Authors: Crystal Rose
They paired off with a Drill Sergeant and Ryan found himself standing behind Grabowski.
Ryan wanted to blush or something. He had tried so hard to forget that little scene in the “Davis Club.”
“What do you do before you jump into the fox hole?”
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“Uncover and make sure there are no spiders or snakes,” Ryan said. When the dark-haired man nodded, he did just that.
They heard an unmanly scream and Ryan knew it was Brendon. He was flinging his hands up and down animatedly.
Grabowski ignored it but Ryan was almost giggling. Brendon looked and sounded like a girl.
“Second?”
“Put my earplugs in.” Ryan put them in and looked up at Phillip. The Drill nodded and gestured for him to jump in.
“Load your weapon!” Grabowski shouted.
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Ryan knocked the magazine against his Kevlar and then inserted it with a snap.
“The targets will be popping up and down. Do not fire until I give you permission,” he said.
The permission came quickly. The first target popped up at fifty meters. It went down easily under his shot.
The random “pop pop pop” came from each of the fox holes.
They fired the first twenty and then a cease fire was called.
“Get out of the hole and fire from the prone position,” Phillip shouted.
Ryan got out of the hole and slid down to his belly. He used his arms to prop the M16
up and aimed down field.
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“Reload!”
Ryan did it again and they fired the last twenty rounds.
“Cease fire.” Phillip shouted. “Drop magazines!” He stood up and then shouted, “Police your rounds!”
They did as they were told and then locked their bolts back to the rear. Before they left the range, Grabowski checked to make sure there were no rounds left in the weapons.
They headed back to the staging area and sat down.
“Murray, why the hell did you scream like a girl?” Kenneth asked.
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“There was a fucking snake in my hole. Connelly actually wanted ME to go in and get it.” Brendon shivered and the others laughed. “He got a fucking stick and pulled it out without even saying a word.” There was a sort of weird awe in Brendon's voice when he stated that.
Patrick just smiled. “Now, that's funny.” He snorted, causing the others to chuckle.
“How did you think you did?” Brendon asked them.
“I sucked ass. I had a misfire and didn't get to finish the last fifteen rounds,” Kenneth said, glumly.
“I used to go out shooting with my dad back home. I'm hoping I did well,” Ryan said.
“I think I shot the shit out of the close targets, but completely missed out on the 200
meters and above,” said Brendon.
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Patrick just shrugged. “I think I did well.”
They could hear the “pop pop pop” from the next group and lapsed into a comfortable silence.
***
After they all fired, King stood up and announced the scores.
“Brody - 25, Gracin - 17, Roslin - 15 Murry - 30, and outfuckingstanding, Smith - 40 -
a perfect performance!” King even shot Patrick a grin.
The Oklahoma native grinned broadly, his blue eyes dancing. “Thank you, Drill Sergeant!”
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Ryan congratulated his friend and then pouted because it seemed that all that shooting he had done with his dad was useless.
“It's time to indoctrinate you on the fine military cuisine called the MREs,” King said, with a grin. Three boxes were carried out and placed in front of the formation. “You will walk up to the box in a single file line and take the first one you see. If I see any of you being a bitch and picking what you want I will pull your ass out of the line and make you watch as everyone else eats their chow.”
After everyone grabbed one of the plastic covered meals they all sat around. Surprisingly, all three of their Drill Sergeants joined them.
Ryan read off what he had from the stamp in front of it. “Tuna a la King? I got Tuna fucking a la King? Seriously?”
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Brendon guffawed.
“Freckles, that is the food of the Gods,” Phillip said, a small joking smile on his face. “If you don't want it we can always put it back. You don't mind waiting until dinner at the chow hall, right?”
“No problems with the tuna for me, Drill Sergeant,” Ryan quickly said. If he didn't eat soon he was sure he would kill Murray and eat his spleen. Even thinking that caused him to pause. Well, shit, Grabowski
was
driving him crazy.
“Dude! I got pork,” Brendon said happily. He began to open it, and found it was a lot easier said than done. After two minutes of fighting with the plastic he got pissed. He finally felt the plastic give. His pork steak went flying through the air and landed neatly on the ground.
“Ouch! That sucks.” Kenneth laughed. He had his cheese opened and was spreading it across the hard cracker.
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Brendon blinked and proceeded to pick up the pork and wiped off any dirt, sloshed it under water from his canteen and then ate it.
“I think this stuff was around when my grandfather was in the Army,” Patrick said, looking at a substance that resembled spaghetti. He took a small bite and grimaced. “Or maybe pre-civil war era.”
“You boys don't know how easy you got it,” King said. “You have heaters. When I joined we ate this fine food cold.” The other two Sergeants nodded in agreement.
Brendon let out a squeal and held up his treasure. “Holy shit! I have M & M's!”
Every man in the platoon turned and glared at the blond.
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“I hate you,” Ryan muttered, thinking now would be a great time to cut out Brendon's spleen and steal the fucking M & Ms. He looked in his back and found the charms hard candy.
They were like Jolly Ranchers only not as good.
Kenneth finally opened his entrée and gagged. “What
is
it?” He held it open so the others could examine it.
“A hair ball?” Ryan guessed.
“Dog vomit,” Patrick said.
Phillip leaned over and took Kenneth's bag. His grin was broad when he handed it back.
“Egg omelet. The best damn MRE in the world.” At his pronouncement Connelly and King both gagged.
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Kenneth stared at it. Ryan could tell he was warring with himself. He could either suffer through it or eat it. A rumble from Kenneth's stomach settled the debate for him and he dug in.
It seemed Brendon's M & Ms had made him stupid because he looked up at the Drills and opened his mouth. “What's it like? The real deal. Not all of the basic and stuff, but when we are actually doing our job.”
A silence came over the platoon. Ryan was wondering if they could hide Brendon's body in the woods somewhere. It sounded like a damn good idea to him.
Connelly cleared his throat, wiping his mouth at the same time. “Once at your unit you'll find out that everything you're taught here will just click into place. BCT and AIT will give you basic knowledge, but at your unit is where you'll really learn your job.”
“My advice to everyone single one of you is to keep your mouth shut and learn from those who've been there,” King added.
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“Unit cohesion is different everywhere. Some units will be squared away and others you'll want to take a bazooka and blow them the fuck away,” Grabowski said.
It seemed that Brendon had started something. Another man asked another question and that led to another, and another. The Drill Sergeants would answer each question and for one moment they didn't look like sadistic dicks who got off on the recruits’ misery but just regular guys.
It didn't last long.
***
On the way back they were picked up by the five-tons and driven back to their barracks.
Patrick was limping pretty badly when they got to their room.
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Their room was trashed.
Personal items where lying all over the ground.
“Oh shit!” Kenneth exclaimed. “Which one of you forgot to lock your footlocker?”
Ryan flushed bright red. He glanced at his bed and let out a vile curse. “Oh shit. Shit.
Shit. I'm dead. I'm fucking deader than dead.”
Patrick limped over to his bed and burst out laughing. “I TOLD you not to hide them in your footlocker.”
Lying on top of his bed were four Three Musketeers wrappers, two empty Twizzler packages, a Gummy Bear package, and a can of soda he had bought at the PX. Directly in front of the wrappers was a note:
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Thanks for the snacks, Freckles.
Regards
Your Friendly Drill Sergeants.
“You left your locker open with that shit in it?” Brendon snorted.
Ryan nodded his head. “It was the good stuff too. They ATE my food.”
“Your contraband you mean. Right, Freckles?”
Ryan paled and gulped.
Grabowski entered the room and everyone went to 'Parade rest'.
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“Now, we have been over this already. It seems that Freckles didn't get it the first time.”
He stated. He walked slowly toward Ryan until he was inches away from the younger man.
“Drop, Gracin.”
Ryan went down. To his surprise Brendon, Kenneth and Patrick followed suit.
“Now, don't do that, boys. You're gonna bring a tear to my eye.” Drill Sergeant Grabowski sneered. “Down!”
All four went down and held themselves there.
He continued on until all four were sweating and panting. “You have fifteen minutes to get this mess squared the fuck away.”
He got them up and walked out. His booming voice announced that inspections started in fifteen minutes.
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***
That evening Ryan had CQ duty. His shift was 1200 in the morning to 0100, right after Patrick. That night Phillip was staying with the privates. He was nervous as hell for some reason-- maybe because at night when his head was cleared of all of the day’s events he thought back to that freaking kiss. The Drill Sergeant hadn't brought it up and Ryan damn sure wasn't going to.
Patrick woke him up and Ryan slipped down to the desk carrying paper and a pen. He could hear soft talking coming from the office and figured Grabowski was watching TV. Ryan would kill to be able to watch a few minutes of TV. Hell, he even missed the news. The door opened suddenly and he was confronted with Grabowski.
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“Gracin,” he was greeted.
“Drill Sergeant, anything I can get you?” he asked politely.
“Nah, come on in.” Grabowski gestured for him to enter the office. It was unsurprisingly clean.
“How is training going?” Phillip asked; as he sat down to polish his boots.
“It's going fine, Drill Sergeant Grabowski,” Ryan said, as he stood. The other man gestured for him to sit down. Ryan's eyes strayed from the drill, who looked fine as hell in the black PT shorts and plain white shirt he had on. The office was rather big. Beside the desk there was a large cot set up. He figured that was where the three slept when they stayed the night.
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“Good,” Grabowski said with a grin. It disappeared when he opened his mouth again.
“That kiss should have never happened and I'm sorry for putting you into that position.”
Ryan's mouth fell open and he looked back at the dark-haired man. “Umm. It's cool. I know..” he said, trying not to appear like a thirteen-year-old girl. If the guy had any idea how fucked up that kiss made him he didn't wanna know.
“You've got potential, Gracin. Real potential.”
“Thank you?” Ryan answered. He was dumbfounded and just not sure what to say.
He looked toward the television set and his mouth fell open. “Holy shit! Is that a football game?”
Phillip laughed huskily. “Yeah, my mom DVRs and then burns games for me so I can watch.”
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Ryan felt like crying. “Is that Ohio State?” Being an Ohio boy he, of course, rooted for the “Buckeyes.”
“Ohio State versus Texas.” Phillip laughed harder when Ryan damn near started to drool. “Texas won. You like Texas, right?”
Ryan shook his head. “I'm from Columbus, Ohio.”
“Oh God, no wonder! It all makes perfect sense now.” Phillip smirked and picked up a pair of panty hose.
Ryan was about to ask what made perfect sense but he saw the panty hose. He blinked and then looked away.
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“Freckles, panty hose applies the world’s best shine on these boots,” Phillip informed him. “Go grab your kit and boots. Might as well show you how it's done.”
Ryan ran up the stairs and did what he was told. When he got back he saw that the panty hose had been cut and one leg was lying on the sofa next to where he’d been sitting.
He spent the next forty minutes learning the value of a spit shine and panty hose.
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Morning PT runs sucked ass, especially since King was the one who ran the Alpha group that Ryan was in. He started them out slowly and increased the pace gradually. His voice was loud and strong as he started calling the cadence. A mile in and the bastard changed cadences.
Ryan seriously wanted to kill him.
“Superman is the man of steel!”
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“Superman is the man of steel,” came the cry of fifteen voices.
“But he ain’t no match for an army drill.”
“But he ain’t no match for an Army Drill!” The fact that King was still running without sounding winded proved to Ryan that the bastard probably was in fact, Superman.
“Me and Supe got in a fight”
“Me and Supe got in a fight!”
“Hit him in the head with some kryptonite”
“Hit him in the head with some kryptonite.” Ryan was barely able to repeat that one.
Drill Sergeant King seemed like he was trying to kill them.
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They arrived at a small building and Ryan eyed it warily. He could already see other platoons in line. Each man looked like they were going to run off as soon as the Drill's back was turned.
They were given the order to be 'at ease' so Ryan looked around and pulled at his uniform. He hated running in full dress. His feet felt like they were going to fall off and he had sweat in places he didn't realize he could sweat in. He wanted to deck Brendon because he was all smiles.
“NBC today. I'm kinda excited!” Brendon said.