NOTE: Thanks to the reader who threw in the wildcard today. I didn't see that coming, but I like it. Check it out... (CAUTION: Lightly Edited) The Fleet Part 2 No one moved in response to the gunny's request. He said it again, "I need two volunteers...now." There wasn't a speck of volume increase, but something in his eyes told us we better respond, and do it soon. The problem was that we'd learned very early on, like the first day of boot camp, that you never, ever, I mean never, volunteer for anything in the Marine Corps. Even our senior drill instructor had told us that right before graduation. Still silence. Sweat dripping down my back. Tick tock. I was standing in the front left corner of the formation watching out of the corner of my eye, never moving my focus from a distant point straight ahead, just as I'd done for countless hours at Parris Island. I wondered if any of my fellow Marines would be dumb enough to raise their hands. Without warning, I felt a push from behind. My legs already weakened, I stumbled forward, already knowing who'd pushed me. I snarled inwardly, straightening myself back into the position of attention. "It looks like we've got one volunteer," Gunny Salvador grumbled, chuckles from the other SNCOs. "And how about we get his butt buddy behind him to come along." Luckily I somehow suppressed my smile, knowing the asshole who'd pushed me thought he'd gotten away with it. It was our first lesson in the fact that Marine Gunnery Sergeants had eyes everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. "Get over here, you two," Gunny Salvador ordered, pointing to a spot next to him without taking his eyes off the others. "The rest of you will follow Staff Sergeant Evermeade to the barracks." He turned to look me right in the eyes, his gaze steady, penetrating. "You two, follow me." I chanced a glance at the piece of shit who'd gotten us in the mess, Private Gallagher, a thorn in my side since the first day of SOI. The fucker had a chip on his shoulder always assuming he was the big dick in the show. He was a bully and a shitty drunk. I'd had to put him in his place more than once, besting him in every event we had, eventually picking up the coveted meritorious promotion. He hated me and I hated him. It's just how it was. We glowered at each other for a split second, then hurried to follow our new company gunny. Vote on what should happen next below...
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(CAUTION: LIGHTLY EDITED) July 2nd, 2002 The haze from the burning pavement cast a mirage-like shimmer over the parade deck, as if tempting us to fall out, like a snake charmer taming his cobra. No wind, just the steady breathing of my companions. Five Staff Non-Commissioned Officers (SNCOs) paced back and forth before our formation, some spitting tobacco juice onto the pavement, others just giving us dirty looks as we stood at attention. It must've been close to and hour by then, our muscles threatening to cramp, or even worse, give out. Twice they'd put us at parade rest and made us pound a canteen full of water each, all in the name of proper hydration. This wasn't boot camp. Most of us had already been through Parris Island. There were only a handful of Hollywood Marines, those who'd enlisted west of the Mississippi River, sending them to basic training at Marine Corps Recruit Depot (MCRD) San Diego. From our respective training grounds, after we'd received an MOS (military occupational specialty) the grunts in the bunch hopped onto buses or planes and headed to the School of Infantry East for further training as basic infantryman. After a subdued graduation, a couple of squirrely looking corporals transported us From Camp Geiger in a couple 5-tons to where we stood now, Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. By that time, we all knew the history of General Lejeune, a legend in the Marine Corps, it had been hammered into us by our drill instructors, but not many of us had stepped foot on the base now holding his name. I had, years ago, but that's another story. Now the officers showed up, mostly lieutenants, one captain. They conferred with their SNCOs about something, I couldn't hear what. One of the staff sergeants looked over his shoulder at us, motioning in the air to the captain. They all had a good laugh, at our expense, of course. Suddenly, the crowd went serious again, the captain talking. The four SNCOs popped to attention and snapped salutes, crisply returned by the officers. A moment later, they marched our way, fanning out as they went, highly-polished boots whose heels clapped on the pavement. I noticed the perfect creases in their cammies, all salty by the fading conveyed by hundreds of washes. These were Marines. A Gunnery Sergeant walked from behind us and turned to face us, his face grim. "Marines, I'm Gunny Salvador. I'm your Company Gunny. Now, before I called out your names and assign you to your platoons, I need two volunteers." Vote below to see what happens next... Thanks for becoming part of our elite team. This is where it all begins, building the framework of the story. Once we get the concept down today, the real writing begins on my end. Remember, the more participation from you guys, the more writing from me. Also, keep in mind that this won't be a mint polished work. It'll be a little rough around the edges. The final edit will come when we conclude. So, without further blabbering, here's your first choice to start the adventure: |
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