"Shit Sarge, you sure this is a good idea? The Captain will have us running Currahee with our balls strapped to artillery shells!"

"Shut your mouth Braeburn, this is your initiation into Easy, you want be one of the guys dontcha? Shit son, you're greener than grass, and it's time to get a bit dirty before you take on Jerry eh?"

"Yea, I guess you're right, but still, his PT gear? Sir, he wears that get up under his uniform every day."

"Just do it, or Malarky and Garneier will get you while you sleep, and Garneier is already in a pissy mood."

Pvt. Braeburn gulped down the spit that had been building up in his mouth before he slowly opened the door to Captain Sobel's quarters, itching powder in hand. With a rag over his mouth to stifle any sound, he crept toward Sobel's trunk, lifted the lid, and dumped half the bottle onto his training shorts and shirt. Once the deed was done, they quickly scurried out of there and returned to barracks as though nothing had happened. Until the next morning…

"WHO IN THE SAM HELL DECIDED TO FUCK WITH MY CLOTHING LAST NIGHT!?", cried Captain Sobel, itching and scratching, trying to rip his skin off. Farther down the ranks, Braeburn let out a small, yet audible snicker. It was all Sobel needed to find the perpetrator.

"Pvt. Braeburn…", Sobel said calmly, with malice through clenched teeth. "Can you come down to the front please…? I SAID NOW PRIVATE, GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

The air was quiet. Not a sound resonated in the barracks; the men weren't even breathing. Nervously, Braeburn made his way double time to the front of the column. Sobel grabbed the Pvt. by the arm and led him behind the building. Listening intently, the entire company waited to hear the ass whooping Sobel was about to give the young soldier. But strangely enough, nothing was said. No screams, no fists colliding with soft skin, not even the shuffle of feet. No one dared see what was happening. But within minutes, Sobel reappeared from behind the building, itching harder than ever. His knuckles were not bruised, and there was no blood to be seen. Now the question was what had happened to Pvt. Braeburn?

The answer would have to wait. "Since you ladies think it's funny to play pranks on your commanding officers, I think that I should return the favour. PT TIME EASY, YOU'RE RUNNING CURRAHEE TIL YOU LEGS FALL OFF. MOVE IT MOVE IT!!"

Sobel couldn't help but grin, watching his entire company trudging up the mountain, itching madly and grumbling. Pvt. Braeburn stood behind him, handed him the itching powder and nervously asked, "Sir, since I did what you asked, am I going to be punished?" Sobel slowly turned toward the groveling private. "Of course not, you have done your part", as he patted him on the back. Looking extremely relieved, Braeburn turned to head down the mountain. Once he was out of sight, Sobel revealed what had been in his hand when he had patted the private, the half empty bottle of itching powder. Sobel laughed whole heartedly as the sounds of pain arose from Braeburn.

"Don't mess with Easy," he muttered under his breath.