I'll Be Your Drill, Soldier!

by Crystal Rose

  “It's a train wreck,” Kenneth answered in a whisper.

  They paused in their conversation when Brendon looked around him, and they swore he was going to have a stroke and die right there.

  All three of their cadre were eating and joking it up, expecting Brendon to join in. When the guy didn't they started asking different things of him. 'Pass me the salt.' 'Hey, hand me an extra napkin.' Each time Brendon would do so without a freaking word. Ten minutes into their game they seemed to get bored.

  “Get the FUCK OUT OF MY SEAT, PRIVATE FUZZY!” Drill Sergeant King yelled. In a flurry of movement, he stood and slammed his fist down on the table. The other two drills just watched, mildly amused.

  Brendon was up and out of his seat before anything else could be said.

  Ryan, Kenneth and Patrick all looked away and back down at their trays, all three shoving food in left and right.

  Brendon had nearly made his getaway when Phillip stood up.

  “So, you want me to clean up after you too, Private Murray?” The use of his last name caused cold fear to crawl down Ryan's spine. For Drill Sergeant Grabowski to use a last name, they had already learned, meant he was seriously pissed off.

  Brendon froze in his retreat, and turned slowly. “N..N...N..No, D...D.. D...Drill Sergeant G..Ga..Grabowski” he stuttered.

  SSG Grabowski grabbed his tray and Brendon's, then walked toward Brendon in a slow steady gait. “Am I put on this planet to pick up after you, Private Murray?”

  “N..N. No, Drill Sergeant,” Brendon muttered, standing at attention without being told to.

  Grabowski pushed Brendon's tray into the stuttering soldier's arms roughly, causing the glass of milk to spill all over SSG Grabowski 's perfectly-shined shoes.

  A pin dropping would have been offensively loud in the silence of the chow hall.

  Patrick happened to look over when it happened and the roll he had just bitten into fell out of his mouth. That caused both Ryan and Kenneth to look again. Oh fuck. Ryan could feel himself blushing for Brendon.

  “Everyone throw your shit away and get out to formation now,” the Drill Sergeant growled.

  For a minute, no one moved. Everyone was too stunned to move.

  “I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” Phillip thundered.

  It was the first time any of them had heard the dark-haired cadre yell and it proved terrifying enough that the sound of screeching chairs scooting across the linoleum filled the air. Boots thundered across the floor, but no one said a word. Not one single word was uttered.

  Once outside they all lined up in a hasty formation. Brendon came out last. Ryan didn't even want to know what happened when they left but he could see tears on Brendon's cheeks.

  “I have been fairly nice.” He had? “But, it seems that when I'm fucking nice you take advantage of that. No fucking more. Get the fuck down, Murray,” he said, hissing. “Now, you all know that one table is reserved for us. How dare you allow him to sit there all alone? Do you not care what happens to your fellow team mates? Is that what you're fucking learning?”

  Brendon dropped down into the front leaning rest position.

  Everyone kept their eyes straight forward, but some were going red with shame. “Then you fucking gawk when he's in trouble?” he hissed. “Up!”

  Brendon lifted his shaking body off the ground.

  “Is this what we have to look forward to? Who the fuck cares about the man next to him? Fuck them as long as your ass is safe? Is that what this Military has to look forward to?” Grabowski 's voice was rising ever so slightly. “Down!”

  Ryan blinked and for the first time he saw Phillip for what he was. He was a man training boys how to look out for one another - ones who would live and die for the man next to him. He was in third squad, which included Patrick, Kenneth and normally Brendon. Their squad leader was a guy named Justin Smith , who just stood there not doing anything.

  Connelly and King came out and flanked Grabowski, staring at them all with unrelenting disgust.

  For the first time in Ryan's life he did something no one expected. He broke ranks and joined Brendon on the ground. Patrick followed closely behind and he was followed by Kenneth. The four of them faced their platoon in a show of support for their battle buddy. No matter how fucked up Brendon was he was theirs, therefore all the punishment he got they would take too.

  The three cadres turned as one and watched the battle buddies ready to suffer for each other. A small smile played on Phillip 's face as he commanded them to get up.

  “Maybe there's hope,” Phillip said, looking at the others. “The four of you will report to me tomorrow morning for extra PT. You broke rank from a formation,” he said, as he dismissed them to go back into the formation.

  ***

  That night, all four men lay in their beds thinking about the days’ events. Brendon had cried when he got back. Ryan sat on Brendon's bunk and tried to console him but there was nothing doing.

  “My father was right, you know. I'm nothing but a fuck-up. He told me when I joined that I'd be nothing more than a big fat loser who couldn't hack it,” Brendon sobbed.

  Patrick sighed and looked at the boy. “Well, fuck him too, Brendon. You don't need that shit any more. You got us.”

  Somehow in the space of two weeks the four had forged a bond. It wasn't like the bond they had made with their friends in high school. It was deeper, stronger, one that would last the test of time.

  Ryan nodded. “I joined in the middle of my sophomore year in college,” he offered. “I finally told my parents I was gay. They didn't take it well and yanked my support. So my choices were to drop out of college and get a job at a fast food joint or join the military and get my degree that way. Here I am.” He said it quietly, waiting for the explosion. When it never came, he was grateful for the friends he had picked.

  Kenneth just smiled. “I joined because I'm Major Robert Roslin's son and I fucking hate the old man. I decided instead of being an officer I was going to be an enlisted man and give my father the finger as we march past,” he admitted. “That and I didn't want to hear how I fucking got promoted because of who my daddy was. I know I let y'all think I was all about Daddy, but not really. I don't get why I did that the first day.”

  Patrick looked at Kenneth. “You were scared. It's easy to fall back onto the things we know when we're scared.”

  “What's your story, Patrick?” Brendon asked, quietly.

  “It was either stay, kill my father and go to prison, or join the military. I chose the military. Killing in the name of your country is better than killing your father because he was an abusive bastard.”

  “You’re gay, Ryan?” Brendon asked.

  “Yeah.” He sighed, waiting for Brendon to say something stupid.

  “That's cool. At least Kenneth and Patrick won't have to fight with you over the girls. I think you'd win.”

  Everyone looked at Brendon and then burst into laughter.

  “LIGHTS OUT!”

  The men sighed and turned out the lights. A few minutes after the lights dimmed soft sobbing could be heard from Brendon's bed. No one said anything but if they were to check the other three men, they would’ve found their eyes were as wet as Brendon's.

  ***

  The next morning all four battle buddies went out to the exercise field and met SSG. Phillip Grabowski. He seemed slightly different today. For one, he was dressed in PT clothing and Ryan thought there wasn't another man who filled out the clothing more perfectly. And, two, he was actually grinning.

  “So, Gandhi, Rosy-Ass, Furry and Freckles, you showed up. Color me impressed,” Phillip said.

  He began to lead them through stretching exercises. Once he figured they were warmed up enough he took them on a short run. It wasn't nearly as bad as Ryan thought it was going to be. At the end of the run they walked for a bit.

  “What you four did was what I wanted the whole platoon to do,” Phillip said, suddenly. “I'm proud of the fact that yo
u four actually realized that the man next to you is dependent on you for their survival.” He stopped, causing all four to stop with him. “Now, head back to the barracks and get dressed. The Platoon will be back in forty-five minutes. Blouse your sleeves today. It's going to be hot as a motherfucker.” With that said he took off back toward the area where the platoon was out and shouting about 'Liking and loving it.'

  All four men blinked in surprise, and none of them talked on the way back to their bay.

  ***

  Everyone was standing in formation when Drill Sergeant Grabowski called them to attention. “Toad, front and center!”

  Justin looked around but quickly did as he was told. He stood in front of Phillip and frowned when the Drill called Ryan up with them.

  “After last nights’ piss poor performance and the inability to control your squad you’re demoted. Freckles, you're the new squad leader.” He ripped off the band around Justin's arm and fastened it onto Ryan's. “Dismissed.”

  Both men walked back to the formation a little stunned. Ryan didn't want to be squad leader, and Justin was pissed that Ryan was squad leader.

  “RIGHT FACE!” Drill Sergeant Grabowski called. The platoon turned as one. “Forward, MARCH!”

  They started on their left and began to march across the quad.

  On the second step Phillip began to call the cadence. “Momma, momma, can't you see what the Army's done to me.” His voice was powerful. It sent scary chills down Ryan's arms. It carried way over their formation and into others. Ryan believed that Phillip 's voice was better for calling cadence than any drill Sergeant's voice on the post. He wanted to look around and see what others felt when they heard their senior Drill Sergeant calling the cadence, but didn't.

  Instead he just answered back, the way he'd been taught.

  “Momma, momma, can't you see what the Army's done to me.” Every voice rose as they echoed the drill's call.

  It was a beautiful thing to hear all those voices join as one. It was loud and proud. Their flag was being carried in front, proclaiming all who saw them to be C3/10. They WANTED people to know who they were.

  “Momma, momma, can't you see what the Army's done to me,” Phillip repeated. Yeah, Ryan could easily listen to the man call cadences all day long.

  “Momma, momma, can't you see what the Army's done to me.”

  “They took away my faded jeans. Now I'm wearing Army greens.”

  Ryan was seriously starting to question his sanity. He really..really wanted to hear that voice whispering extremely dirty things to him.

  “They took away my faded jeans. Now I'm wearing Army greens.”

  When they got to the chow hall, they were dismissed and filed in, swiping their soft caps off their heads as they entered the building for breakfast.

  ***

  After morning chow, they were marched to the armory. They were finally getting their M16s. Everyone was giddy about that fact. They had spent the first two weeks in class rooms learning everything under the sun. They learned military protocol, the correct way to tell time and the Army alphabet.

  It seemed the Army had a new way to do everything. Ryan had some trouble with the whole twenty-four hour clock but with Patrick's help he had it nailed perfectly. Brendon had a bitch of a time with the ranks but with Ryan's help he caught up. Patrick had problems with the PT test but Brendon and Kenneth had helped him with that. They found they could do damn near anything as long as they all worked together. Even Grabowski complimented them on their teamwork. Justin had dropped out, right after he had been stripped off his squad.

  But now they were on their way to pick up their weapons and every man was damn excited about it. When they reached the place, King stopped them and Connelly strolled into the dirty gray building.

  He came out with an M16 and stood before them. “This, Privates, is the most important part of your uniform. You'll fucking sleep with it, eat with it and shit with it. It is called your weapon. Not your piece and if I hear any one of you motherfuckers calling it a gun, I'll kick your fucking ass so fast it will make your momma's head swim.” He grabbed his crotch and said, “This is my fucking gun.” Then he held the M16 up. “This is my motherfucking weapon. Got it?”

  Everyone answered in affirmation. They marched single file into the building. As they came out each man had a huge smile on his face. They were gonna get to shoot something!

  Ryan carried his M16 out with his cleaning kit and sighed happily. He actually felt like a soldier now. Patrick came out behind him.

  “I have a gun! No one would believe this back home.” Patrick laughed. It died on his lips when he heard an unearthly boom.

  “GUN?!”

  “Fuck.” Patrick's smile fell as he turned slowly. Standing five feet away, Drill Sergeant Connelly looked downright murderous.

  “Sorry, Drill Sergeant Connelly. My weapon, I have a weapon.”

  That didn't please Connelly, not one bit. His brown round came dangerously close to the top of Patrick's head. “What in the fuck did I say about your fucking weapon?”

  “It's a weapon, not my gun, Drill Sergeant Connelly!”

  “That's right. Turn and face your platoon!”

  Ryan didn't even want to know what was going to happen now.

  Drill Sergeant Connelly leaned close to Patrick and Ryan could see Patrick's eyes widen.

  He didn't have to wait long to see what Connelly was going to do with Patrick.

  Patrick ran back up the steps, and stood right before the entire platoon. He had his M16 in one hand, and his dick in the other. “THIS IS MY WEAPON!” he shouted, holding the M16 up high. “This is my gun!” He took his dick in his hand and shook it in front of them. “This is for killing.” The M16 surged up, again. “And this is for fun!” He shook his cock again. That happened over and over again. Until even Ryan blushed like crazy.

  When Drill Sergeant Connelly dismissed Patrick he came running over. “Dude, I damn near masturbated in front of everyone,” he hissed in disgust, face red.

  Ryan snickered but didn't say anything.

  “Now, we're all men here. I want you to name this beautiful piece of machinery. When I come to you, you better have a fucking name!” King shouted.

  Ryan blinked. A name? Holy shit. He thought hard on it. He would call it Phillip, but that was just too fucking weird.

  “Bertha,” Kenneth shouted. Fucking Kenneth named his ‘Bertha.’ He couldn't wait to hear Brendon's. King gave Kenneth some shit about it but left quickly.

  “Sophia,” Brendon answered. Sophia? Brendon named his fucking weapon ‘Sophia?’

  “Furry, you realize that your girl is probably fucking your buddy Jody instead of waiting for her piss-ant boyfriend, right?” King cackled. They had found Brendon's weak spot and all three of them took pleasure in turning it on the blond.

  He came up to Patrick and looked at him seriously. “Alright, Gandhi, let me hear it.” Ryan was getting more nervous by the minute. He wasn't sure what the hell he was going to name the fucking thing.

  “Terminator,” Patrick replied easily.

  “Now, that is an out'fucking'standing name. Gandhi, that's fucking great. I like it!' King didn't stay long with Patrick.

  “Well, Freckles, what's it gonna be?”

  Ryan froze. He hadn't thought of a name yet. He was panicking. Then it came. “I will call him George,” he blurted out.

  King blinked a few times; his mouth opened and shut. Then he looked at Connelly, whose mouth was hanging open. Kenneth wasn't nearly as reserved and burst into laughter, quickly followed by several more guys.

  “You will call him ‘George’,” Sergeant King said. “Fucking ‘George?’ Like from Loony Toons?”

  Ryan's face turned bright red. “Umm, no, Drill Sergeant King. George. Like…George Patton.” Score one for US History class.

  William gave Ryan a skeptical look but moved on. Ryan let out the breath he was holding. Patrick leaned over and whispered in his ear. “From Loony Toons, right?�
��

  “Fuck yes,” Ryan muttered back.

  ***

  Their first BRM, which stood for Basic Rifle Marksmanship class, was boring as hell. Ryan was having problems with the whole cleaning thing. He had cleaned his weapon at least five fucking times. Each time, fucking Grabowski swore he saw dirt in the barrel. Ryan didn't see any dirt. Hell, it looked pretty fucking clean to him.

  They were sitting outside next to their barracks, trying hard to clean the bitch the way Drill Sergeant Grabowski ordered but so far no one, not even Patrick, had been able to get them clean enough.

  Ryan took one last look and walked up slowly toward SSG Grabowski.

  Grabowski took one look at Ryan and burst into loud, obnoxious laughter. “Freckles, you think you have it now?” he asked, looking very amused.

  That look gave Ryan pause. Whenever the drill looked like that someone was about to get smoked. “Yes, Drill Sergeant Grabowski!” he answered. At least, he hoped it was ready. He had a feeling that it wasn't going to be a pretty scene if it wasn't.

  Phillip reached for it and Ryan accidentally let it go too soon. The weapon crashed to the ground. His green eyes widened in horror. Oh shit!

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Ryan could see the storm brewing on Grabowski’s face. He was so fucking fucked, that he would go down in history as the most fucked-up fuck in the platoon. Even as he thought it he wanted to snicker. Who knew you could actually use fuck in so many creative ways?

  “What in the blue fuck, Private Gracin!” Phillip thundered, rising to his full height. He fucking towered over Ryan, and Ryan was over six feet tall.

  “I..” Ryan didn't have anything to say to that. Seriously, not one damn word to say. How exactly do you answer a question like that, especially knowing that you were about to be killed?

  “You what? You just realized that you were a fuck up that just dropped his fucking baby on the ground, and hasn't even picked the motherfucker up yet?” Phillip snarled.