The Life Expectancy of Chocolate

The Life Expectancy of Chocolate

1

Painted in desert camouflage, the truck rolled into Camp Harache and came to a stop. Thick black smoke billowed out of the exhaust stack. The stench of diesel fuel and oil emanated from the vehicle. Private Steele peeked out from the space in the rear of the truck and surveyed his surroundings. Long, green canvas tents circled the camp proper. At the camp's center was a large, circular one. Steele guessed this was the mess tent, reinforced by the aroma of something cooking inside. The sun rose in the east, warning of its intent to bake the landscape and everything that stood atop it.

"What are you waiting for, Private." A man bearing a sergeant's insignia stood behind the truck glaring at Steele. "This is the only stop between no place and no where. Toss your gear down here and climb down."

Steele flung his duffle out the back. A canvas handle on the bag caught a tie-down on the truck's frame. It swung back and forth and came to rest on the side. Steele leapt out, landing hard. Solders gathered around to see the new arrival. They chuckled as he struggled to hoist the duffle off the tie-down.

"I'm Sergeant Schwartz," the man in front of him said. "I'll be your squad leader. You're assigned to second squad, first platoon."

"Yes, Sergeant," Steele squealed and cleared his throat. The bag on his shoulder bit into his flesh. He winced and repositioned it.

"Damn, private," Schwartz said. "What do you got in that bag? Bring it over here and dump it out. Let me take a look."

Steele let the bag slide off his shoulder in front of him. He popped open the clasp and turned it upside down. A pile of Army issue equipment landed in a pile at his feet. On top was a package of melted Hershey chocolate bars. Laughter erupted from the soldiers around the truck.

"Who the hell would bring chocolate to the desert," Schwartz bellowed. "For crying out loud, it's a hundred fourteen degrees in the shade."

Steele's new squad leader shook his head as he ran a sleeve along his forehead to soak up sweat on his brow. He sighed and pulled a canteen from the pouch at his side.

"Look, Private," Schwartz said. "There are two rules of the desert I can tell you. The rest of it you'll have to learn on your own." He unscrewed the canteen's lid and shoved it into Steele's gut.

"First rule of the desert," Schwartz began. "Water is your best friend, especially when you're not thirsty." Steele took the pause to mean that he had to do something. He wasn't sure what Schwartz expected of him. His Squad leader watched him expectantly. Suddenly it dawned on him. He was to drink.

Steele put the canteen to his lips. The water was warm and stale. Apparently satisfied, Schwartz continued. "Secondly, the life expectancy of a soldier in war is twenty eight seconds once the lead starts flying. Don't go changing the odds by doing something stupid. Your name might be Steele, but you sure ain't made of it."

"Yeah," someone chimed in. "What is the life expectancy of chocolate in the desert?"

Laughter erupted from the guys around the truck again.

"Who's the wise ass?" Schwartz shouted. He spun around to survey the soldiers. His look commanded silence.

There in the crowd of soldiers, a lit cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, stood Specialist Coleman. He dropped his head, but still managed to look up at his squad leader. He was certain, even before it was confirmed, that Schwartz knew it was him.

"Sorry, Sarge," was all Coleman could muster.

Schwartz stood quietly a moment, contemplating a fitting consequence for the smart ass chirp. His eyes narrowed and he nodded. A wicked grin crept onto his face. Silence filled the space between him and Coleman.

He beckoned Coleman to stand in front of him. Schwartz took the cigarette and dropped it to the ground. Holding Coles on an invisible tether with his eyes, he snuffed the still glowing embers with the tip of his left boot.

"Private Steele here is going to need some looking after, Specialist." The silence was replaced by muffled whispers. Schwartz continued, "I like a soldier who is willing to help his fellow man. And for volunteering to take on this project, I'm going to throw in two weeks kitchen police. Now, get this private settled in and see to it he learns the ropes."

"Yes, Sergeant," Coleman snapped to attention as he spat out the words.

"There's nothing left to see here, boys." Schwartz waved the soldiers away. "Chow is in ten minutes. Line up for some of Cookie's famous corned beef hash. It'll put hair on your chests and probably on spots you don't even know you have."



2
Although neither of them would admit it, Coles and Steele hit it off right away. On the first morning of KP, Coleman broke the awkward silence between them.

"I don't need anybody to tell me how to go about things." Coles was eager to share his philosophy with Steele, "My Dad took off when I was eight and my Mom worked three jobs. She was never home."

"How did you get by," Steele asked.

"Heck, I don't know," Coles replied. "I just found things to do, like beat up on my little brother. Come to think of it, you remind me of him, except you're a lot wetter behind the ears."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steele frowned.

Coles grabbed Steele's left ear, twisted it hard and laughed, "I can wring the water out of those ears."

Steele pushed Coleman's hand away from his ear. It was red and tender, and he rubbed it gingerly. "I don't have any brothers," he said. "But I do have two sisters. My Mother treats them like porcelain. My Dad and I just try to stay out of their way. We usually hide out in the garage working on his hot rod."

Coles swore that he'd think of a nickname for Steele by the end of the two weeks. In no time at all, he had it. He burst out laughing and fell off his stool.

"I got it, Steele," He said through bouts of laughter. "I dub you Hershey, Earl of Chocolate."

"Ah, man, Coles," Steele said. "Why do you have to be like that? Can't you come up with something else? I don't know, like Steele Dragon or something."

"No Way, Steele," Coleman replied. "Hershey it is! Besides, bullets don't care what your name is. They'll kill you just the same."

Steele crawled through each day, scrubbing mess kits and policing up scraps of food while Coleman found ways to look busier than he was. Their squad leader occasionally stopped by the mess tent. Coleman always knew when Schwartz was coming. He would snatch up a brush and pretend to scrub mess kits. He had an uncanny sense that inspired awe in Steele. Coles could just about hide in plain sight if he chose to.

"You know, Hershey." Coles looked across the fifty-five gallon drum of soapy water at Steele on their last day of KP, "What the hell were you thinking when you stuck those chocolate bars in your bag?"


3

Coleman never took anything seriously. He fancied himself a clown and poked fun at everything. It was not uncommon for his buddies to be gathered around him. He was a constant source of entertainment in this bleak and colorless landscape.

The soldiers of second platoon were inside their tent. They were ordered to clean and oil their weapons. It was necessary to do so every other day to purge sand and dust that collected in the rifles.

Specialist Callon sat with his back against the center pole. He surveyed the others, hoping to break the boredom. An idea formed in his head. He stood up and whipped a fifty dollar bill from his pocket, waving it at Coles who was sitting close by.

"Hey, Coles," Callon shouted. "I'll bet you this fifty you can't wrap it tight around your wrist and burn a hole through it."

"You're on Cal." Coles slid his weapon off his lap and grabbed his duffle bag, flinging it in front of Callon. He sat on it and motioned for Steele to kneel in front of him. When Hershey complied, Coles pulled a lighter from his pocket and handed it to the young private. He took the fifty and wrapped it tight around his right wrist.

"Coles," one of the others shouted over the din of the small crowd. "Everyone knows that old trick. You'll melt your arm off before you burn through that bill!"

"Alright, Hershey," Coles said, ignoring the warning. "Light it up and hold it against the bill."

Steele did as he was told. When the flame touched the bill it danced along the surface, blue light flickering brightly.

"Come on, Coles," Steele watched as Coleman lowered his head and groaned. "This is stupid."

"Hershey, don't you dare move that lighter." Coles raised his head and glared at Steele.

The flame turned the surface of the bill a dull brown. Coles was wincing hard, his head lowered between his legs. His flesh turned deep red around the edges of the bill. The fifty held fast, invincible against the heat.

"Damn, Coles," Cal said in amazement. "Come on, dude. I didn't mean for you to burn the shit out of yourself. That bill ain't going to burn. Give it up."

Coles ignored Cal, still wincing against the pain. He resigned himself to the fact that Cal was right. The struggle now was to find a way out of this mess, but also save face. He was not ready to give up.

Steele leaned forward to look at Cole's face. He couldn't see through the shadow that formed around Coleman's shoulders and head, but he knew enough was enough. Cole's wrist turned white as his flesh seared. Steele let the flame wink out and pulled the lighter away. Coles looked up suddenly. Feigned anger screwed up his face.

"Hershey," Coles scolded Steele. "What the hell? You just cost me fifty bucks!"

"I'm sorry, Coles." Steele looked around at the others, who glared at him through narrow eyes. "It was burning my thumb."

Chuckles turned to raucous laughter as Steele shook his thumb and thrust it in his mouth. Cal snatched the fifty from Cole's hand and waved it in the air to cool it. He shoved it into his pocket.

"What the hell would you do with it out here anyway, Coles?" Cal said over his shoulder as he walked toward his cot, a wicked grin on his face.

Coleman watched the cocky soldier move away. He threw his hand up, flipping Cal the bird. The other soldiers returned to the mundane task of cleaning weapons.

Steele headed to his own cot. Coles quickly stood up and put his hand on Hershey's shoulder, halting the young private.

"Thanks, Steele," Coles whispered to him.

"Sure, Coles."

4

The flap of the tent where Scwhartz's Horsemen slept flew open. A beam of moonlight found its way past the opening, forming a pale triangle on the floor. It was interrupted by Schwartz's shadow.

"Get 'em up, boys!" Schwartz shouted. He reached out and grabbed the first cot and shook it briskly. He made his way down the center of the long tent, stopping randomly to kick the cots on either side of him.

"What the hell?" A muffled voice came from inside a sleeping bag.

"I said get 'em up," Schwartz shouted. "Pack up anything you won't need and drop your duffles in storage! We're moving out!"

Groans of displeasure came from within the tent. "Where are we going, Sarge?" A voice said, louder than the rest.

"We're heading to the front, fellas." Schwartz shot back. "We're moving in an hour so let's not waste any more time. Get moving!"

Coles was the last to rise from his sleeping bag. He fumbled in the grayness under his cot to find his duffle. When he found the canvas bag he yanked it out and flung it onto the sand beside him.

Steele was on the end of his own cot facing the center of the tent. He was hunched over, shoving gear into his duffle bag, an air of panic about him.

"Hershey, what the hell are you doing?" Coles asked. "Slow down before you stick something in there you might need. Here, let me see what you got."

Steele turned, dragging his duffle through the sand to face Coles. In his hand he had a canteen that he forced into the bag.

"Damn it all, Hershey," Coles shook his head at the young private. He took the canteen from Steele and tossed it onto the cot.

"Why'd you do that, Coles?" Hershey asked.

"Water is your best friend out here, Private." Coles had an uncanny way of mimicking Sergeant Schwartz, "especially when you're not thirsty."

A grin worked its way onto Steele's face. His pale features looked incredibly young in the semi-darkness. Fear lingered behind that youthful face. It wasn't the kind of fear a soldier had when he knew things might get dangerous. It was a raw, heart pounding fear of making a mistake that might get your brothers-in-arms killed.

Coleman sat for a moment looking at Hershey. He couldn't help thinking to himself how Steele had been cheated. He could imagine the young private walking into the recruiting office in his hometown with strong ambitions. Nobody bothered to tell him that there was a chance he might not be coming home. It should have been obvious to the young man, but Steele bought into the glory of war and how it could elevate a person to an elite status. The thought of returning home a hero appealed strongly to Steele. The mistake he made was not realizing what you had to go through to get there.

Coles sensed the fear in Steele. He grabbed Hershey by the shoulder and shook him gently. He bent his neck to look in the young private's eyes.

"Hey, Hershey," Coles said. "I got you covered. Stick with me, and it'll be ok. You got it?"

"Yeah, I got it Coles." Steele whispered back. "Only, don't call me Hershey."





5


The Big Red One pushed hard across the Saudi Arabian desert. Bradley Fighting Vehicles dug their tracks in the sand as they drove north toward the Kuwait border. Waves of shimmering heat rose from the desert floor between the rows of heavy metal vehicles and their destination. It distorted everything, making the journey seem endless.

Shoulder to shoulder, and with weapons held tight, the soldiers inside the vehicles prayed for relief from the stale air around them. The four day trek north was broken up by stops to let the soldiers out to stretch and relieve themselves. The chemical protection suits they wore were heavy with sweat.

Steele and Coles rode together in the back of a vehicle assigned to second squad. Their role, once they reached their objective, was to dismount and clear trenches occupied by Iraqi soldiers guarding an oil well.

Minutes before reaching their objective, the soldiers were ordered to lock and load. Steele held his rifle, staring out a port-hole. The others around him withdrew magazines from their ammo pouches and shoved them into their weapons. The sound of metallic clicks could be heard as they chambered the first round. With their weapons set to safety they waited, anticipating the order to dismount.

Coles, noticing for the first time that Steele had not loaded his weapon, snapped his fingers at him. He pantomimed loading a magazine into his weapon. Hershey nodded and followed along.

"Put 'em on boys," Schwartz ordered.

Soldiers withdrew their rubber protective masks from cases at their sides and slipped them over their heads. Heavy mist clouded the visors of the masks, making it hard to see. They would soon clear however, and the soldier's vision would be restored.

"Remember, Hershey," Coles leaned close to make sure he could be heard. His voice sounded hollow, and muffled. "Stick with me. Do as I do."

Steele nodded at Coles. There was no mistaking he was terrified. His breathing was labored.

"That's good Hershey," Coles said. "It's ok to be afraid. It's what you do with it that matters."

The vehicle lurched as it came about, and suddenly stopped. The ramp popped open, lowering to meet the ground. A wave of fresh air filled the cramped space inside. In the distance, beyond the swirling sand tossed up by the spinning tracks, was a long metal arm balanced on a pyramid-like tower. It bobbed up and down, drawing oil from pockets far below the sand. It was encircled by a razor wire topped chain link fence. At the center of the oil well chaotic flames danced in the wind. Dark smoke billowed up from the flames and trailed off into the sky. Something ricocheted off the vehicle. Sand leapt into the air near the opening as a bullet struck the desert floor.

"Go! Go! Go!" Schwartz Bellowed.

The soldiers dismounted to either side and fanned out. They dropped to a prone position, their weapons propped in front of them.

Schwartz ordered some of them to move forward. Steele jumped up out of turn, and ran forward.

"Hershey, get down!" Coles struggled to be heard through his mask.

Steele crouched low as sand leapt into the air in front of him. He searched for the source of the voice. His gaze on fell on Coleman, who motioned to the ground with his left hand.

"Coles, I can't hear you," Steele shouted back pointing to his ears.

Coles sprinted to Hershey, who was on one knee. He grabbed hold of Steele's chemical suit top and yanked hard as he dropped to the ground. Sand jumped into the air, thrown by enemy rounds. They were dug in around the burning oil well. Hershey jerked just before hitting the ground.

"Coles, Steele, get moving," Schwartz ordered.

"Let's go, Hershey!" Coles shouted. Some vehicles moved fast on his flank

Steele did not respond. He lay face down on the sand, his weapon next to him. Coles grabbed Hershey's waist and rolled him over. Time stopped for Coleman. Specks of red spotted the inside of Steele's visor. He threw back the soldier's mask. Blood trickled from Hershey's mouth. He coughed and a red mist burst from his lips. Blood soaked the right side of Hershey's chest, pumping from the small hole just under the right pocket of his chemical suit.

"Hershey!" Coles shouted, shaking him gently. "I told you to stick with me!"

"Hey, Coles," Steele managed between coughs.

"I'm sorry, Hershey," Cole's voice was weak, tears welled up in his eyes.

"It's ok." Hershey tried to smile at Coles. Blood ran down his chin and stained his camo top. He struggled to keep his eyes open, his breathing shallow. A second wave of vehicles swept past, causing the earth to rumble. One of them came about to make a barrier between the two soldiers and the enemy. The ramp jerked open and lowered to the ground.

"Hershey, it's going to be ok." Coles forced the words as he looked furtively about, hoping that someone inside the vehicle saw them. The delusion of invulnerability that once surrounded the cocky soldier shattered.

"You know, Coles." Hershey fought to form his words, "You were right."

Coles shook his head and he propped Hershey's shoulders onto his knees as he knelt under him. "What are you talking about, Steele? Just lay there and be quiet. Help is coming."

Steele looked into Cole's eyes. Just before he was carried away by death's chilly presence he found the strength to say, "Bullets don't care what your name is. You just call me Hershey."