Fort Lenordwood, Missouri was hot as hell in the spring, and even hotter in the summer which happened to be the time that Jensen Ackles arrived for basic training

I’LL BE YOUR DRILL SOLDIER Copyright © 2009 by Crystal Rose, All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. Except for use in promotional review, the reproduction or use of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, by technologies now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Dark Roast Press, Calumet City IL, 60409.

The story is fictional. Names, places and any similarity to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

I’ll Be Your Drill, Soldier Cover Art © 2009 Dark Roast Press

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I'll Be Your Drill, Soldier

By

Crystal Rose

Dark Roast Press

2009

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Note to readers: Although this reads like our Army and our war, this is purely fiction. This is set
in a world where everyone is treated the same regardless of sexual orientation-- like it should be.

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Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri was hot as hell in the spring and even hotter in the summer, which happened to be the time that Ryan Gracin arrived for basic training. The first thing he realized was he damn sure wasn't in Ohio any more, and secondly, there wasn't a pair of ruby red slippers to get him home either.

Their arrival was a rather low-key affair for the Army. Only two Drill Sergeants met their bus. Ryan was jarred out of peaceful sleep by the gruff no nonsense screams of he who would later be known as Staff Sergeant Robert Beaver.

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“GET YOUR PANSY FUCKING ASSES OUT OF THIS BUS, ON THE

FUCKING DOUBLE!” roared the voice of the graying Sergeant. “WHAT ARE YOU

FUCKING PUSSIES WAITING FOR, A FUCKING ENGRAVED INVITATION?”

The sounds of several recruits saying 'oh shit!' and 'I think I seriously fucked up when I signed up,' could be heard chorusing throughout the bus.

It was mid-day and the heat was oppressive. The sun glared down on the new enlisted men, and most of them were nearly panting. Bags were grabbed, and they all lined up. Ryan took that time to glance at both Drill Sergeants some more. One was an older man, whose hair was turning gray, and he looked like he was at least thirty years older than Ryan's own twenty-two. ‘Beaver’ was proudly announced on the man's name tag, which Ryan found really hilarious for some reason. It wasn't all that surprising that he actually giggled.

For a man that looked to be old...old, he moved like the freaking wind. SSG Beaver was not only in Ryan's face in no time flat, but his rounded hat was inches from Ryan's forehead.

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“Oh, look, Drill Sergeant Roach, we have a pretty boy who likes to make jokes. Is there a joke you want to tell the class, pretty boy?” Beaver called to his buddy. “Tell us a joke, funny man.”

Jeff Roach was shorter than Ryan by at least a few inches but when the man stood at his side, Ryan felt honest to God fear. “Hell, son, I love a good joke, tell us a joke.” The voice was so soft, and so smooth. It sounded like the guy really did want to hear a joke.

“Oh wait, I know a great joke, Jeff. Stop me if you heard this before. There once was a man from Nantucket...” Beaver said, still staring at Ryan. “Now, tell me the joke, son. We all love a good joke around here.”

Ryan froze. He could feel a giggle wanting to come out of him. He tried to picture anything that didn't involve the two men in front of him, ‘cause he was a giggler when he got nervous. He was the guy at whom everyone glared at funerals because something struck him funny, and he couldn't stop laughing. The giggle threatened even harder when the gray-haired man puffed up.

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“I said tell me a fucking joke, unless I'm the fucking joke. Am I the fucking Joke, Private?” Spittle came from the shorter man and landed on Ryan's chin.

That was all it took. One minute he was containing the giggle, and then next he burst into hysterical laughter.

“I'll be fucked; I think he thinks you are the joke, Robert!” Roach exclaimed. “This little fucker thinks you’re a joke.”

Ryan paled, even as he laughed even harder. Oh fuck, they were going to kill him, and make it look like a training accident.

“Oh, so I'm the fucking joke? Do you think I'm the fucking joke, Private?” he asked, sincerely looking hurt.

Ryan tried to speak, but those damn nervous giggles kept on coming. He took a deep breath, and managed a brief-- “No, Sir. I don't think you’re a joke!”

Jeff let out a breath of disgust. “Oh, so he's fucking lazy too?”

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Robert's eyes widened and he suddenly looked like he was ten feet tall. “So, you think I'm not funny. That's what he said, Jeff. He thinks I'm not fucking funny, and I'm fucking lazy.

Little bastard.”

Ryan blinked. What the...Shit. “You’re funny, Sir,” he added, hoping to keep the man from having a heart attack.

“So, I AM a fucking joke?” Robert snarled. “Am I, a fucking Staff Fucking Sergeant in the greatest Military in the world, a fucking joke to some fucked up little piss-ant of a pussy?”

What the fuck? Ryan could feel the giggles stop instantly. Now, what was he supposed to say? He would kill his fucking recruiter; they didn't mention that nothing he said would be right. “No, sir, you’re not a joke, but you are funny?” Ryan finally answered, praying that was the right thing to say.

“Oh, so now you want to be a funny man? I swear to fucking God, the Army is so hard up, they send us fucking funny men to serve this great nation,” SSG Beaver said, shaking his head sadly.

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“I would be more pissed at being called lazy than a joke,” Jeff offered.

Robert paused to consider it. “I'll give him a pass on that one. Seeing how he doesn't know that officers are called Sir, and I'm a Staff Sergeant, so maybe he doesn't realize I work for a living.”

And, just like that they both stalked off and started in on a guy named Brendon or Michael. Ryan let out a relieved sigh.

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A week later, Ryan finally figured out something. He did not want to be in the United States Army, because it was blatantly obvious that the men that were already in were abso'fucking'lutely crazy. He was quite sure they were perfectly normal before they went in, but something about this job had sent them straight to Lala land. They were finishing with reception, and would be doled out into their new units when they actually went to basic. That 10

was another fact that his recruiter never told him about. This was supposed to give them a taste of military life. Instead, they stuck them with two men that could have been stand-ins for R.

Lee Emery during ‘Full Metal Jacket.’

He had met and become fast friends with another guy, who hailed from Oklahoma.

Patrick Smith was the cool guy Ryan wished he could be. He took everything in stride. A Drill Sergeant yelled at him. He just said 'yes, Drill Sergeant' and that was that. He didn't giggle like a girl when he was yelled at. He didn't cry like Brendon Murray did when SSG Roach told him that his girl was probably out fucking some guy named Jodi. And he didn't cuss out SSG

Beaver, just because he thought he could get away with it, since his daddy was a Major, like Kenneth Roslin did. Later he cried worse than Brendon did when both Drill Sergeants schooled him on Military manners. SSG Beaver and DSG Roach were fucking insane men who thought that yelling and screaming were the only two available forms of communications. On the first day, they went and had all their hair shaved off. SSG Beaver made it a point to tell Ryan he looked like an ass end of a St. Bernard. On the second day, they got their new uniforms, and graduated from fucking pussies to just plan ole pussies.

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It didn't surprise Ryan at all when they were all lined up, in their perfectly pressed uniforms, and told they were going to go see “Big Daddy”. Shit you not, they said Big Daddy.

Patrick even mouthed the name back at Ryan.

“Alright, boys. Your stay with SSG Beaver and my cozy little home is done. Now, you're heading to the craziest fucking home in the world. Big Daddy has been waiting on you fucks since you first got here. I told him this was the most fucked up platoon in the history of fucked up platoons. He wants to personally make sure you little fuck-wits won't get yourself or some other poor SOB killed.”

“I can't wait until Grabowski sees you piss-ants. Hell, I may take a video camera and a bucket of beer. He's gonna love you little pussies right to
death
,” Robert Beaver crowed. He put a heavy emphasis on death.

“Hell, I woulda thought they got rid of Grabowski when he killed that other recruit last phase, but I guess when you need the soldiers you keep even the crazy fuckers,” Roach intoned.

“I bet he'll make Gracin his new BFF, take him on romantic dinners, and shit.”

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Ryan had been there long enough to know that being the crazy Drill Sergeant’s new BFF was not a good thing. He winced visibly. Yeah, he didn't want to even meet the new Sergeant. When he was able to leave this crazy farm, he would find his recruiter and kill that son of a bitch with all the new fancy killing techniques that Uncle Sam was teaching him.

The cattle truck, and yes, it was a cattle truck, much to Ryan's dismay, seemed to drive to their new home slowly. Every man in the truck looked for all intents and purposes like men heading to their deaths. The ride was difficult under normal circumstances, but now an uneasy quiet descended on each and every boy/man in the thing. The heat was so oppressive that several were taking deep breaths and some looked faint. Even normally calm Patrick's blue gaze was darting back and forth nervously.

Ryan was still mulling over the Drill Sergeant called “Big Daddy” Gas-y something or other. He was fairly sure that the whole killing a recruit thing was just to make them more nervous than they already were. But, of course, it could be true, which made Ryan want to giggle like a mad man. Fuck, he seriously hated the Army.

The cattle car lurched to a stop.

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For ten long seconds, nothing happened. They all started looking around expectantly, like they thought someone would just magically appear in their midst. When none did, a few smiles broke out. Maybe reception was the worst of it all. Maybe the actual training wasn't all that bad. Just as that hopeful thought entered their minds it was dashed when they heard the scream.

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING CATTLE CAR! AND DON'T FUCKING

SCRATCH THE PAINT OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

That was all the motivation they needed to scramble out of the cattle car, past a tall dark-haired man who looked like he was Superman or something.

Another Drill Sergeant started pointing to the places he wanted them to stand, which they weren't doing right, because he dropped everyone and made them do push-ups until half thought they were going to puke, and the other half did.

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Finally they managed to get all lined up, alphabetically. Ryan once again cursed his last name. He would much prefer to be in the back behind all of the others. Instead he would have a front row seat for the hell that was Drill Sergeant Phillip Grabowski.

“I am Drill Sergeant King. And this is Drill Sergeant Connelly. And-- we are your new mommy and daddy for the next eight fucking weeks. Now, I know ya'll have heard about Drill Sergeant Grabowski, and he's not as bad as they say,” Drill Sergeant King said with a friendly grin. And that grin was just bad fucking news, according to the scuttle butt Ryan had heard before he left for this god forsaken place.

Drill Sergeant Connelly just laughed evilly. “No, he's much fucking worse.” That seemed to be a cue, because as soon as that was said they heard a door slam, and looked forward to where another man was coming straight for them.

The tallest man Ryan had ever seen walked slowly down the steps of the building directly in front of them. His hair was cut short, and the cadre round bill hat was firmly on. His uniform looked like it was tailored to suit a man his size. The cuffs were neatly folded around bulging muscles that made Ryan want to cry. His boots were so shiny they reflected the sun. He 15

had to be at least a good three feet taller than Ryan himself. He couldn't get a look at the man's face, but he was sure it would be ugly. It had to be, because the crazy SOB, Sergeant Grabowski wouldn't be handsome. He couldn't be.

“Eyes forward, Gracin. This isn't a nudie show. SSG Grabowski will love knowing how you were eyeballing him though.” Drill Sergeant King snapped Ryan's head forward until he was staring straight ahead.

Fuck. Good fucking way to start a bad fucking day.

Ryan kept his eyes forward, and had to squelch the need to gulp when the mysterious SSG Grabowski strolled by without even pausing to stop. So, far he hadn't said a word. He just walked through the lines.

Ryan could feel his fellow soldiers tensing. Hell; he wanted to run like the wind. The other ones were really loud, but not SSG Grabowski. He just continued his walk like he was taking a leisurely stroll in the park.

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Once he went around each and every man, he walked slowly to the front. Unlike Sergeants Connelly and King, he never raised his voice.