay for this stuff, but it's usually tough as hell."

They got started, going slowly as Castellanos showed him how to go through the military's PMCS system.

"So what's this truck for, anyway? It looks too lightweight for anything, you know, pew pew."

"It's meant to get us close to the action," Castellanos explained, "but it's not exactly armored. First sign of trouble, we bail."

She gave a grim smile.

"It looks like a mega dune buggy." Brutus looked at the clipboard, seeing what was next on the list. "Shit. Tire gauge?"

Castellanos pulled one out and handed it to him. "Orkin put you on the ISV because it is our newest vehicle. If you miss something, it won't be as big a problem as if you were on some of the older, more beat up equipment."

"That makes sense," Brutus admitted. "I don't exactly take care of my truck. I have a house manager who handles all that for me... and cleans the place."

Brutus waited for Castellanos to criticize him, but she didn't. Instead she just checked the box on the tire pressure. "Okay, now we do the same for the other three tires," she said, and he tilted his head. "What?"

"You're not going to talk down on me for having a housekeeper who goes to get my oil changed?" Brutus asked.

Castellanos chuckled.

"What?"

"You're making assumptions, Brutus," Castellanos said, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Not everyone's out to get you here."

After a pause, she continued.

“So what if you have someone help you out? Football's practically a full-time job. If you can afford it, why not?"

"Huh... pretty much how I think about it," Brutus admitted.

"So... okay. Reset. I came into this with a lot of assumptions.

My therapist keeps telling me that I need to let go of those and take the world for what it is.

You're obviously not matching up to those assumptions anyway.

So how about I audible this thing and figure some shit out. "

"Now you're with the program there, Brutus. Therapist?"

"Part of my deal with the league, but I've found it helpful anyway." He didn't want to say more about it, but Castellanos just nodded, accepting the fact.

"How's that tire?"

Brutus put a finger in the tire treads, measuring the depth and said, "Three quarters of an inch."

"Good enough."

Looking for something else to discuss, Brutus focused on Castellanos. "So what's your story?" he asked as he checked the tire pressure. "How'd you end up in the Army anyhow?"

"Wanted to get off the island," Castellanos said, causing Brutus to look at her questioningly. "Guayama, Puerto Rico."

"Really?" Brutus asked, and Castellanos nodded. "So you traded in a life on a tropical island in the Caribbean for the Army? No offense, but why?"

"Because all that tropical island stuff? There's about as much bullshit as there is truth to it," Castellanos said. "We were poor. My father washed cars and my mom worked in retail."

"That's not the stereotype for sure."

"It isn't. And despite what the singers and writers say, there's not a goddamn thing romantic about growing up poor in the tropics," Castellanos added. "My older sister thought she could make a better life by going to San Juan. What happened when I visited her... I got off lucky."

"Got off lucky?" Brutus asked.

Castellanos nodded, her eyes haunted as she thought about her past.

"Look, if you don't want to?—"

"I was assaulted," she said.

Brutus dropped the tire gauge to the gravel.

"I was sixteen, I'd gone to Bayamon to see my sister, and... there's a lot of seedy places in some parts of that town. It's a rough town, okay?"

"I've heard about Bayamon."

Castellanos shivered at the name, and plunged ahead.

"Anyway, I wanted a way off the island that didn't depend on my looks.

I know how I look, Brutus. I had the offers, but I didn't want the strings that came with those offers.

The Army said they didn't give a damn about my looks, they wanted me to work. "

"And you chose Infantry...?"

"Because I'm never going to let that happen to me again," Castellanos said simply. "I was going to be a fighter. I'm not going to end up like my sister."

"Where is she?"

Castellanos snorted darkly. "Right back in Guayama, with three kids by three different fathers.

Two of them said they were just going to the mainland to find work and that they'd be back for Carmen and the kids.

.. yeah right. I send some money back every couple of months, but it's not enough. It'll never be enough."

"I'm... sorry," Brutus said, shaken up.

He tried to pick up the tire gauge, and dropped it again before he could maintain a grip long enough to tuck it in his pocket. But instead of continuing he sagged to the gravel, sitting down with his back against the right rear wheel.

"Fuck. I just..."

"Don't say you're sorry, Brutus," Castellanos said almost harshly.

"Don't you fucking dare take pity on me.

I made it out of the island, and I'm glad.

I've got my degree, I've got a good start on a good career as long as I can avoid asshole colonels and generals trying to shuffle me off to some PR job because of my looks.

I'm here because of my skills, not my looks. "