Sing the Song of Ajax

Manchin told stories from The Iliad while he drove us away from that shelled-out town where Cammack died on the first day of our first deployment. I’d never given much thought to the classics before then, and it wasn’t until I was the only one of us still alive that I read any of them. I didn’t know it at the time, but Manchin mixed his Iliad stories together with Sophocle’s Ajax because he was confused or just didn’t know any better. Most of what he told us sounded like a book report, stated in the droning affect of a bored second grader. But when he mentioned Ajax the Greater for the first time, the volume of his voice rose, his breathing got heavy, and it seemed miraculous he kept the Humvee on the road. “The Bulwark of the Danaans,” he said. “A human wall.” Then his voice and breathing returned to normal as he talked about Achilles and Agamemnon’s feud, about Helen and Paris, about Diomedes. After we were caught up on what Manchin’s voice indicated was the boring stuff, he started in on Ajax again.

“Ajax wounded Hector multiple times, but the gods kept saving Hector. If not for the gods, Ajax would’ve killed Hector before Achilles ever had a chance.” Manchin swerved to miss a rotting animal carcass, and then guided the Humvee back into the muddy ruts of whatever convoy had traveled this way before us. The Humvee tires squished through the mud and rumbled over cracked concrete. Rotten logs snapped beneath the tires sporadically. It had started raining almost immediately after we left Cammack’s fragments in that ruined town. I hoped the rain might do some work to wash away the memory, but no matter how hard the rain fell, it could never wash away the mess inside my head.

Rake and I were to be dropped off at some point along this road, and then we’d have to make it to our target on foot while Manchin and Harris took care of their target elsewhere. This was our first demo mission, and if Manchin hadn’t talked about all this Greek and Trojan history, I might’ve gone crazy thinking about the gash on Rake’s face that Harris had cleaned and sutured an hour before, the empty seat between Rake and I, and Cammack’s immaculately polished boots that Rake had finally shut up about.

“Achilles killed Hector, and he did chariot donuts in front of Troy’s gates, dragging Hector’s corpse behind him to show the Trojans that their greatest warrior was dead,” Manchin said. “I bet you guys don’t know what he used to hook Hector’s body to the chariot.”

Harris was asleep, and Rake wasn’t talking. He pressed his palm against his cheek like he was afraid the stitches would snap and his jaw would spill out. So I said, “What was it?”

“Ajax’s belt.” Manchin hammered the steering wheel with his fist. “Ajax was kicking Hector’s ass and then, of course, the gods intervened. They stopped him from killing Hector, and then Ajax traded his belt for Hector’s sword as a show of respect. That’s why Achilles had the chance to kill Hector. That’s why Achilles got to use Ajax’s belt to drag Hector’s corpse around. Isn’t that jacked?”

“I guess.” Rake was shaking his head, clenching his teeth.

“You guess? Well then after Achilles was killed and it was time to give Achilles’ weapons and armor to the Achaeans greatest warrior, who do you think got it?”

“Jesus?” I asked.

“Dude.” Manchin sighed. “No. And it wasn’t Ajax either.”

“So who got the gear then?”

“Odysseus.”

“Well,” I said. “Wasn’t he a good warrior and commander?”

“Yes. And the next story is about Odysseus. It’s not the Ajax-essey. But the rule was not that the armor went to a pretty good warrior and commander. It was supposed to go to the best warrior, and Ajax was unreal man. He’s the only one of those dudes who got no help—none— from the gods.”

“So what? The story isn’t about Ajax.”

“Come on,” Manchin said. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying it’s fucked up that the best warrior aside from Achilles might have been the best warrior ever if Achilles hadn’t been favored by the gods. And the Achaean kings salted the wound by awarding the armor to Odysseus because he was a better orator.”

“Can you guys orate about something else?” Rake asked.

“Maybe we should shut up for a while,” I said.

“Got something better to do?” Manchin looked up at the rearview. His face looked sad. The shocks creaked and the rearview rattled, jittering his reflection. Rake groaned and Manchin stared back at the road.

“Ajax is really the greatest warrior in The Iliad. Achilles is an overrated douche we all know about because the gods loved him more. Now Ajax is stewing in Hades because after trying his best to be the best he was shit on by gods and men.”

“I feel like you’re getting off track,” I said.

“What’s off track is the way this system works. Look at what happened to Cammack.”

“Let’s not talk about that right now.”

“No,” Manchin said. “We’re going to talk about it right now because it’s relevant. It’s the whole point, man. He died because he was trying to be a hero. Am I right?”

“Fine,” I said. “He was stupid. I get it.”

“No,” Manchin said. “You very obviously do not get it. We’re talking about him. He’s gone and we’re here, but we’re talking about him. No one’s talking about us. I mean, we are. But we’re us.”

“You want to die?” I asked. “So people will tell stories about you?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” Manchin said.

“Did Ajax have nice boots?” Rake asked. “Could he polish boots better than Cammack?”

“I don’t know about his boots. But he had a badass shield—seven cowhides and bronze. And when Achilles was pecking Agamemnon-sand out of his vagina, Ajax was kicking Hector’s ass all over the beach with no help from the gods.”

“This has nothing to do with Cammack,” I said.

“Yes. It does. Ajax wounded Hector more than once, but of course Apollo healed Hector. Or Zeus intervened or some other divine asshole stepped in and altered the natural order of things. After all Ajax did without help, what was his reward? What did Athena do for Ajax after Odysseus was awarded Achille’s gear for his great speech? She sent Ajax into a rage, and he killed a herd of cattle and a bunch of sheep. She tricked Ajax into thinking those animals were the Greeks who had chosen Odysseus over him. When Ajax came to his senses, discovered the congealed blood he was caked in was just the blood of animals meant to feed the army, what did he do? Because he was so honorable and because he’d rather die than live with the shame, he killed himself with the sword that Hector gave him.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that maybe Cammack was our Ajax.”

“Damn it,” Rake said. “Why spend so much time building up to that when you know it’s idiotic?”

“It’s not idiotic,” Manchin said.

“First off,” Rake said, “Cammack was smaller than all of us. Second. He was the FNG.”

“What if his death is what saved us from getting killed? Maybe his death woke us up.”

“I was awake before I saw him turned into blood-mist and chunks. I was awake when he handed me his weapon and then idiotically walked to that house with the naval mine leaned against it. Don’t talk to me about being awake.”

“Cammack was the one acting like this was all a game,” I said. “He was trying to be a hero. So, if anything, he was like Achilles—minus the fighting ability and being favored by the gods.”

“Yeah,” Rake said. “Achilles was an asshole. Achilles is the reason Cammack is dead right now. Achilles could’ve stayed home and lived a happy life, but no one would have remembered him. Or he could go to war and die and be remembered forever. Cammack chose to be like Achilles. Now he’s bits and pieces all over the obliterated town where we left him. Unlike Achilles, though, we’re the only ones who won’t be able to forget him.”

“Okay.” Manchin slowed the Humvee and stopped it. Raindrops thumped against the metal exterior and windshield. “But then who’s Ajax?”

“No one is Ajax,” Rake said. “I’m me. You’re you. He’s him. This is nonsense.”

Harris cleared his throat. “Why’d we stop?” The engine hummed.

“Rake and Vez are supposed to bail here,” Manchin said.

“Then why are they still in here?” Harris looked back and yawned.

“We were discussing The Iliad,” I said.

“Oh God.” Harris rubbed his eyes. “Get your shit and go.”

“Do you think Cammack was like Ajax or Achilles?” Manchin asked.

“What?” Harris asked.

“If he was one of those characters,” Manchin said. “Which one would he be?”

Harris said, “Ajax. Because Ajax is stronger than dirt.”

Manchin sighed. “Hardee derp derp.”

Rake opened his door and stepped out. Cold air rushed in and made my eyes water. I tightened my fingers around my ruck’s shoulder straps, kicked my door open, and then hopped down to the muddy road. Chilly raindrops nipped at my cheeks, my sore knuckles. Wetness spread across my shoulders.

“You can figure this bullshit out when you get home,” Harris said. Right now we all need to be here—not in La-La-Land.”

I slipped my arms through the ruck straps, and the weight caught in my lower back. The cold air made my nostrils ache when I inhaled. I buckled my chinstrap and started to shut the door, but before it was closed I heard Manchin say, “Maybe everybody is always almost Ajax,” then the door latched.

I met Rake on the other side of the Humvee. He slapped his door a couple times, and the Humvee rolled away, flinging mud and shocks creaking as the tires rolled over the exposed rocks that were too big to be washed away. We stood in the road. A forest of leafless trees sprawled between us and our destination—a small village at the base of a hill where a weapon’s cache was reportedly stashed. Our boots sank into the wet earth. Fat raindrops slapped our helmets and faces. We started walking, the soft ground sucked up around our boots with each step. It was going to be a long walk.

“It should take us a day and a half if we don’t sink into this muck,” Rake said. He blew a water bead off the tip of his nose. Steam roiled out from between his just-parted thin lips.

I smacked my clip to make sure it was secured in the magazine-well. “Who’s Ajax?” I shook my head. “I didn’t even know Manchin could read.”

“I think Cammack’s death fucked Manchin up worse than me.”

“Those stitches on your face tell a different story.” Water skidded along Rake’s jaw, tracing where his scar eventually fused.

“Yeah?” he said. “Now Taylor might believe I was deployed and not just on a bender.”

I stopped walking, looked up at the sky. The rain seemed to fall slow enough for a moment that I could see the clouds erasing themselves, drip by drip. That was, of course, my imagination. “Manchin said he thought maybe everyone is always almost Ajax.”

“Because of the god crap?” Rake walked on ahead, and I watched as he struggled for a moment in the road, and then headed over to the grassy ground on the roadside.

I stepped up on to the roadside, jogged to catch up, then kept pace. “Yeah. I think that’s what Manchin meant.”

“You know what I think?” Rake said. “My feet are gonna hurt like hell before we get to that town. And when we finish blowing up whatever’s waiting there for us, we’re still gonna have a lot of walking to do.”

*

I’ve read the chapters of The Iliad that feature Ajax the greater so many times now that I can often see the text when my eyes are closed, and I’ve read Sophocles’ play about a hundred times too. But since Manchin was long dead before I started reading this stuff, I can’t tell him he was wrong about some things and right about others.

The one thing I wish I could talk to him about most though, is when Ajax’s lot is cast to fight Hector. Whoever’s lot was picked at random was the man who got to do the thing that was probably terrible. Homer says most of the Achaean warriors had hoped it would be Ajax’s lot that was picked. And, of course, Ajax saw it as an honor, to be the chosen warrior. Time, the Greek’s system of honor, was based entirely on external perception; there was no such thing as inner honor. To fight Hector in front of all the Achaeans would make Ajax a legend, which Ajax surely welcomed. All that’s interesting enough; it’s what Manchin seemed to care about. But what I want to ask Manchin about is related to Ajax’s speech to the men on the beach after his lot is chosen: “Friends, it is mine, this lot! And I too rejoice, because I am certain that I will overcome Hector. But help me now, as I put on my armor for battle. Make your prayers to lord Zeus, but make them in silence, so that no Trojan is able to overhear you.”

Those silent prayers he asked for: was it because he didn’t want the Trojans to know the Achaeans were praying for victory, or did Ajax not want to hear the prayers because he believed any prayers spoken for him were useless? Ajax says, “I will overcome Hector.” He says, “Make your prayers to Lord Zeus.” He never mentions that he will pray. The only prayer I know Ajax made is to Zeus after Hector’s sword already stood in the sand, blade upright, poised for Ajax to fall upon it. Ajax prayed then for Zeus to ensure that the person who first found Ajax’s body not be an enemy.

I wonder who Manchin would think our Ajax is based on that. Could it be Cammack when there was no body left for a friend or enemy to find? It could’ve been Rake because he killed himself and Taylor found him in his garage, or maybe Harris because his own countryman killed him and left his corpse on his front lawn. It definitely wasn’t Manchin; he drowned in a training exercise, and his body was never found—probably drifted out into the Pacific Ocean where the fish picked his bones until there was nothing left to hold the skeleton together, and then those separated bones were scattered by the current until they settled somewhere in the sand on the ocean floor. All those options require the evaluated to have died, though. So they’re not fair. But the thought of fairness when talking about Ajax makes me laugh; Ajax fought men who were backed up by gods while gods did nothing to aid him. Achilles and Ajax both died. My friends all died. I’m still here, so would Manchin laugh if I claimed I was the living Bulwark of the Danaans? And if I’m not that, then what am I—just another man with no idea why war goes on after we’ve chronicled how ugly it is a thousand times over, and then replayed it a thousand times over too?

What I know for sure is that The Iliad begins with Homer asking for a goddess to sing the rage of Achilles through him. We’ve heard that song for millennia whether the goddess aided Homer or not. So what I’m asking right now is for one goddess to be brave enough to sing Ajax’s rage. I’m pleading for her to sing that through me. And if I have to, if I have no other choice, I’ll pray. Pray for her to help me sing Ajax’s rage until I’m screaming, to scream that rage until I shatter. Until I am scattered fragments. Until I am I no more.

Sing the Song of Ajax by Brandon Davis Jennings