Military service had been a family tradition in Brett's family since the War of 1812. His grandfather, father, and paternal uncles had all served. Through three years of high school they pressured him, the only son in his generation, to continue the family tradition. Brett had other ideas of how to spend his life. And considering the changes in the military since his father and uncles had served, he wondered why his father and uncles had never suggested military service, rather than college, to his older sisters and cousins. But against his better judgment, he gave in and signed up a few months before graduation. The recruiter practically drooled over Brett's ASVAB scores when he went to enlist. The recruiter was less enthusiastic once Brett insisted that he wanted to be a medic. Brett Talent went into the Army three weeks after graduating from high school.
It wasn't long before Brett had serious regrets once he completed his schooling and was assigned to a veteran unit whose medic had left the service. He was soon counting days to the end of his commitment. He got along well enough with the soldiers in his unit but never really felt he fit in. Brett hated the swagger and cockiness indoctrinated in combat units and refused to get caught up in it. He believed it irresponsible to inculcate a sense of invincibility. The other guys in his unit understood that, as a medic, he would look at things from a different perspective. Most didn't expect him to behave as they did.
Brett had his MOS extended for a year but still managed to survive three combat deployments without getting seriously injured. He never reported the round that barely grazed his left arm and got away with it because he treated it himself and kept it hidden. Brett tore away the part of the sleeve that would have betrayed the nature of the wound and explained the uniform damage as caused by a broken door hinge.
Brett paid a price for his three tours of combat duty. He suffered a festering guilt about soldiers and civilians he couldn't help. He buried the two Bronze Stars awarded for what sensible people would call foolhardiness in a drawer in his old room at his parents' home. They meant more to his father than they did to him. Brett felt he only did his job and didn't want honors or recognition.
Brett didn't have nightmares often. But when he did, the images weren't of fellow soldiers, though their wounds were often grisly and nightmarish. The dreams featured what the military euphemistically called collateral damage. Those injuries were often caused by the enemy. But despite precautions taken to protect civilians, too often not. The injured women and children Brett treated, when his commanding officer allowed, haunted him. Worse yet, were the nightmares about those he was ordered to ignore and move out.
Brett got his ass reamed regularly during his first two deployments because he sometimes didn't obey orders fast enough when treating noncombatants. His lieutenant never wrote him up for insubordination, though he could have on at least two occasions when Brett pointedly told him to go to hell. The lieutenant could have filed charges but dealt with it himself. Brett knew the lieutenant wasn't a heartless bastard; Brett saw him cry over civilian casualties more than once, though the lieutenant didn't know that. But sometimes orders required that he act like one. Brett had trouble reconciling the lieutenant's willingness, and ability, to suppress his humanity to advance his military career.
Brett didn't go home when discharged. Instead, he went straight to Newark, New Jersey and found a part-time job to keep him occupied until the fall semester began. His mother was crushed when Brett told her he wasn't coming home for a visit yet. But Brett was only a few months removed from his last deployment. He didn't feel emotionally equipped to see friends and family. Brett especially didn't want to hear his father's and uncles' praise for his alleged heroics. He stayed in touch with his parents and sisters with frequent phone calls and occasional video-chat sessions. But every conversation with his father held an underlying tension because Brett was troubled about having been a soldier.
Brett did go home for the holidays. Christmas with his family went better than expected. But it wasn't without some drama, including a heated argument with his father. Brett's older sisters didn't understand the strain between their father and brother over the military. Neither did their husbands, both prideful of their service, spent safely distant from hostilities and the gruesome realities of devastating injuries and dead bodies.
Brett's sisters, Janet and Cassandra, tried to make peace but only made matters worse. At one point, his mother told his sisters 'to mind your own fucking business'. Brett laughed when he heard about it from Cassie. His mother never, ever used foul language. Brett had never heard her utter so much as a 'damn', no matter how angry she was. Brett and his father agreed to end their little war by never again discussing military service. But Brett knew it didn't sit well with his father and doubted the agreement would hold.
Brett never had a long-term relationship while pursuing his education. His VA shrink regularly asked about his dating status. Even went so far as to ask whether Brett was unsure of his sexual orientation. Brett assured her that his sexual orientation wasn't the reason he'd not had a long-term girlfriend since separating from the military. Brett had solid friendships with numerous women he'd met at university, including several he was attracted to, dated and occasionally slept with. Every time Brett started to feel like a relationship might get serious, he'd have weeks of nightmares about the injured women he had treated. Or hadn't been allowed to. Or was too late to help. In grad school, the pattern continued. He talked to his shrink about the nightmares, but she hadn't been able to help him sort it out.
Terry Moran and Brett were both students at Princeton when they met one weekend. Both were prospecting in Pennsylvania for additions to their mineral collections when they met. Terry was a sophomore and Brett had just started his doctoral program when they met. During the three years they were at the university, they went prospecting together whenever possible. At times Brett was a bit jealous of Terry. Terry was amazingly successful at prospecting. Brett did well enough. But Terry did so well that it became a part-time business that paid handsomely. Well enough that he had no debt when he graduated.
Despite the difference in their ages and life experiences, they became close friends. Terry completed his undergraduate degree and Brett received his doctorate the same semester. Terry took a job teaching physics and chemistry at a prestigious private school in Connecticut while he considered grad school. Brett was fortunate enough to be offered a position in the Geosciences department at an Arizona university.
Terry and Brett planned a summer adventure together after graduation, before they joined the real world. They spent nearly a year planning their hike on the Appalachian Trail. They had no illusions they would complete the trail that summer. But they were determined to hike as much of it as possible between late May and early August.
