The Infinity Brigade #1 Stone Cold (3 page)

Chapter 3: Boot Camp – Week One

I gained a new appreciation for the finer things in life during my first week of Boot Camp at New Parris Island. Things like: walking, taking the time to chew your food, sleeping for more than four hours a night, and the big one… free time.

Hands down, no questions asked… that first week was one of the hardest of my life. At the time, I suspected the Drill Sergeants got a bonus based on the number of recruits they got to quit. There were thirty two of us when we began the training. Twenty guys and twelve gals.

The first order of business was haircuts and billeting. Since training was expected to be both rigorous and intense, there would not be a lot of time for personal grooming. The marines discovered very early on, when they were still associated with ocean-based Naval forces, that the simple expediency of removing all of a recruit’s hair reduced the amount of time necessary for washing, trimming and caring for said hair. Guys and gals got the same haircuts… there was no discrimination in the armed services.

  The drill sergeants were also very concerned about our safety. This become apparent when sleeping arrangements were fully explained. That first week that while they did, indeed, give us a full eight hours of sack time each night – they only gave us sixteen billets for thirty two soldiers. When this shortcoming was pointed out to Senior Drill Sergeant Harris, he said, in that very quiet voice that we had all learned to dread, that half of us would be pulling guard duty… protecting our fellow soldiers while they slept. Halfway through the night we would switch places.

I was concerned at first that guys and gals shared the same bunk space and open showers. It seemed like an invitation to some counter-productive drama but after the first day I understood why it would never be an issue. We were too damned exhausted to even notice that naked person next to us in the shower was a fit and trim member of the opposite sex. I learned later that this too was part of our training. In war, you made use of the facilities you could find – when you could find them. There was no guarantee that you would locate ‘his and her’ anything… We needed to learn that we were going to be ‘Marines’ first and boys and gals second.

That first week, I did more running than I had ever done during my life to that point combined. We ran everywhere. Sometimes the drills were convinced we were slacking – well maybe we were – and they would make us run back to wherever it was we started and run back to our ultimate destination. The worst part was the Drills would run with us and no matter how exhausted we seemed to get… they seemed fresh. 

We had two speeds we were allowed to operate at... full-out run and full-out run even faster. You might think that running on the moon would be simple. The gravity on the moon is only about seventeen percent that of Earth. But New Parris Island had an answer for that… variable gravity plating. Gravity was always a minimum of one hundred and ten percent Earth normal.
Thank you dad!
As a special treat certain areas of the training facility were set to an additional half gravity. This made the mess hall and the exercise field just that much more enjoyable. Of course the Drills could increase the gravity plating at any time… that was where the ‘variable’ part came in. The sadistic bastards like to inch it up slowly during one or both of our morning 10k runs. 

Another big part of our training that first week was a series of introductory classes. Sometimes these would be held in a class room… other times they would be conducted while we were running full bore from random point A to random point B.

It was during one of these running classes that Senior Drill Sergeant Harris came running up the line until he got to my position. We were three quarters of the way through our second morning 10K. We had been pushing it all morning and I was knackered. The Senior Drill started running backwards so he could face me. He wasn’t even sweating. I realized then just how much I hated the man.

“Recruit Stone, I have referred to your sorry assemblage of wasted humanity as ‘recruits’ and sometimes, when I am feeling especially benevolent and charitable as ‘soldiers’… never once have I referred to you as ‘Marine.”

We ran on for several more minutes… he ran backwards the entire time. I truly hated the man.

“Would you care to speculate why this might be so?”

I truly didn’t but I had picked up at this point that he was about to invite me to drop and give him fifty pushups no matter what I said so I thought to myself…
self you might as well enjoy this
. I’m not sure why my mind works that way. Perhaps it’s a defect in the way it’s wired. At any rate I opened my mouth. In boot camp I had learned this was never a good idea.

“I have no idea Senior Drill,” I gasped between ragged breaths. “Perhaps it’s because you have a hard time pronouncing Marine?”

“Interesting answer Recruit. Why don’t you drop and give me fifty whist I think about it.”

I dropped and began kissing the pavement while he continued to jog in place. When I was done I jumped back up and began to sprint back to my original position in the formation. The Senior Drill paced me running backwards. Did I mention I hated the man?

“Recruit Stone, I’ve thought about what you said and I don’t think that your answer was the correct one. Would you like to try again?”

No
, I thought to myself but again I knew that silence was not going to be an acceptable answer. “Senior Drill Sergeant, this recruit is not wise in the ways of men and war. Perhaps the Senior Drill would like to enlighten me?”

“Why Recruit Stone, I would be delighted to explain this concept to you. Why don’t you drop and give me fifty while I endeavor to cast this essential information in a form that your limited recruit mind can grasp.”

Again I began kissing the pavement. I figured this must have been about the five-thousandth pushup I had done in the last week.

“Recruit Stone. The Marine Corps is an honored and hallowed institution. Its members hail from every country and world within the GCP. We trace our specific ancestry back to the United States Marine Corps founded in 1775.  The Marine Corps was founded to do what others could not do and what others would not do in defense of liberty and our way of life. To be a Marine is to think of others first and yourself second. To be a Marine is to value the ideals we stand for more highly than our own lives. To be a Marine is to be a part of a team that looks out after one another… not sometimes, not when it’s convenient, not when you feel like it… but always. There are only two types of people that understand Marines Recruit Stone: Marines and the enemy. Everyone else only has a second-hand opinion.”

I was continuing to do pushups. I had long ago finished my fifty but it seemed wrong to interrupt what the Drill was saying and so I just kept going. He watched me for a few more minutes. When it became clear that I was not going to stop, he signaled me to rise and stand at parade rest.

“Son, I’m going to ask you one more time. Why is it that I don’t call you a Marine?”

My arms were burning. My lungs were burning. Standing at parade rest was agony but I would not bend. “Senior Drill Sergeant Harris, this recruit is of the opinion that you do not refer to him as a Marine because he has not EARNED the privilege of being called a Marine!”

“Outstanding answer soldier! There may be hope for you yet. Fall in.”

That was the first time Senior Drill Sergeant said anything even remotely nice to me. There would not be many such occasions, so I cherished this one greatly.

***

Towards the end of our first week we lost our first recruit. His nickname was Dash and to be honest I was surprised he made it as far as he did. He was strong enough and fast enough but every time there was a loud noise his first instinct was to… Dash. In a way, I was sad to see him wash out because his heart was in the right place, he just wasn’t emotionally suited to being a Marine. I spoke to him before he rang the bell.

“Mike,” that was his real name, we called him Dash for obvious reasons… “I want you to know that I respect you for having the guts to try something that you knew up front was going to be difficult. There are not a lot of guys who would not have had the
nads
to do that. I hope to serve with you in the future.”

“Come on AG,” he said. “I’m out. What the hell am I going to do now? You and I won’t be serving together unless you take a part time job at a diner.”

“Stow that soldier!” I barked. “You have a lot to offer the GCP. You’re smart and fast and strong. You may not be cut out to be a Marine but there are plenty of places you could be a real asset. Think about it. That’s all I ask. Promise me that.”

He shook his head… not in denial, but in frustration.

Later that day I asked to speak with Senior Drill Sergeant Harris. He had an open floor policy. You could speak to him any time we were not drilling, in his office… while doing pushups. It tended to keep such conversations short and infrequent.

“Senior Drill Sergeant Harris,” I said as I assumed the position and began to pump out pushups at a steady pace I could keep up for hours. “I have a concern about one of the soldiers Drill Sergeant.”

This got his attention. “Go on recruit,” he prompted.

“Drill Sergeant, it has to do with recruit Mike Zimmerman.”

“Former recruit Mike Zimmerman,” the Drill corrected.

“Yes, Drill Sergeant. Drill Sergeant the man would have made a lousy Marine. But he could still make an excellent soldier in the GCP.”

Senior Drill Sergeant Harris adjusted a control on his desk. Suddenly the gravity jumped to a full two Gs. I must have grunted because the bastard asked “What was that Recruit Stone?”

“Drill Sergeant,” I gasped as I continue to pump out pushups under two full gravities, “This recruit requests that a note be placed in Mike Zimmerman’s service jacket indicating he could be a real asset to another branch of the service, Drill Sergeant.”

The bastard of a Senior Drill Sergeant turned the effective gravity up another few percent. My arms were on fire but I would not quit.

“And why would I do that Recruit Stone?”

“Because you are a Marine Drill Sergeant… and Marines do the right thing.”

“Yes we do recruit.” He turned the gravity plating down to a standard one G.

My arms were toast and it was all I could do just to hold myself up. He saw that I was no longer doing pushups and he smiled.

“Give me one more pushup then assume parade rest.”

It took everything I had… plus some… but I did as he requested. While standing at parade rest I shook like a leaf from fatigue. 

“Recruit Stone, as surprising as this may sound to you, I have been doing this for a while. The note you so eloquently requested is already in Ziggy’s file. My question to you is this, why are you here?  Why come in here and risk my wrath for a man who washed out?”

I didn’t really have an answer for him. I had been asking myself the same question ever since I had decided to approach the Senior Drill. I suspected it might have been a lingering side effect of having been dropped on my head as a baby.

“Senior Drill Sergeant, I think I would want somebody to do the same for me should the roles be reversed.”

“Oh, are you thinking of quitting?”

“NEVER SENIOR DRILL SERGENT HARRIS! THE WORK QUIT IS NOT IN THIS RECRUIT’S VOCABULARY.”

Senior Drill Sergeant Harris looked at me for several minutes. I did not flinch. “No, I suppose it is not,” he said. “Dismissed Recruit Stone.”

On the last day of week one we got another surprise. One of the other Drills, a woman by the name of Staff Sergeant Baldwin came into our Billets. I was tired of running laps in 2G around the exercise track so I made it my business to encourage my fellow trainees to square their stuff away the second they were done using it. That way we were always inspection-ready. It turned out to be a good move on my training platoon.

“Recruit Stone, front and center POST!”

I quickly raced to her position and assumed the ‘At Attention’ stance:  chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in.

“Recruit Stone. By order of the Marine Training Commandant, effective this date, you are promoted to acting Ensign. You are authorized to promote one soldier to acting sergeant and one soldier to acting corporal. Everyone else remains a private. You have ten minutes to get acquainted with your command before you will run them to the mess hall were you will all enjoy a steak dinner.” With this she saluted me.

I was dumbfounded. She continued to hold her salute until another recruit named JJ coughed slightly and wiggled his right hand. Catching on, I crisply saluted her back. If Drill Sergeant Baldwin was pissed that I had not immediately returned her salute, she gave no indication of it. She handed me three arm bands and then executed a perfect about face and marched out of our billets.

The room exploded in a rush of excited voices. I’d like to think it was for me but I knew it was the prospect of real meal and not the retextured soy that they had been feeding us for the last week.

“Time?” I shouted.

“16:51”

I was excited by the promotion but I was also well aware that I had just been handed a huge target and asked to paste it on my back. With great responsibility came great reward and great risk. My first task was to promote a couple of my bunk mates. I tried to be objective based on knowing these guys and gals for only a week.