"ATTENTION MAGGOTS! GET YOUR BUTTS UP AND GET BACK TO CAMP! NOW NOW NOW!"
"Hey, I didn't even get time to do my hair!" I heard a voice complain in the background.
"I DON'T CARE, MAGGOT! STAND UP STRAIGHT, SOLDIER!"
"Ow!"
Aw, great. Numbuh 60 is here.
Wait, that makes no sense. What would Numbuh 60 be doing at Wawanakwa?
For that matter what the heck am I doing at Wawanakwa? I have vague memories but they seem to slip away when I reach for them...
Man, I hate sleeping on the ground. I never get a good night's sleep, and I'm always fuzzy when I wake up. And I had to sleep in my clothes. Really uncomfortable.
I wormed my way out of the sleeping bag and pulled out the map. Camp lies to the southwest of us. And since the sun rises in the east and it's behind us...
I pointed slightly to my left. "That way," I told everyone.
"Hold on, just let me pack up my sleeping bag," Nazz said.
Rusty looked at her oddly. "Why are you doing that?" he asked.
Nazz shrugged. "It might come in handy. That sounded a lot like Chef on the intercom."
Rusty thought about it and then joined Nazz in packing up his sleeping bag. Marlowe got to work on hers, too.
"Oh come on! This is delaying us!" I complained. I then thought of something. I turned and saw that ingrid was still fast asleep, worn out from yesterday's marathon. I knelt down and shook her shoulder. She groaned.
"C'mon, it's time to get up," I said gently. Ingrid shut her eyes tighter and tried to roll over.
"We gotta get to camp," I told her. "C'mon."
I shook her again. Ingrid's eyes opened, and she frowned.
"Already?" she asked. I nodded.
Slowly, Ingrid sat up and rubbed the rheum from her eyes. She blinked and looked around.
"So...what's all this?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Chef wants us to get back to camp."
"And everyone's taking sleeping bags because?"
"Nazz thinks it might come in handy," I told her.
"Did Chef say anything about it?" she asked.
"Nope," I said.
"Okay," she said. Ingrid climbed out of her sleeping bag and stood up, stretching. By this time, almost everyone had finished disassembling their sleeping bags.
"Everybody ready?" I asked.
Rusty finished with his sleeping bag. "Ready!" he said.
"Yeah, we are," Nazz said.
"Then let's go," I said. "Camp's to the southwest, so it's this way. Follow me."
I took off jogging. Everybody else followed me, although I'm certain I heard Ingrid mutter something under her breath as she jogged with the rest of the group. After about a ten-minute jog, we were in camp.
"GET DOWN TO THE BEACH, MAGGOTS!" blared from the loudspeakers. "MOVE IT, DOUBLE-TIME!"
A few minutes later we were there. Chef was waiting for us with Chaz, who looked cowed but had perfect posture as always.
"GET IN A SINGLE-FILE LINE, MAGGOTS! ARE YOU COMPLETELY SENSELESS?" Chef screamed. We hurried to obey, and soon there was a line of six standing side-by-side in front of Chef. Chef paced in front of us.
"PROPER FORMATION! AT ATTENTION! HANDS DOWN! EYES FORWARD! HEAD UP!" Chef yelled at us while pointing out our faults with a baton. Once our posture met his approval, he looked at us from behind mirrored shades.
"WHY ARE YOU LATE?" he screamed at us.
"We um, we–" Marlowe began to say.
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?"
Marlowe's mouth snapped shut.
"Good! From now on, you will address me as Master Chief," Chef said. "Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master Chief!" we chorused.
"THAT'S YES, MASTER CHIEF, SIR!" Chef barked.
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we replied.
"Good." Chef paused. "NOW WHY ARE YOU ALL LATE?"
"Permission to speak, Master Chief, sir?" Rusty asked.
"Permission granted, maggot!" Chef said.
"We're late because we had to delay to pack up our sleeping bags, Master Chief, sir," Rusty told Chef.
Chef shook his head. "Did anybody tell you to bring your sleeping bags, maggot?"
"Well no, Ma–"
"YOU'RE DARN RIGHT NOBODY DID! AND YOU TWO!" He pointed at me and Ingrid. "WHERE ARE YOUR SLEEPING BAGS?"
"We left them behind, sir," Ingrid said.
"THAT'S MASTER CHIEF, MAGGOT! AND DID ANYBODY TELL YOU TO LEAVE THEM BEHIND? NO! NOBODY DID! YOU NEVER LEAVE YOUR GEAR BEHIND UNLESS IT'S AN EMERGENCY!"
Chef shook his head. "Sloppy. You maggots are just sloppy. I suppose you're wondering what your challenge is today."
"Yes, act–"
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK!" Chef asked. Nazz shut up. Chef grinned evilly.
"Today, maggots, we're going to bring back one of my personal favorite challenges: boot camp. Today, you'll have to survive all of the trials the original competitors went through when I took charge of camp for two days. Anybody who does so, wins immunity. Anybody who does not..." Chef chuckled. "Over there on the beach you'll see six canoes. Each of you is going to hold a canoe over your head until one of you gives up. And nobody eats until somebody gives up. DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?"
"Yes, Master Chief!" we chorused.
"THAT'S MASTER CHIEF, SIR! NOW GET MOVING, MAGGOTS! NOW NOW NOW!"
We all ran over to the canoes. Everybody picked one up and we began holding them over our heads.
After a few minutes, my arms began to ache. Looking around, I could see that several other people were having trouble; Rusty's arms were quivering, as were Marlowe's. Nazz looked comfortable by comparison, but even she seemed to be straining, and Chaz was quite obviously unhappy about his situation. Ingrid, however, was in the worst shape. She was barely staying on her feet and rocked from side to side. As the seconds passed, she became more unbalanced, and soon she toppled over. Chef blew his whistle.
"WELL, LOOKS LIKE WE HAVE OURSELVES A QUITTER!" Chef yelled. "SOLDIER, YOU HAVE EVERYTHING TO BE ASHAMED OF! GO GET SOME REST AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"
Ingrid picked herself off of the ground and headed towards the cabins.
"BREAKFAST TIME, MAGGOTS!" Chef yelled.
Chef marched us to the mess hall. Inside, three full cans of garbage were waiting for us.
"Uh, Master Chief, sir, where's the food?" I asked.
"You're looking at it," he said. He laughed evilly. "You have ten minutes to eat. Then your next challenge begins."
Nazz groaned. "Of course. Just like in Island."
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?" Chef yelled. Nazz mimed zipping her lip. "GOOD! NOW EAT UP!"
We all looked at the garbage. None of us chose to eat.
"ALRIGHT, MAGGOTS!" Chef yelled after ten minutes. "WE'VE DECIDED TO MIX THINGS UP! YOUR FIRST TEST IS OUTSIDE! FORWARD...MARCH!"
We followed Chef and marched to a spot just outside camp, where a full-fledged obstacle course had been set up. The course consisted of a bunch of mud. On top of the mud was a wooden wall, climbing tires, a rope swing, a series of interlaced tires, and swinging axes.
"Okay, maggots. Complete this obstacle course, and you will not be completely incompetent in a combat situation. UNDERSTAND?" Chef said.
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we all replied.
"GOOD! GET GOING! NOW, MAGGOTS, NOW!"
I took a deep breath and entered the course after Nazz. She took the right side of the wooden wall, and I took the left. I jumped and managed to get my forearms over. I used them to pull myself partway up and managed to get my arms completely over. From this point, it was a lot easier to pull the rest of my body to the top of the wall. I climbed to my feet, sat down, and then pushed myself off. For not the first time, I was grateful for my KND training.
By now, Nazz was well ahead of me. I ran towards the tires and high-stepped through them, doing my best to ignore the mud that sucked at the soles of my shoes when they hit the ground. I got through the tires without tripping, ran up the ramp, and jumped towards a rope. I grabbed it, and my momentum swung me over to the descending ramp on the other side. I let go of the rope, landed on the ramp, and ran at the climbing wall. I put my arms through a tire and used it as leverage to put myself over the top. I managed to get over, but lost my balance and toppled ungracefully into the mud. Squinting, I wiped the mud from my brow and looked at the axes ahead. I took a deep breath and crawled underneath them. I kept crawling until I reached the end of the mud, at which point I stood up and surveyed the rest of the course.
Rusty and Marlowe were going under the axes, and looked like they'd make it past easily. Chaz was in last, but even he was climbing the tires. As soon as he got past, he looked at the mud distastefully but chose to crawl anyway. As soon as he was clear of the axes, he stood up again and walked towards the finish line.
"Huh," Chef said. "I guess I underestimated you maggots." He paused. "OR I MADE THE COURSE TOO EASY FOR YOU LITTLE BABIES! NEXT PART OF TRAINING STARTS AT OH-EIGHT-HUNDRED!"
We looked at each other, confused.
"THAT'S IN THIRTEEN MINUTES, MAGGOTS! GET YOUR BUTTS TO THE MESS HALL BY THEN, OR ELSE!"
Chef stormed off.
Thirteen minutes later, we were all seated in the mess hall. Several sheets of paper and a pen were in front of each one of us.
"LISTEN UP, MAGGOTS!" Chef barked. "Your next challenge is going to stretch your creative muscles. That's right, you must use the next two hours to adequately express in writing how much you love me, Master Chief Chef. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we all said.
"Good. I want a three hundred word essay by oh-one-thousand. AND NO PADDING IT WITH VERIES! OR WITH ANYTHING ELSE! UNDERSTOOD?"
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we all said.
"Good. I'll see you all in two hours," Chef said. He left the mess hall.
I stared at my paper. This was going to be hard to write.
Still, I had to admit, having Chef as a drill sergeant was better than having Chris as pretty much anything else.
I love and adore Master Chief Chef. Why do I love and adore Master Chief Chef? There are many reasons. I admire his toughness, his commitment to fairness, his devotion to his soldiers, and his dedication to proper military training.
Master Chief Chef is one of the toughest men I have ever met. If you told me that Master Chief Chef eats a bowl of nails without milk for breakfast every day, I would not be surprised. Such a feat would be run-of-the-mill for Master Chief Chef. In fact, I believe that eating a bowl of nails without milk would not only be normal for him, it would be beneath a man of his caliber of toughness. Master Chief Chef easily outclasses everyone else at this camp in terms of toughness. His toughness is only comparable to his commitment to fairness, his devotion to his soldiers, and his dedication to proper military training.
Master Chief Chef is committed to fairness. He never allows one of his soldiers to step out of line or to harm the others. While Master Chief Chef encourages individual accomplishment, Master Chief Chef also works hard to make sure that his soldiers have a strong sense of team spirit and do not undercut each other when seeking to succeed. In fact, Master Chief Chef works to make sure that his soldiers understand that they are all part of a team, and that when one of them fails, they all fail. Master Chief Chef never punishes without reason, and never punishes somebody that doesn't deserve it.
The commitment to fairness that Master Chief Chef shows is only one of the ways in which Master Chief Chef is devoted to his soldiers. Although Master Chief Chef does not always openly display his devotion, from watching his actions it is clear that Master Chief Chef is truly a father to his men. Like all good fathers, Master Chief Chef knows when to show his soldiers kindness and when to punish them, and he uses these tools well. Master Chief Chef is a shining beacon of what good leadership should be, and he especially demonstrates this through his devotion to his soldiers.
Finally, Master Chief Chef in his efforts today is seeking to teach us proper military discipline. While this means that he must take on the unenviable position of drill sergeant, his willingness to do so only shows his dedication to training soldiers properly. I personally admire his dedication to proper military training, and although I am sure that my fellow campers will complain in private about the harsh discipline and large amount of effort demanded, they will agree that Master Chief Chef's dedication to proper military training only serves to make us better soldiers and better people.
For all of these reasons, and more besides, I love and adore Master Chief Chef. He is truly a man among men. If I had to choose one person who is more overlooked and less appreciated on this island than anyone else, I would choose Master Chief Chef. Thank you, Master Chief Chef, for all of the hard work you put in.
I looked at the clock. It read 9:55. I had gotten my essay done just in time. It was over five hundred words long, and it would hopefully be good enough to satisfy Chef.
A few minutes later, Chef threw the doors open and strolled in. "Well," he said. "Do you all have your essays ready for me?"
Everyone handed him an essay.
"Good!" Chef said. "Now you're all going to stand at attention, in a straight line, while I read these essays to you. And anytime I come across a line I particularly hate–or, if you maggots are smarter than you look, one I like–I'm gonna point it out so you can all roll in it. Understood?"
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we all said.
Chef finally finished reading over an hour later. He smiled at us.
"I never knew you all had such warm feelings towards me," he said. "It almost makes me feel bad about this next part of your training." He grinned wickedly. "Almost."
Chef led us to the woods. I wasn't sure what to expect. Gravedigging? Hand-to-hand combat? Bear wrestling? Honestly, it was all up in the air. And the fact that everyone was mad at me because I flattered Chef so much that he commented on every sentence I wrote wasn't making me feel any better.
Chef stopped by a large tree. He pointed to it.
"Climb up, and hang upside down by your knees," he commanded. We all climbed to the sturdy lowest branch, which sat about fifteen feet off the ground, and began hanging.
"Now this challenge is very simple," Chef told us. "You just have to stay up there for ten minutes."
We hung there in silence as Chef paced below us. After a few minutes, Chef spoke again. By this time, I was starting to feel dizzy.
"What you are experiencing, is an ancient form of torture. By now the blood has begun rushing to your head. The next stage is nausea, followed by dizziness and a flushed appearance, as the blood begins to pool in your eyes."
I swiveled my head from side to side to look at everyone. It was hard to move with all the blood in my brain.
"You may experience fainting spells," Chef said. Nazz grabbed the branch with her hands to steady herself. Everyone else did the same. Chef fell silent once again but continued to pace.
Suddenly, Rusty fell to the ground and landed with a thud. He was unconscious.
A few seconds later, Chef yelled "Okay maggots, that's ten minutes! You can come down now!"
Everyone dismounted. Chef felt Rusty's pulse.
"He's alright, uninjured, just unable to handle the stress." Chef shook his head sympathetically. "Well, back to camp. The next segment of your training starts at oh-twelve-hundred hours. TO THE MESS HALL, MARCH, DOUBLE-TIME!"
"But Master Chief, sir, what about–" I started to protest.
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?" he yelled.
We all jogged back to the mess hall.
Chef arrived in the mess hall a few minutes after we did to find us all sitting down.
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SIT?" he barked. We all got up and stood at attention quickly.
"Good, maggots," he said. "Maybe you're actually starting to learn something. BUT I DOUBT IT!"
Chef smiled at us wickedly. "Your next assignment will test your abilities in the art of subterfuge. You just have to steal a food item from the craft services tent without me or Chris finding out. It starts in ten minutes. From that point, you have half an hour to get your food. And NO WORKING TOGETHER! DISMISSED!"
We all exited the mess hall. We were followed out by Chef, who headed towards the craft services tent on the west side of camp. As soon as he was gone, Nazz clapped her hands to get our attention.
"Okay, everyone, we need to decide on an order to go in," she told us.
"But Chef said we couldn't work as a team," I said.
"How's it feel being such a suck-up?" Chaz asked.
"It's not, like, working together," Nazz said. "We just need to go one at a time to increase our likelihood of success."
I nodded. I could see her point.
"The Chaz is going first," Chaz said.
Nazz shrugged. "Okay. We'll call it then–"
"Second!" Marlowe said.
"Second!" I said, a bit too late. "I mean, third!"
Nazz frowned. "Fine. I'll go last."
A few minutes later, we all waited outside the tent as Chaz snuck in. After a couple of minutes, he came back out with a plate full of ham. Marlowe was the next one in; it took her longer to come out, but when she did she was carrying a wedge of cheese.
I took a deep breath. I had plenty of time. I peeked into the tent and realized I'd have to crawl under a table to avoid being seen by Chef or Chris. Strangely, Chris had a tablet resting on his lap.
I stayed low to the ground so they couldn't sniff me out and kept my head down as I headed for the fridge. Once there, I glanced out from under the tablecloth to make sure Chef wasn't looking in my direction and opened the fridge door. I smiled as I spotted my target, a jar of dill pickles, and grabbed it. I then thought about it and grabbed a bottle of mustard too. I turned around, heading for the exit, and got there without any trouble. After taking one last look to make sure Chef wasn't aware of me, I left the tent with a huge grin on my face and condiments in my hands.
As soon as I exited, Nazz entered the tent. I thought about making some noise so that Chef would notice Nazz but decided against it. If this game was worth winning, it was worth winning fairly.
After a few minutes, Nazz came back with a loaf of bread. We took our food and headed for the mess hall.
Chef threw open the doors to the mess hall a few minutes after we got there.
"Well, MAGGOTS, Chris tells me none of you cheated," he said. "Except for deciding to go one-by-one. And although I find the fact that you all chose the ingredients for a good sandwich suspicious, I guess you all pass. BUT YOU DON'T GET TO EAT! EVERYONE, GET DOWN TO THE BEACH! NOW NOW NOW!"
We all got to the beach quickly. Once there, we found a boombox sitting on a stool. Chef smiled as he stood in front of us and instructed us to arrange ourselves in a square formation.
"Welcome to the last part of your training, maggots," he said. "This is the most important lesson you will ever learn. The lesson...of dance!"
We all looked at him, surprised, confused, and slightly disturbed.
"Um, Master Chief, sir?" Marlowe asked.
"What is it, soldier?" Chef asked.
"Permission to speak freely, Master Chief, sir?" she asked.
"Permission granted, soldier," he said.
"What will we be dancing to, Master Chief, sir?" she asked.
"I'm glad you asked!" Chef said. "Today, we'll be dancing to one of my favorite songs, Michael Jackson's Thriller."
"Master Chief, sir?" Marlowe asked.
"Yes, soldier?"
"Permission to speak freely, Master Chief, sir?"
"Permission granted, soldier."
"How did you afford the rights?"
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?" Chef yelled.
Marlowe stood her ground. "Yes, sir, Master Chief, sir."
"Oh," Chef said, taken aback. "That's right. But that's not important right now! What is important is that I am going to dance, and you are going to follow my moves precisely, or you will LOSE THE CHALLENGE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, MAGGOTS?"
"Yes, Master Chief, sir!" we all yelled.
"GOOD!" Chef yelled. He pressed play and began to dance.
Thriller: music and lyrics by Rod Temperton