Two cat-eyes bounced in the darkness, rising and falling with every step of Private Vang, who walked in front of me. On a rocky road, I focused on the glow-in-the-dark decals on the back of her helmet. At a fifteen meter interval, we marched in a long, dispersed line in the pre-dawn hour.
The aches in my body and throat worsened each day, since the Drills followed my every step, making me shout all responses and drop at the first hint of demotivation. Plus, my soft-shoe profile expired. Sticking to his word, Drill Sergeant Pint shadowed me to the Doctor's office to investigate if I truly suffered from gout. But the tests showed nothing of the sort. Pint examined X-Rays with the doctor, rubbing his chin like an M.D. and diagnosing me as fit to march.
The crunch of the boots on the road reminded me eating Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch, that unsinkable cereal that never sogged. With our empty rifles aimed outward, we hiked along the ditches and roads of Fort Leonard Wood for three entire kilometers.
A sound in the bushes startled me. I crouched down and tried to peek under a plant, but while bending, my rucksack became tangled in the bushes. For a moment the plant had me trapped. The beast emerged from the bush. I raised my empty rifle to fire, but the bush still held my head. The muzzle of the rifle struck my own cheek. I tumbled to the ground, turning at the same time to witness the enemy. Was this a bear? An Iraqi? Was it Nihilanth, the fetus-shaped monster on Half-Life?
It was a Missouri squirrel.
Private Vang turned around. "Are you ok?"
"Carry on," I said.
At 1.5 kilometers we reached the halfway point of this road march. To fight off fatigue, I stepped aside, through the bushes, and climbed upon a large rock where I could intake food and water at my leisure. I watched Vang trudging onward down the road, now with a thirty meter gap between her and the next person behind. The rock I sat on was six feet over everyone's head. I could see far from there. The first morning light skimmed the horizon, looking like an over-easy egg at griddle's-eye-view. On each side of the road, two lines of Privates moved slowly toward the turn-around point where they made a wide loop past each other. They crunched along the rocks while I enjoyed the Pop-Tarts from my cargo pocket. I also had a package of Rice Krispy Squares from Shipman, who continued to pay his tax on time. He called it blackmail. I called it keeping his secret safe. From my watchtower, I discovered another tryst, thus another taxpayer. The road march proved quite profitable in terms of calories.
The couple was Private Waters and Private Vang. After they shared a bump of the helmets and a kiss, Waters marched onward with a smile on his face. With this knowledge, I reveled in knowing that his next serving of Jell-O was mine. I threw a pebble at him. Words were exchanged about where the pebble came from. The Company Commander, the Captain, quieted the argument by simply approaching Waters. The Captain's rank scared the trousers off every Private in the company. Even worse, if anyone happened across the Lieutenant Colonel, he or she experienced convulsive spasms induced by his high rank.
On my existing account with West and Shipman I received insurance that morning. Private Shipman met up with Private West at the turn-around, where he took her hand into his own. A flash of white passed between them - a tiny notebook exchanged hands. They did not stop to kiss or touch, but it was enough. His desserts would be siphoned. West, too.
Before long, the trail of Privates stopped coming and a pack of Drill Sergeants staggered along at the end of the line. To fall in, I made a bold move. I shimmied down the side of the rock and plunged through the bushes. The sling of my rifle caught on a branch, making my reentry less smooth than I expected.
When I turned to march, my feet froze up. A silver oak leaf shined down at me like an interrogation lamp. There he was, God Himself, the Lieutenant Colonel. He stood in front of me like road-march royalty. In the blinding light, I read his name-tag, and felt my knees buckling. I managed to raise my hand in a salute.
"Good afternoon, I mean, morning, Drill Sergeant, er, sir, I mean, Sir."
The Lieutenant Colonel said nothing and did not return the salute. The silver oak leaf said it all. I saluted three more times as he moved away, which drew the attention of Drill Sergeant Pfeffer.
"That was the best left-handed salute I've seen all morning," said Pfeffer. "Is that the same hand you use to wank?"
"Left-handed?" I asked.
"You saluted him with your left hand. And for your information, Sprungli, we don't salute on a road march."
The idea that I saluted with my left hand rattled me. Pfeffer, ignoring the rule of silence on the road march, shouted back to his cohorts, "We got a left-handed saluter right here. Private Sprungli."
A response came from Pint. "What's he doing back at the end of the company? Why is he with fourth platoon?"
Then Pfeffer whispered to me, "Why are you with fourth platoon?"
I stammered, "I had to use the latrine."
"For Christ's sake, this is a three klick walk. It's not even a road march, it's a mosey, and you can't pinch your bladder for that long?"
The Ranger Tab on Pfeffer's shoulder scared me almost as much as the silver oak leaf on the Lieutenant Colonel. I had to lie. "I have a stomach flu, Drill..."
"Die, Sprungli. Just die. Right here on the ground. Die." He did not appear to be kidding.
"You want me to die, Drill Sergeant?" I asked, thinking this might be a saying like beat your face, but this he meant literally. "What do you mean die? How?"
"Start eating dirt. Run your head into a rock. Drown in your canteen. Just die."
He started to walk away, but then came back. "I've got another idea. Catch up to second platoon, you derelict. Move, Jody!"
The chase was on. Past a long line on Privates, he harassed me from behind, calling me Jody (I think he meant to say Richard), kicking rocks at me and singing foul Ranger cadences that I hadn't heard before. Everyone laughed as I passed. When I saw Private Vang, I tried to fall into line behind her, but Pfeffer pulled my rucksack forward, forcing me to keep going, shoving me along like a broom. All the way back to the barracks he pushed me. When he and I were in the barracks lot, he yelled, "Gas! Gas! Gas!"
"It wasn't me," I said.
I thought Pfeffer was going to hit me, but he slapped my thigh with one hand and said, "Gas! Gas! Gas! Put your goddamn gas mask on like there was a nerve agent in the air. Gas! Gas! Gas!"
I ripped open the mask carrier, which was strapped to my thigh. As quickly as I could, I tightened the straps, but after the run I was breathing so hard that I could hardly stand, let alone make sense of the confusing mask. Once on, the mask suffocated me. Pulling air into my lungs felt like sucking on a straw.
"Front!" yelled Pfeffer.
He had to be joking.
"Get on your face or I will put you down just like I put Private Major down."
Through the eye holes on the mask, I looked for someone else to save me, but only he and I stood in the company area.
"Last chance, Sprungli."
I complied, let myself fall to the ground, and in the process dropped my rifle.
"Back!"
The mask steamed, blocking my sight, but I did see Pfeffer pick up my rifle and sling it over his shoulder.
"Crawl."
I heard my own voice echo inside the gas mask. "Crawl? You mean, like, really crawl?"
"Crawl."
Every rock seemed to have sharp edges. My knees grated over the gravel and I tried to breathe but I was losing focus. Sweat poured down into my face and bit like ants at the corners of my eyes. Kneeling for a moment, I tried to take off my rucksack, but Pfeffer stepped me down like an accelerator, flattening me against the rocks.
"All clear! Take your mask off. Not dead yet? Damn. Put the mask away. Follow me. Uh-oh, you lost your rifle. Bad news."
Before he finished telling me to do one thing, he told me to do another. I scrambled behind him toward the fourth platoon
barracks. For a moment, he disappeared into the Drill Sergeant office, and returned carrying an old tape recorder and a mop. He threw the mop at me.
"Ninety minutes," he said, smiling. "Ninety minutes of practice for you, starting right now." He pushed play on the tape recorder and set it near my feet. The grainy voice on the tape was his own. It said, "Welcome to side one of Drill Sergeant Pfeffer's Remedial Command Instruction." Pfeffer laughed and said, "I just made this tape last night. I may have to sell these, but you get to be my pilot group. Let me know if you like it, Sprungli. That mop there is your rifle. Pay attention, here it comes!"
The voice continued. "Thank you for enrolling in this course. Side one begins now. Atten-shun! Right, Face. About, Face. Port, Arms. Present, Arms. Order, Arms. Inspection, Arms. Right, Face. Left, Face. About, Face. Side-step, March. Prah-vit, Halt. Left, Face. Right, Face, About, Face..."
While I struggled to keep up, Pfeffer yelled, "That mop better be at Port Arms when my recording says Port Arms!" He looked at his watch. "I'll be back in forty-five minutes to flip the tape. Have fun. Oh, and I'll be watching out the window while I have my morning coffee."
The other two hundred Privates in the company gradually gathered around me. The laughter started to drown out the voice on the tape, but I just kept facing right, facing left, and doing random movements. Bubbles popped out of my mouth every ten seconds while tears teemed and streamed from my eyes.
The company moved out to breakfast without me. As Drill Sergeant Pint passed by, he did not smile but, for a moment, I almost suspected that Pint had concern for me.
When I neared heart failure, Pfeffer emerged from his office to flip the tape. Another forty-five minutes of facing movements, followed by Pfeffer marching me to breakfast alone, where he forced me to eat in three minutes. Next he ordered me to bear-crawl up and down a hill until I vomited. When he marched me back to the platoon, the company was just arriving back from a company run.
Pfeffer said, "Your battle-buddies all just went on a company jog, all because of you, buddy. How's that make you feel? You got a lot of explaining to do. Man, I would hate to be in your shoes."
My fellow Privates were not laughing at me any longer. Four hundred eyes passed by me and the only hint of fun that I saw danced in Private Major's eyes, who seemed to be enjoying the punishment and simultaneously encouraging me to keep up the good work. He held a fist of solidarity in the air at me. The platoons were put into a mass formation. Pfeffer spun me around to face the company.
"And now," Pfeffer announced, "because of Private Sprungli, you all get to join him in my new course, Drill Sergeant's Pfeffer's Remedial Command Instruction."
He started the tape over again.
Chapter 15. Dumped