Waiting, a Rant. :P

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Title: Waiting (lol so original!)
Verse: Bayverse, Reign of Starscream
Characters: Special Agent Salazar
Rated: M for filthy, filthy language.(Salazar cusses like a soldier, sorry)
Warnings:  CARPET bombing with the f-bomb, and militarywank like...whoa.
written for tf_speedwriting  prompt (brace yourselves): waiting.

 

 

 

So, yeah.  Like that fuckin’ Tom Petty song, “the waiting is the hardest part.”  Only I don’t think he was talking much about combat.  Not really sure Tom Petty’s a combat guy, to be honest.  Meh. Not for everyone. 

I hate waiting. Like fuckin’ whoa.  I’ve done my time standing in line.  Seven years enlisted, you know? Army fucking ritualizes waiting. 

I remember standing—like, too many times—outside the CO or 1SG’s office door. Silent. Unmoving. Disciplined, right? Totally tuned out, turned the fuck OFF.  You go numb, blank, trying not to worry, to overthink.  Trying to be …shut off, shut down. No People magazine for you, soldier. No bad ‘easy listening’ radio. Just you and your thoughts  and the sounds behind that closed door you are trying desperately not to read into. I suppose it’s supposed to be the Army’s sort of, you know, remorse thing.  Like in Confession, where you’re supposed to fuckin’ think over your nasty, nasty sins and feel bad even before Father Thomas a Basketcase gets his two cents in. 

And then, of course, the hairy fuckin’ eyeball from everyone walking by.  Like some sort of perp walk in reverse where you just stand there and they walk by you. Like you’re a goddam exhibit in a Museum of Fuckup.  You can practically hear them thinking—especially the real slow ones, I fuckin’ swear you can hear the hamster panting in their little brain wheels—what’s he done?  And they’re dying to know what you did, and dying even more to know how you’ll be punished for it.

Because the CO didn’t call you in for fuckin’ tea and crumpets. 

So fuckin’ glad to get away from that shit you would not believe.  Special Agent Salazar doesn’t have to deal with that shit, you know.  No more ‘hurry up and wait,’ no more ‘stand-to’ at dawn, staring into the fading dusk for an enemy that never comes, primed to die, primed to kill, gritting your teeth on the edge of indecision.  No more for me, thanks. The Sal-amander has done his level AD-fuckin’-HD (High definition, baby) best to eliminate to stupid waiting. 

Except this kind: one of them was in there. One of the fuckin’ enemy was SO fucking in there it was not even funny.  They’d gotten the mobilization call 45 minutes ago, been there 15, and it was already still too long a wait for Salazar.  The scientist on the other end of the line had screamed like a girl in full blown ‘I’ve got nothing to wear’ panic attack mode, screeching about a giant machine crawling down the corridor. 

Yeah, well, guess what? Fuckin’ robot. Moving’s kind of what they do.  Moving’s way better than waiting. 

And so, here we goddam are, la-di-dah. Pest control. Only, of course, bureaucracy was eating its own ass again, so guess what? They weren’t allowed to actually, you know, go INTO the Dam complex. (huh. Damn complex.) Some carcrash between security clearance and some fuckin’ retarded concern that they might, you know, damage the place.

So…y’okay.  Giant enemy robot can some in and just tear shit up, but we can’t make a move because our Glaser Slugs might dent a wall? 

And as to the first, right. Fuckin’ standing on an LM vehicle, for fuck’s sake. Think I’ve got enough security clearance for anyone since I’m on the project that’s tasked to work beside the transforming drones.  Nope. Uncle Sam slapped Salazar like the head cheerleader on Prom night.  No entry. Not for you.

Yeah, Uncle Sam. Just called you a prom queen bitch.  That’s what happens when you make me wait. 

Wait for permission.

Wait for a signal.

Wait, and worry.  What’s going to happen?  Who standing with me is going to be alive in an hour?  Like that fuckin’ dread you feel  that turns your bowels to fuckin’ water, sitting in the belly of the C-130, faces, tense, closed off, looking alien and distant from the camo, anxiety, and the hell-glare of the jumpmaster’s red light.  Who here is going to make it?  Who will be taken out by accident? Design? Who here will die a hero? Live a coward? 

What about…me?

Bring it, he hissed at the gaping maw of the dam.  Whatever you’ve got in store, NBE, I’m ready.  Anything is better than this. 



 

Comments

[graycalls.livejournal.com]

You know- I'm really starting to like this Salazar... *Grins*

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

It's his charm and ability with language, isn't it? ^____^

He is way too much fun to write.