Redemption

3. Ben

Ben

The sun was coming up over the hills for an early start on the first day of camp. But, without warning, the nerves started to kick in, although it felt much different than heading off into a combat scenario. This was fighting for survival, my business survival. Have I done the right thing? I heard the office door creaked open.

His familiar voice boomed from the doorway. “Reporting for duty, Sir,” Paul yelled out. He stood and looked very serious, saluting me in a mock action.

I sighed and shook my head momentarily. “No need for formalities, especially while there are no customers,” I replied, kicking my feet up and resting them on the edge of the desk.

Paul sauntered over to the old couch which I'd covered with a traditional Mexican-patterned throw. The rec center was nice, but it could use a homey touch. Paul commented I shouldn't panic about making money; it would take time for the word to spread about what the camp was doing.

“Yeah, I know all that, but it's still nerve-racking. I've plowed all I've got into this venture.”

We chatted more while the sun made a full appearance. I peered out of the window while a plume of dust rose from down the road to the camp. I dropped my feet to the floor and stood. It could either be a small twister, or someone was arriving earlier than expected. Paul stood at the side of me and pinched his fingers into my broad muscled shoulder.

“Friend, I feel good things are going to happen here,” he commented.

We watched while the dust continued to rise and another few vehicles made their toward the parking area. We had people booked, but until they showed, it all was only a dream. It seemed to be a good start and more than anyone could hope for. A camp of this type in the back end of nowhere needed a good start and positive word of mouth endorsements.

We straightened our camp uniforms and headed to the parking area where a few people congregated and mulled around, now checking out their surroundings.

Paul stepped forward and addressed the group. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We're pleased you could make it today. Now if this were Navy SEAL training, we'd make you stand here under the blazing sun until some of you passed out. It isn't, so if you want to follow us to the canopy, we can get this show on the road.”

All the new “recruits” grabbed their bags and backpacks and followed Paul around the back of the office to a large canopy the camp would use for speeches and for classroom-type tutorials. The rows of seats were half full, and I quickly estimated between twenty and thirty showed up for the first day. That was a good sign, but each day from this point forward needed to be the same. I positioned myself in front of the large whiteboard, while Paul introduced me as the “man in charge” and who “wasn't one to be messed with.”

“Carrying on from where my second in command got to. This camp aims to bring you two things. Self-defense and survival are the two most crucial elements of any combat situation,” I boomed over the heads of the new recruits who listened eagerly.

I explained all the sign-up procedures, and that this would be carried out later. So, if anyone wanted to quit before lunch, it saved them filling out any forms, and it saved me a hell of a lot of paper. I strolled up the central aisle with my hands clasped behind my back. I glanced at the recruits and was impressed that so many women had decided to take up the chance to learn a few things about defense.

“First things first, you all need to get changed. Changing rooms are to the left and the right, and you’ve got five minutes to get back here.” I looked at their faces. “Go!”

The recruits scampered, and one or two of the plastic chairs dug their heels in and fell over in the rush to the changing rooms. One or two of the recruits made the five-minute deadline, and the last ones came running out, still tucking their shirts into what appeared to be brand-new clothing for the event. Each recruit introduced themselves and what their background and knowledge were with regard to fighting and survival. Several were ex-forces and were discharged for one reason or another, and from the look on their faces, they missed the thrill. Several others dabbled in MMA and thought they were tough.

Sorry, you've got another thing coming.

I made my way to the front of the canopy and paced back and forth. My hands remained clasped together, and I felt the sleeves on my shirt digging into my hard biceps. I also heard muttering; however, only being day one, I needed to grant some grace into the proceedings.

I paused and faced the group. “Okay, I’m glad we’ve all introduced ourselves. Now, we all know each other’s names. There’ll be some of you who think you’re tough. MMA is a hard sport, and I've noticed the ones who are ex-forces. For as long as you keep coming to the camp, you'll learn the real insights of what it takes to be a SEAL,” I said in my drill sergeant voice. “Granted, you won't be running up beaches and sitting in freezing cold water, all of that’s an attempt to break you. We're going to fast-track you to be the best you can be, or to deal with any situation, and how to find a way to survive when needed.”

I noticed one guy, an MMA champ wannabe. He thought he was already beyond what the camp offered.

I turned and clasped my hands behind my back. “First up, we're going to conduct some getting to know each other exercises.” I glanced over at Paul who stood on the sidelines. His eyes flicked back and forth between me and the guy with the cropped blonde hair. He had a myriad of tattoos that were covering his arms.

“Those are for p*****s,” the guy muttered. I raised my eyebrow and stepped closer to where he stood. The recruits in front of him parted, and I stood to face him.

“Explain yourself!”

I glared into his eyes as he faltered. “That's kid stuff. Almost everyone here has seen action, so why do we need these getting to know you exercises? It’s not preschool.”

I straightened my back and felt the muscles on my shoulders tighten. I stood tall and peered down at the guy we’d learned was called Mike. “Mike, you see the guy standing over there.” I pointed over at Paul. “I trust him, and I mean I trust him with my life.”

“You were in the forces together. I guess that's natural.”

“Let me give you an example, an easy example. Say all of you were stranded in the desert, and you were all very thirsty, but you were low on water. You, Mike, were tasked with guarding the precious water remaining while all the others went looking for food and a way out,” I said. “Could you be TRUSTED not to drink all the water Mike, could you? And why would any of these others think they COULD trust you?” I asked, feeling my Navy SEAL training kicking in.

“I'd give my word.”

I grinned and leaned forward. Mike leaned back in response. “Mike, your word doesn't mean s**t unless you prove yourself. You've got a big mouth, and all that water could vanish before anyone returned.” I turned and walked back to the front of the class.

“Sorry, I get your point.” Mike looked around while the rest of the class stared at him. Mike needed to work harder now to earn everyone else's trust. I knew it; he knew it, and everyone else was sure to let him know it.

The morning was full of team building exercises and being short on water wasn't one of them. Lunch came and went, and I was full of surprise when none of the new recruits wanted to quit. Sign up forms were handed out and Mike was even the first to hand his in. He apologized for being a “d**k” as he put it, and said his MMA background was all about one-on-one, self-preservation. Mike sat amazed when I explained about his trainer, his other coaches, even down to sponsors, and that they would all have to show trust and all play a part in his career or hobby, whatever he was doing.

“Perhaps I should look at others first before I look at myself,” he commented.

“Mike, you've got a big mouth, but you're a quick learner,” I replied. “You'll be okay if you last the length of the course.”

“I'm not gonna quit,” he commented, and then he smiled. “You can trust me on that.”

“Good to hear it.”

The afternoon was filled with activities which were harder, and sweat-covered bodies returned back to camp after Paul gave them a quick run around the assault course. Being tied together in pairs made things slightly challenging, and the meaning of trust hit home like a hammer. This was especially true for Mike when no one trusted him to be their partner. So much for odd numbers turning up to camp. Twenty-nine. Mike hadn't noticed it, though.

I stood in the office with Paul, and we watched all the first day’s recruits walking back to their vehicles. In the morning they had arrived as strangers, and now they left as comrades, and by the end of the course, they'd be leaving as friends.

“You know there are a few of the forces guys who suffer from PTSD,” Paul remarked while he took his seat on the couch.

I had gathered as much, and we needed to tread carefully with people who suffered in such a way. It could trigger bad memories, or it could help them get over what was worrying them. “Have you considered hiring a therapist? It might be a great angle for more customers.”

“I hadn't considered it. However, after today, it might be good to enlist one, even if it's only a couple of days per week.”

“I know there's a therapist on the other side of town who runs a therapy help camp or whatever you want to call it. It's for women who've been through a traumatic experience in relationships.”

I pondered over Paul's suggestion. It sounded like a real possibility and would be good for the camp. It wasn't only another selling point. Having someone on hand who could deal with matters on a personal level would be a godsend. No one ever frowned upon a personal approach.

“I'll set up a meeting with the person who runs it and see how they feel about working here.” I slumped back in my chair and clasped my hands together behind my head. “It's probably an old, set-in-her-ways type of woman.”

“Probably. I’ll ring and check the best time to set up a meeting,” Paul replied, now putting his boots on the small coffee table.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Get your feet off the damn furniture.”

“You've got your feet on the desk,” he replied, dropping his feet back onto the floor.

“It's my damned desk, and it just-so-happens that it's my coffee table too.” I laughed at my mock version of a commander.

“Sorry, boss. Now I know where I stand,” he replied, screwing his face up in a weird, awkward way.

Paul stood up and asked if I wanted to grab a beer. It sounded like a good idea, just one to celebrate the first day of the camp. “I'm buying,” I said, grabbing the keys to the jeep.

Paul opened the door and held it open while I exited the office. “I know you are—you're the boss,” he said, using a light-hearted tone. “Call it payment for services rendered.”

“What services?” I asked.

“You want me to set up a meeting with this old woman who's a therapist, don't you?” he asked. “I need to vet her, to see if she's up to your standards.”

“Geez, you sound like you're fixing me up on a date.”

“Ben, you do need to get out more, and you might find it beneficial to have a session with the therapist.” He laughed loudly.

I glared at Paul and raised a very obvious what the f**k eyebrow. “Me? Pouring my innermost feelings out to some old woman? You've got to be freakin’ kidding me.”

“Ben, I know it, and you know it.” Paul laughed. “You're broken, man.”

“f**k off!” I exclaimed. “Now you’re buying the beer.”

“s**t!”

“Yep.”