Free Forever by Jeff Holmes

group in front of the barracks. It was easy to see who’d been off post and who’d been on, as there was a mix of fatigues and khakis in the formation.
    Drill Sergeant Sprouil stood in front of the formation. “Second Platoon!” he shouted. “Let’s see if your sorry asses can march to breakfast one more time.”
    They could. It was a happy morning for everyone. It was time to go. After breakfast, Sprouil came over to Scott. “When you get back, go park the pretty blue car up there next to mine, Mitchell. The captain wants it out of the way.”
    “I will, drill sergeant.” Scott said. Having the car here solved some problems. When he returned to the barracks, he pulled the car next to Sprouil’s green and khaki Grand Prix. The parking area looked like a Pontiac showroom.
    He ran back to the barracks and grabbed his winter coat and the long-sleeved shirt and jeans he’d worn in March. Roni had brought him four pairs of shorts, about a half-dozen t-shirts and extra socks and underwear. Scott packed the winter stuff in the trunk, then snatched the “special” cigarette pack Roni had brought.
    Rick had taken all the real cigarettes out of a pack of Scott’s Marlboro Menthols, put six nicely rolled joints in it and replaced the rest of the pack with the real thing. Roni wrapped it in the t-shirts and stuffed them deep in his duffle bag. She’d thought of everything.
    There was a last-day-of-school feel to everything; nothing seemed organized. The guys who were headed out on leave were rushing around, getting leave papers finalized, making arrangements to get to the bus station or the airport. “You’ve have thought some of these guys would have thought of this shit already,” Andy said to Scott.
    “Well, not everyone plans as well as you, Andrew,” Scott replied.
    They gazed around the barracks. The mattresses were all off the bunks now and stacked up on the back dock. D-5-2 would be shut down for four weeks before the next cycle came in the second week in June.
    “I wonder,” Scott asked, “what the next guys who are going to be in here next are doing right now?”
    “Probably,” Andy said, “wishing they were us.”
    “Probably,” Scott agreed.
     
    At 0930, the men of D-5-2 lined up for the final march to graduation. Before Adams called the final formation to attention, Sprouil and Alexander stood before Second Platoon one last time.
    “It has been an honor, gentlemen, to have trained all of you,” Alexander said. “Our next platoon will have a lot to live up to. You came here as children, but you’re leaving as men.”
    “You’ve worked hard,” Sprouil said. “I didn’t think some of you could do it, but you all did. It’s been an absolute honor to work with you, and I’d be proud to serve with any of you.”
    For the first few weeks of basic training, Scott hated those guys. It was as if, in the midst of his pain, they had been sent out of the mouth of Hell just to torment him. But as time went on, he understood; you could either be beaten or win, Sgt. Alexander had always said. For a long time, Scott was beaten, but between these two drills, and Roni’s letters, he’d survived. He’d won.
     
    They marched on to the parade grounds under the cloudless Missouri sky. Bleachers were filled with family and friends of D-5-2 and A-4-4 and both brigade commanders and a host of other officers stood on the reviewing stand.
    As they marched into position in front of the reviewing stand and were put at parade rest, Scott finally had a chance to scan. He finally spotted Mollie’s sun-bleached hair. Cheryl Day was sitting on one side and Roni was on the other. She looked stunning in a blue, flowered sundress.
    “Look at our ladies, Day,” Scott whispered to Andy.
    “I am,” he said. “Bet your ass I am.”
    Roni had pulled the front of her hair back and had it braided behind her head. Her shoulders were bare except for the straps of her dress and she even took her sunglasses off so she could