Sand in the Wind (16 page)

The captain suddenly stopped shouting. He walked to the edge of the stage and stared at the recruits. Chalice knew something important was about to happen, and all he could think of was, ‘God, what’s next?’

“PRIVATES, I’ve spent a fucking hour up here explaining your rights under the Military Code of Justice. You skinheaded motherfuckers better know every one of them. I’ve saved your most important right for last. It’s the most important one because it’s the only way you have to see that your other rights aren’t violated. Every swinging dick in the military service of the United States government — and that includes you horrible hogs — has the right of Request Mast. Anytime you feel your rights have been violated, you can take your gripe right up the Chain of Command. That means right up to the President of the United States. If anywhere along the Chain of Command, someone agrees with you — either your sergeant, or your lieutenant, or the President himself — then you’ll get your way.

“NOW YOU HOGS GET THIS STRAIGHT,
because this is the most important part:
The President of the United States hasn’t got time to fuck with every dipshit civilian that lands on Parris Island.
The only way you can get up the Chain of Command is step by step
, STARTING AT THE BOTTOM. If you see anything you don’t like on Parris Island, all you have to do is go up to your drill instructor and say, “Sir, the Private requests permission to Request Mast.
  
.
 
.
 
. HA-ten-TION!
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
Drill instructors, get these disgusting skinheads out of my sight.”

The men rushed into the barracks and were standing at attention in front of their racks when the drill instructors entered. Chalice waited. The three drill instructors moved quietly up and down the aisle. They too were waiting. Chalice couldn’t remember a moment as silent, a time when he wasn’t standing at attention in a baggy green uniform, when his life wasn’t in the hands of three psychopaths wearing Smokey the Bear hats. ‘Somebody’s gonna do it. Some idiot’s gonna do it.’

No one did. The drill instructors eyed each man. The silence continued. ‘Maybe they’re not so dumb after all.’

It was Morton who finally spoke. “On
your bellies.
” The bodies of eighty men slapped the floor. “
On your backs.
” In an instant, they flipped themselves over. “
On your bellies.
” For ten minutes Morton paced back and forth along the floor flipping his men over as if this were a trick he’d taught them, the only one they were capable of learning. Finally, he stood them up for some side-straddle hops, knocked them down for some push-ups, flattened them out for some sit-ups, and finished them off with some squat thrusts. Green and Hacker paced the aisle, generously providing personal instructions when necessary.

Morton called the men to attention. Dark blotches of sweat stained their uniforms as they tried to muffle their heavy breathing. After carefully eyeing his men, Morton turned to Green. “I guess it’s time to find out.”

Green slowly paced the aisle as he addressed the men in a loud but civilized tone. “So now you know what it’s all about. Parris Island isn’t supposed to be any picnic. The Marine Corps builds men, not interior decorators. A lot of you hogs are never gonna make it. You just won’t measure up. We can’t waste time on you. There’s a war going on. It’s not the greatest war, but it’s the only one we’ve got. Our job is to turn out fighting men, the best fighting men in the world. We can’t waste time with cunts that’ll never make it. Not everyone can be a Marine. It isn’t that much to be ashamed of. You’ve been here a whole day. You should know by now whether you can measure up. You should be able to save us some time and trouble —”

Chalice sensed what Green was leading up to. Remembering that no one had been stupid enough to call for a Request Mast, he wasn’t sure what would happen; but he told himself, ‘This’ll be a real test of their intelligence.’

“—To be a Marine, you have to want to be a Marine. That’s the only way we can make men out of you. Think it over. In a few seconds you’ll have to decide.” Green stopped talking. He moved his stare along both sides of the squad bay, allowing the men to feel his eyes upon them. When he began speaking again, it was even more slowly than before. “Anybody who’s had enough, who wants to go home, take one step forward.” Chalice winced as three men stepped into the aisle. There was silence. Chalice waited, now unsure what would happen. Had he missed his chance to go home, his chance to escape from this maximum security insane asylum?

Finally, the drill instructors walked up to the men who had stepped forward. No hostility in their stares, they looked each man in the eye as if to thank him for his honesty. All the recruits waited uneasily, but especially the three that had stepped forward. Colson, who had been standing next to Chalice, was one of these men. Green stared at him calmly, a pleased expression on his face. He turned away and began pacing the aisle, his footsteps the only sound in the squad bay. Finally he spoke: “Three men
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
that’s not bad — three out of eighty. These three men have saved us some trouble. I hope the rest of you know what you’re doing. Maybe I should give you another chance to decide —”

Confused and no longer sure of what was happening, Chalice debated what to do if Green did give him another chance.

“— I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to. Anybody else that wants to go home with these three men, take one step forward.”

Three more men stepped into the aisle. Chalice, immobilized by fear and confusion, wasn’t one of them. If Green had said, “Anyone who wants to stick it out, take one step forward,” Chalice still would have remained stationary, unable to decide because the decision necessitated physical action. Knowing that he might have made a mistake, Chalice waited to see what would happen.

Again Green walked up to Private Colson. “Where you from, Colson?”

“Sir, the Private’s from Meridian, Mississippi.”

“No shit, Private. Meridian’s a pretty big city, five thousand people at least. I never would have picked you for a city slicker.
  
.
 
.
 
. What’s your old man do?”

“Sir, the Private’s father is a farmer.”

“Is that right? Where’s his farm, in back of the courthouse?”

“No, sir. The Private’s farm is ten miles outside of Meridian.”

“That’s what I thought, grit.
  
.
 
.
 
. What made you decide you couldn’t hack it, the push-ups?”

“Sir, the Private isn’t good enough.”

“I’ll have to agree with you, red neck. You’d be a fool to stick around here. A boy should know his capabilities and act upon them. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Only a fool would ignore his own capabilities. Isn’t that right, grit?”

“Yes, sir.”

“No it isn’t, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“ONLY A FOOL OR A MARINE!”

“Yes, sir.”

“But you’re going back to Mississippi where you’re needed
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
to slop the hogs, clean the cow pies out of the barn, move the outhouse around. Isn’t that right, red-neck?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you’ve learned anything at Parris Island, red-neck?”

“Yes, sir.”

“
What?
”

“
Sir, the Private’s learned he isn’t good enough to be a Marine.
”

“You should have learned some other things too, like how to keep your gig line straight. Take a look at the way your shirt’s sticking out.” Colson started to glance down but caught himself. Green said calmly, “Go ahead, Private, you can look. I’m not gonna waste any more time trying to make a Marine out of white trash like you.” Colson glanced down at the front of his shirt and quickly returned to attention. “Well, I guess I can take time to show you how to straighten your gig line again. It might come in handy around the barnyard, impress the hell out of the pigs and chickens.” Green started to reach for Colson’s shirt, but suddenly stopped short. A smirk on his face, he said calmly, “Excuse me, Private, I forgot all about that lecture we just heard. Private, do I have permission to adjust your uniform?”

“Yes, sir.”

Still looking him in the eye, Green buried his fist in Colson’s stomach. Colson bent double and staggered backwards. His rack scraped loudly on the floor before crashing into the wall.

“YOUR COLLAR TOO, RED-NECK,” Green shouted while swinging Colson into the aisle by his lapels. He leaped in the air, kicking Colson between the shoulder blades and sending him through the swinging double doors to the bathroom. Green crashed through after him.

Morton and Hacker exploded into action as if awakened by a mortar round. Shouting, snapping their teeth, and adjusting uniforms, they quickly convinced three of the remaining five recruits to give the Marine Corps another try. The fourth recruit whimpered, “I’m a homosexual.” When the fifth recruit saw Morton step back laughing, he too remembered that he was a homosexual. Morton quickly segregated the two homosexuals in the center of the squad bay where he interrogated them as they did calisthenics.

Green and Colson emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later. “ALL RIGHT,
hogs,
let me have your attention. Private Red-Neck has an announcement to make.”

Colson couldn’t have looked any more frightened than he had all day. The only change in his appearance was a slowly enlarging smudge of blood at the corner of his mouth. Trying but unable to hide his fear, he called out, “
Fellow recruits, I have decided to reenlist in the Marine Corps.
”

Green called the platoon to the center of the squad bay. As they had been taught, the men converged violently upon one another, staggering into a tight mass. Satisfied, Green gave the order to sit down. “Hogs, if you’re wondering what that siren was a few minutes ago, I’ll tell you. One of those outstanding recruits from next door decided he just couldn’t hack it in the Marine Corps, so he decided to hack his wrists instead.
  
.
 
.
 
. He botched the job of course. He’ll live. Let me tell you what’s going to happen to him as soon as he gets out of the hospital: He’s gonna be court-martialed and get sent to the brig for a
long, long time.
When you signed that little white enlistment paper, you signed your putrid bods over to Uncle Sam. Each and every one of you is government property. Our friend is gonna get court-martialed for the destruction of government property.

“Because I’m such a nice guy, I’m gonna tell you how to keep the same thing from happening to you. The civilian turd did it the wrong way. I’m gonna show you the
Marine Corps way.
” Green waved a double-edged blade slowly over his head. “Privates, courtesy of Uncle Sam, you’ve all got a pack of these government issue items in your footlocker. If you’re in a real hurry, you can take the dirty one out of your razor. It won’t be quite as sharp, but it’ll get the job done. First take it by the ends and press the blades together until they snap. Be careful not to cut yourself.” Green held up his hands, half the blade in each one. “You really only need one of these babies, but save the other in case of emergency. Now here’s the way
not
to do it — the wrong way.” Green moved the blade across his wrist. “HERE’S THE MARINE CORPS WAY!” Green moved the blade up and down his forearm. “Now if you really press it in, you’re home free. You’ll never have to worry about a court-martial.
Remember,
up and down, not across — that way you get all the arteries instead of just one.

“Here’s some other tips. Do it in the shower room. It’s the darkest part of the head (you won’t be so squeamish if you can’t see what you’re doing, and it’ll be harder for some jerk to spot you and blow the whole operation ). Doing it in the shower also makes it easier for your fellow hogs to clean up the mess — no use having anybody knocking the dead. Also, don’t do it right before dawn — give yourself plenty of time to bleed. One more thing, wait till the fire watch (you’ll learn more about him later — he’s one of you hogs that stands guard at night) wait until he gets out in the hall. You don’t want him interrupting you.”

Chalice stood at attention in front of his rack. In a few minutes his sixth day of training would end. The squad bay was quiet except for Melton’s voice. He was doing push-ups in the center of the aisle and counting them for himself. Melton still claimed to be a homosexual. After three days of doing calisthenics in front of the rest of the men, the other recruit had admitted he’d been lying. As if Morton, Green, and Hacker weren't enough, drill instructors from the other platoons in the series had constantly dropped by to taunt them — asking for blow jobs and exposing themselves. While wondering how much longer Melton could take it or if he really was a homosexual, Chalice told himself that at least he knew one way
not
to get off Parris Island.

Since the second night of training, Sergeant Morton had been trying to teach the men to count off before going to bed. Each man had to call out a number one higher than that called out by the man to his right. The final man was to say, “Sir, the count on deck is seventy-eight privates.” Although they tried four or five times a night, never had the men been able to complete the count without making a mistake. Sometimes a man would repeat the number that had just been called or shout out a number one less than the preceding number. A few times the count had suddenly stopped because a recruit had forgotten the previous number. But the most common mistake was for a recruit to blurt out his laundry number. On one occasion the count got all the way up to seventy-three before the next man yelled out in a sharp, military tone, “FOURTEEN.”

Counting off was the only thing about Parris Island that Chalice began to look forward to. It meant the end of another brutal day, and he also found the men’s mistakes amusing. Rarely did the drill instructors get too upset over them. They were usually satisfied with merely shouting in the offending man’s face, only occasionally choking or shoving him.