Chapter 10

The transport made a bumpy landing on a grass field. The lead sergeant said this was Fort Vodun. Each of Chun’s MP escorts wished him farewell in their own way, but all of them expressed interest in watching him fail Basic Combat Training. He thought this was their odd way of wishing him luck.

Chun deplaned alone, with his blanket roll of gear, and joined a singularly unpleasant captain for something called Reception Battalion.

Reception turned out to be an opportunity to stand in lines, sign meaningless papers, and answer questions that had already been asked by someone else.

“There are some weird notes in your file. Is your name Kang, or Chin?” asked Captain Adams.

Chun glanced at the papers. C-H-U-N. Not Chin.

Perhaps it is his accent. He barely opens his mouth when he talks.

“I am Chun.”

“Why does it say Kang on here?”

“That is the name General Archibald assigned to me at Fort Battering.”

“Do you think you’re a spy, Chin?”

“No, Captain.”

“Then follow me. We have a lot to do. Normally you would go through this process with your training platoon, and it would take at least a week. Since you’re late, my orders are to get you ready to report to your Drill Sergeants by this evening.”

After standing in a variety of lines, Adams took him to a mess, which turned out to be a dining facility that was neat, organized, and absolutely spotless.

I may never grasp the nuances of this language.

The worst part looked like it was going to be the meal portions. It had been a full day since his previous meal, and Chun was decidedly hungry, but soldiers were issued specific portion sizes, and that was that.

Today’s special was spaghetti, which Chun had eaten at Fort Battering, but this version was worse in every way. The noodles were overcooked, the sauce was plain and runny, and he was only allowed three low-quality meatballs. There was no cheese, and the only other item on the plate was a splat of overcooked ‘greens,’ a term that didn’t accurately describe the dark, almost brown, mass.

They probably call them greens because the cook doesn’t know what they are. They certainly don’t know how to prepare them.

The food was bland, and the only flavorings were salt, a feeble ground seed they called pepper, and a revolting red goop that was almost sticky, almost sweet, almost tangy, and almost gag-inducing.

Captain Adams watched him try the red sauce and chuckled. “Yeah, you don’t want ketchup on pasta.”

Chun looked at his plate, then at the bottle. “How much am I allowed to have?”

“Of the ketchup?”

“Yes.”

“As much as you want. Just make sure you eat it. We don’t take kindly to soldiers who waste food.”

Chun collected all four bottles on their table and emptied them onto his plate. Adams made a gagging sound.

I agree, but this appears to be the only extra food I can get right now.

Chun pulled some of his breath away from his nose and taste buds, then proceeded to eat the slop before anyone could tell him to stop.

Then they went to Chun’s physical. He assumed it would be some sort of athletic test, but it turned out to be another assault on human decency where a doctor looked at his eyes, in his ears, up his nose, fondled his manhood, and ultimately stuck a finger in his rectum. Chun managed to get through it without killing the doctor, though he wasn’t at all sure that was the right choice.

This is what passes for medicine? No wonder no one lives very long.

When Chun got out of his physical, Adams met him with a clipboard. “You passed, but you’re three hundred and forty-one pounds. The army wants someone your height to weigh a hundred and eighty. The closer you are to the recommended weight, the better you’ll do. I’m going to administer your entrance fitness exam now.”

I’m overweight? But I’ve already lost a lot of weight, and this is all muscle.

The entrance exam turned out to be ludicrously easy. Chun did his thirty-five pushups, fifty sit ups, then had his two-mile run.

“This track is one fourth of a mile,” Adams said. “You will run around this track eight times, and that will constitute your two-mile run. I will time you. You must complete the run in sixteen minutes.”

“Exactly sixteen?” Chun asked.

“Sixteen or less, Private. Now run.”

Chun didn’t have a timepiece, and still wasn’t accustomed to the length of minutes and seconds. Nor did he have any real sense of how long two miles was, at least as measured in the effort needed. The other new soldiers were toddlers, though, so Chun knew he didn’t need to try very hard. He ran a leisurely pace, enjoying the fresh air, the freshly mown grass, and the opportunity to stretch his muscles.

Chun crossed the finish line and coasted to a stop. “Fuck,” Captain Adams said, staring at his timepiece.

“Did I not run fast enough?”

“I think you did just fine, but my watch is broken. It says you ran an 8:48.” He held the timepiece up to his ear and shook it.

Why is that a problem?

“You said sixteen or less. Is there also a minimum?” Chun asked.

Adams looked him up and down. “There is no minimum. But professional runners are thin, and you are fat. Besides, you’re not even sweating.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Next time someone calls me fat I’m going to… be patient and ignore them.

“Oh,” Chun said. “I am still learning minutes and seconds, and I have never run a mile before, so I did not know how hard to try. I think your watch is functional.”

Adams looked at him with the frowny squint men of this time used to say something was nonsense. “Bullshit. I’m going to get another watch. You’ll have to run it again.”

While Chun waited for Adams to return, he stretched and meditated, focusing his breath for a stronger run, and replaying the previous run in his mind.

Adams returned with a sergeant who wore an MP armband. “No fucking way,” the sergeant said, looking Chun up and down.

“Excuse me, sergeant?”

“You’re a fatass, Private Kang. You couldn’t run an 8:48 two mile if we flew a plane two miles high and threw you out the door.”

“Your evidence that your watch is broken is that I performed well?”

Adams stared at him for a second. “Sergeant Milsap is the base champion. He runs right around nine minutes. His personal record, and the base record, is 8:49.”

“Ah,” Chun smiled. “I understand.”

His pride is at risk. Adams brought this particular sergeant on purpose.

Both of them got out identical timepieces, and Adams ordered Chun to repeat his two-mile run.

I could really run, but unless I increase my time to something far slower than Milsap, they will make me do it again. Perhaps if I run an 8:30… just turn in progressively faster times for four or five races in a row.

Chun ran eight more laps, pacing himself to be certain that he bettered his previous time. He tried to watch his timekeepers, but they mostly alternated between staring at him and staring at their timepieces.

“No fucking way,” Sergeant Milsap growled.

“Your watch is the same as mine,” Adams said.

“What was my time, Captain?”

“He cheated,” Milsap said.

“No, sergeant, I did not,” Chun said.

“Shut your hole, Private,” Sergeant Milsap snapped.

“How would he cheat?” Captain Adams cocked an eyebrow. “We were watching him the whole time.”

Yes, how would I cheat with you watching me?

“By cutting inside the line on the far end of the track. We can’t see his feet from here,” Milsap said. “Don’t worry, I know what to do. I’ll be back in ten.” Chun looked around the track.

They would be able to see if I did that.

“What does that mean?”

“It means he’s going to get proctors to watch each part of the track and make certain you stay within the lines,” Adams said.

“I did not cheat,” Chun said.

“Don’t tell me, show me when the proctors get here,” Adams said. “Why aren’t you sweating, Private?”

“I am not warmed up yet, Captain,” Chun said.

Let’s see how he takes that.

“You’re telling me you can go faster than 8:31?”

Thirty-one? That won’t do.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Bullshit.”

He is a poor conversationalist.

Chun spent the rest of the wait stretching and meditating.

Sergeant Milsap returned with ten additional sergeants. Chun examined their uniforms, but unlike MPs, he could not see any markings that would indicate they were ‘proctors,’ whatever that meant.

“Private Kang, front and center.” Milsap shouted. Chun trotted over to the sergeant and stood at attention. “You are accused of cutting distance on your two-mile run. You will repeat the run, and to make goddam certain you don’t cut distance this time, you will run in the outside lane the entire time. These men will position themselves around the track and will signal Captain Adams and myself if you cheat. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Chun said.

Hmm… the outside lane is farther, but how much?

He looked around at the other sergeants and decided that this would be the final run.

With so many witnesses, he cannot deny the results.

Chun took his position on the track again, and Captain Adams fired a shot from his sidearm to begin.

During the first lap Chun did his best to count seconds out and estimated that he had completed that lap in 1:04.

This would work, but I think I will try for 8:00.

He lengthened his stride a bit and focused on keeping time in his head.

“I don’t believe it,” Milsap said, staring at his timepiece as Chun walked over to them.

“Did I pass?” Chun asked.

“Soldier, you posted an 8:09,” Captain Adams said. He shook his head, then looked up at Chun. “The world record is 8:06.”

I counted 7:59 in my head. Ten seconds off. I need to learn to keep better time.

“I would like to try again,” Chun said.

“There’s no need for that, Private, you pass,” Adams said.

“Can I not attempt the record?” Chun asked.

“Not here,” Sergeant Milsap said. “You would have to do it at a sanctioned track, as part of a sanctioned event.”

“But you did just earn the base record,” one of the proctors said.

“Excellent,” Chun said.

“Come on, Private,” Adams said. “Let’s get your gear issued.”

“Look at him, he’s not even breathing hard,” said another proctor.