I really had to go to the bathroom. I hadn't gone in… I don't even know, but I had to go.
The supply sergeant sat behind a table piled with folded olive drab. He didn't look up. Just pointed.
"Oh uh…"
"Boot size. Shirt size. Waist size. Don't make me pull teeth."
Awesome, this guy is a dick too.
"Hold on… let me check my shirt."
I looked down at my shirt tag. Small. Faded. I had to squint.
"Medium in men's."
He threw a large at my chest anyway. I caught it.
What the hell?
"I said medium?"
"And I said large." He pointed to the pile. "Next."
"Pants," he said.
"Thirty-two."
He slid a pair across the table. I caught them before they fell.
"Belt. Socks. T-shirts. Skivvies. Canteen. Poncho. Liner. Canteen cup."
He pointed to a stack of bins behind him.
"Find your size. Don't ask me for help. Next."
I walked over to the bins. Just dug through them like everyone else. Medium shirts. Large shirts. Some had tags, some didn't. I grabbed what looked right and hoped for the best.
I looked over and Mitch and Dale were already in the process of taking off their clothes in the open. I guess a dressing room isn't around.
I followed their example and put my clothes on. They fit as well as they could.
"Do you guys know where a bathroom is?" I asked.
"You tell me — I've been looking for a long time," Dale said.
"Goddammit," I said. "I mean, you're taller — you see anything?"
"Uh, no. Everything in this place looks the same," Dale said.
"I wanna ask somebody in charge…" I said.
"I'm just gonna go outside or something. I'm not asking these guys," Dale said.
"I'll ask, you babies," Mitch said and walked over to the sergeant.
"Where are the bathrooms?"
"Look around. Signs are there," the sergeant said.
Me and Dale looked at each other, then around the room.
Back corner — bathrooms.
All three of us used the bathroom.
"Thanks, Mitch," I said.
"Did I tell you my name?" he asked.
"Heard it," I said.
"Well, you're welcome, boys."
Mitch walked back over to where everyone else was changing.
Me and Dale followed.
"Alright, you lonely, worthless man-children. I am the monster under your bed. I am the last voice you're ever going to hear that gives a single fuck whether you live or die. I—"
The sergeant's eyes locked on Kyle.
"Ballsack-face. Are you listening to me? I gave you plenty of time to change. Get down."
Thank god I didn't have any acne scars. Thank you, Mom and Dad.
"Twenty push-ups. Right now."
Kyle dropped. The sergeant put his boot between Kyle's shoulder blades and pressed him flat to the concrete.
"This isn't ballet class, princess. Chest touches the floor. Maybe I'll drag Jack Skellington over there, strip him naked, and give you something to motivate you. Then I'd have to pry you off his dick, you pathetic little faggot."
If this was a movie, I would've laughed. Seeing it happen three feet in front of me was something different. You couldn't laugh if you tried.
Kyle's arms started shaking at eight. At twelve, they gave out completely.
The sergeant sighed like he was disappointed in the whole human race.
"Look at you. Twelve. Big strong boy. Stand up."
Kyle pushed himself up, breathing hard. The sergeant stepped in and punched him low in the stomach — not hard enough to drop him, just enough to fold him. Then he brought his knee up into Kyle's face. Not full force. Just enough to make it hurt and make it humiliating.
Kyle crumpled right in front of me, one hand on his stomach, the other covering his nose.
I grabbed his shoulders and helped him to his feet. I felt bad, really bad. I probably shouldn't have, but I mean… I don't know. Poor guy.
"Somebody finally grew a nutsack and helped him up. Good. That's what you do when a fellow man falls. What you don't do is pull him up like a fucking nurse. You don't baby him. You grab him, you yell in his face, and you make goddamn sure he never falls again. Or next time it's you. Then you. Then you."
The sergeant pointed at each of us in turn, slow and deliberate.
"Help him like you want to live. Not like you feel sorry for him. If he drops, you drag him up. You throw him up. You make him stand. Because if one of you stays soft, you all die."
That meant Kyle's mistake was all of our mistakes. I felt pressure now.
"Now enough of this daycare bitch-baby shit. You will get an M4 rifle. You kids here might have played with them in those video games you love so much. Follow me."
All of us followed him in a straight line.
"Hey, uh… thanks."
Kyle turned around and looked at me.
"You're welcome," I said back.
"What's your name?" he asked. "I didn't hear it earlier."
"Eli. You're Kyle."
"Yeah, you probably heard."
"Mhm."
"Well, I guess I owe you now… We could be—"
"Shut the fuck up back there!" the sergeant yelled out.
We both went wide-eyed, looking at each other, and he turned his head back around.
We walked down to a table. There were about 25 M4s on it, all pointed the same way. I could see some had dust on them.
"Each of you, single file, will grab one M4. There is no ammo inside of them since you guys can't even change your own diapers yet."
Roy went first, grabbing one in the back right. Tommy reached for the closest one. Frank moved his hand around, grabbing one that looked newer. I lost interest after that and stared at the floor, moving my feet a little.
When it was my turn, I looked at them. One was covered in dust. One looked like it had a crack of some kind. I picked the one closest on the left — it seemed like the newest.
"Now that everyone has their very own M4s, you will treat it like it's your life because it is. You will love it, tuck it into bed, and by god you will clean it as clean as the holy virgin's thighs, or I swear to god I'll stop being so fucking nice."
This M4 was actually kind of heavy. I always imagined them as lighter and more… I don't know. I guess movies and video games messed with my perception.
Minutes went by of us all just kinda looking at our guns, not knowing what to do. Even Roy seemed confused why we were all just standing there not doing anything.
"Is everyone done standing there with their dick in their hands?"
Nobody answered.
"Well? Speak up! When the fucking chink rice-loving, Beijing-loving bitches or those sister-fucking commies are shooting bullets, bombing you, killing your buddies… You don't get to stand there silent when someone asks you a question. Is that clear?!"
"Yes," we all responded.
"Yes what? I'm not your dad. You will address me as 'Sir'! Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!"
The sergeant stared at us for a long second, lip curled like we were something he'd stepped in. Then he turned sharply and walked out the door into the cold gray morning.
Tommy followed him first. I fell in behind, the rest of the guys shuffling after us. The M4 strap kept getting tangled, driving me crazy.
We marched across the gravel toward a row of big tan tents that looked like they'd been set up in a hurry.
The sergeant didn't say another word until we reached the first tent.
The way he looked at us, like he was throwing scraps to a pack of dogs.
"These are your new homes. Failed abortions on one side, miserable accidents on the other. If you have any complaints, swallow them. Should be easy — you lot are used to swallowing."
The sergeant walked towards us, right to me. He pushed me and Kyle out of the way. I stumbled backwards.
This guy makes me feel rage I've never felt before. My fist was clenched with rage, and I felt warmer, like my body was hot. Back home I had a mom, dad, sister. I always felt important. Felt like one of those main characters in a show where the unpopular high schooler gets popular and was always waiting and hoping it would happen to me. Here, I'm as valuable as gum on your shoe.
I looked at Kyle, who turned his head and stared at me.
We both wanted to kill this guy.