Marine Summer: Year 2041

by B. E. Wilson

  They gave us two choices: one, watch the pugil stick matches the supply division held every night in the bay. Or two, return to our dorm and watch old black-and-white movies in the day room. There was no day and there was no room, just a couple of metal folding chairs and a plastic couch that if you sat on wrong, you’d slide off until your ass smacked the hard concrete floor.

  We spent two more weeks as outcasts, rejects from normal society. Then, one morning, they instructed us to start joining morning muster, something that we’d been barred from since they gave us the slightest touch of freedom from our cold gray stockade.

  I was standing there in formation, casually conversing with a few of the other guys. All of us were spit-shined in new uniforms, a far cry from the tattered ones we arrived in. Then I heard a command I hadn’t heard in months.

  “ATTENTION—ON—DECK!”

  I was a bit rusty and my snap was lazy, but I wasn’t the last to get into the proper stance. My eyes stared through the wall in front of me to a point I imagined a thousand yards away. I didn’t see the major walk in; I only heard company-grade officers address him.

  “PARADE—REST!”

  With a quick step of my left foot to the side, my arms flew behind my back; my thumbs laced at the belt line like they belonged there.

  “Good morning, Marines!” the major said, finally walking into view.

  My heart sank in my chest as this monster stepped into view. He was enormous, the biggest black man I’d ever seen. He had no neck, literally no neck; he was just shoulders and head. He made Buckley look miniature compared to him. As he stood there staring out into the ranks with his hands on his hips, I noticed the size of his arms, twice the size of Buckley’s. I don’t know what scared me more, his arms or the scar on the right side of his face leading up to his eye patch.

  “I said…good morning, Marines!”

  Simultaneously we all answered back, “Good morning, sir!”

  “Oorah! That’s more like it,” he said, accepting the clipboard a corporal handed him.

  “All present and accounted for, sir!” the corporal said before stepping back behind him.

  “Even the FNGs [fucking new guys], I see. Well, would you look at this,” he said pointing at Buckley. “Staff Sergeant Chris Buckley, I heard you were a hell of a Marine once, and you left it all behind to go train a bunch of babies, little piss-ant tit suckers!” he chuckled.

  With breakneck speed, Buckley was at attention, “Yes sir, heard the same about you. Before you went to…supply!”

  Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the ranks separated as the major pushed his way through to address him.

  With his cannon barrel size finger he poked Buckley in the chest, “What did you say, grunt?”

  “I said, it’s good to see you too sir!”

  “Bet your ass it is, you old warhorse!” he said, laughing as he extended his hand toward Buckley.

  I was bit confused. I was waiting for a fight.

  “How the hell have you been, Chris?

  “Fucking ‘A’ fine, Harold. It’s good to see you.”

  “Damn right it’s good to see me, even with one eye, I’m the sexiest devil dog the Corps has.” He slapped Buckley on the shoulder. “Are these your men?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Outstanding. We’ll have to catch up,” he said as he started to walk through the ranks again. “Men, my name is Major Harold Jenkins. I’m the supply officer here on Tiger Mountain. Stay on the lines, do as you’re told, and you’ll survive until we can find you all your next duty station. Step out of line and your ass belongs to me. I am an eighth-generation Marine! I eat, sleep, and piss excellence! Your sergeant can tell you, I’m firm and I’m firm. It’s my way or I’ll make you eat the highway!

  The major stopped right in front of me, I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t help it: I raised my head to look at him. I was mesmerized by the size of this man.

  “What in the hell is your malfunction? Who told you you were worthy to look at me?” he said screaming, his breath forceful, I could feel my eyebrows dance in the wind.

  Jumping to attention and now looking straight through his chest, I answered, “No one sir, sorry sir!”

  “Damn right you’re sorry, you little ankle biter! Buckley, you better teach these whelps who the big dog is around here, or I’ll neuter every last one of them!”

  “Yes, sir!” Buckley said.

  Major Jenkins leaned down until we were forehead-to-forehead as his one eye looked into mine, “I see your soul in there, boy. Fuck up again and I’ll reach in and pull it out. I’ll tie it on a string and wear it around my neck while I’m giving your momma 12 inches of black thunder. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded yes as he nudged me backwards with one push of his massive skull. Rags, tied to a pole, wasn’t as scared as I was. He sank to the pounce position. His growl was evil as he foamed at the mouth, straining to pull free from his ties.

  “Is that your mutt?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir!” I answered.

  “You better get him under control. If he growls at me again, he’ll be on my supper plate.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  I stayed in my rack the rest of the day with Rags, getting up only to take him to a designated shower they allowed him to relieve himself in. I just lay there, thinking. I was angry. Part of me wanted to punch the major for what he said about my mother; the other half didn’t want to die.

  It would be two more weeks before our orders would come in. I found it best to stay in the dorm. Morning conflicts with Major Jenkins were all I could handle, so I stayed within the confined walls to prevent any more head bumping situations, and I kept my eyes and mouth to myself. The push-ups I had once hated became my release from boredom. I could now do a hundred without breaking a sweat.

  Finally it was judgment day. We stood in formation in that cold cave of a bay. My focus was strong. I had mastered the art of the thousand-yard stare. I felt like a statue. I could hear everything around me happening, but I stayed strong and didn’t sway, centering my vision on a small pebble protruding from the poured concrete wall as if it were the center of the universe.

  “Buckley, front and center!” Jenkins commanded.

  In a rapid military manner, Sarge was quickly standing in front of Jenkins.

  “Yes, sir!”

  “M.C.R.D. Seattle! Congratulations, you’ll be two wings over training more fighting men.”

  “Thank you, sir!”

  “Dismissed!”

  Buckley smiled as he made his way back to the front of our ranks.

  “Houserman!”

  Like he had never had a day of training, Houserman casually strolled to the front.

  “Quit your fucking lollygagging and get your ass up here or I’ll send your ass to the frontlines!” Jenkins warned him.

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  “Admiral’s staff, Navy! You’re going to go jack-off the white coats!”

  “E-e-excuse me sir, I don’t understand,” Houserman stuttered.

  “Listen dumb-shit, you’ll be washing the admiral’s dishes, shining his shoes, or standing guard outside of his office. You’ll do whatever the fuck they tell you to do, and you’ll do it like a fucking Marine! Do you copy?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said halfheartedly.

  “Get the fuck back in ranks, you broke-dick!”

  Waiting patiently for my name to be called, I listened as others were told they would become stewards, janitorial staff, and other demeaning jobs with the confines of Tiger Mountain.

  “Butler!” he called. My heart sank and my legs became weak. “Butler, front and center!” his voice, loud and angry, caused me to shake as I ran to stand in front of him.

  “Yes sir!” I answered.

  He pointed to the balcony overlooking the bay. Without thinking about it I looked up, metal balconies lined the bay, black windows with steel doors hid behind them. “Major general’s staff. You hit the jackpot, jack-wagon!”
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br />   “But, but sir,” I stammered, “I’m supposed to be a suit.”

  “A suit?” he said mockingly. “Are you fucking serious? You’re nothing more than a stray. You haven’t earned the right to wear a suit! For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even finish boot camp, yet we still have to call you pathetic nomads Marines! Now get your ass back in ranks!”

  “I am a Marine!” I said, standing my ground.

  He rushed me, that massive finger now poking me in the chest.

  “Say it again, I dare you! Say it again and I’ll stomp your pathetic ass into an oil spot right where you’re standing!”

  Before I knew what I was doing, I swatted his hand away from my chest and stepped to him. Looking up at him and gritting my teeth I told him, “I’m a Marine!”

  I waited for him to swing, knock my head off, but he didn’t. His eyes looked me up and down. A devious smile appeared on his face as he snickered.

  “You are, are you?” he asked.

  “Yes sir! I’m a Marine!” I grunted.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  And in a flash his hand was wrapped around my neck. I could feel his fingers digging in, cutting off my air.

  “Well, boys,” he said as he dragged me, “this so-called Marine is about to find out what a real Marine is! Pugil sticks now!”

  Like he was throwing a feather, he lifted me off the ground and sent me flying. I tripped over sandbags, crashing to the ground on the flat of my back. I could hear the air rushing from my lungs.

  “Get his helmet,” Buckley said to Houserman.

  “No helmets!” Jenkins informed them.

  “That’s not right, sir,” Buckley said, stepping over the bags to help pick me up.

  “Neither is this sawed-off runt stepping up to me. You should have trained these children to know their place in the corps.”

  Buckley dusted me off. I was still trying to catch my breath.

  “I’m taking his place,” Buckley declared.

  “Stand down, sergeant. That’s an order!” Jenkins said.

  “This is crazy, Harold, and you know it. It’s out of line! I will file a complaint with the command sergeant major and the commanding officer if you force me to!”

  “Do what you feel is needed, sergeant, but this pup is going to be taught a lesson!” He bent over, picking up his stick. “Here—today!”

  I looked at Buckley. It was the first time I saw concern in his eyes for anything. He whispered in my ear, “Exploit his blind side, don’t stand in front of him, and keep moving.”

  “Out of the ring, sergeant!”

  “Good luck kid,” he said to me.

  It struck me odd not to stand in front of him. The giant was a mile wide. He was all front.

  “Pick up your stick, boy!” he said, pointing to the one laying at his feet.

  My heart was beating like a drum, I had already felt his power, and I could only imagine what those arms would feel like swinging a pugil stick at my head.

  I soon found out. As soon as I took my eyes off him, my world went black. He knew I wasn’t watching, so he cheap-shotted me right in the back of the head.

  “This gentleman is why you never take your eyes off your enemy!” he said, his sickening laugh ridiculing me. “You had enough, boy?”

  “Get up, Butler!” Buckley shouted. “Don’t give this asshole the satisfaction!”

  “Careful with your words, sergeant, or you will be next.”

  “It’d be my pleasure…sir!” Buckley responded sarcastically.

  I needed to make a choice, fight or flight. I chose fight. I rose back up to face him.

  “So you had enough, pup?”

  “Nope, I want all you got!” I said.

  It was a stupid thing to say. I think my heart was bigger than my balls, because in less than a millisecond I was on my back again. He took one step forward, swinging from his right and landing a shot to my left temple that twisted me completely around.

  “All I got? Hell, little man, you didn’t even defend yourself!”

  I used the stick to prop myself up. I felt my right knee buckle as I tried to stand.

  “Looky here, the pup is already done.”

  “I’m not done,” I told him.

  “Oh…well I’ll give you the count of three to get to your feet. One—Two…”

  He rushed in again. I fell backwards, rolling under his swing, and climbed to my feet. I could hear our guys clapping and cheering behind me.

  “Swing and a miss!” Buckley said.

  I started shuffling to my left, my knees weak. I waited for his next offensive. I could feel blood trickling down my cheek from my left eyebrow. I wiped at the side of my face, trying to keep it out of my eye.

  “Come on boy, take a shot!”

  “You first!” I challenged him.

  As soon as his left foot took a step forward, I ducked. I could feel the rush of air as the stick passed over my head, so I choked down on the stick like a baseball bat and started to swing, but I didn’t time it right. His return swing uppercut me before I could get my shot off, I felt my feet leave the ground. The last thing I remember was my head hitting the hard cold floor.

  “Stay down. That’s an order!” Jenkins said.

  I shook my head to rid the cobwebs, watching as he turned his back to me and raised his arms in victory. I needed to get up. I was his enemy, and he had just taken his eyes, or eye, off me. I scrambled to my feet, staggering from side to side as I tried to grasp my stick with both hands.

  I think his arrogance allowed him to believe it was over, so he said to his men, “This is why we only train men…not boys!”

  I charged him, his men pointing and yelling for him to turn around. But, before he could guard himself, I caught him with a blow flush on the right side of the jaw.

  “Damn you, I gave you a direct order to stay down! Now you’ll pay!”

  Hunching over, bobbing, it was my turn to mock him. “Like I paid your mother!”

  He came at me with breakneck speed, same step, same move, and same swing. This time I stayed back, waiting for the second shot to go by before crushing the side of his jaw, I swung so hard it turned me completely around. Seeing his knee buckle, I took a shot at it, hitting him dead in the back of that knee and watching it collapse. Then, like I was back chopping all those trees at Fort Rice, I went to work with everything I had. Strike after strike, hacking at his side. I realized then I was doing some damage.

  “Get him!” Buckley screamed.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I jumped on his back and wrapped my legs around his midsection and squeezed with all my might at the same time I swung my stick around his neck catching it and pulling it under his chin. He was the bull and I was the rider, and someone had just opened the chute. The more he bucked, the harder I pulled. His arms started swinging about, trying to dislodge the stick from under his now choked off neck. When his attempts failed, he went for my ankles, but I had my heels dug in and he was close to passing out. I wanted him to feel what it was like when his eyes went black. It wasn’t pleasant.

  As he fell to both knees, his back starting to hunch, I could feel him weakening. I knew I had him. Just a few more seconds and he’d be out cold.

  “ATTENTION ON DECK!” resonated out through the bay.

  Paying no attention to the order, I continued to choke Major Jenkins.

  “Get that man off the major!” a man’s voice ordered.

  Buckley and a couple of the others grabbed me, pulling me down. I tried to get back to Jenkins, but they held me back.

  “Snap out of it kid, or you’re going to the brig,” Buckley said in my ear.

  “What the hell is this?” the same voice asked.

  I looked up to see the man who was speaking. Two silver stars rode high on each of his shoulders. It was the major general. The very man I had just been assigned to serve. I knew I was screwed. Even though I was victorious, it now meant nothing.

  “Would somebody like to help the major
to his feet?” he asked.

  Major Jenkins was still down on one knee, holding his throat.

  “So what in the sam-hell is going on down here? I hear this commotion from my office and I see an enlisted man fighting an officer. And all of you jack-wagons are standing around like you’re watching the fucking Thanksgiving Day Parade!”

  “It was just an exhibition for the men, sir, a morale builder of sorts,” Jenkins said, his throat gurgling as he struggled to clear it.

  “One of my majors getting his ass beat is a fucking morale builder…is that what you’re telling me, major?”

  “Yes sir, let me explain…”

  The major general interrupted. “Oh this I’d love to hear. I love fairytales. So by all means, please carry on, do fucking explain!”

  “This young…Marine,” he emphasized, “is in the Suit Program. We thought it would be good for the rest of the men to see what it takes to be in that program. You know, what kind of Marine it takes.”

  Standing there, hands on his hips and stern look on his face the major general spoke. “No, I don’t know. And I think you’re bullshitting me, major, just to keep your sorry ass out of the brig. And that man is an E-3. He’s too low ranking to be a suit.”

  “His paperwork is upstairs, sir. We’re pushing it through,” Jenkins said.

  “Are you bullshitting me—Major?”

  “Only if I have to, sir.”

  “Mmhmm,” he pondered. “You’d better, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Sir, I’d like to apologize,” I spoke up.

  “Shut your hole, lance corporal, I want no further explanations. Major Jenkins, I want this man on the first Jeep out of here in the morning. Get his rank right, get his uniforms right, and get this godforsaken mess of a supply bay field-dayed [cleaned] before I run all of your asses till your feet bleed. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir!” Jenkins said, saluting the general.

  “Carry on…all of you…carry the fuck on!”