by Doug Beason
“No excuse, sir!” Rod was totally confused, but no way was he going to admit it.
“Then get back down and do it again; but this time remove your hats! Who are you weenies, hicks from Appalachia? Gentlemen don’t wear their hats indoors unless they’re carrying their weapons. This isn’t the damned Navy!”
“Yes, sir.” Rod removed his cap, tucked it tightly under his arm, and trotted down the stairs. Once again, he turned and started up the steps, the stairway from hell that seemed to add steps every time he negotiated it. The bawling out he’d received from Captain Justice suddenly didn’t seem so bad when compared to running the stairs.
“You men are disgusting. Now speed out. You’re late getting to your rooms!”
Rod felt light headed by the time he finally reached the top. The constant running in the high altitude made him dizzy, especially coming from sea level. His stomach grumbled; what little meal he had eaten at noon was now a distant memory.
He didn’t have time to think about his dizziness or his hunger much longer. As he stepped out of the stairwell, he saw a line of angry officers correcting his classmates who were backed up against the wall.
He felt as if he had stepped into the last circle of hell.
Time slowed to a near standstill as Rod drank in the horrific sounds of officers yelling, basics screaming.
He heard feet thumping against the wooden floor as basics ran in place; other classmates hoarsely tried to sing “America the Beautiful,” “the Star Spangled Banner,” and “God Bless America” while struggling to do squat-thrusts.
Basic cadets were slammed up with their backs against the wall. “Touch my hand with the back of your neck, mister! Get that chin in!”
Still others ran in place at attention as they tried to recite the oath of Allegiance they had just taken on the crowd-filled runway. A line of basics bobbed up and down, alternatively hitting the wooden floor to do squat-thrusts then jumping up to run in place.
Someone bumped against Rod’s back as he came up from the stairwell. Rod didn’t dare turn around to see who had run into him.
“Oh, no,” moaned a voice behind him.
Rod had to make his move. Any second someone would notice him.
With no place to hide, Rod pressed his arms tightly to his side and braced into the most exaggerated contortion of attention that he could muster. He stepped into the free-for-all and kept as far to the right as he could.
“Good afternoon, sir!” He screamed. He executed a perfect square turn around an officer who was bawling out one of his classmates.
It worked. He must have looked as though he belonged, and was following someone’s orders. He yelled, “Good afternoon, sir!” and moved three steps—
Twenty minutes later, Rod finally turned into his room, dripping with sweat and exhausted. His arms felt as if they were going to fall off from squat-thrusts, his legs ached from running in place, and his back and neck were sore from slamming back against the wall. Yelling rolled in from outside the room, a white noise of confusion. The floor vibrated with the deep thumps of basics hitting the floorboards.
Rod quickly stepped out of sight from the hallway, back into a corner next to the closet. The two beds in the room had clothes dumped on them from when he and his roommate had finished their frantic in-processing. A thought struck him that he’d have to hang the clothes up, make his bed, and place his underwear in the small dresser. He grabbed a shirt off the bed and started to hang it in the closet.
Someone marched into the room. Rod popped to attention. “Afternoon, sir!”
The person who entered immediately swung around. “Good afternoon, sir!”
Obviously on a hair trigger to react, they realized at the same time that they were both basics.
Rod’s shoulders slumped in relief as he remained out of sight from the craziness just outside the door. “Hi. I guess we’re roommates.”
The short basic stuck out a hand. “Howdy. I’m Sylvester Jakes, my friends call me Sly.” Although he smiled, his eyes looked as if he’d been crying.
“Hi, Sly.”
“Not sly enough to get past those Neanderthals roaming the hallway.”
It suddenly hit Rod that the short basic was the wiseacre in the barbershop who couldn’t take anything seriously. Great. Not only do I get to room with a comedian, but I wonder how much hot water he’s going to get me in? Rod forced a smile. “Any idea what we’re supposed to do?”
“Beats me. I’m just thankful to still be alive.”
“Minute by minute.”
“What are you doing?” Sly cocked an eye at Rod’s shirt hanging in the closet.
“I figure they’re going to want to know why we haven’t straightened our room.”
“And we’re supposed to guess where everything goes.”
Rod shrugged. “Might as well start. Besides,” he stepped back by the closet, “they can’t see you from out there.”
Sly brightened. “I’m rooming with a genius! What a terrific idea.” He swept up an armful of hangers from his bed and moved to the closet.
“Room, atten’hut!” Rod spotted the officer walk into the room and barely managed to yell out the warning to Sly.
The two men dropped their hangers. They clattered to the floor and bounced under the bed.
The officer wore bright, shiny silver bars of a first lieutenant. Blond and deeply tanned, the man looked as though he had just stepped out of a movie scene. Behind him, standing outside the door, stood six basics at rigid attention.
“Good evening, gentlemen. We’re having a flight meeting in your room.” The officer motioned the waiting basics to join them. He was the first officer in six hours not to yell. “Enter, men. And speed out, we have a lot to go over tonight.”
The basic cadets crowded into the room. Rod smelled a mix of body odor and sweat. The basics had been going at full steam since six this morning, and it was no wonder that they had begun to reek. Rod wondered if anyone else smelled it.
“Gather ’round, basics, and listen up. You have to get your room in shape, so pay attention. Stand at ease.” They snapped to parade rest.
“I’m Lieutenant Ranch, one of the Air Training Officers, and more importantly your flight commander. The ATOs will be acting as upperclassmen for the next two years. Captain Justice is our Air Officer Commanding, the AOC, and commands B squadron. You men are in Flight B-2, and for the next eight weeks will be under my command while you’re in Basic Cadet Training, or BCT. Tonight we’re going to go over some rules, and I’ll show you how to do everything from making your rack to shining your shoes. Pay attention to the details, because I guarantee that if you mess up the little things, the big ones will come back later to bite you in the ass. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” Rod felt he was going to like the lanky, blond officer. Although Lieutenant Ranch did not attempt to be friendly with the basics, he carried himself with a completely different demeanor than Captain Justice.
“First we’re going to start by putting your clothes away. Every item has a specific place, and a certain way it must hang in your closet or be folded.…”
For the next two hours Rod tried to keep up with remembering all the little details that poured from Lieutenant Ranch. He learned how the hooks on each of his hangers must face the same direction and be spaced precisely an inch apart. The shirts were all buttoned and hung in the same direction; underpants, t-shirts, and handkerchiefs were all folded and stacked neatly in the top dresser drawer; his socks were tightly rolled and placed in a line, facing with the “smiles” up; his toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and soap were stacked in the right hand front of the next drawer; his rack—Lieutenant Ranch’s name for a bed—was made with tight hospital corners, with the blanket serving as a “hood”; his shoes and boots were arranged in order by height at the back of the closet. The instructions went on and on, until it seemed that every molecule in the room had its assigned place.
Finally, Lieutenant Ranch glanced at his watch. “You
have a shower formation in five minutes, so get back to your rooms. Uniform is underpants, shower clogs, bathrobe, towel, and soap. Line up outside your rooms, backs against the walls. Now move it.”
The basics stiffened. “Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.” The other eight basics started for the door. “Wait a minute!” Everyone jerked to attention. “When you’re dismissed by a superior, you sing out a cordial ‘Good evening, sir.’ Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re dismissed.”
“Good evening, sir!” The basics spilled out into the hallway.
He started to walk out the door while Rod and Sly remained at attention. As if in afterthought, he turned. “Let’s see, Basics Simone and Jakes, right?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Simone, since your rack is the only one in the flight that is made, you’re going to learn one of the most important duties you’ll have over the next year. You’re going to be our first minute caller. Be outside your door in two minutes, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then get moving.”
He left as the two yelled, “Good evening, sir!”
Rod started stripping off his clothes. “What’s a minute caller?”
“Beats me,” Sly said as he hastily unbuttoned his shirt. “But whatever it is, you’re going to have the pleasure of being in the hallway two minutes before anyone else.”
Rod kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his pants. He debated throwing them onto his bed to save time but instead neatly hung them up.
Lieutenant Ranch’s voice thundered from outside the room. “Simone, you’ve got thirty seconds to get your butt out here and start calling minutes! You’d better not be late!”
“Yes, sir!” The memory of Ranch’s patient disposition melted under the sound of the officer’s voice.
Rod dumped his clothes in a pile on the closet floor. He threw on his bathrobe, slipped on his shower clogs, grabbed his towel, and headed out the door.
Lieutenant Ranch lifted an eyebrow as Rod flew outside the room.
Rod slammed up against the wall. “Sir, Basic Cadet Simone reporting!”
“Simone, you’re out of uniform! Can’t you remember a simple order?”
“Yes, sir!” Out of uniform? How? Rod clammed up, remembering the five allowed responses.
“Start knocking off pushups. Maybe next time you’ll listen up.”
Rod dropped to the floor. “One, sir! Two, sir! Three, sir!”
“Pipe down, Simone, while I tell you how to call minutes.” Rod shut up, but he continued the pushups. “There’s a clock down the hall across from the CCQ desk—CCQ stands for Cadet in Charge of Quarters. When you call minutes, you position yourself across from the clock five minutes before first call.” He rattled through a menu of instructions. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir!”
“You have one minute before first call for the shower formation. Let’s hear it.”
“Yes, sir.” Rod started to get up from the floor.
“Get back down, Simone! I didn’t say you were finished!”
“Yes, sir.” Rod kept up the pushups and started yelling, “Sir, there is one minute before first call for the shower formation. Uniform is: underwear, shower clogs, bathrobe, soap, and towel—” he groaned. He forgot his soap; that’s why he was out of uniform! “First call for the shower formation is in one minute, sir!”
“Louder, Simone.” Lieutenant Ranch raised his voice and looked up and down the hallway. “Get out here, B-Flight! Your classmate is doing pushups all by himself. Are you going to help him out?”
Rod’s arms started trembling, but since he hadn’t been told yet to stop, he kept pushing up and down against the floor. Basics started pouring out of their rooms.
“Drop and support your classmate!” Lieutenant Ranch said.
“Yes, sir!” A line of basics began chanting in unison as they followed Rod’s lead. “One, sir; two, sir; three, sir …”
The sound of a bugle blasted through the hallway, drowning them out.
Lieutenant Ranch’s voice bellowed over the bugle call as he strode through the stairwell at the end of the hallway. “That’s first call, basics. Up against the wall!”
Rod jumped up and joined his classmates.
Emerging from the stairwell, their AOC, Captain Justice, marched down the long hall. “Welcome to your first shower formation. And from the smell in this hallway, you need it. An officer and a gentleman bathes on a regular basis. This is how we end every night of basic cadet training. But first, just in case you might have forgotten some of the fine points that we have tried to teach you, we’re going to review.”
Justice looked around at his ATOs, took a step back and barked, “Officers, fall out and make corrections.”
Déjà vu. Except for being in a bathrobe and shower clogs and holding a towel over their arms, it was a repeat of the blasting they had gotten at 1100 this morning. The ATOs lit into them, poking fingers at their chins as they yelled for the basics to press up against the wall.
The basics started double timing in place. The entire floor vibrated in a thundering rhythm. The walls reverberated, magnifying the yelling, the running, and the smacking sounds as they slammed against the wall.
Time seemed to grind to a stop. As far as Rod could tell, he had been there forever, an eternal state with no hope of escape, one in which he rotated from standing rigidly at attention to doing squat-thrusts and pushups; to double-timing in place to hoarsely singing songs he should have known the words to.
Finally, Rod heard the sound of a bugle drifting somewhere in the background. Captain Justice’s voice raised above the din. “Up against the wall, smacks!”
Silence. Except for heavy breathing, and the low, angry muttering of ATOs as they corrected individual basics, the sound in the hallway dropped from a rocket roar to a whisper in a church confessional.
Rod strained to keep the back of his neck pressed against the wall. Although he wanted to collapse to the floor and gulp breaths of air, he stood rigidly at attention, eyes locked straight ahead.
Justice stood in the middle of the hallway with his hands on his hips. “All right, basics, hit the shower. Soap up and wash. I don’t want to smell anyone tomorrow morning. Right turn, harch.” Shower clogs squeaked. “Forward, harch.”
The basics marched down the hallway in their bathrobes, still holding their towels and soap. The day before, the sight would have looked ridiculous, but here and now it made perfect sense. They marched everywhere else they went, so why not to the shower?
An ATO at the end of the hall directed them to take a right turn into the bathroom. Steam tumbled out of the gang shower as another ATO directed them to hang up their bathrobes and towels. He herded them into the open shower area. “Speed out! Form a line and step under a showerhead, count to ten, then move to the next one! Soap up when you’re out; wash down when you’re in. You’ve got to get through here in five minutes!”
Like an efficient machine, the basics moved through the showerheads. Rod was not about to bring up the fact that he had forgotten his soap. There was no telling what wrath he’d bring upon himself for this deadly sin; he’d already paid once for not having it.
The shower stall held thirty bodies, and the line moved continuously. Once out, Rod toweled down, slipped on his bathrobe, and took his place back in line, relishing the chance just to be still.
Within seconds they marched back to stand at attention in front of their rooms.
Once again Captain Justice surveyed the group. “Now that you basics are part of my Air Force, you will start a tradition to honor our glorious service. Drop and start knocking off squat-thrusts while you sing the Air Force song. Move it!”
Fifty bathrobed and shower-clogged basics fell to the wooden floor. Within seconds it was obvious that no one yet knew the Air Force song.
“Pathetic!” Justice moaned. He strode up and down the line. “You men had better learn the words or
next time you’re going to be out here all night. On your feet!”
They scrambled up, grabbing at dropped towels and slammed back against the wall. Rod breathed hard. Feeling a drip of perspiration run down his forehead, Rod wondered why they had even gone to the trouble of taking a shower.
“When you are dismissed, you men have exactly thirty minutes to get your room in shape, memorize all stanzas of the Air Force song and the “Star Spangled Banner,” and most importantly, write your mommy and daddy, telling them that you’re having a wonderful time and that you are proud to be a basic cadet and an American. Got it?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Dismissed!”
Unable to take a step backwards, the basics turned, tucked their elbows into their sides, and double-timed into their rooms. Once inside, Rod moved next to the closet, out of sight from the hallway.
Sly entered the room, did a quick look around to insure there were no officers present, then relaxed. “Man, oh, man,” he said. “What a day. When do you think things are going to let up?”
Rod shook out a pair of green fatigues and inspected them; they were so big it looked as if both he and Sly could fit inside. “Never. I just hope it doesn’t get any worse.”
Sly looked incredulous. “Don’t say that! Every time I think things couldn’t get any worse, it does.”
Lieutenant Ranch’s voice snapped from just outside the door. “Quit yappin’. Get your room in order and write those letters home. You men are already late.”
The two stiffened. “Yes, sir!”
In a flash, they flew around the room, picking up clothes from their bed, either folding them neatly or hanging them up. It was as though the two were in a movie suddenly speeded up by a factor of ten.
By the time the sound of taps blew eerily around the quiet campus, their room was in order and they each had penned a letter to their parents.
“Lights out, and don’t talk! You have a big day tomorrow, basics, so get to sleep.” Someone reached inside their room and switched off the lights.
Too exhausted to reply, with his pajamas on and the room looking in fairly decent shape, Rod crawled into bed. It had seemed a shame to mess up the immaculately tightened sheets, but they felt so comfortable that Rod didn’t give it a second thought.
