by Lundy, W. J.
After Stephens’s wound healed, he fought to be sent back to the front; he was immediately refitted and assigned a new unit. As was common now, Stephens was quickly advanced from corporal to staff sergeant. Most of the trained standing army was gone, with experienced leaders hard to find. Anyone with prior—or especially active—military experience was assigned to units. Veteran soldiers were placed in leadership positions over men as fast as units could be formed with fresh recruits. Stephens was no exception. Jacob knew the man was out making runs and doing patrols deep into the danger zones, risking his life for the rest of them.
With Stephens’ word and the noted performance at the Battle of Museum Park, Jacob was given priority placement for a training date. That date approached faster than expected. Even with stalling from the doctors and pleading from Laura asking them for more time, Jacob was soon cleared and determined fit for duty.
During the recruiting process, Jacob pressed his education and work experience; he requested engineer or even officer training, but the recruiting sergeant’s grin said otherwise as he scribbled Jacob’s name on the top of a clipboard. The Army had engineers; what they needed were shooters, or bullet catchers as the recruiter described it. Jacob was given a slip of paper and a date to report… that date was yesterday.
He said his goodbyes to his family at the provost marshal’s office near the center of camp. There were several families there and other men who Jacob didn’t recognize. Some were younger than him, but many were far older and reporting directly from the refugee camps. He held Laura, speaking softly to her. They made promises to each other: him to return and her to wait for him. She promised to take care of Katy while he was away. His daughter didn’t seem to understand; she held his hand and hugged him good-bye, expecting to see him later that night at dinner.
Before he was ready, men in uniforms entered the building and ushered them all into the back of an already full truck. Jacob and the other recruits were driven to a remote location where several old buildings were grouped together and surrounded by chain link fence and tall poles with mounted spotlights. It looked more like a prison than a training camp.
The recruits were quickly removed from the trucks and stripped of all belongings outside of personal photos, a single religious item, and an identification card. They were then issued two olive drab uniforms, a pair of boots, and a set of shorts and T-shirts. The recruits were forcefully clustered together and herded to the end of a long wooden building. As they entered, Jacob was slapped in the chest with a set of white sheets and a green wool blanket. He was assigned a bunk and a locker number. When he stopped to ask a question, a sergeant at the front of the line grabbed him and shoved him into the room.
“Get to your rack and get some sleep… your time for questions is over,” the sergeant said gruffly.
Sounds of shouting outside the barracks broke Jacob from his reminiscent thoughts. He could hear men yelling and pounding. The door swung open, filling the room with bright, blinding light and screaming men. A sergeant stormed into the room, stomping his boots and banging a metal pail with a small hickory rod. In shock, Jacob sat up swiftly and saw other men fly from the bunks completely unprepared for the chaos. More men in uniform poured into the room, yelling and shouting instructions. A man in a top bunk was grabbed by his ankle and dragged out of bed; another was shoved to the ground when he stepped in front of one of the sergeants.
A leathered man, hardly five foot eight, marched into the room. He was dressed in starched trousers, a black sweatshirt, and spit-shined black boots. The man stomped from one end of the bay to the other and yelled in a loud baritone voice, “Drop your cocks and grab your socks; you’ve got five minutes to get your soft, worthless bodies formed up and out front!”
Jacob locked eyes with the man, who returned a cold, hard stare. He was old and calloused; a deep scar ran from the top of his shaved head to the bottom of his cheek. Even though older, he was large and powerfully built, broad shouldered and intimidating. Jacob looked away, breaking the man’s stare and wondering what the hell had ever convinced him to sign up for this.
Jacob fell from his bed and scrambled for his trousers, feeling the man’s hate burn into him. Suddenly, he was afraid… afraid of bringing any attention on himself. The main thing Stephens warned him about training was to remain anonymous; Become invisible, don’t get singled out. He hurried into his boots and joined the others as they rushed out onto the short strip of white gravel directly in front of the barracks building. The sun had yet to rise, and it was cold, their breath forming little clouds of condensation in the freezing Canadian air.
The shocked recruits grouped together in a tight huddle, looking to hide their eyes from the glaring sergeants that circled around them like sharks. Jacob peeked between the rows of bodies as he watched the leathered man leave the barracks and move into the front of the group. He marched purposefully, shaking his head side to side, muttering to himself in disappointment. He stopped just in front of the tight cluster of scared men at the end of a crushed-gravel lot. He stood like a statue with his chest pushed out. He feigned shock and disgust when he looked up at them.
“What in Jesus H… is this gaggle…? I want every one of you dirtbags in the front leaning rest! Move dammit!” he bellowed.
Jacob stood confused as the group collapsed in on itself. Everyone wanting to create as much separation as possible from the man in front of them, they squeezed together, the huddle getting tighter.
“Well? What the hell are you waiting for?”
Sergeants stepped from the shadows and grabbed the recruits by their shoulders, forcing them to the ground. “He means pushup positions! Now get your filthy civilian bodies on the ground,” one yelled.
Jacob scrambled for room and dropped to all fours while the others—moving just as quickly—dropped in all around him. Sergeants moved among the group, all yelling at the same time, making it impossible to understand individual commands. When they stopped, Jacob could already feel his arms begin to shake from holding the position.
The leathered man strolled between the rows, not making any attempts to avoid stepping on them. “Now… I understand this is your first day and you all don’t know Joseph from Mary, that you are weak and pathetic, so I’m gonna take it easy on you today. I’m going to give you five seconds to get your nasty bone bags into a formation. I want to see four equal rows of earth sacks. Do you understand, recruits?”
The group held silent; only the sounds of panicked breathing emanated from the scared men.
“I said do you understand?”
A low mumbling of “yeah” fell from the group.
“What! Who said that?” The man stepped toward one of them, placing a boot on the recruit’s back and pressing his body into the gravel as he continued shouting. “‘Yeah’? Let me make one thing perfectly clear, recruits; I am not your buddy. You will address me as Drill Sergeant! Do you understand?
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” the recruits said in unison.
“Better. Now show me a formation!”
The recruits jumped to their feet and tried to scramble into four rows. Jacob was trying to press between two men. Another group was just behind, and everyone crowded together again in fear.
“Three… two… one… Everybody back down!” the drill sergeant said.
They stopped where they were and dropped back into the pushup position. “Now this has got to be the stupidest bunch of privates I have ever dealt with. Maybe all the good men are dead. You must be the remaining cowards that ran for the hills at the first sign of danger. Oh, I so hope I am mistaken. Now give me a formation before you piss me off,” the drill sergeant said. “Move!”
This time when the recruits leapt to their feet, the sergeants again stepped in and forcibly arranged them into evenly spaced rows. Jacob tried to remain in the back but was quickly ushered into the center of the first row. He found himself standing face-to-face with the leathered drill sergeant. Jacob averted his eyes and tried to look beyond
the man. Focusing on a far off light pole, he tried to become invisible.
When the sergeants had them formed up, they stepped back off to the side and the drill sergeant paced around the group, walking up and down the rows, yelling at them individually. “Stand up straight, recruit. You look like two hundred pounds of chewed bubble gum. Untuck your shirt, hero. Where’s your headgear, private?” He stopped directly in front of Jacob and stood so close he could smell the drill sergeants nasty breath. “You ever show up for my formation with that stubble on your chin again, I’ll shave it for you with a rock! Do you understand, recruit?” he growled.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” Jacob shouted back.
The older man grunted and shook his head before stepping back to the head of the formation and turned so that he could face the group.
“Let me introduce myself. My name is Master Sergeant Masterson. You will know me as Drill Sergeant. These men around you are my cadre; you will know them as Drill Sergeant. Are we tracking?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant.”
“Now, I don’t think you all understand what’s going on here; the seriousness of the situation you all are in. Less than two hundred miles south of here, there are soldiers worth far more than you maggots. These skilled warriors are fighting and dying while you rest your disgusting bodies in my cozy bunkhouse. I used to be out there myself, holding that line between The Darkness and our people. I was plenty happy doing just that, but it seems we are running out of soldiers and somebody higher up thought it a good idea to have me shape you soft, worthless civilians into fighting men in two weeks.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking. Why, that’s impossible! To turn a soft piece of lard civilian into a fierce fighting man in two weeks? Now normally, I would agree with you, and normally we have sixteen weeks to convert a turd into a trained killer. But like I said, unfortunately, I have only two weeks. The good news is we get to skip the bullshit. All you need to learn to fight The Darkness is to shoot, move, and communicate. I will teach you how to kill and how to die like a soldier; you can learn the rest when you report to the suck. Now… are we still tracking?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Good. Now, I noticed not a single one of you dirtbags made your bed. We don’t have maid service here, and your momma ain’t gonna stop by to pick up after you. When I say fall out, you will have five minutes to get your bodies inside and square away your rack, then I want you back out here, formed up and ready for PT—five mile run in five minutes.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll see. Fall out!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jacob bent over and used the belly of his gray T-shirt to wipe the vomit from his chin. The run had been hard, but he’d finished it. Although men half his age fell out, he had managed to push through. He wouldn’t allow himself to quit or let his mind accept failure; even if he did fall into the grass to puke his guts out seconds after Masterson ordered them to halt, he was still here. And after completing the run, he knew the score… Masterson could make him miserable, he could wear him down with pushups, get in his head, and break his mind and body, but he couldn’t kill him… only The Darkness could do that.
As bad as Drill Sergeant Masterson was, he knew The Darkness was worse, and as long as Jacob stayed tough and absorbed the training, his family would be safe. Jacob wiped away the rest of the mess from his face and stood upright. He took a deep breath and turned back to the barracks. As he walked, he saw Masterson standing in the shadows, watching the recruits gather and return to the squad bay. Jacob felt the Drill Sergeant’s stare. He ducked his head and went to a jog, rushing for the door.
Inside, men had already dumped their issue bags of clothing to the floor. They scrambled to arrange uniforms and take showers, pushing their way through lines to get cleaned up and prepared for the morning chow formation. Exiting from the showers, Jacob moved to his rack, his green duffle bag at the foot of his bed. He looked across at a pair of legs dangling from the top rack. The man scooted and fell to the floor, springing up like a cat. He was at least ten years younger than Jacob, broad shouldered, greasy blonde hair, and blue eyes. He looked more like a football player than a soldier.
The man reached a large hand across the rack to Jacob. “I’m Winslow, Jesse Winslow. Looks like we’re bunkmates,” he said.
Jacob returned the handshake and tugged his own green bag open, digging for his uniform items.
“Sorry I didn’t introduce myself last night; guess I didn’t hear you come in,” Jacob said.
Jesse nodded and yanked on a brown T-shirt before hopping into a pair of camouflage trousers. “Didn’t get in ‘til way past dark. Just got word they drew my number yesterday.”
“Drew your number?” Jacob asked.
“The lottery,” Jesse said. “I was lucky enough to get drawn for military training. Damn, I’m glad to be out of the camp.”
Jacob nodded; he didn’t even know such a thing existed. He knew there were more volunteers than space for training, but a lottery surprised him. “Sorry, I was recruited from in here. I haven’t been to the camps.”
“Damn, you lucked out! They're filling up classes fast. There are lines of us trying to find ways out of the evacuation camps. Military duty is the top choice right now; most everyone else gets pushed into labor. The last resort is with the militias, but that’s just as bad as the camps, and it don’t get your family moved onto a military base.”
“You have a family then?”
“Me? No. Probably why they took me; cheaper for ’em—no extra mouths to feed. What about you?”
Jacob looked away; dodging the question as he pulled a T-shirt over his head then looked back. “I have a wife and daughter. They can stay here as long as I don’t fail,” Jacob said, his tone changing. “Who knows if I’ll ever see ‘em again?”
Jesse forced a grin and finished buttoning his uniform jacket. “Hey man, you’ll do fine, and they’ll be here waiting when this is all over.”
A door slammed behind them as, once again, men were on their feet running for the exit. Jacob tugged his bootlaces tight and scrambled to his feet. “Let’s go, Jesse, it’s chow time.”
The sun rested high over the horizon, the air brisk but clear. Jacob’s new boots crunched on the crushed limestone bed. They fell in proficiently this time, learning from their previous failures. A drill sergeant moved to the front of the formation and called them to attention. They froze, standing perfectly straight with their shoulders squared and their chests out. Jacob looked straight ahead, concentrating and not allowing his eyes to wander.
Masterson moved into view, stopping just in front of the younger drill sergeant before taking charge of the platoon. He stepped forward and stared into them. Jacob was sure they would be dropped for more pushups, but the man looked away to a high-backed pickup truck. A door opened, and a uniformed man stepped out with a clipboard.
“Listen up, turds. I told you this would be an accelerated course. When your name is called, report to the armorer and sign for your weapon,” Masterson said.
Jacob waited as men were called and fell out of formation, running to the back of the truck, signing for M4 rifles. Jacob waited his turn. After being called, he ran to the truck and stood at attention. A supply sergeant in the back looked at his name on the clipboard and grinned before turning to open a footlocker. Reaching in, he pulled out a heavy, black, scoped rifle with a synthetic stock. He turned and stepped to the back of the truck then released the empty magazine and drew back the bolt, verifying the rifle was empty.
The man stretched out his arm, offering him the rifle. Jacob put up his hands and stepped back apprehensively. “What’s that?”
“It’s your weapon, dummy.”
Jacob shook his head. “Can’t I just get one like all the others?”
“Are you Private Jacob Anderson?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Jacob said.
“Then no, you get t
he M14. It says so right here.” The man flashed Jacob the clipboard with one hand while tossing the rifle at him with the other. Jacob caught it and staggered back.
“Is there a problem?” Masterson’s voice boomed, causing Jacob to turn on his heels and nearly fall.
“No, Drill Sergeant,” he shouted, running back to his place in formation.
Jacob stopped in his place next to Jesse just as the younger man’s name was called. Jacob watched as his new friend ran to the back of the truck. When Jacob heard a similar argument, he dared turn his head slightly and watched as Jesse was handed a large machine gun, much heavier than the other men’s weapons. Suddenly Jacob felt relief, his own M14 losing the extra weight he was worried about just moments earlier. Jesse returned to the formation. Breathing hard in frustration, he stopped and fell in.
More men took their turns at the truck, receiving weapons and returning to the formation before Masterson broke them into two equal lines and formed them up on opposite sides of the road. He moved them out, cautioning them to walk spread apart. Jacob was on the right-hand side of the road, the fifth man back from the front. He could see Jesse on the other side of the street, only two men ahead of him. The drill sergeants stomped down the lines, yelling at them to keep their weapons up off their chests and muzzles pointed out at the sides of the road as they patrolled.
“From this moment on, everywhere you go, you will move tactically,” Masterson said. “If you pass training, when you report to your units, you will move tactically. If you fail to be tactical, The Darkness will kill you. This is the world we live in now. No place outside of these camp walls is safe. Do you understand, turds?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” they shouted back.
The platoon was road marched for three miles. Jacob could tell by the heat on his feet that blisters were forming. As they moved, the drill sergeants marching at the center of the road sped them up. Sometimes shouting at them or yelling out different warnings, causing them to have to run into the tall grass at the sides of the road and drop into the thick vegetation before lying down with their weapons up and ready to fire at an imaginary enemy.
