The Cadet Chapter 6, a ncis fanfic

Chapter 6

Tony couldn't quite believe he was out of Remington. It was too good to be true. There was always the off chance the school might have had a skeleton crew over the Thanksgiving break, so maybe he wouldn't have been put out on the street if the Marshall brothers hadn't intervened… but Tony would have sooner lived on the damn street for a week than stayed at that trash heap by himself.

Elated at being rescued, Tony talked animatedly about it to Marshall and his older brother, and they humored him some. After a little while, though, Chris- Tony had needed to start thinking of them by their first names to avoid confusing himself- turned the subject to movies, and Tony was pleasantly surprised to learn they both were big movie watchers. Tony said his goal was to pretty much be Ferris Bueller at Remington, and Chris responded, "I already am."

Tony took that as a challenge.

The flight stopped in D.C., and the party of three had to disembark and board another aircraft. Tony griped about it, but only a little. He was distracted by an argument he was having with Chris about whether Remington was completely or only mostly a dump, and Chris was responding by naming trophies the school's athletics teams had won, and specifically he kept bringing up the big shutout victory over New York Military Academy in 1944, which was repeated in 1978, Josh's senior year at Remington.

Since this quickly led into a general argument about sports statistics, Tony was delighted to find Chris was quite an athlete, indeed. He loved not just basketball, but any game he could get his hands on. He played baseball when the weather was good, soccer anytime he felt like it, football and hockey if the chance came up and he wasn't busy doing something else. Tony was amazed at how much Chris knew about each of those sports, and how easily he could cite coaches, specific games and their final scores, and notable athletes to support points he was making.

Altogether, the time passed pleasantly as the second leg of the flight took them down to Charlotte, North Carolina, where they got off and boarded a third airliner, this one going to the Albert J. Ellis Airport in Maple Hill. Tony and Chris noticed a few good-looking girls near them during that last flight, and proceeded to amuse themselves, the girls, and Josh by flirting with the girls for about half the flight.

It was well after dark when the small jet airliner touched down at the airport. Tony and Chris immediately started chatting up the girls from the plane, but Josh came up behind them and grabbed both boys by the collars, dragging them away. They both protested and argued, but Josh just kept walking along. The girls looked disappointed, but Tony wasn't entirely sure. He was trying to pry himself loose from the grip of a Marine captain, and that was a task that required your full attention.

When Josh finally let go of them, they were pretty much at the baggage claim area. Tony managed to wrestle himself free, but he had the feeling Josh had decided to let him go, because Chris got loose at the same time.

"Was that really necessary?" Tony asked indignantly, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Yeah, sure," Josh answered.

"Well, what if I wanna kick your ass?"

Josh grinned, then put on a stern expression. "I know what you're thinkin'. Do I need six PFC's to take this captain, or only five? But bein' that I'm Joshua Marshall, the toughest son-of-a-bitch in the Corps, and could punch your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya, punk?"

Tony backed up as Josh moved closer to him, unable to tell if the well-built Marine officer was kidding or not. He stared uncertainly up at him for a few moments, then said, "Uh, that's a really good Eastwood impression."

Josh's posture relaxed at once. "Course it is," he said, and went back to looking at the baggage claim.

"Hey, Tony, think fast!"

Tony turned at the sound of Chris' voice and was met with an incoming suitcase. He put out his hands but just grabbed it as it impacted his stomach, knocking the air out of him and putting him on his ass.

Chris appeared over Tony, laughing as Tony struggled to get his wind back. "You gotta react quicker than that, pencil-dick!"

"Fuck. You."

"Aw, I'm hurt, Tony. I thought we were friends."

Tony couldn't speak, but he could use his legs, so he swung one out and tried to knock Chris off his feet. The other teen noticed, but only managed to move in time to take the hit on one leg, so he hopped forward and then fell over, landing on Tony. They immediately startled wrestling, and Tony was startled at just how strong Chris was. He wasn't kidding about being a big fitness nut. He was lean, like basketball players tended to be, but what he had was pretty much all muscle.

That was fine. Tony had never really neglected the weight room, either, and he fought back with all he had. They were still struggling for dominance when Josh came over, pulled Chris off Tony, and yanked them both to their feet.

"That's enough, boys."

"Aw, but Josh, we were just getting started!" Chris complained.

"Yeah, can't two guys even fight in peace anymore?" Tony griped, and the two teenagers shared a grin.

"You two think you're so funny," Josh said. "You better get your bags, or you can find your own way back from the airport."

The ride to Camp Lejeune came in the form of a dark metallic green boat of a car, a huge Cadillac with enormous chrome bumpers, a giant wraparound glass windshield, and whitewall tires as tall as a Honda. The Cadillac badge and the wide gold V sitting underneath it gleamed under the parking lot lights, as did what looked to be about six tons of finely-polished chrome, and two fins that rose over a foot off the rear deck of the car. It was a Cadillac as long as an aircraft carrier, and it probably handled like one, too. Tony didn't even want to picture the gas bill this thing ran up just driving to the airport, but it wasn't like anyone had cared about that in the Fifties. Back then, gas had been as cheap as tap water.

"Cadillac Fleetwood," Chris pronounced, noticing Tony as he sized up the massive car. "1957. One of 24,000 sold altogether. Her color is Arlington Green Metallic, if you were wondering."

"And here I thought it was Fifties Chrome."

"You think you're so smart," Chris said, shaking his head at Tony.

"I am smart," Tony said.

"No, Tony, you're really not."

"So it's Tony, now?"

"Well, I did so love it when you started calling me Chris," the redhead replied.

"What was I gonna do, stuck on an airplane with two jackasses called Marshall?"

"You know, I bet I could get you in touch with your Dad, and we could leave you here," Josh offered.

"I'd rather get kicked in the fucking balls," Tony replied, heading for the car.

"Easy, champ," Josh said, waving Tony back. "Not gonna do you any good to pull on this big chrome handles unless they're unlocked." He dug out his keys, inserted one of them into the driver's door keyhole, which, unlike a lot of cars now, was located below the door handle. After Josh turned the key to one side, a chrome button popped up, and Josh opened a very large and sturdy-looking door. He reached for some controls, all of which were chrome, and three more buttons popped up on the other doors, and then the trunk lid, which had to be about as wide as the state of Texas, popped up.

"All right," Josh said. "Throw the bags in and let's go."

Tony and Chris both decided to take spaces on the second of the two black-and-seafoam-green sofas that passed as the car's bench seats. Even with two teenage boys, there looked to be room for most of the seniors at RMA in the back seat alone. The Cadillac's 6-liter, fuel-injected V8 started up almost immediately, and after letting it warm up for a few minutes, Josh started the half-hour drive to Camp Lejeune.

"God, what the fuck is up with those airline seats?" Chris suddenly burst out, stretching his legs out and slouching down on the bench seat. "My knees! Do they even care about them? I thought I was gonna scream!"

"Well, let's do it now," Tony suggested matter-of-factly, and they did, probably damaging Josh's eardrums.

"Gosh, guys, thanks," Josh said sarcastically. "As if the Marines haven't made me deaf enough."

"Hey, Josh, give us a cigarette, will you?" Chris asked. "I'm dying, boy."

"You know the answer to that one."

"You don't ask, you never know," Chris said, shrugging and giving Tony a wink. "Well, how about a box of condoms?"

"Jesus, did you go through the last bunch already?"

"I need-"

"What you need," Josh said, "is to start thinking about finding a fiancée-"

"Oh, what, fucking just one hot girl?" Chris protested. He paused and winked at Tony again. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Chris, how you haven't caught something, I have no idea."

"I just know how to pick 'em."

Tony was laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. He managed to take a breath, looked at Chris and said, "You know something? You're crazy!"

"Yeah!" Chris agreed. "Cause I've practiced!"

There was only one word for Tony's first impression of the Marshall brothers: cool. They both loved working out, playing basketball, watching movies, hitting the beach, having fun with girls- they were Tony's kind of people. They also seemed determined to never completely grow up and would bicker and argue like little kids about the oddest things. There was just an air about them that if you stuck around long enough, you'd probably have fun, even if you didn't remember all of it the next day.

It was wonderful, getting to know these guys while riding in a 30-year-old Cadillac that looked like it had rolled off the showroom floor a couple of weeks ago, tops. Tony was more into sports, movies and girls than he was cars, but the Fleetwood was a real piece of work. Already, Tony was thinking about when the weather warmed up, and how much fun it would be to spend Spring Break, 1987 seeing how many girls he could pick up in this car on some beach in the Carolinas. Well, him and Chris, obviously. That was only fair.

What Tony appreciated most was that he already felt welcome. He had just walked into their lives, yet Chris and Josh seemed glad to bring Tony on Thanksgiving Break with them, a time normally spent with family only. It was hard to admit it, but Tony felt grateful. His own Dad had fucked him over yet again, left him to just manage on his own, practically acted like his son didn't even exist. But the Marshall brothers had helped Tony without hesitation.

Tony and Chris started arguing football in the last few minutes of the drive. Tony liked Pittsburgh while Chris was a die-hard New York Giants fan. They started playing grab-ass games, then punching each other, taking advantage of the fact that 1957 was a time when seatbelts basically didn't exist. Josh barked at them as he slowed down, approaching the front gate, and both teens shut up immediately. Chris retrieved his dress hat from the floor and dug Tony's out from where it had wound up under the seat. They were panting a little, trying not to giggle like kids.

"Shit, Gibbs is on duty tonight," Josh hissed under his breath. He hit the control button to lower the driver's door window and turned around and stared at the two teens. "You motherfuckers shut up right now or I swear to God-"

"Who the hell is Gibbs?" Tony asked, confused.

Before Josh could reply, he had to turn quickly around and cut the headlights off, and then stop the car before he ran into the gate barrier. The boat-car lurched forward, rocked back on its springs, then settled.

If the stern-faced, dark-haired Marine standing near the window noticed anything unusual, he didn't say a word. Tony was suddenly very glad he was on the far side of the car, because this guy, dressed in the same mottled BDU camouflage uniform that the boys wore at Remington and sporting a black, white-lettered MP armband on his right arm, looked like he had even less tolerance for bullshit than that son-of-a-bitch Gunny Ellison. He snapped off a flawless salute to Josh and said, "Good evening, sir. Welcome to Camp Lejeune."

"Staff Sergeant Gibbs," Josh said in greeting, returning the salute. "How glad I am you're in charge of the MPs at the gate tonight. My boys in A Company, 2nd Tank Battalion sleep soundly in their little houses tonight thanks to Marines like you."

The staff sergeant just stared at Josh with an impatient expression. Or, what Tony guessed was his impatient face. This dude seemed to have virtually no facial expressions at all. Josh started to talk some more, prattling on like he and Gibbs were best buddies, but Gibbs broke in with a polite but firm "Skip to the part I care about, sir."

"Well, Staff Sergeant, I'd like to get onto the base."

"Who've you got back there?" Gibbs asked, taking out a sturdy-looking flashlight and moving toward the Cadillac's rear left window. Chris and Tony both winced as they got a face full of white light, and put up their arms to shield themselves.

"Just my kid brother and his idiot friend, Staff Sergeant," Josh said easily. "They're too dumb to be a threat to the base."

"You got your ID with you, sir?" Gibbs asked, returning to the front window.

"I do, Staff Sergeant," Josh said, handing his card up.

"Captain Marshall," Gibbs stated, reading the card. He handed it back and saluted. "Please proceed."

"I believe I will, thank you kindly, Staff Sergeant," Josh said, returning the salute. The gate arm went up, and Josh got the Cadillac going, cutting the lights on once they were through the gate and away from the MP's. He raised the window, and then returned to keeping both hands on the giant steering wheel.

"So who was that?" Tony asked.

"A real hardass MP, that's who," Josh answered. "At least he didn't put an RVI on us. He's famous for them."

"RVI?" Tony asked.

"Random Vehicle Inspection," Chris answered. "The military police gotta search a vehicle every so often. Nobody knows how often except them. But some MP sergeants, they like to order RVI's all the time."

"And since you don't live here, DiNozzo," Josh said, "they'd have to strip-search you."

"Oh, well, as long as it's female MP's that do that, I'm fine with it," Tony said. Josh laughed and Chris cracked up.

Camp Lejeune was the first military base Tony had ever been to. It was extremely neat and well-organized, with not a single piece of trash lying in the gutter or one blade of grass taller than what regulations specified. Josh drove the giant Cadillac past a couple of brick buildings clearly designed with an emphasis on function over form, then a long chain-link fence containing rows of olive-drab trucks parked so close together there was no way you could possibly open the doors on most of them. The trucks dwarfed even the Cadillac, especially when a convoy of them rode by a minute later, giving Tony an even better look at them.

"This place is, uh, neat," Tony said, adding a laugh.

"It's a Marine Corps base," Josh said. "No bullshit makes it past the gate. Everything is done to the standard here."

"Josh, if no bullshit gets past the gate, how the fuck did Tony get in?"

The Marshall brothers enjoyed a laugh over that one while Tony tried to act angry and punch Chris a couple times. Chris just took the first blows on his shoulder, then expertly blocked Tony's next few attacks. "Come on, come on, take it easy," he said, laughing.

After a few turns here and there, they started going past what looked like miles of identically-hideous barracks, all of which looked like they hailed from around 1942 and were purpose-designed to be ugly. Then they started going past one cookie-cutter section of apartment housing after another, then finally some actual houses. Eventually, Josh pulled into the driveway of one of them, behind a black Chevrolet Camaro convertible, a blue GMC Suburban, and an OD green Chevrolet Blazer.

"The Camaro's mine," Chris said. "She can kick ass on the road, lemme tell you. Better than this old dinosaur."

"A dinosaur that eats Camaros for breakfast," Josh retorted. He shifted into park and switched the keys in the slot on the dashboard, and the Cadillac's giant V8 dwindled into silence. "Okay. I'm gonna see you idiots inside, and then I'm outta here."

"Aw," Tony said as he opened his door and got out. "I was enjoying this, too."

"Oh, stick with me and you'll enjoy a lot more," Chris said, coming over to Tony and throwing an arm around his shoulders. "You'll forget all about your stupid father and actually have a good time, don't even worry."

"Fun? On an army base? Is that even allowed?"

"Marine base," Chris and Josh corrected simultaneously.

"Jinx," Tony said. "You both owe me a beer."

"How 'bout I get us laid instead?" Chris asked slyly.

"Can't we have both?" Tony asked.

"Now, you're talking."

Josh got the luggage out of the Cadillac and closed the trunk lid with a heavy-sounding thunk. "Take your bags. I'm so sick of listening to horny teenagers make plans for the weekend."

"Josh, aren't you basically just in charge of horny teenagers? What's a junior enlisted Marine if not a horny teenager?"

"Did you literally not hear me just now?"

They headed up to the front door, and Josh unlocked it and started back to his car.

"You're not coming in?" Tony asked, turning towards him.

"Nah," Josh said. "I got my own house. Dad's at some bullshit conference up in DC, he'll be back in the morning. I'll see you guys then. Don't burn the place down; it's Marine Corps property."

Chris adjusted his dress hat atop his head. "We'll try not to overdo it."

"I'm sure," Josh said, opening the door of the Cadillac.

"Thanks," Tony said. "Really."

Josh looked up just as he was about to get into the car. He smiled. "Sure, DiNozzo."

"Tony's fine, I mean, whatever. I'm not a big military guy."

"Whatever, whoever you are. See you tomorrow."

Josh got in and started the Cadillac. 300 horses kicked over instantly, giving an already menacing-looking car an appropriate soundtrack. The enormous car backed out of the driveway, straightened out, then leveled out and accelerated down the street.

"All right, come on in," Chris said, going to the door of the two-story Colonial. He reached over to a wall and flicked on some lights. He removed his dress hat, and yanked Tony's off and handed it to him.

Tony stepped inside and was instantly impressed with how precisely neat and orderly everything was. The hardwood floors were buffed and waxed to a high mirror shine. The beige-painted walls were spotless, and the various framed pictures, portraits, paintings, diplomas and award citations were hung perfectly, not even one degree off to the left or right. Nothing was lying around, or out of place. Chris led Tony down the hall and turned on the lights to a perfectly-ordered kitchen. Spotless, shining vinyl countertops, meticulously-polished wood cabinets… it was enough to remind Tony of the Honor Corps, and their all-consuming obsession with order.

Something of that thought must have showed, because Chris said, "You're a thousand miles away from any of those pricks right now, DiNo-Tony. This house looks like this because my Dad's a Marine, and I'm a Marine brat. It ain't because I'm in some freaky club."

"Are you sure?" Tony asked, making it sound like a joke.

"You trust me, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Then you know I'm sure. Fair enough?"

"Yeah, yeah."

Marshall stared for a moment, then laughed. "Okay, smart guy. Let's get you to your room."

Tony hefted his bag and followed the redhead back down the entrance hall. He glanced right into the living room, then walked in through the doorway. There was what looked like (hopefully) a color TV, a VHS tape player, a brown sofa with end tables on either side, each one bearing the Marine Corps seal on the center. A red Marine flag hung over the sofa, and across the room, over the television, was a three-by-five framed poster of a group of men in World War II-era uniforms raising an American flag.

"Raising the flag on Iwo Jima," Chris said. "Dad was there. He was fifteen when he joined the Corps." He paused. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"Why?" Tony asked.

"Dad lied about his age when he enlisted. He's safe now, but… if that came up, they'd have to kick him out for fraudulent enlistment."

"Well, I'm not gonna tell anybody. It's not like I know anyone in the Marines, anyway." Tony realized something, then looked at Chris and said, "Wait, your dad was at Iwo Jima?"

"Yeah. He was there for the whole battle, right in the middle of all the shit. Anyhow, he wasn't one of the guys who raised the flag, but, he saw it happen. So that's about as good, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Tony laughed. "But I mean- he's been in since when?"

"1944. This is his 42nd year in the Marine Corps."

Tony stared. "Forty-two years? Is this guy insane?"

Chris grinned. "We all are. Every Marine, every Marshall. You've been kidnapped by madmen, DiNozzo."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, I think you kidnapped the wrong guy. My Dad would need like a year to notice, and he's too cheap to pay a ransom anyway."

Chris looked at Tony for a moment. "What kind of way is that to talk about yourself?"

"I'm talking about him."

"Just because he's too fucking stupid to care doesn't mean everyone is."

Tony put on a smirk. "Are you trying to make me cry?"

"Is it working?"

"Nah, I'm gonna opt out, 'cause I'm a big boy," Tony cracked. Chris laughed.

"Okay, so, you wanna see your room? Or how 'bout my room, then your room? Yeah. Let's do that."

Up the wooden stairs and around a corner were Chris' room, which, much to Tony's surprise, looked like a moderately more organized version of the stereotypical teenage kid's room. There were several model sports cars, a set of dumbbells, a few beautiful women in bikinis in posters. Tony spotted a Tron movie poster, plus one from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. There was also a Marines flag above the bed, a Marines recruiting poster, plus one of Chris as a first sergeant in full dress uniform on a RMA recruiting poster.

"Man, you really love this military shit, don't you?" Tony asked, looking around.

"What do you think?" Chris replied, grinning. "Look, it'd be all sports cars and naked chicks of I had my way, but there's a sergeant major in charge of this house and it's not me." He put his bag down, then headed back out the door. "Come on, let's go see your room."

Tony's room was a plain, neatly-organized bedroom with a maroon comforter, like Chris' room had. It honestly looked like a hotel room, which didn't exactly have a positive connotation with Tony, given the number of times Dad had left him behind in one and then had to come get him when the hotel staff called, and reminded him his fucking kid was still in the room.

"Look, I couldn't exactly decorate it to your liking," Chris said. "To do that, I'd have to know what you like."

"Girls," Tony said immediately.

"Okay, okay, I could've put up some posters of, like, chicks in bikinis or something," Chris admitted. "But until today, I didn't even know you were gonna be here for break."

Tony headed to the bed, dropped his bag, and unbuttoned his gray dress uniform jacket. He sat down, looking up at Chris. "Yeah. You could have. So I think you should make it up to me."

"Yeah, like I said, we're both gonna get laid. I guarantee it."

"Oh, yeah?" Tony asked, interested but trying to look and sound nonchalant. "How?"

"Soon, Tony, soon," Chris said, smirking.

Tony took off the gray jacket, tossed that aside, and soon got rid of his tie, dress shirt, and kicked off his dress shoes. Chris leaned against the wall, watching him.

"You like watching guys undress?"

"Oh, I get to see it all the time whether I like to or not."

"Yeah, I know," Tony said. "God, am I glad to be away from that fucking school."

"You look pretty sharp in that dress uniform, though," Chris replied.

"That's cause of this."

Tony took off his white t-shirt, revealing the strong upper body he'd spent years refining. He was close to a full six-pack, and his pectorals, shoulders, biceps and triceps were all sculpted and well-defined. He'd gotten a lot of attention anytime he went swimming or hit a beach in recent years. Tony was also just a handsome guy to begin with, something he was quite proud of.

Chris laughed. "Yeah, okay, handsome. I'll show you. Gimme a second here." Chris proceeded to take off the upper components of his dress uniform with surprising speed. When he pulled his shirt off, Tony instantly felt a rush of jealousy.

The redhead was about as fit was it was possible to be at seventeen. He was lean, but had a sharply-defined six-pack set of abs, broader shoulders, virtual slabs of muscle on his pecs, and noticeably more muscular arms and shoulders than Tony did. If Tony enjoyed working out, Chris lived for it, was obsessed with it. He could have passed for a Marine fresh out of recruit training.

There was a long, ugly, centipede-shaped scar on the inner part of Chris' left shoulder that Tony hadn't seen before. Chris noticed that Tony noticed, and grinned with boyish pride. "Surgery on my shoulder sophomore year. But go ahead, Tony, look all you want."

Tony laughed. "Okay, Muscles Marshall. Let's see how many pushups you can do."

"Let's go to a hundred. See who gets there first," Chris said, an eager, competitive gleam in his eye.

"You're on," Tony said, dropping to the floor and assuming what they called the "front leaning rest position" at Remington. Chris followed a second later. "Go!"

Tony threw himself into it gladly, determined to show off and prove himself better than Chris. But he'd underestimated the redhead again, as it turned out. Tony knocked out the reps fast, but Chris was moving faster. Tony didn't slow down as he counted towards 100- he was in excellent shape and could handle this easily-but he still had seventeen to go when Chris announced "A hundred!" and stood up.

When Tony stood up a few moments later, he was glaring at Chris, who just grinned at him. "What? You think you're gonna show me up, tough guy? Huh? I'll go again!"

Chris held up a hand. "I like your attitude, but nah, I'm good. We better get to bed, though."

"Yeah, I guess," Tony said. "So, where's the bathroom?"

"You're gonna go jerk off, aren't you?"

"Yeah, well, where's the bathroom?"

"It's out this door," Chris said, pointing. "Then, you go right past the stairs, see? And then, on the left, you'll have this door, and-"

"Okay, okay. Whatever, man. I can find the bathroom. I just wanna get outta this damn uniform."

"Better hang it up in the closet," Chris advised. "You'll need it when we fly back."

"Do we really have to?" Tony asked, groaning.

"Yeah, we kinda do," Chris laughed. "Unless you wanna get your dad to sign a waiver so you can drop outta high school and join the Corps."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

"Then we'll just make the best of it. You and me are gonna hit the gym a lot while you're here. We're gonna have fun, Tony. Don't you worry."

"Oh, good," Tony said. "Yeah. I was afraid I was gonna be bored."

"You see what you're doing here, Tony?"

"Showing you how much better I am?" Tony asked, gesturing at his bare chest.

"Of course, that," Chris said. "But how? You're trying to make me like you."

Tony scoffed, smiling. "Yeah, sure I am."

"And you know what?" Chris continued. "It's working; I do. But you see what I'm doing?" He winked. "I'm trying to make you like me, too."

After taking a nice, long hot shower, Tony took care of some 'private business' and walked back to his room in a clean pair of boxers. He lay down on his bed and turned out the lights, feeling surprisingly relaxed. He was a thousand miles from that stupid military school and its creepy little cult of zealots. He'd found someplace to stay for the break. Dad didn't fucking care where he was or what he was doing, so if Tony had his way, he was going to hit half the gyms and screw half the pretty girls in North Carolina.

The fun part was, it sounded like that was what Chris had planned for both of them already.

It was still dark when somebody started pounding on his door. Tony stuck his head under the pillow and hoped they would go away. After a minute or so, they did. Or at least the noise stopped. Tony didn't care. He was dreaming about him, a girl on a beach, and the clothes were just starting to come off…

One side of the mattress was suddenly yanked upward, and Tony opened his eyes suddenly as he tumbled to the floor. The lights came on, and Tony looked up to see Joshua Marshall, dressed in an olive-drab t-shirt and shorts, standing near the light switch while Chris Marshall, also dressed in an OD t-shirt and pair of shorts, stood grinning down at him on the other side of the bed.

"You got 'im!" Josh exclaimed.

"I got 'im!" Chris agreed.

"Stop doing that!" Tony yelled at him.

Chris responded by rushing around to Tony, slapping at any part of the brown-haired teen that he could reach. "Up, up, up! Wake up! On your feet, DiNozzo! Get up, get your feet planted on the deck!"

"I'm trying to sleep here, fuck off!"

"He said get up!" Josh screamed, coming over to yell in Tony's other ear. "You get up right now, DiNozzo, or I'll use your dead body to grease the treads of my tanks! GET UP! Get down to that head and shave!"

Tony protested, swatted at the two guys irritably, cursed at them, but none of it did any good. Tony got up, grabbed the comforter, and stuck his head back under the pillow, but the mattress was up-ended again and Tony was dumped to the floor. Finally, he got up and ran down the hall to the bathroom, trying to at least get away from the yelling idiots with the red hair.

"Take your fuckin' hygiene bag!" Chris shouted, throwing the bag in through the opening just before Tony shut the door.

"You got five minutes, DiNozzo!" the Josh yelled. "Make it count! It's a great day to be a Marine and we're not gonna waste a second of it!"

"Ooh-rah, motherfucker!" Chris yelled, and the two Marshalls grunted out in the hallway. Tony had the sense they'd just chest-bumped each other.

Staggering up to the sink, Tony looked at his reflection, wondering just what kind of crazy people he'd been suckered into living with. Even if Chris wasn't in the Honor Corps, he was with the Marines, and from what Tony knew at whatever ungodly hour this was, they were all certifiably insane.

Figuring he had little choice since he was in the hands of these crazy people, Tony went ahead and did his morning hygiene. He shaved so his face was smooth, clean and handsome, just the look he liked. He brushed his teeth, used some mouthwash, and was just using his deodorant when Chris slammed the door open and started yelling again.

"You're too slow! Put these on!" Chris threw an OD t-shirt and shorts at Tony, then pulled the door closed again.

Tony looked at the shirt, spotted the black Marine Corps logo painted on its left breast. Oh, fuck the hell no, I'm not putting that on! As cold as this tiled floor is, I don't even wanna know what it is outside!

"I'm not wearing this!" Tony shouted.

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I am not!"

"It's that or you run PT naked, DiNozzo!" Josh yelled. "Make a choice!"

Tony sighed and finished using his deodorant, then bagged everything up and reluctantly pulled on the t-shirt and PT shorts. He exited the bathroom, and was immediately set upon by the two Marshall brothers, who chased him back to his room and shouted at him while he pulled on a pair of white socks. Tony was about to go for his sneakers when Josh hurled a box at him.

"Brand-new Nikes, DiNozzo! They're yours! Put the fuckin' shoes on!"

Tony looked at the shoes. They weren't just Nikes, they were the Spirodon Gold shoes Tony had been trying to get Dad to buy! White all over, gray underneath, and sporting a sewn-on gold Nike "check mark" that flared up and wrapped around the back on either side, they had the distinctive look and smell of a new pair of shoes. The Spiridon Gold was Tony's favorite in the 1986 line of Nike shoes, and he didn't know a teen athlete in the world who could resist a good pair of Nikes.

The brown-haired teen picked up one of the shoes, a goofy smile coming onto his face. "Uh, you guys woke me up to give me some shoes?"

"We woke you up to go run!" Josh yelled at him. "Put the fucking shoes on!"

"All right, I'll put the shoes on."

Having managed to mostly wake up, Tony raced downstairs and out the front door with Chris and Josh 'encouraging' him all the way. It was probably 40 degrees out, tops, and in shorts and a t-shirt, Tony didn't much feel like being outside, but Chris and Josh weren't about to let him back in.

Tony turned from looking wistfully at the front door of the house and noticed the man standing on the front lawn. He was in the same OD uniform, and had his arms crossed imposingly over a barrel-like chest. Brown eyes peered out from under iron-gray hair, and although the man was more than twice Tony's age, the brown-haired teen hesitated at the idea of trying to take this man in a fight.

"That took too long," the man said, in a voice a lot like Sergeant Major Ambrose's- a deep voice, strengthened and roughened by years of shouting. "You people are too slow."

"Aw, hell, Dad, think about how it feels for us. We all had to get up and come out here and look at your ugly mug and it's not even 0600."

"If your brain was as quick as your mouth, Captain, you'd be a fuckin' twenty-star general by now."

"And if I was as ugly as you, Sergeant Major, I'd be a poster-boy for the wonders of cosmetic surgery."

"Still an arrogant, obnoxious bastard." The older man stood there scowling for a few seconds. Then his worn, leathery face broke into a grin. "God-damn good to see you, boys! I'm back where I belong!"

The older man exchanged fierce bear-hugs with Josh, then Chris, both of whom were clearly delighted to see him. Then he turned to Tony, who was watching all this uncertainly, wondering exactly why this had to occur prior to 6AM.

"So you must be Anthony DiNozzo," the man said, turning to Tony. He held out his hand. "My name is Sergeant Major Thomas Marshall, and I'm senior NCO of the 2nd Marine Division. Welcome aboard."

"Uh, I'm Tony DiNozzo, and I'm awake," Tony said.

The man smiled. "You made quite an impression on my sons. I think they kinda like you."

"I'd like 'em, too, if they hadn't woke me up like I was in boot camp."

The elder Marshall laughed, a deep, rich laugh that came from way down in his chest somewhere. "You're funny, DiNozzo. Think you're funny enough to run five miles with the 2nd Tank Battalion this morning?"

"Oh, gosh, how can I refuse?"

"Okay, boys, let's get started!"

Sergeant Major Marshall might have been nearing sixty, but he was one tough old bear. He led the other three guys in a series of warm-up stretches, then led the way on the run over to the collection of multi-story, hideous-looking brick-and-mortar barracks structures set up behind a rectangular wooden sign that featured a red circle painted on the center. On the circle was a white spade symbol with a black tank and a gray armored horse head imposed on it. It read:

2ND TANK BATTALION

MASTERS OF THE IRON HORSE

"ACE IN THE HOLE"

The three Marshalls stood there for a moment, surveying the serene quiet of the barracks area. Sergeant Major Marshall walked forward onto a long, wide paved area near the main parking lot, probably used for formations.

Then with a shout that battered Tony's eardrums and echoed off the barracks walls and windows, the man roared, "YOUR DIVISION SERGEANT MAJOR IS ALL ALONE OUTSIDE THE BARRACKS, 2nd TANKS!"

A second or two later, a whistle blew out of sight somewhere, then another. Doors began flying open, and first a dozen Marines in OD PT uniform appeared, running for the formation area at top speed. Then a dozen more, then fifty, then a hundred. Within five minutes, Tony was standing in front of close to a thousand Marines. He was suddenly glad he worked out so much; anybody less fit would have looked like a joke in front of these guys. They were all like Chris and Josh, who looked like they lived for exercise. It was probably a Marine thing.

Josh left to take his place at the head of A Company, whose position was marked by the young Marine bearing a guidon marked "A", standing at parade rest. Tony spotted Marines carrying guidons for B, C, and D companies.

A black-haired, broad-shouldered Marine with black hair just starting to turn steel gray came up to the elder Marshall, who saluted him.

"Good morning, sir," Sergeant Major Marshall barked out.

"Good morning, Sergeant Major," the man said. "Good day to me a Marine, isn't it?"

"Hell yes, sir!"

"I see you brought your boy. And a friend of his?"

"Yes, sir."

The man approached Tony, sizing him up. "A little more exercise and you might be able to fool a civilian in that uniform."

"It's good to meet you, too, sir," Tony said sarcastically.

The man laughed. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Halverson. And you are?"

"Tony DiNozzo."

"He goes to school with me, sir," Chris said.

"Ready to join my battalion on a run, DiNozzo?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"We'll take that as a yes," another older Marine said, coming up and shaking hands with Sergeant Major Marshall and Chris like they were old friends.

"Okay, better give this guy something to do," Halverson said to himself. He went up to the Marine carrying the 2nd Tanks guidon and said, "Fall in, Lance Corporal."

"Yes, sir." The young Marine handed over the guidon, saluted, and sprinted off to join one of the companies.

Oh, no. I'm already worried about freezing my nuts off in this shit, it's not even dawn yet, don't you even think about handing me that fuckin-

"Hereya go, DiNozzo," Halverson said, smirking. "You wanna run with 2nd Tanks, you better be ready to stay up front."

"Don't you worry about me," Tony shot back. "Sir."

Halverson took position in front of the battalion, and Chris stood beside Tony, showing him just where and how to stand. The companies took roll, then reported in to the battalion commander. Once all were present or accounted for, Halverson shouted, "Good morning, Marines!"

"GOOD MORNING, SIR!"

"Your division sergeant major would like you to join him on a 5-mile run! Anybody not wanna go?"

"NO, SERGEANT MAJOR!"

"Battalion! Atten-SHUN!"

The hundreds of men snapped ramrod straight instantly. Tony snapped to attention too, wondering just what he'd done to get his first day off from military school started like this.

"Right-FACE!"

Tony turned, and with Chris quietly guiding him moved into position with Lieutenant Colonel Halverson and Sergeant Major Marshall at the head of the column.

"Cold, Tony?" Chris asked, leering at him.

"You wish," Tony whispered back.

"Double time!" Sergeant Major Marshall shouted, and with that they were off.

The cold was merciless, and Tony had next to nothing on to protect against it. It was fucking cold, just ten degrees away from freezing. Were these guys all out of their tiny little minds? Who got up this early to run in weather this cold with this much enthusiasm?

Apparently, Marines did. Tony admired their enthusiasm for physical fitness, but he hated just about everything else. What in the hell was he doing up right now?

But after a mile or so, Tony's body began warming up, and even if the outside air didn't become comfortable, it at least became tolerable. The brand-new pair of Nikes made Tony's feet feel like they, at least, were having a good time. The Marines shouted cadences, led by either Sergeant Major Marshall or Lieutenant Colonel Halverson, and Chris shouted them out joyfully even as they went into the third mile.

These guys are all crazy. They're all fucking nuts. But be honest. Would you rather be stuck at some hotel with Dad right now?

The answer to that was easy. Tony decided to start shouting the cadences himself. Even if he wasn't really enjoying this, he'd sure as hell act like it.

Running five miles after doing maybe a mile or two a day at best was tough. Tony had to really push as they went on and on down the road, and he began to sweat, which just made the cold even worse. He was unwilling to let anybody here know he wasn't up for this, though. They thought they were tough? Tony was the definition of it.

Tony was still running steady up front, with almost a thousand Marines shouting cadence behind him, when Halverson called a halt to the run. The sun was just starting to come up, and the colonel called everyone to attention, then barked out, "Present-ARMS!"

Everyone in sight had stopped, even the people in vehicles. The national anthem had begun to play from loudspeakers, and in the distance, as the sun rose, a detail of Marines was raising the American flag. The familiar notes of the song blared, and Tony watched, saluting beside Chris, as the flag and the sun rose together over the base.

Tony was- whether he liked it or not- completely awake by the time the 5-mile run was finished. He had just done more running in one day than he'd ever done before, but Tony had made it, and he managed to hide any shortness of breath quickly as the entire battalion formed up to go into the mess hall that had apparently been designated as the run's destination.

Chris eagerly grabbed Tony and pulled him out of the line, practically shoving him into the mess hall ahead of everybody. Just as Tony was about to ask what was going on, he saw Halverson, Sergeant Major Marshall, and a man he soon learned was Sergeant Major Eldridge getting set up behind the serving line.

"What's this about?" Tony managed to ask.

"We're gonna serve these hungry Devil Dogs some chow, is what this is about," Chris said, like it was obvious.

"You're crazy," Tony said, as Chris steered him behind the counters. "You're nuts. You get that?"

"What'd I tell ya? I practice, man, I practice!"

Chris was just as well known to these Marines as he was to the boys at Remington. Everyone seemed to know him. Chris, like his dad, Lieutenant Colonel Halverson and Sergeant Major Eldridge, seemed to know the names and ranks of everybody in the battalion. Chris called out greetings, traded insults, boasted back and forth about recent sexual conquests, and barked out all kinds of creative twists on alpha-dog Marine slogans that the guys coming through the line seemed to think were hilarious.

"Semper Gumby, always flexible!"

"Sample Fries!"

"Good morning, Devilled Egg!"

"Another day to serve the Corpse!"

"Good morning, Devil Donut!"

"Here's some chopped up potatoes or something, Semper Paratus! Yeah, I know it's the motto of the fuckin' Puddle Pirates! Yeah, yeah, I know! Fuck you, Lance Corporal! I'll come over this serving counter!"

The two sergeants major and the battalion commander weren't quite so informal as that, but they seemed willing to let Chris get away with it. Everybody in this battalion clearly knew who Chris was, and liked him. He was their kid brother, their unofficial mascot.

Tony exchanged more basic greetings with the Marines at first, but they seemed used to challenging and insulting Chris and his friends, and their alpha-male "jock" attitudes made Tony warm up to them a bit. So, he started trading insults with them, too, boasting about how he could out-PT them. When A Company came through, Josh loudly repeated the story of how Tony had woken up this morning, much to the amusement of the listening Marines.

These were rough guys, used to talking roughly with each other, constantly competing and challenging each other as to who was the best. They were a lot like any team of athletes Tony had ever seen. He had no interest in living by the strict military rules that Marines had to, but it was fun to learn firsthand that these Marine tank crewmen were basically a bunch of jocks.

Chris spurned sitting with the battalion headquarters personnel, despite being invited to do so. Instead, he picked out a table full of privates and lance corporals, and profanity laced every sentence from the moment he sat down. Tony's buzz cut, athletic build, and cocky manner, added to the fact that he was in Marine Corps PT uniform, caused a young Marine to look quizzically over at him as Tony spotted Chris at a table and moved in to join him.

"So, who the fuck are you? You just get done at Knox, or what?"

"Davis," Chris said, "he goes to school with me."

"Oh. Yeah, I knew that."

"I bet you did," Tony said. "Anybody got any girlfriends feeling less-than-satisfied? I'm here for them all week."

That brought on a howl of laughter, and suddenly every Marine at the table was challenging Tony, asking him about his size, suggesting he maybe should go sit at the kids' table. Tony challenged and insulted right back. Chris seemed to be delighted about the whole thing. He caught Tony's eye at one point, and gave him a thumbs-up. Tony had more fun eating breakfast with 2nd Tanks than he would have expected. These guys were arrogant, obnoxious bastards- athletic, fiercely macho, supremely skilled at anything they did and extremely full of themselves. They were just like Chris, and surprisingly like Tony.

"You trying to make me wanna join up?" Tony asked jokingly at one point.

"Nah," Chris said. "I just wanted to bring you aboard this base in style."

The first day "aboard" Camp Lejeune passed quickly. Tony just about killed himself completing the five-mile run back, but he refused to admit to any weakness and insisted he was just acting like he was worn out, so he didn't embarrass everyone. Once he handed the battalion guidon off and the formation was dismissed, Josh left to go change into BDU's for the day and get to work. After a run back to the house, Sergeant Major Marshall also changed into BDU's. Before leaving for the day, he told Tony he was welcome to stay during the break, and that he should feel free to speak to any of three Marshalls if he ever needed anything.

Chris challenged Tony to another pushup contest immediately after his dad left, and Tony narrowly lost that one, as well. The redhead jumped up and beat his chest, making noises like he was some kind of primitive ape, upon winning the contest, and then calmly said, "Let's go hit the gym."

The fitness center they went to was a huge, cavernous space with all kinds of stations and weights. "It's about the only thing at Lejeune that isn't kinda shitty," Chris remarked. They spent almost two hours there, and although Chris encouraged a competitive spirit between them the whole time, he also assisted Tony, spotted for him, and gave him tips and pointers. Even with what Tony already knew, there were things Chris was still able to teach him.

During dinner at the elder Marshall's house, Tony was encouraged to talk about things that interested him, what he was liking about his new school so far, anything he wanted to. Chris, Josh and the brothers' adopted father all seemed quite interested in hearing what Tony had to say, and their concern about how he was doing seemed genuine, not perfunctory like Dad's pretty much always was. It was a nice change of pace.

After clearing everything up after dinner, Chris and Tony went for yet another run, pushing each other on the whole time by trading insults, bragging about their stamina and manliness. A few minutes in, Tony noticed some grinding and clanking going on in the distance, getting louder. Chris noticed, too, and moved them off the road.

A minute or so later, they showed up: a column of huge, growling tanks, their turrets cranked around so the guns faced backward.

"Whoo-hoo!" Chris screamed into the cool night air. "Semper Fi, motherfuckers! Yeah, yeah, come on, come on! Get some, boys! M60 Patton, best in the world! Get some!"

The tanks drove by, towering over the two boys, their diesel engines making almost as much of a racket as their treads and wheels. Chris kept shouting, pumping his fist in the air, the whole time the tanks drove by. One man riding in the turret of one of the tanks cupped his hands and shouted, "Fuck you, Chris!"

"Fuck you, Josh!" Chris shouted back.

As the tanks drove away into the night, Chris sighed. "Holy shit, man. Tanks are fucking awesome."

"You and your brother are so nice to each other."

"Oh, that? It's how we show our love, man. That's tough love, Tony. Tough love."

After running back to the house, the two boys argued over who would get to shower first, then settled it with a brief wrestling contest. Much to his amusement, Tony managed to pin Chris down just long enough to win, so he got to shower first. After taking care of 'business' and getting that handsome frame good and clean, Tony spent a few extra minutes standing on the bath mat, playing air guitar like he was in AC/DC. He wasn't about to admit it, but he was having a good time.

Tony thought about heading back to his room, but he instead went and waited in Chris' room while the redhead showered. When Chris came back, he looked a little surprised to see Tony waiting around, but just said evenly, "So what's up?"

"I wanna talk and bare my soul," Tony said sarcastically, grinning.

"Oh, yeah? Well, you've come to the right guy," Chris said. "Question, though- do both of us need to be in our underwear?"

"You live at a school where you see guys naked all the time. Are you seriously uncomfortable about us being in our underwear?" Tony asked him.

Chris considered that. "Well, I'm not a faggot or anything. But it just looks weird."

"I mean, I'm just being practical. I'm not getting all dressed up if I'm just going to bed in a minute."

"Okay, sure. So, what'd you wanna talk about?"

Tony shrugged. "Football."

They wound up talking about football, basketball, baseball, soccer, plus girls, sports cars and weightlifting. Chris was such a fun guy to talk to, always having smart remarks or witty replies to things, that Tony kept coming up with new topics just so he could see what Chris would say about it. Eventually, Sergeant Major Marshall came by and declared lights out, but they just closed Tony's door and pretended to be asleep.

What they did instead was keep talking. Chris assured Tony that they'd be having "a lot of fun" during break, and he did indeed have a plan for them to "keep some beds warm" tomorrow. Tony found himself believing that. Chris seemed like he could do damn near anything.

When Tony finally got up and went back to his room, it was well past the lights-out time. Chris assured Tony that now that he had been "welcomed aboard", he didn't have to do PT in the mornings unless he and Chris agreed to join in on it. Tony opted to sleep in, without getting tossed out of bed, and Chris said that would be fine, provided they were still up and at the gym by 8. Tony flipped the redhead the bird, and Chris blew a kiss back.

Back in the guest room, Tony did some pushups and then lay down on his bed. He stretched out and relaxed, smiling to himself. He was looking forward to the rest of this holiday break, and that was something he hadn't been able to say in a long time.

A/N: 2-11-2018.

The 1986 film Heartbreak Ridge, the 1984 film Tank, and the 1971 film Dirty Harry are both referenced in this chapter. Sergeant Major Marshall is based significantly off Sergeant Major Zack Carey in Tank.

The M60 Patton was the primary main battle tank in service with the U.S. Marine Corps in late 1986, to my knowledge. By that time it was being replaced in US service by the M1 Abrams, but the US Army got priority on the new tank. The last M60 Patton tanks were not removed from USMC service until the end of the Gulf War in 1991.

I would like to say a special thank-you to Jenny wrens, who recently reviewed Chapter 1-5 of this story at my request. In return, I have been steadily reviewing her NCIS stories and will continue to do so as best I can. Jenny wrens, your reviews are greatly appreciated.

Anyone who wishes to leave feedback may do so freely. I love to hear what I've been doing right, but if you find there's something you dislike or wish to criticize, feel free to do that as well. You can share your thoughts in a review, or send them to me in a PM. All I ask is that people be polite. I want candid, not canned opinions on my work, but good manners are important on any occasion.

One suggestion for improvement Jenny wrens ran by me is decreasing the length of the chapters. So far, 10-12,000 words has been the average- around 30 pages. That is a bit much, honestly. So I managed to write just over 9,000 for this one, in an effort to cut down on the size of each chapter. 9k is still a good-sized chapter, but it's a step in the right direction. I am aiming to write a 7,000-8,000 word chapter for Chapter 7. This is a change I might not have even thought to make had Jenny wrens not pointed it out to me. Just goes to show how valuable feedback can be.

The date at the end of this chapter is Saturday, November 22, 1986. In exactly seven days, Tony will be going back to military school, but that's off his mind right now.