I’ll Be Your Drill, Soldier
Smashwords Edition
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
I’ll Be Your Drill Solider Copyright © 2009 by Crystal Rose, All rights reserved
I’ll Be Your Drill, Soldier Cover Art © 2009 Juanita Campbell for Dark Roast Press
Smashword Edition, License Notes
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book & did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com or Darkroastpress.com & purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
I’ll Be Your Drill, Soldier
By
Crystal Rose
SMASHWORDS EDITION
Note to readers: Although this reads like our Army and our war, this is purely fiction. This is set in a world where everyone is treated the same regardless of sexual orientation-- like it should be.
Chapter One
Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri was hot as hell in the spring and even hotter in the summer, which happened to be the time that Ryan Gracin arrived for basic training. The first thing he realized was he damn sure wasn't in Ohio any more, and secondly, there wasn't a pair of ruby red slippers to get him home either.
Their arrival was a rather low-key affair for the Army. Only two Drill Sergeants met their bus. Ryan was jarred out of peaceful sleep by the gruff no nonsense screams of he who would later be known as Staff Sergeant Robert Beaver.
“GET YOUR PANSY FUCKING ASSES OUT OF THIS BUS, ON THE FUCKING DOUBLE!” roared the voice of the graying Sergeant. “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING PUSSIES WAITING FOR, A FUCKING ENGRAVED INVITATION?”
The sounds of several recruits saying 'oh shit!' and 'I think I seriously fucked up when I signed up,' could be heard chorusing throughout the bus.
It was mid-day and the heat was oppressive. The sun glared down on the new enlisted men, and most of them were nearly panting. Bags were grabbed, and they all lined up. Ryan took that time to glance at both Drill Sergeants some more. One was an older man, whose hair was turning gray, and he looked like he was at least thirty years older than Ryan's own twenty-two. ‘Beaver’ was proudly announced on the man's name tag, which Ryan found really hilarious for some reason. It wasn't all that surprising that he actually giggled.
For a man that looked to be old...old, he moved like the freaking wind. SSG Beaver was not only in Ryan's face in no time flat, but his rounded hat was inches from Ryan's forehead.
“Oh, look, Drill Sergeant Roach, we have a pretty boy who likes to make jokes. Is there a joke you want to tell the class, pretty boy?” Beaver called to his buddy. “Tell us a joke, funny man.”
Jeff Roach was shorter than Ryan by at least a few inches but when the man stood at his side, Ryan felt honest to God fear. “Hell, son, I love a good joke, tell us a joke.” The voice was so soft, and so smooth. It sounded like the guy really did want to hear a joke.
“Oh wait, I know a great joke, Jeff. Stop me if you heard this before. There once was a man from Nantucket...” Beaver said, still staring at Ryan. “Now, tell me the joke, son. We all love a good joke around here.”
Ryan froze. He could feel a giggle wanting to come out of him. He tried to picture anything that didn't involve the two men in front of him, ‘cause he was a giggler when he got nervous. He was the guy at whom everyone glared at funerals because something struck him funny, and he couldn't stop laughing. The giggle threatened even harder when the gray-haired man puffed up.
“I said tell me a fucking joke, unless I'm the fucking joke. Am I the fucking Joke, Private?” Spittle came from the shorter man and landed on Ryan's chin.
That was all it took. One minute he was containing the giggle, and then next he burst into hysterical laughter.
“I'll be fucked; I think he thinks you are the joke, Robert!” Roach exclaimed. “This little fucker thinks you’re a joke.”
Ryan paled, even as he laughed even harder. Oh fuck, they were going to kill him, and make it look like a training accident.
“Oh, so I'm the fucking joke? Do you think I'm the fucking joke, Private?” he asked, sincerely looking hurt.
Ryan tried to speak, but those damn nervous giggles kept on coming. He took a deep breath, and managed a brief-- “No, Sir. I don't think you’re a joke!”
Jeff let out a breath of disgust. “Oh, so he's fucking lazy too?”
Robert's eyes widened and he suddenly looked like he was ten feet tall. “So, you think I'm not funny. That's what he said, Jeff. He thinks I'm not fucking funny, and I'm fucking lazy. Little bastard.”
Ryan blinked. What the...Shit. “You’re funny, Sir,” he added, hoping to keep the man from having a heart attack.
“So, I AM a fucking joke?” Robert snarled. “Am I, a fucking Staff Fucking Sergeant in the greatest Military in the world, a fucking joke to some fucked up little piss-ant of a pussy?”
What the fuck? Ryan could feel the giggles stop instantly. Now, what was he supposed to say? He would kill his fucking recruiter; they didn't mention that nothing he said would be right. “No, sir, you’re not a joke, but you are funny?” Ryan finally answered, praying that was the right thing to say.
“Oh, so now you want to be a funny man? I swear to fucking God, the Army is so hard up, they send us fucking funny men to serve this great nation,” SSG Beaver said, shaking his head sadly.
“I would be more pissed at being called lazy than a joke,” Jeff offered.
Robert paused to consider it. “I'll give him a pass on that one. Seeing how he doesn't know that officers are called Sir, and I'm a Staff Sergeant, so maybe he doesn't realize I work for a living.”
And, just like that they both stalked off and started in on a guy named Brendon or Michael. Ryan let out a relieved sigh.
***
A week later, Ryan finally figured out something. He did not want to be in the United States Army, because it was blatantly obvious that the men that were already in were abso'fucking'lutely crazy. He was quite sure they were perfectly normal before they went in, but something about this job had sent them straight to Lala land. They were finishing with reception, and would be doled out into their new units when they actually went to basic. That was another fact that his recruiter never told him about. This was supposed to give them a taste of military life. Instead, they stuck them with two men that could have been stand-ins for R. Lee Emery during ‘Full Metal Jacket.’
He had met and become fast friends with another guy, who hailed from Oklahoma. Patrick Smith was the cool guy Ryan wished he could be. He took everything in stride. A Drill Sergeant yelled at him. He just said 'yes, Drill Sergeant' and that was that. He didn't giggle like a girl when he was yelled at. He didn't cry like Brendon Murray did when SSG Roach told him that his girl was probably out fucking some guy named Jodi. And he didn't cuss out SSG Beaver, just because he thought he could get away with it, since his daddy was a Major, like Kenneth Roslin did. Later he cried worse than Brendon did when both Drill Sergeants schooled him on Military manners. SSG Beaver and DSG Roach were fucking insane men who thought that yelling and screaming were the only two available forms of communications. On the first day, they went and had all their hair shaved off. SSG Beaver made it a point to tell Ryan he looked like an ass end of a St. Bernard. On the second day, they got their new uniforms, and graduated from fucking pussies to just plan ole pussies.
It didn't surprise Ryan at all when they were all lined up, in their perfectly pressed uniforms, and told they were going to go see “Big Daddy”. Shit you not, they said Big Daddy. Patrick even mouthed the name back at Ryan.
“Alright, boys. Your stay with SSG Beaver and my cozy little home is done. Now, you're heading to the craziest fucking home in the world. Big Daddy has been waiting on you fucks since you first got here. I told him this was the most fucked up platoon in the history of fucked up platoons. He wants to personally make sure you little fuck-wits won't get yourself or some other poor SOB killed.”
“I can't wait until Grabowski sees you piss-ants. Hell, I may take a video camera and a bucket of beer. He's gonna love you little pussies right to death,” Robert Beaver crowed. He put a heavy emphasis on death.
“Hell, I woulda thought they got rid of Grabowski when he killed that other recruit last phase, but I guess when you need the soldiers you keep even the crazy fuckers,” Roach intoned. “I bet he'll make Gracin his new BFF, take him on romantic dinners, and shit.”
Ryan had been there long enough to know that being the crazy Drill Sergeant’s new BFF was not a good thing. He winced visibly. Yeah, he didn't want to even meet the new Sergeant. When he was able to leave this crazy farm, he would find his recruiter and kill that son of a bitch with all the new fancy killing techniques that Uncle Sam was teaching him.
The cattle truck, and yes, it was a cattle truck, much to Ryan's dismay, seemed to drive to their new home slowly. Every man in the truck looked for all intents and purposes like men heading to their deaths. The ride was difficult under normal circumstances, but now an uneasy quiet descended on each and every boy/man in the thing. The heat was so oppressive that several were taking deep breaths and some looked faint. Even normally calm Patrick's blue gaze was darting back and forth nervously.
Ryan was still mulling over the Drill Sergeant called “Big Daddy” Gas-y something or other. He was fairly sure that the whole killing a recruit thing was just to make them more nervous than they already were. But, of course, it could be true, which made Ryan want to giggle like a mad man. Fuck, he seriously hated the Army.
The cattle car lurched to a stop.
For ten long seconds, nothing happened. They all started looking around expectantly, like they thought someone would just magically appear in their midst. When none did, a few smiles broke out. Maybe reception was the worst of it all. Maybe the actual training wasn't all that bad. Just as that hopeful thought entered their minds it was dashed when they heard the scream.
“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING CATTLE CAR! AND DON'T FUCKING SCRATCH THE PAINT OR I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”
That was all the motivation they needed to scramble out of the cattle car, past a tall dark-haired man who looked like he was Superman or something.
Another Drill Sergeant started pointing to the places he wanted them to stand, which they weren't doing right, because he dropped everyone and made them do push-ups until half thought they were going to puke, and the other half did.
Finally they managed to get all lined up, alphabetically. Ryan once again cursed his last name. He would much prefer to be in the back behind all of the others. Instead he would have a front row seat for the hell that was Drill Sergeant Phillip Grabowski.
“I am Drill Sergeant King. And this is Drill Sergeant Connelly. And-- we are your new mommy and daddy for the next eight fucking weeks. Now, I know ya'll have heard about Drill Sergeant Grabowski, and he's not as bad as they say,” Drill Sergeant King said with a friendly grin. And that grin was just bad fucking news, according to the scuttle butt Ryan had heard before he left for this god forsaken place.
Drill Sergeant Connelly just laughed evilly. “No, he's much fucking worse.” That seemed to be a cue, because as soon as that was said they heard a door slam, and looked forward to where another man was coming straight for them.
The tallest man Ryan had ever seen walked slowly down the steps of the building directly in front of them. His hair was cut short, and the cadre round bill hat was firmly on. His uniform looked like it was tailored to suit a man his size. The cuffs were neatly folded around bulging muscles that made Ryan want to cry. His boots were so shiny they reflected the sun. He had to be at least a good three feet taller than Ryan himself. He couldn't get a look at the man's face, but he was sure it would be ugly. It had to be, because the crazy SOB, Sergeant Grabowski wouldn't be handsome. He couldn't be.
“Eyes forward, Gracin. This isn't a nudie show. SSG Grabowski will love knowing how you were eyeballing him though.” Drill Sergeant King snapped Ryan's head forward until he was staring straight ahead.
Fuck. Good fucking way to start a bad fucking day.
Ryan kept his eyes forward, and had to squelch the need to gulp when the mysterious SSG Grabowski strolled by without even pausing to stop. So, far he hadn't said a word. He just walked through the lines.
Ryan could feel his fellow soldiers tensing. Hell; he wanted to run like the wind. The other ones were really loud, but not SSG Grabowski. He just continued his walk like he was taking a leisurely stroll in the park.
Once he went around each and every man, he walked slowly to the front. Unlike Sergeants Connelly and King, he never raised his voice.
“My name is Staff Sergeant Grabowski. Welcome to Charlie 3/10. This will be your new home for the next eight weeks, and it's my job to personally see that each of you are fit, and trained properly.” For a Drill Sergeant, he was remarkably soft-spoken. He didn't yell, or scream. He just spoke like they were all hanging out. “Do not test my patience, because I have none. Is this understood?”
“Yes, Drill Sergeant!” came the answering cry.
“I can't hear you.”
“YES, DRILL SERGEANT!” This time, it was a battle cry. Each man shouted from their diaphragm.
“Good.” The man began walking again. This time he did stop in front of Ryan.
Ryan kept his green gaze straight forward, not looking at the man, which was not hard, since his eyes were level with the strong chin of the Drill Sergeant.
“Gracin. I’ve heard of you.” Really, the man's voice was nice. It was deep, and had a nice cadence to it. Yeah, Ryan would admit it was kinda gay, but he was gay so he figured that was okay.
“Yes, Drill Sergeant,” he said, trying to keep his military posture as much as possible.
“Private, I would appreciate if you looked at me while I was talking to you,” SSG. Grabowski said.
That's all the instruction Ryan needed. He finally, actually looked at the man. He felt his breath being stolen from his body. The man was absolutely gorgeous. His face was perfectly shaped, intense hazel eyes met his green ones, and for a moment, Ryan wondered if he was allowed to lust after the man. He felt he could, due to the fact that the Military finally got over the 'Don't ask, don't tell' crap, and allowed gays in the Military.
Drill Sergeant J Phillip Grabowski was fucking sex on a stick. Ryan hadn't felt like this for any guy since David, back in high school. Hell, he hadn't even thought about David like this.
A slow, lazy, dimpled grin formed on the Drill Sergeant’s face. One that caused Ryan to smile back.
Ryan actually, was kinda sorry he’d had all those unkind thoughts about the man. He seemed...different than the others they had dealt with so far.
That thought proved to be so fucking wrong, Ryan didn't even want to go into detail how wrong he was. Not only was Grabowski as insane as everyone made him out to be, he was fucking evil as hell.
“Aww, how cute. Look, William, I think Private Gracin has a crush on me,” Grabowski called, his eyes never leaving Ryan's. “Do you have a crush on me, Private?”
Ryan's smile froze. Fuck. He could feel a giggle. So, instead of speaking, he shook his head.
“Wrong Private. You will answer me when I ask you a question. So tell me, do you have a crush on me?”
At this point, Ryan knew saying anything would be wrong, but saying nothing would be wrong too. So, he answered. “No, Drill Sergeant Ga...G...Gas...”
His eyebrows rose clear to his hair line. “So, I'm not worthy of being crush material then?” Phillip asked.” Am I that fucking ugly?”
“God, no. I mean no, Drill Sergeant.” Ryan didn't even try to say his name again.
“Drill Sergeant Grabowski,” the other man supplied, and waited for Ryan to say it.
“Drill Sergeant Grabowski.”
“Good, now, back to our conversation. So, you do have a crush on me? Come on, Gracin, make up your mind.” He growled. “Do you think I'm easy, is that why you’re crushing on me?”
Ryan colored, and snapped his eyes straight forward. “No, Drill Sergeant Grabowski, I don't think you're easy.”
“I think he does, Phillip. Hell that would piss me off,” Connelly offered, coming over to stand at Phillip’s side.
“Yup, he thinks you’re a slut, Phillip,” William King added, as if Grabowski needed a reason to hate Ryan even more.
“I'm a slut? Do you think that?” Phillip asked and with that fucking evil ass grin firmly planted on his face. “Am I easy, Private Gracin? Is that what you heard?”
No, as a point of fact, that was not what Ryan had heard. He had heard that Drill Sergeant Grabowski was fucking insane, and he liked to kill the people who pissed him off. “No, Drill Sergeant Grabowski!” he shouted.
“Oh so now I'm a prude. IS that what you think, Private Gracin?”
There comes a point in the whole process where even the strong break. Ryan figured he's rapidly approaching his. He felt the giggles start. Before he even managed to breathe, he was giggling like crazy...again.
“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.
“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 you 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.
His baby? The M16 was his baby? Holy fuck, it was increasingly clear that Grabowski was fucking insane. Ryan watched in horror as the drill picked up the gu..er.. weapon and cradled it like a fucking BABY!!!
“It's okay, tiger. This little fuck won't abuse such a fine piece of United States Army equipment ever again. Drill Sergeant Connelly, watch the rest of the fuck-ups. Private Gracin and I are going to have a little alone time.”
Dread filled Ryan. He was going to have ALONE time with Drill Sergeant Grabowski. And Ryan pretty much doubted that it would be filled with hugs and kisses. The last time Brendon had 'alone' time with Grabowski, the little blond had come back crying and shaking so hard that everyone was worried he was going to have a nervous breakdown.
Patrick and Kenneth were watching. He could see Patrick grimacing and Kenneth whistling. The bastard was probably whistling “Taps.”
He knew it was bad because the Staff Sergeant hadn't handed him his M16 back. God! Grabowski was going to kill him with his own fucking gun.
Ryan trailed after the over sized Drill, mentally making out his will. He would give his socks and underwear to Brendon because the guy was constantly losing his. His deodorant and toiletries would go to Kenneth ‘cause the bastard never smelled right. And to Patrick, his obvious best friend, he would leave his entire stash of M&Ms and other assorted snacks he had managed to hide.
When they were far enough away to satisfy the bastard he turned suddenly. Ryan snapped to 'attention' and stared straight ahead. He was so fucked.
Grabowski practically threw the weapon into Ryan's hands. “Over your head, Private,” he barked.
Ryan lifted the weapon over his head.
“Bench-press the fucker, Gracin. I want you to feel the weight. I want you to realize that this fucking piece of metal and plastic is all that stands between you and death. Every fucking time you drop it you are fucking killing yourself or someone who will be depending on you to protect them,” Grabowski barked. “Count them the fuck off.”
“One!” Ryan yelled, as he pulled the weapon down, and lifted it back up in rapid session. He paused in the up position.