Little Girl Lost 6: The Return of Johnnie Wise (20 page)

“I most certainly would like to come in there, but I can’t do it. I appreciate the offer though. Goodnight and sleep tight. I’m in Room 107, if you need anything.”

“Usually Christian white women, if you must know. Most of the men really like me. I’m sorry, you don’t. I thought we could be friends.”

Chapter 37

“
Welcome to the Army!”

L
ucas Matthews entered the empty barracks and switched on the light. The bay was filled with more than forty beds of iron, lining both walls. He could almost see himself in the glossy floor. He walked down the center aisle, looking at each bunk and footlocker in front of it and standing locker behind it. He had heard many times that boot camp would be a much stronger version of football practice, where hazing was a part of the ritual for freshmen. He remembered when he first joined the team and how he was targeted because he was so much bigger than all the first-year high school players. He figured he would be a target here, too, and had prepared for it. He looked at the clock. It was 9:30. He took a quick shower, and thirty minutes later, he was sound asleep.

The signal to rise, boisterously articulated by the Reveille bugle, sounded about ten minutes after Lucas had fallen asleep. At least that’s how long it felt to him. Actually two hours had passed. Bright lights stung his eyes even though they were still closed. When he was finally able to focus, he looked at the clock. It was 12:01. Wondering if he had really slept fourteen hours, he looked out the barracks window and saw the cover of night. That’s when he realized it was just after twilight. The sergeant who had processed Lucas had lied when he said that his class would start at noon. There was no way he could get twelve noon and twelve midnight mixed up. Nevertheless, basic training was starting right now, he realized. As he struggled to get his bearings, he felt his bed being lifted, rising higher and higher, until it toppled over with him still in it. Then, he heard the sound of people running into the barracks along with several commanding voices screaming, “Move you candy-assed bastards! Move it! Move it! Move it!”

Still groggy, Lucas was trying to get to his feet when he felt two powerful hands on his T-shirt, pulling him up, then pushing him backward swiftly, and slamming him into his locker. The sound of his back hitting it echoed throughout the barracks.

“What’s yo’ name, son?” the sergeant who had literally snatched him to his feet screamed.

Alert now, his eyes found the man the hands belonged to. He was a short man compared to Lucas. The sergeant was about five-seven in his spit-shined combat boots. The man had fire in his eyes, and it wasn’t from too many shots of whiskey. He looked around the room and saw about forty to fifty men and about ten other sergeants he presumed was there to back the play of the man holding him against the locker like he was the prime suspect in the murder of a good ol’ boy. Most of the sergeants were white, two were black, and one Hispanic, but they were all dressed in heavily starched fatigues, with tight creases in their short-sleeved shirts and khaki pants. They were all wearing round headgear with wide stiff brims, all of them clean-shaven, and from what he could tell, practically bald, showing very little hair above their ears.

Lucas was about to answer when the sergeant punched him in the stomach. The blow landed a little below the belt line, exactly where he intended it, which gave the sergeant an air of strength he really didn’t have. To all the recruits, it looked like a shot to the belly, but hitting a man anywhere below the belt had the same affect on the body, which is why the sergeant’s aim was true. Lucas dropped to one knee and coughed. It was the hardest he had ever been hit in his life.

Still standing over Lucas who was struggling to get air into his lungs, the sergeant said, “My name is Sergeant Limitless Cornsilk. And I want all you dim-witted sons of bitches to listen and listen good. You will address me as Sergeant or sir. Not Sergeant, sir! Not sir, Sergeant! Either Sergeant or sir. Never together! Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” the men nearest Lucas said, fearing they would be next to feel his invisible fists.

“When I ask you sons of bitches a question,” he looked around, offering the men a menacing glare, his fists back on his hips, “I want everybody to answer in unison with military precision. I wanna hear you say, ‘Yes, sir.’ Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the men screamed in unison.

Cornsilk looked at Lucas, who was still on one knee coughing. “Stand yo’ ass up, Matthews! I barely touched you. You’re supposed to be a tough cookie. You were the star running back for your high school football team, and ya ran numbers for the New Orleans Syndicate. Ya sold dope to heroin fiends and did time in a meet grinder called, Angola. Time in Angola alone should have toughened you up.” Looking down at Lucas, he said, “I know Colonel Strong pulled some strings to get you out of prison two months early. I also know you think that if you make it through boot camp, which means making it pass me, you’ve got a free ticket to Germany to play football for the Colonel while these other boys might have to do some real fighting when another war comes along. But you won’t hav’ta fight, will you, Matthews?” Lucas couldn’t seem to stop coughing. “And if you cough one more goddamn time, I swear to God you’ll spend the next two weeks in the infirmary.” He turned around and walked down the center aisle, eyeing the recruits, looking for the fear that they should all have by now, considering their introduction to the man who would own them for the next four months. When he saw fear on their faces, he put his fists back on his hips again and said, “Welcome to the Army!”

Chapter 38

“
You’ll do what I say . . . how I say . . . when I say . . .”

L
ucas forced himself to stand erect even though he hadn’t caught his breath yet, gasping for air, desperately trying to refill his lungs, constantly resisting the urge to double over and let the catfish and the rest of the dinner he had eaten spill all over the polished floor. The delicious dinner he’d had with Cassandra seemed like a distant memory now that his training had started. He eyed Sergeant Cornsilk, wondering how he knew so much about him and why he would tell everyone about his life in the New Orleans underworld. At the same time, he was glad that the sergeant had stopped short of mentioning his tryst with Marla Bentley, who for all he knew had been found in her Cadillac by now. The more he looked at Cornsilk, the more recognizable he became. He was one of the men he had been in line with in the Mess Hall less than twenty-four hours earlier. The scene between him and the cook played out in his mind again. He now knew that the sergeants in line with him were just waiting for him to carry out his threat against the cook and they would have beaten him to within an inch of his life.

All of a sudden, he was glad the cook hadn’t called him a newbie again. He was also glad that he hadn’t jumped over the counter and whipped him to show him he was all the things that Sergeant Cornsilk had just told everyone. Still watching Cornsilk, Lucas now understood to some degree why they called him newbie and why Cassandra had told him he was wet behind the ears. Sergeant Cornsilk knew exactly who he was, what he had done, and where he was planning to go. And if he knew that much, he knew about Napoleon, Marla, Bubbles, and Johnnie, too. He had stood in line with his drill sergeant, right next to him in fact, yet he had no idea where the man who had ordered SOS before him was from or how he knew about the newbie who had constantly bragged about being from New Orleans.

Sergeant Cornsilk said, “Now . . . when I say atten-hut, you will all snap to it! You will bring your heels together at a forty-five degree angle. You will suck in your gut and stick out your chest. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” they screamed.

“I can’t
hear
you!”

“What the hell was that? I wanna hear one sound and one sound only. It will be the sound of your heels clicking together. Now at ease. For you dumb bastards from Cheyenne, Wyoming or wherever the hell you sons of a bitches are from, that means you are to return to whatever you were doing prior to me calling you to attention. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Now let’s try that shit again. Atten-hut!”

The recruits came to attention again, but they still didn’t do it the way Sergeant Cornsilk wanted it done. He made them do it ten more times, which was when he heard one sound and one sound only.

“While at attention, you will keep your eyes forward at all times. For you simpleminded, backward-assed hicks from the sticks that don’t know any better that means as I walk around the barracks, your eyes are not to follow me as I move. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“As I said, my name is Sergeant Cornsilk, and this ain’t no playground. The work I have to do is serious . . . serious business! This is my domain. I rule here. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“For you moose-ridin’ bastards from Fairbanks, Alaska, that can’t read or write that means for the next sixteen weeks I’m your mother and your father, your sister, your brother, your uncles, and your aunts. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I want all you son of a bitches who’ve come from every corner of the fruited plain to know that you have not come to me by accident. Providence has brought you to me. For you dumb bastards from Raleigh, North Carolina, that means that Almighty God brought you here. He brought you to me so I can teach you girls how to fight and win wars. I want all you bastards to know that the United States Army is not a democracy! You don’t have any rights. You have no say. You have no vote. This is the Army! We are warriors.

“For you cheese-eatin’ bastards from Green Bay, Wisconsin, that means that when our Commander-in-Chief, the President of the United States, decides it’s time to go to war, we will hunt down our enemies, and we will kill them. The United States Army is a dictatorship. For you Italian hot-dog-eatin’ bastards from New York City, that means you’ll do what I say . . . when I say . . . how I say . . . or you’ll visit the infirmary for two weeks! Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“And if you have to visit the infirmary for two weeks, when you get out, we’ll have to start this little dance all over again, girls. And we’ll keep starting over until I’m satisfied that you dumb bastards from Hollywood, California, learned to do everything, and I mean everything, the Army way. You will not be kicked out. And you cannot quit. We’ll think about letting you out when your three-year commitment is up. In the meantime, you’ll eat the Army way. You’ll drink the Army way. You’ll shit the Army way. And by God you’ll fuck the Army way. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

Chapter 39

“
Ya ever see such a poor class of recruits in your life?”

S
ergeant Cornsilk’s heels clicked as he walked the floor, looking in the eyes of each man he passed. “I see you sons of bitches looking at me, wondering where I’m from, what race I represent. Some of you smart bastards that went to college probably think I’m a Native American. Listen up! I am not a Native American. The title makes me sick to my stomach. It implies that the land was always called America. It eradicates my ancestors’ birthright as being the only indigenous people here long before Christopher Columbus supposedly discovered it, long before it was named after Amerigo Vespucci. Both of them dumb bastards were lost. Columbus thought he had found India, which is why they call my people Indians. And Vespucci, that dumb fuck, thought he had discovered Asia. Understand?”