by Crystal Rose
“Oh for fuck sake, get down, Private Gracin; count them off for me,” Phillip demanded.
Ryan fell to the ground and began to do push-ups. He counted loudly between giggles, praying that that would stop the whole scene. He realized two things. One, he just made a 'special' friend out of Drill Sergeant Grabowski, and two, trying to do push-ups while giggling is damn near impossible.
It seemed to work, because Phillip continued down the line. Every time he stopped, whoever happened to earn his wrath ended up pounding his face into the ground. By pounding his face, Ryan meant they ended up doing push-ups. A lot of fucking push-ups.
They day droned on, and everyone realized that all the rumors they heard about Drill Sergeant Grabowski were true. He was a sadistic bastard, whose only true pleasure came when he was trying to kill someone.
***
The first week of Basic went off without a hitch. Each man got their own special nickname from the three Drill Sergeants. Currently, Ryan answered to three names. Drill Sergeant King's own nickname, 'DSL', an acronym for his 'dick sucking lips'; 'Pretty boy', Drill Sergeant Connelly's own 'special' nickname for him, and fucking Freckles. Phillip’s nickname, because of the blonds’ smattering of fucking freckles.
They had just come back from dinner, and were sitting in their rooms, bemoaning another day in Hell. Luckily, Ryan ended up in the same room as Patrick, Brendon, and Kenneth. He was thankful for that because they were his close friends. At least, they had the most in common. They were all from somewhere in Ohio, except Patrick, who was from Oklahoma. And, most importantly, they all had come to the realization that the Army was so fucked up, that they all wanted out.
“Dude, I think Grabowski is trying to kill us. I really do. Those rumors weren't really rumors, he's fucking evil,” Brendon whined, as he fell onto his bunk.
Patrick sighed, and leaned against the wall. “I think he has a hard-on for you,” he said, looking at Ryan.
Ryan snarled at that. “Yeah, well I hope he chokes on it. He's the fucking anti-Christ.”
“I prefer the term Boy-King, actually.” The voice came out of nowhere. All four men groaned, and Ryan wondered if he could hide in his footlocker.
“Ten hut!” called Patrick who folded his arms behind his back. His hands rested on top of each other, with his elbows poking out; his feet were a few feet apart.
The other three snapped to the call, and stood in regimented formation.
“Don't let me stop the conversation, Privates. Continue on. I would like to hear it,” Drill Sergeant Grabowski said, as he took a seat on Patrick's bed.
Kenneth blinked, and turned a cautious head toward the Drill Sergeant. He felt the need to explain that he didn't say a damn word, and should be excused. But instead he just snapped his head forward. All thoughts of dropping his daddy's name left him completely.
Brendon looked like he was doing his very best to swallow his tongue and choke so he could die and not have to take part in THAT discussion.
Patrick had found his happy place and refused to look anywhere but straight ahead.
That left Ryan struggling to find something to say that wouldn't get him killed.
“Now, y'all were talkin' just fine, before I came in,” the man on the bed said. “Come on, I wanna hear it.”
Ryan was pretty sure he didn't want to hear it, as much as he wanted to kill them for talking like that about him.
Patrick cleared his throat, and finally broke rank. “Sorry, Drill Sergeant Grabowski. We were just blowing off steam,” he stated.
Ryan thought Patrick had big balls.
“Uh huh, blowing off steam, Gandhi. I get that. So, where were we? I had a hard on for Freckles and he wanted me to choke on it. Right?” Phillip supplied.
“And he said you were the anti-Christ,” Brendon added helpfully.
Ryan thought Brendon had no balls; they were probably sitting on his girlfriend's mantle back at home.
“We went over that. I prefer Boy-King, remember, Furry?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant Grabowski, I forgot,” Brendon responded.
“So, tell me why I'm the anti-Christ, Freckles,” Phillip said pleasantly.
Ryan so did not want to tell the drill anything. He actually didn't want to even breathe in the same room as Drill Sergeant Grabowski, because he knew without a doubt that it would be the wrong way.
“Umm, I thought...I said that because you're...difficult to...work with,” Ryan said, finally. Yeah, he stuttered over his explanation, and it wasn't so much true, as they were the words he managed to put together in a short amount of time.
Phillip rose suddenly and stood directly in front of Ryan. He had his cadre cap off and it struck Ryan how truly beautiful the man was.
“I'm difficult? Of course I am. My job is to train you, and all of your fuck-up friends, to do battle. To safeguard this great nation. My job is to make sure you are ready to face any and all threats, Private. So you won't be a threat to the man next to you. When you leave here, I won't be reading your obituary because you were poorly trained. I’ll know I did all within my power to train you correctly. That means making sure you four fuck-ups get with the program. So, you can continue your little conversation, bitch like a girl about how fucking evil I am, but don't forget the training I'm doing is going to save your fucking lives one of these days.” With that said, he did an about face and strolled out of the room.
No one said a word, until Brendon let out a deep breath. “Wow, I thought he was going to go Full Metal Jacket on our asses and kill us.” He stood up straight, and pasted a fierce look on his face. “It's a good thing he left, otherwise I would have so jacked him the fuck up.”
Patrick, blinked, and then laughed. “Yeah, Brendon. We could see how you were going to fuck him up, seriously.”
Kenneth nodded. “Adding the bit about the anti-Christ was just to lull the big guy into thinking you were a kiss ass, so that you could sucker punch him, right?”
“Fuck you all, bitches. I had it under control.” Brendon snarled.
Ryan just stayed quiet and shook.
Chapter Two
“This group is the most ate-the-fuck-up platoon I have ever had the displeasure to train,” Drill Sergeant Connelly told them. “First, how many of you fucking assholes got through kindergarten without the ability to know your left from your right?” he spat out in disgust.
“Apparently, Mark, every fucking one of them,” Phillip intoned dryly. “Even Freckles doesn't know his left from his right and here we had him pegged for a certified genius.”
Drill Sergeant Connelly just snickered.
Ryan was getting used to the extra attention that Drill Sergeant Grabowski was giving him. Getting used to being the key word, because he was sure that the Drill Sergeant was trying to drive him crazy, and it was working.
They were out in the midday sun trying to learn to march. It's like everything else in the Army. Nothing you knew prior to basic was right. The fuckers had to teach each man how to walk, talk and fucking breathe right. Ryan swore if he heard 'your Military left' again he was going postal and kill everything in front of him.
To Ryan it became a game. He wouldn't let Grabowski drive him to quit. So each time the dreaded drill would single him out he would stand tall, eyes straight ahead and take it.
Ryan could take all of the physical stuff, the running, the push-ups, the sit-ups. Hell, Front, Back, Go, was more of a game than anything else. They learned during their first day that Front, back, go was Drill Sergeant Grabowski’s favorite punishment. He was extremely fond of letting them do the exercise until 'he was tired' - the bastard never got fucking tired.
“Alright, I've dicked around with this enough,” SSG Grabowski said. He rounded on the group and yelled out “HALF RIGHT FACE!”
It was two in the afternoon and they had been on the drill field since noon. Each man was sweating like a pig and all had to suppress a groan.
They executed a short cut to the right and waited for the next
order.
“FRONT LEANING REST POSITION, GO!” Grabowski shouted the order, daring anyone to deny him.
Like anyone in the group would tell the nine foot, two hundred pound gorilla ‘no’, Ryan thought sarcastically. He dropped down into the 'up' position of a push-up. His body was arrow straight and he was looking straight forward.
“I don't get it, Privates. We are explaining this like we're talking to a bunch of five year olds and yet you amazing fuck-ups aren't getting it. What exactly do we need to do to help you along with this?” Grabowski said. It went without saying that it was a rhetorical question. “Down.”
This was their call to dip down with the body still straight and head still raised.
“I mean, seriously. What can we do as your instructors to help you with this?” He sounded sincere but Ryan knew it was just another mind-fuck.
Unfortunately, Brendon didn't get the memo because he chose that exact moment to tell Drill Sergeant Grabowski what would help.
“Well, Drill Sergeant Grabowski ...” Brendon started.
“Holy Mary mother of fucking Christ on a stick!” Drill Sergeant Connelly yelled. “Furry, what the fuck do you think you’re fucking doing?” His long stride had him in front of Brendon in seconds. He dropped down and was on his knees, kneeling until he could look Brendon straight in the eyes. “Did you just infer that Drill Sergeant Grabowski was fucking up?”
If they had been somewhere else every single man in the platoon would have killed Brendon. SSG.Grabowski wouldn't have had to lift a finger.
“Down!” Phillip commanded. “Did he say I was fucking up, Mark?”
“I think so.”
“Well, hell! Private Furry, Recover. And ONLY Private Furry,” Grabowski said. “At ease!” he demanded of Brendon, who let all of the tension drain out of his body.
Sgt. Connelly stood behind Brendon who was red-faced and wanting to kill himself, just to save the guys the trouble.
“Since Private Furry has decided that I'm fucking up he will watch the rest of you take my punishment for me. You should all thank Private Furry for pointing out this grave injustice,” Grabowski told the group.
A round of ‘thanks’ and ‘way to go, hero’ were making its way through the soldiers.
“Up!” Grabowski said, as he began to walk through the bodies still on the ground. “If I had any idea that I was fucking you up so badly, I would have had Top court martial me. I mean hell, ‘cause if I'm causing the fuck ups, then I should take the responsibility. I'm charged with taking care of you and babysitting your asses. So, anyone else want to tell me how I'm fucking up?” He paused and thought for a moment. “Down.”
“Ahh, I'm not even doing this right. Fuck it,” he said. “BACK!” With that said every single man flipped over to their back and lifted their legs up a few inches from the ground.
There were already a few grunts and groans when they began to kick their feet up and down. Ryan thought flutter kicks sucked ass. They looked deceptively easy to do until you had to keep your BOOTED feet off of the ground a mere few inches and kick them up and down like you were a fucking cheerleader.
“Furry, do you think that I have learned my lesson?” Phillip asked, turning his full hazel-eyed gaze onto the 'resting' man.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant Grabowski.” Brendon answered, praying the drill would stop this insanity.
“Fuck that, don't be a weak momma's boy, Furry. I fucked up. Make me suffer sooo good.” Phillip had an evil look in his eye when he reached for his bottle of water. Cracking open the top, he took a long, deep drink.
The fucker was trying to kill them. Ryan wanted a drink of water so badly he was thinking about licking the sweat around his mouth, just to get something wet on his tongue.
“Go!” Phillip called and watched as each of them stood and began to run in place. “Front!” All of them dropped suddenly, and landed in the up position of the push-up.
As they all looked forward, Phillip took another drink of water, letting it dribble down his chin.
Every single man in the platoon wasn't sure who they hated more - the Drill Sergeant who was mocking them with the ice cold water, or fucking Furry who was standing there all relaxed.
“Back!” The Drill Sergeant wasn't even close to finishing.
What seemed to be hours later, when it had actually only been a few minutes, they were standing in front of their Drill Sergeants, breathing heavily while sweat was running down into their eyes. Ryan cursed his BCG's because the fuckers were fogging up from his overheated breath. BCG stood for Birth Control Glasses because the damn things were so ugly that you would never get laid wearing the damn things. To top it off, they were damn near impossible to break.
“You have thirty seconds to finish off your canteen, privates!” Connelly shouted, as he and Phillip walked over together. “Fall out!”
Ryan snorted. It wouldn't take him fifteen to finish the fucker off, much less thirty seconds. They all ran to their discarded equipment and grabbed their canteens.
But what Ryan learned was that thirty seconds wasn't long enough to finish a full canteen of water. He had to admit that all three of the Drills were good about making them drink water, and keeping a full canteen, but Ryan was feeling water logged after drinking half the canteen.
“Fall in! Bring your canteens with you.” The command came suddenly as Ryan was just finishing the canteen, allowing more to dribble down his chin.
They jogged back over and stood at attention.
“Water check,” Grabowski said.
Every man lifted his open canteen over his head. Water could be heard splashing onto the hot concrete.
Fuck, just… Ryan sighed and knew he shouldn't have drunk all of his. There was always some idiot who thought they wouldn't check.
“Rosy-Ass, you fuck,” Connelly shouted, racing toward the wet Private. “What did I fucking say? Do you not fucking care?”
“He thinks his daddy will be all over the big bad Drill, Mark. You silly NCO, you,” Grabowski offered.
“Is that it? You think I'm scared of your daddy, Rosy-Ass? Oh fucking hell, no. Your daddy is nothing but a pogue officer that hasn't seen the outside of his office since his daddy spilled his seed into the unfortunate crack of your granny!” Connelly stormed.
Ryan was beginning to sense that every single drill had something to hold against every single one of their parents because that was a standard. He found out through SSG King that his momma should have swallowed him instead of allowing that damn Gracin guy to knock her up. Speaking of the prick, he was currently headed their way.
As a unit all three Drills set about making their platoon the best damn marching platoon in the land. Around five o'clock they were heading toward the chow hall.
Every single recruit was dead on his feet. They had been going since four o'clock that morning.
The chow hall was cool and Ryan let out a breath of relief. He hated fucking Missouri even more than he hated Grabowski. At that time there was a stir in the line and Ryan looked back. He was seconds from being served his food. But damn if the Drill didn't stop right behind him. He pulled his arms back, folding his hands neatly into his back and yelled the required “AT EASE, MAKE WAY!”
Every time a Drill came within distance the first solider to see them was to yell 'At ease, make way' so the Drill could move in front of them. Ryan was happy because he had at least four in front of him. That meant SSG Grabowski would move way up ahead of him.
“Aww, Freckles, I knew you cared.” The Drill sneered and then placed himself BEHIND Ryan.
Ryan decided that God really did hate gays because if he loved gays, the dick behind him would have gone way up front instead of right behind him.
“So Freckles, how are you enjoying Uncle Sam's hospitality?” Phillip asked, with that damn fucking mega-watt smile of his out in full force. If Ryan didn't hate the bastard so much he would totally be hard just from that smile.
This one wasn't a rhetorical question. This one he
actually wanted Ryan to answer. “I like it, Drill Sgt. Grabowski” he said, pleased he wasn't giggling at all.
“That is just fucking outstanding, Freckles. Outfuckingstanding!” Phillip exclaimed.
Somehow the line slowed down to a freaking trickle. So Ryan had enough time to find out that Phillip, who was a confirmed asshole, smelled like fucking heaven. He smelled like sunshine and musk. That's when Ryan decided he could most definitely lust after a guy he couldn't fucking stand.
“Are you going to stand there all fucking day, Freckles? Or are you just staring at the beauty that is me?” Phillip asked. Something flashed across his face but disappeared before Ryan could actually make it out.
Make that Ryan REALLY FUCKING couldn't stand the guy. He actually blushed as he turned forward and grabbed his tray. He was behind Brendon, who was trying like hell to appear like he wasn't listening.
He followed Brendon out to the tables and watched in absolute horror as Brendon walked past their normal table and sat down at the Drills’ personal table. There was a ‘no talking’ rule in the chow hall unless it was the Drills who were doing the talking. So warning Brendon about his HUGE mistake was out of the question. He could see both Kenneth and Patrick staring at their goofy friend in horror too.
“Well, fuck. I told you Furry liked us, guys!” Phillip called, as the other two drills made their way to the table.
“You were right, Phillip,” Mark said as he sat down beside Brendon. Phillip sat down on the other side. “He thinks he's good enough to sit with us now you know, ‘cause he feels he can tell you exactly how much you were fucking up.”
William just smiled and sat down directly across from him. “So how are ya, buddy?” he asked, picking up his roll.
Ryan, Patrick and Kenneth watched, unable to tear their eyes away.
“Dude, I can't look away. Why can't I look away?” Patrick whimpered softly.
