Samuel Lance tossed and turned in his bed all night long. Like many rookie fighters before him, the constant threat of invasion made it hard to sleep. First he was too hot, then freezing cold, then he had to pee. Whenever he got up to go to the bathroom, he would just stand there in his boxers and t-shirt staring at the toilet bowl. As the night wore on, he only grew more restless.
After sweating through his second pillow, he sat up. Forgetting he was in a bunk bed, his head smashed against the mattress springs of the bed on top of him. He cursed in rapid succession, and woke up half the barracks.
He tried to get back into bed quickly so he wouldn't be noticed, but a cold hand gripped over his throat interrupted his mock-sleep. The hand began to squeeze Sammy's scrawny neck until he turned blue, and he heard a guttural voice muttering, "Can't you sit still, you son of a…" One of the Marines at the other end of the room ran over and jerked the man's hand off Sammy. When Sammy turned to see his attacker and the man who may have just saved his life, he found himself face to face with Private Alstan Gates and his commander, Sergeant Manton.
Sergeant Manton was a Marine who had been fighting for more than 20 years. His face showed the torment he had been through; the multitudinous wrinkles, scars, burns, and lack of hair were constant reminders to the men about what it's like to live through war. His face told a story of glory, but also one of anguish and defeat.
"Private
Gates!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his already red face growing more sanguine with each second. He tossed Alstan's
hand away from Sammy's throat. "What in
the hell are you doing to Private Lance? I should give you toilet duty for the act you just pulled!" Manton's fists shook in anger. Sweat began to roll down his temple, each
drop slowed by a large vein bulging out of his head.
Manton swung his fist at a bedpost and broke it in half, sending splinters and woodchips everywhere. His fist was cut and bleeding, but he didn't care about the pain, he was used to it. He had more punishment to give out, anyway. He turned to Sammy with a sadistic look in his eyes.
"Hello, Private Lance," he whispered, but the psychotic look on his face gave away that he hadn't fully gained self-composure. He rubbed his bloody palm with his other hand while continuing to look Sammy straight in the eyes.
"What are you doing up at this time of night?"
Sammy looked at his palms and realized that they were dripping like a leaky faucet. He looked up to give the sergeant an answer, but the second his mouth opened to speak, he received the worst reprimand of his life. Manton got right up to the soldier's white sweaty face and let loose, with no respect to the other men sleeping in the room.
"I know what you were doing! You just wanted to get up and dilly-dally around like a little girl!" Manton began to prance around, mimicking a little girl. Sammy tried to hold back a giggle, but less than a half second later, Manton was back in Sammy's face, angrier than ever.
"Do you think that's funny, Private?! Am I making you laugh?! Do I look like a fucking clown to you, Private??" Manton paused to catch his breath. He stared into Sammy's frightened eyes like a hawk at an injured mouse in a barren field. He noticed Sammy's eyes welling up with tears that were too scared to fall down the cheeks of their creator, and he smiled evilly.
"Are you
gonna cry now?!" he yelled. He lifted
his hand as if to strike Sammy, and Sammy braced himself for the blow by
ducking under his covers. His bunkmates
began to laugh, but they were silenced as Manton turned his chilling gaze upon the rest of the room.
"You all want a piece of me tonight, I see. Don't you worry…I'll finish this business tomorrow, so sleep tight." He glanced at Alstan, now back in his own bunk, then at Sammy's figure, still covered by the sheets. "Lance and Gates, you're both on SCV duty tomorrow until I'm through with you. Now get to bed, you scumbags." Sammy peeked his head out from beneath the covers, and once more caught the sergeant's intense glare. "This is not over!" he shouted as he stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut.
After that, no one spoke for a good five minutes. The first sounds came from the top-left bunk.
"You got
mining duties, you got mining duties," the figure chanted in a sing-song
voice. Alstan shot
up in his bed.
"C'mon Tony, get your ass down here and say that to my face, you little prick," he shot back. Tony retorted under his breath.
"C'mon Tony, share what you said with the rest of us." Alstan paused with a look of feigned shock. "Tony, this is the men's bunk area. You're in the wrong one. Make a left down the hall and look for the ladies' bunks, 'cuz that's where you belong, you sissy!" Tony jumped off the top bunk and reached for his rifle as Alstan reached for his own. Six other men jumped out of their bunks and held the two men back from killing each other. Sammy watched in awe at how fast these men were eager to fight, enemy or fellow soldier. He silently went to grab his rifle just in case one did fire. One of the Marines not holding Alstan or Tony back looked toward Sammy and saw the gun in his hands. Suddenly all hell broke loose.
The figure in the bunk next to him pointed and screamed, "Sammy has a gun, he's goin' postal!" Sammy freaked and dropped the gun. It hit someone's foot, leading the group to more cursing and brawling.
Sammy
silently crawled into the extreme corner of his bunk. He looked out the window and saw daylight slowly brightening the
sky. A new day was upon them, but this
one didn't promise to be any better than the night before.
* * * * *
The morning didn't bring any refuge for Sammy. He wasn't able to get any sleep after the incident with Alstan and Manton. He slowly crawled out of bed and put on his clothes.
The whole bunk stared at him with
empty eyes as he washed and brushed his teeth. Alstan constantly cursed at him and hit him every chance he got. Tony snapped mercilessly at Alstan, and
scuffles would break out every four minutes. Sammy knew he was the root of the problem and decided to leave the bunk,
but Manton interrupted his departure. He gave Sammy the same evil grin he had witnessed the night before. What followed was a complete psychological
rape by words.
"Son, where in the hell do you think you're goin'? Don't you know it's your turn for SCV duty? So go get suited up." The vein in his head began to bulge. "And get your ass to the lines and build us some goddamed supply depots!"
Sammy cringed as a glob of spit hit the corner of his right eye. He went to wipe it away, but was stopped by Manton's huge hand making contact with his face. He looked at the sergeant with wide eyes. This was the first time the sarge had physically hit someone. Sammy held his right cheek in pain and anger. Manton stared at him and uttered the words that can send any teetering man off the edge.
"What baby, you going to cry now?" He paused a second to see Sammy's reaction, then laughed at his own joke like it was the funniest thing he had ever heard.
Sammy's anger began to rise slowly, and his one hundred thirty five pound body began to shake. He clenched his fist until it hurt. He tried to move the anger someplace else, but he was full; the only place for it to go now was out.
He stared at Manton, who was still laughing and calling Sammy names.
"This is the perfect time," Sammy thought as he pulled his fist back to strike. He aimed for Manton's nose, that big ugly nose, broken many times in battle. One more break wouldn't make much of a difference. He lunged forward, and the sound of bone on bone echoed across the camp. Blood sprayed across the floor as the fist finished its journey and wound up back by Sammy's side.
Manton hit the floor like a ton of bricks, and Sammy smiled. Unfortunately, this moment of satisfaction didn't last long.
Manton looked up at Sammy, blood streaming from his nose. A smile slowly crossed his face and he stood up, unleashing one of his own back onto Sammy. The shot hit Sammy's left cheek and sent him flying backwards.
The rest of the memory faded quickly, only the throbbing pain in his face and the impact of the punch lingered in his mind.
He passed out on the floor, under Manton's unmoving gaze and twisted, blood-smeared smile.
"Someone get this kid a medic," he spat out, turning away from the limp body and walking out the door without a glance backward.