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| The S3 shows his war face. |
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| THE S3 SHOP, after 1600 — In a moment of honesty that the rest of the organization was not ready for, the S3 has shared his sincere thoughts: He wishes you were all dead. |
| The events leading up to the explosion are still unclear, but the S3’s eruption of honesty was loud enough for witnesses in other parts of the building to hear. |
| “Fucking Hell!” he began. “Can I get just one email that isn’t a RECLAMA? How about an email from literally anyone answering literally any of the questions I’ve asked them? Is that too much? Is that too much, Johnny? I hope you and everybody in this goddam outfit fucking dies. Dies. Of something horrible.” |
| Johnny, an Army captain caught in the unfortunate crosshairs of the S3 at simply the wrongest of times, made vague, noncommittal gestures, before he snapped to parade rest as the S3 continued. |
| “You come here and you tell me that you didn’t read your email, but I know you did, Johnny!” said the S3, “I know you did because I don’t trust any of you and I have read receipts on everything. And, when that fails, I have Outlook calendar invites. And do you know what you missed yesterday? Respond, Johnny, respondé to me.” |
| “Um. Was it a meeting?” Johnny asked. |
| “You think?! You think?” the S3 said, “Do you honestly believe I enjoy any of this, Johnny? Do you think I like this job? Do you think I wanted to sit there yesterday waiting for you to come and tell me about how your red boxes are now yellow boxes on your PowerPoint slides? Respond.” |
| “No?” |
| “No!” the S3 said. “But the boss sure did. The boss sat there. And I sat there. And then he looked at me. And do you think he blamed you? Nope. Nope, because of course not. You being an idiot is now my fault.” |
| “Your crap slides are my fault. Your crap readiness numbers: My fault. Your crap PT scores? My fault. It’s all my fault because I’m the S3, Johnny. Don’t you get it? No one else in this command actually does anything. They just sign the shit I do so they can feel like they’re in charge. That’s how the S3 works.” |
| “Well, I’m sorry, sir. I was just—” Johnny began. |
| “I. Don’t. Fucking give two shits, Johnny,” the S3 said. “Look at Smith.” |
| Johnny hesitated, but slowly turned his head to a staff sergeant standing to his right. |
| “Do you think Smith is going to have to stay late with me so we can fix your SITREP right now, because not only were you not at that meeting yesterday but you also decided to just not send us the SITREP?” the S3 asked. |
| Johnny nodded his head. |
| “That’s damn straight. We both have to stay late now because of what? What was so important yesterday?” the S3 asked. |
| “Well,” Johnny began, “My wife and kids were—” |
| “If you tell me literally anything besides ‘They’re dead’, I’m going to jump over this desk and rip the soul out of your body,” the S3 said. “Are they dead?” |
| “Um…” Johnny stopped talking. |
| The S3’s eyes became uncomfortably wide. |
| Staff Sergeant Smith’s eyes were equally wide. |
| It is unclear what happened to Johnny. |
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| As For Class is a boy named Sue, named Ashley. When he isn’t writing for Duffel Blog he also writes fiction. |
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