Chapter 11
Chun picked up his gear with Captain Adams’ help, went to the mess for dinner, and Reception was over. He was packed onto a bus with forty other trainees. They drove at least a quarter of a mile across the base, where a sergeant screamed at them to stop taking up space on his bus.
Why did they bother to drive? It took more time to load and unload the bus than it would have taken to walk here.
When it was his turn, Chun took his ruck sack of gear and trotted from the bus to the next spot in formation while sergeants took turns telling him he was fat, slow, sloppy, and the worst thing since uncontrollable diarrhea.
That was a better insult than usual. Very good.
His cohorts stood in the failing evening light and held their rucks overhead. Some appeared confident. Most looked terrified and showed it with shaking arms.
“I am Drill Sergeant Aindry. For the next sixteen weeks I am your mother, your father, your priest, and your mentor. I am the finest soldier the Solomon Army in its wisdom has ever produced. If you learn to be like me, you will succeed. Most of you will fail, but unlike your mother, I will be happy to see you go. Look to your right.”
Chun looked to his right. The recruit in front of him looked to his left. Sergeant Aindry descended on the poor kid and screamed him through twenty pushups. Around them several other recruits were learning the same lesson.
Aindry returned to his position in front of the formation and continued, “Look to your left.”
Chun looked to his left. Two spots to Chun’s right he felt a recruit look the wrong way.
Seriously? We just did this.
The private hit the ground and started counting pushups.
“Get back on your feet.” Aindry bellowed. “Who told you to push, Private?”
“No one, Drill Sergeant.”
“What was that Private, I can’t hear you?”
“No one, Drill Sergeant.”
Aindry paced up and down the front line of the formation. “And what makes you think you know enough to take initiative, Private?”
“My mistake, Drill Sergeant.”
“Which one of you sorry ladies let Private Wrongway look the wrong way?”
Silence.
Which one of you idiots is going to speak up?
Sergeant Aindry glared left, then right, then stepped forward and stared at Chun. “Private Kang?”
How did I attract his attention?
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Chun barked.
“Did you hear me ask a question?”
Chun stared straight ahead. “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Then why don’t you answer me, Private Kang?”
“I do not know the answer, Drill Sergeant.”
“Of course you don’t know the answer, Private Kang. If you knew anything, anything at all, you would, at a bare minimum, be a corporal. Why don’t you guess the answer, Private Kang?”
This seems like a trap. If it is too late to avoid springing a trap, then spring it with more vigor than the trapper expects.
“It is most likely poor instruction, Drill Sergeant.”
“And which instructor so terribly failed our dear Private Wrongway, Kang?” Aindry's voice cut the air like a hole in a muffler.
“A failure of this nature, Drill Sergeant, must be the fault of his mother,” Chun said.
“His mother?” The veins in Aindry’s neck looked like they might burst from the effort. “Do you know Mrs. Wrongway, Private Kang?”
“No, Drill Sergeant. It might also have been his father, Drill Sergeant. Or perhaps his priest.”
One, two…
“What the fuck? Private Kang, bring your ruck and follow me.” The screaming came from Sergeant Turley.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun held his ruck over his head and trotted after Sergeant Turley. Behind him he heard Sergeant Aindry chuckle.
Is he laughing at my joke, or the punishment I am about to get?
Turley climbed into a car with no doors and no top. “Private Kang, take up position on the right-hand side of the vehicle.” Chun trotted around the car and stood where Turley said. “Very good, Private. You will maintain this formation, do you understand?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Turley started the car and idled toward the north side of the base. “Private Kang, I am going to show you something truly special. That hill you see out there in the distance is Punter’s Bluff. It is named after Colonel Elias Punter, who held that very hill for eight days, with only a single squad of soldiers. By spreading out in the trees and firing a shot and repositioning before firing again, they were able to convince a force of over two hundred hostiles that the hill was held by a much larger force.”
Classic misdirection, though quite a feat to carry the pretense on for eight days.
Sergeant Turley settled back, lit a cigar, and appeared to enjoy the trip. Chun focused his breath, drawing strength from his core and spreading it into his shoulders and arms. At the same time, he changed his breathing to a deeper cadence. As they approached the bluff Turley hollered, “How are you feeling, Private?”
“Happy to be alive, Drill Sergeant.”
The car’s engine changed pitch, and they crawled up the steepest grade Chun had ever seen in a road. It was nice to know that these children could do at least one thing better than his people. Despite his discipline, he began to feel the strain of the climb. He refocused, deepened his breathing, and pushed heat through his feet into the road.
“Are you still happy, Private?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Turley turned in his seat to study Chun, shook his head, and the car crawled on.
Chun found his rhythm and settled in.
This would be more fun if I didn’t have to hold this bag over my head.
“Still happy, Private?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
They went through that routine every few minutes until they crested the hill.
The car stopped, and Chun took three more steps before realizing he was out of formation and returned to his spot. His arms shook, but he forced them straight and waited. Sergeant Turley stubbed out his cigar and looked Chun up and down.
“Put your ruck in the back, Private.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun lowered the bag and set it in the rear of the car.
He returned to his position at the side of the car and stood at attention. Turley pondered him a bit longer, then spoke. “I understand you hold the base record for the two-mile, and before today I’ve never seen anyone make it out of the residences doing the rucksack carry. I didn’t think it was possible to make it all the way to the top. What are you doing here, Private Kang, or Chun, or whatever the hell your name is?”
“I am Chun, Drill Sergeant. Brian Kang is a cover name assigned to me by General Archibald, Drill Sergeant. I do not know what I am doing here.”
“Are you sure that’s how you want to play it, Private?” Turley’s voice hardened.
“No, Drill Sergeant. I only mean that the day before yesterday six MPs arrested me at Fort Battering. We flew all night and landed here. Yesterday Captain Adams escorted me through what I gather is a very quick version of Reception Battalion, and now I am here.”
Turley stepped out of the car and stood, studying Chun from across the vehicle. “How do you know General Park?”
“I do not know General Park, Drill Sergeant. Who is he?”
“How about General Farland?”
“Drill Sergeant, General Archibald is the only general I have met, Drill Sergeant.”
Turley chewed his lip for a couple of seconds. “That just doesn’t make any sense, Private. See General Park called me, Aindry, Haggle, and Sand into his office, apparently while you were in Reception, and told us that we were getting a special recruit. It seems General Farland’s orders are that you be put through Basic Combat Training. We are not allowed to cheat to make you fail, but if you can’t cut it, that’s your problem.” He cocked his head.
Cheating is your only chance to fail me, boy.
“I do not know why General Farland knows my name, nor do I know why he wants me to complete Basic, Drill Sergeant.” Chun risked meeting Turley’s eyes.
“What’s special about you?” Turley asked.
“I was in a sarcophagus that General Archibald acquired somehow. They told me I had been stored inside for thousands of years,” Chun said, gauging Turley’s responses. “I am a wizard, and General Archibald wants me to work with elite units.”
Turley shook his head, “Wizards are a joke, Private Kang. And no one has ever found a live body in a sarcophagus before.”
“As you say, Drill Sergeant.”
“General Archibald is one of the key members of the group that is trying to separate the Army Air Force from the Army. They want to form an entirely new branch. Why would he send you here, to an Army training center, instead of Fort Azering?”
“I don’t know, Drill Sergeant. Perhaps General Farland wants me away from General Archibald, but I cannot do anything more than guess.”
“Do something magical, Private.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun walked around the car and carefully extracted a cigar from Turley’s blouse pocket. He focused for a moment on a point at the end of the cigar, then drew heat from the air around him and allowed it to flow to that point, as he inhaled through the cigar. It took a good deal of his discipline to avoid a coughing fit as his lungs filled with smoke.
Revolting. Why do so many of them do this?
He handed the cigar back to Turley, who examined it, and then puffed on it. “A street magician could probably do that.”
“A street magician would be prepared with the right props, Drill Sergeant.”
“So, you can start fires. What else can you do?”
“Everything.”
Turley’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get smart with me, Private?”
“No, Drill Sergeant. I can do many, many things. What would you do if I asked you to show me something you learned in the army?” Chun asked.
“I’d tell you to get fucked,” Turley said with a half-smile.
Chun nodded, then squatted and placed his hand in front of Turley, palm down. “Stomp on my hand, Drill Sergeant. Do a good job. Make certain to break the bones.” He focused his breath into his hand and hardened it.
Turley’s boot came down with a solid stamp. Then another, and another. “Let me see it, Private.”
Chun stood and extended his hand. Turley grabbed it and turned it back and forth, then dragged Chun to the front of the car and put his hand in the spill from the headlights and turned it back and forth again. “I’ll be damned. So, you’re extra tough?”
“No, Drill Sergeant. But I can focus my breath to protect part of my body.”
“How good at it are you?” Turley asked.
“Very good, Drill Sergeant.”
Turley walked around behind him, and Chun extended his breath slightly to keep track of Turley’s motions. Turley’s feet turned, and Chun hardened his breath at the back of his head. Turley’s arm shot out, a closed fist forming, and eventually connecting with the back of Chun’s head.
He has the skills of a child half his age. How is he one of the best teachers this army has to offer?
“Anything, Private?”
“I felt the blow, Drill Sergeant.”
Turley threw half-a-dozen poorly focused punches, connecting with spots all over Chun’s back. Anticipating them and hardening his breath to match was laughably easy.
Turley walked around in front of Chun and eyed him up and down. “This may solve part of our problem.”
“I don’t understand, Drill Sergeant.”
“The general wants you to pass. I want you to fail. I don’t like that I’ve been forced to put one of your kind in with civilized people, but Farland couldn’t wait for the next slant class that’s coming up. Whether you pass or fail is up to you. But the worst thing I can do for everyone involved is make it look like we’re babying you. So, you’re going to take the brunt of a lot of punishments. Can I hit you with a truncheon?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant. Any blunt instrument will be okay. If you worked on my head with a hammer, eventually my defenses would fail,” Chun said.
“Well, I don’t think anyone but me would approve of my beating you senseless with a hammer, Private,” Turley said. “But if you ever touch my cigars again, I’ll do it anyway. Get in the scar.”
“Scar, Drill Sergeant?”
“Scout car, Private.”
* * *
Chun meditated through the night. Meditation wasn’t as good as sleep, but it allowed him to rest while monitoring the toddlers around him. No one approached him, but he overheard several whispered conversations about ways they might force him to quit.
Two of their Drill Sergeants slept in a room partitioned off from the barracks. Their alarms went off at 4:45. Chun got up and warned his section that it was time to get up.
“Shut the fuck up, slant.”
Very well.
He shit, showered, and shaved, then dressed and made his bunk. When the Drill Sergeants--all four of them--entered the bay, Chun was standing at attention at the foot of his bunk, next to his footlocker.
Turley screamed at the room to get moving. Roughly one second later the four of them started forcing the stragglers out of bed. One of the recruits on a top bunk tried to pull his blanket back over his head when Turley lifted it and screamed in his face.
Aindry and Turley upended the whole rack, spilling the private across the next bunk and onto the floor, where he bowled a couple of the others off their feet.
Chun was enjoying the chaos when he felt a Drill Sergeant come around the corner of his bunk behind him. He hardened the breath in the back of his head, and a hard slap echoed across the bay.
“Do you think you are better than the other men here, Private?” Sergeant Sand screamed into Chun’s ear.
There is only one man in this bay, Drill Sergeant.
“No, Drill Sergeant.”
“That is god damned perceptive of you, Private Kang.” Behind him the sergeant ripped Chun’s bedding and mattress off of his rack and flung it into the corner. “Clean this up, Private.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun went and retrieved his bedding and remade his cot.
They repeated that cycle three times before someone else made a mistake that forced the sergeant to shift his attention away from Chun.
Eventually everyone managed to make up their cots to the Drill Sergeant’s dissatisfaction. “I’m done wasting my time on you, privates. Tomorrow these bunks had better not look like the bishop’s shriveled ball sack.”
* * *
“All right, ladies, time to show the world what you got. Get naked and get in the showers. You have two minutes to wash, two minutes to shave, and two minutes to dress. Anyone who isn’t ready to hit the chow hall in six minutes will go nude. Move out.” Sergeant Turley yelled.
Chun approached Turley. “Drill Sergeant, I am already showered, shaved, and dressed.”
“I don’t give two shits if you already showered, Kang. I said everyone in the shower, and for now everyone includes you.”
Chun stripped, and when he pulled his shirt off someone gasped.
“Holy fuck, private. You look like a galley slave,” Turley said.
“Prisoner of war, Drill Sergeant,” Kang said.
Chun grabbed his shower kit and went to the shower room. It was a big open space with showerheads spaced around the wall. It smelled of wet concrete, disinfectant, and teenage boys.
He went through the sham of soaping up and rinsing off. Then checked to see if he could sneak out without shaving again.
“Private Kang.” Turley yelled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Your orders were to shower, shave, and dress. Why are you not shaving, Private?”
“I shaved a few minutes before you entered the bay, Drill Sergeant.”
“Have you forgotten how many shits I give, Private?”
“No, Drill Sergeant.”
Chun found a sink next to Wrongway, a slender boy with weak eyes.
“Shit, I forgot my shaving powder,” he said. Chun set his can on the edge of the boy’s sink. Wrongway paused, looked at Chun, looked around the room, and took the powder.
“Thanks, man, my name’s Wallace Hunter. People call me Wally back home.”
Turley stuck his head between them. “Next time bring your own, Private Hunter. You can’t depend on getting bailed out by your girlfriend every time you fuck up.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Wrongway said, and continued shaving.
Chun lathered his face, scraped the lather off, and went to his footlocker, where he put his uniform back on. Turley watched him the entire time but didn’t seem to find anything egregious to complain about.
True to his word, Turley made a few of them go to breakfast in various states of undress. Two were naked.
The nudists drew wolf whistles from passersby as they marched to the mess hall. On entering, a pair of sergeants on the way out commented, “Well, don’t you ladies paint a picture.”
One of the nudists had the good sense to act embarrassed. The other turned to face them and gyrated his hips, making his dick spin like a windmill.
Sergeant Aindry covered thirty feet in a couple of seconds, knocked the showoff down and dove on him, pinning him with a forearm across the neck.
“You will not play with your pecker in my mess facility, you filthy animal. Get your ass up and get dressed. You forfeit breakfast this morning.”
Aindry ran the nudist back to the barracks, and the rest of them moved through the line with Drill Sergeants descending on various recruits to yell at them for not having a button done, or for talking in line, or letting their eyes wander… Wrongway had to do pushups for taking an extra second to step forward when it was his turn.
The servers gave Chun watery eggs, two strips of limp bacon, two biscuits, and gravy that was thicker than the eggs. He took his tray and sat down across the table from Wrongway and started eating. The food was disgusting, but he needed fuel, so he shoveled it in.
“What the fuck is your problem, Private? Is the chow not to your liking?”
Across the table Wrongway flinched, then blew out a long sigh when it became clear that Drill Sergeant Sand was smoking the man beside him.
When the Drill Sergeant got down on his hands and knees to yell pointers at the guy, Chun glanced around, then reached across the table and traded his empty tray for that guy’s full one. Wrongway shook his head at Chun, apparently warning him not to do that. Chun winked at him and started on the new tray.
Sergeant Sand finished smoking Wrongway’s neighbor and hurried to another table to wreak havoc on them for spilling a tray.
“Who ate my food?” asked Wrongway’s neighbor.
“I am,” Chun said, pointing to the half-empty tray.
“Who is talking down here?” Sand bellowed, reentering their area.
Chun balled up a little piece of napkin in his hand, sighted the angles, and then snapped his fingers below the edge of the table, where Sand wouldn’t be able to see the launch. The little ball of paper flew up, over Sand’s head, and bounced off of his far shoulder.
“Who the fuck threw that.” Sand bellowed, turning on the table behind him.
“Nice move, Kang,” whispered Wrongway’s neighbor. “How’d you do that?”
“You just need to read the angles,” Chun said around another mouthful of food.
“Well, I don’t know how you can eat that slop, but thanks. I’m Robins, by the way.”
“I am Chun,” Kang said with a nod.
After breakfast they trotted back to their barracks, where those who had gone to breakfast out of uniform remedied the situation while the rest of their platoon did Dying Beetles, which meant laying on your back and making bicycling motions with your hands and feet. It was an easy exercise that had everyone around Chun gasping for air and cradling their stomachs.
Pitiful. Two minutes and most of them are dying.
Once everyone was properly dressed, their Drill Sergeants took them on a leisurely tour of Punter’s Bluff, which turned out to be ten miles, with twelve-hundred feet of elevation gain. The morning was beautiful, and birds and squirrels sounded off in the surrounding pines.
Chun trotted along, using his breath to draw heat from his body and dump it into the road. His breath told him there were quite a number of animals out there. His stomach rumbled and his mouth watered.
I have to find a way to get more food. The portions they give us are for mice.
Around him boys sweated uncontrollably and gasped for air. Even the Drill Sergeants huffed and puffed, though they still had energy to yell at stragglers.
Please don’t make me go to war with this army. Or at least make the enemy as pathetic as these children.
The road ended at the peak in a huge gravel and dirt clearing surrounded by pine forest. The Drill Sergeants took them to the far side of the gravel, where they were met by a pair of corporals in a scar carrying several water cans.
“You will now be issued your canteen.” Turley grabbed one for emphasis and chucked it at a recruit. “At this point each of you should have some appreciation for a reliable supply of potable water.” He glared around and settled on a victim. “Private Killingsworth, what does potable mean?”
“Um--”
“Louder, private. This isn’t a state secret.”
“Is it water you can drink, and then piss into a pot later, Drill Sergeant?” Killingsworth shouted.
“Do not answer a question with a question, Private. Out with it.”
“It’s water you can piss into a pot, Drill Sergeant.”
“That is almost correct, Private Worth Killing. Potable water is water that can be safely consumed, even by the weakest form of human life…which is you. Now line up, get your canteen, get it filled, take one salt tablet, and drink your entire canteen.”
From his place in line, Chun identified a fat viper hidden in a shrub near Turley’s feet. The sergeant would step away, and then return to the shrub, and the snake would tense and prepare to strike. He stepped out of line and toward Turley.
“Private Kang, get your ass back in line.” Turley pointed at the spot and puffed out his chest. His neck veins never got a break.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.” Chun said and walked right up to Sergeant Turley. The sergeant tensed and brought his hands up. Chun bent, grabbed the snake by the neck, and gave it a quick whipcrack motion to break its neck. He straightened, looped the snake’s body over his arm, and turned to go back to the line.
Kang turned and took a step. “Freeze, private.” Turley ordered. Chun stopped in mid step.
Turley walked around him, examining the snake, then he yelled to the group. “Privates. This is a timber rattler. Most of them are smaller than this one, but all of them are dangerous. Even a baby has the potential to kill you. Stay alert. If you see one of these near another soldier, warn them.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said, followed by belated responses from the rest of them.
“Bullshit. I can’t hear you.” Turley’s voice echoed from the mountain top.
Everyone replied with a proper, “Yes, Drill Sergeant.” this time.
“This particular snake is even worse than normal, because someone has cut the rattle off.” Turley held the tail up. “If you are caught maiming local wildlife, you will be disciplined, and possibly given a dishonorable discharge. If you are caught maiming snakes in ways that make them more dangerous to other soldiers, you will be prosecuted, and when you have completed your prison sentence you will be dishonorably discharged. Do you understand?”
He got a proper chorus of, “Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Private Kang.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“What are you planning to do with that?”
“I intend to eat it, Drill Sergeant.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Well, ladies, even the army has to be flexible sometimes. We are skipping ahead to survival week.” Turley said. “Show us all how it’s done, Private Kang.”
Chun collected some twigs and small sticks from beside the assembly area, arranged them in a neat pile, then glanced around. “Does anyone have a light?”
“Use your own, Private,” Turley scowled and folded his arms.
Chun glanced up at him quickly, then nodded and pulled heat from the ground around him and focused it, a little flame burst out of the sticks.
Whispers went around the platoon.
“Holy shit, he’s a wizard.”
Chun reached into his pocket and retrieved his shaving razor, which he opened and extracted the blade. He made very quick, precise cuts, removing the head, the guts, and then the skin. He put the head into the fire and used the skin to keep the meat out of the dirt while he cut the snake into small sections, which he skewered on green sticks and propped over the fire.
“Do all of you see this?” Turley put his hands on his hips and turned his attention to the recruits. “This man came as prepared as his current state of equipment would allow. I want you to start thinking this way. When you go on a march or a run, take your water and salt tablets. When you’re in the field, take a knife and your entrenching tool. Whatever your next duty will be, show up prepared.”
When the last piece of meat was roasting, Chun rolled the skin up and tucked it into his pocket.
“What are you going to do with that, Private?” Turley smiled this time as he looked back to Chun.
“I want to tan it and use it to make things, Drill Sergeant.”
“Gentlemen, this is the right answer. If you are in the field for a protracted time, or if you are in a survival situation, keep the skin and use it to make things you need. However, Private Kang, we want you to learn how to work with the gear you are issued. Throw it away.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” Chun said, and tossed the skin into the brush.
When the snake was ready, everyone got a small bite. It was white meat, tough and stringy, and had almost no flavor.
“Were you gonna eat that because you like it?” Wrongway’s nose crinkled as he chewed.
“No,” Chun sighed and patted his belly. “I am losing weight. I need to find extra food where I can.”
Wrongway cocked an eyebrow. “How do you know that? We’ve only been here for one day.”
“Do you not find your rations sufficient, Private?” Turley’s smile turned wicked.
“It’s not enough, Drill Sergeant. I will not starve, but I will lose a great deal of weight. I would prefer not to.”
“Meals are strictly measured during red phase, private. You’ll have to make do.” Turley scanned the grass once more. “And don’t try to eat any more of the snakes you find around the base.”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
Wrongway took a spot next to Chun on the way back. “Did you even get any?”
Chun eyed him sideways for a moment. “Yes, but Sergeant Turley believes otherwise.”
“We need to talk,” Wrongway said. “You need extra food. I need to figure out how to pass range qualifications. Maybe we can help each other.”
“I would like that,” Chun said.
* * *
“Drill Sergeant Turley?” Chun emerged from behind Turley.
Turley jumped, spun around, and then stubbed out his cigarette. “What the fuck, Kang. Do you know what can happen to people who sneak up on me?”
“My apologies, Drill Sergeant. I wanted to ask why you made me reveal my skills today. I have been told to keep them secret, though I believe the request is foolish.”
“Who told you that?”
“General Archibald.”
“This is a white base, Private. That isn’t your fault, but I’m sure you’ve noticed some of your platoon would rather shoot you in the back than shake your hand. I’ve already heard some of them plotting to jump you. Now they have a reason not to. Good for you, good for them, fuck Archibald. He’s not your commander anymore.”