Free The Chaplain's War by Brad R. Torgersen Page A

you anymore. And I don’t care if you’re eighteen or thirty-eight, it’s time to grow the eff up, grow an effin’ pair between your legs—females too—and learn how to walk, talk, act, shoot, fight, and be a soldier in the Fleet.”
    “YES, FIRST SERGEANT!”
    “Good. You’re starting to get the beat of things, a little. And believe me, there is a beat. And a rhythm. You’re gonna find that in virtually everything you do in the Fleet. Look for it. Use it. The harder you try to cling to the old you that showed up here today, the harder it’s going to be. But the more you let the rhythm take you—the more you let yourself mold to and grow with the change—the easier it will become and the less stressful this is all going to seem.
    “Because make no mistake, recruits, stress is what Induction Service Training is all about. I can see it in your faces right now. It’s effin’ hot. Your arms are about to fall off. Your feet and legs are starting to get numb. You’re wondering why the hell you had to wait out here for so long just to listen to me jaw-jack. It’s part of the program, people. Part of the program. And you can either resist the program, or git’ with the program. Now what do you want to do, recruits?”
    “GET WITH THE PROGRAM, FIRST SERGEANT!”
    “Gawtdamn, now that’s what I want to hear! Okay, enough of me running my mouth. In front of you is the building you will call home until Pickup Day. As soon as you enter that building, at no time will you leave it unless told to do so by an NCO or an officer, is that understood?”
    “YES, FIRST SERGEANT!”
    “You will obey every command given to you, and if you do not understand the command given to you, you will request clarification in a proper and respectful manner, is that understood?”
    “YES, FIRST SERGEANT!”
    “Are there any questions for me at this time?”
    The rectangle remained silent.
    “No questions then? Alright. Time to whip a little training on your asses. You are now standing in what is called a mass formation. Most of the time you’ll be broken down by platoons, but once in a while it’s convenient for us to line you up like this as a large group. There are certain commands you will be given—whether in mass, or in platoon—and you must follow those commands in unison. Do you understand?”
    “YES, FIRST SERGEANT,” shouted the formation.
    The first sergeant laughed, and the other NCOs laughed with him.
    “Ch’yeah right, we’ll see about that. Okay, here it comes . . . Companaaaayyy! ”
    The NCOs surrounding the formation snapped their heads towards the recruits and repeated the preparatory command.
    “Right-FACE!”
    I did my best to mechanically rotate ninety degrees to starboard, bringing me face-to-face with another recruit who had turned the wrong way. An immediate chorus of hoots, catcalls, and profanity issued from the surrounding pack of NCOs, as recruits who had turned left—or not turned at all—blushed and shuffled their feet until everyone was facing in the same direction.
    “Jesus H,” said the first sergeant, shaking his head and smiling. “It’s gonna be a real fun group. Real fun. File from the left . . . column left . . . MARCH!”
    None of the recruits moved.
    “I said march, gawtdammit!”
    Suddenly people were bumping into people as half the formation lurched forward and the other half stayed where it was. Like buzzsaws, the surrounding NCOs descended into the throng, screaming, insulting, kicking, hitting, and knocking bags to the ground. The recruit behind me barged into my back full-force and I dropped both bags, suddenly relieved to be rid of them but then regretting it as a female corporal appeared and slapped the back of my head.
    “PICK UP THOSE EFFING BAGS RIGHT NOW, RECRUIT!”
    “Okay, okay, I only dropped them because—” (slap)
    “SHUT YOUR HOLE, RECRUIT, IS THAT HOW YOU SPEAK TO A NONCOMMISSIONED OFFICER?”
    “No, ma’am, I—” (slap)
    “ MA’AM? MY HELL,