by Jim Laughter
After the meal, the trooper-third detailed three of the trainees to assist in cleaning the mess and two more to help with the dishes. Delmar and the rest returned to the equipment lockers and retrieved their mops and pails. While he mopped some obscure compartment, he realized that the tile matched some of those on the Malibu. Thoughts of writing a definitive study on floor tile throughout Galactic Axia helped him pass the time while handling the business end of his mop.
Three days later the trooper-third again had them stow their gear and assemble in their original compartment. Reclaiming their bags, they formed ranks on the ever-present blue lines. The ship jolted and creaked as the drive disengaged and settled onto its landing skids. The trooper-third led the trainees up the corridor and out through the hatch into the misty night air.
Delmar caught a brief glimpse of a lighted landing area beneath a cloudy night sky. Following the trooper-third, the nervous trainees found themselves in a large auditorium filled to capacity with other recruits. A short and overly detailed info-vid played on a large screen, a film that outlined their new lives. It quickly dispelled any myths about basic being a glorified summer camp.
As soon as the video ended, the lights came up and a trooper-second appeared in front of the screen. “Atteeen-hutt!” his voice boomed. The trainees leapt to their feet.
A lieutenant strode up the center aisle and stepped onto the platform. “At ease,” he said with a quiet but firm voice. “Welcome to Freewater Training Center. As of this moment, the outside world for you has ceased to exist, and this facility is your entire universe. You are here for twenty weeks of intensive training. We hope to turn you into troopers. As you may have gathered from the film, we go to great lengths to assure success in this effort.” The lieutenant gazed around the room, taking stock of row after row of trainees.
“Contrary to what you may later believe, we are not out to kill you. We consider you an investment and will help you bring out the very best in yourselves. We do not produce mindless followers, but men and women able to think for themselves and as a team.”
The lieutenant paused for a moment. A half dozen troopers came in and stood evenly spaced in front of the platform. Delmar noticed that each held a placard with a number on it. The several hundred trainees eyed the troopers and shifted nervously.
“In a moment your names will be read off as we divide you into flights of sixty people,” the lieutenant continued. “Answer loud and clear. As you hear your name, you will assemble yourselves into ranks with your toes on the blue line in front of the designated trooper. They will take you to your assigned barracks where you will meet your drill instructors.”
The lieutenant stepped back and a trooper-second stepped forward with a clipboard. In a surprisingly clear voice, he called out names in rapid fire. Trainees hurried forward among calls of “yes-sirs” and “presents”, and formed ranks in front of the first trooper as he held up his placard. The process was repeated three more times before Delmar’s name was called and he rushed to line up with the others in front of the trooper holding the placard reading Squadron 3703, Flight 775.
Finally, with all of the groups formed, the lieutenant again came forward. “Trainees,” he said, “I wish you good success in your training.” He paused as he again scanned the young faces around him. “Dismissed!” he said sharply, and the groups were led out the exits toward their new homes. As the lieutenant watched their ragged attempts at marching, he mused at how soon that would be corrected.
Approaching the two-story barracks, Delmar’s heart was in his throat. He’d heard stories about drill instructors and was not looking forward to meeting his. The trooper led them into the building and formed them into ranks in an open area of the lower bay. Because of the late hour, the lights remained dim in deference to the sleeping trainees in neighboring barracks.
After standing at silent attention for an eternity, a large trooper-first appeared in the clearing. He eyed the tired young men through smoked-lens glasses. By his round-billed hat, a universal symbol of his position, Delmar knew this was the dreaded drill instructor.
The inspection continued for another three minutes before the drill instructor spoke. “Welcome to your new home,” he began in a quiet, yet powerful voice. “I am your senior drill instructor, Trooper-First W. Buckner. You will address me as D.I. Buckner, and you will address me and all other troopers as sir. I am now the center of your existence. Your lives will be much easier if you remember that. I expect your ears to be open and your mouths shut.”
Nodding to his assistant, a trooper-second started passing out postcards and pens. “You are to address the front of these postcards with your home address,” Buckner said. “You will write that you arrived safely and then sign your full name prefixed by the initials T.T. This stands for Trooper Trainee, a designation you will be addressed by and will address yourself as while you are at Freewater. You will then copy down the unit and flight number you see on the sign behind me.” D.I. Buckner pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, never actually turning around to look at the sign.
“You will have access to starmail while you are on Freewater,” Buckner continued. “Your Galactic Starmail address will be the first letter of your first name and the first five letters of your last name, followed by a forward sign, the letters GSS, which stand for Galactic Starmail Service, followed by a dot, then your unit number, dot, your flight number, dot, and finally FWTB, which stands for Freewater Training Base. You will see a sample of a valid starmail address on the sign. When you are finished, my assistant drill instructor will collect these cards and they will be mailed to your families.”
A trainee sitting near the front of the group raised his hand. “What is it, trainee?” Buckner asked.
“Sir, most of us have starmail addresses at home,” the trainee answered. “Why can’t we just starmail this information home and save the trouble of regular mail?”
“Because you’re men now, that’s why,” Buckner answered, “not schoolboys away on a weekend camping trip. Your momma and daddy can’t come bail you out now, so shut up, and fill out the card!”
The trainees complied with the instructions after which another trooper collected the cards and pens. “My assistant is Trooper-Second H. Stoddard. You will address him as D.I.A. Stoddard. You will accord him the same respect and obedience that you show to me. He will now assign you to your bunks. Welcome to the 3703 Training Squadron, Flight 775. Hit the rack and get some sleep. Tomorrow starts early.”
With that, Buckner left the room and Stoddard began assigning the bunks in both starboard and port bays. Delmar’s bunk at the left-hand end of the starboard bay was a welcome sight indeed. The trainees stripped to their skivvies and crawled under the sheets. When the lights finally faded, the sixty young men tried to convince their tired, scared bodies to go to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
The aroma of breakfast drifted up into the dorm from the kitchen somewhere below. Sniffing the smell of bacon and eggs, the boy rolled over and opened his eyes. A large dog bound into the room and stuck its face squarely into Delmar’s. Opening its mouth, the dog barked, “Alright! Get up! Get out of bed! Hit the deck!”
Delmar really opened his eyes to find himself staring into the face of D.I.A. Stoddard. Electrified into action, Delmar burst out of his bunk and his feet hit the cold floor. Grabbing his clothes, he hastily pulled them on. He tried to straighten his bunk and then ran to the latrine.
Through all of this, D.I.A. Stoddard and D.I. Buckner prowled through both bays motivating the trainees with their very presence. Barely three minutes after leaving his bunk, Delmar heard the D.I. bellow for them to form ranks in the outside assembly bay. The sight of sixty men trying to run down the stairs at the same time might have been humorous at another time, but not this morning.
“Hurry up! Hurry up! Move it!” bellowed Buckner. Soon the three score of young men were again in ranks on the lower asphalt. The two drill instructors shifted the men around until their rank
s were even for progression of height.
“Remember your positions. This is how you will form up in ranks from now on,” Buckner announced. “Now we’re taking you to the chow hall. After breakfast, you’ll start in-processing. Anyone with unsecured valuables, raise your hand. D.I.A. Stoddard will take you to the office to record and secure them. All right, move!”
Delmar, along with several other trainees, assembled and followed the Assistant Drill Instructor. Soon his valuable pocket watch was safely stored in the company safe. Back in ranks, the unit moved out toward the mess hall.
The differently clad, rag-tag group of trainees stood at disheveled attention outside of the mess hall for twenty minutes. D.I. Buckner and his assistant walked stealthily among their charges and encouraged no talking.
Five minutes after finally sitting down at a table in the far corner of the dining hall, the trainees were called again to ranks and took their trays to the disposal room. Soon they were marching toward the buildings where they would begin their transformation from a colorful rainbow of civilians to a uniform unit of trainees.
First, they stripped and carried their civilian clothes in net bags they had picked up at the door. A brief physical followed, along with long lines in which their arms, hips, and thighs were the target of many needles. Next, they received their basic clothing and uniforms. Dressed in light blue jumpsuits, they were soon again outside and marching in jerking formation toward their barracks.
Next followed an hour of instruction concerning the care and laundry marking of their uniforms and other clothing. They turned their bags of civilian clothes over to a trooper with a large cart, with an assurance of their future retrieval. Delmar found it hard to believe that he would not see his civilian attire again for another twenty weeks.
A less than leisurely five-minute lunch happened and they again continued their orientation by the drill instructors. Delmar didn’t realize there was so much to learn about clothing or about the fine art of making his bunk. Before they again formed up for a short dinner, they had made and remade their bunks too many times to count.
Dinner was more relaxed, with ten minutes given in which to inhale their food. Years later Delmar would not be able to remember what the food tasted like because it was too briefly in his mouth on its way to his stomach.
After dinner, they resumed the basic instruction about their barracks and its care. Squads were formed within the unit and duties assigned. Delmar found that his immediate future would again involve mops. Lights-out finally arrived and the trainees gratefully crawled into their bunks. Exhausted sleep overtook them at the end of the first of many similar days of early training.
∞∞∞
Delmar was gone eight days when the postcard finally arrived at the Hassel farm. Agnes had gone out to the mailbox each morning after the postal flitter’s arrival in hopes of finding the card. Robert watched her and did not need to see the piece of mail to know that it had finally arrived. If she could have done cartwheels she would have, but her waving arm was sufficient to alert her husband.
Jake came in the back door at the same time Agnes entered at the front. She nearly ran into him. Her excitement telegraphed itself to Sherry, who was busy preparing for lunch. Although it only said the expected—I arrived safely and my starmail address is Deagle>gss.3703.775.fwtb, it still spoke volumes to those who received it. Many were the memories the four could tell of their own experiences in basic.
After lunch Agnes went to her desk in the front room and switched on their home computer, which was very simple compared to the fancy models now available. Her fingers trembled as she typed her first letter to Delmar.
HasselFarm>gss.bv.er
Deagle>gss.3703.775.fwtb
Subject: Postcard received
Dear Delmar,
We received your postcard late this morning and are glad that you made it safe and sound. The Senders are still here with us, and Mr. Sender is helping Mr. Hassel with the chores. Mr. Hassel is doing better each day. I expect he’ll be back to normal soon.
Mrs. Sender and I are really enjoying each other’s company. Mr. Hassel is alarmed when we go into the kitchen. He says he has already put on ten pounds since he came home from the hospital. He blames our cooking!
We went down and checked on the Sabetis, the young couple that is taking care of your farm. They’ve been painting the house, and the difference is wonderful. Some of the neighbors are helping with the fields. They planted a modest crop that should be ready for harvest before the weather turns cold again in a couple of months.
Daren has been working on the old tractor and thinks he may be able to have it running soon. Two of the pistons need replacing. A neighbor up the road from us has a couple extras left over from an old rig he retired. After those are installed, Daren and Robert will try to get it started.
Well, I better close for now. I know you’re busy and are having an interesting time learning new things. Take care and write when you can.
Love, the Hassels
At basic, Delmar was learning interesting things all right, the correct way to mop a latrine effectively for one. For over a week, he had been steadily improving his skill level with his mop. At night, his hands still curled from holding the handle, he occasionally practiced mopping in his dreams.
The first starmail from the Hassels arrived two weeks into Basic. That evening Buckner allowed them a half-hour of free time before lights-out as a reward for their improved marching ability. Delmar took the precious letter he had printed from his starmail, read, and reread it several times. Then he took stationary that he had picked up at the unit store and composed his reply, knowing he would have to transpose it to starmail tomorrow.
Deagle>gss.3703.775.fwtb
HasselFarm>gss.bv.er
Subject: No hair
Dear Mr. & Mrs. Hassel,
It was so good to receive your letter today. D.I. Buckner gave us a half-hour free time, so I’m able to reply.
Life here at basic has been interesting. Initial orientation went fine, except that I’m still getting used to having no hair. I know that I don’t need to tell you and the Senders about basic, since you’ve all been through it. I will tell you that I am, of course, homesick. But that’s expected, I guess. Some of the guys are having it pretty rough adjusting to the constant “personal attention” by our DIs. But I followed your advice to ‘listen, obey, and keep your mouth shut.’ So I’m doing OK so far. I’ve lost some weight but find that my strength and endurance at calisthenics is improving.
I made a friend who bunks next to me. His name is Stan Shane. He and D.I. Buckner have had a few problems but I hope it will get better for him soon. Stan has a real strange idea about what it takes to be a man. The DIs are trying to help him see things clearly.
I’m glad to hear about the farm and the progress Daren and RoseMary are making. When I think about it, the farm seems like it was never really home. You folks have been my real family and I consider your place home. Since you are now my legal guardians, would you mind if I called you Mom and Dad? It would be an honor to be able to do it.
I love you folks (the Senders too!) Write soon. Delmar
P.S. Please send me the Sender’s starmail address, or give them mine. Love D.
His timing was about right. Delmar stuffed the letter under his pillow and was ready for the rack before lights out. Hearing from the Hassels was somewhat of a shock after being here for what seemed like forever. To visualize their farm took some effort, and it seemed like it had been a lifetime ago. Delmar continued his musing for another couple of minutes before rolling over and going to sleep.
∞∞∞
HasselFarm>gss.bv.er
Deagle>gss.3703.775.fwtb
re: No hair
Dear Son,
We received your letter today and all of us were so glad to hear from you. As you may have guessed from the beginning of this letter, Mr. Hassel and I both happily agree to be your “Mom and Dad”. We feel honored by your request.
The Senders are still here but will be leaving soon to return to Mica. “Dad” and Mr. Sender have been helping Daren get the tractor started and you should have seen how sooty they looked when they came home! They are going back this afternoon to adjust it some, and Daren is looking forward to using it around the farm.
We’re glad that you are adjusting to basic so well. Dad says not to worry about losing your hair. He says it will grow back just about the time you lose it for good. We’re glad to hear that you’re making friends, and wish our best to Stan. Tell him that these old troopers say it takes more than being a superman to be a real man.
Mr. Hassel, OOPS! I mean Dad, continues to improve and we should be able to start walking in the woods again soon. Having Mr. Sender around has helped keep Dad out of my hair, and his help with the chores keeps him from over doing it.
The oats are about ready to harvest and have grown up enough to obscure the impressions left by the ships. After harvest, Daren is coming up to help us fill them in. The neighbors will have to watch it when they bring the harvest equipment in so they don’t drop an axle.
Well, that’s about it from here. The Senders send (Ha Ha. No pun intended) their love. They say they’ll write soon from Mica. Take care and keep making us proud.
Love, Mom and Dad
∞∞∞
Robert and Agnes drove the Senders to the space field to see them off. “You sure you’re going to be all right with me gone?” Jake asked.
“Don’t worry about him,” Agnes replied. “I’ll keep him in line!”
“You take care of yourself,” Sherry said, pointing at Robert. “I don’t want to have to come play nursemaid. Of course, we could just call Bulldozer Betty and have her move in with you.”
Everyone except Robert got a chuckle just as the loudspeaker announced their flight was boarding. The women hugged each other while Robert and Jake shook hands.