Crosshairs
A PJO fanfic
Before we begin, a story for you all. A man fires a rifle for many years, and then goes to war. Once the war is won, he hands the rifle back to the armoury, and thinks he is done with the rifle. He is wrong. No matter what his hands do afterwards in his life, love a woman, buy a house, raise a son, it will be insignificant to firing that rifle.
Chapter One: Empty Jar
"You are no longer black, or white, or yellow, or brown!" The Gunny stalks across the two rows of recruits, facing inwards, standing tall, eyes darting from side to side out of nervousness, jarheads fresh from the razors. "You are GREEN! You are light green, or dark green! Understand, maggots?" He roars at us. We are not Marines, not yet, not by a long shot. We don't even have the standard issue MARPAT camouflage uniform, instead having the old woodland camouflage pattern. We are not human either. We are maggots.
"Sir yes sir!" We recruits scream. If we don't scream, the Gunny will roar in our face till we do, and then he'll scream some more. He turns his attention to me. Shit.
"Private Jackson! You the maggot who's daddy was a SEAL?"
"Sir yes sir!"
I can't hear you, Jackson!" Get my point?
"SIR YES SIR!"
"Out-fucking-standing. Did he ever talk about it?"
"Sir, he was KIA in Gulf War One, sir!"
"Good. Then you know your mother isn't full of bullshit!" The recruit next to me glances towards the Gunny.
"Private Grace, you checkin' me out?"
"Sir no sir!"
"Weren't you eyeballin' me with those baby blues?"
"Sir yes sir!"
"Well if you weren't checkin' me out, then you must think I look ugly in my uniform?"
"Sir, the private thinks you look wonderful in your uniform, sir!"
"Are you gay, private? Do you suck dick?" Gunny glares at Grace, who's looking uncomfortable.
"Sir no sir!" His voice is getting hoarse too.
"So do you have a girlfriend, private?" Gunny's still screaming.
"Sir yes sir!"
"Not anymore. You're married to the corps, so get down and give me twenty for each time she'd get banged this month!" Grace drops down, and begins his press-ups. One hundred later, he climbs to his feet, exhausted. By that time Gunny has already found a new target.
"Private Turner. You're good at math, right?" Gunny storms over to a skinny and tall recruit with craters like the moon left over from his puberty years.
"Sir yes sir."
"I'm sorry private; my hearing must be going, because I didn't hear a fucking word you just said!"
"Sir yes sir!" Gunny cups a hand around his ear, signalling he still 'hasn't heard' Turner.
"SIR YES SIR!"
"Third time lucky, right private?"
"SIR YES SIR."
"Wrong! You get things done the first time in my beloved corps, and you get them right! Do I make myself clear, maggot?"
"SIR YES SIR!"
"Out-fucking-standing. You might make a marine yet!" Marine. It's the title we're all aspiring towards. Jarhead. The title that comes with it, coming from the regulation haircut we all now sport. Jar, empty, nothing in it, therefore stating that the Marine's head is empty, has no knowledge inside, the Corps will fill that empty head. "Turner, what's forty five add six?" Gunny asks Turner a simple question.
"Sir, fifty-one, sir!" Gunny begins slapping the back of Turner's head.
"Excellent, now take three away from that?" Turner can't focus; I can see it on his face. He's struggling. "What's the matter Turner?" Can't focus?"
"Sir no sir!"
"Then how the FUCK will you fire your rifle when artillery is coming down on your position, when you can't even do a little math while I'm pussy-slapping you. Get down and give me fifty NOW!" Gunny screams in Turner's face, and Tuner drops. My name is Percy Jackson, and only now do I think that joining the Marine Corps was a bad idea.
