Second To None – Second WOT

By Rocza

Status: Complete

Sequel Information: 1. To Sleep, Perchance To Dream, 2. Ay, There's The Rub, 3. For In This Sleep Of Death, 4. What Dreams May Come, 5. Second To None – Zero Week, 6. Second To None – First WOT

Series Information: Jon's Series (To Sleep Perchance to Dream)

Season: 9

Spoilers: 0000 Stargate Movie, 0101 Children of the Gods, 0203 Prisoners, 0312 Jolinar's Memories, 0313 The Devil You Know, 0318 Shades of Grey, 0606 Abyss

Categories: Angst, Humor, POV

Pairing: None

Content Level: R

Content Warning: Language, references to torture, Adult Themes

Summary: Jon-Jack's Clone-tries to stay busy during Basic Training – Second WOT

Archive Permissions: Any who want it are welcome. Just give me credit.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and Atlantis and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; not me. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

Author's Notes: Here is part 7 in this series. Yes, the often called for 'mini-me in basic' story, part three. THIS SECTION IS DARKER THAN THE OTHERS. IT DEALS SPECIFICALLY WITH JACK'S TIME IN IRAQ. Until this point in training, the trainees are put under so much stress that they are basically stripped of their individuality. This section deals with the mental and emotional changes that take place as a result. For Jon, this means addressing some of Jack's darker memories and questioning who he is in relation to Jack. If you don't like the dark stuff then skip the Code of Conduct briefing. The rest still has the humorous stuff interjected.

Also, for one of the pranks in this section, I have to describe the standard BMT dormitory building at Lackland AFB. The building is perfectly square. Dorms are located on the 2nd and 3rd floors and accessed through the corners, 4 per corner. The whole first floor is the DH, classrooms, and offices. CQ is in the center of the square on the first floor and is only accessible through a hallway. However, the center of the square is empty on the 2nd and 3rd floors. All the 16 dayrooms overlook this central courtyard roof. I think it is part of the conditioning. You can look out a window and only see this little corner of the world and nothing else.

Special Thanks: To Von at livestock is always funny. To Astra who wanted a bit more on PC (I updated Zero Week & First WOT just for you). To Spec Skippy and his list of infinite possibilities and JillPadelf for directing me to it.

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"Do something. If it works, do more of it. If it doesn't, do something else." Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882-1945) Thirty-second President of the USA.

Second WOT Agenda: Rendering Courtesies, Human Relations, Self Aid and Buddy Care, Law of Armed Conflict, Code of Conduct, Cultural Sensitivity, Weapons Cleaning, Warrior Role, Job Classification Interviews

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Reveille sounded on the second week of training. Jon pulled himself out of bed slower than usual. Setting up today's prank had taken longer than he liked and as a consequence, he had only gotten about three hours of sleep.

Good thing it was Sunday. No PC on Sundays. Man, how sad was it that he was so very grateful for the tiniest respite. You're losing your touch, O'Neill. This is a cake walk compared to some of the missions you've been on. You've worked harder on less sleep. Okay, not you, Jack. Why is that so hard to remember here?

Today, only SrA Reglin was in residence. And while he didn't fail to reinforce the unit's extremely high standard, Sunday's were technically a day of rest. So, after the dorm was cleaned to his exacting standards, for the first time in a week, the TI let the trainees go to the break patio and call home. However, this time the trainees could do more than just quickly recite their new mailing address.

Jon had gone out with the others to the patio to enjoy the summer Texas heat. He sat out of the way and stared through the decorative cinder block wall, not even bothering to get in the line to use the phone. He wasn't really looking at anything in particular. Just setting his mind free. This past week, he had kept his mental shields tightly up. The whole Flight was under an acute amount of stress, including Jon. He didn't want to accidentally leak his thoughts onto the other kids in the Flight, nor did he want to pick up their tension as his own.

As a result his mental wall was so thick, he could no longer sense the others nearby. And while the relief was nice, Jon felt alone in his head. Not just alone. Lonely. How sad is that? I miss the strange voices in my head. Man, do I have to get a grip.

But it was Sunday. The rest of the Flight, heck the squadron, was starting to relax. However, instead of relaxing himself, Jon was tense. He felt closed in. Trapped. He knew, cognitively, that none of the doors were locked and the patio didn't even have a gate. He really could walk away at any time. Heck, he could go to the Chaplin at any time and quit, just like any other trainee. He wasn't really trapped or locked up. But, even though he was here by choice, he felt like he was back in prison. He really didn't like feeling captive.

Maybe it was the lack of privacy, or the lack of sleep, or the lack of respect from the TI's. But he could feel their conditioning kicking in and his natural instinct was to fight it. Jack's memories of Officer Candidate School were the similar. In that sense, BMT and OCS were exactly the same. Take a bunch of individuals and strip them down to emotionally blank slates, then rebuild them the way you want them.

And Jon could feel them striping away his individuality, institutionalizing him. He had just failed to realize that they were striping away the part of him that was Jon, and not Jack. Jon was a thin veneer over Jack's memories and a two year old cloned body. He was both blessed and cursed with Jack's memories. He had worked hard to separate himself from those memories. To build Jon on top of those memories. Overwriting Jack's memories with new ones of Jon. High school had been the start.

But now the part of him that was Jon was being striped away and soon only the shell would be left. Already he felt hallow, empty, distant. He was having a hard time remembering that he was in BMT and not in a prisoner. That he was Jon, and not Jack.

He could remember so many different prisons, so like BMT. Iraq wasn't the first or the last, and in some ways wasn't even the worst, but it was the longest. Jack's memories of that prison were still etched bright and clear in his mind. His nightmares ensured that. And he remembered that same feeling of resignation that BMT was instilling in him now. Resignation that he had to endure whatever was thrown at him. Determination to see it through to the end. Except that the Iraqi walls were locked and he couldn't opt out.

For Jon, the mental walls in BMT were as solid as the physical walls in Iraq. But because he could opt out, he couldn't. Hey, no one ever said that he had to make sense. But Jack had survived Iraq. Jack survived OCS. And while Jon remembered what it felt like, he didn't feel that HE had earned the right to those feelings, or that sense of accomplishment. Jon had felt the need to go to BMT, not because he wanted to kill time, as he had presented to SG-1, but because he felt the need to prove to himself that he could be just as strong as Jack. Not a cheap copy, but a separate individual, just as good as the original.

A clone with feelings of inadequacy. Imagine that!

"Attention in the squadron. Training Instructors are reminded that they are not authorized to purchase anyone's soul on government time. Repeat, Training Instructors are reminded that they are not authorized to purchase anyone's soul on government time. All soul transactions must be conducted in off-duty hours. Contact the Chaplin's Office for details."

Jon smiled. That was something that Jack had never accomplished. He had been able to pull a few pranks in his misguided youth. But nothing as elaborate and lengthy as the pranks that Jon was pulling now. Of course, technology was better today.

Not that technology had helped him smuggle the chicken in last night. He wondered how the TI's handled the rooster in their locker-room. He could just imagine the mess the thing had made. Of course, that damn bird wouldn't shut up. Who knew that chickens liked to cluck in their damn sleep? Jon had almost smothered the stupid thing just to get it past the CQ.

"O'Neill, you all right?" Jon looked up to see one of his element leaders, Skoke, looking at him with concern.

"I'm fine," Jon was quick with a practiced reply.

"Then what's with the face?" Skoke sat next to Jon and started to watch the outside world with him.

"Face?"

"Yeah, like someone just killed your cat. You get bad news from home?"

"Nah, I didn't make a call. Just pondering life, the universe, and everything," Jon quipped.

"Pretty hefty stuff for a Sunday afternoon."

Jon snorted, "Yeah, but I got nothing better to do than solve the riddles of the universe. What about you? Sick of the ATO already?"

Skoke shrugged, "Yeah, but what else is there to read?"

"Too true."

Skoke turned to Jon and asked quietly, "Is it really like this? The Air Force I mean? I don't think I can hack this for four years, if this is all there is to it."

Jon gave him a small frown, "Why are you asking me?"

"Because you know things. You don't ever read the ATO, but seem to be able to answer all the questions the TI's have thrown at you. You have an uncle in already. I was hoping that maybe, you know, he told you what it was really like. We all know that the recruiters feed us a line of bullshit to get us in. But… I mean, I think I can make it for a few weeks, but four years of this would drive me nuts."

"Ah… well, the best answer is yes and no. Yes, it is at times exactly like this… sometimes worse… But also no, most of the time its not. It's something completely different than civilian life. Just not like this either. I remember…." Jon stopped himself. "My uncle would talk about deployments where the stress… operational stress… was as bad as BMT. That's why BMT is so tough. It's teaching you about this kind of stress and how to deal with it. Push past it and still do the job, regardless, the mission comes first. But, here instead of an enemy shelling the dorm area, we have TI's yelling at us constantly... Oddly enough, the effect is the same… Anyway, the TI's also use BMT as a way to screen out those people who just aren't cut out for this type of life." Jon considered BMT, its stresses, and Jack's memories. "It shows you up front how bad it can get. So you can decide if it is worth it. Better to have a trainee quit in BMT rather than later, after they have been trained. Or worse, to have them crack under the strain when on a mission..."

Was it worth it? He wasn't Jack. He didn't HAVE to go back. To risk everything for this world over and over again. He didn't ever have to risk imprisonment and torture ever again. Jack had risked everything and lost so much because of his choices. Small pieces of his soul. Did Jon want to follow that same path, knowing exactly what he would lose? All he had to do was quit. It wasn't too late to enroll in some college and pursue a different career path, to take this second chance to live a 'normal' life. To tell the Air Force to go to hell.

"I've never thought of it that way before. I guess, when put that way… well, I do think it's worth it," Skoke's quiet statement brought Jon out of his depressing thoughts. "I mean, I'll be protecting my little sister's freedom. I know, its cliché, but in my heart I know it's true. And ensuring that she continues to play, oblivious to the threats to her freedom, well, THAT makes it worth it. For me, anyway."

"Yes, it does," Jon replied before lapsing into a comfortable silence. He pulled out one of Jack's memories, when Jack had taken SG-1 to the park to meet with Cassie and Dr. Frasier.

Watching the children playing at the park, Teal'c had told Jack how fortunate the Tau'ri were to be able to allow their children to grow and play without the fear of death looming over them constantly. He explained how Jaffa children learn early on to fear the visit of their false god and how they started training to fight as soon as they could hold a staff weapon. Until that day, Jack had taken that freedom for granted. The right to be oblivious. The freedom that allows a child to grow up with only a child's concerns.

"Yes, it does," Jon repeated, quietly. Maybe he could continue to defend those who weren't even aware that they needed defending; to ensure that his planet could continue to develop, oblivious to the threats in the galaxy and the greater universe. Yeah, that would definitely be worth it.

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"Monday, Monday… so good to me… Monday mornin', it was all I hoped it would be…" The sound of The Mamas and the Papas rolled through the dorm waking the Flight. Followed quickly by the TI's.

"COME ON LADIES. THIS SHOULD BE OLD HAT BY NOW. MOVE IT. TIME FOR PC."

Jon jogged through the bays one last time and lined up. Today was strength training. They would skip the running today in favor of the ever popular push-ups and sit-ups. The Flight marched to the parade ground and paired off.

After PC, the Flight changed and formed up for breakfast. This was the first week they were allowed to wear boots. Jon was glad to get that small bit of comfort back. The sneakers never did feel right when in uniform.

As he approached the serving line, the trainee in front of him pointed to the first empty tray on the serving line, grinning, "Skip that one, it's glued down."

Jon grinned back, "Thanks." He passed the information on to the next trainee. It was the little things that made him happy. Boots on his feet and a prank gone well. Eating quickly, Jon was in a relatively good mood when the TI marched them out for drill practice.

This week had the Flight drilling every morning with classes in the afternoon. Jon assumed that was because the Texas weather was rapidly heating up past red flag and into black flag conditions. This basically meant that all their outdoor activities were curtailed in the heat of the day to prevent heat stress injuries.

Also looking at the schedule, Jon noticed that this week was going to be extra boring for him. All the classes were right out of the ATO. Customs and Courtesies, Dress and Appearance, Human Relations, and Law of Armed Conflict were all old friends to him. Weapons cleaning, come on, really, he could clean the M-16 in his sleep, in the dark. Hell, he could remember Jack doing just that. And for all he 'technically' had never held the weapon before last week, it felt like an old friend in his hands.

Self Aid and Buddy Care would be a good refresher, but he doubted that the class would go beyond basic first aid in the field. Now at Cheyenne Mountain, Dr Frasier had updated the basic course to a more detailed class with extensive information on burns and long term wound care. Unfortunately, they had all used that information all too often.

Don't go there Jon. It wasn't you, it was Jack. You have to remember that. Jon, not Jack.

It was the last few classes that had Jon worried. The Code of Conduct and Cultural Sensitivity were back to back with the LOAC briefing. With the present political situation in the world, the only culture that would be covered in any detail would be the Arabic Muslims, maybe the Koreans, but most likely, just the Muslims. Add that to the Code and Jon wasn't sure he could survive that class with his control intact. At least we won't be covering how to play nice with your ex-torturer. But if Bocce shows up in any of these briefings, all bets were off.

I've got a few days to get my shit together. I can do this. Jon, not Jack, remember. It didn't happen to me. I can do this.

That evening after dinner, TSgt Vega pulled Jon aside, "Dorm Chief."

"Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered."

"Do you think the Flight is ready for an inspection?"

Now, why in the hell would he ask me? He is the one to thrash the lockers on almost a daily basis. Crap! This is another damn test. Another game of double jeopardy. I'm getting so sick of these games.

"No, Sir. I don't think that the Flight would pass inspection at this time, Sir. However, I do think that an inspection would assist them in learning exactly where their deficiencies are, Sir. It would also allow the Flight to see exactly how an inspection is performed, Sir. So, I believe that the Flight would gain some positive benefit from an inspection at this time, Sir."

"Very well, Dorm Chief. Have the Flight ready for inspection in one hour. Dismissed," TSgt Vega remarked, before turning to leave the dorm with SrA Reglin.

Great! Jon let out an audible sigh. "FLIGHT, REPORT TO THE DAYROOM, STAT." The trainees left off their assigned tasks to hurry to the dayroom. "We have exactly one hour to make this dorm inspection ready. Finish your assigned cleaning task then report to your element leader or myself for additional assignment. Latrine Queen, leave the first stall for last. Anyone needing to use the latrine, go now. In ten minutes, the latrine will be off limits until the inspection is over. Double check everything. Dust every surface. Set your lockers in order after you complete the common areas. Buddy checks on your bunk-mate. Questions?" He paused, waiting for a question. "Alright, let's go!"

An hour later, Jon had the trainees stand by their lockers in preparation of the inspection. The Flight was called to attention as the TI's arrived.

"Dorm Chief."

Jon walked up to the blue rope TI heading the inspection team, one of the few female TI's in the unit, MSgt Crawley. "Ma'am, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered."

"Is your Flight ready for inspection, Dorm Chief?"

Not by a long shot. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. Report back to your position."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jon executed an about-face and walked back to his bunk.

For whatever reason, the TI's had left Jon for last. They had worked their way around both bays and the common area. They were inspecting his bunk mate, Trainee Skoke, when the PA activated, "Attention in the squadron. Until further notice, sock puppets are not authorized to take control of any Entry Control point. Repeat, sock puppets are not authorized to take control of any Entry Control point. Sock puppets must first complete the required Entry Controller training. Contact CQ for details."

Jon had managed to stifle his smile and maintain his position at attention. He heard the blue rope sigh. "When are they going to catch that guy?... Shirt unbuttoned. It's getting a bit ridiculous… Socks folded backwards. The commander has changed the PA phone number three times so far… Hangers not evenly spaced."

"That's all, Trainee." TSgt Vega told Jon's bunk mate. "I don't know. I was steamed at first… Trainee, open your locker and step back… But now… It's not hurting anyone."

"Yet," the blue rope replied. "T-shirts not flush… I'm just surprised that no one has any idea who it is… Everyone in the unit has been accounted for during at least one prank. You don't think that one of the other units is behind it, do you?"

TSgt Vega, chuckled, "Not likely… ATO not square and flush… I would think that someone would notice a stranger in the squadron. Remember quite a few pranks were pulled during daylight hours… That's all, Trainee." TSgt Vega and the blue rope walked away to inspect the common areas.

Jon smirked, they didn't even suspect a trainee. Sweet! He heard the dorm door open and close. "FLIGHT, REPORT TO THE DAYROOM."

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Tuesday was essentially a repeat of Monday with only minor differences. PC was cardiovascular training, i.e. running, rather than strength training. And the afternoon classes were on Human Relations and the proper way to render Military Courtesies.

By mid-morning half the Flight was peeing blue or green. The trainees dutifully reported the prank. Apparently, the morning coffee at the Dining Hall had been spiked this time. The ones peeing green were chastised for not drinking enough water.

That evening the TI allowed those trainees who had received less than five marks on their inspection to go back out to the break patio as a reward. And Jon was, once again, staring out across the parade ground through the decorative brick, trying to find his center. He was a bit melancholy when he heard the PA announcement.

"Attention in the squadron. Trainees entering Warrior Week may not line their helmets with tin foil. Repeat, trainees entering Warrior Week may not line their helmets with tin foil. The tin foil interferes with the mind control lasers used by the Training Instructors. Trainees caught with tin foil will be recycled to First WOT for re-education." Around him, Jon could hear the other trainees snicker.

"I knew it. Mind control lasers," one laughed out loud.

"Oh, come on, it's not so bad," another trainee remarked. They were from one of the older Flights. "What week are you?"

"Second," replied someone from Jon's Flight.

"And you're on patio break already? Damn. Your TI is soft," a different trainee sneered.

Jon laughed out loud at the trainee, startling the group.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

Jon stood up to face the trainee. They were about equal height. The other guy outweighed him by a few pounds and was trying to loom over him. That made him smile. He was a bully. And I love bully-baiting. Granted this guy was no System Lord. But, hey, you take what you can get.

Jon gave him a maniacal grin, "Someone too stupid to know the difference between lax training and superior leadership." Jon felt his Flight-mates close ranks behind him as he baited the bully. "Between brute force…" Jon pointed to the bully, "… and superior quality…" Jon motioned to the rest of his Flight-mates. "Obviously, your TI has had to work twice as hard to beat the rules into your thick skull… Of course, that would take longer than simply instructing a quality trainee." Jon gave him a raised eyebrow for good measure.

The bully turned a deep red. Jon stood ready and loose, waiting. When the bully finally lost control and took a swing, Jon simply stepped aside. The bully stumbled nearly falling. "Careful, wouldn't want you to fall down and get hurt," he called after the bully, taunting him more.

The bully recovered and turned to try and swing again. Jon saw a flash of blue in the corner of his eye just as the bully swung again. This time as he side-stepped, he grabbed the bully's fist. With a quick twist and turn, he had the bully on his knees an arm locked straight out behind him. "I said, be careful, you could hurt someone falling down like that. Now, are you done? Got your balance back?"

The bully's only response was a whimper and a nod. He had obviously given up the fight.

"Good." He released the other trainee and stepped back. Once the bully seemed to catch his breath, he reached out a hand, ready for trouble, just in case. "Here, let me give you a hand up." Jon helped the bully up and stared directly into his eyes. He dropped his mental shields for the first time in weeks and pushed into the bully's mind. –Drop it. Leave the young trainess alone and go back to your dorm.-

The bully seemed to nod in agreement. "Thanks. I'll… I'll be heading back to my dorm now," then he abruptly turned and left pushing past a Blue Rope TI.

"WHAT'S GOING ON OUT HERE?"

Jon glanced around at the terrified faces of the other trainees. Okay, this is getting out of control. That's what you get for having a little fun, O'Neill. Did you forget? You're not allowed to have fun in BMT. It's against the cosmic order or some such. Jon walked up to the blue rope, "Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered. The trainee fell down and needed a hand up, Sir. He returned to his dorm to hydrate, Sir." The other trainees immediately seized the explanation like a life preserver and started nodding in agreement.

The Blue Rope's eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Really." He considered the trainees one at a time, but couldn't detect a break in ranks. "Very well. Return to your dorms. We wouldn't want anyone to get dehydrated now, would we?"

"NO, SIR!" the group chorused. The group filed past the Blue Rope quickly, trying to make their escape.

"O'Neill, one minute please," the Blue Rope called just before Jon could take more than a single step.

"Yes, Sir."

The Blue Rope waited until the last of the trainees had disappeared into the building before speaking, "Trainee, off the record, I can tell a fight when I see one. Even if it was decidedly one way." The Blue Rope TI paused, as if considering his next statement. "O'Neill, why are you here?"

Jon was immediately confused. Cautiously, he replied, "I was granted a patio break by TSgt Vega for receiving less than five marks on my inspection last night, Sir."

"Not, here on the patio. Here in Basic," the Blue Rope clarified.

"I'm not sure I understand, Sir."

The TI looked him over carefully, "I've been watching you and you don't fit. Your ASVAB scores are too high for a high school student. Your SAT scores would guarantee a college scholarship just about anywhere. Your connections could get you into the ROTC program of your choice. Hell, they could easily get you into the Academy. Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to get you a security clearance and to coach you extensively. Yet… here you are, just another trainee at BMT. You. Do. Not. Fit... So, I ask again, off-the-record, why are you here?"

Jon was surprised that the TI had done that much research on him. What little was available. He didn't think that he had been that transparent. He closed his eyes to hide the range of emotions that swam past. He couldn't think of a single answer that would be accepted. He couldn't even think of an effective lie. And the truth sounded false.

Because Jack didn't go to BMT. Because I need to prove myself, to myself. Because I need to know that I am a separate person and not a cheap clone. To do something, anything, rather than stay put for another four years. To get back to the action. To be true to my nature. To protect the world. Because I want to be here.

Yes, I want to be here. Not at the academy, not at some other college, not as a civilian. Because I NEED to be here.

Finally, he opened his eyes and let the knowledge seep into them. "Because, I want to be here, Sir."

"Really? I've been watching you since your first day. You are bored out of your mind. You don't need this training. With your contacts, you could probably waiver it. So, why do you want to be here? Make me understand."

Jon abruptly, turned away from the TI. "I don't know if I understand myself, Sir," he said. "I just need to do this… Sir."

"Does this have something to do with your uncle?"

Jon visibly flinched. Yes, it had everything to do with Jack… and absolutely nothing to do with him.

The TI continued, "Yeah, I guess that IS the most obvious answer. He's a highly decorated Major General on the fast track, special advisor to the President, with an obviously sanitized biography. He must be a hard act to follow. Especially, since you were named after him," the TI continued to prod.

Jon gave a short laugh and turned back to the Blue Rope. And you don't know the half of it. I'm not just named after him. I am him… and I'm not. "You could say that, Sir."

"Well, I'm going to give you some advice, take it or leave it. You can't change who you are and you can only hide from who you are for so long. Don't make your choices to spite your uncle. Make them for yourself. You have a natural talent for leadership. You belong where that talent can be developed. The Air Force has plenty of aircraft mechanics. But we are short on good leaders. If that takes you on the same path as your uncle, then so be it. But don't avoid that path to prove something that has never been in doubt." The Blue Rope held Jon's eyes for a few more moments, before nodding. "There, I've said my piece, take it or leave it. Now, get out of here before your TI comes looking."

"Yes, Sir," Jon gave him a final considering nod before returning to his dorm.

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Wednesday copied Tuesday. Jon felt the days starting to run together. His nightly forays were even beginning to blend together. Last night, he had setup another glitter trap, this time it was an obvious trip wire established in CQ. But the trap was activated when the wire was cut, not pulled. He wasn't sure if the trap had been tripped or deactivated, since squadron gossip hadn't illuminated today's prank.

The Flight spent the morning in drill practice and the afternoon in Self Aid and Buddy Care class. The Self Aid and Buddy Care class was as basic as a first aid class could get. Jon was disappointed that the class couldn't distract him from his conversation with the Blue Rope TI last night.

That conversation had been preying on his mind all night and day. Jon? or a copy of Jack? Would he make the same choices? Should he? He had been searching his memories… Jack's memories, for clues to answers and he decided that he couldn't even form a proper question. He just hoped that the TI's didn't notice his distraction. He didn't feel up to addressing their particular need to give him the 'special treatment' today. Maybe later, when he could put a bit more effort into his answers.

That evening he sought solitude in the dayroom. His flight-mates could tell that something was bothering him. He was usually all over the place, sharing a smile of encouragement and helping in the various tasks. Today, he had been quiet and still. They didn't quite know what to make of it. They all thought that he had been chewed out for the fight last night and that was causing his mood. Eventually, they selected his bunk-mate, Skoke, to find out what was going on.

Trainee Skoke was considering how best to approach his bunk-mate when the PA announced, "Attention in the squadron. Until further notice, no military equipment may be traded for 'magic beans.' Repeat, no military equipment may be traded for 'magic beans.' Equipment is the sole property of the USAF and any magic beans will be purchased exclusively through logistics. Contact the Contracting Office for details." He smiled, moved over to Jon, and sat down next to him.

He gave Jon a quiet smile, "Magic beans, huh?"

Jon turned away from the window and acknowledged his bunk-mate with a curt nod, not completely pulling away from his thoughts.

"Okay, I get it. You don't want company. But, did you know that you're kind of freaking out Thomas?"

Jon turned back to Skoke, "What?"

"Thomas, you know, short guy in charge of element three? Yeah, well, this new silent treatment is kind of freaking him out. All of us, to tell the truth. So, I got tapped to see if you could use some help working it all out."

Jon's eyes wandered back to the window, "You drew the short straw, huh?" his voice full of bitterness at the memory that phrase evoked.

Skoke looked at him critically. Jon still seemed lost in his thoughts. "No, actually. I volunteered… What is up with you? What the hell did that TI threaten you with?"

"Threaten? What?" Jon asked confused, finally pulling himself fully back from his dark thoughts and old memories. "No one threatened me. What are you talking about?"

"The Blue Rope. He didn't threaten you with recycling or getting kicked out for fighting?"

"Hell, no."

"Then why are you walking around in a dark haze?"

"I…" Jon stopped. "We talked about… stuff. It's just made me think, that's all."

"Well, stop it." Then he grinned at Jon, "You got enough crap on your plate for now. Save the thinking for Tech School, deal?"

"Deal," Jon replied, visibly pulling himself out of his funk. "So, what's the gossip?" he asked trying to make an active effort to leave his self doubt alone for now.

"Well, you know Tinney, right? See, he heard from a trainee in Fourth WOT about…"

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Thursday started out just like Wednesday. The days are definitely starting to run together. Last night, he had decided to go easy on the pranks and instead just setup the computer to call in about twenty times during the day playing "Danny Boy" on a five minute loop, starting after breakfast. He could hear the old Irish tune playing while his Flight was drilling on the parade grounds. The sad notes drifting on the breeze were oddly comforting.

Lunch was a more leisurely affair than usual. The afternoon promised to be another round of classes. Jon didn't even pay attention to which ones would be taught this afternoon. He was still trying to pull himself out of his funk. His bunk-mate had been right. Now wasn't the time for thinking. It was the time for doing.

Jon was busy cleaning the catsup off his plate with his fries when the PA made his next prank announcement, "Attention in the squadron. Trainees may no longer keep rats as pets in the dormitories. Repeat, Trainees may no longer keep rats as pets in the dormitories. Rats my carry plague. Exceptions may be made for talking rats with ninja training. Contact the Public Health Office for details."

Jon was close enough to the Snake Pit to overhear, "At least it's not that damn song again. I don't know how sane I would be after another round of 'Oh, Danny Boy.'"

"Hey, it could be 'Tom Dooley.'"

"Ah. Don't even think that. I'll take 'Danny Boy' over 'Tom Dooley' any day."

Finished, Jon cleaned up his plates and deposited them with the dishwashers on KP. He went outside to wait for his Flight to form up. He joined some of his Flight already outside waiting.

"So, what's on the agenda for class today?" he asked.

"Yeah, like you need to know," ribbed one of his Flight-mates.

"You never know, it might be new information to me. Why? You don't know either?" Jon asked.

"Nope. Like you, I will go where told and listen to whatever. I'z been brainwashed. It's the mind control lasers, I tell ya… Oh, here comes Reglin."

"O'Neill."

"Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered."

SrA Reglin glanced at his watch. "Have the Flight form up in three minutes and proceed to classroom 106."

"Yes, Sir."

As SrA Reglin walked off, Jon turned back to his Flight-mates. "I guess we'll find out in a few. I'll go scan the dining facility to see if everyone is out yet."

A few minutes later they filed into the assigned classroom. Jon identified the JAG as the same one who taught the UCMJ class. He frowned momentarily as he tried to recall which classes the JAG would teach. He felt that it was important. That he had wanted to remember for a reason.

"Welcome, Trainees, at ease. This class will be about the Law of Armed Conflict or LOAC. Can anyone tell me what LOAC is all about?" The JAG instructed.

Oh crap! I forgot about the Code of Conduct briefing, right after the LOAC briefing. Okay, no big deal. You have an hour to get your head on strait. Deep breath. That's it.

The JAG continued to discuss the details of international law and its application to war and other armed conflicts for the next hour. Jon sat quietly in the back, trying to stop the images that flashed across his vision with each part of the lecture.

"… So, the principles governing armed conflict are; military necessity, distinction, and proportionality…"

Jon flashed back to a time when it had been deemed a 'military necessity' to eliminate a political leader from the shadows. And another time when a drug lord was eliminated the same way.

"… The Geneva Conventions of 1949 distinguished between lawful combatants, noncombatants, and unlawful combatants…"

Again, Jon flashed to times when certain civilians had been classified as 'lawful combatants' in order to maintain the secrecy of the mission. And noncombatants had picked up arms and killed his teammates.

Jon longed to point out that LOAC usually only applied to the US and other superpowers. That Vietnam, North Korea, and Iraq had never cared to follow international law, let alone during war. Or that China only followed international law when it was to their advantage.

But Jon succeeded in keeping quiet. He was even able to swallow his laugh when the JAG stated that the Rules of Engagement were always strictly adhered to and that the Geneva Conventions Treaties protected Medical and Religious personnel from POW status.

Yeah, keep believing that, Sir. I hope it helps you sleep at night. I know of one too many medics that refuse to wear the Red Cross because it makes them a target. They joke about the invisible bubble the Geneva Conventions has thrown around them that can deflect bullets and mortar rounds, like magic. And wish for world peace while you're at it.

"Alright, lets take a five minute break before the next class," the JAG wrapped up the class and started to setup for the next class.

Jon went outside for some air. He was starting to feel closed in. Taking several deep breaths, he closed his eyes and tried to think happy thoughts. Go to your happy place. Sunshine, palm trees, nice beach, little bikinis. See, no problem. Big wide open spaces. No walls. No bars… Don't go there. Open spaces. Open spaces.

"Time to go back in, Trainee."

Already? Deep breath. "Yes, Sir." Jon took his place again and immediately started to fidget. I'm not ready for this. NO! Jon, not Jack. It didn't happen to you. STOP THINKING! Focus on… on… shit! 99 bottles of beer. That's it! Anything to distract me from this class… 99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer, take one down and pass it around, 98 bottles of beer on the wall…

---- WARNING ---- CODE OF CONDUCT BRIEFING ----WARNING ----

The JAG's voice broke into his internal singing, "'Article I: I am an American, fighting in the forces which guard my country and our way of life. I am prepared to give my life in their defense.' Can anyone explain what this means to you?" the JAG asked the class.

Oh come on! You have to ask? It means I signed up knowing that I might have to DIE to protect the good ole' US of A. Death before dishonor and all those pat little clichés. You know, it doesn't say anything about how many times you have to die to adequately satisfy Article I. Once? Ten times? Twenty? When is it acceptable to crack just to stay dead. Wait! That's the catch. Obviously, this guy has never had to sit in a cell and contemplate how much easier life would be if you were dead. Ack! Stop thinking about it! Sunshine, palm trees, sand… heat… NO! A cool dark forest, a pond, and fishing pole. That's it! New happy place.

The JAG's voice broke into Jon's attempt to distract himself, "'Article II: I will never surrender of my own free will. If in command, I will never surrender the members of my command while they still have the means to resist.' How would you define that last part, 'while they still have the means to resist'?"

Again, this one is too easy. Fight or evade until you can't fight anymore. Death is not an option the US likes to take. So if the choice is capture or death, the government prefers capture, except if you are on a covert mission that is not sanctioned by 'official' policy. Then they prefer death. It's easier to leave you behind if you're dead. It's easier to forget about the 'Americani spy' then to acknowledge that you were trying to assassinate a political leader against 'official' public policy. And that you forgot to get all the team out, namely yourself.

Jon started taking deep breaths. He couldn't seem to get enough air. He was flashing through every capture, Columbia, Iraq, Ra, Apophis, Sokar, Ba'al, and the hundreds of other times he was forced to surrender to overwhelming odds. … no, Jack. It was Jack, not Jon. It didn't happen to you. It was Jack. You're Jon, not Jack.

The JAG continued to drone on, oblivious to Jon's distress, "'Article III: If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy.' Can anyone give an example of 'special favors'?"

HA! Yeah, I could give you a long list of special favors. Like I'll stop beating the crap out of you if you tell me know many Americans were in your team. Or I'll turn off the electricity if you give me a name. I'll let you out of the box if you simply sign this document. I'll give you food, water, a blanket, whatever… if you just tell me why you are here in this country. How about, I'll stop torturing this poor kid if you will only tell me what you know about the attack on the palace. Or, my personal favorite, I'll let you die permanently if you just tell me what the Tok'ra want with the girl. Yup, I could give you a long list of special favors the enemy likes to bring out during a good torture session.

Jon clenched his hands in fists trying to maintain control. He really needed to hit something. He needed to move, to be anywhere, but here, right now.

The JAG recited the next Article, "'Article IV: If I am a prisoner of war, I will keep faith with my fellow prisoners. I will give no information or take part in any action which might be harmful to my comrades. If I am senior, I will take command. If not, I will obey the lawful orders of those appointed over me and will back them up in every way.' Could you ever be senior ranking in this kind of situation?" the JAG asked the class.

Jon was no longer with the class. He was remembering faces. Other prisoners trapped in the same hell. The young SAS troops from Bravo Two Zero as they were marched through the cell block, bloody and exhausted. A leering guard as he was dragged from his cell for another round of 'questioning.' Vishnor's sneering face behind Daniel as his life was being choked from him. Ba'al's smirking face as he quietly and politely demanded answers.

The PA warning sounded "Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling…" Jon's mind latched on to the song as his salvation from the dark memories. He slowly closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, seeking peace in the old lament. As if the song were written for the sole purpose of mourning these painful memories. Bringing them to a peaceful rest once more. Slowly, Jon clawed back to the surface and pulled his control back into place, thin as it was. As the last notes faded, he slowly opened his eyes to see the JAG looking directly at him. Shit!

"Trainee, so pleased you could come back to us. Please read Article V for the group."

Great! Just push the drowning man under da water, why don't ya. Fine! Ya wanna quote? I can give ya a quote. But I'll be doing it on my terms, laddie. "Yes, Sir." But rather than reading the Article, Jon stood and walked slowly to the front of the class, his steps tightly controlled. The JAG stepped aside, confused.

Jon recited in a deadly quiet voice, "Article V: When questioned, should I become a prisoner of war, I am required to give name, rank, service number, and date of birth. I will evade answering further questions to the utmost of my ability. I will make no oral or written statements disloyal to my country and its allies or harmful to their cause." Jon's eyes narrowed as he took in his Flight-mates. He wasn't seeing them, but all the men lost, killed, or captured that had been under his command. His stance changed and with it his presence looming over the classroom. "And when you feel that you can no longer evade answering their questions, and you WILL feel like giving in, keep in mind that answering will not make the 'questioning' stop. It will merely inform your captors of your breaking point. If you answer one question, they will ask more, and now they know one of your weaknesses. When that day comes and you want desperately to break, remember Article I and pray to whatever God you follow for salvation or peace."

Jon abruptly stalked to the back of the classroom and went to parade rest seeking solace in the familiar stance. He took even, slow breaths to maintain his fragile control. The class was stunned by his short speech. Even the JAG was shocked into silence.

Eventually, the JAG shook off his surprise and continued the class. "Uh, yeah, thank you. The… um… last one is 'Article VI: I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.' Any questions on this last one? No? Okay, let's take a ten minute break before the last section, while we wait for the Chaplain."

Jon's Flight-mates stood and stretched. Some wandered past him to go outside. Through it all, Jon stood shock still at parade rest. He still wasn't seeing them. He was trying desperately to pull himself back from the memories. Jack's memories.

Not me. Not me. Not me. It wasn't me. They weren't my men. They were Jack's. They aren't my memories. They're Jack's. Come on, O'Neill. Get your shit together.

Just as he was losing his battle for control, one of his Flight-mates started humming 'Danny Boy.' Once again, Jon grabbed onto the lyrics. He started humming the tune to himself. He used it to push back the memories. Pushed them back into a box in the back of his mind and locked it with the quiet tune of 'Danny Boy.'

---- END ---- CODE OF CONDUCT BRIEFING ---- END ----

Finally in control again, Jon let out a deep sigh and looked around the room. TSgt Vega was in deep conversation with the JAG. The Chaplin had arrived and was setting up for the next lecture. His Flight-mates were moving about the room in small groups. A few were sending him quick glances.

Good job, O'Neill. Now they all think you're just a bit whacked out of your mind. Of course, they could be right. Jon turned and went outside. He walked to the edge the concrete pad surrounding the building. He let the bright open space encompass his entire vision blocking any further dark thoughts.

"So, what was that all about?" a voice startled him out of his peace.

Jon turned to see the JAG. Now what? "Sir, Trainee O'Neill reports as ordered. What was what about, Sir?"

"The Code of Conduct briefing. You had a little outburst, remember?"

Jon glanced back at the classroom door. TSgt Vega was collecting the other trainees. Holy cow! Saved by the bell. "Good class, Sir. If you'll excuse me, I need to return to my Flight now, Sir." Jon didn't wait for a dismissal. He simple snapped to attention and marched back to class, using one of the many evasion techniques that Jack had bequeathed him along with all those memories.

"You can't avoid this forever, Trainee," the JAG dogged his steps.

Jon stopped and turned to face the JAG once more, "With all due respect, Sir, I've always found that sticking your fingers in your ears and humming loudly solves a whole slew of problems… Sir." Now, bugger off! Jon turned and stalked off again, this time humming 'Danny Boy.' He was relieved when the JAG stayed put. He took his seat just in time.

"Good afternoon, I'm Chaplin Moore and today we will be discussing Cultural Sensitivity."

Oh, fer crying out loud! Are you trying to kill me?

And with that, Jon quietly hummed 'Danny Boy' the entire rest of the class. Totally tuning out the entire lecture.

SGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSG

Friday, thank goodness, was nothing like Thursday. Even if the days all still seemed the same, TSgt Vega was very glad that Thursday was finally over. However, this morning instead of reveille, he was greeted by Ricky Martin's Livin' La Vida Loca.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that the song would now be stuck in his head. At least it's not 'Danny Boy.' He was very thankful that there were no more lectures today. Yesterday had been weird enough.

First, MSgt McCaffey, his Blue Rope supervisor, had asked him to keep an eye on the O'Neill kid. The kid had been off in la la land for the last two days. And when he finally did rejoin the group, he had gone all weird in class. Very, very creepy.

And to top it all off, the kid had some kind of nightmare that woke half dorm at 0200 hours. And not just any nightmare, but a full blown screaming and kicking nightmare. TSgt Vega even had the bruises to prove it. He just wished he could understand what the kid had been screaming, but it was in some foreign tongue. Possibly Arabic.

Regardless, when he grabbed the kid's shoulder to wake him, he had been surprised at how quickly the kid had taken him out. A chop to the throat and a hefty kick to the gut had left him gasping for air as the kid fled to the corner behind the bunk. The other trainees had enough sense to stay back until the kid had pulled himself out of his nightmare. By the time TSgt Vega could breathe normally again, the kid was using that deep breathing exercise he had used during class to calm down and re-focus.

The final insult had been the kid's parting shot as he climbed back into bed. "Thanks for the wake up. Next time, just kick the bunk." And then like that, the kid was asleep again. TSgt Vega spent the entire rest of the night jittery and wide awake from that adrenaline rush.

Of course, now at 0445, the wide awake part was fading. He turned the Flight over to SrA Reglin for PC and breakfast. If he didn't get some coffee now, he wouldn't be awake for drill later.

After a nice long shower and a change of clothes, TSgt Vega felt a bit more human. He reached for the coffee pot in the dining facility only to jerk his hand away as he spotted a small snake on the counter near the coffee maker.

Heart beating in his chest, he carefully watched the snake. It didn't move. He cautiously poked it with a straw. Still no movement. He finally grabbed the damn thing to find it was made of rubber with 'Made in China' stamped across its belly.

Son of a b—ch! He calmed his frazzled nerves and carefully poured his coffee and made his way over to the Snake Pit. "Mornin'," he greeted the other two TI's. He dropped the rubber snake on the table.

"Ah! You found another one."

"Another one?"

"Yes," the TI pulled up a box that had four of the rubber snakes in it already. "I dare say the trainees will find the rest. These are just the ones the KP found in the kitchen area."

"Great." TSgt Vega sighed. He could hear the first of the Flights back from PC outside. Soon, the trainees were trickling into the dining area and wolfing down breakfast. Before long the entire dining facility was full of trainees.

"Attention in the squadron. Due to a recent noise survey, all trainees are required to wear hearing protection within a five foot radius of any Training Instructor. Repeat, all trainees are required to wear hearing protection within a five foot radius of any Training Instructor. Any trainee currently experiencing hearing problems should report to Medical for a hearing test."

TSgt Vega heard a deep sigh next to him. He turned to face MSgt McCaffey, the origin of the sigh.

"You know, eventually, the practical joker will get bored and move on."

TSgt Vega chuckled, "Is that before or after the rest of us all go insane?"

MSgt McCaffey returned with a smile of his own, "Oh, after. Definitely after."

"Ah! There's my Flight. Time to go."

"What do you have today?"

TSgt Vega thought for a moment, "Just drill and job classification on the plate for today."

"Good. Remember what I said about that O'Neill kid."

"Don't worry. I've got both eyes on him. Am I looking for anything in particular?" TSgt Vega asked.

"Nah, just a hunch."

"Alright, see you later."

TSgt Vega had already intended to keep a close eye on the kid. Too many odd things were happening around him. But today, his close watch was for naught. Unlike the previous day, O'Neill was right on and focused, though quieter than he had been before. He must have worked whatever was bugging him out of his system. As TSgt Vega retired for the evening, he gave a sigh of relief that nothing else odd had happened.

SGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSG

Saturday dawned bright and early. The Flight quickly formed up and left for PC and the weekly fitness evaluation. As the Flight was lining up in the dorm to head out for breakfast, one of the trainees called for TSgt Vega.

Now what? He sighed and followed the trainee to the dayroom. Their dorm was on the third floor of the building. As a result, the dayroom had a perfect view of what HAD to be the latest prank.

In the center of the roof below the dayroom windows, was a splash of green with a white spot in the middle. It took a moment for TSgt Vega's brain to catch up to his eyes. In amongst the rest of the roof, someone had setup a perfect square in sod. Then they had staked a sheep to the center of it. The poor sheep was munching away contentedly on a pile of hay seemingly without a care in the world, completely undisturbed by its rooftop surroundings.

"Is that a sheep?" one of the trainees asked.

"Yup," responded another.

"Sweet! Definitely improves the view."

Chuckling, TSgt Vega could make out other trainees across the way, peering through their dayroom windows. Shaking his head, "O'Neill, report this to the CQ. The rest of you, form up downstairs for breakfast."

Breakfast was interrupted only by one announcement. "Attention in the squadron. All trainees departing for base or town liberty, the 'no drinking of alcoholic beverages' rule does not imply that alcohol may be imbibed through an IV or enema. Repeat, the 'no drinking of alcoholic beverages' rule does not imply that alcohol may be imbibed through an IV or enema." The announcement only elicited a few rolled eyes, before the trainees returned to eating.

TSgt Vega worked the Flight hard during drill practice, but was very satisfied with their progress. So satisfied that he released the Flight to go to the BX without an escort, and he only demanded a promise to return to the squadron by 1600. They even managed to keep it.

Yup, the Flight is shaping up very well indeed.

SGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSG

END SECOND WOT – Story continued in Second to None-Third WOT

Preview Third WOT Agenda: Basic Self Defense, Mental Preparation for Combat, Basic Field Security and Tactics, 2nd Uniform Issue, Haircuts, Weapons Evaluation, AEF Predeployment Preparation, AEF Assignment Notification

SGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSGSG

End Notes:

Almost all the practical jokes in this story came from this website. Fun reading or instructional primer? You be the judge. http://www.lysator.liu.se/jokes/practical.htmlAcrynoms:

AEF – Aerospace Expeditionary Forces

AFB – Air Force Base

ASVAB – Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery – the military SAT to help place an enlistee in a compatible career field.

ATO – Airman's Training Order

Blue Rope – This is a TI with a light blue rope around their smoky the bear hat. It denotes that they supervise the TI's and are therefore 10 times meaner than any single TI. There are usually 4 assigned to a training squadron and they are always Senior NCO's.

BMT – Basic Military Training

Bravo Two Zero - B20 was the call sign of an eight-man British Special Air Service (SAS) patrol that was tasked with observing the Main Supply Route between Baghdad and north-west Iraq and finding and destroying Iraqi Scud missile launchers and their fiber optic communications lines in 1991 during the Gulf War. The abandoned patrol is famous for one member covering 300 km on foot to reach the safety of Syria. Of the eight members of the patrol, 1 escaped, 1 was killed in action, 2 died of hypothermia, and 4 were captured. The captured soldiers were moved numerous times, enduring torture and interrogation at each successive location. They were last held at Abu Ghraib Prison before their release.

CQ – Charge of Quarters – this is the central command center for the dormitories.

DH – Dining Hall or Dining Facility (what ever you do, don't call it a chow hall)

JAG – Judge Advocate General – military lawyer

KP – Kitchen Patrol

LOAC – Law of Armed Conflict – the civilized rules of war.

M-16 – Fully automatic rifle, firing a .223 round from a 30 round magazine. Maximum effective range for a point target is 602 yards. For an area target is 875 yards.

OCS – Officer Candidate School – BMT for officers.

PA – Public Address – usually an overhead announcement system. Specific systems target a single building or the entire installation.

PC – Physical Conditioning

POV – Point of View

ROTC – Reserve Officer Training Corp – the college version of JROTC. Upon completion of a 4 year degree, ROTC members are commissioned as 2Lt.

SAS – Special Air Service – British Special Forces.

SAT – Scholastic Aptitude Test – this test is taken in high school to determine if you would do well in college. Ultimately, just a screening tool.

Snake Pit – Place in the BMT Dining Facility were the TI's eat and observe the trainees. It is positioned so that a trainee must pass the table to go anywhere in the dining facility. Trainees must use caution when passing the Snake Pit so as not to encourage the TI's to strike out and bite the trainees, like vipers.

TI – Training Instructor

UCMJ – Uniform Code of Military Justice

US – United States (usually)

USA – United States of America

USAF – United States Air Force

WOT – Week of Training

Enlisted Rank:

AB – Airman Basic

Amn – Airman

A1C – Airman First Class

SrA – Senior Airman

SSgt – Staff Sergeant

TSgt – Technical Sergeant

MSgt – Master Sergeant

SMSgt – Senior Master Sergeant

CMSgt – Chief Master Sergeant

CCMS – Command Chief Master Sergeant – technically the same as a CMSgt but don't think they aren't a lot more powerful than a regular Chief.

CMAF – Chief Master Sergeant of the Air Force

Commissioned Rank:

2Lt – Second Lieutenant – butter bar

1Lt – First Lieutenant

Capt – Captain

Maj – Major

LtCol – Lieutenant Colonel

Col – Colonel – also known as a mess officer, full bird, and full bull.

BG – Brigadier General

MG – Major General

LG – Lieutenant General

GEN - General