SE Hinton owns the Outsiders. Anyone you don't recognize belongs to me.
Some of these events actually happened to my husband when he was at RTC San
Diego in 1978. (Yes, he's old!!) Please read and review. Most
importantly, ENJOY!!
CHAPTER 3
Everyone was staring at me. "Aw, ain't that sweet?" said Two-Bit with a grin, lightening the moment.
"Shut the Hell up," I said as I threw a pillow at him. "I didn't know if I was ever gonna see you guys again so get off my back you asshole."
Two-Bit opened his mouth to make another smart-ass remark but I told him, "If you want me to keep talkin' about it you better just sit down and shut your trap." He sat down and I said, "I got on the plane and found my seat, not really paying attention to anyone else, I barely noticed the young kid in the seat next to me.
~FLASHBACK~
It was a long flight and I had too much time to think. I wasn't really scared; I knew I could handle boot camp and "A" school, but I didn't know what to expect and that was bothering me. I don't know how long I sat, just staring at the back of the head in front of me. I almost jumped out of my skin when a voice next to me said, "Where you headed?"
"San Diego. Boot camp."
"Really? Me too. What's your name?"
"Steve Randle, what's yours?"
"James Robinson, but everybody calls me Jimmy," he said with a smile.
"Nice to meet you Jimmy," I said. He don't look any older than Ponyboy, I thought to myself. "How'd you end up here?" I asked.
"I got my draft letter the day after my eighteenth birthday. Great birthday present, huh?"
We talked for the rest of the flight. He was a smart kid but he was so young. I don't mean young in years but in life. He was still so wide-eyed and innocent and he reminded me a lot of Pony. I made up my mind right then that I was going to look out for him.
We were talking about our friends and families when all the sudden I realized something. "Oh shit," I groaned.
"What?" asked Jimmy.
"I left my bag in the truck."
"My recruiter told me not to bring anything. He said everything we need will be issued to us when we get there."
"Shit, I hope so," I said. It was going to be a long eight weeks if I didn't get some clean shorts.
As it turned out, Jimmy was also a CMCR and going to Port Hueneme for "A" school. It eased the knot in my gut a little bit to know that.
"Are you scared?"
The question caught me off guard. "I don't think so," I said. "Not of anything that's going to happen in the next four months anyway," I said. "I ain't ever been away from my neighborhood before and I ain't really likin' that and I don't like not knowin' what to expect but I ain't scared."
"I am," said Jimmy softly. "I am terrified of all of this. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm going to be with people I don't know, being yelled at and screamed at all the time. I never wanted to be in the military anyway. I wanted to be a teacher." I pretended not to notice as he wiped his eyes.
"It'll be ok, Jimmy. Just stick with me. Ok?" Normally I hate it when guys cry, I think they're weak or something, but for some reason it didn't bother me when Jimmy cried. Maybe that was because I could tell he was embarrassed and he didn't break down, his eyes just leaked for a minute or two before he got himself together.
He nodded, "Ok."
The plane landed shortly after that and we walked into the crowded airport. Not knowing what else to do, we followed everybody down to baggage claim. That's when we saw him, a very large Marine. He was standing in a small booth with a sign that read Military Liaison. His nameplate identified him as Staff Sergeant Davis. "I think we need to talk to him," said Jimmy.
"All right, let's get this over with," I said. Taking a deep breath I walked over and said, "Excuse me, Sir." Shit, you would have thought I'd insulted the guy!
His face turned red and his eyes started buggin' out of his head as he yelled, "Do not call me sir! Is there anything about this uniform that says officer to you? You will address me as Staff Sergeant. Is that clear, Recruit?"
I ain't ever been accused of being smart but it didn't take a genius to figure out the right answer here. "Yes, Staff Sergeant."
"What's your name, Recruit?" he barked.
"Randle, Steven Andrew," I answered.
He checked his list and marked my name. "What's your shadow's name, Randle?" he asked. Before I could answer, Staff Sergeant Davis looked at Jimmy and said, "What's your name, Shadow?"
"Robinson, James Christopher," he said softly.
"Sound off like you got a pair, Recruit!"
Jimmy swallowed and then said loudly, "Robinson, James Christopher!"
The Staff Sergeant made another mark on his list and said, "Randle, you and your shadow go out and wait with the rest of the recruits. When we get a bus load we'll leave and until then you'll wait."
We turned to go and had started to walk away when SSGT Davis yelled, "Recruit!" I turned and looked at him and he said, "Say goodbye to that hair." I think he almost smiled at the look on my face.
Jimmy and I went outside and stood with a group of boys. There wasn't much talking going on because I think everybody was scared to some degree but I did figure out that some of the guys were going to Marine boot camp and the rest of us were going to Navy boot camp. I don't know how long we stood out there before the bus finally pulled up. We boarded the bus and were told by the driver to sit down and shut up. After everybody was seated, SSGT Davis boarded the bus and looked around; seeing me he called out, "Recruit Randle, you got your shadow with you?"
"Yes Staff Sergeant," I answered as everybody on the bus laughed and Jimmy turned bright red. That name stuck and he would forever be known as Shadow.
The bus started up and we drove off into the night. I don't know how long we were on that bus but it felt like hours as we drove down dark back roads that didn't have a single streetlight. Finally the bus stopped at MCRD and a big, mean looking son of bitch got on and said "All you ladies coming to Marine boot camp pop tall! You have twenty seconds to get the fuck off my bus and fall into a straight line! Haul ass!" All the Marine recruits ran off the bus and formed a straight line. The Marine Drill Instructor turned to the driver and said, "Take all them sissies to the Navy." As we pulled away we could hear the Marine yelling something about being the sorriest pieces of shit he'd ever seen in his life. The next stop would be RTC San Diego. I felt like I did before a rumble: tense, ready to fight, and anxious.
We finally got there and were told to get off the bus and line up. We fell into four lines of about 20 guys each. I ended up between Jimmy and some guy who seemed to know what he was doing. We were marched into a building and told to stand at attention and not to talk. We were taken back in groups of five and our heads were shaved. I think that was the worst thing that had happened to me so far. I hated losing my hair.
When everybody had returned from getting their heads shaved we were marched to another building where we filled out a bunch of paperwork and then off to another building where we were issued uniforms; including boots and shoes, PT gear, speed boots, shoe shine kit, towel, sewing kit, laundry bag, and a ditty bag with soap, shampoo, razor and deodorant. Thankfully, they also issued us underwear. Finally, we were marched to our barracks and told to claim a rack. I claimed an upper rack and Jimmy grabbed the one below me. Before we were allowed to crawl into them we had to properly fold and stow our uniforms, make our racks, and strip down to our shorts. It was three in the morning before we finally collapsed onto our racks.
I awoke to the sound of a metal trashcan being kicked across the room by a dorky little man who was shouting "REVILLE! REVILLE! DROP YOUR COCKS AND GRAB YOUR SOCKS! GET YOUR UNIFORMS ON! GET YOUR BUNKS MADE UP! BE ON THE LINE IN FIVE MINUTES!"
"Shit," I thought as I rolled out of my rack, "It's only six in the fucking morning! Nothing like letting us sleep." We all scrambled to get into our dungarees and pull on our boondockers while someone kept yelling, "Hurry up, ladies!" We fell in beside our racks with our toes on an imaginary line on the floor.
"Atten-hut! I am HT1 Actahberg. I am your senior Company Commander. You will refer to me as Sir. Is that clear?"
Everybody answered with, "Yeah," or "Uh-huh," or "Yes, Sir."
HT1 Actahberg stopped in mid stride and was instantly in our faces. He stood nose to nose with us as he walked down the line shouting, "The last word of your dirty pie hole will be Sir! Is that understood?"
"Yes Sir!" we shouted.
"Bullshit! I can't hear you, Ladies!"
"Yes, Sir!" we shouted again, louder.
"What are you a bunch of fucking women? Sound off like you got a pair!"
"YES, SIR!"
The next few days all seemed to run together. We spent a lot of time putting our names on things, making our racks correctly, (sheets tucked in with hospital corners and blanket folded at the foot of the bed), learning to fold everything in our lockers from shirts to underwear, and learning how to march. We were also issued rifles and given a sheet of instructions on their care. We also went to medical and met with a corpsman for a bunch of shots. Through it all, our CC was yelling at us. "Move it, move it, move it!" and "Do it and do it now!" were two phrases that I quickly grew sick of.
We learned one very important lesson that weekend: never refer to your weapon as a gun. We were cleaning and assembling our weapons when one of the recruits, I think it was Red but I don't know for sure, referred to it as a gun. HT1 Actahberg overheard him.
"Ladies, assemble those fucking weapons and toe the line!"
"AYE, AYE, SIR!" we shouted as we hauled ass to follow orders. As soon as we were on the line HT1 was in our faces.
"This is a rifle or a weapon girls, not a gun! I'm going to make sure you girls don't ever forget that again."
Two minutes later we were all standing in our skivvies, holding our weapon with one hand and our crotches with the other, shouting, "This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for fighting', this is for fun!" None of us ever called our weapon a gun again.
Over the next four weeks we fell into a routine of classes, PT, and chow. We also began to develop friendships. It's almost impossible for eighty guys to live that close together and not become a tight group. We all had nicknames and we never used each other's real names. We looked forward to mail call and letters were read over and over. Everybody shared news from home. We congratulated Slim when he became a father and we comforted Bubba when he got a Dear John letter. We were a division; when one hurt, we all hurt. I also don't know when or how but we all became aware of the fact that we were proud. Proud of ourselves, proud of our company and proud to be sailors.
We had also reached a point where Navy language was second nature to us. We didn't use the restroom; we went to the head. We didn't see a doctor or even a corpsman; we went to the pecker checker. We didn't drink from a drinking fountain; we used the scuttlebutt. We didn't wear underwear; we wore skivvies. We had shit cans instead of trashcans; we ate in a galley, slept in racks, and loved every minute of it.
The fifth week was service week. We didn't have classes that week but we all had jobs. I ended up in the scullery washing dishes. I washed dishes for all three meals for the entire base. It was not exciting work but it wasn't difficult either. Not much happened to me during that week but Shadow had an experience. He was part of the crew that was assigned to clean our barracks from top to bottom. While they were working one day, a recruit we called Cowboy was dusting the windowsills and watching the people who were on the patio smoking. He would lean out the window and yell, "Attention on Deck!" which would bring everybody on the patio to attention as Cowboy laughed. He did this three or four times and every time the recruits would pop to attention and he would laugh at them. The last time he called attention on deck; our junior CC, MM1 Stone was standing behind him.
"What the Hell are you doing, Recruit!"
Cowboy almost choked on his tongue as he stammered, "I was just.."
"You were just fucking around. Since you seem to have so much time on your hands you can watch for incoming and outgoing planes." MM1 pointed out the window where you could see planes landing and taking off from the airport. The rest of the crew got back to work as Cowboy stood at the window saying, "Beep, beep, I'm a silly radar, beep, beep." Every time a plane took off or landed he would yell, "Sir, aircraft, Sir!" When Shadow told me about it later I thought he was going to roll on the floor he was laughing so hard.
One day in about our sixth week, we marched back to the barracks after lunch and MM1 Stone ordered us to face our racks, strip and fall in. After we did so he turned off the lights and said "See you in an hour, Ladies." That was our introduction to a Navy Nooner. Our CC's had become human after Service Week, and we no longer thought of them as mean sons of bitches. Usually.
About that same time, Bubba and I were on road patrol. We patrolled the area around our barracks, which included the road between RTC and MCRD. There was a Marine company out marching and when they saw us they yelled, "Sailor, Sailor don't be blue; Tinkerbell was a fairy too!"
"I hate them fuckin' Marines." muttered Bubba. "The few, the proud, the dead on the beach."
"Me too, but we better get used to them. You could get assigned to one of their units and I might need one of them to cover my ass if we get sent to Vietnam."
"I know you're right, Slick, but I still hate their fucking guts."
In the seventh week we met with a yeoman and discussed where we wanted to go to school. I already had a school but we discussed my options anyway.
"You do have choices. You could change rates to something that is less likely to get you shipped out if that's what you want."
I thought about it for a minute and remembered Bubba telling me that he thought our job was to defend people who couldn't defend themselves. "I want to go, YN3." That was that, I was going to Port Hueneme and then, if I had any say, I was going to go kick some Viet Cong ass.
Shadow decided to stay with his school also. For a scared kid he turned out to be one tough little bastard. No matter what the CC's did or said, he refused to quit or give up.
Bubba, Shadow and I talked a lot about Vietnam and we all knew that, given the chance, we were going to go. We weren't looking to be heroes but if we didn't go someone else would have to. We saw it as our duty.
Finally, graduation day rolled around. We all got dressed up in our dress blue uniforms and marched out to the parade grounds. When it was over, we marched back to our barracks, slung our sea bags over our backs and marched to the gate to catch a bus to the airport.
Before Shadow and I boarded the bus, I turned to Bubba and said, "If I get shipped out I hope like Hell I don't see you over there, you damn penis machinist."
"Keep your fucking head down, Slick, 'cause I don't want to be digging shrapnel out of your ass if you do end up over there." He turned towards Jimmy, "That goes double for you, Shadow. If you end up over there I don't want to have to listen to your smart ass mouth while I'm tending to you."
"Like I want a redneck hillbilly like you tending to me. I'd probably bleed to death while you figure out how to unroll the bandages you dumb fuck."
We all laughed and boarded our buses.
The next two months were just school. PT and liberty with nothing to do. In the sixth week we received our orders. I was assigned to NMCB 10 and they had recently been deployed to Vietnam. I had two weeks leave before I had to report. Jimmy had also been assigned to NMCB 10. We said good-bye on the last day and headed for home. When we boarded our separate planes, I said, "See you in two weeks, Shipmate."
He grinned and said, "See you, Slick!"
~End Flashback~
I sat on the couch, staring at he ceiling. I could see Shadow, bright eyed and grinning. I felt the tears slip down my face. "I need a break," I said as I grabbed my crutches and hauled my self upright. I knew everyone was staring at me as I swung myself towards the back door and I didn't care.
"Steve?" I heard Soda call to me.
"Let him go, Soda. Give him a few minutes."
"Give me all the time in the world, Darrel," I thought, "that doesn't mean I'll tell you anything." But I knew I would. GLOSSARY:
AYE, AYE: I understand and will obey BOONDOCKERS: Work boots CC: Company Commander CMCR: Construction Mechanic Constructionman Recruit CORPSMAN: Medic GRINDER: A large concrete area used for marching, PT and falling into ranks after chow, class or other activities. HT1: Hull Technician 1st class MCRD: Marine Corps Recruit Depot MM1: Machinist Mate 1st class PT: Physical Training PECKER CHECKER: Corpsman PENIS MACHINIST: Corpsman RACK: Bed. In this case, very uncomfortable bunk beds. SKIVVIES: Underwear SSGT: Staff Sergeant YN3: Yeoman 3rd class
CHAPTER 3
Everyone was staring at me. "Aw, ain't that sweet?" said Two-Bit with a grin, lightening the moment.
"Shut the Hell up," I said as I threw a pillow at him. "I didn't know if I was ever gonna see you guys again so get off my back you asshole."
Two-Bit opened his mouth to make another smart-ass remark but I told him, "If you want me to keep talkin' about it you better just sit down and shut your trap." He sat down and I said, "I got on the plane and found my seat, not really paying attention to anyone else, I barely noticed the young kid in the seat next to me.
~FLASHBACK~
It was a long flight and I had too much time to think. I wasn't really scared; I knew I could handle boot camp and "A" school, but I didn't know what to expect and that was bothering me. I don't know how long I sat, just staring at the back of the head in front of me. I almost jumped out of my skin when a voice next to me said, "Where you headed?"
"San Diego. Boot camp."
"Really? Me too. What's your name?"
"Steve Randle, what's yours?"
"James Robinson, but everybody calls me Jimmy," he said with a smile.
"Nice to meet you Jimmy," I said. He don't look any older than Ponyboy, I thought to myself. "How'd you end up here?" I asked.
"I got my draft letter the day after my eighteenth birthday. Great birthday present, huh?"
We talked for the rest of the flight. He was a smart kid but he was so young. I don't mean young in years but in life. He was still so wide-eyed and innocent and he reminded me a lot of Pony. I made up my mind right then that I was going to look out for him.
We were talking about our friends and families when all the sudden I realized something. "Oh shit," I groaned.
"What?" asked Jimmy.
"I left my bag in the truck."
"My recruiter told me not to bring anything. He said everything we need will be issued to us when we get there."
"Shit, I hope so," I said. It was going to be a long eight weeks if I didn't get some clean shorts.
As it turned out, Jimmy was also a CMCR and going to Port Hueneme for "A" school. It eased the knot in my gut a little bit to know that.
"Are you scared?"
The question caught me off guard. "I don't think so," I said. "Not of anything that's going to happen in the next four months anyway," I said. "I ain't ever been away from my neighborhood before and I ain't really likin' that and I don't like not knowin' what to expect but I ain't scared."
"I am," said Jimmy softly. "I am terrified of all of this. I don't even know why I'm here. I'm going to be with people I don't know, being yelled at and screamed at all the time. I never wanted to be in the military anyway. I wanted to be a teacher." I pretended not to notice as he wiped his eyes.
"It'll be ok, Jimmy. Just stick with me. Ok?" Normally I hate it when guys cry, I think they're weak or something, but for some reason it didn't bother me when Jimmy cried. Maybe that was because I could tell he was embarrassed and he didn't break down, his eyes just leaked for a minute or two before he got himself together.
He nodded, "Ok."
The plane landed shortly after that and we walked into the crowded airport. Not knowing what else to do, we followed everybody down to baggage claim. That's when we saw him, a very large Marine. He was standing in a small booth with a sign that read Military Liaison. His nameplate identified him as Staff Sergeant Davis. "I think we need to talk to him," said Jimmy.
"All right, let's get this over with," I said. Taking a deep breath I walked over and said, "Excuse me, Sir." Shit, you would have thought I'd insulted the guy!
His face turned red and his eyes started buggin' out of his head as he yelled, "Do not call me sir! Is there anything about this uniform that says officer to you? You will address me as Staff Sergeant. Is that clear, Recruit?"
I ain't ever been accused of being smart but it didn't take a genius to figure out the right answer here. "Yes, Staff Sergeant."
"What's your name, Recruit?" he barked.
"Randle, Steven Andrew," I answered.
He checked his list and marked my name. "What's your shadow's name, Randle?" he asked. Before I could answer, Staff Sergeant Davis looked at Jimmy and said, "What's your name, Shadow?"
"Robinson, James Christopher," he said softly.
"Sound off like you got a pair, Recruit!"
Jimmy swallowed and then said loudly, "Robinson, James Christopher!"
The Staff Sergeant made another mark on his list and said, "Randle, you and your shadow go out and wait with the rest of the recruits. When we get a bus load we'll leave and until then you'll wait."
We turned to go and had started to walk away when SSGT Davis yelled, "Recruit!" I turned and looked at him and he said, "Say goodbye to that hair." I think he almost smiled at the look on my face.
Jimmy and I went outside and stood with a group of boys. There wasn't much talking going on because I think everybody was scared to some degree but I did figure out that some of the guys were going to Marine boot camp and the rest of us were going to Navy boot camp. I don't know how long we stood out there before the bus finally pulled up. We boarded the bus and were told by the driver to sit down and shut up. After everybody was seated, SSGT Davis boarded the bus and looked around; seeing me he called out, "Recruit Randle, you got your shadow with you?"
"Yes Staff Sergeant," I answered as everybody on the bus laughed and Jimmy turned bright red. That name stuck and he would forever be known as Shadow.
The bus started up and we drove off into the night. I don't know how long we were on that bus but it felt like hours as we drove down dark back roads that didn't have a single streetlight. Finally the bus stopped at MCRD and a big, mean looking son of bitch got on and said "All you ladies coming to Marine boot camp pop tall! You have twenty seconds to get the fuck off my bus and fall into a straight line! Haul ass!" All the Marine recruits ran off the bus and formed a straight line. The Marine Drill Instructor turned to the driver and said, "Take all them sissies to the Navy." As we pulled away we could hear the Marine yelling something about being the sorriest pieces of shit he'd ever seen in his life. The next stop would be RTC San Diego. I felt like I did before a rumble: tense, ready to fight, and anxious.
We finally got there and were told to get off the bus and line up. We fell into four lines of about 20 guys each. I ended up between Jimmy and some guy who seemed to know what he was doing. We were marched into a building and told to stand at attention and not to talk. We were taken back in groups of five and our heads were shaved. I think that was the worst thing that had happened to me so far. I hated losing my hair.
When everybody had returned from getting their heads shaved we were marched to another building where we filled out a bunch of paperwork and then off to another building where we were issued uniforms; including boots and shoes, PT gear, speed boots, shoe shine kit, towel, sewing kit, laundry bag, and a ditty bag with soap, shampoo, razor and deodorant. Thankfully, they also issued us underwear. Finally, we were marched to our barracks and told to claim a rack. I claimed an upper rack and Jimmy grabbed the one below me. Before we were allowed to crawl into them we had to properly fold and stow our uniforms, make our racks, and strip down to our shorts. It was three in the morning before we finally collapsed onto our racks.
I awoke to the sound of a metal trashcan being kicked across the room by a dorky little man who was shouting "REVILLE! REVILLE! DROP YOUR COCKS AND GRAB YOUR SOCKS! GET YOUR UNIFORMS ON! GET YOUR BUNKS MADE UP! BE ON THE LINE IN FIVE MINUTES!"
"Shit," I thought as I rolled out of my rack, "It's only six in the fucking morning! Nothing like letting us sleep." We all scrambled to get into our dungarees and pull on our boondockers while someone kept yelling, "Hurry up, ladies!" We fell in beside our racks with our toes on an imaginary line on the floor.
"Atten-hut! I am HT1 Actahberg. I am your senior Company Commander. You will refer to me as Sir. Is that clear?"
Everybody answered with, "Yeah," or "Uh-huh," or "Yes, Sir."
HT1 Actahberg stopped in mid stride and was instantly in our faces. He stood nose to nose with us as he walked down the line shouting, "The last word of your dirty pie hole will be Sir! Is that understood?"
"Yes Sir!" we shouted.
"Bullshit! I can't hear you, Ladies!"
"Yes, Sir!" we shouted again, louder.
"What are you a bunch of fucking women? Sound off like you got a pair!"
"YES, SIR!"
The next few days all seemed to run together. We spent a lot of time putting our names on things, making our racks correctly, (sheets tucked in with hospital corners and blanket folded at the foot of the bed), learning to fold everything in our lockers from shirts to underwear, and learning how to march. We were also issued rifles and given a sheet of instructions on their care. We also went to medical and met with a corpsman for a bunch of shots. Through it all, our CC was yelling at us. "Move it, move it, move it!" and "Do it and do it now!" were two phrases that I quickly grew sick of.
We learned one very important lesson that weekend: never refer to your weapon as a gun. We were cleaning and assembling our weapons when one of the recruits, I think it was Red but I don't know for sure, referred to it as a gun. HT1 Actahberg overheard him.
"Ladies, assemble those fucking weapons and toe the line!"
"AYE, AYE, SIR!" we shouted as we hauled ass to follow orders. As soon as we were on the line HT1 was in our faces.
"This is a rifle or a weapon girls, not a gun! I'm going to make sure you girls don't ever forget that again."
Two minutes later we were all standing in our skivvies, holding our weapon with one hand and our crotches with the other, shouting, "This is my rifle, this is my gun. This is for fighting', this is for fun!" None of us ever called our weapon a gun again.
Over the next four weeks we fell into a routine of classes, PT, and chow. We also began to develop friendships. It's almost impossible for eighty guys to live that close together and not become a tight group. We all had nicknames and we never used each other's real names. We looked forward to mail call and letters were read over and over. Everybody shared news from home. We congratulated Slim when he became a father and we comforted Bubba when he got a Dear John letter. We were a division; when one hurt, we all hurt. I also don't know when or how but we all became aware of the fact that we were proud. Proud of ourselves, proud of our company and proud to be sailors.
We had also reached a point where Navy language was second nature to us. We didn't use the restroom; we went to the head. We didn't see a doctor or even a corpsman; we went to the pecker checker. We didn't drink from a drinking fountain; we used the scuttlebutt. We didn't wear underwear; we wore skivvies. We had shit cans instead of trashcans; we ate in a galley, slept in racks, and loved every minute of it.
The fifth week was service week. We didn't have classes that week but we all had jobs. I ended up in the scullery washing dishes. I washed dishes for all three meals for the entire base. It was not exciting work but it wasn't difficult either. Not much happened to me during that week but Shadow had an experience. He was part of the crew that was assigned to clean our barracks from top to bottom. While they were working one day, a recruit we called Cowboy was dusting the windowsills and watching the people who were on the patio smoking. He would lean out the window and yell, "Attention on Deck!" which would bring everybody on the patio to attention as Cowboy laughed. He did this three or four times and every time the recruits would pop to attention and he would laugh at them. The last time he called attention on deck; our junior CC, MM1 Stone was standing behind him.
"What the Hell are you doing, Recruit!"
Cowboy almost choked on his tongue as he stammered, "I was just.."
"You were just fucking around. Since you seem to have so much time on your hands you can watch for incoming and outgoing planes." MM1 pointed out the window where you could see planes landing and taking off from the airport. The rest of the crew got back to work as Cowboy stood at the window saying, "Beep, beep, I'm a silly radar, beep, beep." Every time a plane took off or landed he would yell, "Sir, aircraft, Sir!" When Shadow told me about it later I thought he was going to roll on the floor he was laughing so hard.
One day in about our sixth week, we marched back to the barracks after lunch and MM1 Stone ordered us to face our racks, strip and fall in. After we did so he turned off the lights and said "See you in an hour, Ladies." That was our introduction to a Navy Nooner. Our CC's had become human after Service Week, and we no longer thought of them as mean sons of bitches. Usually.
About that same time, Bubba and I were on road patrol. We patrolled the area around our barracks, which included the road between RTC and MCRD. There was a Marine company out marching and when they saw us they yelled, "Sailor, Sailor don't be blue; Tinkerbell was a fairy too!"
"I hate them fuckin' Marines." muttered Bubba. "The few, the proud, the dead on the beach."
"Me too, but we better get used to them. You could get assigned to one of their units and I might need one of them to cover my ass if we get sent to Vietnam."
"I know you're right, Slick, but I still hate their fucking guts."
In the seventh week we met with a yeoman and discussed where we wanted to go to school. I already had a school but we discussed my options anyway.
"You do have choices. You could change rates to something that is less likely to get you shipped out if that's what you want."
I thought about it for a minute and remembered Bubba telling me that he thought our job was to defend people who couldn't defend themselves. "I want to go, YN3." That was that, I was going to Port Hueneme and then, if I had any say, I was going to go kick some Viet Cong ass.
Shadow decided to stay with his school also. For a scared kid he turned out to be one tough little bastard. No matter what the CC's did or said, he refused to quit or give up.
Bubba, Shadow and I talked a lot about Vietnam and we all knew that, given the chance, we were going to go. We weren't looking to be heroes but if we didn't go someone else would have to. We saw it as our duty.
Finally, graduation day rolled around. We all got dressed up in our dress blue uniforms and marched out to the parade grounds. When it was over, we marched back to our barracks, slung our sea bags over our backs and marched to the gate to catch a bus to the airport.
Before Shadow and I boarded the bus, I turned to Bubba and said, "If I get shipped out I hope like Hell I don't see you over there, you damn penis machinist."
"Keep your fucking head down, Slick, 'cause I don't want to be digging shrapnel out of your ass if you do end up over there." He turned towards Jimmy, "That goes double for you, Shadow. If you end up over there I don't want to have to listen to your smart ass mouth while I'm tending to you."
"Like I want a redneck hillbilly like you tending to me. I'd probably bleed to death while you figure out how to unroll the bandages you dumb fuck."
We all laughed and boarded our buses.
The next two months were just school. PT and liberty with nothing to do. In the sixth week we received our orders. I was assigned to NMCB 10 and they had recently been deployed to Vietnam. I had two weeks leave before I had to report. Jimmy had also been assigned to NMCB 10. We said good-bye on the last day and headed for home. When we boarded our separate planes, I said, "See you in two weeks, Shipmate."
He grinned and said, "See you, Slick!"
~End Flashback~
I sat on the couch, staring at he ceiling. I could see Shadow, bright eyed and grinning. I felt the tears slip down my face. "I need a break," I said as I grabbed my crutches and hauled my self upright. I knew everyone was staring at me as I swung myself towards the back door and I didn't care.
"Steve?" I heard Soda call to me.
"Let him go, Soda. Give him a few minutes."
"Give me all the time in the world, Darrel," I thought, "that doesn't mean I'll tell you anything." But I knew I would. GLOSSARY:
AYE, AYE: I understand and will obey BOONDOCKERS: Work boots CC: Company Commander CMCR: Construction Mechanic Constructionman Recruit CORPSMAN: Medic GRINDER: A large concrete area used for marching, PT and falling into ranks after chow, class or other activities. HT1: Hull Technician 1st class MCRD: Marine Corps Recruit Depot MM1: Machinist Mate 1st class PT: Physical Training PECKER CHECKER: Corpsman PENIS MACHINIST: Corpsman RACK: Bed. In this case, very uncomfortable bunk beds. SKIVVIES: Underwear SSGT: Staff Sergeant YN3: Yeoman 3rd class