Hannibal and Rabbit shook hands with nearly a dozen people, greeting them and exchanging both pleasantries and unpleasantries, depending on the level of sarcasm called for. I didn’t know what else to do, so I just stood there and grinned like an idiot. What else could I do? It wasn’t like this was a party in someone’s house where I could go over to the potted plant and carry on a conversation with it (yes, I did that once. It cut off all future invitations to parties for my entire high school career). People kept glancing over at me, wondering what I was doing, but they would always get drawn back into the conversation of the group. My legs were starting to get tired by the time that about half of the squad wandered back outside to join the basketball game. With fewer people shouting for attention, my presence became harder to ignore. One of the soldiers sitting on his bunk looked at me, still standing there with that damn fool grin, raised an eyebrow, and asked to no one in particular, “What is he, some kind of wax dummy?”
“You’re half right,” Hannibal grumbled as he turned and walked farther into the tent.
Rabbit, who was the only other person in the tent who knew who I was, felt obligated to make the introductions. “Guys, this is our FNG. Call him Pup.” Everyone gave a half wave before glancing over at Rabbit again. “Yes, he’s the dog shooter.” She pointed a finger at an empty bunk. “Stow your gear there, sit down, and please stop grinning like that. You look like that clown everyone has nightmares about.”
I followed her instructions and then looked back at everyone else. They stared back at me for an uncomfortably long time. I found myself grinning again and forced myself to stop. I can’t help it! It’s a defense mechanism! Finally, the guy closest to me leaned forward from his bunk and held out his hand. “How ya doin’ there, Pup? They call me Jethro,” he drawled. I’d never really heard a drawl before, but there was no way to mistake this accent. He was short with sun-bleached hair. His build showed that he had spent plenty of time working hard in a field somewhere. This soldier’s country accent was so thick that he could have had a successful reality program just sitting on camera and reading Shakespeare. The thought made me laugh. He didn’t care for it much. “You got some kind of problem with me, city slicker? You’re the FNG here, so you better watch your attitude or I’ll be stuck on you like hair in a biscuit!” I’m not entirely certain what that meant, but it did convince me that I never wanted to eat a meal at his house.
Rabbit made no attempt to hide her amusement, but she did try to rescue me, sort of. “Give him a bit of a break, Jethro. He’s already pissed off Hannibal, shot a stray dog, and nearly got the Professor killed saluting him. He’s had a full week.”
Jethro seemed to mull that over for a moment. “I reckon I can give a little slack. My momma wouldn’t let me back in the house if she knew I didn’t do the Christian thing and give you another chance. Just tired of people puttin’ flies in my soup ’cause I’m the only one ’round here that knows how to talk.” Yep, that clinches it. I’m never eating at his place. “Just watch yourself, FNG. I might forget what my momma taught me next time.” He laid back in his bunk and started whistling “A Country Boy Can Survive.” He was a living, breathing stereotype.
I turned to Rabbit and asked, “FNG?”
Still amused by the conversation, she replied, “Fucking New Guy. The term has been around since Vietnam, so treat it with respect.”
I rolled that around in my head for a moment. “Is that an official designation?” I should probably point out that I do have rather long legs. Besides allowing me to run more quickly, this also gives me the ability to kick myself in the butt. I am doing that as I am writing this out of shame for my sheer stupidity.
Amazingly, everyone thought it was a joke. Everyone nearby started laughing. I could have sworn that even Hannibal let out a chuckle. Either that, or his stomach growled. I unconsciously checked my nose to guarantee its continued existence. “This guy’s a trip!” the soldier in the bunk next to Jethro exclaimed. He reached out his hand. “Whassup Pup? They call me Nickel.” Nickel was an African-American of average height and with a look to him like he’d done an awful lot, and none of it was what he wanted in life.
“Why do they call you Nickel?” I asked after shaking his hand.
Jethro didn’t even sit up to answer. “Because he likes that rap crap. Thinks he’s gonna be the next 50 Cent, but he only has a tenth of the talent. So he’s Nickel.”
At this point I expected a fight to break out between the two, but Nickel had a smile on his face as he responded. “Only reason you don’t appreciate my talent is ’cause you think all music has to have a harmonica and a fiddle.”
Jethro looked over at him. “Only the music that’s good. Let’s test out your future as a rapper. Give me a rhyme for the word ‘last.’” Several seconds passed. A cricket started chirping. Hannibal stomped on it.
After an agonizing fifteen seconds had elapsed, Nickel finally exclaimed, “So I’m not so great at rhyming under pressure! That doesn’t mean you have to stomp on my dreams!”
“Actually, hoss, I think it does,” Jethro replied with a grin.
“Screw you, redneck!”
“Not even if a skunk threatened to take a bath with me.” I swear that guy had to be coming up with those sayings on purpose. I’ve seen cartoon characters that sounded more realistic than him.
I turned to the last person in the group that hadn’t introduced herself yet. I didn’t try to speak because I couldn’t. She was gorgeous. And in uniform. She was tall and athletic. She was of Hispanic heritage with long, dark hair and eyes that you could get lost in if you didn’t keep a compass handy. And I was staring. That wouldn’t have been so bad if I had just been staring at her face, but I ended up staring at all of her. (Yes, Mom, I am aware of how rude that is. I didn’t mean to.) It turns out that you can’t do that without moving your eyes and head. When you do that, the person that you are looking at knows that you are checking them out. When that person is an unbelievably attractive woman who also happens to be trained in hand-to-hand combat, you are taking your life into your own hands. Without warning, this amazing-looking woman reached across and slapped the living snot out of me. (That’s another of Jethro’s phrases. I wonder if he has ever seen dead snot.) I fell back on my bunk and sat there shaking my head, trying to stop the ringing. That was no love tap. “Keep your eyes in your head or I’ll pop ’em back in there with a bayonet for you!” she exclaimed before stalking off to another part of the tent that was partially blocked off by a canvas divider.
Rabbit looked almost giddy in her amusement. “That’s Boom. She’s got an explosive temper. She has greeted every male FNG that way since she’s been here. Of course, they’ve all done the exact same thing you did when they first saw her.”
Rabbit, still smiling and giggling to herself, got up to follow Boom. “Rabbit,” I called out. She stopped and turned to look at me. “Does my discomfort really amuse you that much?” I don’t know what made me ask that question, but for some reason I felt like I really needed to know.
Rabbit took a moment to pretend that she was thinking about it, nodded once, and replied “Yep,” before turning and disappearing behind the canvas divider.
“Hell, I just met you, and I find your discomfort amusing,” chimed in Nickel.
“You aren’t nearly uncomfortable enough to amuse me yet,” Hannibal grumbled.
From his relaxed position, Jethro offered the closest thing to consolation. “Ain’t it fun being the FNG?” I checked to make sure that everything was organized the way that Ian had told me to organize it and then laid back in the bunk. I’m sure that I should have been upset about how things had gone, but I still couldn’t help but smile. It had still worked out better than my first day of high school. No swirlies so far.
No . . . really . . . I’m perfectly comfortable with this . . .
җ
I’m not entirely certain where he is right n
ow, but if I could see Ian, I would shake his hand. If my squad could meet him, they would hug him, kiss him, and offer him drinks for life. The brief time he spent giving me lessons saved the entire platoon a great many headaches and me several beatings and possibly a bitten-off nose. I put the snore strips on after preparing for sleep and did not snore in any appreciable way the entire night. I know this because I was still in my bunk and not in the middle of a minefield when I woke up. Thanks, Ian. We all owe you a big one!
I have never been a morning person, and I never will be. I don’t care what kind of coffee you give me or sayings you throw at me (I’m never going to be healthy, wealthy, or wise), I do not want to rise, and I will not shine come hell or high water. Many attempts have been made to change my attitude, and none of them ever worked. I was certain that the hatred of mornings would get me into all kinds of trouble in the army. It turned out that another thing Ian told me was true. Once you were deployed, the sun would wake you up every day. He wasn’t kidding. I woke up with the sun and knew that I would not go back to sleep. That was great for the army, but it sure sucked for me. I did rise, but I still did not shine. I absolutely refused to let the sun win!
I grumbled and rolled out of my bunk and noticed the same movement throughout the tent. I noticed that the canvas divider was closed completely so that freaky little pervs (not me!) couldn’t stare at the female squad members while they slept. There were only two of them in our tent, but I think the canvas was up for the men’s protection. I think that anyone trying to peek in on Rabbit or Boom would face a beating that most mixed martial arts fighters would cringe at. We all formed up outside and did some morning calisthenics. I’m not a huge fan of exercise myself, but ever since boot camp I was at least able to do them without passing out.
Once we were done with calisthenics I started heading toward the showers. I’m not a big fan of being all sticky and sweaty. My quack therapist calls it an insecurity. I call it manners. Do I really want others to smell me if I can avoid it? I don’t think so! In any case, I started walking toward the showers and noticed a couple of other soldiers heading that way as well. I know I’ve already mentioned that I’m not a big fan of being naked around others. I knew I would have to get over that because privacy was a luxury in the Army, so I kept walking toward the showers. I’m glad that something in my head told me to take a second look, because when I did I realized that the soldiers preparing to take showers were a clerk, a grunt, and a medic. They were also all women. Without even trying to pretend that I was doing anything else, I immediately performed a textbook about-face and walked to the mess tent.
I walked through the line in a bit of a daze. I was trying to work out some logistics in my head. There was only one shower tent. There were two genders. I hadn’t noticed any posted orders about shower usage. How was this supposed to work? How were we supposed to know when it was safe to shower? Why were my eggs so runny? Were they even supposed to be eggs? Sorry. Not all of my questions remain relevant to the situation.
After getting a tray full of something that had the potential to grow into food someday, I looked around the tent. I had the distinct feeling of being back in school and trying to figure out where to sit in the cafeteria. The problem was that I had positively no friends here. I decided that if I couldn’t find anyone friendly, I would at least find someone familiar. I saw several members of my squad at one table and decided that was where I would sit.
I sat down next to Jethro and across from Nickel. No one really acknowledged my presence, which worked out pretty well as far as I was concerned. No attention meant no chance of screwing up. I smiled just a little and prepared to dig in when every member of the squad that was present reached over and snatched something off of my tray. Anything that was halfway decent disappeared in a flash. By the time they were done the only things I had remaining were a glass of water, runny eggs, and something that helped answer the question of how sausage was made. I looked up in mild surprise. “Price of being the FNG,” Boom managed to say between bites of my toast.
I thought about speaking up and standing up for myself. Really, I did. I wasn’t scared. I didn’t have an urge to cry or anything. Really! I was just remembering something sad from my childhood. In the end I just accepted the reality and started eating (or slurping) the eggs. I waited until it seemed like everyone had enjoyed my food before I decided to seek some advice. “Um . . . is there a shower schedule for girls and boys here or something?”
Boom looked at me in disgust. “Girls?”
“I . . . I . . . I . . . meant . . . I meant ladies,” I stammered. I was flustered. I had made two mistakes. I had used the term “boys and girls” like we were in third grade, and I had looked directly at Boom. She was beautiful when she was angry. Stupid hormones!
Rabbit didn’t even look up as she snickered. “Damn, Pup! Can’t even ask a question right!”
“The menfolk tend to let the women go first. It is polite, after all. But there ain’t no published schedule. Sometimes you wind up in there at the same time. The dividers are tall enough so it ain’t no big thing. You get used to it. Hell, my pappy had a duck fit when he heard about it,” Jethro explained.
“What exactly is a duck fit?” I found myself asking.
Jethro started to answer when Nickel jumped in. “No! No! No! I cannot sit through another story from Crap Hole Creek or wherever the hell it is you said you came from.”
“It’s Snake Lick Creek, city slicker, and I was just answering Pup’s question.”
Nickel turned to me. “Do you really want to know what a duck fit is? Understand that if you say that you do then I’m gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep with a dull, rusty combat knife.” I had to wonder if Hannibal got together with everyone and came up with new and unique threats just for me. I shook my head. “See, hick? Boy didn’t really want to know.” Nickel took another bite of my fruit before continuing. “Better be happy while you’re here, Pup. At least you get a little bit of privacy. When we go on patrol, you gonna be steppin’ all over each other day and night. And no showers, neither. If we go out enough days, you don’t give a damn what you or anyone else looks like. The only thing you care about is what you and everyone else smell like.”
I have to admit that the thought of being able to smell each other that vividly made me lose what little appetite I still had for breakfast. I excused myself and got up from the table. As I was walking away, I thought I heard Boom and Rabbit speaking to each other in a conspiratorial whisper. I couldn’t tell what they were saying. That was most likely the point of them whispering. And people say that I have no common sense.
I turned in my tray and headed back to my bunk. I figured that enough time had passed and that most everyone was eating their breakfast, so it seemed like the best time to hit the showers. I opened the door slowly and took a look around. I didn’t hear any water running and didn’t notice any movement, so I decided to go on in. I confirmed that there was no one else in there and prepared to take my shower. That was when I learned that I am not the only one that makes odd assumptions. You see, the thing about a big canvas tent is that if you are around them enough, you start to think of them the same way that you think of buildings. You assume that they will keep the rain off of you, which they do; that they will help keep you warm, which they at least make a mild attempt at; and that they will give you privacy, which they do not. Sound travels through tent walls like they aren’t even there. Since I had just arrived at camp, I knew that fact and had not had enough time to forget it. Some others were not so fortunate. I realized that when I heard a familiar voice say, “That FNG is too damned shy. He can’t go into the field that way.” It was Nickel.
“He’ll get himself as lost as last year’s Easter egg trying to get some privacy in the field if he ain’t careful,” Jethro added.
There was a little bit of mumbling between them all before I heard Rabbit proclaim, “He’s in the showers now. Boo
m and I will get him over that shyness quick. We go out in the next day or two. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna risk him getting lost ’cause he can’t get over himself.” I heard their footsteps walking off as she added, “After all, what if we stumble across another dog? Who’s going to protect us?”
It didn’t take me long to decide what to do. I might not be the most confrontational person out there, but I will try to find ways to protect myself, even if they are a little . . . passive. After I made my preparations, I stepped into the shower. I have to admit that I was a little surprised at having hot water. I took a couple of seconds to enjoy it before getting out the soap. I found myself deep in thought as I washed. I was a little embarrassed by Rabbit’s parting shot, but mostly I felt appreciation for the actions of my squad. Yes, I am well aware of the fact that they didn’t think highly of me. I’m clueless, but I’m not self-deluded. The thing is, they were making an effort to try and make me a more useful part of the team. I’m sure that they didn’t see it that way, but it was going to be the end result of their actions. That was certainly something that I could stand behind. I wouldn’t walk headlong into it, but I could certainly get behind it.
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