Drill & Sanctimony

by Peter Anthony

The buses rolled back toward the base, with a storm blowing overhead and leaking through cracks in the windows. Lightning lit up the Missouri fields.

  My experience in the church left me feeling heavy in my stomach and back. The pain in my torso doubled me over, making me aware of abdomen muscles I had never used. Between shaking and sweating, I stifled nausea by puffing my cheeks and biting down on my fist. Profuse buckets of sweat streamed from my bald head. Breathing became difficult. I felt scared, restless, feverish. Holding my throat and stomach, I bounced my forehead against the seat ahead, limiting the discomfort by jarring my brain.

  The Privates around me stood and argued, turned in their seats, called each other names, bashed and praised the Lord. The words of the pastor still rattled inside my head.

  I heard someone ask, "Sprungli, are you all right?" It was Private Vang. "Why do you keep hitting my seat?"

  Leaning back I saw her frowning at me. I said to her, "I gotta get right with God."

  "Stop being ridiculous, Sprungli," said Vang, rolling her eyes at me, under her head of spiked hair, similar to the style of Sonic the Hedgehog. "What a scene you made in there. Aren't you ever embarrassed?"

  Vang sat next to Private Waters. Actually, he was kneeling on his seat, facing forward and arguing with people in the rows ahead. After having the Lord driven into me, Waters took up the opposite cause, against the Lord, and tried to drive the Spirit out of the bus.

  "This should not be called Free-Day-Away," he shouted. "It should be called Christian Recruiting Day and the Department of the Army should end it. End it altogether!"

  A voice came back from a third platoon Private, defending Free-Day-Away. "Nobody said you had to listen, Waters."

  "Actually, yes they did," Waters shouted. "Before leaving for Lebanon today I asked the Drill Sergeants if the service was mandatory, and guess what they said: 'You have to attend the service.'"

  The voice behind me responded again. I recognized him as Private Baker. "That's good. You obviously need to attend more often."

  "Says who?" Waters said, slapping the top of the seat with his palms. "That was a revival meeting, for homesick soldiers. Can you think of a better time to brainwash someone? The only thing missing from that church was snake-handlers and David Koresh."

  "If you can't accept the Word, then I pity you," Baker said, but he was rudely interrupted by Waters again.

  "Don't you see? All the food, the games leading up to the party, was grease for the conversion." Waters shook his hands like tamborines. "We even had someone speaking in tongues. Sprungli," he said, turning angry eyes on me, "I hope that episode was for laughs. What a show you put on. Honestly, I don't know whether to laugh with you or at you."

  This talk had been tolerated for too long. The pain would possess me unless I could deliver that bus from evil. No one could out-shout this Waters, scourge of all things holy, so I leaned back my head and yelled as if giving birth to a cinder block:

  "Waters is a devil worshipper!"

  Every head in the bus turned. My announcement startled them all. Stares bore down on Private Waters, who turned to look at me with his evil smirk.

  "I'm Agnostic, Sprungli. For once, get it right."

  "Get right with God!" I yelled. Then I remembered the day I met him and how he waffled on selecting a religion. "His dog-tags," I said. "His dog-tags tell it all."

  Baker called for Waters to show his tags. Several people then asked Waters to show his tags, but he refused, forcing Baker to take action. His squad members seized Waters' hands, and Vang lashed out, forcing one of Baker's boys to grab her neck and pin her head against the window. After a short struggle, Baker ripped the tags from Waters' throat and held them up to his eyes to inspect them.

  "What's it say?" asked Baker.

  Baker snatched the tags into his fist and shook them violently. "It says he's going to hell. He's an atheist."

  The dog-tags were passed up and down the aisle. I began to feel better. Waters and Vang became the center of attention - for once, it was not me.

  With the tags dangling in his hand, Shipman forced his way from the back of the bus into the center where Waters sat.

  "At ease!" yelled Shipman. "AT EASE! Stop the madness!" He shouted so loud that the bus driver even slowed down. "What the hell is wrong with all of you?" He gave Waters his dog-tags. "Waters is right about one thing. Keep your religion to yourself. But then, Waters, you haven't been doing that real well yourself, have you?"

  After that, the feuding parties calmed.

  All the way to base, my health depleted. A sharp pain continued in my stomach and back, jabbing at my innards with every bump on the road.

  Chapter 19. Sick Call