Drinking coffee was a completely new experience for Spunkmeyer, and he felt like he needed to do it to look like an adult. It had a very delicious smell, and a welcome one after twelve weeks of things that certainly didn't smell delicious.

Evison allowed Spunkmeyer to carry his drink into the van with him. It was still dark, and Spunkmeyer's exhaustion and jet lag wasn't helping his basic concentration, as well as pulling himself out of the boot camp mindset.

"You'll be able to get a little more rest when we get there," Evison said, noting how bloodshot Spunkmeyer's eyes were. "Don't panic or worry. Trust me, this is a different environment. You'll learn what you need to learn, and when the day is over, that time is yours. Weekends are yours, too. We want you prepared for your job, but we also want to make sure you have time to focus on yourself, make friends. Hell, pilots and co-pilots have to get to know each other so they can function in a ruddy dropship together."

"Do you know who my partner's gonna be?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"You will work with multiple people until you find someone you work extraordinarily well with. After that, you'll both be put in the same unit." Evison merged with traffic on the freeway just outside the airport. "Best part is you won't have complete separation from the females. Only rule we have is that when it's lights-out, you're in your own rooms. We don't want any funny business."

"So, does that mean . . . people can date?"

"We generally frown upon that. I personally don't care as long as it's not interfering with your duties, so, if you have problems, just come to me. I won't tell a soul."

Everyone there is going to be over eighteen, which means I can't date anyone. Fuck it, I'm not interested right now anyways. Spunkmeyer took another sip of his coffee. "What else is different?"

"Well, with permission, you can leave base and visit the city. There are lots of places on base where you can go grab some real food, but most people prefer going into Denver. When you get your room, you really do have your own room, but there's one shower for the boys and one shower for the girls. Definitely, absolutely, positively do not get caught underdressed in the hallway. The females could see you, me or Larkins could see you, an officer could see you. You will get in serious trouble. Underdressed means no shirt, no pants, no shoes, or all of the above. With medical, we have great corpsmen who won't rush you and they'll always listen to you. Corporal Byrd is there most of the day, and he's excellent. Don't be afraid to go to him if you got even just a headache. He's the only NCO Larkins will fucking listen to."

Evison braked in front of a large gate, and rolled down the window as a man in utilities carrying a pulse rifle approached the van. "It's just me, Grenton!" He pulled his I.D. out of his breast pocket, and reached down to show the Marine.

"Right, you're all set, sir!" Grenton called back.

"Thank you! You've been up since four! Go get the next sentry, mate!" Evison rolled the window back up. "Sentries have the easiest job in the whole USCM, but be nice to them, because they're the ones protecting your ass." Evison became silent as he found a spot to park. Close to the parking lot was a massive hangar and runway. It was silent now, but in a few hours, it would be practically screaming with activity as planes, helicopters and dropships raced in and out of it.

The base was significantly larger than boot camp, and Spunkmeyer felt a little intimidated by it at first. He tightened the straps of his bag over his shoulder as he climbed out of the van, helped by Evison.

"Watch your step, mate," Evison said. "There you go. You feeling alright?"

Spunkmeyer was quiet, unsure of what to say.

"Culture shock, isn't it? Don't worry. You'll get plenty of time to adjust yourself." Evison turned his head a little, getting a better look at Spunkmeyer's face. "I bet I know what's up; you got to use the dunny, don't you?"

"What?"

Evison laughed. "That's the Aussie word for 'toilet,' mate! You probably haven't taken a proper shit in weeks." He patted Spunkmeyer's shoulder as he walked him into the main building, which was connected to the hangar. "Gets 'em every single time. I've been up here long enough to where I don't speak my own language, but I always ask about the dunny when I bring new Marines here. Every time I see that look on their face, I think, 'Oh, bloody hell, they gotta go. They're all backed up and that's why they're not saying a damn word because they're afraid of getting told to be quick about it.'"

Spunkmeyer found himself smiling a little. "Yeah, I guess . . . I guess that's true."

"I'm also getting the sense that you want to be alone for a little while."

Spunkmeyer nodded.

"You'll get that. I promise." Evison pushed open the doors to an open space inside the hangar. He frowned when he saw a group of pilots standing in formation, being berated by a well-built woman with a permanent scowl and a tight bun. "Bloody fuck," he whispered.

". . . I don't want to hear anymore laughing and giggling at five in the fucking morning!" Lieutenant Larkins was shouting. "I hear you shit-stains out of your rooms before six again, and you'll stand out here for two hours, got it?!"

It was quiet, until a sniff was heard.

"Private Ferro! I don't want to see or hear you fucking crying anymore!" Larkins marched up to a young lady with short, mouse-brown hair in the back of the formation. "I see it one more time, and I'm giving you a one-way ticket home, you got that?!"

Ferro looked down, struggling to restrain herself.

Larkins looked over at Evison. "Where the fuck have you been, kangaroo breath?! Giving the new guy coffee?!" She marched over to yank away Spunkmeyer's cup, and throw it across the hangar.

Spunkmeyer was thinking about his first night in boot camp, when his father's cap was taken from him. He looked down at his duffel bag. It's still there. It's still in there.

"Larkins, you know the rules," Evison growled. "Your bullshit is off-limits to the new Marines. General Paulson has personally spoken to you about this, and he has stated more than once that he'll gladly sign your dishonorable discharge papers if you so-"

"Do your own job, Evison! Give that kid a room and get back out here."

Spunkmeyer let his hand fall to his side when he realized he wasn't getting his coffee back. As he glanced forward, he noticed Ferro looking at him from the corner of his eye. Once they made eye contact, she looked away.


The rooms for each Marine were small, but much better than a rack with an outdated mattress. There was a lot more space for storage, as well as spots for personal items, like books or care packages from family.

Spunkmeyer closed the door after Evison left him alone, and began emptying his duffel bag. He hung up his dress uniforms in the closet, and put his foldable clothing in the drawers under the bed. His hygiene stuff was placed on a dresser across from the bed, and everything else was placed inside the dresser.

The last thing in his duffel bag was his father's ballcap.

Spunkmeyer sat on his bed, turning the cap over in his hands. He sighed, tears rolling down his face. The chaplain had gotten so close, but couldn't get any answers because of things beyond his control.

He emerged from his thoughts when he heard the rest of the division heading back to their rooms, and someone knocked on the door.

"Spunkmeyer," Evison called, "everyone's getting ready to go to breakfast. You can stay here, if you want."

Putting the cap in a drawer with a lock, Spunkmeyer tucked the key in his pocket before opening the door. He took advantage of everyone being gone by heading to the communal restroom. It was the closest he was going to get to privacy.

He was in there for some time, allowing his body to take its time and relax. He was used to being alone whenever he did his really personal stuff; after all, Miss Kendriss was rarely home, granting him all the privacy in the world. It made him anxious whenever someone was close by while he was doing his business, and he could never explain the reason.

Mealtimes were usually short at boot camp, and Spunkmeyer noticed everyone was still gone around the twenty-minute mark. After finishing his business, he looked into the hallway, half-expecting to see everyone returning in line. A few minutes later, people were returning in small groups, talking amongst themselves. A young man with short, black hair approached Spunkmeyer, saying, "Hey, need help getting your room set up?"

"Is there a certain way it has to be done?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No, but there're a couple things you don't need anymore. I'll show you. Name's Herschel, by the way."

"Spunkmeyer."

"Neat." Herschel walked into Spunkmeyer's room. "All your clothes fit?"

"Yeah. I've been losing a lot of weight, so, some of it is a little loose."

"Don't worry about that. We got a big stash of clothes you can pick from if you need new stuff. Where're your cammies?"

"Under the bed."

"Hand 'em over. Don't need 'em anymore. You'll be getting your new uniform tomorrow. It's a quick process, but the uniform guys are really nice and make sure everything fits you. Keep your black hat, though. Gimme your dress uniform, too. You'll get a new one for graduation and special events in a few months." Herschel tossed Spunkmeyer's uniforms over his shoulder, and looked at the dresser. "We got shops here on base if you wanna get a better toothbrush and soap and stuff."

Spunkmeyer was quiet for a moment, staring blankly out into the hallway. "Hey, who's the girl that was crying earlier?"

"Ferro? Oh, she's always been struggling with Larkins. She's actually behind in a lot of her tests and stuff. She should be graduating in three months, but it looks like she'll be graduating the same time as you if you don't get on Larkins's bad side. Ferro's a little shy, but really nice. I think she needs a close friend. She doesn't get along with her training partner."

"How come?"

"They irritate each other. Evison's been trying to find somebody else to work with Ferro, but he hasn't found a good match just yet, and that pisses off Larkins because she thinks he's coddling her. Anyway, even though Larkins is a bitch for most of the day, this place isn't bad. Just listen to her and you'll pass with flying colors." Herschel smiled, then frowned a little. "Are you OK? You look something's on your mind."

"I'm alright. Just . . . getting used to everything, that's all."

"Well, if you need anything, just ask. You're a newbie, so, if you see us going somewhere, it doesn't mean you have to go, too. That's all tomorrow."


Spunkmeyer napped until the lunch hour, and followed the others into the mess hall. Like the rest of the base, the mess hall was larger and nicer than the one at boot camp, and it looked like there were a lot more options in terms of food. Plus, everything looked fresh.

"You don't have to get in line. Go where you want to go," Evision said. "You feeling OK? Most people are usually perked up and rearing to go by now. You just look . . . You look like something's bothering you, or you've got a fever."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "If I tell you what's going on, can you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure. Spill it, mate."

"I really don't have a family. Y'know, they didn't . . . want me, at birth, and the nurse took pity on me, but that was it. She felt bad, but didn't realize kids are a lot of work, so, all along, she didn't want me, either. My real dad apparently left a baseball cap with me, and I had it taken away as soon as I got to training and the chaplain was nice enough to pick it up and . . . he tried to trace the cap's seller, hoping that it would lead to my dad, and . . . he got pretty far, but the store doesn't keep old receipts, so there's no more trail. We followed it as far as it'll go. It's not . . . It's not reasonable to try to keep searching, and I don't know what to do."

"Well, I don't know if that's the only trail you can cover, but I do know that you will find people here who'll become your family. Your unit will become your family. It's not going to fill that space in your heart, but it will lessen the pain. You have value to someone. Don't ever convince yourself that because you were rejected by your biological parents and your adoptive mother, you will never make something of yourself. Someone out there-could be a friend, a future girlfriend-will love you. No one is ever put here to be unloved."

Spunkmeyer nodded, taking a breath. "Alright. Thanks for . . . f-for just listening."

"No problem. Now, go get some food in your stomach, and try to talk to people. I won't always be here, so you'll have to rely on someone else, OK?" Evison gently nudged Spunkmeyer along.

With that little weight off his shoulders, Spunkmeyer took a tray and wandered around the mess hall, picking and choosing what he wanted to eat. He then decided to sit near Herschel, who had been waving him over. He also noticed Ferro sitting at the other end of the table with some of the other females, appearing bored with their conversation, but also trying not to show it.

A part of Spunkmeyer felt like talking to her, but he resisted that urge. I'm the new guy. That'd be weird.

Herschel asked the simple questions first, like where Spunkmeyer was from and whatnot. Spunkmeyer decided to be upfront and honest about his situation, without informing Herschel that he was well under the legal age for a Marine.

The topic of being adopted didn't last very long, which Spunkmeyer appreciated. What followed were the country boys asking what New York City was like, and vice versa. At least the one thing the majority of them had in common was some kind of baseball experience when they were kids.

Herschel was nice enough, but Spunkmeyer wasn't sure if he'd be the person to go to if something was wrong. Of course, it's too soon to tell. Give it time. You're not gonna make friends overnight.


The rest of the day went by rather slowly. Spunkmeyer was able to walk around and visit the lounge while everyone else was in the hangar with training. He was the only person there until a man with dark ginger hair strolled in, and smiled when he saw him.

"You're Private Spunkmeyer, right?" the man asked. "I'm Corporal Byrd, head corpsman. Can you come with me for a minute?"

Spunkmeyer stood up, following Byrd down to sick bay.

"You're not in trouble. Sometimes, they do a sloppy job of sending all your files up from recruit training. I just want to make sure all this information is intact and correct. Have a seat." Byrd closed the door to his office. "You are . . . PFC Daniel Spunkmeyer, age eighteen . . . Social Security number . . . military I.D. . . . male sex . . . no outstanding medical history." He glanced at Spunkmeyer. "You have had no sexual relationships, partners, encounters, and the like?"

"No, sir."

"Good. No abnormalities in your urine. Don't worry, I won't ask you to provide a sample now. Eyesight is phenomenal. Hearing, good." Byrd skimmed through another paper. "No wisdom teeth?"

"They haven't come in yet."

"OK. Blood type, AB-positive. Everything else . . . looks good." Byrd smiled. "Anything bothering you right now?"

Spunkmeyer shook his head.

"Good. I don't overreact. I use my common sense and don't jump to the absolute worst conclusion. So, that's all I needed. Thank you."

"Really? That's it?"

Byrd nodded. "Be advised, we do have random urine tests from time to time. Keep that in mind."

He didn't seem at all suspicious that Spunkmeyer was lying about something.


The entire base was immediately cloaked with silence after all the lights went out. Spunkmeyer lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. Again, the silence was unbearable. It was soon broken by the hum of a generator, but it wasn't enough to lull him off to sleep. He felt like crying; homesickness crept up on him. Despite everything that had happened, he still considered New York to be home. The familiarity of everything had been stripped away. He had taken it away from himself. If he had just held out for two more years, he would've gotten himself a job and stayed in the city.

It just seemed so easy to quit, but he didn't want to back out on this. He had barely gotten started, and he did pass boot camp; surely, that was a sign that he was meant to do this and continue onward.

Eventually, Spunkmeyer drifted into a dreamless sleep. He was jolted awake at six in the morning by someone knocking on the door.

"Time to get up, Spunkmeyer! Rise and shine, mate!" Evison called. "Get dressed, come on down for breakfast!"

People moved along at their own pace in the mess hall. Just like the day before, Spunkmeyer sat with Herschel, and kept glancing at Ferro, who was now by herself. For a second, Spunkmeyer looked down at his food, and felt like someone was staring at him. He switched his gaze upward, and saw Ferro looking at him from the corner of his eye. This time, he moved his head in order to get full eye contact with her.

Shyly, he waved, and she shyly waved back.

Go talk to her, you dork. She waved back, that means you can initiate a conversation with her . . . right? Spunkmeyer held back, going back to his breakfast. He noticed he didn't have much of an appetite anymore.


Spunkmeyer kept thinking about that little wave while getting fitted for his new uniform. He kept thinking about it for most of the day, as he got started with training. Everything began with safety, and correctly wearing your flight harness. Didn't matter what you were flying, you wore a helmet and harness.

Larkins passed training guides out to the Marines seated in the classroom. "I expect you all to be studying these in your free time. You get way too much of that here, so why don't you use it productively? Tests are given regularly, and if I don't see passing marks on all of them, I don't want to see you fucking flying. The first section is on safety and what to do in a training accident. Read it and study it. We will be going over it tomorrow. Dismissed."

Today was much slower than yesterday. Spunkmeyer was glad his mind was a little more occupied, but it would be some time before he got into the swing of his new routine.

Every day would end with a fifteen-minute exercise session. While most people immediately went to shower afterward, Spunkmeyer isolated himself to study the training guide. He lay flat on his stomach, on his bed, with the book open in front of him. He figured he would read, and then shower when the crowd thinned out.

He paused when he heard someone crying, and got up to open his door and see Ferro slamming the door shut to her own room. An awful feeling starting up in his gut, Spunkmeyer stepped out in the hallway, taking a deep breath before knocking on Ferro's door.


Question: How is Spunkmeyer's attitude toward his issues different from Drake's? Hicks's? Hudson's?