MudPuppy
Member
Ahh, the shameless plug thread
http://www.thehighroad.org/showthread.php?t=134257&highlight=mudpuppy
And here is the opening of my "current" project, Summer of War:
Uhm, the language sort of goes downhill from here, so I'll refrain...
http://www.thehighroad.org/showthread.php?t=134257&highlight=mudpuppy
And here is the opening of my "current" project, Summer of War:
Chapter One
Private
David Sizemore
Bootcamp
David Sizemore shouldered his lightly packed duffel bag and stepped onto the bus. He had packed only the barest of essentials, diligently following the list provided by his recruiter. His destination was the Dallas International Airport, then on to Fort Benning Georgia for infantry basic training. His preparations had included some minor weight lifting and several dozen push-ups each day over the past few months, though his scrawny 140-pound frame didn’t indicate a truly athletic build. His haircut was fresh and fairly short, though he anticipated it would be shaved upon his arrival to Fort Benning. He considered shaving it prior to leaving, but was cautious not to do anything that would single him out against the crowd.
David took a window seat and glanced down at his mother and younger sister who were on hand to see him off. His mother looked fretful, which David found ironic. The past years hadn’t been pleasant and he had enlisted in the US Army as quickly as he was able, his mother grudgingly signing the wavier required allowing a 17-year-old entry in the US military. David’s absentee father hadn’t learned about the enlistment until a couple of weeks ago, and despite his complete absence in David’s upbringing had crowed like a proud rooster. David’s father had served with the 101st Airborne Division in the years after Vietnam and had held on to that past glory as alcoholism had consumed his life. David supposed it was nice that his father was proud of him, but considered that it really didn’t make a difference. David hadn’t enlisted to make his family proud, but rather to escape them and this small west Texas town.
The bus rolled out of the terminal, jolting David as he settled in with a Soldier of Fortune magazine. David didn’t look back.
The trip was a blur; David’s arrival at Fort Benning was at 1 AM. A bus had arrived at the Columbus Georgia airport to shuttle in the new recruits. The darkened bus was full of anxious young men, boys, which could only speculate in what the future held.
It was much less traumatic than they imagined, a Drill Instructor stepped up into the bus and casually sang out, “How you fellas doing tonight? Welcome to the US Army. Grab your gear and we’ll get you all settled in.”
As the group stumbled out of the bus a friendly black sergeant in an apron approached, grinning broadly.
“Why, you young men are out late—ya’ll hungry? Kitchen’s closed and grill’s off, but I can warm ya’ll up some cheeseburgers. Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll fill ya’ up. Ya’ll head on inside and settle in—it’ll be just a second.”
As the fresh young soldiers gathered in and took a set in the mess hall, the Drill Instructor made his way to each table and made small talk with the various groups.
The next three days were equally relaxed and although the wake up call of six AM was earlier than most were accustomed too, the demeanor of the staff was completely unexpected. Massive amounts of paperwork were completed, including payroll information and, more ominously, will and estate planning. Proper haircuts were given and a vast amount of gear was issued, all to be stowed in a conveniently provided duffel bag. The group had been told repeatedly that their official Drill Instructors would arrive soon to escort them to the training barracks that would be their homes for the next 3 months.
In the mean time, the soldiers became acquainted, forming small cliques and groups with the inevitable jockeying among males to impose their status as alpha male. David tried to keep his low profile, even among the other soldiers. One recruit was friendlier than the rest, a young white kid from Brooklyn. This particular recruit was even thinner than David, which many were, but had arrived with a 15-inch afro and huge snake tattoos on his forearms. While David had maintained his distance by choice, this other recruit was initially shunned by the other newly formed groups. He had already earned a nickname of “snake man”, which is never a good sign. If a recruit is conspicuous enough to warrant a nickname from other recruits, it’s a safe bet he’ll catch the eye of the Drill Instructors. As a matter of fact, his garish tattoos had already caught the attention of the transition Drill Instructor. While in line for lunch on the second day, the Drill Instructor was marching up the line, slowly transitioning his demeanor to authority figure. Stopping beside “snake man”, he looked back and forth between the two forearms and Snakeman’s eyes. Snakeman tried to stand at attention and continue looking forward, but finally looked to the Drill Instructor and grinned sheepishly.
“Son,” the Drill Instructor asked with a smile. “What the hell do you have your arms?”
“Tattoos, sir.”
“Dammit, I’ve told you knuckleheads I’m your Drill Instructor. You call an officer “Sir’. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir,” came the fumbled reply.
The Drill Instructor just shook his head and walked away, smiling. He called back over his shoulder, “Your Drill Sergeants are going to like you, Snakeman”.
And so Snakeman had been named.
After the initial preparations were complete and all the recruits had proper haircuts, gear, and paperwork completed, proper shots and medicals, along with military eyeglasses provided for those that needed them, the group was assembled on the parade ground. They had been told to pack all their gear, their “real” Drill Sergeants were on the way with buses to transport them to their training companies.
As the buses rolled up, the new Drill Instructors were nowhere to be seen. The were loaded on board by their familiar transition Drill Instructor who wished them good luck and rolled off in silence.
The buses meandered through old style wooden barracks, relics from WW2. As they drove through the narrow blocks of these barracks, crowds of cheering, or jeering, recruits lined the roads. The clamor was overwhelming and David couldn’t make out what was even being said, other than the occasional “It’s too late for you now1” and one cry of “Welcome to hell, ladies!”
Uhm, the language sort of goes downhill from here, so I'll refrain...
